Wally's tales

I was watching a TV programme the other night featuring Jamie Oliver the English celebrated chef. It concentrated on his futile campaign to improve the luncheon diets in English Schools. What an uphill struggle he was having, even to get the class that he had selected to base his efforts on. No way were they prepared to depart from their fast food they considered their norm, even taste the food that he had prepared, was a no no. You would think he was trying to poison the young tykes. We have had in our family, odd members who also have had some very strange fixations with food. One cousin had a regime that was definitely not normal, and caused his family much anguish who worried it could cause him serious harm because with his unhealthy diet. This young man as I remember only ate fried Chips and tomato sauce. Well in spite of all the various families dire predictions, he is still living, well into his seventies and as far as I’m aware, still in reasonable good health which says a lot for tomato sauce and potatoes. I’m also not in a position to say now if he ever expanded his diet to include some regular food. He is not alone in his fetish, as over time we have come across various neighbours and friends who continue to survive on a very restricted food intake. In one case all greens were summarily dismissed as ‘Rabbit Food’. Others their intake could be regarded as exceedingly Bland. Another survived on burnt bacon.

We ourselves have been very fortunate in our life to have met many foreigners in our travels who have introduced us to the many culinary delights that were available in this world. I can remember back in my youth Sunday lunch was predicable with usual cold cuts of either Beef or Mutton, served up with cold Beetroot in a vinegar dressing and mashed potatoes. A lettuce salad cut very fine with a dressing made from condensed milk mustard and vinegar. Maybe a topping of hardboiled eggs and tomato. Looking back on what we considered normal food or diet then was very restricted too. It was very plain, meat and three vegetables but all this was soon to change as the Country opened it’s doors to other races. However as a family we did eat a lot of offal, something few others did.

Now if I spot something new or different while shopping, I just have to buy and try it, with the result have ended up with some very strange encounters with the Checkout Girls. Their lack of knowledge of their product in some cases is surprising. Once I was asked when pushing forward a large green savoy cabbage, ‘What’s that?’ I replied a large green tomato. However I must confess that to date I have never tasted a ripe fig. I did see some for sale recently, but at $29 a kilo, I’m afraid that’s a taste sensation that has been reserved for the future, I will just have to stick with the dried variety. Another surprise is the narrow bank of meats that are eaten by most people. All Offal is out, people today won’t even try it, I’m sure that they are not hungry enough. Our ancestors certainly were, as they found a use for and ate every part of a beast, fish, or fowl. Anyway, back to the Check Out. ‘What’s that’? said she, Holding up a plastic bag of tripe. Being told, Yuck! ‘I wouldn’t eat that’. I replied to her, ‘You do’. Do you like Sausages? On receiving an affirmative reply that she did. I inquired, ‘Do you know why they are known in the trade as Mystery Bags?, ‘Where do you think all the unsold tripe ends up?’

In our town we now have Eastern, Chinese/Japanese Indian, Supermarkets and often I enjoy a browse. The importers are learning too and often there is an English translation on the back of each food item. We now enjoy exotic items such as fish sauce, garlic, and many other foods forty of fifty years ago we wouldn’t have touched with a barge pole. I have to go now and see if my seaweed has dried out,

The Air Port Security forces are at it again, they now wish to toughen up Security on our Domestic and Air Link Services. ( That’s the small plane fleet) And who do you think is going to pay for this ‘Peace of mind’. Of course you are silly billy. Do we need this additional protection from perceived Local Terrorists, or is it only another ‘Make Work’ Scheme? I’m of the opinion all that needs to be done, is to isolate the pilots from the passengers, so a locked door between the cabin and the pilots is all that is required. Any determined terrorist, or what ever you wish to call these Deranged people, they will always find a way to by pass any and all security checks, they have proved thus in the past. The authorities are crowing over what they have discovered, in the form of nail scissors, and files, Swiss pocket knives, and a host of other small ‘brick a brac’, all proudly displayed in many glass cases at various Air Ports. In my mind this is a pitiful collection. I can’t imagine anyone holding up a plane with many of the items displayed. For instant if you were kitting out a Terrorist Cell, took them to our security cabinets of retrieved and confiscated so called weapons, saying, ‘You can help yourself to what ever you want from our collection. They would probably fall over laughing.

Another thing that needs to change and that is the attitude that’s instilled into our culture from birth, and that’s our political correctness towards people intent on doing you harm. That’s the acceptance that most bad people are not really out to do you serious harm or cause general mayhem. So long as you meekly go along with the herd, do as you are told, then all will be OK. In the case where the Terrorists took over commercial planes ‘twelve eleven’ to fly into the twin Towers, only one group of passengers took matters into their own hands and fought back, they nearly saved the day for themselves. At least they did try, and more to the point they did prevent the Terrorists from flying the plane into the White House, or what other prime target they had in mind. They at least stopped acting like pathetic animals caught in the headlights of a vehicle bearing down on them and froze into inaction. To give in, be compliant, is what the authorities would like us all do, give into their demands, but that’s not what I believe you should do.

Unfortunately in this country when you try to fight back you can end up being treated like a criminal, and what’s more arrested. Take the recent case of the Indian shop keeper who took a hockey stick to defend himself from a knife welding robber. For his trouble he was arrested and charged for aggravated behaviour. At least the Courts showed some common sense, while they didn’t award him a medal, they tossed the case out. I’m afraid in my opinion the Police are the wrong people to give control of over situations where a malcontent is busy spraying bullets around the neighbourhood. I’m not sure what the problem is, but suspect it’s the media exposure, and the roasting that follows by the professional ‘nit pickers’. What ever they do they are subject to criticism, and given buckets of advice of what they should have done. They act in the same when ever there is an accident out on the road. They lock up the whole scene for a day, the dislocation they cause by this action is never questioned, or the time they take to mull over the situation. What they are really doing, is protecting their rear again. If this was to be the norm I can see when our earlier wars were fought in this manner, no wonder we had ‘One Hundred Years’ Wars.

I heard one high up Officer explain away why they took a whole day to get themselves into gear when the lad David Gray ran amuck at Aramoana. They said they didn’t know exactly where he was. I would have had no argument with this if were only him and the Police involved, as far as I am concerned they can take a week. But in this case there were people lying around wounded, some considered dead or dying, others holed up in their homes. So even in the face of this they waited 23 hours until he made a move. Of course again the media were out in full force, all arraigned on a high advantage point, with their cameras covering the whole area. This task should have been given to the Army who are specialists in this area of expertise. They wouldn’t required a day to plan their next move. The Police said they didn’t know where the lad was holed up, but in a war the enemy, don’t go around holding up flags, calling out, ‘We are here’! You have to go out on patrol, and winkle them out.

With the continuing loss of jobs to a large sector of our community, without a doubt some will be heading for a period of belt tightening, and as well, a large dollop of relative poverty. Like it or like it not, everyone has a different idea of what the experience of real poverty is, and what’s more how to handle it. Some in this life have always had it good, many can’t possibly do without the so called good things of life, their expensive Cars, Sky Television, Telephone, Mobile telephones, Heat, Takeaways, the list is endless when you come to add up what makes up the ‘Good Life’. I haven’t even got around to the more mundane things such as Mortgage repayments, Medical Insurance, Private School fees. I know my list seems endless, and all absolutely necessary. Someone once said, for some families spending always exceeds income, some of it always seems to end up on their ‘Cards’, we will attend to that next month. Many people too have no idea of how to downsize, and balance their living expenses. A short period of living on their ‘Dole’ money entitlement, I know will soon motivate them. No one should starve, if the current levels of Benefit Payments are maintained. I only hope in many cases that their marriages are strong enough for the test it is going to be given. In the past and in 1930’s many of our older folk experienced a depression, (this is the only one I have had any personal experience of) then people were not only denied many of life’s pleasures, but many times sad to say, many families went to bed hungry. During this time the unemployed benefit was a ten times more basic than today, so basic that for many there was no money for anything other than to pay their rent, and put some very fundamental food onto the table. This was a terrible inditement on the Government of the day, there was plenty of food in the country. It seemed the only problem was distribution, I suppose also pressure from existing traders, as any free handouts would effected their business which was suffering as well. Sheep at one time were worth only 10 cents each,

In times past I used to do volunteer budget work, I found that in many cases, the problems in families were the same, regardless of each candidate’s financial position. It didn’t seem to matter whether the people in trouble drove up in a BMW, or rode a push bike. The solution seemed always to be the same, to take the immediate pressure off them so that they could think straight, then try to get them to live within their means. And of course let go a lot of expensive things we used to think that comes under the heading of indispensable. Simple things such as a refrigerator or washing machine are, but with reduced cash flow ‘Sky Television’ isn’t and when you only have a benefit to live on, you don’t have many choices, and it’s surprising what you can do without.

Strangely for older people it isn’t all that difficult to manage, as most of us have already had a taste of living frugally. As well, in our youth many didn’t enjoy what is now called today’s necessities of life, or luxury’s. We managed even without a telephone, the corner call box gave us all the communication we required to our extended family and friends. For many cases of folk in trouble, I blame many of the lending institutions and finance companies. In many cases where people have lost their homes, or are in danger of, the problem can be traced back to when the loan was first issued. Loans being handed out a few years back were set up to fail. I’m talking about 100% loans, and interest only. This was an exercise in stupidity. Once the housing market went into decline, the clients were in a flash put into a position where they now had an ‘negative’ interest in the property. Add sickness, or the loss of a job to this equation, and you now have a situation that’s beyond help.

Even at the threshold of a depression we were experiencing a wave of burglaries, especially around our Universities and other areas where flats are plentiful. (The Insurance companies load premiums in our CBD. and the district bounded by the four Avenues, as burglars it seems are not prepared to walk very far.) We have one section of our young if they can’t get the ‘Good Things of Life’ one way, they are prepared to help themselves by breaking and entering. They know if caught they will be treated leniently, it’s just a cry for help.

I have never been a good gambler, but I do enjoy a game of cards, perhaps with a small stake to add to the interest of the game. My canny background would never allow me to play for high stakes. Slot machines are one of the worst games of chance, they leave me cold. I know that they are all pre-programmed to win, with odds loaded heavily in favour of Government and the owners. To see people sitting alongside a row of machines, all with pottles of real money, trance like and seemingly mesmerised by their flashing screens. It makes you wonder if they have more money than sense. Many of these too are well on the way to becoming ‘Problem Gamblers’. I would imagine that many times the family’s food money, went down the tube. Reason and logic should tell them, in the long run they can’t win.

One amusing incident in my past and involving my gambling happened soon after I had joined the Bank. I was given the task of overseeing the destruction of the banks collection of cheques and vouchers all kept and stored on the premises. Several truck loads in fact. By law, they had to be kept for a statuary number of years, and naturally they took up a lot of space. Rather than just burning them in an industrial furnace as in the past, the Bank this time had arranged with a paper salvager to shred, and recycle our many years supply of paper. Unfortunately, a few of these cheques had a carbon backing, so a copy could be kept by the issuer. Seeing this was a contaminant, it had to be removed before they were pushed into the shredding machines. I soon tired of watching this operation, I inquired from the owners if they had a spare pair of overalls, I would then assist with the task. Because of this gesture, I was then invited to be included in all their other activities. One of which was the card game of ‘Euchre’ which they all played with a passion, without fail in every break, morning and afternoon tea, and as well lunch. I soon summed up their playing skill, which was not very high. They, (the employees), it seemed were more focussed on gaining a Euchre, which they enforced with whoops of joy. Not looking at the big picture and the winning of the game. To play, it cost a shilling a game, the Boss and I quickly formed a partnership, and we over a month, managed to extract a small but steady stream of income from these clowns, amounting to five, six, or even seven shillings a day. Not much, I hear you say, but when you are only earning Six Pounds a week (Twelve Dollars) my winnings really took on some significance. Everyone in the Bank seemed to be taking an interest in these games of skill as well. The Accountant’s first question on my return each day was. ‘How much did you win today’? On receiving an answer, it was quickly passed around the Bank. However it all changed one day, and all turned to custard for me, when the owner of the factory said, ‘He had received a ‘Hot’ tip on a horse. Would I give him ‘Ten Shillings’ and he would then include me on the bet he was going to place’. Before I left to go home that night he passed me Eight Pounds, my winnings. Wow! The effect this news on my return was nothing short of astounding. This win, on my return was quickly flashed around the Bank, even reaching the Manager, who popped out of his office demanding, ‘Why didn’t I think to ring the Bank, and pass on this priceless piece of intelligence?’ The fact I didn’t even know the name of the horse, wasn’t a valid excuse. Upshot was, I was immediately removed from my job and replaced by, ‘A more responsible Officer’. The manager said, ‘He didn’t want any of his young employees corrupted by an addition to gambling’. I should tell you that at the time I was thirty years of age, married with two children. I had grown up very fast in the Army, which I had entered as a private as an eighteen year old, as soon as I could however, transferred over to the Air Force where I became a Pilot. I considered myself very worldly wise. If you want to learn about life, join the Services during a War.

I have never yet made a visit to our local Casino as I’m not attracted to what they have to offer. However, in Australia, we were regular patrons to gambling establishments because of their dining benefits. Also, the Australian Sporting Clubs which are also heavily into gambling machines, row upon row, all fully manned with patrons feeding their money into them as fast as they can. Which in turn, is subsidising their food and drinking facilities, again, we were quick to exploit this subsidised dining.

Every other day we view on our TV screens, News Reporters, all with bated breath, telling us about some ‘Ferals’ who have stolen a vehicle, and has been the subject of an exciting ‘illegal’ pursuit by the police. How wrong the police action is. Should this chase result in an accident and some perpetrators get hurt all hell breaks forth.(Further more, they never seem to want to use their own vehicles for these capers). Perhaps they have carried out some naughty mischief with a vehicle (stolen), or fleeing from a robbery which has initiated Police attention. As in the past, the resulting chase has ended with someone being killed, or maybe just maimed, when the police went into their ‘Hot Pursuit’ Scenario. You are not allowed to do this in New Zealand, according to the ‘Political Correct’ popular opinion.

The bandits are very well aware of this ruling, and are playing on our current system of rules. They know that the Head Office will call off the chase, sooner, rather than later, under the pretext, that the public are being endangered. Worse, the political ‘fall out’ is against any Police action. When the Bad Guys are killed or injured, it’s suddenly all turned around, and now it’s now the fault of the police. Who dreamt up this nonsense? Possibly some defence lawyer who senses that he can bring an action for a financial compensation. And of course from which, he will skim a sizeable fee. What a lot of nonsense. They by these acts of stupidity, they have endangered all other road users, with them not being followed they possibly stand a good chance of getting away with their senseless act. As well, be around to do it all again another day. If caught, they then have the gall to make capital out of their action, blaming the Police pursuit, aided of course by the media, and the bleeding heart brigade all looking for compensation. My attitude is that the Police should chase them until they are run into the ground, and are caught. Should they loose control, and are killed, too bad, they should have stopped when they first heard the siren and saw the flashing lights.

In case you are thinking I’m alone with my attitude. I’m not, most other countries will mount an orchestrated pursuit to catch these law breakers. Some even have set up special units and cars for just this purpose.

I don’t know who dreamt up these biased rules in New Zealand. But they all seem to be slanted in favour of the criminal. I read the other day where a chap had some sixteen convictions for driving while drunk. It begs the question, ‘What’s he doing out of jail, still driving around endangering other road users?’ As well, when he comes before the court his previous convictions are then hidden from the Jury and court. There is some very bent logic at work here. It’s not fair they cry, to disclose their ‘previous’. I afraid I see it completely different, and from the other side. Their ‘previous’ should they have one, should be allowed, and displayed. If it’s a matter of public record, it must be available to all concerned, and on the table.

Another thing that annoys me, and that is the constant suppression of their names. This is too freely given by a weak judiciary, this really is part of the penalty, of being named and shamed, for goodness sake. Two weeks suspension of publication of a name so the ‘perp’s’ can advise his family. Where do they live, on the moon?

While we are on the case for concessions, parole seems to be given as of a right. Too many people have been granted this facility, some have then continued to carry on with their criminal behaviour while out on the streets. Even in a couple of cases they have committed Murder. Why not, it’s their chosen way of life.

I touched on the defence of these criminals, too many lawyers are making large sums of money from this scheme, millions in fact. It’s now time to do away with this scheme and set up a Public Defender’s Office. It’s not new, it what’s available in most other countries. Well that’s enough of my ranting for this week.

In town the other day in town I was confronted by a couple of Muslim Women, (I can only assume they were Muslim Women) as they were covered head to toe by a heavy grey gowns. To see out of this draped covering, there was a small lattice for the eyes, and a similar device for the mouth or nose, but breathing must still have been difficult. Where do these people come from? For all the world one looked like she was related to ‘Darth Vader’ in grey from Star Wars. Anyway, are they part of immigration’s department new asylum seekers intake? If they expect these people to integrate with New Zealand’s average citizen, they have another think coming. I can assure you that this will never happen in a hundred years. They have brought along with them the worst aspects and trappings of their former life, probably even what they were escaping from. We are used to seeing more common and modest display of deference to Allah here from many of women of Arabian countries. All wearing a head covering or scarf, sometimes, as well a small veil draped and covering their mouth and lips, when on our daily excursions into the outdoors. Many of these would be students, as there are several hundred of these and would encompass most Asian groups.

I suppose we too have forms of extreme religious display nearer to home. On leaving the Super Market the other day I was confronted by some young folk, parked in a ‘disability park’, close to the entrance where they could attract maximum attention. Their only disability in my mind, was in their head. They had badly painted their car a stark white, possibly with a six inch brush. Then they painted all over it, religious messages at least a foot high, in an iridescent green paint, ‘Jesus Lives’ ‘God is great’. Further, our regular door knockers are at it again too. I had another taste with a visit from eight or nine folk this week, all trying to sell/give, me a copy of their Watchtower magazine. I’m not sure if their effort is to make them feel good, or just to save me. I was polite to them, but handed out my message that I wasn’t interested in any doorstep evangelism.

Our immigration Department seem to have a very ambivalent attitude towards new arrivals these days, and their various religions, and the restrictions of how it is applied to their women. My thoughts are that we are only making trouble for ourselves in the future by this attitude and from past experience, they tend to live in enclaves. More annoying and dangerous, is the fact that they are not being screened for diseases that are endemic in their former home Countries. Most of these diseases were brought under control here a long time ago, and we have forgotten that they are still rampant in other parts of the world, and just how dangerous some are. Tuberculosis is one that has popped up again, and it is being traced to recent immigrants, and in a more virulent form too. It’s so long ago that we worried about this disease that all our Sanatoriums have now been closed, or have been moth balled.

I have been interested in the figures just released from the recent census of the ethnic grouping regarding Auckland’s plan to weld it into a Super City. The ‘Tangata Whenua’ (Maoris) are badly loosing ground to Asians who are now the most populous group. What has happened to the Maoris? Well, many have crossed over and married into the European race and become ‘White’ by default, but they can’t have it both ways. By this I mean they can’t expect to be allocated three ‘Special’ seats they are demanding as of right.

I mentioned one huge advantage was that we actually knew everyone living around us, and as well their extended families too either by contact when commuting, or when we joined the many Clubs each small place seemed to have in abundance. Our own nine hole golf course was never crowded, admittedly it also ran sheep on the common ground to keep fees low, but the greens were fenced off and clean. Badminton courts, tennis and squash courts, swimming pool, all were always available, and the list goes on, and seems endless. I was told, but never counted them up, that Milton was supposed to have some 200 clubs. So we missed out in nothing. Of course there was always the Hunting and Gathering ability, and right at your back door. You could collect field mushrooms by the butchers basket on the nearby hills, keeping only the freshest and best. This was of course in the days before top dressing became universal, which seems to have had an effect on that abundant supply that we used to get. Nearby creeks contained trout, white bait in season, fresh water crayfish, eels. As well, there were blackberries for the picking, old but now abandoned fruit trees, planted by settlers long gone, gave free fruit for he taking if you knew where to look, and of course, not forgetting game and wild duck.

One rural place we lived at our mail was delivered by a system called ‘Rural Post’. Our mailman was an absolute joy, and he put all other delivery methods to shame. Should we wish for a parcel from town, not a problem, if you were quick smart getting your order in, same day service too. Or perhaps a case of fruit in season, not a problem either. Our rural delivery man would even wait until the price was right, then you would find your fruit and invoice at your door. One ‘do gooder’ neighbour tried to tell me when they were agitating to do away with this Rural Service, it was for the better. My reply was, the Postman didn’t deliver your bread, daily paper, and a myriad other small tasks for a very small cost. As well as an added bonus, pick up your out going mail while passing as well. A march into the future meant you were stuck with this irksome task and now had to take outward mail to the nearest mail box.

Of course there was a down side, that was from time to time you were expected to turn out for Working Bees. Being such a small town there were no ‘hand outs’ and if you wanted some improvements to your club, you had to get up and do it yourselves. I even enjoyed this side of small town life, and the working with other club members. Our Gun Club, we built from scratch, everything including the Club House. Various members always had specialist skills, whether it be finance, construction, not forgetting farmers who were always very practical people. The same with our Yacht Club. From a site on the water’s edge, we built slipways, wharf, and a entertainment area. As well we supplied a chase boat.

I did notice however it seems to be the same dozen people who were the ‘doers’, these folk actually did most of the work, no matter what enterprise you were involved in.

I have covered in earlier stories, my experiences of flying the Tiger Moth the primary trainer of the Air Force, as well as our hurried trip to North America to carry out the next step of my Flying career, Service Flying.

As it turned out we need not have been denied our final leave, we had been given three days to say our good byes. As soon as we arrived at Edmonton, Canada, which I’m sure is one of the coldest places in the world, we were put on hold. We waited months for a position to materialise in the Service Flying schools, and to commence our course. What we didn’t realize that at the time, they were actually prolonging our lives An Air Force Pilot, at that time, would seem to have a very short shelf life. This was brought home to me by something that happened at Taieri. On the walls of one of the Pilots rooms they had hung the ‘class pictures’ of the pilots who had passed out from each course. As and when they were killed, and they were, they had coloured in their white cap flashes in red. I discovered to my horror that there were very few survivors in the initial twenty five courses, everyone seem to be either ‘Killed In Action’ or posted as ‘missing’. As we waited and whiled away six months or more, the Canadian Air Force which we were now part of, did their best to keep us busy, by teaching us Navigation and many of the other skills we were going to require in the future. From them we learnt some very valuable lessons, and a lot about the weather. One threat was Icing, either in the carburettor, or on the wings. Another phenomena that killed people, and you should know about, especially if you are flying. It’s called ‘White-out’ and this can happen at any time that there is snow around, and the light conditions are correct. It can hide a whole mountain range from sight, even though it’s immediately in front of you, it’s just impossible to see it. Never was there a truer Homily than, ‘There are rocks in clouds’. Skiers and Mountain Climbers would be familiar with this same phenomena, as ‘White Outs’ are experienced in the mountains too, under certain conditions

A classic example of what it can do, would be to the Air New Zealand’s DC10 that flew unknowingly into Mount Erobus, even though it was right in front of them in plain sight. There would be two reasons why this happened. One, a senior captain was flying the Air Craft, I would imagine he had never experienced a ‘White Out’ from his behaviour, he would have also scorned the presence of a junior ex Air Force pilot on the flight deck who had. He also broke another cardinal rule, and went down lower than his instructions allowed. This was in an area where he didn’t know exactly where he was. He had been instructed to keep above 3050 metres. To muddy up the waters, an inquiry then allowed lawyers into the equation. They got carried away regarding navigation ‘Way Points’, and pinned the blame onto the wrong people. The Air Craft navigation ‘Way Point’ got them very close to where they wanted to go, but they were in the wrong valley and they would have been using ‘visual flight rules’. In a ‘White Out’, this system can get you killed, and it did. The Inspector of Air Accidents Ron Chippindale got it right, ‘Pilot Error’, was his finding, but he was ignored.

Another phenomena they had in Canada, and I imagine in other cold places that is ‘Super Cooled Rain’ . It’s actually rain that’s below freezing point, but doesn’t turn into ice until it strikes something. When it happens, it festoons trees with icicles, breaks off large branches. Drags down power lines. It is also deadly to Air Craft. One instructor said to me, ‘Should you ever encounter it, Go back to where you were, because there was none there.’ The closest example I have seen in New Zealand, is in Central Otago, where they fight frost with water spray, and the fruit trees in orchards are festooned with icicles.

It had to happen and it did, finally we were sent over to Ontario to a small village called Dunnville. It was on the edge of Lake Erie and had an Air Field built on it’s outskirts. It was one of several, all built through out the State, all to exactly the same design. So in bad weather you had to be very careful you were actually landing on your home station. We did a lot of of flying in what I would call very Bad Weather, and at Night. My worst experience ever, was flying in an snow storm one night that hadn’t been forecast . I found my way home then, more by good luck than good management, but many that night were lost, and forced down.

The Harvard our trainer was a wonderful plane to fly, it was the Air Craft selected to bring us up to ‘Wings’ Standard, although some variants of the machine were actually used on operations. We also had several twin engined Air Craft such as Ansons, which lumbered around for Navigation Instruction. Why they bothered I didn’t know, as a single engined pilot, you were alone, and at night, you had a map strapped on one leg, a calculator on the other, in poor light, you really didn’t have the ability to carry out difficult navigational problems. We all had problems, as this was a hard discipline to master. Frank and George, fellow trainees decided to minimise their risk in a long solo Cross Country, with Frank waiting with parachute at the end of the strip all unknown to the hierarchy and going along to assist. In spite of this, they still got well and truly lost, ending up in jail after doing a forced landing hundreds of miles down into America. We unfortunately lost two other fellow trainees in separate air accidents, which was about par for the course.

And what did I think of the Harvard as a machine to fly? It was very noisy, powerful, in fact some of the pilots I knew, are having hearing problems today. I was told I too could apply for a pension, but I’m not effected. On the credit side It was easy to fly, providing you did exactly as taught. Forget to uncage your gyro when taking off at night, in a flash it would kill you, and did in many cases, because once you left the strip there was nothing but darkness and no outside reference to which way was ‘up’, then you had to rely solely on your instruments, which you couldn’t if your prime directional instrument had toppled, or remained in the locked position.

All things come to an end, one day our instruction did cease, and we were declared skilled enough to be awarded our wings, with five times the hours our predecessors had before they were pushed into combat. Then I was granted more than wings, I had found a new confidence.

I have just returned from driving into town. I was following a small 1950 Morris car when the driver, it seemed wished to make a turn, he surprised me by putting out his hand and arm, signalling his intentions. It’s a long time since I witnessed anyone using hand signals. Which brings to mind, what a pampered lot of motorists we are today. It doesn’t seem all that long ago I used to drive my Uncle Gordon and any of the family from Dunedin who wished to go, up to the Racing Cup Festival at Christchurch.

This was not a journey to be taken lightly, the car was unheated, as were all cars of that time. So preparing themselves for a cold night and journey, the passengers all armed themselves with hot water bottles, thick travelling rugs. As well, a large basket full of Flasks of hot water, to make tea, plus substantial snacks. We didn’t seem drink a lot of coffee in those days, it was always tea. Cars were a little more difficult to drive too. No automatic gear boxes, only ‘crash’ gear boxes without any synchromesh. That was still to be invented. Roads were in the most part unsealed apart from the towns we passed through. Another small problem was that the electrical system was only 6 volts, so driving on the main beam wouldn’t measure up to a quarter of today’s light. I can remember too, that in fog especially at night, the 6 Volt system couldn’t penetrate the gloom. This was especially so on trips over Mihiwaka Mountain which always seemed to be shrouded in fog, when we made our trips out to the Beach. We always travelled after the movies at night, for at the time that was the family business. More often than not, someone would be forced to walk alongside the car, marking the boundary of the road with a torch.

Another of today’s comforts that was missing, was the radio. Even if you had one, the power of the Broadcasting station was so low, you didn’t travel very far and you soon ran out of a signal. Also I still have hanging in my wardrobe, a thick tweed overcoat. I suppose it’s still fashionable, I know it’s warm, but I haven’t worn it for at least 30 or 40 years, just because there is no need. We no longer travel in cold unheated public transport or cars, or have the need to wait in the open at bus or train shelters, for whatever you are catching to arrive.

All cars of this period required constant tinkering too, and there was the need to carry a comprehensive tool box. In fact some expensive models used to build a tool box into the trunk with the spare tyre, tools all neatly set out in a specially lined siding draws, each embossed with the car’s manufacturer’s name.

On the plus side there were very few traffic cops, normally one per town. No compulsorily Stop Signs either, apart from Rail crossings, which normally were infested with trains, special care was always required. Few if any traffic lights. I can also remember a fully uniformed Police Constable called Oswald? Complete with white gloves on point duty for many years at the Exchange in Dunedin, during peak traffic periods. Parking was a breeze, normally you could find a park where ever you wished to go, then park all day if you so wished. Car thieves were yet be conceived and born. Oil had to be changed every thousand miles, in fact a constant eye had to be kept on all fluid levels, as cars at that time were notorious for dripping and leaking fluids. The first thing in the morning daily, one had to examine water and oil before you even took your vehicle out. Tyres weren’t all that reliable either, so it was necessary to know how to change a wheel, and if possible repair a puncture on the side of the road. A hand or foot pump was always provided with the tool kit. Cars of early days were of rugged construction, a running board was just that. A bumper was also a thick bar of steel, and could sustain a serious bump, something the plastic object of today’s car still called a bumper can’t do. All you get today is a bill for $6 or $800 to replace same, that’s if you are unfortunate enough to have a bump.

I mentioned earlier, I was initially inducted into the Air Force in Ashburton, after doing a short period of guard duties and study I moved on to training proper. It seems now that all was only yesterday. I soon passed all my next set of ‘entry’ exams and then was accepted for assessment and training as Air Crew in the New Zealand Air Force. All successful candidates were initially posted to Rotorua, where the Air Force had taken over the whole town. Not a tourist in sight, all the town’s amenities had been pressed into War Time service. There seemed to be hundreds of young men passing through, all being streamed into the various ‘flight’ careers, such as Navigators, Pilots, Bomb Aimers, Wireless Operators, and Air Gunners.

This was a small but important part of the Empire Air Training Scheme. Several Hotels, if not all, were pressed onto service as ready made barracks. Carpets had been rolled up and put away for the duration of the war, Normal pampering I suppose, would be returned after the War. As well, all the fine dinning gear, linen and silver was also put away, and out of sight. It didn’t grace any tables during my stay. Meals were now being served buffet style, with the Airmen passing a line of cooks which was the order of the day for the Hotel until the War ended, and tourists returned. A vegetable I had never seen before was Kumara, it always seemed to be served up in some form or other.

Council Chambers were now given a new role as lecture rooms, the movie theatres were excellent for Air Craft Recognition, in fact there was nothing left in the town of a civilian nature that hadn’t been pressed into service. If you weren’t a serviceman, you were probably employed by the Air Force. The whole town was now a huge Air Force Station without an Air Field. Of course every young man wanted to be a Pilot, but those in charge had to be sure you measured up in so many ways. So more classes and exams, until those in charge made their finally selections. Medical exams seemed to be endless, many hopefuls were tossed aside because of eye sight deficiencies, and a myriad other reasons.

I was finally accepted as a trainee pilot and given the coveted white flash to wear in my cap. I was then posted to Taieri Air Port, and my training began. Strangely I had never been in an Air Craft before and I didn’t think many of the others had either. So none of us had any idea of what was in store for us in the future. My initial fight was one of familiarisation, when the disembodied voice came through the voice tube, (No electronics here, it was just a plain speaking tube straight to your ears). ‘Can you now point out to me the Air Port’? I really didn’t have a clue. I couldn’t have even pointed out Mosgiel township. I was in a Tiger Moth, the Air Force’s primary trainer, very basic, no brakes, no self starter, even the instruments were primitive, no artificial horizon, even the landing lights were in the form of flares. We did have a primitive needle and ball instrument, altimeter, Air speed indicator, rev counter, compass. Sitting in an open cockpit you were wrapped up in jacket, pants, boots, all made from sheep skin. Leather head gear, and Goggles. Your only protection from the elements was a small wind screen.

Nothing was familiar, even to the smell of the Air Craft, which smelt strongly of dope that they stretched the fabric covering wings and frame. After about eight hours tuition, my instructor jumped out of the plane and said, ‘See if you can fly this thing on your own’. I need not have worried, I felt he was still with me, carping away in my ear telling me to, watch this, watch that, don’t hold off in the turns, until I safely landed again. My career as a pilot was now truly under way.

My career was not with out incident. I still had to learn about, ‘Old Pilots, and Bold Pilots’ and the fact there were no, ‘Old Bold Pilots’. One rainy day I popped up through a hole in the clouds and played around in bright sunshine thinking, what a lucky guy I was. But when I decided to return to the dull wet land below. The hole had gone and I had no idea where I was. I also knew the Air Field was in a basin and surrounded by mountains on all sides. After taking into account all my options, I flew out to sea and let down there, and then flew back up the Taieri River. I never told about my stupid move. Another time I was preparing to take off when the Control Tower signalled a wind change with a smoke flare. My take off path now took me into the smoke, I flew into the smoke and immediately lost all forward vision until the smoke cleared. To my horror there immediately in front of me was the Control Tower. They would never have known who the errant pilot was, they would have all been too busy lying on the floor. Looking back now I should have felt sorry for our instructors, there were fifty other trainee pilots all loose, all getting into ‘situations’ of their own making.