By Virginia Winder

New Plymouth's infamous Highwayman paid dearly for his crimes, say some of his close friends.

"He spent the rest of his life living it down," says Rex Brewster, whose father was a good mate of the man behind the mask. "He was only a boy living out a romantic dream."

Robert (Bob) Wallath and Edgar Roy Brewster (also known as the Beehive Man) became friends when they lived in upper Mangorei Rd in the early 1920s.

That friendship continued and was passed down a generation when Rex's young wife, Gwen, was asked to type the manuscript of A Highwayman With A Mission.

Published in 1954, it details the disguised rider's 15-month stint of hold-ups in the New Plymouth area, from 1892-93.

By Georgie

Although the 78-page book says it was written "by Georgie", it was actually penned by Bob Wallath.

The introduction, simply signed off as GB, is written by Gwen Brewster and begins:

"Early in 1954 the Queen of England stepped into the Criterion Hotel, New Plymouth, with the acclaim of an excited crowd ringing in their ears. Very few of those people remembered, or even knew that over 60 years before, another crowd, smaller, but also very excited, had gathered in that same place, but for a far different reason."

Gwen was working in her father-in-law's honey shop doing office work, serving customers and even building beehives, when she was asked to tap out the story for a man she earned huge respect for.

"Bob paid for my time and the work cost 8 pound."

At the time, Gwen wasn't a great typist, but her writing skills were tip-top. "I did itch to alter it (the manuscript) a little bit."

But Bob Wallath wouldn't allow this. "However, it was in his own words."

Real gentleman

She first met him when he was an elderly man and never forgets his courteous manner, especially when he called on her household.

 "He wouldn't come in if Rex wasn't here and I was on my own. He was 80 and I was in my 30s. I don't know if he was trying to protect my reputation or his own," she laughs.

"He always brought me a bar of chocolate."

Bob Wallath also came a-calling when a new Brewster was born. "I always remember, I was sitting on the sofa nursing the newest one and he said 'Oh, how lucky you are. No, more than that – you are blessed'."

These sentiments came from a highly religious man. "I don't mean he went around honking his horn," Gwen says. "He just had a deep faith."

Rex Brewster adds: "He was a man of the Salvation Army."

Their combined memories of Bob Wallath paint a clear picture of an exceptionally well-groomed, elderly man, who walked with a trot later in his life. He also had a goatee beard, a ruddy complexion and blue eyes.

"He had high cheek bones and a leonine head; a well-shaped noble sort of head. He was probably quite a good-looking fellow," Gwen says. "He was most pleasant and encouraging and he was a real gentleman."

Hammer and nails

He was also a true craftsman, who made his money as a successful builder. One of his constructions was a three-storey girls' convent, which used to be on the corner of Dawson and Powderham streets. "It was a very prominent building because it was so tall," Rex says.

Mostly, Bob Wallath worked on private residences, especially Californian-style bungalows. His handiwork can be seen at 132 Tukapa Street.

Looking back, Gwen wishes she had been older when she met "the Highwayman" because then she would have asked him more questions. "He was not a man to talk about himself very much."

She did know he was a generous man. He bought her a typewriter and, not long before he died, gave her 50-pound note in a sealed envelope.

And as for his legacy of being the Highwayman, Gwen has the final say: "I think it was well in his past and I don't think it was something he was very proud of."