History

Once Upon a Forest

Before it was a wedding venue. Before it was restored. Before it became what you see today.

Old Forest School was a place where children learned, communities gathered, and memories were made for over fifty years.

Then it closed. And for another thirty years, it slept.

This is the story of those first chapters, the ones written long before we arrived.

The Beginning: 1933

Built During the Depression, For People Starting Over

Old Forest School was built in 1933, during the Great Depression, when communities still built things to last. The world had changed dramatically after World War One, and people came to the Pongakawa Valley seeking something quieter, more peaceful—a new beginning.

Designed as a single-room school with the motto “Service Before Self,” it opened on November 13th, 1933, with a roll of 12 children. The building was constructed from native timber milled just five kilometres up the valley at Tunnicliffe Mill—whatever they had left on Friday was sent down for the school. As a result, the schoolhouse is beautifully built from a random variety of native timbers.

It served farmers and tobacco plantation workers initially, then later the families of the Forestry Village that grew up around it. This little school quickly became more than a place of learning—it became the heart of the community.

The valley itself has deeper history. Records date back to around 1823, when the famous Māori warrior-chief Hongi Hika and the Ngā Puhi tribe used the Pongakawa stream to plan a surprise attack on rivals in Rotorua. Rare and protected wall paintings left by his warriors can still be found deep in the Rotoehu Forest. Along the valley are numerous pā sites—their history forgotten, but the mana of the valley can be felt by all who welcome it.

The Glory Years: 1933-1985

A School That Was Also a Heart

For over fifty years, Old Forest School was alive. Children learned their letters and numbers. They played in the grounds. They competed in calf club days and gymnastics. Parents gathered for meetings. Santa showed up at Christmas. Summer camping happened on the lawns.

The windows were originally on the side of the building but were moved to the front because children kept getting distracted by the rare sight of cars creating dust plumes ten kilometers away on the winding pumice road. Teachers tried painting the windows. The children promptly scraped the paint off.

The tennis court and swimming baths were built in 1943 for ninety pounds—funds raised by the local community. They were opened to everyone in the valley outside school hours. The school library was also a community resource. Everyone was welcome.

During World War Two, John Te Wharetotara Graham—who owned the only general store in the valley—closed his doors in 1939 and went to war as part of the 28th Māori Battalion. He never returned, and the store never reopened.

Stories from past pupils tell of a school that was their happy place. Their safe place. Children and adults alike felt a massive connection and love for this place. Teachers cycled up the valley each day. The Forestry Village brought new life—single men’s cabins housed workers, the mill operated, the valley thrived.

This was a working, living place. Hard work, strong friendships, and a tight-knit community.

The Quiet Years: 1985-2007

Thirty Years of Sleep

By 1985, the glory days were winding down. The Government Forestry organization was privatised. Forestry villages throughout the country were disbanded. Houses were sold off and moved away. Roads closed. Farms amalgamated. The valley’s population dwindled.

Old Forest School closed her doors for the last time in 1985 and was sold into private ownership in 1986.

Then she sat. And sat. And sat.

The roof developed holes. Weatherboards rotted. Paint peeled. Windows broke. The gardens remembered their wildness and wandered back to it. Roses climbed fences until the fences disappeared. Hedges grew thick and untamed. Forest paths closed over.

The forest, patient and persistent, began its slow reclamation.

People driving through the valley worried that next time they visited, the school would be gone. Many were afraid to make the trip, just in case.

It would have been so easy to let it go. To let the trees win. To let fifty years of quiet turn into forever.

But in 2007, something changed.

What We Hold Today

The Archives

We’re now custodians of the school’s history—and we take that seriously.

We hold the original school rolls, a detailed record of all children who passed through. We have a teacher’s log book from 1958-1984—a day-to-day account of goings-on. Photo albums from the tobacco plantation. A Forestry Journal from 1943, beautifully detailed and handwritten. Memoirs from first-day pupils and teachers telling of hard work, great friendships, and many wild tales (including one about an undergarment-stealing rat).

Some items are too precious to be on display but are available to see, hold, and share. The school’s original hand-held bell. One teacher’s bicycle, kept by her son for over 60 years. Trophies returned by past pupils. Books hidden in the attic and brought back home.

Recently, an elderly man whose father was headmaster visited. He held the very bell his father held and rang it out, just as his father did many, many years ago.

The Restoration

When restoration began, it was about uncovering beauty held deeply under years of grime, dust, and neglect. Not converting. Not modernising. Just bringing back what was always there.

The schoolhouse still has its original rimu floors, polished until they glow. The cabins retain their rough timber exteriors, their tiny proportions, their sense of making do. The tennis court was left to rust gently—it’s more beautiful now than when it was in use.

Locally sourced recycled materials were used throughout. New buildings were designed and weathered to look like they’d always belonged. Gardens were planted with flowers from surrounding farms, donated so their history continues.

When past pupils visit and struggle to remember what a “new” building was used for, we know it was done right.

Continuing the Story

Past pupils, teachers, headmasters, and their families speak of Old Forest School as their happy place. Their safe place. Those connections span generations and continue today.

The school is alive again—not as a museum, but as a living place creating new memories while honouring old ones. Your celebration, your gathering, your stay becomes part of that ongoing story.