Close Call at Tristan da Cunha
by John MacGibbon

John McLay was a passenger on board the Mooltan,  a 
sailing ship that, in 1849, brought settlers from Scotland 
to Otago .  Ten-year-old John was fascinated by the ship 
and by the events of the voyage.  Years later, when he 
was an old man living in Dunedin, he wrote down some of 
his memories. The following imaginative account is based 
on John's recollections and on diaries kept by other 
passengers on board the ship.  

Today has been the most exciting and frightening day 
of my life.  We came close to being shipwrecked in the 
South Atlantic Ocean when our fine new vessel, the 
Mooltan, was almost dashed against the cliffs of the 
lonely island of Tristan da Cunha. 
I was woken, late at night, by noises from the deck 
above our steerage cabin.  We heard thundering feet and 
shouting.  Then one of the crew opened the hatchcover 
and bellowed down to us: "Wake up!  Get your clothes 
on!  Rocks to the starboard bow!  Prepare to abandon 
ship!"
There was a great commotion as everyone got up at 
once.  We were lucky that the ocean was calm, and so at 
least we weren't being thrown around in the cabin by the 
waves.  But it was still a big jumble and a jostle.  All the 
fathers went up on deck.  We children and our mothers 
were told to stay down below. 
We looked at each other in fright.  Janet and Mary 
clung to Mother and wailed something terrible.  After a 
time, Father came back and told us what was happening.  
In the middle of a foggy night, we had come upon a tiny 
island.  Just as the ship arrived, the wind had dropped 
away, and now we were being dragged towards shore by a 
sea current. 
"The sailors are doing everything they can for us," 
said Father. 
"What are they doing?" I asked. 
"Captain Chivas has put the ship on another tack, and 
he's raised every sail he can, even the topgallants and the 
royals.  He hopes that we'll catch some wind and sail out 
of danger.  I am sure that we'll be all right," Father 
continued.  "The captain is a fine seaman.  But you are to 
stay where you are, or you'll get in the way of the 
sailors.  I have to go back again to help."
I wanted to see what was happening for myself so, 
after a while, I sneaked up to the deck and ran to the 
stall where the ship's cow lived.  What I saw and heard 
was truly awful. 
A short distance beyond our tiny ship, through the 
gloomy fog and drizzle, were towering black cliffs that 
seemed to go straight up from the water.  There was a 
great roaring as huge waves smashed against them. Not 
even a seal could climb onto this barren island.
I clung to the side of the crib in fright, and Flecky, 
the cow, came over and nuzzled me.  My sailor friend, Mr 
Dunlop, saw me and said that I should be down in the 
cabin out of harm's way.  But he let me stay when I 
promised to climb into the crib with Flecky.  
Above me, the ship's sails were motionless.  They 
dangled from the spars, dripping moisture from the fog 
and rain that gathered on them.  Meanwhile, the current 
was dragging us closer and closer to shore.  I saw Captain 
Chivas gather together the crew and the men from 
steerage. 
"Men, there's only one chance left," he shouted.  "I 
want you to take the ship's boats out with tow ropes and 
row us away from the island.  Now get yourselves into 
teams, and you can all take turns on the oars."
Mr Ferguson, the second mate, was in charge, and 
when the boats were positioned in the water, with a mix 
of sailors and emigrants manning each, he instructed 
everyone to pull on their oars with all the strength that 
God had given them.  One boat stayed by the ship and, 
every so often, it took food, drink, and fresh rowers to 
the other boats.
The men rowed from midnight until morning, but 
although their hard work did seem to slow down the 
ship's drift towards shore, they couldn't drag the Mooltan 
out of danger.  Nor could they row for ever.  Father came 
back to the ship for a rest, and he was very tired.  His 
hands had big broken blisters on them, and they were 
covered in blood. 
Then, just when everything seemed hopeless, a small 
puff of wind came towards us from the island.  "Hurrah!" 
we all cried as the sails filled up and we moved a few 
yards away from danger.  But then the wind moved 
around, and we were blown back again.  Finally, it 
stopped altogether.  This happened several times.  Each 
time a small gust reached us, we thought we were saved.  
But, in fact, we simply drifted nearer to the rocks.
Finally, deciding that the ship was doomed, Captain 
Chivas ordered the men to make life rafts (there being 
only enough ship's boats to carry a third of the 
passengers and crew).  I helped to bring provisions up 
from the ship's hold.  We needed the food because there 
probably wasn't anything to eat on that lonely island in 
the middle of nowhere, even if we could find a place to 
land our rafts!
The captain was about to issue the order to abandon 
ship when, without warning, another little breeze blew 
down from the cliffs – then another – still from the right 
direction.  The rowers, still in the ship's boats, felt the 
tow ropes slacken and pulled on the oars with all their 
might.  Before long, we could see that all was not lost.  
"Hooray!" we cried, and we shouted encouragement to the 
rowers.  Now we really were beginning to move away 
from the island.  
That was all in the morning.  By early afternoon, the 
wind had become a little stronger, and our good ship was 
at last sailing away from land, like a captive bird set 
free.  In a few more hours, horrible Tristan da Cunha was 
nothing but a speck in the ocean.  
At last, the McLay family and all the other poor souls 
on board, not forgetting Flecky and our sheep, pigs, hens, 
goats, and dogs, were away again on the long voyage to 
New Zealand. 

Stunt Wheel
by Tom Rouse and Sue Fuller

Make this wind-powered stunt wheel and watch it spin, leap, and 
bounce its way over almost anything in its path!  It will roll so 
fast that you'll have to run like the wind to catch it!

You will need:
a compass
a ruler
a pencil
an A4-sized sheet of card
a pair of scissors

Making the stunt wheel
Set your compass at 10 centimetres.  Use it to draw a circle on the 
sheet of card.  Mark the centre point of the circle.  Cut out the 
circle to make a cardboard disc.

Set your compass at 6 centimetres.  Placing the point of your 
compass on the centre mark, draw another circle on the cardboard 
disc.  Make a pencil mark on the edge of this circle that you have 
just drawn.  Label it "1".

Placing the point of your compass on the "1" mark, make another 
mark on the edge of the inner circle.  Label this mark "2".  Repeat 
this step two more times, labelling the new marks "3" and "4".

Set your compass to 3.2 centimetres.  Placing the point of your 
compass on the "1" mark, make a mark between "1" and "2".  
Label this mark "A".  Make two more new marks by placing the 
point of your compass on marks "2" and "3".  Label the new marks 
"B" and "C". 

Rule lines from one side of the circle to the other, beginning from 
each mark.  Each line must pass through the centre of the circle.

Set your compass at 1.5 centimetres.  Placing the point of your 
compass on the centre of the circle, draw a small circle.  Cut out 
this small circle.

Cut along each of the straight lines to make twelve fins.  Fold 
back every second fin.  Crease them firmly.  Turn the wheel over.  
Fold back the rest of the fins and crease them firmly.  Arrange 
each fin so that it pokes out at right angles from the disc.

Finishing off 
Decorate your wheel with bright colours and designs.  Notice how 
the colours may appear to change when the wheel is travelling at 
high speed.  

Using and experimenting with the stunt wheel
Choose a day when the wind is blowing briskly.  Take your stunt 
wheel out onto a large, flattish area of land (the beach or a 
playing field would be ideal).  Stand the wheel up and let it roll!  
If the wind is blowing strongly, the stunt wheel will leap mounds 
and bounce over obstacles.
Can you improve the wheel's speed and performance by altering 
the angles of the fins or by using thicker or thinner card?  

Postcards in Space
by David Hill

Making contact
•	In 1820, a German astronomer wanted to plant a wheat 
field.  It was to be triangular, and its sides would each be 
one hundred kilometres long.  It would be cut out of a huge 
Russian pine forest.

•	In 1840, an Austrian astronomer wanted to dig a ditch in 
the Sahara Desert.  It would form a circle thirty kilometres 
in diameter and be filled with kerosene.  The kerosene 
would be set alight.

•	In 1860, a French astronomer wanted to build some huge 
mirrors.  Each one would be the size of a house.  Forty of 
the mirrors would be placed in a line, all facing the sky.

Each of these unusual plans was intended to show anyone 
watching from space that there was intelligent life on Earth.  
The experiments may seem strange, but twentieth century 
astronomers are sending some unusual communications of their 
own! 

Peculiar "postcards"
It's almost certain that there's no life on the other planets in 
our solar system, but when it comes to further out in space, no 
one can be sure.  In case there is, astronomers are sending 
messages out into space.  It's like sending a picture postcard to 
someone in another land telling them about your home.

A bunch of beeps
A radio message has been aimed at the stars.  This message 
consists of a series of beeps.  If anyone turns the beeps into a 
pattern, they will see a diagram showing information from 
Earth:  the numbers one to ten, some facts about chemicals, 
some details about human beings, and a description of the radio 
telescope that sent the message.

A pack of pictures
Some spacecraft travelling deep into space are carrying 
photographs of life on Earth.

Gold-plated plaques 
Spacecraft Pioneer X and Pioneer XI each carry a gold-plated 
plaque.  Each plaque shows a picture of a man and a woman, 
our Sun and its planets, and information about the distance 
and direction from Earth to certain stars.

Strange sounds
Spacecraft Voyager I and Voyager II each carry a CD with 
music, greetings in Earth languages, and the sounds of a 
humpback whale, a human kiss, a heartbeat, and a rocket 
taking off.

In hundreds of years, astronomers may think that these 
"postcards" are just as strange as the early astronomers' 
attempts to make contact with life in outer space.  But if the 
postcards succeed in reaching their destinations, we on Earth 
may receive some amazing replies!

'Ofa Lahi Atu – Good Luck!
by John Hart
'Màlò e lelei.  My name is Latu, and I'm going to speak to you about the 
importance of the Tongan language."
Latu is practising for the school speech competition.  He knows that 
he can speak for only three minutes, so he asks Lesieli to check his 
time.
"Two minutes, forty-five seconds," she tells him.  "Looking good."
On the day of the competition, the students put on their national 
costumes.  Michael's mum helps him to organise his lòkeha and kafa.  
"Good luck.  'Ofa lahi atu," she whispers as she straightens his tie.  
" 'Ofa lahi atu," replies Michael.
At his desk, Charles, the timekeeper, waits patiently, ready to press 
the bell that will call up the first speaker.  But first, as on all Tongan 
occasions, there is a special time for lotu.  The competitors pray to God, 
not to win but that they will speak clearly and with confidence and that 
everyone will have a happy day.
Lotu over, the speech organiser announces the first competitor:  
Tangisi.  Tangisi bows three times at the beginning of her speech: once 
to the matàpule, the important guest; once to the hou'eiki, the nobles; 
and once to the kau fai siui seà, the judge.  While she speaks, the other 
competitors wait nervously for their turn.
There is a wide range of subjects for the audience to listen to, from 
"The History of Kava" to "The Importance of Keeping the Tongan 
Language Alive Overseas".
The judge sits patiently.  He is listening for the speakers' ideas.  
Are they interesting and clear?  Does the speech include a good 
introduction, a beginning, a middle, and an ending?  Are the speakers 
"looking good" – are they using their hands and eyes effectively?  Are 
their voices clear?  There's a lot to think about.
Latu, the "baby" of the group, delivers his powerful speech on the 
Tongan language.  His dad, Latu Lahi, listens with pride.
When Steven begins his speech, all signs of nervousness are gone.  
He speaks with pride, mana, strength, and love.  He talks about  the 
importance of education in New Zealand.
Fifita speaks with confidence, too.  He's chosen his favourite topic 
– the importance of church in Tonga and New Zealand.  He's used to 
speaking during Fakamè and to his Sunday school, so this smaller 
audience of classmates and parents doesn't have him too worried.
Still, when all the finalists have had their turn at speaking and the 
judge is ready to make his comments, everyone is feeling nervous.  Latu 
is especially anxious.  The judge is saying some really nice things about 
him.  Could he actually have a chance of winning?
When the judge finishes his comments with "Congratulations, Latu", 
the audience claps and claps.  Latu grins.  He really has won!  
"Thanks, Mum.  Thanks, Dad.  Thank you, God!" he says.
All the speakers receive a certificate, the girls say a closing lotu, 
and just to make sure that everyone remembers this special speech day, 
the finalists assemble for a group photo that will be hung in the school 
foyer.
"Let's see if you can all smile as well as you can speak," jokes the 
photographer.  Click!   

Fast Food in Tibet
by Celia Smith

Every country in the world has its own special type of fast 
food.  In Tibet, it's tsampa,  roasted barley flour.  The 
barley grains are cooked in big pans over slow-burning 
coals.  Then they're taken to the nearest village miller to 
be ground up.  
Tibetan children take balls of tsampa in their pockets 
when they go to mind stock on the hills.  When Tibetan 
nomads are travelling, they take "tod" with them, a hard 
cake of tsampa mixed with cheese, sugar, and melted 
butter.  Whenever they are hungry, they break off a piece 
and eat it – without having to cook.  
At home, Tibetans make a runny tsampa dish by mixing 
the roasted barley flour with plenty of tea or hot water.  
Tsampa is eaten for breakfast, too.  To do this, you first of 
all drink black tea down to about a third of a bowl.  While 
the tea is still hot, you melt butter in it.  Then you add 
some tsampa.  On top of the pile of tsampa, you add 
cheese that has been made from dried milk curd.  It looks 
like tiny gold-brown pebbles.  Last of all, you add sugar.  
Then comes the tricky part.  If you're not used to it, you 
may end up with tsampa all over your knees!  With your 
finger, you press the tsampa down to bring the hot water 
and melted butter up around the flour.  Then, slowly, you 
work the mixture round and round until it's like biscuit 
dough.  Finally, you break a piece off, roll it into a ball in 
the palm of your hand, and pop it into your mouth.  It's 
nutty and sweet and crunchy.   
If you want to eat tsampa with hot chilli, then you leave 
out the sugar and the cheese.  You flatten a small ball of 
the mixture and put a little chilli butter on it.  The butter 
is dark red, and it burns your mouth if you're not used to 
it.
In Tibetan houses, there is always a wooden box 
containing tsampa and dried crumbly cheese to eat with it.  
Tibetan nomads store their tsampa and cheese in big sacks 
made of woven yak hair.  Because tsampa is dry, it keeps 
for months, and because it has already been cooked, it's a 
perfect fast food.

A Shrunken Head
by Jane Buxton

You will need:
a large, ripe apple
a potato peeler
two cloves
a craft knife or scissors
a large needle
a piece of string about 30 centimetres long. 

What to do
Peel the apple and remove its stalk.  Use a craft knife or scissors to 
carve a face into the apple.  Carve ears, eyesockets, cheeks, a nose, a 
mouth, and a chin.  You might like to cut a few worry lines across the 
forehead, too.  Be creative!

Put your applehead on a saucer and leave it on a sunny window sill to 
dry. Turn it each day so that it dries all over and doesn't rot.  After a 
few days (depending on the weather) the apple should start to shrink.  
You still have time to work on the applehead if you wish to.  You can 
make more cuts or squeeze the apple with your fingers to change its 
character.

After two or three weeks, the apple will be fully shrunken.  Now is the 
time push a clove into each eye socket to give the head eyes. 

Finishing touches
To hang up your shrunken head, use a large needle to thread a string 
through the core of the apple.


"Touch" Rugby
by Jo-Anne Smith

Jan-Hai Iosefa loves playing her school's version of touch rugby.  She 
talks about it to Jo-Anne Smith.

What do you like about the game?
The rough part!  It's not like netball.  In rugby, you can have 
contact.  A netball court is too small for me – with rugby you can 
keep on running.  I like getting stuck in, and I don't mind getting 
dirty.  I like tournaments.

How is touch rugby different from ordinary rugby?
In tackle rugby, you get tackled. In touch, when a player touches 
you on the hips with both hands, you have to pass the ball.  We 
play our own version of touch that includes lineouts and scrums.

What position do you play?
Lock.  The locks go in the second row of the scrum.  We make way 
for the ball when it comes through, and we rake it back.  Locks help 
keep the ball up the field, and they can make tries.  I'm a bit taller, 
and that helps in the line-out, too.

Have you played in any other positions?
Centre and wing.  I prefer wing.  You get to see around the action a 
bit more in that position.

What happened in today's game?
Well, we won 12–6.  It was a pretty good game.  We started off 
fairly even, but our team dominated the second half.

You didn't seem to get your hands on the ball so much today.
The boys kept passing it to each other.  Maybe they were trying to 
get us back because Gemma, Amy, Jesse, Katie, and I work together.  
We shut the boys out because they never seem to give the ball to us.  
They only pass it to you if you're the closest one giving support.

Is there anything you can do about this?
If we made friends with the boys, yeah, probably, but they don't 
like being around girls.

What did the coach say before the game?
To use our bodies more than our mouths!  Not to stand around 
talking and not to swear.  And to listen to the ref.

What happened when you first came home and told your mum and dad 
you were playing rugby?
I didn't tell them until I started.  Then they just said, "OK, as long 
as you don't hurt yourself."  Dad said he would buy me a rugby 
jersey.

Your father plays rugby – has he given you any tips?
Mainly just to keep my eye on the ball.  I watch him play rugby; all 
my family go and cheer for his team.

What sort of training do you do?
Running in line and passing, ball skills, and throwing.  We practise 
touching down and diving – some of the team are too scared to dive 
because they get all muddy, but I don't mind.  We also kick to each 
other, play practice games, and try to improve the way we play in 
muddy conditions.

Did you find that your new boots helped today?
Yeah, when you've got normal shoes, you just skid around; when 
you've got the sprigs, you can stand still.  But I slipped over today 
because there was this big, big patch of mud, and that boy went 
boom into me. 

Which game has been your best?
I got "player of the day" one time because I got five tries and a lot 
of touches – that's about it.  We co-operated with the boys that day!  
But the best time was when our team won the tournament last year.  
We were really scared before we went to play.

What do you think about when you've got the ball in your hands and 
you're running?
The try line and touching down, just getting a try.

When you went to Samoa, earlier this year, did you play any rugby?
No, but I watched the village game.  The village boys, whenever 
they tackle somebody, they just rip each other's clothes.  My uncle 
was playing, and Dad was too scared to go out and play because 
they do spear tackles, and he thought he might get hurt.  The 
village boys are really big and tall.  But they didn't have a referee 
– they didn't seem to need one.  Say, if someone got the ball and it 
wasn't very fair for the other team, they would just pass it to the 
other team.

What did they play on?
Just a really big grassy area in front of a big, open house.  Mostly, 
the field isn't marked in any way.  Sometimes there's a couple of 
coconut trees with a wood thing banged between them; that makes 
the goal posts.

Do you want to go on in rugby?
Yes!  I want to play in a top women's rugby team, like my Dad's 
relative, Davida.  Once, there was this rugby match in Argentina 
that she was going to go to and play in, but the Rugby Union 
wouldn't support them.

How do you get to play in a top women's team?
You try your best! 

Nìkau – the Coldest Palm in the World
by Ian Gault

Most palms grow in warm, tropical countries, but not the nìkau. It's 
New Zealand's only native palm – and the only palm in the world to 
grow so far south.  

Early Màori (and Pàkehà settlers) sometimes ate the bulb-shaped 
heart of the nìkau.  Captain Cook and the crew of the Endeavour tried 
it too.  Collecting this food involved destroying the tree, and so the 
meal later became known as "millionaire's salad".

When there was no ammunition, Pàkehà settlers used the small, hard 
seeds of the nìkau for shooting birds. 

Màori used nìkau fronds for thatching roofs.  They used the leaf 
strips of palm fronds for weaving kete and other baskets.

The bowl-shaped base of a fallen nìkau frond can be used for 
collecting water.  It also makes a great sled to use on a grassy slope 
or mud slide.

These nìkau aren't growing – they're made of copper, and they form a 
very special part of the Wellington Public Library.  

Grow your own nìkau 
Nìkau take twenty years to develop a trunk.  But in the meantime, 
they make beautiful pot plants.  Collect ripe seeds from the ground 
beneath the palm.*  Soak them in boiling water to soften their coats.  
Sow them in potting mix and keep them lightly watered.  The seeds 
may take months to germinate.  When they do, keep the young plants 
in a warm, sheltered place, away from frosts.

*Do not take seeds from protected areas of forest.

The Man in the Moon
by Sue Farley

Each year, Nelson city holds a colourful mask parade to celebrate the 
opening of its arts festival.  It's heaps of fun, with musicians, 
performers, and hundreds of people in masks all parading down the 
street.  It's four weeks before the parade, and at Clifton Terrace School 
in Nelson, everyone in Miss Milligan's class is beginning work on the 
mask that they will wear.  Gavin, who wore an alien mask in last year's 
parade, is planning something even more special for this year's fun …

The headpiece
Gavin begins his mask by inflating a balloon.  He covers it with layers 
of papier mâché – torn strips of newspaper coated in wallpaper glue.  It's 
messy, sloshy work, and Gavin's hands are slimy and wet by the time 
he's finished the eight layers of newspaper it takes to create a solid base 
over the balloon.  As a final layer, he glues on strips of plain, white 
newsprint.
For the next three days, Gavin turns the balloon regularly so that the 
glue dries evenly and the balloon stays round.  When the glue is finally 
dry, he cuts the papier mâché shape in half, using a craft knife.  Cutting 
through all those layers of glue and paper is a tough job, and by the time 
he and a friend have the shape in two pieces, only one half is usable.  
Gavin trims up the edges of the good half to make a comfortable 
headpiece, the part of the mask that will fit over his face.  The rest of 
the mask (its face) will later be attached to the headpiece.

The moon shape
Over the next few days, Gavin works on the face of the mask – the part 
that will make people say "Wow!" when they see it.  The face is to be 
that of a crescent moon, with a sharp curved point at each end.  Gavin 
cuts the basic shape from corrugated cardboard.  It's almost a metre 
long!
For the mask to have real character, the moon needs to be three-
dimensional.  Gavin achieves this by scrunching newspaper into balls.  
He glues the balls onto the cardboard crescent and leaves them to dry.  
Later, he covers the scrunched-up newspaper with five layers of papier 
mâché.  He shapes and moulds the papier mâché, smoothing and rubbing 
it until the moon face takes shape.  
He shapes papier mâché around an eyehole that he's cut into the 
crescent moon.  He puts extra layers of paper and glue over the two ends 
of the mask, working each to a point to make them strong.  In preparation 
for painting, he covers the moon with white newsprint and leaves it to 
dry.

Paint job
Gavin now has the two main pieces of his mask ready to put together, but 
first he has to paint them.  He did think of painting the eye and the 
mouth onto the mask, but now he decides to paint the whole face a shiny, 
metallic gold that will glow in the dark of the evening and look as if it 
belongs in the sky.  On top of the gold paint, he sprinkles silver and gold 
glitter that will glint in the lights of the parade.

Putting it all together
How can Gavin make the heavy crescent moon, with all its layers of 
newsprint and balls of paper, stick to the lighter half-balloon headpiece?  
He decides to glue the two pieces together using a hot-glue gun.  
Before gluing them together, he built a light framework from strong 
cardboard. Now he glues and staples it in place inside the headpiece.  A 
band is attached to the framework for holding the mask onto his head.   
Everything seems perfect, but … as Gavin picks up the mask to try it 
on, the heavy crescent moon begins to tear away from the headpiece.  It 
pulls the paper off the headpiece right around the glue line that holds the 
two pieces together.  
For someone like Gavin, who wants to be a boatbuilder one day, this 
isn't the end of the mask.  He thinks through the problem – and comes up 
with a solution.  He decides to increase the amount of headpiece surface 
area that meets the back of the crescent moon.  This will increase the 
glue-bonding area and so help to spread the heavy crescent moon's load 
on the headpiece.  
He cuts a wedge-shaped flap out of the front of the headpiece, covers 
it in glue, and bends it out to fit against the back of the moon. With lots 
more glue and some big staples from the staple gun, the two pieces are at 
last held together firmly. 

Finishing off
From here on, it's easy.  Gavin cuts an eye out of the headpiece to match 
the eye in the moon so that he'll be able to see where he's walking.  
Parade night, here we come!

The parade
The man in the moon walks in the parade along the main street of Nelson, 
up to the cathedral steps, around the main city block, and back to the 
gathering point. The moon mask shines in the lights and glows in the 
dark.  Behind it, Gavin is feeling really pleased with the result of all his 
efforts – and already, he's wondering what sort of mask he'll make for 
next year's parade!

An Old Game for a New Millennium
What do you do if your school playground isn't the right shape for 
cricket or softball – or if you don't have enough people in your school 
or class to make two full teams?  Over fifty years ago, Hinuera School in 
Matamata came up with the answer.  The rest of New Zealand first heard 
about it in this School Journal article published in 1949  

Pegball or Country Cricket
Peg ball is a mixture of cricket and softball.  
Here is the equipment:
2 sticks or wickets
A bat (or piece of wood) 
A piece of rubber tubing
A ball (tennis size)

This is how to play:
A pitch is measured 10 yards long, with one wicket at each end.  The 
rubber tubing is fixed on the home wicket, and the ball is placed on top 
of this.  At Hinuera School, a milking-machine rubber is used.  Batters 
line up behind this wicket ready to bat.  Fielders scatter, ready to catch 
and throw in.  One player fields behind the home wicket, as in cricket or 
in softball.
Now, the first batter strikes the ball forward towards the field and 
runs to the other wicket and back, carrying his bat, as in cricket.  If the 
batter runs up and back before the fielders return the ball to the wicket-
keeper, he scores one run for his team.  If the batter's home wicket is hit 
or touched with the ball before he is back in his crease or on home base, 
he is out.  Sometimes it is possible to score two or even three runs from 
one hit, but this is a mighty and rare achievement.
If the batter scores a run, he lines up at the end of his team for 
another turn.  If he is put out, he sits down behind his team.  In cold 
weather, it's a good idea for "out" batters to help with the fielding.  
Team leaders should keep the score.  When all batters are out, teams 
change over.

Points to remember:
1.  If you have no wickets, sticks will do.
2.  Small children in the teams should run only halfway and back. 
3. A batter who does not hit the ball forward of the baseline must take 
another hit.
4. The wicket-keeper replaces the ball on the rubber for each batter. 
5. The batter is out if "caught on the full". 
6. Players batting a second time in an innings must complete two trips to 
the line and back; they must make three runs on their third time up.  This 
will give the fielders a chance to bat.
7. Each completed run is added to the team's total.  For example, if a 
batter up for the third time completes two runs and is out on the third, 
his first two runs count for his team.
8. Teams can decide bounds, length of run, or number of innings.

The Game Today
Pegball is still popular today, but different schools have different names 
for the game and, often, their own special equipment and rules. 

We call the game teeball.  We sit the ball on top of a plastic tube called a tee.  It's 
made specially for teeball.  In our rules, you get a batter out by throwing the ball to the 
base that the batter is running to or by having a fielder catch the ball on the full.  You 
don't throw the ball at the tee.
Hannah Anderson, Thorndon School

We call peg-ball "tee-ball".  The ball sits on top of a yellow plastic cone.  The cone is 
hollow, and it sits on top of a wooden or plastic Kiwi Cricket wicket.  We don't have a 
rule that the batter has to run two or three times if it is their second or third time 
batting in an innings.  We have talked about having this rule and think it would be a 
really good idea.
Rachel Lean, Tahakopa School

We call it pegball or teeball.  We play the game in a similar way to softball, with hoops 
for bases.  We don't run with the bat.  The tee is made from a 3-litre plastic juice bottle 
that is half-filled with sand.  One end of a wooden stick fits into the neck of the bottle.  
The other end of the stick has a rubber inflation on it (an inflation is a piece of 
equipment used for milking cows).  A tennis ball sits on top of the inflation.  If a 
player is off the base when the ball is returned to the tee, they are out.
Natalie Wilson, Hinuera School

At our school, we call the game teeball.  We use a commercially made 
tee.  Our rules are different to the 1949 ones.  We run around bases 
instead of up and down a pitch.  When everyone in a team has had a turn 
at batting, that team swaps over with the fielders.  In 1949, all the 
batters had to be out before the teams swapped over.
Chris Able, Waimangaroa School


Half a Bit of Butterflies
by Janice Marriott

The first time I see Keke Brown, she's lying down across two small chairs 
in the green room at the back of the theatre.  Her left foot is resting on a 
packet of frozen peas.  There's been an accident.
Keke collided with another dancer, Guy, while she was swinging across 
the stage on a rope.  When she was unhooked from the rope, she couldn't 
put any weight on her left foot.  She couldn't stand up. 
It's lunchtime:  the middle of a long day.  Tech. rehearsal took all 
morning.  Dress rehearsal starts as soon as everyone's rested and ready.  
Will Keke recover in time?  One glance at that determined look in her eyes 
tells me that if she can, Keke will soon be swinging from the rope again.  
You have to be tough if you're a dancer touring in this show.
I leave Keke with her aunt – and the peas – in the green room and 
check out the set.  Twenty metres above the stage, riggers have fastened 
two ropes so that they dangle down to the floor.  There's a TV on the stage 
with its back to the audience.  I think:  this show is going to be different!
An hour later, the dress rehearsal starts.  Dances fill the stage with 
movement, colour, and sound.  One man dances in his wheelchair.  He can 
spin it, tip it, and haul himself up the ropes in it!  A woman who is unable 
to walk does a hand dance.  The stage is dark except for her hands.  In 
another dance, lights bounce off the whirling spokes of a wheelchair and 
off the sparkling dancers on rollerblades.  And there's Keke back in 
action, dancing into the circle with her flashing eyes and floating hair, a 
big smile on her face.  She is beautiful to watch. 
Keke is the only child in Catherine Chappell and Dancers, a dance 
company of four performers with and four without disabilities.  How did 
Keke get involved?  I arrange a meeting with her to find out.

At her aunt's house, Keke is sitting on a couch, sorting stamps for her 
stamp collection.  She lets me pick up her right hand in a greeting 
handshake.  It's a small hand, but it feels very heavy, as though no 
muscles are holding it up.  When I let it go, it falls to her side.  Keke has 
cerebral palsy.  The muscles on the right side of her body don't work.  It's 
hard for her to walk, but she does.  It's even harder for her to dance, but 
she does that too.
I ask Keke if the accident on the rope made her afraid of dancing again.
"No," she says.
"Are you afraid of anything?" I ask.
"I'm not shy," she says.  "I read in my nana's church.  I do speeches in 
class.  But before a dance performance, I'm a bit nervous.  I get half a bit 
of butterflies."  
Then Keke remembers something.  
"I was afraid of doing a cross-country at school.  The teacher made me 
do it, and …"  Keke looks straight at me.  "I didn't come last."
Keke Brown has attitude!  
For three years, Keke went regularly to Catherine Chappell's dance 
workshops in Auckland.  (Catherine had been to "mixed ability" dance 
workshops in New York, where people with and without disabilities danced 
together.)  One day, Catherine asked Keke if she'd like to be in her dance 
company, and Keke agreed.
Keke received a letter telling her about rehearsal times and 
performance dates.  Her friends at school  weren't too impressed until 
they saw Keke and the company performing on TV.  Then they began to 
realise just how skilful the dancing was.
After performing in Auckland, the dance company went to Adelaide in 
April 1998.  Keke had never been out of New Zealand before.  She visited 
the pilot in the cockpit on the flight over and persuaded the air hostess to 
supply the entire dance company with the special chocolate ice cream that 
they had on board.  The week in Adelaide was so busy that there was no 
time for sightseeing, only dancing.  
When she's not on tour with the dance company, Keke lives at home in 
Auckland and goes to Gladstone School with her brother.  She's in year 6 
and is ten years old.  She likes social studies, reading, and writing – but 
she doesn't like maths.  She's a traffic warden and a librarian.  On tour, 
Keke has to keep up with her schoolwork.  "I can't escape maths," she 
says.  "Grandma expects me to be good at it."
Touring is like being in another family.  Everyone helps everyone else. 
Some people need more help than others.  But that's no different from in 
any family.
"I don't miss other kids when I'm touring because some of these adults 
can be just as silly as my friends," says Keke.
For someone who's never abseiled or done rock-climbing, swinging on 
ropes was a new experience.  "When I first saw them in a rehearsal," 
remembers Keke, "I was excited.  I was one of the first people to get on 
them.  I'm always tied on with a karabiner, which is attached to my 
harness and then hooked onto a loop in the rope.  It's quite safe.  I like 
swishing around, so I don't hold on."  Once, Catherine fastened Keke's 
karabiner too tightly, and it took an hour for her to be unhooked!  "I got 
stuck on the rope the other night," laughs Keke, "but we had a spanner 
handy, so it was OK."
Isn't there anything that worries Keke?
"Well, I wouldn't like to bungee," she says, "… that bouncing upside-
down thing.  No!"
I leave Keke to prepare for her evening performance.  It starts at eight 
o'clock but she has to be at the theatre three hours early to do warm-ups – 
it's hard work being a dancer.

At eight o'clock I'm in the audience.  The first dance begins.  I think of 
Keke in the wings, helping dancers with their costumes, opening the 
curtain for a wheelchair, waiting to come on.
In "Remotely Driven", a dance about TV, Keke sits on the  floor 
changing TV channels.  Characters from the different programmes dance 
around her.  Later, in other dances, she swings on the rope – perfectly.
When the show is over, the clapping goes on and on.  Everyone's happy. 
All that hard work has been worth it.  When the audience has gone, the 
dancers gather round Catherine for "notes".  The performers have to take 
criticism about their dancing and listen to suggestions for improvements.  
Just because Keke is young, it doesn't mean she's excused from this. 
Then it's back to where she's staying tonight and into bed by midnight.  
As for the morning, well, it'll be maths homework – again! 

green room		a room, in a theatre, where 			
			performers can relax while not on 			
		stage
tech. rehearsal	short for "technical rehearsal" – a 		
			practice performance where a 			
			production's lighting, sound, and 			
		technical aspects can be tested
dress rehearsal	a final practice performance 
set 				the arrangement, on stage, of all the 	
			items to be used in a performance, for 		
		example, backdrop, furniture, ropes, 			
	and props
riggers			workers who set up ropes and wires
karabiner		a metal link that opens and closes 		
			using a special safety catch
wings			an area, at each side of a stage, that 		
		actors enter from and exit to


