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A Long Time Ago

Thursday, March 15th, 2012
Dear Peg and Family
I received an early lesson in my life of how to live frugally. I don’t know what had happened to our family in the past, but from what I was able to glean, it now seems the grandparents were cheated out of the proceeds from the sale of their Hotel which they had sold. I know two of my Aunts were very bitter about something that happened. We the young fry were not included in their conversations. Now we are older, it could be explained to us, but unfortunately our older generation have now moved on. We could and did listen in, and tried to piece together what actually had happened. What I do know, was that in their sunset years, grandparents ended up living out of town in their Beach House. This was situated miles from any road. This was only a Batch, basic in every respect. Tank water, no drainage, and a long drop toilet, situated twenty yards from the house.
No electricity, so for cooking firewood was the fuel which we gathered from the surrounding Hills. There still logs that had been too big to be consumed by fire, when the forest that covered the land was cleared. These were left baking in the sun, a hundred years later on. We attacked these with a cross cut saws, wedges and axes. Once we had cut these into manageable lengths, we dragged them home because, it was all down hill. Then they were cut into suitable lengths for feeding into the stove. I should have mentioned there with no electricity. We relied on Kerosene lamps, and Candles for all our interior light,  storm lanterns if we needed to move outside.
There was another source of fuel, and that was drift wood or ‘dunnage’ which had been tossed overboard by ships when they were leaving Port. This was washed up onto the beach from time to time. It wasn’t regarded as good fuel, as salt impregnated dunnage, was a bit rough on the stove. The salt accelerated the rusting out of it’s panels, and the stove itself had to be replaced every ten years or so. This dunnage came in regular sizes 6×1 inches 3×3″ or 2×2″ and many sheds and out houses were constructed from this free material.
The one thing at this time that was short, and that was money. But we were never hungry, and looked forward to spending as much time every chance we got out at the Beach with the grandparents. Our parents worked nights at their Picture Theatre, so were grateful to have somewhere we were looked after, and our maternal Grandparents who were happy to take us off their hands. We all had large gardens, and of course there was the sea. There was more sea food than we knew what to do with. Our neighbouring farmers had a huge garden alongside their Cow Byre. Not silly, as now it was the most fertile place in the valley. They always had too much produce, and were very generous to us. But you had to eat in season. Potatoes, Silver Beet Parsnip and Carrots were always on the table.
It was about a two mile walk cross country to the nearest farm which was run by the Drivers Family. They were close to being a subsistence unit, and this was from where we purchased our milk and eggs and butter. The Drivers milked by hand about thirty cows, with all the family pitching in. They too had no connection to any electrical supply either. They then separated the milk by a hand separator, and took the cream to the nearest pick up point by a sledge, about another kilometre or so. The resulting skim milk left over, was then fed to pigs. These were sold off from time to time, as they grew into porkers. On walking up to the Farm we followed a creek, and cross country route clambering over styles which were provided to negotiate the fences. On arrival home, the milk was immediately scalded, we certainly didn’t have refrigeration back then only a safe on the cool side of the ‘Batch’ this was primarily just to increase it’s keeping ability. Back then we didn’t know about pasteurisation.
The Drivers also churned and made their own butter. I did have a ‘taste’ possibly because the cream it was made from was sour, or on the turn. I remember one time they had a young guest who wouldn’t eat farm butter. So he had his own, store bought supply. But only the wrapper that was real, and store bought. The Alternative to butter was drippings from the roast.
At harvest time we were all called in to assist our farmer neighbour, as were some of the next door folk. All work then was carried out by a couple of horses or manpower. One thing sticks in my mind was a 10 gallon churn of cold water in which a pound or two of oat meal had been added as a thirst quencher. Difficult today, as you can no longer, even buy Oat Meal. We were all invited to partake and share in a huge mid day Picnic meal.
Time may have moved on but my memories have never faded and the lessons learnt back then have stayed with me till today.
Love from Christchurch,
Wally
I received an early lesson in my life of how to live frugally. I don’t know what had happened to our family in the past, but from what I was able to glean, it now seems the grandparents were cheated out of the proceeds from the sale of their Hotel which they had sold. I know two of my Aunts were very bitter about something that happened. We the young fry were not included in their conversations. Now we are older, it could be explained to us, but unfortunately our older generation have now moved on. We could and did listen in, and tried to piece together what actually had happened. What I do know, was that in their sunset years, grandparents ended up living out of town in their Beach House. This was situated miles from any road. This was only a Batch, basic in every respect. Tank water, no drainage, and a long drop toilet, situated twenty yards from the house.
No electricity, so for cooking firewood was the fuel which we gathered from the surrounding Hills. There still logs that had been too big to be consumed by fire, when the forest that covered the land was cleared. These were left baking in the sun, a hundred years later on. We attacked these with a cross cut saws, wedges and axes. Once we had cut these into manageable lengths, we dragged them home because, it was all down hill. Then they were cut into suitable lengths for feeding into the stove. I should have mentioned there with no electricity. We relied on Kerosene lamps, and Candles for all our interior light,  storm lanterns if we needed to move outside.
There was another source of fuel, and that was drift wood or ‘dunnage’ which had been tossed overboard by ships when they were leaving Port. This was washed up onto the beach from time to time. It wasn’t regarded as good fuel, as salt impregnated dunnage, was a bit rough on the stove. The salt accelerated the rusting out of it’s panels, and the stove itself had to be replaced every ten years or so. This dunnage came in regular sizes 6×1 inches 3×3″ or 2×2″ and many sheds and out houses were constructed from this free material.
The one thing at this time that was short, and that was money. But we were never hungry, and looked forward to spending as much time every chance we got out at the Beach with the grandparents. Our parents worked nights at their Picture Theatre, so were grateful to have somewhere we were looked after, and our maternal Grandparents who were happy to take us off their hands. We all had large gardens, and of course there was the sea. There was more sea food than we knew what to do with. Our neighbouring farmers had a huge garden alongside their Cow Byre. Not silly, as now it was the most fertile place in the valley. They always had too much produce, and were very generous to us. But you had to eat in season. Potatoes, Silver Beet Parsnip and Carrots were always on the table.
It was about a two mile walk cross country to the nearest farm which was run by the Drivers Family. They were close to being a subsistence unit, and this was from where we purchased our milk and eggs and butter. The Drivers milked by hand about thirty cows, with all the family pitching in. They too had no connection to any electrical supply either. They then separated the milk by a hand separator, and took the cream to the nearest pick up point by a sledge, about another kilometre or so. The resulting skim milk left over, was then fed to pigs. These were sold off from time to time, as they grew into porkers. On walking up to the Farm we followed a creek, and cross country route clambering over styles which were provided to negotiate the fences. On arrival home, the milk was immediately scalded, we certainly didn’t have refrigeration back then only a safe on the cool side of the ‘Batch’ this was primarily just to increase it’s keeping ability. Back then we didn’t know about pasteurisation.
The Drivers also churned and made their own butter. I did have a ‘taste’ possibly because the cream it was made from was sour, or on the turn. I remember one time they had a young guest who wouldn’t eat farm butter. So he had his own, store bought supply. But only the wrapper that was real, and store bought. The Alternative to butter was drippings from the roast.
At harvest time we were all called in to assist our farmer neighbour, as were some of the next door folk. All work then was carried out by a couple of horses or manpower. One thing sticks in my mind was a 10 gallon churn of cold water in which a pound or two of oat meal had been added as a thirst quencher. Difficult today, as you can no longer, even buy Oat Meal. We were all invited to partake and share in a huge mid day Picnic meal.
Time may have moved on but my memories have never faded and the lessons learnt back then have stayed with me till today.

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David Bain Guilty or Not Guilty

Tuesday, March 13th, 2012
Dear Peg and Family,
For the last couple of weeks the Press, there has been a spate of interviews, articles regarding David Bain’s Trials. These are being pushed by David and his champion Joe Karam, as he has just put in a claim for compensation, and repayment for wrongful imprisonment. I may as well state my position too, up front. I consider that he is guilty. No amount of talk by Joe Karam or David, will convince me otherwise. But then again, I have also been the beneficiary of a lot of local ‘in put’ and have read full reports of the trial. As well ‘hearsay’ background from his family, many of whom live in Central Otago. As well I have worked with some of his extended family. True the family was dysfunctional to the extreme. And the mother Margaret seemed to have a religious mania, clearly she needed help or treatment.
David’s mother also was a Alexandra girl, and as mentioned, David has many family members living here in Otago. Another strange twist, was Robin Bain comes from the same area as Mark and he knows that side of the family well.
First things first. How do his family feel about the trial. Do they too, share the Courts verdicts for the horrific crimes? Further, initially did he get a fair trial? Well, for a start it is obvious the family don’t agree. Not one of his relatives turned up to support him in Court. In fact, the family were very upset that David’s defence were busy trying expand their scenario of what happened, that it was Robin, the father who carried out the crimes.
The defence said Robin, David’s father was a weak character, dirty, and drinking on the job, and in danger of losing his job as the Headmaster of Taieri Mouth School. If I had accepted this on face value, it could have coloured my thinking. However, I found out later that this was a straight out smear, as Wib Maxwell’s daughter, was on the Taieri School Committee. She said, ‘The committee was very happy with him as the headmaster’, all the innuendo and the defence statements were a complete fabrication’. Also background of David’s earlier life, showed that he was a nasty piece of work, evidence that would have helped to convicted him, was suppressed by the Judge. This trial was meant to be about Justice, and to get that, all should have been revealed. Some time back he had also plotted to carry out a rape, and was prepared to juggle the timing when he was on his News Paper Delivery. In doing this, it would have meant it was impossible to commit the rape. Time was a factor in this crime as well, and he had some twenty five minutes to rearrange evidence. Some years back ,there was also an incidence out at Hinton’s Orchard. The family were asked to remove David at the request of his employer, when he lost his temper and chased another employee with a knife.
They talk about Justice, and what I would like to know is. ‘How can David say that he is innocent of these crimes’, and not appear on the stand to explain his position. Without subjecting himself to a cross exanimation. He never uttered one word in his defence, in all of the weeks of the trial. Relying on his lawyers and Joe Karam to present his case. I don’t want to hear Joe Karam’s version of what happened, and how the father could have committed all the crimes. David sat impassive and silent for some weeks while all the evidence was minutely examined. The defence had an answer for everything, the blood stained clothing and socks. Oh, he changed those before he committed suicide.
One thing, small but pertinent, and that’s if Robin is a normal human being. His autopsy showed that when examined, his bladder was full. So you also want me to believe that if he is guilty of this crime, that he came into the house from the Caravan where he lived, and before anything else calmly went about the shooting every member of his family, before visiting the toilet. I think a visit to the toilet would have been one of the first of his actions. I know it would have been  for me.
There is a photo in the paper this morning of David and Joe Karam in each other’s arms both crying. Is this what they mean when they talk about crocodile tears? If they want me to believe David is innocent, then first, they had better get another candidate for the murders, other than Robin.
Love from Christchurch,
Wally
For the last couple of weeks the Press, there has been a spate of interviews, articles regarding David Bain’s Trials. These are being pushed by David and his champion Joe Karam, as he has just put in a claim for compensation, and repayment for wrongful imprisonment. I may as well state my position too, up front. I personally consider that he is guilty. No amount of talk by Joe Karam or David, will convince me otherwise. But then again, I have also been the beneficiary of a lot of local ‘in put’ and have read full reports of the trial. As well ‘hearsay’ background from his family, many of whom live in Central Otago. As well I have worked with some of his extended family. True the family seems to be dysfunctional to the extreme. And the mother Margaret  was controlled by a religious mania, she clearly she needed help or treatment.
David’s mother also was a Alexandra girl, and as mentioned, David has many family members living here in Otago. Another strange twist, was Robin Bain comes from the same area as Mark, and he knows that side of the family well. They were well thought of in the District.
First things first. How do his family feel about the trial. Do they too, share the Courts verdicts for the horrific crimes? Further, initially did he get a fair trial? Well, for a start it is obvious the family don’t agree. Not one of his relatives that I could see turned up to support him in Court. In fact, the family were very upset that David’s defence were busy trying expand their scenario of what happened, that it was Robin, the father who carried out the crimes.
The defense said Robin, David’s father was a weak character, dirty, and drinking on the job, and in danger of losing his job as the Headmaster of Taieri Mouth School. If I had accepted this on face value, it could have coloured my thinking. However, I found out later that this was a straight out smear, as Wib Maxwell’s daughter, was on the Taieri School Committee. She said, ‘The committee was very happy with him as the headmaster’, all the innuendo and the defence statements were a complete fabrication’. Also background of David’s earlier life, showed that he was a nasty piece of work, evidence that would have helped to convicted him, was suppressed by the Judge. This trial was meant to be about Justice, and to get that, all should have been revealed. Some time back he had also plotted to carry out a rape, and was prepared to juggle the timing when he was on his News Paper Delivery. In doing this, it would have meant it was impossible to commit the rape. Time was a factor in this crime as well, and he had some twenty five minutes to rearrange evidence. Some years back ,there was also an incidence out at Hinton’s Orchard. The family were asked to remove David at the request of his employer, when he lost his temper and chased another employee with a knife.
They talk about Justice, and what I would like to know is. ‘How can David say that he is innocent of these crimes’, and not appear on the stand to explain his position. Without subjecting himself to a cross exanimation. He never uttered one word in his defence, in all of the weeks of the trial. Relying on his lawyers and Joe Karam to present his case. I don’t want to hear Joe Karam’s version of what happened, and how the father could have committed all the crimes. David sat impassive and silent for some weeks while all the evidence was minutely examined. The defence had an answer for everything, the blood stained clothing and socks. Oh, he changed those before he committed suicide.
One thing, small but pertinent, and that’s if Robin is a normal human being. His autopsy showed that when examined, his bladder was full. So now you want me to believe that if he is guilty of this crime, that he came into the house from the Caravan where he lived,  calmly went about the shooting every member of his family, before visiting the toilet. I think a visit to the toilet would have been one of the first of his actions. I know it would have been  for me.
There is a photo in the paper this morning of David and Joe Karam in each other’s arms both crying. Is this what they mean when they talk about crocodile tears? If they want me to believe David is innocent, then first, they had better get another candidate for the murders, other than Robin.

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Old Age

Thursday, March 8th, 2012
Dear Peg and Family,
Old age, what a problem it is, day by day I find it’s getting worse. Over time I have learnt too that to keep myself happy I need to avoid medical assistance whenever I can. More often than not, after a visit to the surgery, I consider myself lucky, if I don’t get a referral. You never know where these can lead to. The medical folk have this habit of keeping you under their thumb, and passing you on, and down the chain. More often than not, I stumble out of the surgery clutching some pieces of paper for more blood work, and a script for rearranged drugs.
The taking, or is it giving blood, which for me is a painful, degrading exercise. ‘Roll your sleeve up and clench your fist’. ‘Other arm please’. ‘You haven’t got very good veins, have you’? ‘Do other people in the medical world have trouble with you? when they are occupied taking blood’?
I don’t answer, I don’t wish to enter into any dialogue with this vampire who is now starting to hurt me with her constant probing. Yes, I know my veins are deep seated. I was born this way. But occasionally I do strike someone skilled in this area. I can remember back when many long years ago, there was a lady at the Blood Bank in Invercargill, she made it a pleasure to give a donation.
My problem, which I’m well aware of, is that my kidney’s performance is now marginal. If the drugs dosage is increased, to keep my well being  normal. My medical folk have to be very careful, and to correct any aberration of dosage. Even a minor alteration to my drug regime, means my heart is effected as well. And then again, if he Heart is treated, that medication immediately effects the kidneys. Some battles you can’t win. So when the doctors to treat my body, it’s necessary to treat the body in it’s entirety. I make sure, I also stick to exactly what has been prescribed.
I suffered a heart attack when in my forties. Entirely self inflicted, caused directly by the habit of smoking which I had picked up during the War. It could have been worse. and I could have taken advantage of all the cheap booze available, and became an alcoholic as well. There was not much treatment back then for heart problems, but I gave up smoking immediately, and was OK until my Sixties when I had another attack. This time there was Angioplasty available which was a technique where a small Balloon is expanded in the coronary heart artery. This expands the artery that had a partial blockage, and you are reborn. Then when I was eighty, a Angioplasty signalled that I required yet another procedure. I considered that I was now too old, but my Insurance Company had plenty of money, so the surgeon went ahead and put a ‘stent’ or two into the coronary artery. This procedure is carried out by passing a small probe through the femoral artery, up into the heart. It’s progress is tracked through to the heart by X-Rays. No pain killers are used, and you are wide awake through the whole procedure.
I rang the Medical Centre yesterday inquiring for a flu shot, which are still coming. I have been taking these since 1960. I have never suffered a flu attack. I can only assume it’s because every year since then, I have taken a flu shot. In the past my employer the Bank, provided these for free. Now the State have taken over this roll, so it’s my own fault should I go down with flu.
Love to all from Christchurch,
Wally

Old age, what a problem it is, day by day I find it’s getting worse. Over time I have learnt too that to keep myself happy I need to avoid medical assistance whenever I can. More often than not, after a visit to the surgery, I consider myself lucky, if I don’t get a referral. You never know where these can lead to. The medical folk have this habit of keeping you under their thumb, and passing you on, and down the chain. More often than not, I stumble out of the surgery clutching some pieces of paper for more blood work, and a script for rearranged drugs.

The taking, or is it giving blood, which for me is a painful, degrading exercise. ‘Roll your sleeve up and clench your fist’. ‘Other arm please’. ‘You haven’t got very good veins, have you’? ‘Do other people in the medical world have trouble with you? when they are occupied taking blood’?

I don’t answer, I don’t wish to enter into any dialogue with this vampire who is now starting to hurt me with her constant probing. Yes, I know my veins are deep seated. I was born this way. But occasionally I do strike someone skilled in this area. I can remember back when many long years ago, there was a lady at the Blood Bank in Invercargill, she made it a pleasure to give a donation.

My problem, which I’m well aware of, is that my kidney’s performance is now marginal. If the drugs dosage is increased, to keep my well being  normal. My medical folk have to be very careful, and to correct any aberration of dosage. Even a minor alteration to my drug regime, means my heart is effected as well. And then again, if he Heart is treated, that medication immediately effects the kidneys. Some battles you can’t win. So when the doctors to treat my body, it’s necessary to treat the body in it’s entirety. I make sure, I also stick to exactly what has been prescribed.

I suffered a heart attack when in my forties. Entirely self inflicted, caused directly by the habit of smoking which I had picked up during the War. It could have been worse. and I could have taken advantage of all the cheap booze available, and became an alcoholic as well. There was not much treatment back then for heart problems, but I gave up smoking immediately, and was OK until my Sixties when I had another attack. This time there was Angioplasty available which was a technique where a small Balloon is expanded in the coronary heart artery. This expands the artery that had a partial blockage, and you are reborn. Then when I was eighty, a Angioplasty signalled that I required yet another procedure. I considered that I was now too old, but my Insurance Company had plenty of money, so the surgeon went ahead and put a ‘stent’ or two into the coronary artery. This procedure is carried out by passing a small probe through the femoral artery, up into the heart. It’s progress is tracked through to the heart by X-Rays. No pain killers are used, and you are wide awake through the whole procedure.

I rang the Medical Centre yesterday inquiring for a flu shot, which are still coming. I have been taking these since 1960. I have never suffered a flu attack. I can only assume it’s because every year since then, I have taken a flu shot. In the past my employer the Bank, provided these for free. Now the State have taken over this roll, so it’s my own fault should I go down with flu.

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Timetables

Friday, March 2nd, 2012
Dear Peg and family,
All my early life was governed by ‘time tables’, or the opening and closing hours, for just about everything. We lived in a small town about 10 miles from Dunedin, (Port Chalmers) and we were well served by Rail for all of our dealings with the City. This meant our secondary schooling, and in many cases our employment. You carried in your head a time table for when all the trains arrived and departed whether it was for entertainment or work. When we arrived in Dunedin we clambered onto a tram outside the Rail Station, or walked up to the exchange which was the hub where all  trams passed through, apart from the Cable cars. The tram system was cheap and convenient.
In addition we had three Cable Car systems similar to what San Francisco has. These served the Hill Suburbs. Had we retained them, they would have been equally a prize tourist attraction today. As the systems in San Francisco are today. We have destroyed most of our early modes of transport, as we continued our march forward, all the time taking advantage of any technical advances that came along. Buses and Trolley Buses pushed out Trams. And as the roads improved, and more people now owned a car. It had an effect on all Public Transport. Rail was rapidly becoming obsolete, as patronage dropped off. It was now only being used for peak periods.
I mentioned opening and closing hours. This was an archaic system which was imposed on us by the Church and Unions. All shops were locked up tight on Sundays and Holidays. The same power group also controlled the opening, and closing hours of most Shops. Banks opened for only a half day on Saturdays. But where these control people exercised the most  restraint was in the Liquor industry. In fact in many area laws had been passed where whole Districts were ‘Dry’, and no liquor was sold. In time when the pressure for change came. Trusts were formed to sell Beer and whisky, but under strict control and conditions. Trustees were elected at the same time as local body elections. Although some control has been eased. Many areas in the South are still operating under this system. No Hotels have been authorised to sell liquor in competition since it’s inception. It’s mainly Districts of Invercargill, Gore, and Oamaru that have embraced this trading mode. While this pantomime was going on, liquor could still be shipped in. That was providing it was purchased in a wholesale lot (Twelve Bottles). I can recall seeing a goods train on a Friday nights calling in at Milton. The whole length of the platform was taken up with orders of booze for the local inhabitants. Each had their name written in chalk on the whole length . What a stupid system. In fact on Mondays and as well during the week. The Mayor was gainfully employed calling at each household soliciting, and taking orders for ‘Malings’ a Christchurch liquor wholesaler. To be delivered by Rail Friday nights. More alcohol was drunk under this system, when compared to places where Hotels and Taverns were allowed to operate freely. In fact I could take it a step further and say, that there were more Alcoholics in these ‘Dry’ areas than any place that had Hotels. Hotels that were trading as normal, if you could call it normal. Their hours were from 11-00am till 6PM. Well they closed at 6-00PM but reopened again till what ever time the Police allowed them. I did notice that the police left the drinkers alone, providing they didn’t get any complaints. They made token raids from time to time but mostly when the Police arrived, they were confronted by a empty smoke filled Bar, half filled glasses on the counter, but the patrons had fled.
In my early days, some parts of the town were just switching over to motorised transport. But our Butcher, Baker, Grocer, and as well many of the Councils and local contractors were all still dependant on horse drawn vehicles. Someone remarked that the streets at this time should be covered by a layer of Horse dung. Not so, as soon as the horse dropped it’s bundle, ever watchful housewife or kids,  would quickly pounce on it, with a bucket and small shovel, where it quickly ended up in the garden.
Love from Christchurch,
Wally
All my early life was governed by ‘time tables’, or the opening and closing hours, for just about everything. We lived in a small town about 10 miles from Dunedin, (Port Chalmers) and we were well served by Rail for all of our dealings with the City. This meant our secondary schooling, and in many cases our employment. You carried in your head a time table for when all the trains arrived and departed whether it was for entertainment or work. When we arrived in Dunedin we clambered onto a tram outside the Rail Station, or walked up to the exchange which was the hub where all  trams passed through, apart from the Cable cars. The tram system was cheap and convenient.
In addition we had three Cable Car systems similar to what San Francisco has. These served the Hill Suburbs. Had we retained them, they would have been equally a prize tourist attraction today. As the systems in San Francisco are today. We have destroyed most of our early modes of transport, as we continued our march forward, all the time taking advantage of any technical advances that came along. Buses and Trolley Buses pushed out Trams. And as the roads improved, and more people now owned a car. It had an effect on all Public Transport. Rail was rapidly becoming obsolete, as patronage dropped off. It was now only being used for peak periods.
I mentioned opening and closing hours. This was an archaic system which was imposed on us by the Church and Unions. All shops were locked up tight on Sundays and Holidays. The same power group also controlled the opening, and closing hours of most Shops. Banks opened for only a half day on Saturdays. But where these control people exercised the most  restraint was in the Liquor industry. In fact in many area laws had been passed where whole Districts were ‘Dry’, and no liquor was sold. In time when the pressure for change came. Trusts were formed to sell Beer and whisky, but under strict control and conditions. Trustees were elected at the same time as local body elections. Although some control has been eased. Many areas in the South are still operating under this system. No Hotels have been authorised to sell liquor in competition since it’s inception. It’s mainly Districts of Invercargill, Gore, and Oamaru that have embraced this trading mode. While this pantomime was going on, liquor could still be shipped in. That was providing it was purchased in a wholesale lot (Twelve Bottles). I can recall seeing a goods train on a Friday nights calling in at Milton. The whole length of the platform was taken up with orders of booze for the local inhabitants. Each had their name written in chalk on the whole length . What a stupid system. In fact on Mondays and as well during the week. The Mayor was gainfully employed calling at each household soliciting, and taking orders for ‘Malings’ a Christchurch liquor wholesaler. To be delivered by Rail Friday nights. More alcohol was drunk under this system, when compared to places where Hotels and Taverns were allowed to operate freely. In fact I could take it a step further and say, that there were more Alcoholics in these ‘Dry’ areas than any place that had Hotels. Hotels that were trading as normal, if you could call it normal. Their hours were from 11-00am till 6PM. Well they closed at 6-00PM but reopened again till what ever time the Police allowed them. I did notice that the police left the drinkers alone, providing they didn’t get any complaints. They made token raids from time to time but mostly when the Police arrived, they were confronted by a empty smoke filled Bar, half filled glasses on the counter, but the patrons had fled.
In my early days, some parts of the town were just switching over to motorised transport. But our Butcher, Baker, Grocer, and as well many of the Councils and local contractors were all still dependant on horse drawn vehicles. Someone remarked that the streets at this time should be covered by a layer of Horse dung. Not so, as soon as the horse dropped it’s bundle, ever watchful housewife or kids,  would quickly pounce on it, with a bucket and small shovel, where it quickly ended up in the garden.

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Justice Today

Wednesday, February 22nd, 2012
Dear Peg and Friends,
I’m having trouble coming to grips with what  today we call ‘Justice’. However when a case actually comes to a court, in my opinion, far too often justice seems to fly out the window. It comes in the end down to the money that’s being thrown at the trial. Take the trial of Peter Ellis, Police had a very large presence. With so many people assisting in the prosecution you would think someone early in the piece would have blown the whistle, and said, ‘Too much of this evidence is garbage’. Early in the trial it should have been recognised that there was no case to answer. It was a complete, ‘No Brainer’. On the outset this case should have been thrown out. It was obvious to me that the whole performance was a charade, and it was being was being managed by the parents. Justice in this country can be compared to be very much like an 80,000 ton liner. Once it’s set on a course, it’s very difficult to make it change direction.
Admittedly I was never able to attend any of the various Ellis trials, I had to rely on newspaper reports. In this I was assisted too by the various reports and books that were printed after the event. The Ellis trial is, the case in the point that I’m trying to make. It focused on the stupidity of the Police Justice. If all the transcripts that I read were correct, as well as the available books purporting to be a true record. I can’t believe that the case against Peter Ellis was proved. Or, even came close to being proved. Some of the evidence given by the children was so far ‘way out’, it gave the impression that it was being ‘made up’. In fact the evidence at times, read like something from a fairy tale. In my mind very suspect, and some of was absolutely unbelievable.
One of the children has since recanted his/her evidence, which gives the impression that some of the children were being coached by their parents. One of the problems that confronted the defence, was that the children can’t be re-examined. I’m sure too that Peter Ellis is either a homosexual, or has a leaning towards that sexuality. But that doesn’t make him guilty of any crime. I’m also sure too, this fact alone coloured the Police judgment. I suspect too that the prosecution or the Officer in Charge, was on a crusade. If this was so, the Police may now have the need to lock up 25% of some of our resort towns citizens. Because many homosexuals gravitate to towns where service industry jobs are easy to obtain. I’m reinforced in my thinking and resulting from reading that Peter Ellis didn’t get a fair trial. To me the only thing missing from the evidence, was the tooth fairy. To find Peter guilty, you needed what the prosector already had. A one track mind, and a burning desire to believe whatever the children told him. No matter how stupid it sounded. As much as the authorities hope. This case won’t go away until the evidence is re-examined, and when it is, it should be taken with a large dose of common sense.
Another case that bothers me, and that is the trials of David Bain, and the murder of his family. During his trial, too much of the prosecution evidence was suppressed, and this only came to light, after the trial. Had it been allowed, I’m sure it could have altered the verdict. One piece of suppressed evidence, was a scheme that earlier David had plotted, planning a crime using timing of his paper round, to make it appear he could not have raped a female jogger. Time was something that reared it’s head with the Bain family murders. The suppression of this evidence was wrong.
Today is Saturday 18th February 2012. The Press have today printed a feature article by their Reporter Martin Van Beynen. It carried a full page criticism of Joe Karam’s latest book ‘Trial By Ambush’ which was spent by reinforcing Karam’s thinking. That David is innocent of any crime is the books theme. This Book’s launch date ties in very nicely with his claim for compensation, which has just been lodged. To pay now a couple of million for wrongful conviction of David would be too much.
And why do I think David is guilty? For a start  I’m not alone in this thinking. And what facts do I have to support this? The defence has tried hard to blame the murder onto David’s father who was a most unlikely candidate. The murderer left a blood stained print made by a sock at the murder scene. No blood was on father’s socks, or did the father change his socks, before he committed suicide? Reason would say, why bother? In the book, no mention is made of the fact that he also changed his bloodied clothes before killing himself as well. Very strange behaviour by the father if this is correct. The father Robin was most unlikely suicide candidate. M Van Beynen also mentioned there were 20 points of important evidence that pointed to David being the guilty person. The defence made light of these, and has focused on the fact that it was the father who committed the crime.
Regarding the book. Did Joe Karam overlook the fact that a Book written by Terry Ellis, was also named ‘Trial by Ambush’. As well, there are  several others with the same name. Hardly an original title.
Arthur Thomas, well he too had a lucky escape. Justice in this trial was also found wanting. The Police in this case were caught helping justice along by planting evidence, while blundering along with their case. Had the police persecution had their way, he would have still been locked up, crying out, ‘I’m innocent’. The Police were not listening. And had tossed away the key.
It was the public outcry that saved him, plus a crusade carried on by Pat Booth a newspaper editor in Auckland. As well as an article by the Sub Editor of the Auckland Star Terry Bell, who resigned from his job, in order to write a book ‘Bitter Hill’, which lead to the retrial for Arthur Thomas. More to the point, assisted with a change in thinking of many of the local neighbours.
There been several recent Court Cases where  Justice has been stretched a little. In the case of Scott Watson, he was found guilty of the murder of the couple Ben Smart and Olivia Hope. He was convicted by mainly circumstantial evidence. But too many people are still convinced that the Police work in this case was sloppy. In fact many are convinced that they wrongly identified the yacht involved.
With so many court decisions being overturned, It begs the question, ‘Where do the Police recruit their prosecutors from’? I think it’s time they took a hard look at this job in their organisation. Today far too often, the prosecution come up with the most surprising verdict, which invariably lead to a retrial.
Love from Christchurch,
Wally
I’m having trouble coming to grips with what  today we call ‘Justice’. However when a case actually comes to a court, in my opinion, far too often justice seems to fly out the window. It comes in the end down to the money that’s being thrown at the trial. Take the trial of Peter Ellis, Police had a very large presence. With so many people assisting in the prosecution you would think someone early in the piece would have blown the whistle, and said, ‘Too much of this evidence is garbage’. Early in the trial it should have been recognised that there was no case to answer. It was a complete, ‘No Brainer’. On the outset this case should have been thrown out. It was obvious to me that the whole performance was a charade, and it was being was being managed by the parents. Justice in this country can be compared to be very much like an 80,000 ton liner. Once it’s set on a course, it’s very difficult to make it change direction.
Admittedly I was never able to attend any of the various Ellis trials, I had to rely on newspaper reports. In this I was assisted too by the various reports and books that were printed after the event. The Ellis trial is, the case in the point that I’m trying to make. It focused on the stupidity of the Police Justice. If all the transcripts that I read were correct, as well as the available books purporting to be a true record. I can’t believe that the case against Peter Ellis was proved. Or, even came close to being proved. Some of the evidence given by the children was so far ‘way out’, it gave the impression that it was being ‘made up’. In fact the evidence at times, read like something from a fairy tale. In my mind very suspect, and some of was absolutely unbelievable.
One of the children has since recanted his/her evidence, which gives the impression that some of the children were being coached by their parents. One of the problems that confronted the defence, was that the children can’t be re-examined. I’m sure too that Peter Ellis is either a homosexual, or has a leaning towards that sexuality. But that doesn’t make him guilty of any crime. I’m also sure too, this fact alone coloured the Police judgment. I suspect too that the prosecution or the Officer in Charge, was on a crusade. If this was so, the Police may now have the need to lock up 25% of some of our resort towns citizens. Because many homosexuals gravitate to towns where service industry jobs are easy to obtain. I’m reinforced in my thinking and resulting from reading that Peter Ellis didn’t get a fair trial. To me the only thing missing from the evidence, was the tooth fairy. To find Peter guilty, you needed what the prosector already had. A one track mind, and a burning desire to believe whatever the children told him. No matter how stupid it sounded. As much as the authorities hope. This case won’t go away until the evidence is re-examined, and when it is, it should be taken with a large dose of common sense.
Another case that bothers me, and that is the trials of David Bain, and the murder of his family. During his trial, too much of the prosecution evidence was suppressed, and this only came to light, after the trial. Had it been allowed, I’m sure it could have altered the verdict. One piece of suppressed evidence, was a scheme that earlier David had plotted, planning a crime using timing of his paper round, to make it appear he could not have raped a female jogger. Time was something that reared it’s head with the Bain family murders. The suppression of this evidence was wrong.
Today is Saturday 18th February 2012. The Press have today printed a feature article by their Reporter Martin Van Beynen. It carried a full page criticism of Joe Karam’s latest book ‘Trial By Ambush’ which was spent by reinforcing Karam’s thinking. That David is innocent of any crime is the books theme. This Book’s launch date ties in very nicely with his claim for compensation, which has just been lodged. To pay now a couple of million for wrongful conviction of David would be too much.
And why do I think David is guilty? For a start  I’m not alone in this thinking. And what facts do I have to support this? The defence has tried hard to blame the murder onto David’s father who was a most unlikely candidate. The murderer left a blood stained print made by a sock at the murder scene. No blood was on father’s socks, or did the father change his socks, before he committed suicide? Reason would say, why bother? In the book, no mention is made of the fact that he also changed his bloodied clothes before killing himself as well. Very strange behaviour by the father if this is correct. The father Robin was most unlikely suicide candidate. M Van Beynen also mentioned there were 20 points of important evidence that pointed to David being the guilty person. The defence made light of these, and has focused on the fact that it was the father who committed the crime.
Regarding the book. Did Joe Karam overlook the fact that a Book written by Terry Ellis, was also named ‘Trial by Ambush’. As well, there are  several others with the same name. Hardly an original title.
Arthur Thomas, well he too had a lucky escape. Justice in this trial was also found wanting. The Police in this case were caught helping justice along by planting evidence, while blundering along with their case. Had the police persecution had their way, he would have still been locked up, crying out, ‘I’m innocent’. The Police were not listening. And had tossed away the key.
It was the public outcry that saved him, plus a crusade carried on by Pat Booth a newspaper editor in Auckland. As well as an article by the Sub Editor of the Auckland Star Terry Bell, who resigned from his job, in order to write a book ‘Bitter Hill’, which lead to the retrial for Arthur Thomas. More to the point, assisted with a change in thinking of many of the local neighbours.
There been several recent Court Cases where  Justice has been stretched a little. In the case of Scott Watson, he was found guilty of the murder of the couple Ben Smart and Olivia Hope. He was convicted by mainly circumstantial evidence. But too many people are still convinced that the Police work in this case was sloppy. In fact many are convinced that they wrongly identified the yacht involved.
With so many court decisions being overturned, It begs the question, ‘Where do the Police recruit their prosecutors from’? I think it’s time they took a hard look at this job in their organisation. Today far too often, the prosecution come up with the most surprising verdict, which invariably lead to a retrial.

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Grape Growing

Wednesday, February 15th, 2012
Dear Peg and Family,
There is one area of my life that I haven’t mentioned to date, and that’s my association  with the Wine industry. When we arrived in Central Otago to work and live, there was very little grape being cultivated, and certainly no wine being made on a commercial basis. If you found a frost free area and you had water, in Central Otago you could grow almost anything. This was true for the most successful crops, that were now being grown in the area. However it was Frost that decided if you were going to be successful or not. Parts of the area if you were lucky enough to find an area where cold air was able to drain down the mountains into the river basin, as it rolled down the Mountains. This made the Gibbston Valley especially attractive, as it’s controlled the temperatures gave the area a microclimate, compatible to the growing of grapes in the area. After a faltering start, the few acres planted by Allan Brady thrived. Because of this act he was probably the father of the industry in the Lake District. Alan at the time was employed by the Otago Daily Times as their correspondent. He was brilliant at promoting the wine industry, but that didn’t make him an expert in managing a winery. In fact none of us did. A lot of mistakes were made in getting Gibbston Valley up and running, and operating as a successful financial enterprise.
Initially Alan wasn’t interested in growing grapes and making wine, but he decided to give it a go as at the time as it was extreme fashionable to do so. At the time he was strapped for cash, as we all were. To get the enterprise up and running, Alan formed a limited liability company. Some locals folk, and foreign visitors took up a large slice of the share offering. One overseas family who had a large holding, and were absent for most of the year, put me on the Company’s Board of Directors to represent their interests. It wasn’t a happy union, as I was a irritant, being more interested in the bottom line of the Balance sheet, while the other Directors in my mind, were more interested in the romance of being involved with growing and the making of a fine wine. What it did, was to prove that superior wines could be made in the area. The province owes these pioneers a vote of thanks for what they did for the District.
About this time Yvon Montagnat from New Caledonia decided that he too wanted to get into the wine business. He had about 50 acres in the Valley which he was going to develop. Fact! To start off a wine plantation, if you didn’t know it before, you were about to find out that it is a horrendously expensive operation. I became I suppose, Clerk of Works by default. Post and wire, as well as an irrigation system, were all in place, ready for planting. So far enough had been spent to keep you drinking fine wine for the rest of your life. Initial decisions, what variety are we going to grow? and what do we buy?  budded disease free or cheaper cuttings, with no guarantee that they are, or will remain free of phylloxera? I was surprised that Yvon didn’t know what I was talking about when I mentioned the problem of Phylloxera. I thought every Frenchman knew about the Aphid that almost wiped out their wine industry. However, Did he want cuttings or budded material on American stock, which would be aphid free. He opted for the cheaper cuttings. There was a local protocol where any new planting’s had to be dipped twice before coming into the area. The national Firm transporting the cuttings and meeting the protocol, changed the method of sterilisation without consultation, and used Methyl Bromide. This chemical killed any aphid but at the same time suspended any future growth in the plant material. Naturally we sued for the loss of a container full of cuttings, and a year or two of lost growth. I handled the court case up to the point where we were waiting on the trial date to roll up. At this point Yvon flew across from New Caledonia. He went directly to the Solicitors. Settled out of court, and went home. I found all this out by accident. My status of unpaid family friend, was not one I wanted to continue with. So terminated our relationship forthwith. Yvon had not finished being a pain in the butt, as his marriage also suffered a parting of the ways, at this time.
The loss of the cuttings, strangely was turned into an advantage. At this time Chardonnay was the preferred tipple of the wine buffs, but Pino Noir was picking up many gold awards. So there was a noticeable switch over to Pino planting’s. With this second chance, there was, with a price advantage in bottle sales too. Pino it would seem, was the way the smart money was going.
I’m afraid there is a lot of nonsense that goes with wine. The trade foster this, and I for one can’t be bothered with it. ‘After taste of strawberries’, ‘gives off the scent of wild flowers’. Or this, ‘Delightful fun style, light, dryish, and yet serious with a smile on it’d face’. Or Wine writers can carry on all day with their superlatives. They need it too these days, even to sell their product. Like, ‘Tasty and alive, a fine weekend sauv’. ‘Where bouncy flavours that fit in with the moment’. Best part for the consumer is the price, $6-99. With today’s price so low, the winery’s can’t be making a profit. Aided too with Australia growers dumping their product over here. It will be some time before order in the market is restored. I noticed in the Press this morning, two large winery’s are filing for bankruptcy. One has debts of $22 million to their Bank.
Love from Christchurch,
Wally
There is one area of my life that I haven’t mentioned to date, and that’s my association  with the Wine industry. When we arrived in Central Otago to work and live, there was very little grape being cultivated, and certainly no wine being made on a commercial basis. If you found a frost free area and you had water, in Central Otago you could grow almost anything. This was true for the most successful crops, that were now being grown in the area. However it was Frost that decided if you were going to be successful or not. Parts of the area if you were lucky enough to find an area where cold air was able to drain down the mountains into the river basin, as it rolled down the Mountains. This made the Gibbston Valley especially attractive, as it’s controlled the temperatures gave the area a microclimate, compatible to the growing of grapes in the area. After a faltering start, the few acres planted by Allan Brady thrived. Because of this act he was probably the father of the industry in the Lake District. Alan at the time was employed by the Otago Daily Times as their correspondent. He was brilliant at promoting the wine industry, but that didn’t make him an expert in managing a winery. In fact none of us did. A lot of mistakes were made in getting Gibbston Valley up and running, and operating as a successful financial enterprise.
Initially Alan wasn’t interested in growing grapes and making wine, but he decided to give it a go as at the time as it was extreme fashionable to do so. At the time he was strapped for cash, as we all were. To get the enterprise up and running, Alan formed a limited liability company. Some locals folk, and foreign visitors took up a large slice of the share offering. One overseas family who had a large holding, and were absent for most of the year, put me on the Company’s Board of Directors to represent their interests. It wasn’t a happy union, as I was a irritant, being more interested in the bottom line of the Balance sheet, while the other Directors in my mind, were more interested in the romance of being involved with growing and the making of a fine wine. What it did, was to prove that superior wines could be made in the area. The province owes these pioneers a vote of thanks for what they did for the District.
About this time Yvon Montagnat from New Caledonia decided that he too wanted to get into the wine business. He had about 50 acres in the Valley which he was going to develop. Fact! To start off a wine plantation, if you didn’t know it before, you were about to find out that it is a horrendously expensive operation. I became I suppose, Clerk of Works by default. Post and wire, as well as an irrigation system, were all in place, ready for planting. So far enough had been spent to keep you drinking fine wine for the rest of your life. Initial decisions, what variety are we going to grow? and what do we buy?  budded disease free or cheaper cuttings, with no guarantee that they are, or will remain free of phylloxera? I was surprised that Yvon didn’t know what I was talking about when I mentioned the problem of Phylloxera. I thought every Frenchman knew about the Aphid that almost wiped out their wine industry. However, Did he want cuttings or budded material on American stock, which would be aphid free. He opted for the cheaper cuttings. There was a local protocol where any new planting’s had to be dipped twice before coming into the area. The national Firm transporting the cuttings and meeting the protocol, changed the method of sterilisation without consultation, and used Methyl Bromide. This chemical killed any aphid but at the same time suspended any future growth in the plant material. Naturally we sued for the loss of a container full of cuttings, and a year or two of lost growth. I handled the court case up to the point where we were waiting on the trial date to roll up. At this point Yvon flew across from New Caledonia. He went directly to the Solicitors. Settled out of court, and went home. I found all this out by accident. My status of unpaid family friend, was not one I wanted to continue with. So terminated our relationship forthwith. Yvon had not finished being a pain in the butt, as his marriage also suffered a parting of the ways, at this time.
The loss of the cuttings, strangely was turned into an advantage. At this time Chardonnay was the preferred tipple of the wine buffs, but Pino Noir was picking up many gold awards. So there was a noticeable switch over to Pino planting’s. With this second chance, there was, with a price advantage in bottle sales too. Pino it would seem, was the way the smart money was going.
I’m afraid there is a lot of nonsense that goes with wine. The trade foster this, and I for one can’t be bothered with it. ‘After taste of strawberries’, ‘gives off the scent of wild flowers’. Or this, ‘Delightful fun style, light, dryish, and yet serious with a smile on it’d face’. Or Wine writers can carry on all day with their superlatives. They need it too these days, even to sell their product. Like, ‘Tasty and alive, a fine weekend sauv’. ‘Where bouncy flavours that fit in with the moment’. Best part for the consumer is the price, $6-99. With today’s price so low, the winery’s can’t be making a profit. Aided too with Australia growers dumping their product over here. It will be some time before order in the market is restored. I noticed in the Press this morning, two large winery’s are filing for bankruptcy. One has debts of $22 million to their Bank.

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Cyclists

Thursday, February 9th, 2012
Dear Peg and Friends
Damn Cyclists, there is not another group of road users that annoy me so much, if there are, I have yet to meet them. Any way, I dislike Most of all the sharing the road with cyclists. They are the one group of road users that actually frighten me. And why is this?, Well possibly 10 to 20% of all cyclists on our roads today behave as if there are no road rules as far as they are concerned. They seem to think they are a law unto themselves, and as far as road use goes they can do as they like. If there is any avoidance to be made by other vehicles, it will have to be by the other party, namely the motorist. Many cyclists, at times give the impression and behave as if they are complete idiots. Daily they put their lives at risk, and think there is some divine divinity looking after their welfare. So there is no need to give any attention to their safety.
Every day I see examples of the blatant flouting of road rules by these people. They ride through red lights, they take stupid chances that endanger their lives. They never bother to look to see what the other traffic is up to, any time they are likely to jump on their bike and join the traffic stream, looking neither left or right. They ride around as if the road is theirs and they can do whatever they wish. Signals, well they are for other people.
I’m puzzled that in one trip into town I observe so many breaches of the law you would have to be blind not to notice. I wonder what is going on with the traffic enforcement. They never seem to charge these chosen people with any offence. No matter how bad their behaviour. They are never prosecuted unless they are involved in an accident, without a doubt as far as they are concerned, it’s always the motorist who is to blame. They too have a very powerful lobby, and constantly keep up a dialogue with the media, praising their ‘Green image’ and pointing out how poor are the driving habits of  motorists.
Its not always the cyclist in front that you have to worry about, you can also be overtaken from the rear. These mavericks come up behind you weaving in and out of parked cars. Now you see them, now you don’t. The motorist has to be doubly careful in opening his door because you only have your rear vision mirror, and the odd peek behind you, alerting of another close encounter. A moment of careless behaviour will result in the knocking a cyclist off his bike. The result would be the loss of licence, as well as a hefty fine.
Our authorities are more than generous with our roading too. From the carriage way that cost millions a mile to construct, they sliced a metre and half from each side of the road, for the express use of the bike riders. Not every day are they even used either. Only sometimes do you see a rider. The nerve of these officials to donate millions of dollars of our carriage way so that the occasional user has a traffic free area to ride in should they feel like it. It’s damned obvious too, its not the elected officials pockets that the money is coming from. We who are the people who fund the road system should have had a say in what happens to their money.
Another area of concern is that it seems that there is no need for an exanimation of these bikes to see if they are fit for use on public roads. Occasionally traffic police turn up at schools, and order some ‘off’ the road until they are repaired, or brought up to standard. But they are children that we are dealing with. When they grow up they will be able to pay attention to these matters themselves. Problem, some people amongst us never grow up, they only look like an adult. You only need to read the letters to the daily paper to get a rough stab at their IQ.
Another area of concerned. Do these people endeavour to make themselves visible at night by wearing reflective clothing? No. Does their bike carry adequate lighting and reflectors? Some do. Too many are completely stupid, and think the motorist has some sort of early warning RADAR and he will detect them before he knocks them off their bike.
Love from Christchurch.  Wally
Damn Cyclists, there is not another group of road users that annoy me so much, if there are, I have yet to meet them. Any way, I dislike Most of all the sharing the road with cyclists. They are the one group of road users that actually frighten me. And why is this?, Well possibly 10 to 20% of all cyclists on our roads today behave as if there are no road rules as far as they are concerned. They seem to think they are a law unto themselves, and as far as road use goes they can do as they like. If there is any avoidance to be made by other vehicles, it will have to be by the other party, namely the motorist. Many cyclists, at times give the impression and behave as if they are complete idiots. Daily they put their lives at risk, and think there is some divine divinity looking after their welfare. So there is no need to give any attention to their safety.
Every day I see examples of the blatant flouting of road rules by these people. They ride through red lights, they take stupid chances that endanger their lives. They never bother to look to see what the other traffic is up to, any time they are likely to jump on their bike and join the traffic stream, looking neither left or right. They ride around as if the road is theirs and they can do whatever they wish. Signals, well they are for other people.
I’m puzzled that in one trip into town I observe so many breaches of the law you would have to be blind not to notice. I wonder what is going on with the traffic enforcement. They never seem to charge these chosen people with any offence. No matter how bad their behaviour. They are never prosecuted unless they are involved in an accident, without a doubt as far as they are concerned, it’s always the motorist who is to blame. They too have a very powerful lobby, and constantly keep up a dialogue with the media, praising their ‘Green image’ and pointing out how poor are the driving habits of  motorists.
Its not always the cyclist in front that you have to worry about, you can also be overtaken from the rear. These mavericks come up behind you weaving in and out of parked cars. Now you see them, now you don’t. The motorist has to be doubly careful in opening his door because you only have your rear vision mirror, and the odd peek behind you, alerting of another close encounter. A moment of careless behaviour will result in the knocking a cyclist off his bike. The result would be the loss of licence, as well as a hefty fine.
Our authorities are more than generous with our roading too. From the carriage way that cost millions a mile to construct, they sliced a metre and half from each side of the road, for the express use of the bike riders. Not every day are they even used either. Only sometimes do you see a rider. The nerve of these officials to donate millions of dollars of our carriage way so that the occasional user has a traffic free area to ride in should they feel like it. It’s damned obvious too, its not the elected officials pockets that the money is coming from. We who are the people who fund the road system should have had a say in what happens to their money.
Another area of concern is that it seems that there is no need for an exanimation of these bikes to see if they are fit for use on public roads. Occasionally traffic police turn up at schools, and order some ‘off’ the road until they are repaired, or brought up to standard. But they are children that we are dealing with. When they grow up they will be able to pay attention to these matters themselves. Problem, some people amongst us never grow up, they only look like an adult. You only need to read the letters to the daily paper to get a rough stab at their IQ.
Another area of concerned. Do these people endeavour to make themselves visible at night by wearing reflective clothing? No. Does their bike carry adequate lighting and reflectors? Some do. Too many are completely stupid, and think the motorist has some sort of early warning RADAR and he will detect them before he knocks them off their bike.

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Toilets

Monday, February 6th, 2012
Dear Peg and Friends,
As a youth I was very fortunate in that the home that I was brought up in actually had a bathroom. It was also fitted out with a full sized bath, and in one end there was a built in shower which covered about half the length of the bath. You may ask, what’s all the fuss about. Well back then, not all homes had an amenity such as a bathroom. Any bathing at home without this facility would be difficult, and carried out with the aid of a small tin bath. Back then you bathed best way you could. You picked your time, and if you were lucky, in front of a fire. In our home, and located in the same bath room, there was also a flush toilet, as well a  washbasin. As an added luxury, a hot and cold water supply was also piped in.
At this period bedrooms in both private homes and boarding houses were in the main supplied only with a washstand. This had standing on it, a large wash basin, together with a matching jug. These came as set, and would contain a couple of gallons of cold water. Many rooms also had a commode. This was a chair fitted out with a concealed a Jerry pot. This saved a many trip out in the cold to the bottom of the garden where the toilets were generally located. In my youth only about half of our town had sewerage system, most of the homes who were unlucky enough to be outside this service, relied on a weekly night soil collection. That was the reason toilets were outdoors, and situated some distance from the house.
Bathrooms were also a scarce item in Hotels or Boarding Houses. There would be a bathroom on each floor of any establishment. It would be rare thing indeed to find an en suite bathroom attached to any room back then. Another innovation was toilet paper. The toilet roll as we know it today was not a ‘must have’ item, in fact most homes substituted any kind of paper, magazines newspaper cut into squares and threaded on a string. The was one toilet brand sold that I remember and that was ‘Jeyes’. It came in a packet and the paper was shiny and in my opinion definitely not suited for it’s purpose. Anyway whole nations could manage without using toilet paper at all. This was India where I noticed, that when a visit to a toilet was made, a bucket of water was always taken along as well. I imagine other Countries have the quaint solutions to this toilet problem.
While off shore, I must mention the French. Their toilets are clean, but manned by a dragon. I got the message quickly that she required a fee before I was going to be allow to use their facility. I was surprised that the French were being so frugal to the end, when I picked up my one small square of toilet paper, but only after I settled my account.
The china throne that the West has adopted, is not the what is used in the East, they prefer to squat. Many countries only go as far a making a couple of foot pads in the toilet room, no that’s not correct many places do not run to a room but are only screened. Our throne must have presented a problem to the early Eastern travellers when Asians first started to visit here. But ever resourceful, they just stood on the seat. The footprints on the toilet lids, initially puzzled the cleaners, but in time they worked it out, as did the Eastern tourists. But it must have been a an exercise in dexterity for the Asians initially as they attempted to master the latest Western answer to personal hygiene. As far as we know no one fell off one our toilets, and met an untimely end.
Not only were the Eastern Travellers mystified by the various urinals. I was amused to see when I made a visit to the toilet at the bottom the hoist while visiting South Africa’s Table Mountain. In the urinal a picture of someone sitting on top of the urinal and defecating. A red circle with a line through was posted alongside explaining this was not the correct way to use this apparatus. How someone mounted this device to carry out his bodily function would have been a sight to behold. They say travel broadens the mind.
Love from Christchurch,
Wally
As a youth I was very fortunate in that the home that I was brought up in actually had a bathroom. It was also fitted out with a full sized bath, and in one end there was a built in shower which covered about half the length of the bath. You may ask, what’s all the fuss about. Well back then, not all homes had an amenity such as a bathroom. Any bathing at home without this facility would be difficult, and carried out with the aid of a small tin bath. Back then you bathed best way you could. You picked your time, and if you were lucky, in front of a fire. In our home, and located in the same bath room, there was also a flush toilet, as well a  washbasin. As an added luxury, a hot and cold water supply was also piped in.
At this period bedrooms in both private homes and boarding houses were in the main supplied only with a washstand. This had standing on it, a large wash basin, together with a matching jug. These came as set, and would contain a couple of gallons of cold water. Many rooms also had a commode. This was a chair fitted out with a concealed a Jerry pot. This saved a many trip out in the cold to the bottom of the garden where the toilets were generally located. In my youth only about half of our town had sewerage system, most of the homes who were unlucky enough to be outside this service, relied on a weekly night soil collection. That was the reason toilets were outdoors, and situated some distance from the house.
Bathrooms were also a scarce item in Hotels or Boarding Houses. There would be a bathroom on each floor of any establishment. It would be rare thing indeed to find an en suite bathroom attached to any room back then. Another innovation was toilet paper. The toilet roll as we know it today was not a ‘must have’ item, in fact most homes substituted any kind of paper, magazines newspaper cut into squares and threaded on a string. The was one toilet brand sold that I remember and that was ‘Jeyes’. It came in a packet and the paper was shiny and in my opinion definitely not suited for it’s purpose. Anyway whole nations could manage without using toilet paper at all. This was India where I noticed, that when a visit to a toilet was made, a bucket of water was always taken along as well. I imagine other Countries have the quaint solutions to this toilet problem.
While off shore, I must mention the French. Their toilets are clean, but manned by a dragon. I got the message quickly that she required a fee before I was going to be allow to use their facility. I was surprised that the French were being so frugal to the end, when I picked up my one small square of toilet paper, but only after I settled my account.
The china throne that the West has adopted, is not the what is used in the East, they prefer to squat. Many countries only go as far a making a couple of foot pads in the toilet room, no that’s not correct many places do not run to a room but are only screened. Our throne must have presented a problem to the early Eastern travellers when Asians first started to visit here. But ever resourceful, they just stood on the seat. The footprints on the toilet lids, initially puzzled the cleaners, but in time they worked it out, as did the Eastern tourists. But it must have been a an exercise in dexterity for the Asians initially as they attempted to master the latest Western answer to personal hygiene. As far as we know no one fell off one our toilets, and met an untimely end.
Not only were the Eastern Travellers mystified by the various urinals. I was amused to see when I made a visit to the toilet at the bottom the hoist while visiting South Africa’s Table Mountain. In the urinal a picture of someone sitting on top of the urinal and defecating. A red circle with a line through was posted alongside explaining this was not the correct way to use this apparatus. How someone mounted this device to carry out his bodily function would have been a sight to behold. They say travel broadens the mind.

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Perpertrators

Thursday, February 2nd, 2012
Dear Peg and Friends
These days not a week goes past that we read of yet another case of some innocent walking home or shopping being attacked, stabbed, or bludgeoned over the head with a ‘Blunt Object’, for no other reason than they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Mostly the reason for the attack was to rob the victim of a pitiful reward of no more than his pocket money. More often than not there is no reason at all for the attack, Some are attacked for nothing more than just striking a blow at the establishment. While the unfortunate victim more often or not, is confined to a hospital bed. That’s if they manage to survived the initial attack. Far to many times they don’t, or they are left in Hospital fighting for their lives. Like it or like it not, we have brought this state of affairs on ourselves. We have yet to accept that our streets are no longer safe, and never will be so long as we keep treating the ‘Perpetrators’ the way we do today. If we allow these evil people who live amongst us, and continue to prey on us. To allow this situation to continue and to carry on their molesting innocent people, who are doing more than going about their normal legitimate business.
Should these ferals be unfortunate, or stupid enough to get caught in the execution of a crime, an unbelievable defence mechanism for them springs up. Oh dear, They have had a bad childhood, they were beaten, or sexually molested as a child. We that’s the ordinary man in the street, we are all guilty of neglect of these people, and we owe them something. In fact, any and every excuse is trotted out. And yes, I hear a faint voice in the back ground. saying ‘what about the victim’? Well, might say, ‘What about the victim?’. In today’s world if he had any rights, they soon got trampled on and forgotten, we are too busy with the party who caused the initial crime. Today that’s what we now call justice.
Justice is ladled out in great dollops to the perpetrator. It come in the form where all kinds of rituals and excuses are trotted out. Second and third chances are mandatory. Another joke is what is known as a family conference. This is just another legal time wasting manoeuvre. There is no way this form of soft treatment is going to fix the problem which is getting worst, year by year.
Some even use this kind of criminal act as the criteria being necessary and what is required as the entry to join a gang. We allow this nonsense to continue without comment. The word justice keeps popping up, it’s a very strange form of justice we dispense. The law as we know it now has been cobbled together by politicians who have one eye on the next election, some are ‘List’ candidates, they already carry a lot of baggage by focusing on justice which got them elected in the first place. It’s the start of a feast of the aid given to the criminals that have taken over our streets. It never stops.
Once it was prudent to arm yourself. Not now, you can’t carry a waddy, pistol, or firearm,. You are not allowed to carry a knife, pepper spray, or heaven forbid, a taser. Seeing we can’t carry any protection, who is going to look after the ordinary citizen? Well not the police, they are having their own problems trying to get permission to carry arms. Parliamentarians have far too much say, but it will change. However a lot of ordinary guys blood will need to be spilt until a balance, and safety in the streets is restored once again.
Love from Christchurch,
Wally
These days not a week goes past that we read of yet another case of some innocent walking home or shopping being attacked, stabbed, or bludgeoned over the head with a ‘Blunt Object’, for no other reason than they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Mostly the reason for the attack was to rob the victim of a pitiful reward of no more than his pocket money. More often than not there is no reason at all for the attack, Some are attacked for nothing more than just striking a blow at the establishment. While the unfortunate victim more often or not, is confined to a hospital bed. That’s if they manage to survived the initial attack. Far to many times they don’t, or they are left in Hospital fighting for their lives. Like it or like it not, we have brought this state of affairs on ourselves. We have yet to accept that our streets are no longer safe, and never will be so long as we keep treating the ‘Perpetrators’ the way we do today. If we allow these evil people who live amongst us, and continue to prey on us. To allow this situation to continue and to carry on their molesting innocent people, who are doing more than going about their normal legitimate business.
Should these ferals be unfortunate, or stupid enough to get caught in the execution of a crime, an unbelievable defence mechanism for them springs up. Oh dear, They have had a bad childhood, they were beaten, or sexually molested as a child. We that’s the ordinary man in the street, we are all guilty of neglect of these people, and we owe them something. In fact, any and every excuse is trotted out. And yes, I hear a faint voice in the back ground. saying ‘what about the victim’? Well, might say, ‘What about the victim?’. In today’s world if he had any rights, they soon got trampled on and forgotten, we are too busy with the party who caused the initial crime. Today that’s what we now call justice.
Justice is ladled out in great dollops to the perpetrator. It come in the form where all kinds of rituals and excuses are trotted out. Second and third chances are mandatory. Another joke is what is known as a family conference. This is just another legal time wasting manoeuvre. There is no way this form of soft treatment is going to fix the problem which is getting worst, year by year.
Some even use this kind of criminal act as the criteria being necessary and what is required as the entry to join a gang. We allow this nonsense to continue without comment. The word justice keeps popping up, it’s a very strange form of justice we dispense. The law as we know it now has been cobbled together by politicians who have one eye on the next election, some are ‘List’ candidates, they already carry a lot of baggage by focusing on justice which got them elected in the first place. It’s the start of a feast of the aid given to the criminals that have taken over our streets. It never stops.
Once it was prudent to arm yourself. Not now, you can’t carry a waddy, pistol, or firearm,. You are not allowed to carry a knife, pepper spray, or heaven forbid, a taser. Seeing we can’t carry any protection, who is going to look after the ordinary citizen? Well not the police, they are having their own problems trying to get permission to carry arms. Parliamentarians have far too much say, but it will change. However a lot of ordinary guys blood will need to be spilt until a balance, and safety in the streets is restored once again.

Posted in Uncategorized | Comments Off on Perpertrators

Hospitals of yesterday

Wednesday, January 25th, 2012
Dear Peg and Friends,
I have enjoyed a few hospital visits as a patient over the past eighty eight years. What with the odd accident and bout of sickness, they were a good refuge when you needed them. As well when healthy, a good place to keep well clear of, otherwise as Dr Pat Farry used to say, ‘People die in hospitals’. In early days, the Hospitals that I knew and remembered, were a large building divided into four or five wards. Each with as many as twenty beds lining the two walls. Nobody liked being allocated one of the two top beds, they were quickly labelled the ‘Death Beds’ It was a long time before I found out from someone in charge, this was where the ward sister would put her sickest patients, so she could keep a close eye on them. Naturally if you were desperately ill, bad things could happen to you. But they weren’t necessarily the place that you were put before you shuffled off this earth
Male and female were segregated into separated wards as were the maternity patients. It was very noticeable too that the nursing staff were ruled by a rod of iron through a peculiar heritage system that was in vogue at the time, and of the worst kind. After enduring some years as a ‘dogs body’ each of the Nursing Staff went through a metamorphous, when they graduated and then turned into a harridan in their own right, behaving every bit as bad as what they had been regaling against. Immediately they turned on the new suppliants, and commenced to put them through the same hell that they had endured for the past three years.
Normally the systems worked very well. However I can remember on one occasion, when a very sick patient across from my bed got into trouble, He had been given a large draught of morphine, heroin or laudanum, laced with brandy. Laudanum was prescribed for more than pain. It was an excellent cough suppressant. It  turned up too in many proprietary medicines, including cough cures. Yes, many did become addicted. Anyway as a result of this cocktail which put him into a deep coma and inert. He fell out of his bed. In doing so dislodged his oxygen mask. I was concerned while watching him, I could see him slowly turning blue. So I rang the alarm. No response, so rang again. Still no response. I got out of bed to attend to him, only to find the feed for the mask was too short. The patient needed to be moved closer to the wall, and the oxygen supply. I was busy endeavouring to lift him, when there was a screech of rage from the door. Help had arrived, I managed to understand and decipher between the yelling, that it was being directed at me.  Heart patients were not meant to be lifting fellow patients, even to help. If I expected a little gratitude, that wasn’t forthcoming either.
Hospitals of the time were full of unique practices. Vacuum cleaners were still to be invented, I suppose three pin plugs were also still coming as well. So to pick up dust, damp tea leaves were kept and scattered onto the floor, and then swept up. Window blinds all were pulled down to the same height. No sitting on beds. Counterpanes on beds all drawn up to the same height. I think some of the staff had been in the military, and saw people there, painting the stones around the huts.
Over time I noticed that some patient’s families brought in eggs. On arrival they had the patients  name written on them, from time to time these were cooked as a treat for their evening meal. I also noted trays of eggs were being brought up to the ward with the weekly supplies, but not enough for everyone. To correct this imbalance, I got out of bed whenever I got the chance, I then wrote my name on half the eggs in the tray. Now I was in a position as a benefactor to dole out eggs to any that fancied them.
Hospitals in the City were the place where you went for Surgery that was beyond the expertise of your normal provider. In the country we didn’t enjoy specialist service. Often we were lucky for a ‘specialist’ such as John Heslop make a call. He was a surgeon who called on a monthly basis, or whenever there was an important cricket match being held close by. He didn’t bring along an anaesthetist, or any specialist equipment. Just bottles of ‘local’ pain killer. However it worked, as I had a hernia repaired on a table at the local Medical Centre. The operation was about 98% pain free. My wife doubled as the theatre nurse. These surgeons provided a very valuable service, as we got access to the City’s top men.
Today not much has changed. However the Nursing staff are kinder to one another. Wards have been subdivided into cubicles. A lot of automatic monitoring equipment has been introduced. Not all is good, I particularly dislike the automatic blood pressure machines they trot out. With me, they throw up some very misleading readings. Such is the faith the staff have in their new technology, no matter how hard I suggest that the readings that they are getting are all nonsense. What would I know about such things. The fact that one has never come up with a correct reading over several years means nothing. They will learn that, just because it blinks from many lights, it doesn’t mean it is good and accurate.
Love from Christchurch,
Wally

I have enjoyed a few hospital visits as a patient over the past eighty eight years. What with the odd accident and bout of sickness, they were a good refuge when you needed them. As well when healthy, a good place to keep well clear of, otherwise as Dr Pat Farry used to say, ‘People die in hospitals’. In early days, the Hospitals that I knew and remembered, were a large building divided into four or five wards. Each with as many as twenty beds lining the two walls. Nobody liked being allocated one of the two top beds, they were quickly labelled the ‘Death Beds’ It was a long time before I found out from someone in charge, this was where the ward sister would put her sickest patients, so she could keep a close eye on them. Naturally if you were desperately ill, bad things could happen to you. But they weren’t necessarily the place that you were put before you shuffled off this earth

Male and female were segregated into separated wards as were the maternity patients. It was very noticeable too that the nursing staff were ruled by a rod of iron through a peculiar heritage system that was in vogue at the time, and of the worst kind. After enduring some years as a ‘dogs body’ each of the Nursing Staff went through a metamorphous, when they graduated and then turned into a harridan in their own right, behaving every bit as bad as what they had been regaling against. Immediately they turned on the new suppliants, and commenced to put them through the same hell that they had endured for the past three years.

Normally the systems worked very well. However I can remember on one occasion, when a very sick patient across from my bed got into trouble, He had been given a large draught of morphine, heroin or laudanum, laced with brandy. Laudanum was prescribed for more than pain. It was an excellent cough suppressant. It  turned up too in many proprietary medicines, including cough cures. Yes, many did become addicted. Anyway as a result of this cocktail which put him into a deep coma and inert. He fell out of his bed. In doing so dislodged his oxygen mask. I was concerned while watching him, I could see him slowly turning blue. So I rang the alarm. No response, so rang again. Still no response. I got out of bed to attend to him, only to find the feed for the mask was too short. The patient needed to be moved closer to the wall, and the oxygen supply. I was busy endeavouring to lift him, when there was a screech of rage from the door. Help had arrived, I managed to understand and decipher between the yelling, that it was being directed at me.  Heart patients were not meant to be lifting fellow patients, even to help. If I expected a little gratitude, that wasn’t forthcoming either.

Hospitals of the time were full of unique practices. Vacuum cleaners were still to be invented, I suppose three pin plugs were also still coming as well. So to pick up dust, damp tea leaves were kept and scattered onto the floor, and then swept up. Window blinds all were pulled down to the same height. No sitting on beds. Counterpanes on beds all drawn up to the same height. I think some of the staff had been in the military, and saw people there, painting the stones around the huts.

Over time I noticed that some patient’s families brought in eggs. On arrival they had the patients  name written on them, from time to time these were cooked as a treat for their evening meal. I also noted trays of eggs were being brought up to the ward with the weekly supplies, but not enough for everyone. To correct this imbalance, I got out of bed whenever I got the chance, I then wrote my name on half the eggs in the tray. Now I was in a position as a benefactor to dole out eggs to any that fancied them.

Hospitals in the City were the place where you went for Surgery that was beyond the expertise of your normal provider. In the country we didn’t enjoy specialist service. Often we were lucky for a ‘specialist’ such as John Heslop make a call. He was a surgeon who called on a monthly basis, or whenever there was an important cricket match being held close by. He didn’t bring along an anaesthetist, or any specialist equipment. Just bottles of ‘local’ pain killer. However it worked, as I had a hernia repaired on a table at the local Medical Centre. The operation was about 98% pain free. My wife doubled as the theatre nurse. These surgeons provided a very valuable service, as we got access to the City’s top men.

Today not much has changed. However the Nursing staff are kinder to one another. Wards have been subdivided into cubicles. A lot of automatic monitoring equipment has been introduced. Not all is good, I particularly dislike the automatic blood pressure machines they trot out. With me, they throw up some very misleading readings. Such is the faith the staff have in their new technology, no matter how hard I suggest that the readings that they are getting are all nonsense. What would I know about such things. The fact that one has never come up with a correct reading over several years means nothing. They will learn that, just because it blinks from many lights, it doesn’t mean it is good and accurate.

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