Whānau carry legacy of Māori Battalion soldier George Manapiri Pitman

Source: Radio New Zealand

This story is part of a series sharing the voices of whānau of the 28th Māori Battalion, keeping their memories alive.

A soldier, sportsman and survivor of one of the most brutal campaigns of the Second World War, George Manapiri Pitman is remembered by his whānau as both a “hard man” and a devoted father.

A member of the 28th Māori Battalion, Pitman carried what his son Herbert Manapiri describes as a “warrior” spirit, shaped by his whakapapa, upbringing, and the realities of war.

“He had that warrior thing in him … he was proud of his Māori side,” Manapiri said.

But behind that strength was a man who endured loss early, survived near-death overseas, was held as a prisoner of war, and returned home to a life marked by both resilience and hardship.

Pitman was just six months old when he lost both his parents.

Born in 1913 in Whakapara, north of Whangārei, he was raised by his grandparents after his mother and father died during an influenza outbreak.

From those early beginnings, Pitman would go on to become a skilled carpenter and a talented rugby player, earning trials for both the Kiwis and the All Blacks before the Second World War.

“He was so good … a brilliant player,” Manapiri said.

But like many young Māori men of his time, he chose to enlist.

“They got told they were going to get paid more than what they were getting working … but at the end they got nothing.”

Pitman joined the 28th Māori Battalion, and became known not just for his physical strength but his sporting ability too. He was part of the 28 Māori Battalion team that played against Wales during the war.

Manapiri has previously expressed his disappointment for the lack of recognition of that team.

“They’re like forgotten people. These guys are forgotten,” he told RNZ at the time.

The side impressed crowds during the winter of 1940-41 in England, earning an invitation from the Welsh Rugby Union to play in Cardiff, where more than 12,000 spectators attended under the constant threat of German bombers.

The war took Pitman across England, Wales, Scotland and South Africa before he was deployed to Crete, one of the most devastating campaigns for the Māori Battalion.

“He said the sky was black with parachutes,” Manapiri recalled.

“He said, how could we fight them? … It was a losing battle from day one.”

Pitman was part of a mortar crew sent ahead of infantry, with limited ammunition.

“They only had about 30 rounds … he said we would have been better to throw rocks.”

During the battle in Crete, Pitman was shot in the back, the bullet exiting through his neck. He was left on the battlefield among the dead and wounded.

“He said that was the scariest part of his life … when he saw his own people running over the top of him … not even seeing if he was still alive.”

It was local villagers who eventually found him and two other wounded soldiers, taking them in and treating them before German forces arrived.

Pitman was taken prisoner of war and held in Austria, where he remained for years.

“He said they were forgotten,” Manapiri said.

“They didn’t know if they were going to make it, so they made their life.”

While imprisoned, Pitman found ways to survive, and even make money, earning himself the nickname “the rat man”.

“They called him George Manapiri, the rat man. And he used to go around and catch rats, skin them, and then sell them as chicken,” Manapiri recalled laughing.

“He was one of these guys who could do things from nothing.”

Manapiri said his father also spoke about what he witnessed in captivity, including the treatment of other prisoners during raids.

He said they saw a lot, and were made to bury many people.

“That stayed with him,” he said.

The physical and psychological toll of war followed him home.

As a child, Manapiri remembers hearing his father relive those experiences.

“I used to hear him screaming … wake up screaming, shaking,” he said.

“He never slept with the light off.”

Compounding that mamae was the fact Pitman had already been declared dead during the war.

“He was pronounced dead because he wasn’t in the total. They pronounced him dead.”

His grandmother, who raised him, died “heartbroken”, believing he had been killed.

“That was her baby.

“They didn’t know he was alive until he walked off the train at Whakapara.”

Pitman also spent decades separated from his sister, only reconnecting with her in 1965.

“She always thought he was dead.”

A homecoming without recognition

Pitman returned to Aotearoa in 1945, but the homecoming he and others expected never came.

“They thought they were going to get a good welcome, but they got no welcome,” Manapiri said

Instead, tensions with American servicemen led to confrontations both overseas and in Auckland.

“They were told not to walk on the same side of the street as the Americans … and then they had a brawl.”

Even within their own communities, returning soldiers faced judgement.

“They used to call him … ‘you were a prisoner of war, you couldn’t handle it’.

“The worst part,” Manapiri said, “Was when they got back, they got nothing.

“They were forgotten. And even today, a lot of our people forget them.”

Despite everything, Manapiri said his father rarely spoke openly about the war.

“It was his friends … at Māori Battalion dos … that told the stories.”

Instead, he focused on providing for his whānau and worked as a carpenter, farmer, and on major infrastructure projects.

“He was a hard worker … worked right up to his 70s.”

But the effects of his injuries never fully left him.

“He had sand in his lungs … he had to go to hospital to get it pumped out.”

Even in later life, his humour remained.

“He was a comedian,” Manapiri recalled.

In his last years of life, when doctors told him he would not live to see another Christmas, his response reflected the same spirit that carried him through war.

“We were sitting there and he said, well it’s up to that fellow up there anyway, not to you. He said I lasted through the war. And that’s the type of guy he was.”

Manapiri said his father’s strong whakapapa remained central to who he was.

“He comes from Eruera Maihi Patuone … from Ngāti Toa, from Ngāpuhi … all those fighters.”

In his final moments, surrounded by whānau, Pitman chose how he would leave.

“He said, ‘if I’m going to go, celebrate’ … and had a whisky with everyone.”

Then, according to his son, he spoke his last words after sharing his love with his whānau.

“He said hurray to all the whānau. And he said to me, I had enough. Turn the machine off, boy … And he said to the doctor, my son’s turning the machine off.

“So I looked at him .. He said yeah, I’m going back to Patuone … Back to his kaumātua.

“He said I’m going back. They’re waiting for me. They’re standing all there … I’m going back with my people.

“Then I turned the machine off. Two minutes later, he coughed and his hand come up. And he said, tihei mauriora … Then he passed away.”

Pitman now rests alongside his tūpuna.

“I never forget him,” Manapiri said.

“It’s one thing you never forget. I never forget the 28th Māori battalion.”

Today, he said it was up to the next generation to carry those stories forward.

“They were great soldiers … but they were forgotten,” he said.

“You’ve got to pass it on … get it out there.There’s so many stories … but they’re not being told.”

The Manapiri Pitman whānau remember their tupuna and the 28 Maori Battalion every day of their lives. Manapiri said the experiences of those who served, and those who never came home, were not lost.

“The heroes are the ones who never got noticed,” Manapiri said.

“They were the heroes … and we will never forget.”

Ka maumahara tonu tātou ki a rātou – we will remember them.

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– Published by EveningReport.nz and AsiaPacificReport.nz, see: MIL OSI in partnership with Radio New Zealand