Since South Africa keeps its black and white people apart, there were no black players in the Springbok team. And if the All Blacks tour there, they can’t take any Maori players.

We couldn’t believe it when Mr McDougall told us. Kids started going ‘That’s rotten!’ ‘I hate that.’ ‘We should take our Maori blokes anyway!’ ‘Yeah, we play better than you Pakeha jokers, too!’ (That last one was Tipene, of course.) The class got quite noisy, until Mr McDougall held up a hand, and we all went quiet again.

‘It’s something you might like to talk about with your parents,’ our teacher said. ‘How do they feel about it?’ Actually, some people in the valley reckon we shouldn’t let political things interfere with rugby, and the All Blacks should go without Maori players. My dad — my Maori dad! — says if we tour there, then South African teams will keep touring here, and they can learn how different races get along. I don’t agree … I think.

We squelched along the path towards the rocks, past where a road-mender used to live years ago. His hut fell down in the big earthquake when Mum was just a few years older than I am now. She must have been pretty brave, getting across the bridge to reach home. They had to build a whole new deck later.

Funny thing is, the earthquake made some good things happen. Before then, my Great-great-aunt Janet had sort of cut herself off from the family. There’d been an argument, and she moved away. But after the quake, she got back in touch to see if everyone was all right, even came to visit. Strange how things change, eh? See, I’m a poet as well as an original thinker.

We can see our farmhouse from the rocks. When we’re swimming there, we sometimes wave and call out to Dad or Grandad Duncan if they’re in the paddocks.

We reached the edge of the bank and stopped. The water stampeded past, ten feet below. It crashed against the bank, sprayed up onto the ledge, and swept across the rocks. A square piece of wood lay there, where the flood must have landed it. Another branch, a small one, flashed past on a whirling eddy. It sped on downstream, faster than a person could run.

‘Look at that!’ Tipene said — shouted, actually. I was looking. This was amazing. I’d never known water could have so much power in it.

Above us, a couple of patches of blue gleamed for a second, then disappeared. The rain had almost stopped. Maybe the farms upriver wouldn’t have suffered too badly after all. I wondered how many streams had been blocked by slips.

Tipene was saying something, but I couldn’t hear him over the roar of the river. A grinding sound swelled, then faded. More boulders being dragged along in the current. ‘What?’ I asked.