​Shot in the back.
On February 26, 1904, tree felling contractor Leonard Reeves Collinson did what he had done hundreds of times before. He sat down in a bush clearing to smoke his pipe.
Only this time he did not get up. Instead, his body was found, shot from behind from a distance of about 12 metres. The bullet had destroyed Collinson’s heart and exited out of his chest. His box of matches and unsmoked pipe were lying nearby.
Collinson was not born into the life of being a bushman. In fact, his parents appeared to have had much greater plans for him. Collinson was born in Islington, London in 1863, to John and Julia Collinson. As a teenager, Leonard was given the job of working as an assistant to his father who was receiving officer for the Great Northern Railway. It appears he was intended to follow in his father’s footsteps and take over the well-paying position in due course. However, in 1884, at the aged of 21, Collinson got himself into trouble with the law after he fraudulently obtained two bales of silk and a quantity of tea from the Midlands Railway Company. He pleaded guilty and was sentenced to six months in Wandsworth prison. According to newspaper reports, the theft had caused his wealthy family some grief and embarrassment and he was banished to New Zealand, leaving his younger brother Ernest to become their father’s successor. Far from the gentlemanly life his parents had planned for him, by 1890 Collinson was working as a labourer on remote Te Awaiti Station on the coast near Tora in the Wairarapa. Away from the crowded London streets, however, it appeared that he had left his troubles behind him – until he met James Ellis (aka John McKenzie).
Ellis was born in Wellington in 1861 and, like Collinson, at the age of 21 also found himself in trouble with the law, but on a much more serious and shocking charge. In 1882, under the name of James William Ellis, he was convicted of the rape of an 11-year-old girl in north Greytown and sentenced to 12 years in prison and 60 lashes. The sentencing judge described the rape as “one of the most brutal outrages” he had ever seen in his career . Ellis was released in 1891.
A year before the murder Collinson had hired Ellis as a contractor. Ellis was then calling himself John McKenzie. A few months later, when the new employee was accused of poaching stags, Collinson sacked him.
Ellis became an immediate suspect in Collinson’s killing. He had threated to do for Collinson after his sacking and had also been spotted around the bush camp in which Collinson and his crew of men were working at the time of the murder. Collinson and the other men had suspected that McKenzie was actually the brutal rapist Ellis, especially as he never shown his back to them lest they see the scars of the 60 lashes.
Police were called in from around the country to hunt for Ellis and a 100 pound reward was offered for information leading to his capture. Ellis had striking features, being described as 5ft, 3-and-a-half inches tall with sandy reddish hair, grey eyes, long thin pointed nose, small mouth, sandy moustache and slightly bow-legged, however, he managed to elude capture.
Numerous sightings of Ellis were reported, and several look-a-likes arrested, including one in Sydney, Australia, who remained in custody until a police officer, who knew Ellis, could sail from New Zealand to confirm the man’s identity.
Finally, nine months after the murder, on December 10, 1904, Ellis was captured in Kereru near the Ruahine Ranges in Hawkes Bay. Police found him asleep in a hut in which he had been hiding out (the hut, which was built in 1884, still exists and is now known as Ellis Hut, a tramping hut in the Gwavas Forest near Takapau). When arrested, Ellis had a .303 repeating rifle and a six-chambered revolver, both fully loaded.
After a trial lasting five days Ellis was, on February 11, 1905, found guilty of Collinson’s murder. The jury recommended mercy. Justice Denniston imposed the death sentence and 10 days later Cabinet Minsters considered the jury’s recommendation but decided to allow the sentence to stand. Ellis was hanged at 8am on a grey and gloomy 28 February 1905 at Wellington by executioner Tom Long (whose story we brought you earlier). Asked if he had anything to say before he died Ellis replied, “Nothing at all. Only that I am innocent. That is all I have to say”. Ellis is buried at Karori Cemetery. Collinson is buried in Martinborough Cemetery. His headstone reads: “In loving memory of Leonard Reeve Collinson who died at Colds Creek, Te Awaite 26 February 1904. (Erected by his friends)”.

By Deb Morris
​Tomorrow, on Anzac Day, all over New Zealand people will be remembering those who fought for them in wars.
Most of them weren’t celebrated as war heroes. They were men and women who became our everyday heroes by doing their best against an evil threatening the Western world. Bruce Fowke was one.
Bruce was born January 19, 1915 in Dannevirke, the son of Herbert Fowke and Margaret Fowke, called Marwa, (nee Batten). His parents later moved to Pahiatua. His mother is in Dannevirke Cemetery and his father in Ashburton.
Of the records available, Bruce had two siblings - a sister called Ngaire who died young in 1919 and Bettie Russell (nee Fowke).
He enlisted in the NZ Army giving the address as Sedcole St, Pahiatua. He was listed as a painter.
He had married, and his wife Cicely May Helen Fowke (nee King) - known as Helen - later listed an address in Willow Park Road in Hastings.
Bruce joined the infantry of 22 Battalion of the Second New Zealand Expeditionary Force, in 1941.
He died on December 15, 1944, aged 29, in battle as a sergeant.
In December that year he and the others were arrayed on the banks of the river Lamone. At the top of a rise in sight of the men was the Casa Elta - a pocket fortress with much of the area held by the Germans.
In the book 22 Battalion by Jim Henderson, he said the advance of Casa Elta was costly. All the leaders of 15 platoon were killed or wounded, and Bruce - then a Sergeant - took control. HIs nickname in the platoon was Doc.
But as they advanced he, and the platoon’s other sergeant, fell in a minefield.
The leaderless platoon went on to the right of Casa Elta, captured two defended positions and eight prisoners, severed telephone wires, which isolated Casa Elta, and later joined the last assault on the house.
Bruce is also mentioned in the book "Cowshed to Dog Collar (in conjunction with Rona Adshead) by Keith Elliott VC ,
"And what of "Doc" Fowke who refused to turn aside from his helpless best friend and did what he could for his mates until he was the only one left alive in that trench? No greater love hath a man than this …”
Bruce was buried - and later exhumed - to be reburied in the Forli Cemetery in Italy.
He exists now on 22 Battalion’s roll of honour, on the Pahiatua war memorial also on Palmerston North’s.
He was also my grandmother’s beloved cousin. His mother Margaret was sister to Myrtle Irene Batten - later Drinkwater, my grandmother’s mother.
Rest in Peace Bruce, like all the other everyday heroes, we remember you.

A short break from our regular stories for me to say Congratulations!
I got to watch my best friend and business partner Fran Tyler graduate with her doctorate in philosophy yesterday.
It’s sort of my fault. I recommended her for the job at Massey University teaching many years ago and all these years later this is the result. (She definitely thinks it's my fault!)
Since then we have gone through all the usual stuff, job changes, family losses, weddings and trips along with writing for an academic textbook and cooking - mostly dumplings - together.
And then last year COVID and the idea to start the business that is now Genealogy Investigations.
Most nights we have a (telephone) drink together, moan about our days, talk about triumphs and question our own sanity.
We have put families in touch with each other, traced out family histories, worked out who adopted parents are, found beneficiaries of wills and had fun hunting down the stories we tell here.
A big part of that is Fran’s determination and research skills gained the hard way, through working as a journalist, doing her own family tree and now her doctorate.
So, to Dr Fran Tyler - a huge congratulations. No matter how many times you doubted or told me you didn’t want to do this anymore, I always knew you would get there.
You can read more about Fran's research here: 
www.massey.ac.nz/massey/about-massey/news/article.cfm?mnarticle_uuid=9429104F-FB71-41CF-BD06-3F5B1A2E4262

John William Brady’s death was accidental and, as it turns out, amazing that it happened at all.
On April 25, 1939, Brady was driving two of his work colleagues home in a three seater car on the main highway on the Wellington side of the Paekakariki hill. At 9.45pm he suddenly slumped over the wheel. The car ended up against a bank.
His two mates, a Mr Davies and Mr Ryan from Lower Hutt, thought he had a fainting fit, but it turned out he had been shot in the back of the head. Both of the passengers received minor injuries.
Police suspected foul play.
The same evening, four young men were travelling in a lorry returning to Wellington. The men had been out shooting rabbits and on the way home one of the men, Robert Alexander Martin, aged 20, picked up a gun intending to put it in its case.
He did not remember pulling the trigger but the gun went off, ejecting the empty shell to the floor of the lorry.
In an extraordinary coincidence, that shot killed Brady.
Martin had thought he had fired all the ammunition during the rabbit hunt. It was also very dark that night and he never saw Brady’s car. 
Two days after hearing about the accidental death, two of the men, including Martin, came forward to police and went to the place where they thought the shot was fired.
A police arms advisor, Gregory Gerard Kelly, advised the inquest into Brady's death that the pull on the trigger was too light. When questioned about the shooting, Martin denied firing at the tail lights of the car to give someone a scare.
The coroner, Mr Gilbertson, returned a verdict of death by accident.
Brady was 26, a labourer employed by the then Hutt Country Council. He is buried in Masterton’s cemetery in Archer Street.