Wally's tales

Somebody has just brought to light, and exposed, the Air New Zealand’s Trolley Dolly’s Manual. I understand that it’s currently it’s still in use. We know it’s a few years old, but most of it’s instructions and suggestions, are still relevant today. This is in spite of the job description which it covers has largely changed. Today’s air Craft are larger, travel greater distances, and the cabin staff’s duties are more onerous. Once I seem to remember, that Cabin Crew were mainly recruited from the Nursing Profession, but today that’s no longer the case.

The manual is comprehensive, gives tips on basic personal grooming, as well behaviour that’s expected from Air New Zealand employees. The media of course is having a wonderful time with it’s expose’. They are busy poking fun over some of the suggested conduct, even with today’s changed attitudes. Naturally, some suggestions will cause an uproar, but not where you would expect. What seems to have caused the most offence was a warning to the cabin crew that they should be careful of any Tongans passengers’ drinking. And as a result become an unmanageable problem. For sure some Islanders are big drinkers, and they don’t require any encouragement to binge when free alcohol is concerned. Any drunken behaviour in the confined space of an Air Craft’s crowded cabin is most undesirable, as far as the other passengers are concerned. There is no avoiding it, and no escape. Possibly the fact that everyone is in a holiday mood, then being plied with drinks they naturally don’t need any motivation to endeavour to drink the Bar dry. I would have thought the manual should have included another group who on occasions can and do cause similar problems, that’s the male ‘Sports Teams’, who today with professionalism are frequent travellers. From my observation, I would suggest they as a group, have the potential to cause trouble when liquored up. This of course makes them as well the most undesirable travelling companions.

However most of the balance of the Manual seems to cover very basic grooming. I wouldn’t have thought something like this today was even unnecessary for someone whose work is conducted in such confined work space. This work area puts cabin crew in close contact with the public in a crowded Aircraft Cabin. Common sense should tell anyone who choses the job of Cabin Attendant, to be aware that the job calls for great attention to personal grooming. Mention is made in the manual that is more explicit, it suggests the need to take a daily shower. The use of a deodorant, to clip nasal hair, Pluck monobrows. I can remember back to my youth, a couple of young, healthy maidens whom I liked, but unfortunately they seemed to have a very casual attitude towards the use of soap and regular bathing. As far as I was concerned, this was the one reason that I kept them at arms length, no relationship was going to progress very far. There were many jokes about this time, of the giving of a subtle hint to the one offending. A cake of Palmolive soap as a gift, or leaving it under their pillow. I never tried it, considering it would be a ‘sure fire’ way of getting a black eye. To be fair at this time not many New Zealand homes had bathrooms fitted as a norm. Even Hotels at this time only went as far as a wash basin in your room, with a shared bathroom at the end of the corridor. Many people at this time depending how they had been brought up, didn’t see any need for a daily shower. In my personal opinion the War changed a lot of peoples’ attitude towards bathing. Troops were not as sensitive as civilians about telling a mate or someone that you are in close daily contact with, that they needed to take a shower more frequently. After the War It seemed attitudes had changed, the houses that were now being built had bathrooms fitted as a matter of course. Toilets were also going under a change, they were now being shifted from the bottom of the garden to inside the house.

In a way it’s very easy to offend and not be aware of it. I remember years ago when we led an isolated existence and use of Garlic was yet to be accepted. We thought our selves quiet sophisticated if we cut a clove of garlic and rubbed it around a salad bowl. About this time I had to travel across to New Caledonia and carry out some business. When this was concluded, I stayed on for a couple of weeks holidaying at a small village, living and eating with the locals. Imagine my surprise when I observed the girl preparing our dinner. She was busy pounding, in a mortar at least three large bulbs of garlic, this she casually tossed into the Pote’e Champenoise (Stew with vegetables) for our evening meal. After a couple of weeks of this diet I didn’t considered that I was any different. However on returning home, taking a hot shower one morning, my daughter entered the steamy bathroom. She immediately exclaimed, ‘It’s you who smells, You reek of Garlic’. I was completely unaware that I was offending the folks back home, and that the garlic I had eaten overseas had systemically entered my system.

Today with our new International attitude and acceptance towards exotic foods, I suppose the eating of garlic has become more acceptable but now I’m careful of my intake.

I was surfing on the Television the other day, I stopped to listen to the spiel being doled out by one of the religious channels that come with the ‘Sky Australasian’ feed. A particular preacher seemed to have only one aim, and that was to solicit and extract as much money that he could from the Church’s TV. Adherents, or just the plain gullible. It didn’t matter where they were in he world. Any currency was acceptable, and credit cards accepted. We are talking about large sums too, $500, $1,000. This crowd doesn’t muck about. They were in my mind only one notch above professional confident experts. If the authorities were doing their job, they all should be shoved into the slammer.

The Television Churches of the Air Waves are all blatantly soliciting one thing, Money. Using every ploy they know of to extract even more money required to carry out Gods work, well some of it. This was not the only channel at this caper. They have been around for a long time, but in a different mediums. They know too when they are onto a good thing. I can remember an Aunt telling me about a family problem when I was a very small boy. At this time my Grandmother was loosing her grip on life, becoming senile, and easily manipulated. She had always been a very religious person, and a regular Church attendee. But in her latter years she was attracted more and more towards the fringe Churches. Those in charge of these institutions soon recognised her as a pigeon, ready for plucking. They were quick to exploit this and constantly fussed over the old dear. One particular group was always visiting her looking for the large donations she was known to give.

However at Church on one occasion when the collection plate came around after she had been softened up, Grandma nonchalantly tossed a substantial roll of bank notes onto the plate. When it passed by Auntie Laurie, she quickly fished out the family money, muttering it was a mistake. Today they are just as great in creating an atmosphere. You have to hand it to them in that they do give a slick and polished service, or performance that would put any genuine mainline Church to shame. They field large choirs, and a huge organ, and even a twenty or thirty piece orchestra. But the one thing they are not shy about, and that’s soliciting contributions. I didn’t have look too hard to find several others all working my section of the Air Waves. They pretend they are respectable organisations, but for my book they are about on a par with the ‘Fly by night’ roof painters and double glazers. I know about double glazing from personal experience. I’ll concede they have made great strides in cleaning their act up, but that doesn’t get me back the $12,000 I had to pay out to replace the windows in my home that went mouldy in their internal air space. They were under guarantee too, but who do you seek recompense from when the firm involved has been declared bankrupt.

Anyway back to the religious pan handlers who are preying on the weak and gullible, and there are plenty of people out there who really believe that by handing over large sums of money, they will perhaps be given favourable treatment when they reach the promised land to begin their ‘after life’. These people are no different than the con artists from Nigeria who bombard us with mail advising that a relative has died intestate. Would you believe there are several million dollars being held in trust for me should I wish to become a claimant. All I have to do, is send some up front money to help with bribes, and the necessary expenses. Then I will soon be in receipt of umpteen millions. What a lot of careless relatives I have had (About a dozen in the last count). You would think that no one, would fall for such a transparent fraudulent scheme such as this. As they say, aided by greed, there is a sucker born every minute.

The Churches in general can breathe a little easier now as Richard Dawkins who some have named the anti Christ, has moved on. He spoke to several packed houses in his talks that he gave in New Zealand, even in little Christchurch. Not cheap either, at $135 a seat, telling us what we should already know. I too am confused about life. I certainly don’t believe in many of the traditional religious stories I was fed over my formative years. But I still get a feeling of guilt and that I’m doing wrong, should I pause to think about it about many of my activities. For example, even not observing Sunday as a day of rest. Having said that, I don’t believe in Creationism, but I am happy with Evolution, the facts are there for all to see. However I can’t come to grips with the fact that we are living on a small benevolent grain of sand alongside a ten mile Beach of sand. The more we discover about our environment the more puzzling it all becomes. We reach out into space, only to find that there are billions of like stars. It’s hard not to believe that something has had a hand in providing us with this thing of wonder we call Earth. The right temperature range, the fact that in most places sufficient water, or even the air we breathe. So much to wonder about. Is there another similar planet out there? There are possibly hundreds, even thousands. It matters not, for we will never have the means of having the ability to communicate, let alone make a visit. The distances are just too great, you wouldn’t live long enough to make any journey.

All I can say and that is. Be content with your lot, and play the hand you have been dealt.

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I was wandering around the Supermarket the other day on a fruitless search seeking something that didn’t seem to exist. On this particular quest I was looking for ‘Creamota’ a favourite cereal of mine. It was a breakfast favourite popular for a large section of New Zealanders for over one hundred years. Should it be true that it has gone it’s a travesty. Anyway it must have gone and soon forgotten I suppose as it’s no where to be seen. Earlier I had wondered what would happen when Fleming’s’ Factory in Gore was purchased Lock Stock and Barrel by a competitor, Uncle Toby’s. So what is going to happen to it? Are they going to carry on as before? I didn’t have to wait too long to find out. Poor old ‘Sergeant Dan’, pity he too has to go the way of old scouts. So now we are left with only two varieties of rolled oats, namely Harrington’s and Uncle Toby’s. It would seem that the cooked cereal breakfast too is on the way out. Even the plain oatmeal seems to have disappeared.

It started me thinking, perhaps many of the other one time staples are being slowly withdrawn, sometimes in a subtle way. All purchased by a competitor, then quietly got rid off. I seem to remember Bon Ami window cleaner, and another from my youth Gibb’s pink dental cake, packed in an aluminium can. I remember another item I never see today, that’s Fly papers that came in a sticky roll. I never liked them, but I don’t have to worry about them any more. Gone. The Boot Polish ‘Nugget’ gone too. I can understand egg preserving products, not selling and being withdrawn. There is not much call for that product today. Further more, not every family today has a dozen chooks in their backyard. The need to preserve surplus eggs during the seasonal flush is no longer necessary.

There has also been a falling off in home bottling and preserving too. The market and shops are flooded with cheap canned products. All shipped in from overseas. Peaches from Poland, China, and South Africa. These would you believe, are all selling for less than we can buy the raw materials. The canning factory in Roxburgh found this out too, unable to compete, it had to close. This in turn hurt the local growers who actually depended on the factory for their livelihood. The only local one that was available to buy their product. At one time I had access to a home canning system, but again, the price of the empty cans actually exceeded the price of filled cans imported from overseas.

Nothing seems to make sense any more. Oysters in shell, the preferred way of eating them by a Connoisseur. Forget it, they are now shucked at their source and delivered to us in a plastic pot. I will never forget the look on a Frenchman’s face when he was offered some in this manner by his favourite fish merchant, ‘Sacre Bieu’. The best oyster in the world is now nearly destroyed.

Shoes are another item that has changed. So cheap now that no one bothers any more to repair them. When showing signs of wear, they are simply discarded. I gave away my boot ‘Last’ with my tins of brass cleats and hob nails, toe and heel plates, to a Niece who stored them away amongst her other antique items.

I remember I my youth candles and kerosene lamps were still in common use. I was pleased to note that candles are still on display on the grocers shelves. Whenever we have an power outage, there is always a scramble to look under the bench in the dark to resurrect the old standby. The ranks of old faithfuls that have now gone is endless. Lemonade, the American Giants have swept aside our old favourites ‘Lanes’ ‘Ballins’ and ‘Thompson’s’. Not even an empty bottle in sight as they had a small redeemable price on their bottle returns, kids quickly exploited this source of revenue.

In the cosmetics range there has been huge changes too. Qtol a popular face cream gone. Shaving soap forget it, so I suppose shaving Brushes too. Remember Baxter’s lung tonic? However there could be another reasons for some of the removals. In the past, many of our more popular remedial brands were heavily laced with alcohol, and would you believe until recently, opiates. The Chemists and Doctors would know which could be additive. We all had someone in our family that clung to their favourite remedy, like it or like it not they were addicted. I know of one case recently that they became addicted a nicotine supplement chewing gum to stop smoking. I know from my time in the services that lemon extract was always on any order the Cooks put forward. None of it however found it’s way into their cooking. The fact that it was laced with proof Spirit could have had something to do with it’s popularity.

We all go through many stages of life, one of the most important as far as I’m concerned is ‘Old Age’. Of course I’m now fully qualified to write about ‘Old Age’, as a practising Senior citizen. If someone was to inquire, ‘How will you know when you are officially classified as ‘Old’? Well that’s easy, there are several clues and changes that you will experience. The start of it’s onset it could be with young people you encounter at Banks, or other official places of Business, Medical Centres even. When these employees start to greet you as, ‘Dear’ or ‘Love’, something they wouldn’t have dared have done a few years back. Also, some young shop assistants have trouble seeing you. It must be another effect with growing ‘Old’. You sometimes become partially invisible. Some seem to think that as well as you are ‘Old’, and exhibiting symptoms of frailty, you must also be hard of hearing or deaf. So they talk loudly to you, just like they do when dealing with foreigners.

We are also treated differently by Politicians, they need to be reminded from time to time, that your vote doesn’t become invalid with age. I came into contact with this thinking when I turned eighty years of age. I was told on reaching this milestone, I was now required to take an mandatary biannual eye sight test, this was to commence at eighty, plus an extensive medical exam, and finally a comprehensive practical driving test.

Everyone involved clipped my ticket, presenting me with a substantial bill for each step. To say I was annoyed, would be an understatement. So I immediately sat down and wrote a terse letter to the then Minister of Transport, who at the time was the Honourable Ruth Dyson. In it I explained that I wanted to know why authorities were picking on the ‘Old People’, when the facts and statistics didn’t support the situation. We didn’t get drunk, hoon around in our cars, have accidents, and write ourselves off with poor driving habits. Further more, if they were really so anxious to test a group of people that had more accidents than any other section of our population, and as well exhibited a very bad driving record. Take a hard look at the Police. They it would seem to have the worst driving record of any section of the New Zealand population. I must have touched a nerve as she replied immediately. She thanked me for my letter, and said that they were looking into the current legislation that was annoying me. True to her word, a year later she wrote again, and said the biannual driving test for eighty years and older would be abolished before the end of this current year. A great a win for the ‘Old Fogies’. I still had to pay $35 for a medical, plus a nominal sum for the reissue of a new licence.

I had found it initially difficult driving in the City for the first time, as 99% of my driving (Some 75 years ) had always been in the country where stop lights, stop signs, and all the other City restrictions, just didn’t exist. But I did know how to drive in snow and ice, and on gravel roads. I had never had an accident or made an Insurance claim. Even with this back ground I very nearly failed my first ‘retest’. During the test I came to a Compulsory Stop, I drove a metre past the yellow line before I came to a halt. The Instructor ponced. He said, ‘I will have to fail you for this mistake’. ‘Why did you drive past the yellow line by at least a metre’? I replied, ‘Because there was a tree blocking my line of sight where the yellow lines are painted on the road’. ‘So I stopped where I could actually see if the way was clear’. ‘I actually thought you would condone this action’. But he said, ‘You should have stopped at the yellow line regardless’. ‘That’s the Official Line’. I wondered about this, and wanted to say. ‘Where do they recruit people as stupid as you, to carry out testing’? But under the circumstances, I thought it more prudent just to bite my Tongue. He sat quiet for a few minutes while he pondered over my conduct and reason, at last it would seem common sense prevailed. ‘Perhaps this man has a point’. He then decided to forgive me, and we resumed the test.

In my youth, people living to an Old Age were not a problem. Not many did. On reaching 60 years of age, many of those working in heavy manual occupations which most did most were exhausted, and worn out physically. They without fail, soon shuffled off to an early grave. However today, as a result of excellent medical attention, good knowledge of what constitutes a healthy diet, plus machines to do the heavy ‘Donkey’ work, it’s not unusual for most of the population to live well into their eighties or nineties. The result of this is we have hundreds of these, who are now deemed, ‘Old People’. Problem! What are we going to do with them all? Why put them into ‘Homes’ of course. Buy up large numbers of Lazy Boy Chairs, arrange them in a circle, and leave them all sitting and awaiting their final call to shuffle on. From time to time Groups call to entertain. They are a special breed, all anxious to perform. Not good enough for the local Bar ‘Karaoke’ scene, but they inflict themselves onto a passive audience which they can find in Rest Homes. They range from adequate, to just plain awful.

With Old Age Sometimes mother nature plays some nasty tricks. You may be fit and able and ready for an enjoyable retirement, along comes Alzheimer’s. Or the other alternative, you are as sharp as a tack and a paralysing stroke is your lot, so all you can do is accept your lot in life and play mind games.

Sadly I don’t have an answer to the problem, but I’m sure we can do a lot better that we currently do. I know one thing for sure, there is a ‘Lazy Boy’ chair waiting in the wings for the young of today who have parked their Old Folk into care.

I’m thinking of applying for a Darwin Award, I think over the years I have carried out several acts that should put me in a position to be a possible candidate. So you don’t know what the Darwin Award is all about? Well, it’s given out to people who commit incredible stupid acts.

One such incident that I recall, happened some time ago and should partially qualify me. It happened when I was a trainee pilot at Taieri Air Port, I was off flying solo in a Tiger Moth. The day was dull, raining and the sky was nearly fully clagged in, with low cloud. But I saw a hole in the cloud cover, through it I caught a glimpse of another world, and the sun. Tempted, and although thoroughly inexperienced, I didn’t need any urging. I climbed through the open pathway and entered into a bright new world. Sunshine, snowy towering clouds, in fact a wonderland. All mine, and mine alone to explore. However, when I considered it was time to return, the hole was no where to be seen, gone! This was really serious, the Air Port was in a basin and surrounded by high mountains. Exactly where I was now in relation to the mountains, I didn’t have a clue. The mantras we had been taught came flooding back to me. ‘There are Old Pilots, and Bold Pilots’, but no Old Bold Pilots’. And another, ‘There are rocks in clouds’. To get out of my predicament, I flew due East for some time which now meant I was out over the sea. I let down only to find New Zealand was no where in sight. Flew back due West and found my aerodrome again, only to discover my Instructor pacing up and down because I was now overdue. I never confessed to him what stupid thing I had done. But now, I was more than a little wiser. Many pilot when training did stupid things, but never confessed.

Another time when overseas I was doing ‘Air Control’ for night flying. The planes flying were faster, and a little more sophisticated. It wasn’t the custom to use the tower for this task, but a truck with a partial glass enclosure. This was parked in the line of fire so to speak, located at end of the strip, close as possible to the action. You were given this task for any misdemeanours, or just plain military volunteering. ‘You are the controller tonight. OK?’. I was armed with a ‘Very pistol’, loaded with red flares, as well an ‘Aldis’ Lamp, as we didn’t run to radios. I was now in sole charge of the Air Port. This particular night was cold and frosty, very still. I had just given an Aircraft on it’s finals, a ‘Green’, signifying he Run Way was clear and it was OK to land. But when he glided in closer, over and above the engine noise and the whistle of his oncoming Aircraft, I could hear a claxton horn. I couldn’t see the aircraft in the dark, only its navigation lights. I knew immediately what was wrong. Hooters were fitted just above the pilot’s ear, designed to give the pilot a loud reminder blast should he throttle back with his undercarriage still in the retracted position. This Pilot was actually ignoring the overpowering noise. So I fired a red flare at him. I actually hit the propeller, this immediately turned the aircraft into a red ball. Not exactly the correct procedure, I suppose I scared about ten years growth out of the forgetful pilot. However, he quickly recovered from the shock, throttled up and disappeared into the night, going round again. I never knew who the stupid pilot was as he escaped into the dark.

One day I received a call from my Sister. Could I drop what ever I was doing and come over immediately. She had an opossum or similar small animal trapped in her home’s ceiling space. Hurry up too as it was busy chewing through the ceiling plaster. What it would do once it got loose in the house, was something we didn’t even wish to think about. After putting a chair on a table I was able to reach the opossum and pulled a back leg through the hole it had made. I then tied a walking stick tightly to a back leg and proceeded to pull the little ‘beastie’ through the hole. I was now about to find out now the true meaning of the word ‘possum’ which the animal had been playing until now. Suddenly I had about seven pounds of angry spitting scratching, screaming, mean critter, half in and half out of the ceiling hole. I didn’t know what to do, I wasn’t making a good job of what I was now doing. So I immediately switched to plan ‘B’. Reaching for my rifle which I had also brought along and shot the opossum. Wonderful! I now had two holes in the slate roof, one made by the animal, one by the exiting bullet. This wasn’t one of my brightest acts, but the animal was now dead. I don’t think this was the sort of result my sister had called for. It could be worth consideration for an award.

Another act I was involved in happened during preparation for solo night flying. In our time air craft were fitted with only limited instruments. Night flying was something that you needed to bring all of your skills to bear. The most dangerous time was on ‘takeoff’. You lined up on the runway which was lit with about couple of dozen kerosene flares. Uncage you directional aid, then with full throttle run down the flare pathway. Once the last flare went under your wing, you were in a black void, so there was no need to look outside, but give the instrument panel your full attention. I was doing practice ‘take offs’ the instructor was in a bad mood giving me a hard time. I was flustered, and committed the cardinal sin and neglected to uncage the directional Gyro. The instructor had also been extremely neglectful too, he had forgotten to fit his control column from where it was placed, should the aircraft be in a solo mode. When he went to grab the ‘Stick’, he considered too that his time was up. We managed to stagger into the air and I put this down to more good luck than experience. We both agreed after this narrow squeak that we would never discuss this episode again, certainly not with our superiors.

Sure I have made many mistakes in my life, but I never repeated any of them, and I’m still alive. I considered I was richer for experience from some of the many situations that I got myself into.