The McMahon Family
Brian McMahon, born in 1837 on a small farm near Manor on the outskirts of Tralee, County Kerry, Ireland, represents a tale of migration, perseverance, and family legacy. Growing up in rural Ireland, Bryan's early life was likely shaped by the hardships of farming and the challenges faced by his community. Little did he know that his journey would take him across continents, eventually contributing to the history and development of early settler communities in Australia and New Zealand.
In 1846, Margaret Davine, Bryan's future wife, was born in Manor, also in County Kerry. It is believed that the pair, like many Irish citizens at the time, were part of a wave of emigrants fleeing the famine and seeking a better life in the colonies. The couple's migration was part of a broader historical context, with the Irish diaspora making a significant impact on the development of Australian and New Zealand societies during the 19th century.
On December 17, 1866, Bryan McMahon, aged 29, married 20-year-old Margaret Davine at Sale in Gippsland, Victoria, Australia. By this time, Bryan had already embarked on his journey as part of a broader wave of Irish immigrants. His obituary notes that he arrived in the Australian colonies during the early 1860s, with his first stops being the gold-rich areas of Bendigo and Ballarat. Like many Irish immigrants, Bryan was likely drawn to the gold rush that had captured the imaginations of so many in search of wealth and opportunity.
Bryan's travels took him further, ultimately to Gabriel's Gully in Central Otago, New Zealand, before returning to Sale to marry Margaret. The couple would later move to Addison Flat near Westport, New Zealand, where they engaged in gold mining. By the time they settled in Cronadun in 1871, Bryan and his companions were part of the gold rush that had brought so many Irish people to these lands, hoping to strike it rich.
Their decision to settle in Cronadun was not only a pursuit of gold but a commitment to building a future in an unfamiliar land. Bryan and a few fellow Irishmen ventured up the Buller River, clearing forests and establishing farms in the region. They traveled by barge along the Buller and Inangahua rivers to reach Inangahua Landing, where they set the foundation for their lives. Bryan's sons—Timothy, Terence, and John—were all born in Addison Flat, an early marker of the family's growth and success in their new home.
As Bryan and Margaret began their life in Cronadun, they lived in temporary shelters, likely made from logs or timber with tent tops. This was an early, difficult chapter of their settlement. However, the McMahons were resilient, and Bryan eventually built the first house on a rise to the left of the present-day homestead. The family’s growth continued with the birth of their other children: Mary, Agnes, Michael, and two infants who sadly died. This early house served as a place of enduring memories for the McMahon family.
The first house was eventually replaced in 1924 with a new one, but Bryan, by then an elderly man, refused to leave the room he had made his own. This room remained as a testament to his connection to the past, and it stood until Bryan's death. His life came to a tragic and poignant end on January 20, 1928, at the age of 91. As Bryan lay in bed, a candle fell and ignited a fire. Timothy, his son, heard the moans of distress and rushed to his father's side. Tragically, Bryan suffered severe burns to his arms and passed away three hours later, closing the final chapter on a life marked by hardship and resilience
Bryan McMahon at the age of 90.
On the verandah of the new house at 'Mt Pleasant', Cronadun, in 1927.
Margaret Devane was 20 when she married Bryan according to the marriage certificate. The spelling of her name on the certificate is Davine but she has signed with a 'X'. Indicating that she could not write. Other records suggest that her surname is Devane. Like most of the young women of her time she would have had no formal schooling. The celebrant would have written her name as it sounded to him
Margaret pre-deceased Bryan by many years.
she died on 28 August. 1912. at the age of 66. although the obituary stated that she was 71. The obituary in the local paper read
Death has claimed another of New Zealand's sterling pioneers in the person of the late Mrs Margaret McMahon, who passed peacefully away at the residence of her daughter, Mrs J Ellera, Molesworth Street, Wellington, on Wednesday, August 28. Deceased, who was born at Manor County Kerry, 71 years ago, left for Australia at an early age, and ultimately settled at Cronadun, on the West Coast, where she resided for the past 40 years. About Six months ago failing eyesight necessitated her temporary residence in Wellington to undergo expert treatment. Her general health was excellent, and her unexpected death, due to a fit of coughing, accentuating an old heart trouble, came as a Shock.
Mrs McMahon, who was possessed of a striking personality, was widely known and appreciated for her many excellent qualities, and her charitable disposition and genial manner endeared her to one and all. She will be deeply mourned by a very large circle of relatives and friends.
Her husband, Mr Bryan McMahon, still survives, also two daughters and four sons. One daughter. Mrs J O'Regan, predeceased her mother two years ago.
A Requiem Mass was celebrated on Saturday at the Sacred Heart Basilica by Rev Father Hickson, assisted by Rev Father Venning, the church being filled on the occasion by a large congregation of friends.
The remains were sent on to Reefton, where the funeral took place on Tuesday, September 3, and was attended by the
largest and most representative concourse of mourners seen in the district for many years. The remains on arrival from Wellington were taken to the Church, and thence to the town cemetery. Rev Father Galerne, who officiated both at the Church and the graveside, spoke in feeling terms of the many good qualities of the deceased.
MARGARET McMAHON
Bryan McMahon
The McMahon family’s journey through generations in New Zealand traces back to Bryan McMahon, who was born in 1837 in County Kerry, Ireland. From humble beginnings on a farm in Tralee, Bryan's early life was shaped by hardship and perseverance. His migration to Australia in the early 1860s in search of opportunity would ultimately lead him to New Zealand, where he and his wife, Margaret Davine, would build a life in the rugged, remote lands of the West Coast. Their story is one of resilience, community, and the passing of generational values, which remain alive in the memories of their descendants.
Timothy, the eldest son of Bryan and Margaret, was born at Addisons Flat on 13 February 1868. He was baptised by Father T Walshe on 16 February 1868. His godparents were Jeremiah O'Sullivan and Johanna O'Keefe. Timothy's baptism and marriage records were obtained from St Canice's presbytery in Westport.
When Timothy was three, the family moved from the gold fields at Addison's Flat, Westport, to Cronadun in the Inangahua Valley, where Bryan took up land and began to clear the bush on the river flats to establish his farm.
The family lived in two tent huts until the first house was built. Bryan used to call Timothy 'Thaidy" (Thade the Irish for Timothy). From this, some folk came to call him 'Teddy', and the local newspaper once referred to him as 'Mr Edward McMahon".
Timothy was the eldest of nine children, two of whom died in infancy. His brothers and sisters were: John (Johnny), Terence, Mary Theresa, Agnes, Elizabeth Ellen, Michael Eugene, and Lucy and Julia, the two who died. He attended school for a while at a little Catholic primary boarding school that had just been established at Ahaura, some fifty kilometres from Cronadun. Aunty Lil believes that he walked there at the beginning ofthe week, and back home again on Friday.
When he was 13, Timothy lost the sight of one eye. He was hit by a pellet from a shanghai fired by a boy with whom he was playing. He was sent by himself to Australia, on a sailing ship, to an eye specialist because there wasn't one in New Zealand.
The specialist could not help him, in fact he might have contributed to the total loss of sight in that eye. In his later years Timothy used a magnifying glass to assist him in reading the newspaper.
In his youth, Timothy, and his brother Johnny, worked at fencing on Fern Flat, the area between Brazil's farm to the south of Cronadun, and Waitahu, nearer Reefton. They earned about four shillings a day. Later, he joined a road building team in the Matakitaki Valley, near Murchison. With him on this team was P. J. O'Regan who, after years of study (initially by candle light in the tent huts at night after a day's work on the roads) qualified in law, and went on to become a Judge of the Arbitration Court. They were there at the time of the Tarawera eruption, on 10 June, 1886, and they heard the noise of it from their tent that night.
Timothy would have been eighteen at the time.
From road building, Timothy moved on to Merrijigs, fifteen kilometres south of Reefton, where he was employed as a stationary engine driver at the Globe gold mine. We think he later became mine manager. It was at Merrijigs that he met Catherine Nevin. They were married in her home town, Brighton, (which is now named Tiromoana), south of Charleston, on 20 June 1899. He was 31 and she was 29. The celebrant was Father T Walshe. This could have been the same Father Walshe who baptised Timothy 31 years earlier.
Timothy began to feel the effects of the quartz dust, so he decided to leave the mine and go and join his father Bryan, and brother, Terence, on the farm at Cronadun. He and his wife and young family left Merrijigs and moved in to Reefton until the twins were born (14 November, 1910), then they moved out to the farm. He had biked out to the farm each day from Reefton prior to the move.
Timothy worked from daylight to dark all through his life as he developed the farm and raised a family. Dairy farming was a demanding and labour intensive job, particularly in those days before machinery was developed to do some of the heavy work. The day started around 5 am when he and family helpers would set out to bring the cows in for early morning milking. After breakfast the work of the day would progress through such labours as separating the cream, hand churning the butter, taking the cream cans down to the stand at the gate for pick-up, carrying heavy pails of skim milk up to feed the pigs, cleaning out the dairy sheds and yards, carting the manure slops in a horse-drawn sled to spread on the fields, horse-drawn ploughing and harvesting,
hand splitting totara to make fence posts and battens, fencing, stumping, taking the horse and cart up to the railway siding to bring back fertilizer, etc., and then bringing the herd back in for the evening milking. He used to bike the twenty kilometres to Inangahua over rough metal roads to deliver rolls of bacon, and then bike home again. Back-breaking work it was indeed, and, although he had very little sickness throughout his life, he was quite stooped in his later years. At the end of each long day the family would gather in the lounge afterdinner for the family rosary.
1950
TIMOTHY McMAHON
Terence was born at Addisons Flat in 1871. When he was a baby the family moved from the goldfields at Addison's Flat, Westport, to Cronadun in the Inangahua Valley, when Bryan decided to take up land and establish a farm. As a young man Terence farmed with his father, but later he and Timothy decided to divide the property and have separate farms. The home farm was Mt Pleasant, and the farm that Terence took was called ‘The Bluff after the prominent bluff that towered over part of it. This was about a kilometre along the road from the home farm.
On 28 June 1911, at the Catholic Church at Brunnerton, Terence married Frances Jane Rea (Jenny Rea). He was 40 and she was 28. The celebrant was Father James P. O'Connor. The Rea family came from Ross in South Westland.
Terence and Jenny raised a family and farmed The Bluff for the rest of their days. As they grew older, the farm was passed over to their eldest son, Jim (Plum), who in turn married and raised a family on the farm.
Terence died on 2 January 1943, at the age of 71
TERENCE EDWARD McMAHON
1901
The New Generation
Catherine was the daughter of Thomas and Matilda Nevin. Thomas was born in New Brunswick, Canada, and Matilda (Donnelly) was born in Enniskillen, County Fermanagh, Ireland. Catherine was born at Brighton, near Westport, on 31 January, 1870. As a young woman she worked first as a housemaid, from the age of twelve, at the house of a prominent family in Westport, for twelve shillings per week. After a time the job became too much for her so she left. Her next position was as a cook at the presbytery in Westport. Her sister Molly was working as a cook at the hotel at Merrijigs, and she persuaded Catherine to come and join her when a vacancy occurred. this was how she came to meet, and later marry, Timothy
Catherine was the eldest of ten children, two of whom were drowned in the Fox River when they were teenagers. Her sisters and brothers were: Charlie, Margaret Jane, John, Mary, Anne, Thomas, James, Patrick, Jean, and Margaret.
Catherine died at Cronadun on 4 August 1939, at the age of 69. She dropped dead while working at the kitchen sink
Her obituary in the local paper summed up her life, and the esteem in which she was held:
“Mrs. Catherine McMahon (Cronadun)
The sudden death occurred recently at her residence,
, 'Mount Pleasant,' Cronadun, West Coast, of Mrs. Catherine McMahon, wife of Mr. Timothy McMahon, J.P., and one of the best known residents of the Inangahua district. The deceased was in her seventieth year, and was born at Brighton, West Coast, being the eldest child
of the late Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Nevin, who were among the earliest Irish settlers in that locality. She was married to Mr Timothy McMahon, of Cronadun, at Brighton in 1899, and after residing for a time at Merrijigs and Reefton, settled in Cronadun twenty-nine years ago.
The late Mrs. McMahon was well known and respected for her charitable disposition and her sterling Catholicity. She always made the family Rosary an integral part of each day's duties, and always implanted in her family a love for all things Catholic. The esteem in which the deceased was widely held was evidenced by the large number of messages of condolence which were received by the family, including one from a Minister of the Crown and one from a member of the
Judicature.
Those left to mourn the loss of a loving wife and mother are her husband and an adult family of five sons: Jack (New Zealand Railways, Lyttelton), Patrick (Waiuta), Leonard (Maria), and Owen and Nevin (Cronadun); also three daughters, Mrs M.J. Ryan (Bainesse, Palmerston North), Margaret (Blackball) and Elizabeth (Cronadun). There are also four brothers and two sisters.
The funeral, , which took place at the Reefton suburban cemetery, was very largely attended. Requiem Mass was celebrated at St Michael's Church, Cronedun, by Rev. Father Butler (Reefton), who also conducted the last rites at the graveside, assisted by Rev. Fathers O'Brien (Reefton) and Browne (Ahaura):
(4 August, 1939)
CATHERINE McMAHON
Wife of Timothy
The Children of Bryan and Margaret McMahon
John was born at Addisons Flat in 1869. He was a young child when the family moved from the goldfields at Addison's Flat to Cronadun in 1871. He remained a bachelor throughout his life.
As a young man Johnny worked at fencing with his brother Timothy for some of the farmers in the Reefton Cronadun area. He spent most of his working life at Larry's Creek, in the Inangahua Valley, where he had a small sawmill which cut mainly railway sleepers and pit props for the mines. He owned his own piece of land in the bush and he built his own sawmill and bush tramway for the milling operation. Aunty Lil used to bike down to his shack two or three times a week to take him some of the home cooking.
Johnny built a gateway at his shack at Larry's Creek, which became an attraction for passing motorists.
The policeman's head would nod as the gate was opened. The inscription above the gate read:
B it raining or sunshine
B it early or late
B spared from yon Bobby
By shutting the gate
He had no fear of animals. Stories are told of him riding a wild bull down to the farm, and even riding a wild boar up in the bush.
After a bad fall from his horse, which left him lying unconscious in the bush before a search party found him, he stayed at the farm at Cronadun for two or three years, then he went to live with his sister, Agnes, in Paekakariki.
Johnny was a mixture of recluse, genius, and eccentric. He enjoyed writing poetry; he was also something of an inventor. At the time of his death he had designed an air braking system for railway trains, and this was before Westinghouse had come on the scene. Poetry just seemed to come to him. He could compose a poem for any occasion in a very short time. He also wrote some of the obituaries that were printed in the local papers at the time of a family member's death. The one he wrote on the death of Tess McMahon appears later in this collection.
He was killed while crossing a street in Wellington, on 19 January, 1939, and he is buried, with Bryan, in the old Reefton cemetery. He was the last person to be buried there. Unfortunately when the familv went to collect his gateway on the day of his death, they found that it had already been taken.
His obituary in The Christchurch Press, on 23 January, 1939, read:
*Mr John McMahon
The death has occurred in Wellington of Mr John McMahon, of Cronadun. Mr McMahon met with an accident with a tram in Wellington last Monday, and did not recover from his injuries. He was a single man, 69 years of age, and a native of Addison's, being a son of the late Mr and Mrs Bryan McMahon, of Cronadun. Mr McMahon was engaged in farming pursuits in Cronadun until a few years ago, when he became seriously ill.
He is survived by one sister, Miss A. McMahon (Wellington), and three brothers, Messrs Timothy and Terence McMahon (Cronadun), and Eugene McMahon (America). The funeral was held at Reefton yesterday.
Johnny and his dog, Swiper, which he had for twenty years.
JOHN McMAHON (JOHNNY MAC)
Agnes was born at Cronadun on 6 June, 1875. She lived on the farm until her late teen years, then she moved
to Wellington and worked for many years as a barmaid in the hotel owned by her sister and brother-in-law,
Mary Theresa (Cis) and James Elleray. She is reputed to have been somewhat superior in her outlook on life,
and to have been very hard on Eugene when he was a boy on the farm. This was probably one of the reasons for
Eugene leaving home. She is said to have had boy friends, and was courted by the Commissioner of Police at one
stage, but she remained a spinster.
Although she worked in Wellington, and lived in the hotel for much of the time, she had her own home at
Paekakariki. It was here that she spent her retirement.
When her niece, Catherine Mary (Kit), left the farm as a twenty year old, she went to Paekakariki and stayed
with Agnes for a short while. It was here that Kit met Mick Ryan who was living next door. On one of their
outings on Mick's motor bike there was a mishap in which Kit badly injured her leg.
Agnes is buried at Paraparaumu.
AGNES McMAHON
Mary Theresa was born at Cronadun on the 8th July, 1873. In her late teenage years she left the farm and went to work in Wellington. She married James Elleray and had four children - Theresa, Bryan, John, and Margaret. James Elleray was a publican in Wellington. He had the Hotel Featherston for many years, and then had the Princess Hotel in Molesworth Street until it closed. He then bought a big house in Brougham Street in Wellington. All the children went to boarding school.
Mary Theresa Elleray is buried in the Karori cemetery.
d. 30 November 1936
MARY THERESA MCMAHON (AUNTY CIS)
Bryan’s sons, Terence and Timothy, continued to carry on his legacy by dividing the family farm. The home farm, known as ‘Mt Pleasant,’ became the centerpiece of their landholding, while Terence established a new farm called ‘The Bluff,’ named after a prominent bluff that loomed over it. This division marked not only a physical splitting of the land but also a continuation of the McMahon family’s growth in the new world.
In examining the life of Bryan McMahon, we see the story of an Irish immigrant who overcame numerous challenges—starting from a humble farm in Ireland to becoming part of the fabric of early settler life in New Zealand. His resilience, work ethic, and strong family values were passed on to his children and would help shape the future of his descendants. Bryan McMahon’s journey serves as a testament to the immigrant experience and the pivotal role that perseverance played in forging new communities in far-flung corners of the world. His legacy continues to resonate, a reminder of the sacrifices made by countless others who sought a better life in foreign lands.
views of the new house at 'Mt Pleasant. The old house, without its verandan, can be seen beside the house in the top photo. Bryan's room from the old house can be seen behind the left gate post.
The roadside gates were a feature of the farm.
The loss of Bryan cast a long shadow over the family, and James and Rahapa never quite recovered from the pain. But life, as it tends to do, pressed on. The McMahons continued to grow their family. Over the years, Alan, Frances, Cyril, Margaret, Elizabeth, Rosalie, Lenard, Carol, Kathleen, Patrick, and Anne-Maree joined the family, each child adding their own spark to the bustling household. Through it all, Rahapa and James remained steadfast, their bond and love for each other and their children never wavering.
By June 1973, after years of hard work, the McMahons made the difficult decision to sell the farm and leave Cronadun behind. The family moved to Richmond, Nelson, where James and Rahapa would spend the remainder of their lives. It was a new chapter in their lives, away from the land that had defined their early years. Yet even as they settled into their new home, their hearts remained tied to the farm that had witnessed both their joys and their sorrow.
James passed away on February 28, 1989, after suffering a heart attack. Rahapa, ever strong, would live on until July 9, 1993, when Alzheimer’s disease finally took her from them.
Their legacy, however, lives on in their children and their memories. Bryan, though gone too soon, is remembered by all as the boy who was always kind, always helpful. The farm they once called home, the trials they faced, and the love they shared—these are the things that will never fade, a testament to the resilience of a family bound by both love and loss.
James Bryan McMahon and Rahapa Alice Johnsen
James Bryan McMahon, known as "Plum" to all who knew him, was a man shaped by both the land and the love of his life. Born in 1912, he grew up on the family farm (The Bluff) in Cronadun, the eldest son of Terence and Jenny McMahon. With seven siblings—Mim, Rita, Jean, Alisha, Thomas, Paul, and Kevin—James was no stranger to hard work. His childhood was spent in the shadows of mountains and alongside the rivers that coursed through the farm.
Jean, James, Rita, Mim
When James' father passed away, it was he and his two brothers, Paul and Kevin, who inherited the farm. James, determined to hold onto it, began working in the mine at Boatman’s Road during the day and then laboring on the farm in the evenings to save enough money to buy his brothers out. His hands were always full, but his heart had a singular focus: to keep the farm in the family.
James’ hard work, however, didn’t only extend to the farm. One fateful day, while helping his Aunt Lil, he met Rahapa Alice Johnsen, a young woman from Takaka, Golden Bay. Rahapa had grown up in a family of five, raised by her parents, Alice and John. She had attended boarding school in Nelson and in her twenties worked in various jobs, including as a maid at the Star and Garter and a private residence on Hill Street in Richmond.
When Rahapa came to Cronadun to work for Aunt Lil O'Malley, it was then that her path crossed with James’. The spark between them was immediate, and the two quickly fell in love. They married on the 8th of September 1943 in Lyttelton, and soon after, they made the McMahon farm their home. Over the next three decades, they would raise their large and lively family, 13 children in total, on that very farm.
Rahapa Alice Johnsen
Maria, carried with her the warm and vivid memories of her childhood on the farm at the Bluff, Cronadun. Life on the farm, though hard at times, was full of moments of laughter and play. "We had to make our own fun," she recalled, Her days were filled with adventures like going eeling, or constructing secret hideouts in the hay shed. These moments of freedom, though humble, became the foundation of fond memories that she would carry forever.
Sundays were especially significant. The family attended Mass at the local Cronadun Church. Afterward, it was back to the farm, where we would help mum prepare the the vegetables, lovingly peeled and chopped, The Sunday roast which Mum put frozen in the bottom oven of the coal range, the night before she went to bed was cooked slowly., then after church the next day it was placed in the top oven "Mum always had a way of making the roast taste so good," Maria recalled"We often ended up with extras, and they were always a treat."
Most days when we were all home "After breakfast, Dad would say, ‘Time to go and pick up stones,’" Maria remembered. "We served our apprenticeship doing that, picking up rocks from the fields and helping with milking the cows. It was hard work, but it taught us discipline and the value of perseverance."
As the years passed, the landscape of their Sunday routine began to change. The Cronadun church closed, and the family began traveling to Reefton for Mass. Yet, there was one tradition that remained unchanged. On their way home, Dad would stop at the Cronadun Hotel. He would return with two glasses of Raspberry drinks, a treat for the children, shared between them on the journey home. It was a small, sweet indulgence that made those long drives a little brighter.
Childhood Memories
I remember Tommy and Dick, the draft horses. They were the real muscle behind our work back then, always there to help us cut and rake the hay. After the hay was gathered, we'd load it onto the dray, and sometimes, we'd take the Model A truck to cart it all in. It was always such a satisfying feeling, building those hay stacks.
Dad had a way of teaching me, whether it was with his hands on the wood for the pig pens or guiding me as we worked together on the horse stables. Those were some of my proudest moments—helping build something. I can still feel the tremor of that first earthquake. I was with Jimmy and Dad down in the bottom paddock, tending to the animals when a strange noise rumbled through the ground. The cows, frightened and skittish, bolted off, and we could see the earth moving, like a wave coming toward us. It was an eerie sight, one that left me frozen in place for a moment, not sure what to make of it.
I remember one time there was the lightning storm in the middle of the night, something I’ll never forget. The lightning was so fast between flashes that it almost felt like daylight. It lit up the entire sky, and we could walk around in the brightness, but it wasn’t just the light that got to us—it was the power of it. I remember the lightning striking the phone wires, blowing fuses right off the wall. Those fuses smashed in the hallway, and we kids—well, we were scared out of our wits. I remember running into Mum and Dad’s room, seeking safety.
The sports days with Nev and Owen in their paddock were something to look forward to. Everyone got involved, and there was always laughter, sometimes a bit of a competition. Those moments, simple and carefree, are the ones I carry with me.
I also remember learning to box in Cronadun Hall. It wasn’t just about the fighting—it was about discipline, the focus, the preparation. I had a few good bouts, but I’ll always remember my last fight. I faced off with Ian Abbot, and in the end, I managed to knock him out. It wasn’t something I bragged about, but it gave me a sense of achievement, something to carry with me.
And then there was that little unspoken rule when heading to church. If Walsh’s car wasn’t parked outside when we passed, we knew we were late. It was as simple as that.
My memory of Bryan
When I talked to mum about Bryan, I remember her saying he was different from the rest - a good boy. Quiet and did what he was told, and would take the blame when being told off. Mum might have known about my next story!
Bryan and I always played together around the house and up the hill. Once I remember being in the garage pulling a part into pieces, a magneto, which is part of the motor of the tractor. Dad caught us, so | blamed Bryan! (As he was willing to take the blame). So Dad told him off, and made him stand under the swing near the cowshed until Dad said he could go.
Maria Jean McMahon, born on January 8, 1944
Their first child, Maria Jean McMahon, was born on January 8, 1944, and soon after, the McMahons were a bustling family. Bryan, their second-born, came into the world on June 30, 1945. Bryan was a quiet and well-mannered boy, known for being a helper, never causing trouble. Tragically, Bryan's life was cut short in an accident that would haunt the family forever. It was September 24, 1952, when Bryan, at just seven years old, was helping his father milk the cows. James asked him to turn off the Lister Diesel motor, something Bryan had done countless times before.
But that day was different. It was raining, and Bryan was wearing a raincoat. As he turned off the motor, his raincoat became caught in the flywheel shaft. In a tragic twist of fate, the motor started up unexpectedly and, pulling Bryan into the machinery, he was horribly injured. James rushed to his son, carrying him back to the house, where his brother Paul tried to tend to him. Bryan was rushed to the hospital, but despite all efforts, he passed away from his injuries. The McMahons were shattered. Bryan, the quiet boy who always did as he was asked, was gone.
Alan Patrick McMahon born on the 26th of October, 1946
My earliest childhood memories take me back to the time after Bryan’s accident. I can still see him at the back steps, just before he went off to the hospital. I’ll never forget the story Maria told us. When she found out Bryan had died, she remembered he had a dental appointment, and in her own way, she took it upon herself to let the dentist know. She said, “Bryan won’t be in today because he’s died.”
Another memory I hold dear is bath time, which always came around on Saturday nights, in preparation for church the next day. The ritual was one of simplicity and practicality. I’d head out to the cowshed to fill two buckets of hot water, carry them home, and pour them into the bath. The first bucket went in, followed by the youngest of us. The second bucket would go in for the rest of the younger ones. Afterward, the older ones would take their turns in the same water. It was all part of the routine, but it felt special, a moment shared by us all.
Whatever Alan and Jimmy could do, I always thought I could do too. Alan had a slug gun, and while they were milking, I’d take the opportunity to try shooting Pukeko’s. I knew the gun was dangerous, so I always kept it pointed at the ground. I was more worried about the possibility of accidentally shooting someone in Cronadun, miles away. But one day, the unexpected happened—the gun went off. My heart raced as I thought I’d shot myself in the foot! In a panic, I dropped the gun. I knew it was made of lead, and if it hit your heart, you were done for. I ran home from the paddock, fear gripping me. Dad, still milking, just shook his head and muttered, "Trust you," and continued on. It wasn’t until later that I had it cut out by the doctor. At least I got to wear my new, flash brinylon cardigan for the occasion!
Another memory comes from Rosie, running inside to get the broom. She’d shout, “The drake is hurting the ducks again!” Nature was at play, but Rosie would still whack the drake with the broom for causing trouble with the ducks. Mum and John would laugh, and I couldn’t help but join in, though I didn’t understand exactly what was going on at the time.
Over the years, Paul (Katie) had a nickname for each of us. Some were funny, some were teasing, but they stuck. Maria became “Horse Face” (looking back, I see it as a bit unkind, but I don’t think Paul meant it that way). Alan was “Yonker,” Jimmy was “Wrecker,” I was “Joey” (after the incident with the slug gun—Sluggy Joe, as Paul called me), Margy was “Ted,” Liza was “Agg,” Rosie was “Pony,” John was “Jack,” Carol was “Murph,” Kathy was “Staffy,” Patrick was “Mans,” and Anne-Maree became “Biddy.”
Frances June McMahon
28-07-1948
When I look back on my life, I think how lucky we all were to have been brought up on the farm. I remember the days spent milking cows, It wasn’t always easy, and there was something special about the connection to the land.
I was about seven years old when we had a working bee at the Cronadun School. Our job for the day? Picking up stones. All day long, about four acres of them! It felt endless, but we kept at it. At the end of the day, Mr. Young, the teacher, thanked us for the hard work and handed out a half crown to each of us. A half crown! That was a lot of money in those days, back in 1955. It was a small reward for a long day, but we felt proud of our effort.
The school years hold other memories too, like the year I was selected to represent Cronadun at the West Coast school boys’ rugby team for the Seddon Shield. I’ll never forget how proud I was, so eager to share the news with Dad. But when I did, all I got was a smile. He never said much, but I could tell he was pleased. We played against Nelson that year, 1960, and ended up drawing the shield.
Then there was the eeling, a favorite pastime of Alan and me. We would spend hours on the hunt, and in 1964, we managed to catch a 25-and-a-half-pound eel! We entered it into the West Coast eeling competition, and to our surprise, we won! The biggest eel caught on the coast that year, and between us, we pocketed two guineas. It felt like a great achievement, a bit of fortune from the waters.
One day, though, the ground beneath us shook in a way I’d never known before. The Inangahua earthquake. I was never so scared in my life. The world seemed to shift, and I remember looking around, unsure of what was happening or how bad it would get. It was a moment of pure fear, one that I’ll never forget.
And then there was the hardest day of my childhood, when Bryan passed away. I was just four and a half years old. I can still remember the hurt and the sadness that came with it. It was the kind of grief that a young child shouldn’t have to bear, but life doesn’t always offer fairness. That day changed me, in ways I still carry with me.
Looking back on it all, I can see the way the farm shaped us. It gave us purpose, pride, and memories that have stayed with me all these years.
Cyril James McMahon
28/07/1948
I remember the day we got our first black and white TV, brought by Alan. It was a wild, wet weekend, and when we finally turned it on, the first thing we saw was the tragic Wahine Disaster, which had occurred on the 10th of April 1968 near Wellington. It was such a somber sight, seeing the disaster where 51 people had lost their lives.
One day, Fran and I decided to take Jimmy’s car out without asking him, and we drove up to O'Malley’s. When we returned, we made sure to park the car exactly where it had been, so Jimmy wouldn’t notice. But we didn't know that the aerial was still up, and it touched the power wire that led from the house to the cowshed. We got such a shock when we got out of the car—so much so that we jumped out and threw ourselves to the ground. Paul had to come to the rescue and held a plank of wood to keep the aerial away while someone drove the car away. Of course, because of the drama, Jimmy found out that we had taken the car.
I also remember sweeping the gravel with Elizabeth, using a yard broom to make streets out on the gravel leading to the cowshed. We weren't allowed to step off the streets we made, and we spent a lot of time ensuring the streets stayed intact.
One of my daily jobs was making eight school lunches for everyone, and on Saturdays, my task was to gather everyone’s shoes and polish them for church. The back porch would be full of shoes, all neatly lined up for the week.
When we went to church, we always looked for the Walsh's car to know whether we were late. If their car was still there, we knew we had time. I remember one time, we arrived early (the clock must have been wrong), and we were the first to get there. We sat in the back seat, but Mrs. Smith kicked us out because that was where she always sat. When the Cronadun Church closed, we traveled to the Reefton Catholic Church. We kids had a plan—half of us would go up one aisle, and the rest would go up the other, thinking the congregation wouldn’t realize we came from the same family!
At night, we always said a prayer, usually something like, "God bless Mum, Dad, all my brothers and sisters." But I always added, “and please make Bruce Whitnall a good boy,” along with, “and the ducks and chooks lay.” It was my little way of hoping for good things for everyone.
One of my most memorable experiences was going on a school excursion to Wellington. We traveled by train to Lyttelton, then took an overnight ship called the Maori to Wellington. We spent the day in the city before returning. Mum bought me a new yellow cardigan with gold buttons for the trip, but I didn’t want to get it dirty, so I didn’t wear it. It ended up becoming my “flash” church cardigan, which I wore proudly every Sunday.
Margaret Mary McMahon
01/10/1950
Memories of Growing Up at - The Bluff Cronadun.
Growing up in Cronadun, life was a mix of simple joys, hard work, and plenty of adventure.
One of my favourite memories is of Cronadun School. It wasn’t big, but it had everything we needed – a place to learn, laugh, and grow. We all knew each other, and the teachers were like extended family. Christmas time brought a special kind of magic, and I still remember the year Santa was especially good to me. I got a beautiful doll and pram.
We spent so much time outside. Swimming in the creek was one of our favourite summer pastimes, the cool water refreshing us after long, hot days. There was a wooden plank that we had to walk across to cross the creek, and I can still picture the balancing act, the thrill of not knowing if I’d make it across without slipping in.
One of my regular jobs was feeding the chooks. I loved the clucking sounds they made and the way they crowded around when they saw me coming with the feed. Picking swedes for the pigs in winter was another task – not always my favourite, Those winters were cold.
Up the road, there was the Pussy Willow tree to me, it will always be one of those little markers of home.
Sunday roasts were a big part of the week. The whole family would gather, and there was always enough food for everyone. The smells from the kitchen would fill the house, and we’d sit down together, enjoying the meal and each other’s company. On Easter, the Easter bunny brought only one marshmallow egg after lunch – but that was enough to make us all feel like the luckiest kids in the world.
I can’t forget the old Model A. It wasn’t the fastest or most glamorous car, but it was ours, and it held so many memories of family outings and adventures. Katie’s old hut is another spot etched in my memory – that little hideaway where we’d spend hours playing, making up stories, and sharing secrets.
We all had nicknames, the kind that stick with you for life. We’d race around the yard on our bikes – the old blue and brown bikes – riding on the tracks we made sweeping with a broom. Hide and seek was always a favourite game, especially when it was played just as dusk was settling in, all the games were played until it got dark. I remember drawing a snake on the old man’s back once – a silly thing, but it’s one of those memories that still makes me laugh.
As I look back now, I have no regrets. Life in Cronadun was full of love, hard work, and the kind of freedom that comes from growing up on a farm. And, as the seventh of us all, I’m proud to say that those memories will always be part of who I am.
Elizabeth Anne McMahon
30/09/1953
Taking a trip down memory lane, I find myself reflecting on the early years of my life as one of the 13 children in our bustling household. I was number 8, right in the middle of it all, which meant I had my share of adventures and memories.
One thing that stands out is the sack races down the hill. There was always so much laughter and fun, with all of us tumbling down the hill in the old potato sacks. I can still remember as I raced to the finish line, giggling the whole way.
Christmas was always a special time, but one memory from that time sticks with me. One year, I received a doll with long, dark hair. I loved her so much, but over the years, she saw better days. Eventually, her foot broke off, and I couldn’t bear to just throw her away. I decided to give her a resting place under a tree in the backyard. RIP, little doll.
Life on the dairy farm was full of moments that shaped who I am. I had a pet calf named Sue, and I loved her dearly. But things took a sad turn when Sue reacted to a TB test and had to go to the works. Later, we found out the test results were clear, so you can imagine how I felt. I wasn’t shy about telling the vet, Lee Webster, exactly how I felt about the whole situation.
As a family, we were active. The girls played netball, while the boys, of course, were into rugby. I also represented Reefton in athletics for my age group, something I was always proud of.
Living on a dairy farm meant I had to do my part, so I spent time milking cows both before and after school. It wasn’t always easy, but it was a part of daily life that taught me discipline and responsibility.
I had a love for dance too, and I started ballet at the age of five and six. It was an escape, a way to express myself, and I still cherish those early lessons.
And then there were the Moonlight Races, a family fun day that brought everyone together. Running races, lolly scrambles, horses – it was the perfect mix of excitement and joy.
Looking back, life on the farm was full of ups and downs, but it was also filled with unforgettable moments. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Rosalie Agnes McMahon
06/12/1955
Lenard John McMahon
08/08/1957
Memory Snippets from Shit Street Days - By Lenard John McMahon ("Jack")
One of my daily chores was bringing the cows in for milking around 5 PM. I’d send Rah off to round up the herd, while I’d ride my favorite pet cow, feeling like the king of the farm as we trotted home.
The nickname 'Jack.' It was Paul—Katie, I think, who started calling me that one day. Don’t even remember exactly why, but it stuck like glue.
The cow shed was always a bit spooky at night, especially when it was my turn to fetch the cream. My sisters were too scared, so I’d go alone, walking slowly towards the shed. But, once I had that cream, I felt like the fastest runner in the world as I raced back to the house.
I remember finding money behind the back seat of the railway bus one day. I showed Mum, and she immediately took it from me, putting it into the grocery jar. That was the last time I ever told her about money I found.
There was the time I accidentally hit Biddy in the forehead with a softball bat while we were playing. I was batting, and she walked behind me to grab her shoes. Wham! I didn’t realize it at the time, but apparently, she spent a whole week in the hospital after that. I suppose she deserved it, though.
Then there was the day Rosie and I were lighting the fire in the girls’ room. I wanted to be the one to do it, but Rosie wouldn’t let me. So, in a moment of mischief, I lit her pants on fire while she was wearing them! I can still see her running around like a madwoman. She wasn’t too happy with me after that.
On one of those rare Sundays when Dad and I had time off from farm work, we decided to cut down some trees to build a goalpost across the creek from the water tank. It was for rugby kicking practice. Dad had a hunch I might have some talent, and he wanted to help me develop it.
Mans and I also formed ‘Alan & Thompson Constructions.’ We were determined to build a bridge across the creek to the goalposts. We ended up building that bridge three times because it kept getting washed away. But we kept at it, and it felt like the world was ours for the taking.
I remember the cold winter mornings when I would climb aboard the school bus. The ride was long, but there was always something special about getting home, where Mum would have hot soup and freshly baked scones waiting for us.
I went to Sacred Heart School in Reefton, where we were taught by nuns. The discipline was strict, but the nuns were kind in their own way. I wore a navy blue gym frock as my school uniform, and I remember ironing the pleats by sliding it under the mattress to press them. It wasn't like the uniforms my friends wore, and I had to wear plain white ankle socks in winter – no lace like the others had.
Sports were a big part of my life. I represented Buller Primary in netball, and I was also a part of the Reefton Athletics Club, competing in the championships in Christchurch. I was so proud to come 5th in the final heat – it felt like a huge achievement.
Every year, we would go to Greymouth to buy our new shoes, and that felt like such a treat. And once a year, on our birthdays, Mum would give us 10c to buy our fish and chips at school. We felt like it was a special occasion.
Being a twin meant I had to wear the same clothes as Kathy, which could be frustrating at times. But at least the clothes were new, and that made it a bit better.
Sundays were always special. We would go to church, and when we returned home, there would be a Sunday roast waiting for us, cooked in the coal range. We'd sit at the long grey stool, which could fit all four of us at the back of the table.
And then there were the nights in October when we'd kneel in a circle to say the rosary. It was hard to keep a straight face when someone let out a fart, but we all did our best to stay serious. Those little moments of laughter and mischief made the experience more memorable.
I also helped Dad milk the cows, about 80 of them, alongside Rosalie, John, or Patrick. It was hard work being out there with the cows, early in the morning or late at night.
Carol Teresa McMahon
03/07/1959
Even though I lived on the farm, I was always scared of the animals. It was a funny thing, being surrounded by them all the time, but I never really felt comfortable. Because of that, I did my share of working in the house. I didn't have to milk the cows like the others. Instead, I took turns peeling the potatoes, feeding the chooks, doing the dishes, and one of my least favorite chores: was getting down on my hands and knees to scrub the hallway, then I'd have to polish it all too.
One of the things I remember most vividly was sitting at the kitchen table for hours, trying to finish my frog eggs – that sago pudding. I hated it so much, and I couldn't leave the table until every last bit was gone. Four hours it took me to finish it. That was a test of patience I would never wish on anyone! The same went for any bits of fat stuck to the meat; I couldn't stand them.
There were times when I tried to play with Carol and Patrick, but they didn't always want me around. I’d be sent home, which left me feeling like I was the odd one out. But there was also a time when Carol, Biddy and I would take a picnic lunch down behind the barn and sit in the long grass before it was cut for hay. We’d pretend we were a long way from home, as if we were on some big adventure.
I also loved playing goal shoot for my school netball team. It was something I enjoyed, and tennis, too – that was always a good time.
One day, Carol and I went to Carters Beach with Father Williams, who had his niece and nephew with him. They asked how many were in our family. Carol answered four, but I said twelve.
Kathleen Anne McMahon
03/07/1959
Some of my earliest memories are of my first game of rugby at Ikamatua when I was around four or five years old, and then traveling on the bus to Greymouth and Westport every second Saturday to play rugby in the frost.
When I was five, I attended Cronadun School for a year or two before moving to the Catholic School in Reefton. I was an altar boy there, alongside my cousin Vince, at Cronadun Church. We were always running late for church, though.
Like my siblings, we worked on the family farm, picking up stones with Dad. To him, it was more of a sport than a chore.
I remember feeling like a very rich 10-year-old in Westport when Trevor Pendergast gave me a whole dollar to spend.
I spent a lot of time building huts and bridges with Carol, catching possums with John, and even saving John’s life when his finger got caught in a possum trap.
When I was 12, we moved from Cronadun to Richmond.
Patrick Graham McMahon
16/03/1961
Sometimes my memories of the farm pop up unexpectedly when I’m talking to someone, and something they say sparks a thought or a feeling. It’s always funny when that happens because it brings a smile to my face.
Just last week at work, we were chatting about "Your first bikini," and I couldn’t help but join in. I must have been around 8 or 9 years old when I had my first bikini, and let me tell you, it was something special, thanks to Rosie. Originally, it was a black one-piece, probably handed down from a few older sisters. By the time it came to me, it was faded and definitely not in the best shape. But Rosie worked her magic.
She turned the black one-piece into a two-piece, adding elastic to the top of the bottoms and the bottom of the top. To make it really pop, Rosie added yellow braid, crisscrossing it across the top half in the middle, and there was even enough to tie a bow.
In no time at all, my summer day went from ordinary to fantastic. I had confidence for days! I could stand tall and look my friend Sarah Douglas from Reefton right in the eye—after all, I had a bikini too!
Anne-Maree McMahon
09/06/1963
The years passed, and life in Richmond was different, but there was always something missing. The farm, it was etched in our hearts. Then, in the early hours of Christmas morning in 2017 at 3 a.m. on the 25th of December, our old farmhouse on the Bluff was set ablaze. It was arson, we were told. The home we had once known, the one where we’d shared our first steps, our first words, and our first goodbyes, was gone.
It felt like a cruel twist of fate. We couldn’t understand why someone would do such a thing. The house that had stood for so many years, a symbol of our family's legacy, was reduced to ash. But even as the smoke rose from the wreckage, we knew one thing — the farm, and the love it held, would never truly be gone. It lived in us, in the stories we shared, in the laughter of our children.
The site was cleared, of course. There were no remains left to hold onto. Yet, in some strange way, we found peace in knowing that the land itself would live on, even if the house was no longer there. Time moves on, and while that chapter had come to a tragic end, the story of our family, our memories, and the love that had built it all — that could never be burned down.
End of an Era
We all moved to Richmond Nelson. It was a sad time. The decision to leave the old family farm in Cronadun on the Bluff wasn’t an easy one. The paddocks where we’d spent endless days, the house that had echoed with laughter and tears for generations, and the trees that had witnessed so many milestones — all were now just memories. It felt like we were leaving a part of ourselves behind.
It was in June 1973 when we gathered for our last family get-together on the farm. That day, we celebrated not only our memories, but the love that had held us together for so long. Mum and Dad had always been the heart of that home. They kept everything together, but unfortunately the farm slowly became too much to maintain...The world was changing, and so were we.
At that final gathering, just before we left for Richmond, a clock was presented to Mum and Dad — a symbol of the time that had passed, the memories we had made, and the ones yet to come. The clock, was a reminder that, no matter where we went, time would keep moving forward. It was from the whole family — a parting gift, a token of appreciation for all the years they had spent nurturing us on that farm.
