Then my father, Matiu, arrived. Mum took one look at him, and that was it. ‘Well, I was so handsome,’ Dad grinned. ‘And charming. And clever. And—’ Mum punched him in the ribs. ‘—and lucky, dear,’ he went. So Auntie Whina married Mr McDougall Junior — Uncle Robert — and Mum married … Dad.

My father used to live where a lot of people in our pa came from, ages ago. He’s called Matiu Fergus Hohepa, because his own father was Maori and his mother was Scottish, from the families that came out here, ages ago, too. My mum says that when they were married, in St Peter’s Church not far from the pa, one of Mum’s uncles got ready to play his bagpipes as she and Dad came out. As soon as they saw the pipes, Nana Ahorangi and other old people stuck their hands over their ears and started laughing. There’s a story how when people here heard bagpipes the first time, they thought it was a taniwha — a monster.

‘Fair enough,’ Dad said. ‘Your mother reckons I’m a monster.’

My father came to our valley because he’d been at university, studying archaeology: ancient history and old ruins and stuff. He started hearing the legends about treasure maybe hidden in the swamp beside the Waimoana, so he wanted to talk to the old folk at the pa, and maybe do some exploring.

Then he met Mum, who was visiting Whina. ‘And that was the end of my archaeology, Alan. You make sure you study something where you don’t meet any gorgeous young women.’

I haven’t a clue what I’ll study. I like farming. I like reading. I don’t like girls much; they’re a pain. I’m glad I don’t have to put up with a sister like Tipene does, though I suppose Finola’s not too bad. But I wouldn’t have minded a brother. Anyway, I won’t worry about what to study until I start high school next term. Tipene wants us to take the same subjects. ‘We mongrel guys gotta stick together!’

Mongrel? Dad’s half-caste: part-Maori, part-Pakeha. Mum’s all Pakeha, so that makes me quarter-caste. Auntie Whina is Maori, and Uncle Robert McDougall is Pakeha, so that makes Tipene half-caste. ‘We sound like fruit salads!’ Finola said when we were talking about it one time.

Their parents got married before mine did. The bagpipes played again, and no taniwha rang up to complain. But soon after, Uncle Robert got called up to fight in World War Two. He was an artilleryman in the North African desert and in Italy. Auntie Whina told Mum she felt terrified every time someone knocked on the door, in case it was a message from the Army to say he was wounded or dead. Nana Ahorangi gave her the greenstone bat then, to protect them both.