Story: Whanganui region

The Gilfillan massacre (2nd of 2)

In 1888, more than 40 years after the event, John Gilfillan’s daughter wrote in the Wanganui Herald about the terror of the raid on her home. She explained the circumstances that led to the four deaths, and the survival of her father and other family members.

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National Library of New Zealand, Papers Past
Reference: Wanganui Herald, 6 January 1888, p. 2

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John Gilfillan

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Diana Beaglehole, 'Whanganui region - European settlement, 1840–1860', Te Ara - the Encyclopedia of New Zealand, http://www.TeAra.govt.nz/en/zoomify/19023/the-gilfillan-massacre (accessed 20 April 2024)

Story by Diana Beaglehole, updated 1 Jun 2015

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Found in the Internet on Dec

Di Cummings (not verified)
02 December 2010

Found in the Internet on Dec 10th, 2004 I like cemeteries. In fact, I love cemeteries. Ever since I was little I’ve been attracted by their magnetic powers. I can stand for hours in front of headstones – reading their cold descriptions of previous mortals. To travel back into the time of the dash, where prehistoric creatures carried out their daily lives until they came to a tranquil or tragic demise. So, unlike my other fellow human beings, who take their Sunday strolls along the beach or in the park, I head for the local cemetery. And that is how I came to site in front of the Gilfillan gravestone on a windy April afternoon. From the moment I set foot through that gate I felt drawn to the grave. I wandered up and down the rows – I couldn’t help but look up, time and time again. An indescribable feeling came over me, so giving in I made my way towards it. Upon arrival I glanced at the dates and discovered that it had been exactly 156 years today since an historic funeral party, dressed in black, proceeded along the road, down through the cemetery gates and made their way to this very plot of ground. Sinking down, I leaned against the headstone, closed my eyes and began to dream. I was nearly asleep, when I heard someone call out. I sat up with a jolt. Everything was strangely different. I was leaning against a mound of dirt in a small clearing. All around me stood clumps of flax and manuka, their heads waving in the gentle breeze. I slapped my hands over my eyes and shook my head, but when I peeked through the lattice, everything was exactly the same – very bushy. “Mary Gilfillan, don’t just stand there girl, get inside. I need you to fold that washing.” Hearing someone call out, presumably Mary’s mother, I pushed my way through the scrub towards the voice. I peered around a dead tree stump in time to see a girl of my own age hurrying across a grassy paddock towards an unusual “natural-looking” dwelling. Something was definitely wrong. I mean, what was up with her clothes? Then it dawned on me – I had actually travelled back to the time of the dash. My dream had become reality. As I gazed across the vast expanse of cleared ground around the house I could hear children laughing. Two small boys came hurtling around the corner of one of the outlying buildings, waving sticks – a girl of about six trailing behind them. I wasn’t exactly ecstatic about my situation, but I had no idea of how to escape. I wondered if there was any way to get out of their lives without them knowing that I was an intruder. Deciding to move in for a closer look, I crept through the scrub to where it stood closest to the house. Just as I emerged from the bushy jaws the older girl (Mary) appeared in the doorway and gazed towards where I was standing. The funny thing was – she looked straight through me, like I didn’t even exist. I began inching towards her and heard a voice form within the bowels of the house, “Well, what are you dreaming about this time Mary?” She turned and was swallowed up by the dark interior. Still mesmerised I stood stationary as the two boys ran straight past me. Feeling bold now, I walked up to the kitchen window and peered through it to where a younger girl was peeling potatoes. There were no appliances, no electric lights – nothing from “my world” that I could recognise. Hearing a lot of noise from the front of the house, I left my spying position and headed to investigate the noise. A man in his fifties pulled up in front of the house in a wagon piled with boxes and packages. “Father’s home!” one of the boys called in a sing song voice. Excited chatter reached my ears as Mary and her sister emerged from the house, followed by their mother who had one baby in her arms and a small child clutching her dress. I took advantage of my invisibility and walked straight up to the wagon. The beast in the yoke turned its head as I walked past. I stopped in fright, hoping that no one would notice, but they were all crowding around their father. I looked in several of the boxes and pocketed a metal tin containing something called “Snuff” (?). To my disappointment, no one cared. Something suspicious was happening. Mr Gilfillan looked decidedly worried, while Mrs Gilfillan was definitely becoming more and more frantic. So I got in closer to get the scoop on the story. “There has been a misunderstanding with some young warriors from further up the Whanganui River,” he was saying, “and I have reason to believe that there’s a war party heading this way – I sighted a couple of Maori lurking around the bush along the track.” OK, by now I was feeling kind of worried. They made a decision to barricade themselves inside the house and Mr Gilfillan quickly drove the fully loaded wagon into one of the sheds near the bush line. Mrs Gilfillan herded the children into the house and I had to run to prevent being left outside. What if the warriors could sense me? I just squeezed myself through the doorway as Mary began to push the wooden door shut. Inside, the house was cool and dark – the dirt walls releasing a distinctly earthy scent. From somewhere came a baby’s cry – how many children live in this place? “Eliza, can you get Angus up please?” The younger girl from in the kitchen nearly walked through me as she went to pick up the baby from in one of the bedrooms. I quickly shuffled out of the way and headed towards the kitchen. The family was standing around nervously, while Mr Gilfillan was glancing anxiously out the window. “I’m going out to see what they want. John”, he said to the eldest boy, “you come with me.” Mrs Gilfillan looked as though she was about to have a hernia. “Be careful” she pleaded, wringing her hands as Mr Gilfillan and John made their way out the kitchen door. “Move away from the window”, Mrs Gilfillan ordered the children. Automatically I jumped back, and then I realised that she couldn’t see me. I wanted to walk to the front of the house to watch the encounter, but one of the younger children was standing in the doorway, and I wasn’t exactly eager to march straight through people. There was a commotion then the door was flung open and the girls screamed as Mr Gilfillan staggered through the door clutching the back of his neck, which was saturated with blood. John followed, absolutely petrified and look as though he was about to burst into tears at any minute. I took advantage of the open door and fled towards the secure arms of the manuka. I sat shivering as the sun slowly set and a light dew began to creep across the ground. This was getting beyond funny now. I was getting the inklings of cramp when I spotted Mr Gilfillan sneaking out the kitchen door and heading for the track back into town. He must have been trying to raise the alarm. Once he had gone it was deathly quiet again and there was no movement or noise from inside the house. About half an hour after Mr Gilfillan departed, Eliza, Mary and two small children left through a window and headed up behind the sheds. It seemed as though they were all going to escape. One of the small children made a noise, but was soon quietened by the older girls. Another interval, then two more children ran across the grass – this time in the same direction as Mr Gilfillan. I was beginning to think that the warriors had left, well that was until my eyes picked up the slightest glimmer of moonlight on metal. There was a quick movement from along one side of the house that was followed by a high-pitched scream from Mrs Gilfillan. This was becoming more and more scary. What could I do to help? Wasn’t there some way that I could change history? It was strange – it was silent once more. I got up and moved around to exercise the muscles in my legs before they went to sleep. From my vantage point I could see more movement and I automatically dropped to my stomach. Then it dawned on me that they couldn’t see me anyway. I don’t think that I’d ever get use to that. John and the youngest girl were leaving the house, with their mother not far behind them. They crouched low and ran towards the shed where Mary and Eliza had gone. Eliza emerged from the darkness carrying the baby and traipsed towards her mother. Neither of them saw the warrior until it was too late. I tried to call out, but they couldn’t hear me – if only I had been visible. Eliza screamed as her mother crumpled to the ground – the revenge-crazed warrior raining blow after blow upon her mother’s head with his tomahawk. Eliza tried to escape, but was also hit across the back of the head and slumped downwards. I turned away, tears pouring down my cheeks, I could not watch any longer. It was as though I was the viewer of some horror movie that I could not escape from – it was a true nightmare. When I could finally gather the courage to look, I turned and gazed across the yard. Tongues of flame were licking at the thatched roof of the house – there was no sight of the warriors or the other children. I stood and paced back and forth for a while, to keep myself from reliving the nightmare. I thought of my home, my family, and what makes people commit dreadful crimes. Eventually the sky began to lighten. As I stepped out of the manuka to survey the damage, the sound of horses reached my ears. It was a group of about thirty men, led by a distraught Mr Gilfillan. I was surprised to see both Maori and European represented in the company. From their discussion I gathered that a search party would be sent out to capture the rebel warriors and avenge the attack on the Gilfillan family. I followed them as they moved across the yard towards the bodies. I felt sick as I saw Eliza and an unrecognisable Mrs Gilfillan, sprawled on the bloody earth with their heads almost hacked into pieces. Lying next to her was the body of the infant Eliza had been carrying. Near the shed was the corpse of John’s playmate (Frank) who had also suffered from gruesome wounds to the head. A commotion came from inside the shed, so several of the men went to investigate. Trailing behind them I saw that the wagonload of packages were still unloaded and unharmed by the events of the previous night. I turned towards what was making the noise and immediately felt violently ill. Mary was crouching in the corner of the shed with a child in her arms. She wore a dark mask of dried blood and her once fair hair was now a reddish brown. Blood was still oozing from a deep gash in her forehead. Unable to bear the horror of it all I fled out the door. Mr Gilfillan was on his knees by the corpse of his wife. I couldn’t handle anymore. I sank to the ground and covered my eyes. I felt dizzy and nauseous – my head was swimming. Sometime later I managed to force up my eyelids. It was nearly dark again. This time all I could see was concrete – slabs of grey concrete overshadowing me. I was back in the cemetery. It must have been a nightmare – I mean, there’s no way that could have been real – right? I stood slowly to my feet, stretched and headed towards the gate. I put my hands into my pocket and my fingers closed around something solid. Pulling out the object I gazed at it. The label read “Snuff”.

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The Gilfillan massacre (2nd of 2)

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Story: Whanganui region

The Gilfillan massacre (2nd of 2)

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