Wally's tales

This week the ‘Do Gooders’ of our world have a new target. They would like Dairies or Tuck Shops that are close to schools, sell only ‘Healthy’ food. Good idea you say, but kids of today don’t much like or want to eat ‘Healthy’ food. I can’t believe that the Tuck Shops are the main culprit that is creating our obese children. The diet that they have at home must also play a large part, if their jumbo sized parents are any indication. I can remember back to my youth, and how I looked forward to a visit to a tuck shop, which would you believe was located only twenty yards from my school. This treat would mainly be on a Monday. I would leave home early to catch my train transport, long before any baker arrived. So the only bread available for sandwiches had been baked on Friday, and was not exactly palatable unless toasted. The bakers of yesteryear didn’t bake bread over weekends, and my mother sometimes would give me sixpence to buy my lunch. This would alway be the same, a mutton pie four pence, and a sticky bun two pence, this with a slash in it’s middle which was filled with jam and mock cream. Was this healthy? No, I don’t think so. The pies all seemed to be to same. A hard pastry, with a layer of liquid fat over the mutton meat. You could eat these pies cold, but when hot, it was possible to bite the corner off the pie, and tip some liquid fat out. These pies still exist today. I recently saw their equivalent being sold as a ‘Mrs Macgregor’. I would also have liked a sherbet drink for another penny, but I couldn’t stretch my funds that far.

Should they get their way, (that’s the ‘healthy eating’ folk). Just how do they intend to enforce the latest proposed edict? Will we have more ‘gum shoes’ joining the anti tobacco, anti liquor people, surreptitiously doing the rounds of Tuck Shops and Dairies and other outlets looking for sales of pies and fish and chips to the underage. Also looking to see if the offending items offered for sale are concealed, and no advertising is apparent. Already the young are fighting back, as there is now a thriving trade in counterfeit driving licences, and many other forms of identification, all designed to give the merchants, an incorrect proof of age.

I have noticed in some countries that most, if not all street food is deep fried in oil or fat. In America I have also observed this is the home of some of the worst offenders. They pay for this too, as they seem to have more than their fair share of grossly overweight people. Heaven forbid if you are flying, and these people are around and you should be unfortunate enough to get allocated a seat alongside one of these big people. Their first move once seated is to raise the arm rests. They can’t fit comfortably into what is deemed a normal seating space, and they would now like to spread and encroach into your space.

I have often wondered why the Airlines make such a fuss over the excess weight of a passenger’s baggage, but do nothing about ‘Over weight people’. Some Airlines calculate people as all one weight 180 lbs, and all bags 25 lbs. Flying in a 747 with many excess and incorrect weights is not a problem. But try this on a light regional aircraft and it could kill you.

And how are we going to persuade the young to accept Healthy food. Not well, we have bred an large section of our youth who have never been subjected to any discipline. They are able to get their hands on liquor which is supposedly tightly controlled. On a regular basis they binge drink and when mixed with a high powered motor vehicle is a ticket straight to a slab in the morgue.

Our young are protected from any physical punishment from an early age, but later all too many carry knives and are prepared to use them. Some how these leaders and citizens of our future have to be persuaded to accept responsibility and join the Human race. I’m sorry I won’t be around to see it

The green brigade today is busying itself with a campaign to do away with the use of plastic shopping bags. Some Supermarket Chains have listened and taken heed, stopping the issue of same. Others who are neither for or against, have taken the middle position and are charging 5 or 10 cents a bag to slow usage down. Some Supermarkets are not giving any credence to their cries at all, and don’t believe we are polluting our planet with this item, and that their use is having little or no effect. However any temporary setback will not halt these people. They really must be terrible people to live with. They will not stop now they have started. They are even trying a political move by getting parliament to prohibit their use.

I for one require and need these bags. In this house they are recycled for numerous tasks, such as dust bin liners in both the bathroom and kitchen. Some I use as a shopping bags that can be kept in your pocket until required. Invaluable too, when walking your dog to pick up and depose of it’s leavings. All the while during their earnest campaign, New Zealand and Australia are busy digging up coal as fast as they can. Shipping it to China and India by the Bulk Carriers to really pollute the worlds atmosphere. For a moment, just pause and compare our plastic bag usage to a 60,000 to the 100,000 tons of coal per shipload, being shipped out weekly. It’s like comparing a mosquito to an elephant. Both coal and petroleum resources were once green forests, or similar plant material. As I see it, what we have being doing since time began, is only a rearrangement of the initial materials on planet earth.

This world when time began was initially given a finite amount of resources. Mother Nature as well as lately man have rearranged everything many times over the space of millions of years. Nothing has ever been destroyed or added to Mother Earth, apart for a small amount of cosmos material that drifts in, such as meteorites or even space dust. Mother nature has also determined from time to time, that when she decides that the time is fit. We should experience yet another change, even a cold period. So we have an Ice Age with ice miles deep. Sometimes she just moves the Continents around, or we suffer an Earthquake, or even Volcanic activity. Personally I consider we should be more concerned about our trying to exist on a block of ice rather than worrying about the warming of our planet.

As I see it, the real problem today is one of overpopulation. We have emerging third world Countries, some with populations of a billion people or so. Their growth is unchecked, and sooner or later this will spell trouble, and that will be when their burgeoning populations decide to claim their share of resources, which will happen, sure as god made little green apples. Nations have gone to War over less. There is one other resource that nations will be prepared to fight over and that’s water. It’s a bit ironic to tell an Australian this, while many parts of their Continent are in flood. But they are an attractive destination with their large empty spaces

Some parched nations in the future will be prepared to help themselves from those who they see living in a land of plenty. Only sixty years ago Hitler invaded France, Belgium, Holland, Norway just to feed his War Machine, and he didn’t give a toss about any other Nation’s sovereignty, or for that matter what the rest of the world thought about his aggressive move.

We live in interesting times, this world of ours has many surprises ahead for us, and we will not be able to do anything about it.

Our first foreign holiday was to New Caledonia and what a culture shock that was. We had over the years had a commercial contact with the French and over this time became good friends with many. When one family offered us the use of a holiday cabin they had in their village ‘Oinnie’ which they actually owned. We decided to take advantage of their generous offer. I had been studying their language, and this would be a good chance to get some total immersion. This village although it was on the map, it was new in every respect, and very isolated. It had been created and set up solely for a large mining operation, and site their workshops for the Family’s Society and to extract the mineral from the mountain alongside. This area was extremely rich with the Mineral Nickel. The village was situated at the mouth of a bay on the East Coast. There was no road passage available. Access was by only Aircraft or Barge. As well, there was no telephone. Radio telephone at this time was available, but on the Island very expensive. However it did have a regular radio schedule with their Bureau in Noumea.

The landing strip although sealed was worthy of any of New Zealand’s ‘Top Dresser’ strips, and you were required to have the same skills if you were landing an Air Craft, on any bush strip in New Zealand. For a start you could only land in one direction, and that was by flying directly at the side of a mountain. Then you were entering a descending valley while still on your finals. Your flight path then followed a valley while descending and turning all the way down to the ground where the strip was located. To the uninitiated flying only a couple of hundred feet from rock crags on both sides and underneath was a little unsettleing. In this narrow valley you followed it’s contours, and actually turned 180 degrees, until you faced the strip which was jutting out into a lagoon. To take off, you took off towards the sea, as it would be impossible to climb out, to follow your inward path. Landing and take off always took the same route regardless of wind direction

he village itself was constructed of attractive prefabricated homes, all imported from New Zealand. All wiring was underground from their own generating system. All of the village was set in a pristine forest. The large trees had all been left in situ. A small school, restaurant, and store completed the residential set up. Street lighting was tucked away out of sight in the trees.

Th workers were Metropolitan and Colonial French, and workers from all parts of the French Territories. As well some Kanack’s, the native people and finally ‘Caldouc’, slang for Caledonian Settlers. We ‘Poken’ slang for ‘English spoken’ were treated as a welcome new outside interest. We were passed from family to family for meals and were treated to Moroc, French, Caldouc, Portuguese, Javanese Cuisines. Most in this enclave were unable to speak any English, but my French had progressed to a point where I could now make myself understood but carried a ‘dictionnaire Bilingue’. What they did do, and was annoying was the fact that they devalued us. Anything and everything we touched in the store was to be free. We refused to take anything unless we could pay for it. and too late found that anything we had showed interest in was waiting for us at home where we were having the evening meal. We quickly learned not to touch.

On arrival we were all fitted with Japanese shoes to walk on the reef. This was just outside ‘Oinnie Bay’. The Bay too was deep enough to take, and moor, bulk ore tankers to carry off to Japan the mined material. This was taken out to be loaded by lighters and tugs. We were also given some basic skills about their marine life and much of it we found to be deadly. Sea snakes, Stone Fish, Lion Fish, and the Cone Shell to mention a few, all carried the promise of instant death, if you tangled with them.

The village had been sited in a virgin forest and the large trees were all left in situ. The family had extensively planted avocado, mango, lychee, orange, lemon, grapefruit, bananas, vanilla bean, paw paw. Many of the salad vegetables that we had been used to back home were still available, but at horrendous prices. Such as $13 for a lettuce, this when, out of season and was flown in with other salad vegetables from Noumea, after being sourced from NZ or Australia.

Having someone new in the village meant a new game. We were passed around from Family to Family for our evening meals, which meant new culinary experiences every night. This was served very late at night, when it was cooler. We had considered ourselves daring back home if we used a clove of garlic to rub on the salad bowl. Here it was being used by the handful. And chilli, which we had never encountered before. I just loved these new spices and became a convert for life.

The village was situated on the East coast which was sparsely settled, with a few native tribes scatted along the Coast. I found the natives friendly and when ever I came in from fishing they would give me a hand to moor the boat and sort the fish. Initially I thought they were taking advantage of me, as I was only left with a couple of fish out of a dozen. It was explained to me that many of the reef fish in the food chain were infected by a coral toxin. They would throw away ones considered dangerous, and keep the doubtful for them selves. And I was left with what was ‘safe’. What I could never understand was that when the natives spoke to you, they always looked down or away. I like to look people in the eye.

I had passed through Noumea during the War, and then it was a small village about the same size as Queenstown with very distinctive architecture. Something had happened, it must have been the fact most of these Islands in the group were very rich with mineral wealth.

The families Society started from a very humble beginning. The two principles commenced married life by diving for trocha on a deserted islet of only a couple of hectares. It was also infested by hundreds of poisonous sea snakes, which were still there when we made a visit for a barbecue. They kept undercover, and only made an appearance when arriving or leaving. Trocha years ago was prized because their shell was entirely nacre, but when plastic arrived, plastic buttons destroyed the mother of pearl trade.

Many of the youth were eager to learn English and took every opportunity. I was on a quick trip alone and before returning decided to buy Laura a ‘Label’ frock. The girls in the boutique said they would like to conduct the transaction in English. As they put it, ’Our English is better than your French’. I replied, ‘And it always will be if we carry on this way’ ‘What size monsieur?’ I replied, ‘If it fits that mademoiselle, it will fit my wife’. This hussy immediately stripped down to her panties and bra, slipped into the frock and gave me a look that said, I hadn’t won all the battles. I bought the frock and was kissed good bye by all the staff at the door.

When I was young, motor vehicles were not all that plentiful. Of course many of us wanted to learn how to drive. My father encouraged this, much to his sorrow later. He used to sit me on his knee and allow me to steer the old Fiat he owned at the time. It was a bright red with some of the polished brass controls mounted outside, on the running board. Really one magnificent vehicle, I wished I owned it today. I decided when I was about five, it was time to go solo. I loaded all the neighbourhood kids on board, and released the brakes and took off down the hill from where we lived. I didn’t get reprimanded for this short promenade as it was explained to him, he was part of the problem for encouraging me. However from that day I couldn’t wait until I got behind the wheel again, and in control. We were lucky to have relations on a farm down at Freshford Southland. There were many holiday visits, and I was delighted to be allowed to drive the farm tractors and their a car, a 1934 Graham-Paige. One tractor on the farm was a huge German single banger, I think it was called ‘Munctell’ or a name similar. It’s starting was an engineering feat in itself, as it had a blowlamp which you lit, then focused it onto a hot bulb which was part of the single cylinder. But as far as I was concerned it had a fault. It would run just as happily in reverse, which happened sometimes to me as I was lacking in strength to correctly spin the flywheel, which was how you started it, from a handle that folded out of the flywheel. I could always tell which was the right way when I got it running, by looking at the blind on the radiator to see if it was being sucked in or blown out.

While at home again and aged about ten with my brother and cousin, we all used to get up about 4-00am in the morning, walk out to Thompson’s Farm at Sawyers Bay in reservoir Road. Help with the cow shed cleaning up after the mornings milking, load the milk on board their willys 77 (This light truck was actually a forerunner of the Willy’s Jeep made famous during world war II). Then we would take off on their daily milk delivery run. ‘Bondie’ whose job it was to carry out this task, (This wasn’t his correct name, as all the Thompson sons had high fluten names, such as ‘Asquith’ which were never used). Bondie was a fashion plate too, as far as milk vendors were concerned, Jodhpurs, polished leather leggings, and open shirt and slouch hat. Because we did all the running, and we worked for free, we were then allowed to drive the small truck between customers. Bondie I also suspected was sweet on the cook at the Port Chalmers Hotel. I think she gave him a lot of attention which he craved, and a farmers breakfast, as he never came out of the kitchen for a long time. We boys then finished the milk run which was in the business area of the township. We didn’t have to worry about traffic cops back then as there weren’t any. I think there could have been one in Dunedin. I found out too that even back then, most police didn’t look for trouble and only really acted on complaints. They didn’t go around looking for trouble. We were busy delivering the milk and at the same time, getting valuable driving lessons.

I still remember they day I turned fifteen. I fronted up at Jim McElwee’s office with my five shillings the cost of a licence. Jim was the local carrier, fire chief, president of the RSA, and the man in charge of all transport matters for the town. I seem to remember that he also had something too do in starting a local museum in the pioneer Hall. He roared with laughter when I explained that I wanted a driving test and a licence. Why I have observed you driving around here for years. Give me your money. You don’t even need a test. I did get a test however when I turned eighty. During that Test my examiner said he would fail me because I stopped about two metres passed a compulsory yellow line painted on the road. I explained that this was deliberate, did he not notice there was a tree blocking our view. After it was over, he relented and gave me a pass. I came home and was still annoyed of having even to take the test with the stupid examiner. So I immediately sat down and wrote a letter to the Transport Minister the Hon. Ruth Dyson, complaining about the unfairness of the system and the actual requirement for these examinations as well as the monetary costs taking into account every one that got a bite of the cherry. The medical, the actual test, and the issue of a new licence and photo, which was only good for two years. Statistics didn’t support any need. She replied straight away, and thanked me for my letter. She added that they were doing something about the matter. She wrote again in a few months and told me in future that I would only require a medical every two years to obtain my licence. You actually do get some wins in life.

At eighteen I was called up by the Army. This wasn’t part of my game plan, and if I had a choice I would have opted for the Air Force. I actually made the move over sometime later, as soon as I had passed their pre entry flight crew exanimations. At this time I hadn’t actually even been for a flight in any Air Craft, and the only contact I had with flying, was with Model Aircraft I had built myself. It was discovered on arrival at camp there were only two recruits holding Heavy traffic Licences. One was Ralph Maxwell and the other myself. We were then given the task of training some thirty other recruits how to handle and drive a heavy vehicle, all of which had been conscripted from far and wide all over Otago and Southland. Trucks of this time were very robust, and all had crash gear boxes which took a bit of getting used to.

I have enjoyed my driving and the freedom it has given me. I will be sorry when the day comes that I have to hand my licence in.

Over my lifetime I have met and enjoyed the meeting many characters who were larger than life, and they made living more interesting through contact with them. Striding through life, out of step with the rest of the world, making waves as they headed towards their chosen goal. One was Gerry Henderson an American who arrived in Queenstown one day. He stood out immediately. Very wealthy, eccentric. He stood out by his actions. For example, when he arrived and wandered through town wearing three hats, saying ‘This is so I won’t crush them in my luggage’. He took a liking to the town, struck up a friendship with Popeye and Laurie Lucas who at the time owned Cecil Peak Sheep Station, also characters in their own right. Gerry was accompanied by hi wife Mary who was prone to wearing a Mink Coat and a pair of farm Gum Boots. Back then Sheep and Cattle farming was very buoyant. The Government of the time was adamant it could only get better and there was a bright future for it.

Popeye must have been a handful while he was in the Air Force, but he came through the war, unscathed and with high rank and he was still a handful in civilian life. Gerry was anxious to be part of Popeye’s farming operation, and to cement the friendship he gave Popeye loans of Hundreds of Thousands of Dollars. Something no Bank wouldn’t do to such a degree. Popeye didn’t spend it wisely, he didn’t take kindly to any of my advice not to overreach himself. However and when cattle farming took a nose dive, which things do, he was unable to service the now massive debt. I can remember that at one stage he couldn’t even make $15 a head for his yearlings at a stock sale. The freight to Cromwell was more than that. However Gerry was forever causing mischief in town. With his unlimited funds could afford to. He had made his Squillions in the Avon cosmetic industry. The American dollar at the time was only 80 Cents to the New Zealand Dollar, and he kept demanding parity, which certainly caused ructions. He ended up as the owner of Cecil Peak Station a situation that upset many politicians. However without Popeye the fun was gone, and Gerry sold up and moved on.

Another character who arrived about the same time was George Wilde an Englishman. He bought the adjoining sheep station Walter Peak. He also made waves in the town as he tipped very lavishly for every small favour. People were falling over one another to please him, and hung on every word he uttered. He even offered the Queen a 10 acre block at Walter Peak, but she declined. He also called on me to discuss ‘flood lighting’ the peak. He had no conception of the amount of electricity required and costs that would be involved, even with all his reputed money it wouldn’t be enough. But unfortunately about this time the supply of funds ran out before he even tried with several of his other madcap schemes. The last I heard about him he was running a pig farm in Vanuatu.

Another I met was John Saunders. He gave me a number to call if his account needed money which he never did. He was remarkable for the low profile he kept. He rang one day and invited me in for a drink on my return home. On arrival I was surprised to see Neville Wran the Premier of New South Wales sitting in the lounge. He was just as surprised, that I knew who he was. John turned out to be one of the most wealthy people in Australia. I found out later he was one of the two partners who started, and ran the Westfield Group of Malls. They are worth today several Billion. He flew in and out of new Zealand in his private jet, and invited Laura and I to fly back to Australia with him on one of his trips, I turned him down, but did take advantage of his executive Jet to play a prank on another German visitor who was staying in the home next door. I had taken him to the Local Airport when he was returning to Australia. However on arrival in Christchurch discovered he had left his wallet under the pillow in the bedroom. He called me and I told him to ring back in ten minutes, that would give me time to get up to the house and look for his wallet. I was able to confirm this just as he was boarding the last Sydney flight. I told him I would courier it straight away over to him. I then rang John who I knew was also departing, explained what I was up to. He took it one step further and on arrival in Sydney despatched his chauffeur with the packet containing the wallet to my German friend’s Office. Hans went straight back to his office and was explaining to his staff how annoyed he was over the missing wallet. They said we know, ‘It’s now on your desk’, ‘It arrived here some time ago.’ He rang me demanding to know how I did it, as he knew he was on the last plane to leave NZ. I replied it was all part of New Zealand’s good service.

Another Character was Lady Wright who retired to Queenstown after the death of her husband Len Wright who ran a very successful business in Dunedin, where he was also the Mayor for many years. Lady Wright called one day with a heap of Share Scrip about 10 inches high and requested I put each item into individual ‘safe keeping’ for her. To service this, I knew I would require an extra staff member, we would be forever clipping coupons, changing scrip in and out. So I said the only service I could offer her was a locked box. She responded, ‘If you won’t do it the ANZ Bank next door will’. She marched out only to return in thirty minutes, and she said, ‘That mug Banker next door will keep my script’. ‘But you will retain my account’. One day as I was seeing her to the door I remarked ,’You have a new car?’. ‘No I haven’t’, she replied, but then relented and said, coming up through the gorge when we used to share part of this road with Rail. She had a close encounter with a train. Driving up the gorge she was surprised by a row of lights alongside, horrors of horrors, this turned out to be the Cromwell train. She emerged unscathed from the encounter, but demolished her car. She immediately went back to Ford Motors, bought the same model, colour, to conceal her shame. I was sworn to silence on the spot. Another story to show she was a woman not to be trifled with.

We had a light plane service to Dunedin and she on one flight she was eager to claim the Co Pilots seat. She did manage this, but was tipped out by the pilot who replaced her with Dolly Bird. A Stop on this flight was made on the way at Alexandra. However this pilot was unfamiliar with the area landed at Cromwell by mistake and after some 30 minutes, Lady Wright said, ‘Why are we waiting here?’ ‘For the coach to come up from town. ’replied the pilot. She replied, ‘You will have a long wait then’. ‘Don’t you know you are in Cromwell’. She got her complete revenge when they arrived at Taieri, bumping into Sir Harry Wigley Chairman of Mount Cook, who operated the Air Line as she left the Aircraft. ‘Did you have a good enjoyable flight Cecilia’? ‘No’ she replied, ‘But I’m just going into the terminal to buy your pilot a road map’. ‘He seems to have a lot of difficulty in finding his way around’.

I have only scratched the surface on my character stories, I suppose too by now, someone is already writing stories about me.