Wally's tales

There has been talk recently that News Papers in the form that we now know, are doomed and to go the way of the dinosaurs ceasing publication. Any copy in the future will be entirely electronic, and only available to be read from a computer screen or a like device. I sincerely hope this is incorrect, as I really enjoy my daily paper in it’s present form. But like it or like it not, one by one our newspapers are slowly disappearing. They are no longer able to foot it against competing media for advertising. For me, a newspaper in it’s present form is one of the day’s pleasures. It’s informative, and keeps me abreast of all I need to know. Over the years papers have undergone many changes, in fact not all have actually failed financially and fallen by the wayside, some were purchased by their competition to deliberately shut them down. I suppose too Television has paid it’s part in this ‘progress’. Evening papers were amongst the first to go when they found they couldn’t compete with the immediacy of TV’s six o’clock news. Also, seeing that there is only so much paid advertising to go around, when they had to share the little that was available it wasn’t enough to justify publication,

The public as the end user, for years had to be on the ball to collect his paper early especially on wet days, or as soon as it was delivered. Fail to do this and the penalty was being presented with a soggy mess; unless of course you were able to bribe your delivery boy to put your paper in a safe dry place. All this today has taken a turn for the better, papers now prior to delivery, are tightly wrapped in ‘cling wrap’ at the printers to protect and weather proof them.

I also remember brother David was once a delivery boy of the Dunedin Evening Star. He was paid the princely sum of two shillings and six pence, (That translates to 25 cents) for six day week of deliveries. However David over a year of trudging over his delivery route was able to turn his financial reward into a brand new BSA bicycle, a remarkable achievement.

Once when we lived in Queenstown, the town didn’t have a newspaper delivery service. As well you had to wait until noon when the daily busses arrived in from Dunedin, and Invercargill. I would then join the queues to buy a paper. So when we visited Dunedin, one of my pleasures in life, was getting up early, bringing in the Otago Daily Times, going back to bed, sometimes bathed in sunlight to read the morning news. Living in Queenstown with the mountains all around we didn’t get such a thing as the early morning sun. I could do it now, seeing that we are living in Christchurch city, but I wouldn’t wish to read today’s paper in bed as today’s newspapers seem to use an ink that isn’t ‘fast’. Anytime you read a paper today I find the ink from the paper contaminates everything it comes in contact with, hands, light coloured trousers, and especially white bedlinen.

One would think that with the extension of television and radio stations news services, newspapers would have folded their tents and shuffled off the scene long ago. Not so, we has been blessed with the arrival of a new phenomena, the free ‘throw away paper’ or ‘neighbourhood paper’. These around where I live are very popular and financed entirely from advertising revenue. Here in our street we receive about three different publications weekly. They are a refreshing change too from what we usually are served up as ‘News’. Palestine, Afghanistan are never mentioned, neither is the mindless Political bickering that’s carried on in Wellington. Just plain local news, and surprise, surprise, it’s exactly what the locals want.

Another area that has been greatly effected by ‘Progress’ and that’s photographs and colour printing. Early photographs were built up from a series of graded dots as well as in a colour scale of grey to black not a sharp image but acceptable. Now with the advances in technology we receive sharp colour pictures which have as well, a degree of immediacy, and can even be transmitted over the phone.

It will soon be year since Laura had her Bathroom fall and began her long journey back to recovery and good health, which is the best that we can expect with her journey via three Hospitals. Immediately after her accident she was fully cogent, able as well, to make an intelligent conversation. This quickly changed for the worse, by the time she was admitted to Christchurch Hospital, now she was unconscious, possibly caused by internal bleeding. The ACC now no longer regarded her situation as a accident, any assistance we might have expected from them was quickly withdrawn. They considered now that she had had a stroke, end of story. On arrival at Hospital she was accessed and admitted but completely paralysed and now she could only signal any of her intentions by the blinking of her eyes. Since then she has made wonderful progress, but still requires assistance to dress, shower, and visit the bathroom. At date, she can now feed herself and as well hold an intelligent conversation.

Life in Hospitals are another world altogether, and for the uninitiated, and they take a little getting used to. Don’t worry, you will all find out for yourselves all that you need to know one day. It’s all the natural procession of life’s journey. Hospitals have so many rules and regulations, which overtime, many the reasons for their being, will have been long forgotten, or even why they were introduced in the first place. I noticed in a ward in Princes Margaret that all the windows only opened six inches, possibly to prevent jumpers, as it was on the third floor. Well anyway that was the conclusion I came to. This fact came to my attention in the middle of summer, without ‘Air Conditioning’ the ward was a most stifling uncomfortable place to be in. One patient innocently inquired ‘Was there a Fan available?’ There was, and one was found, however after being used for only 10 minutes, it was taken away for someone whose need was greater. ‘Don’t worry, another would soon be forth coming from a Store Room’. This turned out to be figment of their imagination. I said in all innocence, we have a couple at home that I could donate to the Ward, as well, I could go and get them both immediately. I only live a couple of blocks away. No, No, No, you can’t do that, or even use them, they would have first need to be authorised for use by the Hospital Electrician.

One day I was heading for the elevators to go to the ground floor which was a march of a hundred metres or so. when a nurse said, ‘Leaving early today’? I replied, ‘No’, ‘I’m actually heading for the only public toilet I know of in this building’. And that is situated on the ground floor. I know another thing too, ‘Diuretics were not invented when this place was built’. She said, ‘That’s ridiculous situation’, and took me back upstairs to a closed off wing on the third floor and gave me the use of my own personal toilet for the duration of Laura’s stay.

They never stopped trying to feed me this is because I usually time my visits to meal times, when I can assist Laura with her meals. I refused all offers of food, even to a cup of tea until Christmas came around. Then a very helpful Samoan Girl found out that I was going to be alone for my Christmas dinner as all my family were heading away. No way could I stop her from ordering an extra meal and for the week up to the 25^th all my likes and dislikes for this special meal were religiously noted, and entered into the Hospital Computer. However when Christmas day rolled around and the meals were being handed out, nothing for me. From the looks the new assistants face and attitude on inquiry, there wasn’t going to be any Christmas Dinner for me anyway. Who was this guy who was trying to free load and get a free meal? It was made worse when they relented and came with a plate saying Mrs Murphy was too sick to eat, I could have that. I was really annoyed at this stage for the very reason that on Christmas day not one restaurant around here is available for a meal unless a pre booking has been made because of the penalty rates they have to pay staff. As far as restaurants are concerned it’s not worth bothering to open.

I have noted also that the busiest Department in the hospital must be the one that makes signs. I felt that if you stood still for long enough you too would have a sign stuck onto you. Everything is ‘signed’ and in more than one language. This information urge expends to the bulletin boards. There are layers upon layers of messages and information stuck onto them, it would seem they are good at sticking up notices on the boards but not very efficient on removing them when they have served their purpose. Another very noticeable fact is the staff, especially the Nurse Aids. They seem to come from the four corners of the earth. In one Hospital ward at Wesley Care, there was one girl from Bougainvillea, three or four from the Philippines, Another from India (She was actually a doctor but not licensed to practice in NZ) South Africa, Hungary, United Kingdom, Fiji, I’m not sure what the reason is for some of the many overseas girls, maybe they only pay the minimum wage, and this is the best job on offer.

A long time ago, in fact right back to my earliest memories, life for me was very comfortable. Then again I must have been lonely, because I created for myself a friend, a ‘Frankie Nissen’. My goodness Frankie, was very naughty boy, full of mischief, and the perpetrator of all the bad thing that happened around our home. He broke things, and saved me many times from getting into trouble. He even took the wheels off my bike, and he was even responsible for taking the family clock apart. I must have made him sound very convincing as my parents were always itching to get their hands onto him, send him on his way with a flea in his ear and told never to return, and as well to teach him a lesson. As always, when they hunted for him, he had just taken off and left for his home. Where? Up Mount Cargill that’s where he lives. I must have sounded very convincing, it took a long time for my family to discover he was only a figment of my imagination. I know I have must have been a precocious child, after being told that Santa Claus had brought my bike down the chimney with all the other presents, I was immediately found measuring the fireplace and declaring that the bike was far too big for that to happen.

There was always a lot of activity going on in our suburban streets. Meat was delivered by our Butcher ‘Geof Robertson’ on horseback. Resplendent in his jodhpurs, polished leather gaiters, and a basket of meat swung up on the saddle. His delivery was cross country as he rode across sections and our gardens. He never dismounted, but made his presence known by loud cries of, ‘Yar Yip’. As well, the baker who was also busy ‘clip clopping’ around the neighbourhood daily selling hot fresh loaves from his horse and enclosed cart. His was a silent delivery, and the bread he sold totally different to what we expect today, very tasty with a crisp crust, and if no one was watching the chance to pick out an offering which was a delicious treat. The bread was not at all like the soft soggy offering we expect today. Even the names and size of these loaves have now fallen into disuse. (Barracouta, Square Pan, were a couple I remembered) Milk was sold loose, you supplied the receptacle to receive it in whether it be a billy, or a recycled golden syrup can. It was also delivered in the main by horse and cart, but one vendor George Poulter had a one ton truck that must have dated back to before World War One, and even then a vintage vehicle. It was painted white, with a huge brass radiator, brass head lamps and gear lever and hand brake mounted on the running board. All the brass was polished and sparkling, a wonderful sight in the sun. The Council also had a fleet of blue carts all pulled by a single draught horse, and among other tasks they were the collectors of ashes and other household refuse. I can still hear the noise their iron clad wheels made as they rolled along crushing the gravel on the roads. Everyone’s ash buckets all seem to come from the one or two sources. The Harbour Boards dry docks, or the Union Company Shipping Company Base. There they had all started their former life as paint containers which was supplied in drums. A visit to Dry Dock or Ship Yard by a ship would require some hundreds of gallons of paint being splashed around, with no worry what to do with the empty containers.

Groceries were also delivered after an order had been solicited earlier by an employee. On payment a receipt was issued, these were kept and valued as they had a redeemable value of something like 2.5% providing you sent them on more groceries. Should you have decided to make a personal visit to the Grocer’s shop you were waited on by an employee. Your order was filled from his bulk supplies, very little in this grocery world was available ‘prepacked’. The Grocer and the Butcher shops were both notable by the fact that the floors were covered with an inch of sawdust. This sawdust trick was also repeated in the bars of the Hotels. Paper bags were generally used, but sometimes a ‘Poke’ was made by rolling up a small sheet of brown paper on the bias forming a cone. The bottom was then sealed by twisting the paper and the top folded over.

Our post was delivered by a Postie who signalled his presence by a blast of a pea whistle. Telegrams were another important form of communication and delivered to the door by a boy. Telegrams remained a popular and convenient method of sending messages and money around the Country and even International right up to the introduction of Electronic devices. The young may consider that ‘Texting language’ is new, but this is not so. Then Telegrams were costed at so much a word, ( I seem to remember it was about a minimum of twelve words for about fifteen cents, and this included the address) so the idea was to abbreviate the message as much as possible without loosing the sense of your message.

Very little money in early days was lent by the trading Banks for the purchase of private homes. This service was taken care of by the Savings Banks, Building Societies, and various Lodges formed by the Friendly Societies who also looked after the Health services, which included our Doctors and Chemists, people paying only a nominal fee with the Lodge picking up the balance. Then it was very much of the case of looking after yourself, and it was found to be a very efficient system too.

I don’t know if anyone else agrees with me, but a lot of Art that people rave over today in this World of Culture, is for me, absolutely meaningless’. No matter how hard I try, I can see no merit in it what so ever. Frankly I can’t see just exactly what excites the ‘Avant-Garde’ in some of these works. Maybe in my ‘make up’ that I’m missing some special genes, or something else in my outlook and my pathetic attitude towards the Art World. After recently looking at some of Ralph Hotere’s recent works, which seem to consist of only of a few rough lines. Then listening to the ravings of so called art critics of how wonderful they all are. I’m beginning to wonder if I’m completely barmy. Or is it that perhaps the art experts have got it wrong? I have even studied some of Colin McCahon’s late works of art, complete with their addition of biblical messages splashed across prominently over the foreground of his paintings, this makes me wonder if he is more interested in getting across a religious message, or finishing off another masterpiece work of art. The experts again can interpret this again as something wonderful. I suppose what actually sparked this message was the ‘exhibit’ (actually a heap of rubbish), made from recently discarded wrapping material tossed aside from other items that had been entered into an exhibition. This rubbish was swept into heap, and then declared another, ‘Work of ‘Art’. This, believe it or believe it not, actually gained first prize. To make it worse in my eyes, was listening to the ‘Experts’ try to explain the message that they were getting from the exhibit. We also harbour amongst our young folk vandals whose one aim in life is to vandalise any blank surface with spray paint. They can quickly turn any inner city into a ghetto if they are left unchecked. Up again pop our ‘Experts’. This is folk art!, they should be encouraged. In this case I’m pleased they are not taken notice off and the authorities have quickly stamped on their pathetic daubs.

I suppose Wine also comes into this, believe it, or believe it not, category. Of course Wine is a very pleasant drink, but in my mind doesn’t deserve all of the praise and mystique that today’s romantics heap on it. Of course not forgetting the trade, who have an alterative agenda and are more interested in shifting product. I wandered one day into a boutique wine shop, after reading some of the labels and advertising plashed everywhere. I should have got carried away and purchased a bottle or three, then according to the ‘blurbs’ be in for a treat indeed. They raved on, ‘A fresh cheeky wine, with an aftertaste of raspberries, spicy and fragrant’ another wine boasted. ‘Tastes of tropical fruits like Mango and Guava’. ‘Rich and warm, with the taste of abundant fruit’. At one time I was a director in a winery, so I understand a little of what’s going on. Back then, listening to many of my fellow directors who spent much of the meeting time in talking in superlatives about their product, and not keeping their eye on the ball, which in this case was money, something, they were loosing by the bucketfuls, and not making moves to correct the situation. Had their product been as good as their advertising claimed it was, it wouldn’t have been a problem. One bright individual said, ‘I worried far too much’, ‘If we require more money, we can always issue more shares’. This was at a time when the Bank was calling up their loans, and the fact that they were diluting their shareholding escaped them.

Music is another area that I’m often out of step. I once attended a concert one evening given by a newly discovered prodigy. He then, right from start proceeded to render offering after offering, all played in discords. This instead of entertaining me, made it difficult to listen to. On this occasion I was able to vote with my feet and I walked out, I was pleased to see I wasn’t alone with this gesture. I’m also against loud music which the young today seem to enjoy. I even wonder how long a life some of the modern tunes of today will last. Will they be around in ten years? It matters not as most of the young will all be deaf by this time, then they will be able to turn up the volume on their hearing aids as loud as they wish.

I have commented on speech patterns before, especially with the overuse of the word ‘Absolutely’. Thankfully it’s usage is now in decline, no longer is it inserted into any and every conversation and especially it would seem during radio interviews. When ever there is a pause in the conversation up pops the word, Absolutely. It would seem that it has now been superseded by the couplet, ‘You Know’. Some people can’t say more that eight words without a “You Know’. I though once it was just a New Zealand conversational fault, but surprisingly it’s world wide. Around the world every one is spouting ‘You Know’. I suppose it’s better than the sound Hummmm or Ahaa that some employ to space out conversation while they think ahead.

I know that radio New Zealand must have a manual on pronunciation, maybe it’s only for Maori words. But I have heard over the years the Chatham Islands pronounced as ‘chat ham’, ‘Shat ham’ and finally ‘Cat ham’. Maybe this place name is not in their book. I’m surprised that Leo Clough an old Port Chalmers boy hasn’t picked it up as he is very pernickety. He now lives in The Chatham’s and not a week goes past that he hasn’t had a letter in the ‘Christchurch Press’ pointing out some mistake or other, under their column of ‘Putting it Right’.

With the radio manual their pronouncing of local Maori names, the announcers can’t always refer to their manual or even understand it, as sometimes they have many variations and especially in the South with our place names and common usage. Sometimes I haven’t a clue of what place, or where they’re talking about. They have given a new meaning to the place names of Taieri, Otakou, or even Oamaru.

When we come to speech, some New Zealanders are remaking our spoken word. Some in the North are so bad that sometimes it difficult to understand exactly what they are saying. So our language is being rewritten by some of the worst speakers in the country. Take ‘Gunner’ for going to. ‘Seen’ for saw. Seen is past tense and requires to used in that sense. This is what is coming over the airwaves daily, which like it or like it not, it’s the medium that’s setting today’s standards. School it would seem have given up the battle. Politicians too talk in cliches, take that away from them and they would be struck dumb. Sometime after a statement from one of them I have to ask myself. What exactly did he say?

It was reported this week and to date, some thirty Finance Companies have gone ‘belly up’, and at the same time, loosing all their depositors investments. When I say investments we are not exactly talking about small amounts of money, these funds in total add up to many ‘Billions’ of dollars. Many of their ‘Investors’ could ill afford to see their hard earned savings disappear in a puff of blue smoke, many are now too old to start saving again. Unfortunately they were all steered to these Finance Companies where they were fleeced, by so called Investment Advisers. Their money was put at risk for the gain of only about 1.5% above what they would have received from a Trading Bank. There their money would have been protected by a Government Guarantee. What their adviser didn’t disclose when he was doing this service, was that his choice of Finance Company was influenced by him picking up a very substantial, ‘finders fee’. These advisers should also have known, that some of these companies where he was putting their clients hard earned cash was that some of the principals had already been involved in earlier failures.

And in all these many crashes did the all of principals lose out too? Not on your Nelly. On the surface it would seem not many, but they were all guilty of some very shonky lending which in turn caused so many failures. In many cases their money was removed and safely tucked away in Family Trusts, or perhaps moved over to their wife’s name. Of course this included their palatial home or mansion, don’t forget several high spec cars and other toys, such as the odd holiday house and a pleasure boat or two. It would also seem that in many cases the only money they were interested in protecting, was their own.

This squirreling away of funds behaviour has gone on, far too long. Laws should be passed long ago so that these hidden or untouchable funds be winkled out and recovered. No good a wife or Family Trust claiming that these were funds, are once removed, and unable to be touched. What we need is long overdue, that is laws passed so that these people need to prove exactly from where their money and funds came from, to purchase these ‘investments’. And how were these Homes, Cars, Cash, and Toys actually paid for? If the answer is not satisfactory, an order be made for recovery.

Another area were control has been weak, is the ‘Trust Deed’. A lot of fuss is made over the importance of this document, but in practice it seems that it is never acted on no matter what code of practice is written into it. It hasn’t happened to date but a lot of Trust Companies after being paid to act as a watch dog leave themselves open to claims for damages, perhaps this action may make they a little more diligent, something they haven’t been in the past.

I was thinking back to my initial visit to Queenstown recently. Then I was about 21 years of age, my father had arranged a holiday for me staying up there with the Strain Family who he was friendly with, they were also both in the Movie Theatre business. The Strain homestead was then situated on the shores of Lake Hayes. This would be in 1946. John their only son and I got along well, he soon introduced me to all the local hunting, legal, and some that wasn’t, but all available right from their front door. They farmed the western side of the Lake. While there, we made the occasional visits to Queenstown for stores. Queenstown then was still a small village in every respect, coming to life during the Holiday seasons, and during these periods it was bulging at the seams, but for only about three or four weeks. After this annual surge, it quickly reverted back to sleepy hollow. Apart from small increases in Easter, and School Holidays nothing changed. The ski industry was still in it’s infancy, apart from a few enthusiastic folk who lived close to hand, they had rigged basic rope tows, or did it all on foot.

Several factors contributed to the town being in this neglected state, there was no direct rail access, as well, all the roads then were very bad, potholed, and only gravel, none were sealed at that time. It could take a day to drive from Dunedin to Queenstown, or if you decided to travel by rail, this was also a day’s journey, and you had to finish the final twenty kilometres by the steamer ‘Earnslaw’ as there was no road access between Kingstown and Queenstown. I had enjoyed my initial visit so much I was anxious to have a repeat Holiday. So next Christmas and with companions Mick, and Herbie Ives, who were lucky enough to have relations in the area (A brother in law who was the captain of the Earnslaw, no less) we assembled all the camping gear required for a camping holiday, and set off for the Lake Wakatipu. Train to Dunedin, change for the train to the South, change train again to connect with the Kingston Flyer, which would then take us to the Southern edge of Wakatipu. Then finally by steamer. So on arrival at Kingstown we lugged all our gear to the wharf, boarding the Earnslaw, at last we would soon be safely ensconced on a camping site in the Queenstown Camping Ground. This was not to be, as we were turned away at the gate by the proprietor as potential trouble makers. He didn’t realise the danger he was in by being so belligerent. Herbie had been recently released from a three year stint in a German Prison camp. He was having a lot of trouble readjusting to civilian life again. As well, he was very anti authority, liable to lash out if he got upset, or ordered around. On this occasion he excepted the rebuff quietly and we decided to move on, only stopping as luck would have it, at the Butchers Shop in Rees Street to buy some steak for dinner. We were relating our appalling treatment by the local ‘Camp Commandant’, handed out to young Returned Soldiers. The Butcher, a Mr Davidson whose family are still resident in the area, suggested we camp in his ‘Butchers Paddock’ on the outskirts of the town, which is now the present site of the Terraces Hotel. He immediately restored our faith in the kindness of our fellow man. We enjoyed a wonderful holiday camped in his paddock where we enjoyed a constant stream of visitors to our nightly barbecue, completely free of the policing of ‘Hitler’s’ regime that prevailed at the Borough Camp

We had a wonderful holiday which was helped in no small way by fine weather. It was a step back into the past I can remember a visit to a dance at the Lower Shotover Hall where the only light was by kerosene lamps. I promised myself that I would return again one day, but never envisaged that it would be sooner rather than later and as a Bank Manager. When I arrived to live with my family, Mount Cook were busy developing the Air Port and a new Ski Field. Also some DC3’s were being pressed into service after being purchased from the Air Force as surplus as well the Air Port was under going the first of many developments including a sealed runway. Many streets then didn’t have footpaths or even a newspaper delivery. TV had just arrived due to the efforts of a local committee, and some luck that a signal was able to be picked up from one of the mountain peaks then bounced into town, much to the chagrin of the local Picture theatre operator who had declared that they would never manage to get a signal through the mountains. Even then Queenstown was regarded as a Party Town, some who came to work didn’t seem to realise that one big long party didn’t make a marriage work. Initially we had five immediate neighbours who suffered a marriage ‘breakup’. As a family the early days we enjoyed living in the Mountains, but I wouldn’t like to return back to it now as it has grown too big. Getting around by a motor vehicle is just about impossible as there is no longer anywhere left to park. Our stay lasted some thirty five years and I will relate more of this time in subsequent letters,

We have just completed two long and very complex Murder trials in Christchurch. The defence of both unfortunately, was to shift the blame over to the victims, who is of course unable to speak for themselves. Initially, I’ll take the case of the brutal murder of Sophie Elliott, Dunedin student, and the subsequent trial of the accused, Clayton Weatherston. For me, it was a disgusting spectacle from start to finish. His defence was centred around the fact, that to his mind that he was provoked, so his evidence and defence was by her action of spurning him brought about his action. This tactic should never have been allowed. His Defence Council, who are also Officers of the Court, really should have known better. Ethics today would seem to have flown out the window, and to win at any cost. Not only did go to the girls home, he knifed her in her bedroom some 216 times, then proceeded to desecrate her body by cutting off parts of her face and sexual organs. If that wasn’t bad enough, he then did his level best to portray himself as the victim, this with the aid of his council, pleading diminished responsibility all caused by her provocation. He did plead to be guilty of the crime of manslaughter, but my feels are that if had he had any backbone at all, he should pleaded guilty of murder. What seemed to be over looked was that he was the one on trial, not his victim. She is unable to plead for herself, and her memory is allowed to be subjected to a litany of innuendo in what she may have done, or not done, to her former boyfriend. Even her private Diary didn’t escape examination, and it was entered as evidence.

In the mating game, we are all sometimes rejected, or passed over for a multitude of reasons. It could be that one is guilty of eating garlic, onions, smelling of beer, or cigarettes. Sometimes we don’t measure up because of a small statue, personal hygiene, or what your perceived prospects and standards will be. When I was young, many folk seemed to have an aversion to plain soap and water, for me this was very ‘off putting’. Someone once said in selecting partner for life, take a good look at the mother as an apple never falls far from a tree. I once had a very beautiful girlfriend, perfect in every respect, but quickly moved on, once I heard how she spoke to her sister and mother. I could see myself receiving much the same treatment in the future, had I decided to become involved. Another danger to any relationship is the damage done well meaning friends, or relatives. You know the story, ‘You can do better’ just off the cuff remarks that sometimes have a very damaging effect on any relationship

In any trial the Jury have the last say, but is this a fair system? Once it may have been, but today it’s not so, by the way it has evolved. No longer it’s a cross section of people. Once the Jury lists are sent out, and it looks like along trial, no one is very interested serving and every excuse under the sun is trotted out to avoid being empanelled. This means that now you no longer get a cross section of a one’s fellow citizens and you are now left with those without the wit or wisdom to avoid service. Who can blame anyone trying to avoid service. The pay is no longer adequate. Perhaps it should be linked to the salary of politicians, then it would never be a problem. Another necessary adjustment is the availability of just getting there. Parking, or perhaps even valet parking could be looked at, even taxis supplied. The whole period of service is one of inconvenience and personal disruption, as the councils drone on and on. Who can blame them, when they are being paid by the hour.

The other trial was that of David Bain. I will never understand how he was found to be ‘Not Guilty’. The trial was remarkable as he never took the stand. During the whole trial he never opened his mouth, all his pleading was done by his lawyers. Remarkable.

I read in the paper this morning a report where a citizen of Christchurch was called to account for his disgraceful behaviour by the Department of Child, Youth, and Family, that’s the (CYF) to you. His naughty action in their eyes was by allowing two of his children, aged nine and four, to play in a School Park Playground, and would you believe unsupervised. A commissioner no less from the CYF who ever he/she is, made a visit to their home to confront the parents, and advise them that a four year old and under the charge of a nine year old was not acceptable in their departments eyes to be left alone, unsupervised even in a playground. However, commissioner got a response that was not quite what expected. They were told in no uncertain terms to get lost. The family in question considered that it was the family’s responsibility to decide what was acceptable, and not the Governments. I don’t know who or what this organisation is, but it seems it’s another form of control. It’s large, we can see that, but one wonders exactly where this insidious form of control will end up. The former Government it seems had a price to pay to get it’s self elected, and it seem this organisation is part of that. This I imagine was another Hobby Horse from one the partners with votes who were hanging onto the coat tails of the Labour Party and required to form a ruling party. Thy probably had plans for many more of these ‘Control’ departments. Unfortunately for them, with the sweeping changes now being made by the new Government who have announced that these several thousand of these employees would shortly be without 200 hundred or so of their management staff for a start. These have all been deemed redundant, and it’s suggested that they look for another job.

They would have been very busy little ferrets if they were around in my youth. We were free to roam far and wide, the only proviso was that we turned up for dinner at night, and kept out of trouble. One would have thought that the CYF would have better employed looking after Playground and ensuring that they were safe. I think that this time they have got the cart before the horse.

Growing up, we had complete freedom of our town, we wandered far and wide exploring our domain. We didn’t have the luxury of playgrounds, and mostly played on the roads. We tested our courage by wandering into all the tunnels around Port Chalmers and even crawled through the narrow one that belonged to the Harbour board that pumped sand from Back Beach to Mussel Bay. We Climbed every tree of any size in the district. Crawled under the wharfs, as at low tide there was a rock base the wharfs were built on. My favourite spot was the fisherman’s punt where the fishing boats came to unload their catch. There were a lot of perks to be found there by assisting the fishermen. Sometimes we could hitch a ride on the Pilot Launch to take out the Pilot to a arriving ship or retrieve same from a vessel departing. Stevenson Cook moulding shop was another exciting visit to watch the pouring of molten metals into moulds. We hung around Captain Scoulay and were rewarded by the occasional trip in the Harbour Board Tug when the vessel was required for only a local berthing. He also owned a sailing dinghy and when he required ballast we enjoyed many exciting trips across the harbour to Portobello which always seemed to be a broad reach. I don’t think life jackets were invented then.

Another place of interest were the two engraving docks. Whenever a vessel was being berthed, we were on hand, to see what turned up when the water was pumped out. Always a variety of fish were trapped, and easily caught in the gutters that were now under the ship, exactly where we to be found.

In my youth, which is now many a long year ago,  then if you had asked me the question, ‘What is a Homosexual’, I wouldn’t have had a clue of how to answer the question and what they got up to. At that time, things such as this were simply not discussed. However from observation I had come to the conclusion that some people seemed to be born completely different and as well their sexual orientation was different to what was considered normal at that time. True, we had a few male friends and acquaintances who exhibited definite feminine characteristics, in total there were only about three or four, and that was from the population of our town which was some three thousand. From what I know now, there must have been many, many more, but they kept their true feelings concealed. In the main, I found these folk to be fastidious with their dress, fussed a lot and tended to like fine things of life. They avoided rough contact sports, and were more attracted to things like, golf, badminton, or perhaps even tennis all of which they excelled. In hindsight I could see they were very careful not to draw attention to their sexual preference. You could also wonder at this time, if there were any females who were exhibiting similar homosexual traits? From what is known today, there must have been an equal number. But back then, ‘Coming out of the closet’ just wasn’t an option, and from what I know today they wouldn’t have dared to test the water.

For me, all this changed when I went into the Services and the real world. Soon after I was on a troop ship and leaving New Zealand. On the same vessel it so happened that there were present a large number of American servicemen. They must have thought, ‘What a collection of innocent young Bunnies’ we have here. Which in a way was true. On the ship our sleeping quarters were situated on an open deck and we had to put up with a lot of through traffic. Amongst these Americans whose sexual education was much more advanced than ours, and some immediately set about making sexual advances to these naive young sleeping Air Men. I suppose, initially they couldn’t believe good luck. However this quickly turned to dismay, when the reaction they got was distinctly hostile, plus a threat to even toss them overboard if they persisted with their sexual approaches. This was something for them that was totally unexpected and certainly not on their agenda. We had been told many times, to fall overboard was bad news. But don’t expect the ship to stop. They quickly they summed up the situation and could see that it wasn’t an idle threat either. I have since wondered, where were all the women who had similar feelings towards their own sex. I think a lot must have just masking any of these feelings, got on with their life, probably married into a miserable existence. I thought once you could detect them if they exhibited facial hair, or even sporting a trace of a moustache, until it was pointed out to me, that this was only a hormonal condition. I was into the Army at the tender age of eighteen. We were at war and the Government of the day tossed the rule book out of the window and conscripted men from eighteen years of age up. I was a very young eighteen and had a lot of catching up to do. From time to time the Army did their best, they lectured us on most things, even sexual matters, bringing us up to speed on what we should know about life now we were instant adults. The camp Doctor ‘Doggy Moore’ thought it necessary to give these young men under his care lectures on sexual matters. One that he gave was so graphic, I can still recall it. He painted such a bad picture of women in general, that if he did the same today he would be ‘court marshalled’ and sent packing back to civilian life.

When we moved to Queenstown there were many opportunities in the Tourist and Service industry work. In this area there were many job opportunities, and it attracted many homosexual folk. They excelled working and running Hotels, Restaurants and even the Entertainment business. By now they made no effort to conceal their homosexual preference, and I wondered what all the fuss was about earlier. Life for them it would seem had changed, and they made the most of it.