Cracroft Wilson

Just 4 days after my 4^th birthday, I remember standing on tiptoe peering over the fence to see the distant smoke caused by the tragic Ballantyne’s fire in central Christchurch. My sister was a tailor there but I don’t remember the hand-wringing that must have gone on until she was able to make contact.

The rubble from the building was dumped in my stamping ground, which is where the Princess Margaret Hospital now stands.

Our dairy was on Cashmere View Street, which dips down to, but not across the Heathcote River, the crossing is one street along, Fairview Street.

In those days the river was not polluted and even as I grew older, I caught fresh water crayfish, eels and the occasional trout in it.

We were not macabre, simply curious boys, but we believed that dumped with the Ballantyne’s rubble were the unidentified bodies to those who lost their lives in the fire. We searched for bones or anything that was vaguely attributable to a human body – over several years we found nothing.

Curiosity also took us around the corner to the Cracroft Wilson estate, where nobody was supposed to go! The first time we went there was after bursting the swollen paunch of a dead cow that must have died in the river – the stink drove us under the barbed-wire fence into the estate, well that was our story because we would have been seen climbing over the gate!

My Dad knew about John Cracroft Wilson, funny I always thought the name was hyphenated. And he also knew about the commandeering of the estate during WWII for the Southern Group HQ – he knew because he had the contract to deliver milk there.

Dad told us about the tunnels that were started in secret around 1942 because of the concern of a Japanese invasion - they stopped work on them in 1944 when the risk was gone. He knew the size of the spacious tunnel, 30m long, 10m wide and some 7m high!

We found the locked entrance and the excavated spoil but never saw inside. The Cracroft Caverns are now opened occasionally to the public.

I was a bit too young to chase after the fire engines but Dad went to help when the Cracroft Wilson homestead burnt down at the end of military occupation there. The rumour-mill had it that it was an intentional destruction of the building – my Dad never supported the theory.

The abandoned site was an illicit playground for us though and I’m sure our parents were unaware that we were there, I would expect some disciplining if they did!

Time is in no hurry when you are a kid, and it seemed the building and grounds were derelict for a long time before the Girl Guides took it over and we lost interest.

The man, Sir John Cracroft Wilson was a fascinating character.

My Grandfather who served in India, spoke of him with respect because of his reputation forged during Indian Mutiny.

There was a newspaper clipping that read:

Extract from a despatch of Lord Channing, the Governor-General of India, dated July 2, 1859:- “Mr. J. Cracroft Wilson, Judge of Moradabad. I name this gentleman first, because he has the enviable distinction of having, by his own obstinate courage and perseverance, saved more Christian lives than any man in India. He did this at the repeated imminent peril of his own life. He has since left the service of the Indian Government, and retired to New Zealand, whither I respectfully hope the favour of the Crown may follow him.”

Cracroft Wilson was born in India and worked his way up the ladder in the British-run Indian Civil Service distinguishing himself by supressing Thuggism, which was really all about India trying to shed the British yoke, so the Indian people would have an entirely different perspective of the man.

From the History of the Sepoy War in India: - The resolute courage which the Judge had evinced from the beginning, had made an impression on the Native soldiery, and now once more it was tested. As he rode towards the Lines he passed in front of the artillery. The Golundauze, whose treachery had been known from the first, laid their guns and lit their port-fires. Wilson’s clear blue eyes calmly confronted the murderous design. Without a sign of fear on his face he rode towards the guns, not for them, he waved his hat as a challenge to the gunners. Abashed and overawed by the bearing of the intrepid Englishman they slunk back; and Wilson was saved.

Colonialism apart, Cracroft Wilson’s experience, courage and mana allowed him to perform many good deeds in the early settlement and development of Canterbury.

Cashmere, the suburb is a lasting reflection of his influence.