Rowley Muster

Granny Rowley-Jenks… one of nature’s ladies

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THIS portrait of the late Mrs Jessie Rowley-Jenkins, lady of Otago’s lakeland high country, was written by PHYLLIS ASPINALL, of Mount Aspiring Station.

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Recently, the trees about Lake Hawea Station’s homestead wore their richest trappings, the deep green of conifers and muted shades of English oaks accentuating the deep reds and russets of scarlet and pin oaks.

Mighty cherry trees merged with these and with the molten gold of Spanish chestnuts, golden ash and linden trees.

It was fitting they should look their best for the passing of a woman who, with her husband, John Cotton Farmer Rowley, planted them about forty years ago.

She would have appreciated their beauty on such an occasion, being always one to admire the glories of nature. Her sense of occasion was as impeccable as that of the countryside’s — she was as subtle and beguiling in dress and character as Mother Nature herself.

“Granny Rowley-Jenks” wore an air of gracious serenity, hard-won over the years, and a firm sense of purpose had developed within her. She schooled herself against worrying. During the period in which she brought up a large family and coped wit he usual busy life on a high country station, she took full part in all activities of the Hawea district, her door always hospitably open for those in need.

An alert sense of fun helped many a difficult situation and the laugh we loved to hear was often read against herself.

When the children were small, she discovered on going outside,  very early one spring morning , that a musterer’s dog was not only loose, but very busy digging among her freshly planted vegetable seeds.

“I saw red,” she reported, “seized my husband’s gunkept handy for shooting keas, and shot that dog.”

Aghast, she rushed inside. “Jack, I’ve shot …’s  dog. What shall I do?”

“You’d  better offer him £3. It’s sure to be his best dog,” he answered, amused.

So, at breakfast, putting on a bold front, she confessed. The man accepted the situation— “After all, you did warn us not to leave dogs untied,” he said.

“That was the best £3 I ever spent,” Mrs Rowley laughed afterwards.  “By ten o’clock the news reached Tarras that Mrs Rowley had shot a musterer’s dog, and nobody ever left dogs loose again.”

Inimitable sparkle

A skilled hostess, her conversation was a delightful blend of family new mingled with storied from the past and present, always living and diverting and always offered with her own inimitable sparkle so that one left her company refreshed and stimulated.

But her family meant most of all a relationship most deeply cherished. She was a great influence in the lives of her grandchildren for they sought and heeded her advice bringing their friends as well so that contacts with the young were frequent and rewarding to both.

Although she had seen more than 86 years, she never thought of herself as “an old lady.”  There wasn’t time! She was far too busy, far  too interested in her garden, a bower of flowers to the very door. Masses of roses perfumed the air for many months, but something bright was always evident among the healthy plants rewarding her careful attention.

It was to Wanaka that she retired some time after widowhood, in 1942. Some years later she married J.C.Jenkins, who passed away in 1966.

One of my fond memories is characteristic of her. Being stranded in Wanaka one bitter July evening, I rang to ask if I might wait for my husband with her. “Give me 10 minutes,” she said. “I’ve just finished my meal.” I knew she ate early and I thought therefore, that I would be putting her to no trouble. Her greeting was radiant, “I have a meal cooking for you.” She was so pleases to prepare the impromptu offering even after a full day, and I was greatly touched, as we enjoyed an appetising meal.

Later that evening we saw Whicker’s programme on New Zealand women, but were not that impressed at our first sight of Womens’ Lib in full cry. They seemed decidedly masculine.

One couldn’t help wondering just how many of them could hold a candle to our beloved “Granny” once they reach the age of eighty plus. Could a stray caller expect such a welcome, such a meal and such an attractive hostess? Dare we venture to suggest that she achieved far more by being feminine?