In the early 1880s, everything in every town was made of wood. Houses were made of wood - all except the chimneys. Fences were made of wood and water tanks were made of wood: even street curbing was built from timber.
And at the same time, fire was used for lighting, heating and cooking. In every room, in every building, stood candles, lamps or both. Carriages in the street used wax and wicks for their lamps. Every house was warmed by an open fire and every hot meal cooked on a coal or wood-fired stove. And outside every building stood a great pile of firewood, often stacked against a wall. The threat of sudden fire was always there.
Hāwera was a tinderbox waiting for a match. To make matters worse, there were no decent streams or rivers nearby, and no big lakes to take water from if and when fire struck. Most of the town's water was collected from the roofs of shops and houses or from shallow-dug wells.
Though schemes had once been put in place to bring water from far away Tawhiti Stream, or Waingongoro River or even Lake Rotokare, rate payers had protested loudly. They'd already put their hard-earned pounds towards heavy roading costs, they said. They were not about to add more money to bring in water.
As a cheaper alternative, the council ordered a few wells dug close to the main street. These would turn out to be a blessing, as it was these wells that would one day save the town.
In 1888, when Hāwera went up in smoke for the first time, only buildings were lost. But the biggest blaze in Hāwera's history, in 1895, resulted in the loss of lives.
In the dark of an August night, seven years after the last scream of “Fire! Fire!” came another cry. A fire had begun in the draper shop of Mr C. Smith, next to the Egmont Hotel. Two of the staff, Mr C. Jewell and Mr J.A. Campbell, had been stocktaking, when a large kerosene lamp fell from its spot in the front window and set the place ablaze. All the fabrics, fripperies and fineries burst immediately into flames.
The fire jumped to the shop next door where Mr D. Nimmo Scott sold books, stationary and writing equipment, and engulfed his building in minutes. The Egmont Hotel was next in line, licked by flames that darted across Princes Street and on towards the Commercial Hotel.
As strong winds blew up Princes Street, they picked up sparks from the Commercial Hotel and set them down on the office roof of commission agent Mr J. Wilson, before whipping them into an empty shop belonging to Mr J.W. Kelly of the Egmont Hotel.
Though the fire brigade came quickly, the trickle of water that came from the pipes wasted all their efforts. Rain fell in a steady drizzle and dripped down the collars of their uniforms as they stood helpless alongside volunteers and watched Hāwera burn. Flames rose higher and higher until they'd consumed the billiard room owned by Mr G. Newsham and the tobacconist's shop in front, run by Mr M. F. Purser. The wine and spirit shop, owned by Mr F.H. Semmens, fell into the fire next. On to the new post office and courthouse the flames flickered and flew, until all down the street, every building was alight.
Mr R.A. Kemp, the baker and Mr O. Cummins, another draper, could do nothing but wring their hands in defeat as fire attacked their stores. Soon it leapt onto the back of the Commercial Hotel, where Mr F. Faber, the livery stable-keeper, kept his long row of horse boxes.
The Star Office was next in line. A brave attempt was made to thwart the flames racing off in this new direction, by pulling down the Faber Stables before the fire reduced them to ash. But the idea had come too late, and the process was too slow, and even the plot to blow them up with dynamite failed. Soon, the entire machine room of The Star was lost in the smoke and when it cleared again, was found to be completely destroyed.
The firestorm paused, for just a moment, at a brick building belonging to Mr H. Caplen, solicitor, but the front part of his premises still managed to catch alight. While on the opposite side of the street, not far from where the old Post Office stood, the spread of flames was slightly hindered by a thick block of trees.
In High Street, flames threatened Mr Sutton's brick building, currently occupied by Newcomb and Massey Drapers and chemist Robert Tait, while overhead the telegraph wires sagged and smouldered.
Communication with the outside world was impossible. Finally, the brigade and a dozen helpers dumped as much water as they could onto the Empire Hotel and Ennis and Son's tailor shop beside it and miraculously, the fire stopped. But all around the town was nothing but ashes, and soot choked people and horses.
Very little from the burned buildings was saved, just bedding from the Commercial Hotel and a few odds and ends. In The Star office, a quantity of type and stationery ensured the newspaper would carry on, but the bulk of the plant was destroyed.
The new Post Office built to replace the old one and not yet in use, was completely gone. All that remained of the two-storied wooden structure - erected by the Public Works Department, and to be opened next day - were its chimneys, sticking up from the rubble.
What would soon be known as The Great Fire of Hāwera was seen far out to sea, by crew and passengers on the deck of a coastal steamer Glenelg. It would be reported next day, on 31 August 1895, in the Hāwera and Normanby Star.
It was a wet night, too, the next time Hāwera burned. On 28 April 1912, the town caught fire again and a significant part of the rebuilt town centre went up in smoke. The Central Hotel and the premises of McGruer-Bone were lost and the blaze was fierce enough to scorch shops all along High Street.
Though the town's entire water flow was rerouted to fight the fire, there was still not enough water pressure for fire-fighters to put it out. The spray from their brigade hoses rose no higher than veranda posts.
To ensure better supply for next time and pressured by insurance companies who threatened to raise their rates if something wasn't done, the building of a water tower was proposed by the town fathers. Soon, plans were drawn up by borough engineer Mr J.C. Cameron, with the help of a Wellington structural engineer, Mr S.T. Silver.
To further appease the insurance companies, who insisted on a larger structure, the original design was increased to 54 metres in height, with a water capacity of 681,913 litres in two tanks. This put the estimated price up to £4,510.
Construction of the tower began on 11 December 1912, with the laying of a foundation stone, in a ceremony held on the completed foundations and steps. As the tower grew, scaffolding wrapped it and a staggering 1340 tonnes of hand-mixed concrete, made from beach shingle and sand, was poured into sturdy wooden formers. But two years after building began, and just before completion, the tower was discovered to have a slight southerly lean, possibly caused by an earthquake that struck in January 1914.
Cameron resolved to fix the 80cm tilt by pouring a new foundation under the already existing one. In a move that became the stuff of local myth and legend, he planned to undermine the footings, fill the tanks with water, allowing the tower to settle level.
As an engineer's report explains: "The lower side of the tower was anchored with a large block of reinforced concrete, and as the tanks were slowly filled with water, the fault was slowly reduced to about three inches. Where the tower was undermined to move it back into position, heavily reinforced concrete was introduced and the men employed were kept working all night and all the next day to get satisfactory stability established in case of rough weather."
Though fixing the tower in this way was thought to be a stroke of genius, it was also considered a hazardous way to go. Even today, some people believe it was foolhardy skulduggery carried out under cover of the night. The tower still leans 10cm to the south, but that is less than 2mm for every vertical metre.
Interestingly, it was never really used for the purpose for which it was built. Development of the Inaha water scheme made water available from another source. In December 1932, distinctive red neon-tube lighting was installed as a memorial to Taranaki pioneers, and the tower was used for the last time in 1958. In 1964, the tanks were emptied. Slowly, over time, the weather began to whittle the concrete away.
By 1972, the tower was desperately in need of attention and was closed off to the public until handrails had been repaired. Declared unsafe in 1990, it closed again, reopening the following year after more maintenance work was carried out. But time was running out for the majestic Hāwera Water Tower. In 1995, a proposal to pull it down was accepted and money found in the South Taranaki Council's coffers for its demise. It took all the efforts of certain Hāwera councillors - keen local historian Ross Dunlop in particular - to save it from destruction. In 2005, restoration work began.
Today, the Hāwera Water Tower rises from the Hāwera landscape like the tall concrete poppy it is. To many it has become an enduring symbol of the town itself. As Hāwera people often say “When you see the Water Tower, you always know you're home.”
Fryer, A. (1995). Hāwera's On Fire. Hāwera: Hāwera Historical Society.
Moore, T.N. (1982). Hāwera Fire Brigade, 1882 – 1982. Hāwera: The Brigade.
Search the Puke Ariki Heritage Collection
LinkPlease do not reproduce these images without permission from Puke Ariki.
Contact us for more information or you can order images online here.
