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Out of Step

Saturday, November 19th, 2011
Dear Peg and Friends,
I hadn’t been in the services very long, before I realised that you could actually tell the day of the week it was, by what fare you were being served. Sunday mid-day, well that was a pork roast, cold cuts Sunday night. Wednesday silverside, and so on. I don’t know the exact costing, and how much money that was allocated per person per day, that the cooks were allowed. But they were starting out with the best of food, which lost little in the cooking. I suppose this was because of the large number of hot meals they were expected to turn out on a regular basis. Sure it was hard to maintain the bench mark being set by the hotels, the only other player in the business of cooking and serving, large numbers of hot meals. But they had been in this business for a long time. Comparing the two, the Hotels will always have the edge, as they tended to cook their food in smaller batches.
As I mentioned, Sunday night was usually cold cuts. A green salad and fried potatoes, a very simple, but nourishing meal. I should say also at this stage. It doesn’t pay in the services to be different, or even stand out. Do so, sure as sure, you will be got at. We had one fellow serviceman who was extremely fussy about his food, and he must have been hell to live with. It was most noticeable with lettuce. You couldn’t help but observe whenever it was served, he carefully, and minutely examined every leaf, turning it over and over, before he actually popped it into his mouth. We all watched this with pantomime with interest. One night when things were slow, it was decided to teach him a lesson. Most of the platoon made an early trip to the shed where the lettuce were stored and washed. We searched and pre loaded each leaf on our plates, with all the wild life we could find. After looking through a couple of crates of lettuce, we each had about a dozen or so large fat slugs and some earwigs all sitting on our lettuce, but initially concealed. We let the victim finish his meal, then proceeded to discover the ‘live stock’ on each of our plates, commenting all the time, ‘How bad it was’. ‘Wouldn’t you think they would be more careful in the preparation of our food’? ‘Disgraceful’.
Autosuggestion is a powerful medium, before we had finished discovering our carefully gathered treasure trove. He had left the table and rushed outside to be ill. Young men are a cruel bunch, but there is a lesson here. Make sure that you are never different, or stand out in any way.
One of the Officers in our Company had a ‘Bat Man’. He got this job by default as he wasn’t much use for anything else. No matter how carefully his duties were explained to him, he always seemed to start each week off, from the back foot, and never seemed to remember anything about the previous week. This was partially explained, when one weekend, the Military Police called and advised the Officer in question, that they had picked up his Bat Man. ‘Drinking after hours’, at a local Hotel. ‘Absent without Leave’ was his crime, further more, now they had him locked up in the slammer. A small problem immediately reared it’s head while they were explaining all this to his astonished Officer, what they had done. He just looked up, pointed to the man in question, diligently going about his duties, only three feet away, on the other side of the tent, wondering what the hell they were all talking about.
It turned out that he had a brother, who was his spitting image. Now it was the MP’s to have the red faces. It was also clear that these two fellows had been swapping duties, but it was something that was almost impossible to prove. Sometimes it’s easier if you just stay in bed.
We had another misfit, nothing wrong with his soldiering. He could do all basic things required of him, but he couldn’t march in step. He also seemed to move his arm and leg, on each side at the same time, together, but not alternately as everyone in the world seems to do. As well together with his strange gait, when marching, he was always out step. Six or seven hundred soldiers all in step. But this one uncoordinated helpless fellow, with his quaint leg and arm in cadence, was soon able to fix that. He quickly brought the whole column into disarray. He nearly drove our Colonel and his Officers crazy. Would you believe they actually invalided him out of the Regiment. But in my opinion marching in step has little to do with the winning Wars. Possibly the fellow was Autistic or something. But back then they didn’t have fancy names for folk who were different.
Often long after the War. I often used to see this man, hurrying home from work. Yes he could hold down a job. But still bobbing along with his strange gait, and I had a quiet smile to myself about the profound effect he had on the Army.
Love to all from Christchurch,
Wally
I hadn’t been in the services very long, before I realised that you could actually tell the day of the week it was, by what fare you were being served. Sunday mid-day, well that was a pork roast, cold cuts Sunday night. Wednesday silverside, and so on. I don’t know the exact costing, and how much money that was allocated per person per day, that the cooks were allowed. But they were starting out with the best of food, which lost little in the cooking. I suppose this was because of the large number of hot meals they were expected to turn out on a regular basis. Sure it was hard to maintain the bench mark being set by the hotels, the only other player in the business of cooking and serving, large numbers of hot meals. But they had been in this business for a long time. Comparing the two, the Hotels will always have the edge, as they tended to cook their food in smaller batches.
As I mentioned, Sunday night was usually cold cuts. A green salad and fried potatoes, a very simple, but nourishing meal. I should say also at this stage. It doesn’t pay in the services to be different, or even stand out. Do so, sure as sure, you will be got at. We had one fellow serviceman who was extremely fussy about his food, and he must have been hell to live with. It was most noticeable with lettuce. You couldn’t help but observe whenever it was served, he carefully, and minutely examined every leaf, turning it over and over, before he actually popped it into his mouth. We all watched this with pantomime with interest. One night when things were slow, it was decided to teach him a lesson. Most of the platoon made an early trip to the shed where the lettuce were stored and washed. We searched and pre loaded each leaf on our plates, with all the wild life we could find. After looking through a couple of crates of lettuce, we each had about a dozen or so large fat slugs and some earwigs all sitting on our lettuce, but initially concealed. We let the victim finish his meal, then proceeded to discover the ‘live stock’ on each of our plates, commenting all the time, ‘How bad it was’. ‘Wouldn’t you think they would be more careful in the preparation of our food’? ‘Disgraceful’.
Autosuggestion is a powerful medium, before we had finished discovering our carefully gathered treasure trove. He had left the table and rushed outside to be ill. Young men are a cruel bunch, but there is a lesson here. Make sure that you are never different, or stand out in any way.
One of the Officers in our Company had a ‘Bat Man’. He got this job by default as he wasn’t much use for anything else. No matter how carefully his duties were explained to him, he always seemed to start each week off, from the back foot, and never seemed to remember anything about the previous week. This was partially explained, when one weekend, the Military Police called and advised the Officer in question, that they had picked up his Bat Man. ‘Drinking after hours’, at a local Hotel. ‘Absent without Leave’ was his crime, further more, now they had him locked up in the slammer. A small problem immediately reared it’s head while they were explaining all this to his astonished Officer, what they had done. He just looked up, pointed to the man in question, diligently going about his duties, only three feet away, on the other side of the tent, wondering what the hell they were all talking about.
It turned out that he had a brother, who was his spitting image. Now it was the MP’s to have the red faces. It was also clear that these two fellows had been swapping duties, but it was something that was almost impossible to prove. Sometimes it’s easier if you just stay in bed.
We had another misfit, nothing wrong with his soldiering. He could do all basic things required of him, but he couldn’t march in step. He also seemed to move his arm and leg, on each side at the same time, together, but not alternately as everyone in the world seems to do. As well together with his strange gait, when marching, he was always out step. Six or seven hundred soldiers all in step. But this one uncoordinated helpless fellow, with his quaint leg and arm in cadence, was soon able to fix that. He quickly brought the whole column into disarray. He nearly drove our Colonel and his Officers crazy. Would you believe they actually invalided him out of the Regiment. But in my opinion marching in step has little to do with the winning Wars. Possibly the fellow was Autistic or something. But back then they didn’t have fancy names for folk who were different.
Often long after the War. I often used to see this man, hurrying home from work. Yes he could hold down a job. But still bobbing along with his strange gait, and I had a quiet smile to myself about the profound effect he had on the Army.

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Waking Up

Wednesday, November 16th, 2011
‘Dear Peg and Friends’
I love waking in the mornings, specially when I first open my eyes and I’m shrugging off the drug of a night’s sleep. Immediately, I’m endeavouring to work our exactly where I am in this world, trying to remember where I went to bed the night before. Was I in my own comfortable bed back home? Or was I away on one of my a periodic wandering in foreign parts, until fully conscious returns. I’m searching for, clues to exactly where I am, especially if it’s ‘off shore’, that’s where I’m wakening.
I love the tropics, the heavy scent of their flowers and vegetation, the frangipani, being wafted into my bedroom. Immediately I recognise it as different, especially at ‘sunup’. There is also squawk of the ‘Miner birds’ too which seem have a distinctive call, and they seems to be everywhere. Always the tropical mornings seem to be cool, and this enables with the heavy calm air, a brilliant medium for the transfer of the flowers fragrances, even the forest itself gives off a scent, and don’t forget the good earth.
The bird noises are different to what I’m used to. Even if I haven’t yet opened my eyes, I can usually tell by the heavy scent of the flowers, just about where I am in the world.
Should someone have managed to get out of bed, and start breakfast, and in the tropics, most homes do rise very early. The breakfast pending where you are in the world, always smells different too. The strongly brewed fresh coffee, freshly buttered croissants, smell of freshly baked baguettes. That too smell different than plain porridge at home.
I remember once staying in a French Village and the family whose guest I was, gave me a personal Maid. I said an emphatic ‘No’ to this, and as far as I was concerned the matter was not negotiable. I didn’t need like want, or require a maid. All I did however, was to make the woman invisible, and I drove her underground. Say, when I went to take a shower, I would carefully lay out on my bed, a change of underwear, clean shirt. and a pair of slacks. However I was not taking into account my invisible help. Emerging from the ablution, I was unaware I had been under close observation, and I now found all my clothes had hung themselves tidally up again, I was now back to square one. Same with my washing. I could put it into the machine, but before I could get to deal with it, to my surprise it had jumped out of the machine and was now hanging out to dry. At this stage the family moved in. They explained they were trying to give the woman in question a wage, as she had just lost her husband with a heart attack. They wanted to do it, without making it look like a handout. Would I cooperate? Of course I would. Problem solved. I no longer had the feeling I was under constant observation, but I was now stuck with a maid.
To wake in the morning it’s also necessary to fall asleep at night, but recently I had an attack of gout. After a visit to the doctor, she put me on course of prednisone. In handing over the scrip, she casually mentioned I might experience problems in sleeping. That for me was an understatement. The drug took away my pain, but at the same time, the promised side effect disrupted my sleep pattern so badly, I could no longer fall asleep. Every night I was as bright as a button, it was impossible to fall asleep, or even feel tired. so for some weeks I got up out of bed and read, and watched TV. I formed the opinion that some of the best TV programmes are screened, when most viewers are tucked up safely in bed, sound asleep.
Someone told me I could request from my GP a sleeping pill. But it also carries side effects, so didn’t seek it’s help.
Love from Sulby Road, Wally
I love waking in the mornings, specially when I first open my eyes and I’m shrugging off the drug of a night’s sleep. Immediately, I’m endeavouring to work our exactly where I am in this world, trying to remember where I went to bed the night before. Was I in my own comfortable bed back home? Or was I away on one of my a periodic wandering in foreign parts, until fully conscious returns. I’m searching for, clues to exactly where I am, especially if it’s ‘off shore’, and that’s where I’m wakening.
I love the tropics, the heavy scent of their flowers and vegetation, the frangipani, being wafted into my bedroom. Immediately I recognise it as different, especially at ‘sunup’. There is also squawk of the ‘Miner birds’ too which seem have a distinctive call, and they seems to be everywhere. Always the tropical mornings seem to be cool, and this enables with the heavy calm air, a brilliant medium for the transfer of the flowers fragrances, even the forest itself gives off a scent, and don’t forget the good earth.
The bird noises are different to what I’m used to. Even if I haven’t yet opened my eyes, I can usually tell by the heavy scent of the flowers, just about where I am in the world.
Should someone have managed to get out of bed, and start breakfast, and in the tropics, most homes do rise very early. The breakfast pending where you are in the world, always smells different too. The strongly brewed fresh coffee, freshly buttered croissants, smell of freshly baked baguettes. That too smells different than plain porridge at home.
I remember once staying in a French Village and the family whose guest I was, gave me a personal Maid. I said an emphatic ‘No’ to this, and as far as I was concerned the matter was not negotiable. I didn’t need like want, or require a maid. All I did however, was to make the woman invisible, and I drove her underground. Say, when I went to take a shower, I would carefully lay out on my bed, a change of underwear, clean shirt. and a pair of slacks. However I was not taking into account my invisible help. Emerging from the ablution, I was unaware I had been under close observation, and I now found all my clothes had hung themselves tidally up again, I was now back to square one. Same with my washing. I could put it into the machine, but before I could get to deal with it, to my surprise it had jumped out of the machine and was now hanging out to dry. At this stage the family moved in. They explained they were trying to give the woman in question a wage, as she had just lost her husband with a heart attack. They wanted to do it, without making it look like a handout. Would I cooperate? Of course I would. Problem solved. I no longer had the feeling I was under constant observation, but I was now stuck with a maid.
To wake in the morning it’s also necessary to fall asleep at night, but recently I had an attack of gout. After a visit to the doctor, she put me on course of prednisone. In handing over the scrip, she casually mentioned I might experience problems in sleeping. That for me was an understatement. The drug took away my pain, but at the same time, the promised side effect disrupted my sleep pattern so badly, I could no longer fall asleep. Every night I was as bright as a button, it was impossible to fall asleep, or even feel tired. so for some weeks I got up out of bed and read, and watched TV. I formed the opinion that some of the best TV programmes are screened, when most viewers are tucked up safely in bed, sound asleep.
Someone told me I could request from my GP a sleeping pill. But it also carries side effects, so didn’t seek it’s help.

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The Job Pool

Wednesday, November 9th, 2011
Dear Peg and Friends,
I heard recently, a Green Politician talking a lot of nonsense about how they would create umpteen jobs. And where were they going to get all these jobs from? Why they are going to come from a programme that they are pushing. ‘The insulation of all NZ homes’. Well this for my mind is not an ongoing career opportunity. In fact it’s a very short term operation. Once you have insulated any home that’s it, and very soon you will find you have run out of work. Possibly 80% of existing homes here are already well insulated. To put it bluntly, this is dopey suggestion. Do we want these deep thinkers in Parliament, who in my book are just taking up space.
However there are jobs out there, but we need to do some rearranging first. The fishing industry is one that immediately jumps to mind. A very large lump of fishing quota was handed over under the Treaty Settlement. I suspect that it was meant to provide employment to ‘Our People’. And did this happen? No it didn’t. What did happen was the work was farmed out to fully manned Foreign vessels. The owners of the rights, now only manage the money stream. I’m sure this was not the original intention of the gift. What I would now like to see changed is:- ‘To hold and keep your quota, you must actually work and fish it yourself’. ‘Try that for size’. You have four years to get boats and crew organised, starting now! If you can’t manage this, well give the gift back, move on and let someone in who can. Politely tell the foreign boats now fishing our waters they can return home.
Another area that bothers me, and that’s the scheme of bringing in droves of natives from the Islands to work in the Horticultural area, while we have hundreds of our, ‘Out of work’ who find this kind of word too hard, or perhaps too time consuming, or not even to their liking. Or interfering with their ‘Play Time activities’. I would suggest to the benefit recipients that their next pay cheque, if they still want to receive it, will be paid to you at such and such, orchard. Pull your usual stunt of making yourself unemployable, come payday you will end up with a big fat zero.
Is that all? No, I would like to reopen the timber industry which got locked up and closed a few years ago. This was a disgraceful situation when Labour required Green support to form a Government back in Helen’s time. A timber Mill was happily cutting Beech in a self regenerating programme. In spite of hundreds kilometres of Beech Forest this small operation was an anathema to the Greens. So it was purchased by the Labour Government who closed down. The timber workers were sent down the road. This is the idiotic thinking the Greens are capable of. A token sum was given to the Local Body which they just fritted away. Some of these folk who have got themselves elected into positions of power have no business ability what so ever, and really couldn’t even organise a party in a Brewery. They should have dug their toes in and retained the Mill, which was a winner and providing jobs. I can’t put a figure on how many lost their jobs, but a good guess would be over two hundred and that’s not counting what to expect in the down stream benefits as well. I would now like to see that operation reinstated. There is a huge timber resource just going to waste on the West Coast that is screaming for exploitation, which in no way will interfere with any existing tourist activity. The irony of this ongoing proposal is that these idealistic people who are enforcing it, don’t even live within a thousand kilometres of he area, and probably would be lucky if they even visited once a year.
Another area that I have noticed that must be in constant need of ‘Carers’ and that’s in the ‘Elderly Care’ industry. These institutions are staffed you would think by the United Nations, their pool of labour is from Polynesia,  Philippines or where ever. In fact the list is endless and why is this? And are these people especially qualified? No, these overseas people are just looking for work not trained in any special area. At their homeland, if you don’t work you don’t get paid.
You may have formed the opinion by now that I have some connection with the unemployed. I actually have none, but I’m sick and tired of listening to people telling the media how difficult it is to find employment. Well perhaps it is, if we are continue down the path of giving away all our work to overseas folk. And pay our own labour pool large benefits to stay at home. It will never change either, if we continue to vote stupid people into positions of power.
Love at all from Christchurch,
Wally
I heard recently, a Green Politician talking a lot of nonsense about how they would create umpteen jobs. And where were they going to get all these jobs from? Why silly they are going to come from a programme that they are pushing. ‘The insulation of all NZ homes’. Well this for my mind is not an ongoing career opportunity. In fact it’s a very short term operation. Once you have insulated any home that’s it, and very soon you will find you have run out of work. Possibly 80% of existing homes here are already well insulated. To put it bluntly, this is dopey suggestion. Do we want these deep thinkers in Parliament, who in my book are just taking up space.
However there are jobs out there, but we need to do some rearranging first. The fishing industry is one that immediately jumps to mind. A very large lump of fishing quota was handed over under the Treaty Settlement. I suspect that it was meant to provide employment to ‘Our People’. And did this happen? No it didn’t. What did happen was the work was farmed out to fully manned Foreign vessels. The owners of the rights, now only manage the money stream. I’m sure this was not the original intention of the gift. What I would now like to see changed is:- ‘To hold and keep your quota, you must actually work and fish it yourself’. ‘Try that for size’. You have four years to get boats and crew organised, starting now! If you can’t manage this, well give the gift back, move on and let someone in who can. Politely tell the foreign boats now fishing our waters they can return home.
Another area that bothers me, and that’s the scheme of bringing in droves of natives from the Islands to work in the Horticultural area, while we have hundreds of our, ‘Out of work’ who find this kind of word too hard, or perhaps too time consuming, or not even to their liking. Or interfering with their ‘Play Time activities’. I would suggest to the benefit recipients that their next pay cheque, if they still want to receive it, will be paid to you at such and such, orchard. Pull your usual stunt of making yourself unemployable, come payday you will end up with a big fat zero.
Is that all? No, I would like to reopen the timber industry which got locked up and closed a few years ago. This was a disgraceful situation when Labour required Green support to form a Government back in Helen’s time. A timber Mill was happily cutting Beech in a self regenerating programme. In spite of hundreds kilometres of Beech Forest this small operation was an anathema to the Greens. So it was purchased by the Labour Government who closed down. The timber workers were sent down the road. This is the idiotic thinking the Greens are capable of. A token sum was given to the Local Body which they just fritted away. Some of these folk who have got themselves elected into positions of power have no business ability what so ever, and really couldn’t even organise a party in a Brewery. They should have dug their toes in and retained the Mill, which was a winner and providing jobs. I can’t put a figure on how many lost their jobs, but a good guess would be over two hundred and that’s not counting what to expect in the down stream benefits as well. I would now like to see that operation reinstated. There is a huge timber resource just going to waste on the West Coast that is screaming for exploitation, which in no way will interfere with any existing tourist activity. The irony of this ongoing proposal is that these idealistic people who are enforcing it, don’t even live within a thousand kilometres of he area, and probably would be lucky if they even visited once a year.
Another area that I have noticed that must be in constant need of ‘Carers’ and that’s in the ‘Elderly Care’ industry. These institutions are staffed you would think by the United Nations, their pool of labour is from Polynesia,  Philippines or where ever. In fact the list is endless and why is this? And are these people especially qualified? No, these overseas people are just looking for work not trained in any special area. At their homeland, if you don’t work you don’t get paid.
You may have formed the opinion by now that I have some connection with the unemployed. I actually have none, but I’m sick and tired of listening to people telling the media how difficult it is to find employment. Well perhaps it is, if we are continue down the path of giving away all our work to overseas folk. And pay our own labour pool large benefits to stay at home. It will never change either, if we continue to vote stupid people into positions of power.

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Pensions

Friday, November 4th, 2011
Dear Peg and Family,
I overheard a conversation the other day that really set me thinking, part of it included the extraordinary fact that some families here have not held down a job for some three generations. What a terrible inditement to anyone. They have been on welfare for all of their families living memory. It’s absolutely unbelievable that today this can happen. There are jobs out there, but sometimes you don’t need to be too picky. We have idle youths sitting around in the towns and cities. All drawing the unemployed benefit, however offer them a low paid job and their behaviour and attitude is so bad, that no employer would want them on his payroll. They have now fulfilled their obligation to look for work. They can now put their feet up again and continue to draw the benefit. Yet we are able to bring large groups of Polynesians over to New Zealand for six month stints to work in the horticultural area. They are extremely grateful for this chance to obtain work. It would be too easy to say to our tired youth, ‘Your next pay cheque will be from a country orchard’, ‘Here is the address’. ‘Get on your bike’.
The one thing that bothers me, is that we actually give these people a vote, so like it or like it not, we are in fact actually perpetuating the system. If you take this a step further, it’s obvious that they are so conditioned by this way of life, they now think that everything they ever need, is going to be given to them. Whether it be housing, food, and of course, discretionary spending money. All you need to do, to prolong this situation. Just keep on giving your vote to the Party that offers the most to the losers of this world. If you don’t understand, they’re the folk who have decided to live permanently on a benefit. You don’t have to be a genius to work out, that those receiving the benefit will always vote this way. And the Party that is guilty of this selfish doctrine, has it in their manifesto. Actually, they have the power to drag down and destroy our country. We have many examples in the world today where some people think that the world owes them a living. Greece For one stands out, if they don’t listen and take on board the advice and remedial action they being handed on a plate. They will have to live with the results, which could mean in the future. No Benefits.
To carry on down the path we seem to be heading, you need money which has to come from somewhere. All I hear is, ‘Tax the Rich Pricks’, sounds good, but this is not actually a bottomless pit of money. Even for one to become rich, you need to give people some incentive to become so, in the first place. It’s so easy to sit on the sideline and be a critic against commonsense, when your real agenda is to become a politician, and get on board the gravy train.
We have today something that’s loosely called the Domestic Purposes Benefit. In most cases it works well and covers situations where a mother with a dependant child is given an allowance which can be justified. However the father in these situations also has a part to play, but more too often he remains hidden. Like it or like it not, he should be named, and is expected to pay his part in the upbringing the child that he took part in bringing into the world. For some mothers this is not enough, they blatantly go ahead and have another child or two out of wedlock. Wow! This benefit was not meant to be a lifestyle, and that’s exactly what some have now deemed it should be.
The giving industry of today has grown into a monster. We have in this town some of the Country’s biggest givers. Some have grown so large that they actually have large warehouses holding their food, which they hand out free. The art of giving makes some people feel good. No matter what happens, they jump to the chance of handing out freebies. The media also play their part and campaign to make one feel guilty if you don’t contribute, and prolong this way of life.
Love from Christchurch,   Wally.
I overheard a conversation the other day that really set me thinking, part of it included the extraordinary fact that some families here have not held down a job for some three generations. What a terrible inditement to anyone. They have been on welfare for all of their families living memory. It’s absolutely unbelievable that today this can happen. There are jobs out there, but sometimes you don’t need to be too picky. We have idle youths sitting around in the towns and cities. All drawing the unemployed benefit, however offer them a low paid job and their behavior and attitude is so bad, that no employer would want them on his payroll. They have now fulfilled their obligation to look for work. They can now put their feet up again and continue to draw the benefit. Yet we are able to bring large groups of Polynesians over to New Zealand for six month stints to work in the horticultural area. They are extremely grateful for this chance to obtain work. It would be too easy to say to our tired youth, ‘Your next pay cheque will be from a country orchard’, ‘Here is the address’. ‘Get on your bike’.
The one thing that bothers me, is that we actually give these people a vote, so like it or like it not, we are in fact actually perpetuating the system. If you take this a step further, it’s obvious that they are so conditioned by this way of life, they now think that everything they ever need, is going to be given to them. Whether it be housing, food, and of course, discretionary spending money. All you need to do, to prolong this situation. Just keep on giving your vote to the Party that offers the most to the losers of this world. If you don’t understand, they’re the folk who have decided to live permanently on a benefit. You don’t have to be a genius to work out, that those receiving the benefit will always vote this way. And the Party that is guilty of this selfish doctrine, has it in their manifesto. Actually, they have the power to drag down and destroy our country. We have many examples in the world today where some people think that the world owes them a living. Greece For one stands out, if they don’t listen and take on board the advice and remedial action they being handed on a plate. They will have to live with the results, which could mean in the future. No Benefits.
To carry on down the path we seem to be heading, you need money which has to come from somewhere. All I hear is, ‘Tax the Rich Pricks’, sounds good, but this is not actually a bottomless pit of money. Even for one to become rich, you need to give people some incentive to become so, in the first place. It’s so easy to sit on the sideline and be a critic against commonsense, when your real agenda is to become a politician, and get on board the gravy train.
We have today something that’s loosely called the Domestic Purposes Benefit. In most cases it works well and covers situations where a mother with a dependant child is given an allowance which can be justified. However the father in these situations also has a part to play, but more too often he remains hidden. Like it or like it not, he should be named, and is expected to pay his part in the upbringing the child that he took part in bringing into the world. For some mothers this is not enough, they blatantly go ahead and have another child or two out of wedlock. Wow! This benefit was not meant to be a lifestyle, and that’s exactly what some have now deemed it should be.
The giving industry of today has grown into a monster. We have in this town some of the Country’s biggest givers. Some have grown so large that they actually have large warehouses holding their food, which they hand out free. The art of giving makes some people feel good. No matter what happens, they jump to the chance of handing out freebies. The media also play their part and campaign to make one feel guilty if you don’t contribute, and prolong this way of life.

Posted in Uncategorized | Comments Off on Pensions

Puberty

Tuesday, November 1st, 2011
Dear Peg and Friends
When puberty came along, I wondered what the hell was happening to my body. My voice had changed or broke, I had also started to shave, as My father kept telling me. ‘To wash my face, but it wasn’t dirt but just the growth of dark whiskers’. Yes, I was able to work out as well I too was being attracted to members of the opposite sex. Yet at the same time I was really scared of them. These creatures were certainly were from another world, and why had they suddenly become extremely attractive to me. Well not only just me, but most  of all, the eligible male species as well. And didn’t the girls know it. What it was all about? Well I suppose it was a mystery to most of the eligible males who were also undergoing a metamorphous. I had been perfectly happy and content only a year ago with my lot. Then overnight it would seem all the rules were changed.
Perhaps it had something to do with the pheromones females are known to give out. This is an accepted method of attracting the opposite sex in the natural that we live in. They, the females were of course, a well protected cosseted species. But actually that was only half of the story. If only their Mums had only known what their daughters got up to, when they were not completely under the parental finger. I know they would have had a struggle to believe it what was going on. I regarded some of them as ‘Jail Bait’, because they could get you into a load of trouble, because of this I gave some a very wide berth.
I quickly found some were not even in the  slightest way, shy or demure. No matter what the image was that they projected, I soon learnt was wise to keep some of the more predatory ones at arms length. One particular lass that I had close contact for a period through the family. She had a very sneaky subtle approach, which masked her aggressive behaviour which she managed to keep hidden. More ways than one she really bothered me. I can remember on one occasion when we were all crammed into the family car. The young lady in question, had positioned herself in the front seat so that the floor shift was positioned between her thighs and the hussy damn well knew that I was have to put my hand down there if I was to drive the car. Not really the correct way to project yourself in my book and attract a member of the opposite sex.
On the other side of the coin, I belonged to a bible class that was considered ‘safe’ to join. It was composed of a mixed bunch of boys and girls all aged early to late teens. A dangerous age, well that was the view according to the church folk that ran the class. They kept very tight control over all our activities. The war had started, the Armed Services were currently busy picking off our older members, turning them into instant Soldiers, Airmen, or Sailors. Old enough it would seem to go to the War, but not old enough to touch, or even hold in your arms, a member of the opposite sex. And who was it that had so such control over us? None but the Church hierarchy who had forbidden to give their permission to let us, or even hold a Social where dancing would be permitted. You could look it seemed, but not touch. They must have but been a sex crazed bunch themselves, if they carried such dark thoughts in their heads.
When we got a little older we got around the dancing problem. We ran our own socials. Hired a local hall fifteen shillings (A dollar fifty in today’s money). Charlie Smith, had taught himself of how to vamp on the piano. So he supplied the music. His sister had been given lessons for years but couldn’t get a tune from the instrument that you would want to listen to. But brother Charlie had taught himself. He could get a tune from any instrument. Sure it was more a vamp that he had taught himself, and knew how to knock out a tune from the piano. We stuck up homemade posters around the town. That was free, as we just stapled them onto the power poles. There was a need and we were fulfilling it, as the dances were well patronised. We charged one and sixpence at the door (Fifteen cents), and if the money ran to it, we would splash out and hire another musician.
After the War Joe Brown ran a much more sophisticated operation when he promoted a dance every Saturday night in the Dunedin Town Hall. The Church must have considered he was the great Satan. He paid for a large band and hundreds attended. It was well attended too, and the place on a Saturday night to be seen. It gave the chance for many young folk to meet their future mate. All for only two shillings and six pence.
Love to all from Christchurch,,
Wally
When puberty came along, I wondered what the hell was happening to my body. My voice had changed or broke, I had also started to shave, as My father kept telling me. ‘To wash my face, but it wasn’t dirt but just the growth of dark whiskers’. Yes, I was able to work out as well I too was being attracted to members of the opposite sex. Yet at the same time I was really scared of them. These creatures were certainly were from another world, and why had they suddenly become extremely attractive to me. Well not only just me, but most  of all, the eligible male species as well. And didn’t the girls know it. What it was all about? Well I suppose it was a mystery to most of the eligible males who were also undergoing a metamorphous. I had been perfectly happy and content only a year ago with my lot. Then overnight it would seem all the rules were changed.
Perhaps it had something to do with the pheromones females are known to give out. This is an accepted method of attracting the opposite sex in the natural that we live in. They, the females were of course, a well protected cosseted species. But actually that was only half of the story. If only their Mums had only known what their daughters got up to, when they were not completely under the parental finger. I know they would have had a struggle to believe it what was going on. I regarded some of them as ‘Jail Bait’, because they could get you into a load of trouble, because of this I gave some a very wide berth.
I quickly found some were not even in the  slightest way, shy or demure. No matter what the image was that they projected, I soon learnt was wise to keep some of the more predatory ones at arms length. One particular lass that I had close contact for a period through the family. She had a very sneaky subtle approach, which masked her aggressive behaviour which she managed to keep hidden. More ways than one she really bothered me. I can remember on one occasion when we were all crammed into the family car. The young lady in question, had positioned herself in the front seat so that the floor shift was positioned between her thighs and the hussy damn well knew that I was have to put my hand down there if I was to drive the car. Not really the correct way to project yourself in my book and attract a member of the opposite sex.
On the other side of the coin, I belonged to a bible class that was considered ‘safe’ to join. It was composed of a mixed bunch of boys and girls all aged early to late teens. A dangerous age, well that was the view according to the church folk that ran the class. They kept very tight control over all our activities. The war had started, the Armed Services were currently busy picking off our older members, turning them into instant Soldiers, Airmen, or Sailors. Old enough it would seem to go to the War, but not old enough to touch, or even hold in your arms, a member of the opposite sex. And who was it that had so such control over us? None but the Church hierarchy who had forbidden to give their permission to let us, or even hold a Social where dancing would be permitted. You could look it seemed, but not touch. They must have but been a sex crazed bunch themselves, if they carried such dark thoughts in their heads.
When we got a little older we got around the dancing problem. We ran our own socials. Hired a local hall fifteen shillings (A dollar fifty in today’s money). Charlie Smith, had taught himself of how to vamp on the piano. So he supplied the music. His sister had been given lessons for years but couldn’t get a tune from the instrument that you would want to listen to. But brother Charlie had taught himself. He could get a tune from any instrument. Sure it was more a vamp that he had taught himself, and knew how to knock out a tune from the piano. We stuck up homemade posters around the town. That was free, as we just stapled them onto the power poles. There was a need and we were fulfilling it, as the dances were well patronised. We charged one and sixpence at the door (Fifteen cents), and if the money ran to it, we would splash out and hire another musician.
After the War Joe Brown ran a much more sophisticated operation when he promoted a dance every Saturday night in the Dunedin Town Hall. The Church must have considered he was the great Satan. He paid for a large band and hundreds attended. It was well attended too, and the place on a Saturday night to be seen. It gave the chance for many young folk to meet their future mate. All for only two shillings and six pence.

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Traditional Cooking

Wednesday, October 26th, 2011
Dear Peg and Friends,
While shopping yesterday I spotted something in a display cabinet that I hadn’t cooked and eaten for sometime. It was a ‘Pickled Ox Tongue’. These days it very difficult to find any offal, let alone a stand out item like this, ‘A pickled ox tongue’. Our current generation are very fussy eaters, mention the word tripe, and they will run a mile. So there is little demand for that food. In some towns that we have lived in, there even have been flourishing ‘Tripe Clubs’, all run by desperate people, who actually love this delicious dish, and can’t buy it, or even get it cooked at home.
Now our current populous tend to eat only, the prime cuts of steak, or perhaps mince. We even have a section of folk who don’t eat any meat at all, and are vegetarian. Recently as a treat for me, and knowing my tastes, daughter Lynn had purchased from the local delicatessen, a thick slice of cold ox tongue. It was covered in jelly meat, and this quickly became my lunch. I can’t remember when I had actually tasted something so delicious.
Remembering this, I tossed the tongue that was on sale, into my trolley. Remembering too what Granny had told me, and how to cook this item. Granny and her family had owned Hotels, and gave me many of the recipes for meals that I loved. Over a lifetime or more they always featured on their dining room menus. Some of are what our family still use and enjoy today. They cooked as well, all the obligatory roasts, but alway included the popular dishes I have listed, and what the public at the time demanded.
Meat loaf, spaghetti bolognaise, or a stew made from lamb neck chops. (Something for a long time, these were just thrown away). Many of the tastiest dishes I find are also the cheapest.
So I came home, and dropped the pickled tongue into a bouillon, added a couple of bay leaves, some mustard seeds. Two teaspoons of gelatine as I didn’t have a pig’s trotter to assist with formation of the jelly when I pressed it. It will require some two hours cooking, or until I’m able to skin the tongue, which is also the signal that the item is done.
I noticed in the same bin an ox tail, so I grabbed that as well. Ox tail is currently enjoying a comeback and renaissance. It too is now being featured by all our better restaurants. Goodness this is annoying. As all it has done for us, is push the price up. It has done the same thing with sheep shanks. Once, no one wanted this offal, now I find we are competing for it.
The cooking of Ox Tails, also a Granny’s recipe. It’s a two day operation but well worth the effort. Tail segments are trimmed, then boiled with an onion for a couple of hours, then stuck into the fridge overnight so any fat left on the tail will rise so that you can easily remove it, once it’s sitting on the top of the dish. As well, this will tenderise the tail. On the second day I add some chicken or beef stock, soy sauce, and a slurp of Lee and Perrins sauce. Also about ten whole cloves. You can add any vegetables you have on hand, but the cloves are the key, and must not be omitted. Seeing the tail has now become so expensive, I also add a kilo of stewing steak. It will pick up the essential taste of the meal, and no one will know the meal has been stretched.
My other love and a hang over from the past is a steak and kidney pie. The simple things are always the best
Love to all from Christchurch,
Wally
While shopping yesterday I spotted something in a display cabinet that I hadn’t cooked and eaten for sometime. It was a ‘Pickled Ox Tongue’. These days it very difficult to find any offal, let alone a stand out item like this, ‘A pickled ox tongue’. Our current generation are very fussy eaters, mention the word tripe, and they will run a mile. So there is little demand for that food. In some towns that we have lived in, there even have been flourishing ‘Tripe Clubs’, all run by desperate people, who actually love this delicious dish, and can’t buy it, or even get it cooked at home.
Now our current populous tend to eat only, the prime cuts of steak, or perhaps mince. We even have a section of folk who don’t eat any meat at all, and are vegetarian. Recently as a treat for me, and knowing my tastes, daughter Lynn had purchased from the local delicatessen, a thick slice of cold ox tongue. It was covered in jelly meat, and this quickly became my lunch. I can’t remember when I had actually tasted something so delicious.
Remembering this, I tossed the tongue that was on sale, into my trolley. Remembering too what Granny had told me, and how to cook this item. Granny and her family had owned Hotels, and gave me many of the recipes for meals that I loved. Over a lifetime or more they always featured on their dining room menus. Some of are what our family still use and enjoy today. They cooked as well, all the obligatory roasts, but alway included the popular dishes I have listed, and what the public at the time demanded.
Meat loaf, spaghetti bolognaise, or a stew made from lamb neck chops. (Something for a long time, these were just thrown away). Many of the tastiest dishes I find are also the cheapest.
So I came home, and dropped the pickled tongue into a bouillon, added a couple of bay leaves, some mustard seeds. Two teaspoons of gelatine as I didn’t have a pig’s trotter to assist with formation of the jelly when I pressed it. It will require some two hours cooking, or until I’m able to skin the tongue, which is also the signal that the item is done.
I noticed in the same bin an ox tail, so I grabbed that as well. Ox tail is currently enjoying a comeback and renaissance. It too is now being featured by all our better restaurants. Goodness this is annoying. As all it has done for us, is push the price up. It has done the same thing with sheep shanks. Once, no one wanted this offal, now I find we are competing for it.
The cooking of Ox Tails, also a Granny’s recipe. It’s a two day operation but well worth the effort. Tail segments are trimmed, then boiled with an onion for a couple of hours, then stuck into the fridge overnight so any fat left on the tail will rise so that you can easily remove it, once it’s sitting on the top of the dish. As well, this will tenderise the tail. On the second day I add some chicken or beef stock, soy sauce, and a slurp of Lee and Perrins sauce. Also about ten whole cloves. You can add any vegetables you have on hand, but the cloves are the key, and must not be omitted. Seeing the tail has now become so expensive, I also add a kilo of stewing steak. It will pick up the essential taste of the meal, and no one will know the meal has been stretched.
My other love and a hang over from the past is a steak and kidney pie. The simple things are always the best

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Motor vehicles

Sunday, October 23rd, 2011
Dear Peg and Friends,
It would seem over the years we never have had a fair deal regarding motor vehicles. Before the War we had access to both American and English cars. They were cheap at the time, when compared to other consumer products, but there was a small problem, not many of us had money enough to buy a car. American cars at the time tended to be muscle cars, as over in America, fuel was plentiful and cheap. They were a better buy too as they didn’t require the constant tinkering that the English cars demanded. I owned a four litre American car for twenty five years, it’s running costs were minimal, it required very little mechanical attention over the time I owned it. However I also owned a couple of English cars, they were a different proposition as they required constant attention.
They had another problem too, as the engines that were fitted to UK manufactured, units were subject to a horse power tax. To keep this payment low, engines were designed, not for efficiency, but to avoid this tax. One of the ways around this anomaly was to lengthen the stroke, which was fine for the tax problem but not performance. It wasn’t until the Japanese cars arrived, and I had been told that one of their models was based on the Austin A40. The Japanese immediately altered the stroke of this engine to ‘over square’, which decreased the piston speed, gave a much better performance and cut down wear and tear. At the same time they had built themselves a winner. They also solved the problem of leaking oil.
All fuel at the time was sold by garages, and these businesses was probably split 50% repairs, and 50% for the sale of fuel. After the war the American Vehicles seemed to disappear from our car showrooms. There were many reasons for this but the main one was, import restrictions. By limiting the number of new units arriving in any given year, it meant we were forced to repair our older vehicles, to well past the time to when it was practical to do so. It gave the dealers and those who held import licences unprecedented power.
With the ability to give or deny a car to anyone out in the community, brought out the worst in many dealers. For a new car many dealers demanded a ‘trade in’ at a price that they set, on a ‘Take it or leave it basis. Overnight they became the most hated section of the public, somewhere even lower than politicians. We had a army of mechanics keeping a fleet of ‘dungers’ on the road, costing the motorist an are and a leg. Common sense was telling you that all these units should have been consigned to the scrap heap.
The government of the day tried many schemes to limit the use of cars. On top of rationing the fuel, another idea was introduced, this was the ‘carless’ day, it was necessary to nominate one day a week that you wouldn’t use you vehicle. Another bright idea was that no fuel sold after 5 or 6 pm. None of these bright ideas saved any fuel. To most people they didn’t save anything, they were just an inconvenience. I got caught out badly on one trip to Invercargill. I where I had been invited to attend a conference. I arose very early in the morning. A difficult drive through snow. Arrived late, took Laura to the venue that was planned for wives, I was locked up all day. When I returned to my car at the end of the day I found to my horror that all service stations were now locked up. I spotted a dealership t5hat still had lights on, so banged on the door and the kind  owner reopened for me, and filled our car. I said, ‘I come from Queenstown’, ‘If you are ever in Queenstown and need a favour, I will be pleased to repay your kindness’. Fifteen years later I was in A Queenstown Supermarket and I bumped into Jacqueline Montagnat from New Caledonia. After greeting one another, we had a short conversation in French. While this was going on, I could see someone was watching us both closely. When we parted, this guy approached me and said. ‘Do you remember me’? I had to confess that I didn’t. He said, ‘Fifteen years ago you said to me if I ever needed a favour in Queenstown I could call on you’. He said, ‘I heard you talking to that attractive lady in French’. ‘I have a problem and need a French speaker for a small task’.
It turned out he had just moved to the area and his daughter who also lived here, had moved house recently too. They had two grand daughters over in France. They hadn’t corresponded for three months, and wouldn’t know about the new arrangements or phone numbers. Would I call their contact in France who only spoke French, and give them the new telephone numbers, and ask the girls to call home with the new numbers, ‘collect’? I said, Of course I would do this small task, it was a small price to repay the favour he did for me. But to wait fifteen years, made me smile about leaving favours lying around. I made the call to France and the girls made their call
The next big event in the car market that we enjoyed, was the importing Second Hand vehicles from Japan. We who had been starved for fifty years of any car bargains, now we had simply hundreds of near new cars at a very discounted price. We couldn’t believe our good fortune. But we reckoned without the dealers who did everything in their power to discredit these units. They weren’t properly serviced at home and so on. Tis was when they should have embraced  the scheme to take advantage of whet was being offered, they fought against it by not trading in these units, and many actually went bankrupt.
How things change, we now have access to a great number of both new or second hand vehicles, which require little or no attention.
Love to all from Christchurch,
Wally

It would seem over the years we never have had a fair deal regarding motor vehicles. Before the War we had access to both American and English cars. They were cheap at the time, when compared to other consumer products, but there was a small problem, not many of us had money enough to buy a car. American cars at the time tended to be muscle cars, as over in America, fuel was plentiful and cheap. They were a better buy too as they didn’t require the constant tinkering that the English cars demanded. I owned a four litre American car for twenty five years, it’s running costs were minimal, it required very little mechanical attention over the time I owned it. However I also owned a couple of English cars, they were a different proposition as they required constant attention.

They had another problem too, as the engines that were fitted to UK manufactured, units were subject to a horse power tax. To keep this payment low, engines were designed, not for efficiency, but to avoid this tax. One of the ways around this anomaly was to lengthen the stroke, which was fine for the tax problem but not performance. It wasn’t until the Japanese cars arrived, and I had been told that one of their models was based on the Austin A40. The Japanese immediately altered the stroke of this engine to ‘over square’, which decreased the piston speed, gave a much better performance and cut down wear and tear. At the same time they had built themselves a winner. They also solved the problem of leaking oil.

All fuel at the time was sold by garages, and these businesses was probably split 50% repairs, and 50% for the sale of fuel. After the war the American Vehicles seemed to disappear from our car showrooms. There were many reasons for this but the main one was, import restrictions. By limiting the number of new units arriving in any given year, it meant we were forced to repair our older vehicles, to well past the time to when it was practical to do so. It gave the dealers and those who held import licences unprecedented power.

With the ability to give or deny a car to anyone out in the community, brought out the worst in many dealers. For a new car many dealers demanded a ‘trade in’ at a price that they set, on a ‘Take it or leave it basis. Overnight they became the most hated section of the public, somewhere even lower than politicians. We had a army of mechanics keeping a fleet of ‘dungers’ on the road, costing the motorist an are and a leg. Common sense was telling you that all these units should have been consigned to the scrap heap.

The government of the day tried many schemes to limit the use of cars. On top of rationing the fuel, another idea was introduced, this was the ‘carless’ day, it was necessary to nominate one day a week that you wouldn’t use you vehicle. Another bright idea was that no fuel sold after 5 or 6 pm. None of these bright ideas saved any fuel. To most people they didn’t save anything, they were just an inconvenience. I got caught out badly on one trip to Invercargill. I where I had been invited to attend a conference. I arose very early in the morning. A difficult drive through snow. Arrived late, took Laura to the venue that was planned for wives, I was locked up all day. When I returned to my car at the end of the day I found to my horror that all service stations were now locked up. I spotted a dealership t5hat still had lights on, so banged on the door and the kind  owner reopened for me, and filled our car. I said, ‘I come from Queenstown’, ‘If you are ever in Queenstown and need a favour, I will be pleased to repay your kindness’. Fifteen years later I was in A Queenstown Supermarket and I bumped into Jacqueline Montagnat from New Caledonia. After greeting one another, we had a short conversation in French. While this was going on, I could see someone was watching us both closely. When we parted, this guy approached me and said. ‘Do you remember me’? I had to confess that I didn’t. He said, ‘Fifteen years ago you said to me if I ever needed a favour in Queenstown I could call on you’. He said, ‘I heard you talking to that attractive lady in French’. ‘I have a problem and need a French speaker for a small task’.

It turned out he had just moved to the area and his daughter who also lived here, had moved house recently too. They had two grand daughters over in France. They hadn’t corresponded for three months, and wouldn’t know about the new arrangements or phone numbers. Would I call their contact in France who only spoke French, and give them the new telephone numbers, and ask the girls to call home with the new numbers, ‘collect’? I said, Of course I would do this small task, it was a small price to repay the favour he did for me. But to wait fifteen years, made me smile about leaving favours lying around. I made the call to France and the girls made their call

The next big event in the car market that we enjoyed, was the importing Second Hand vehicles from Japan. We who had been starved for fifty years of any car bargains, now we had simply hundreds of near new cars at a very discounted price. We couldn’t believe our good fortune. But we reckoned without the dealers who did everything in their power to discredit these units. They weren’t properly serviced at home and so on. Tis was when they should have embraced  the scheme to take advantage of whet was being offered, they fought against it by not trading in these units, and many actually went bankrupt.

How things change, we now have access to a great number of both new or second hand vehicles, which require little or no attention.

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Advances in Medical Care

Wednesday, October 19th, 2011


We are living longer these days, well some of us are. A lot of this has to do with health care, our providers are just as good as they ever were, but the resources that they can now call on, and advances in health care have added at least twenty years onto most life spans. I remember when as a boy many folk were worn out physically, by the time their retirement rolled in, and they didn’t have much time to enjoy their Golden Years.

Various machines had a lot to do with this as well, taking over much of the hard labouring work. The motor vehicle could be included in this as well. As well, many diseases that plagued mankind for a millennium, were slowly being controlled, and cures discovered by the medical world. Tuberculosis on its own caused so much sickness and misery in the community, and it alone resulted in the construction of Clinics and Hospitals throughout the Country. It is only in the last 60 years that it has been brought under control, and this has seen the closure of these purpose built institutions in our life time. Also at this time bathrooms were being added to homes and basic personal Hygiene was also a contributor to better health.

The GP structure in the medical world earlier was a little different too. In the town I was brought up in, there were two medical partitioners, and the Friendly Societies Lodges played their part in making medical knowledge available and affordable. Members joined lodges mainly because of their financial benefits, and they played a major role in accessing medical care. When a member visited a doctor, and very family was a member of one of the Lodges, so their medical visit was then subsidised by their lodge. For this service Doctors received a lump sum from the Lodges, which would amount to most of his annual income. This scheme extended to the chemists, but I did note, that most doctors back then were walking pharmacies. They carried in their bags a basic stock of the most popular medicines to be Dispensed on the spot. Linctus something or other. A standard tonic, cough medicine and suppressant. And boxes of tablets, some real, and some just placebos.

The doctors back then also ran what they called ‘surgeries’ from their rooms. You didn’t need an appointment for this. You just turned up, and were taken in for a consultation, as and when it was your turn. You had to be seriously ill, or bleeding to jump the queue. The Doctors also made house calls afternoons and mornings outside Surgery hours which was a large part of their work day. The Lodge subsidy also covered this, but it’s cost to the people was still very affordable.

Back then there was a list of diseases that was as long as your arm, and that took some of us early. But many of these are now mainly under control. Some are still lingering on because of some folk’s resistance to inoculation, or some other privately held reason. Smallpox has been irradiated, another feared affliction was infantile paralysis, this too is now also under control through. Dr J. Salk’s Programmes. We seldom hear of typhoid or Cholera today, but not so long ago, these were names of something that was to be feared.

There is still much out there that can cause you harm But if can achieve as much in the coming 100 years as we did in the past the world will be a much healthier happier place.


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Service Flying

Friday, October 14th, 2011
Dear Peg and Friends,
In my last letter I described how I managed to get myself into the Army. It wasn’t my choice, as I’m not a physical large person, the thought of being involved in one to one hand combat appalled me, if I’m going to have to Fight, I would at least prefer to do it with the aid of a machine, where at least you could ‘out think’ the enemy. So for me, the Air Force was very attractive proposition. As well, I was already fascinated by Air Craft, the thought of flying one appealed in more ways than one. But then again, I had a small problem. My Father who was already in the Air force, didn’t share my fascination with military flying machines. He was more than aware of the attrition and the high number of accidents that went with the training of Pilots. Anyway I persisted with my requests, in the end he relented and signed my papers. For the record I never had any problems with the flying training. I had many close calls and encounters that could have ended my flying career prematurely, but I escaped harm, and was quick to put these incidents down to experience.
But I really should start at the beginning, after an initial interview when I handed in my application to join the Air Force. All air crew were volunteers Twenty one years of age, or with parents permission. Then I was given a set of books, headed ‘Pre Entry exanimations, and study requirements for the selection of Air Crew’. Even to get considered for Air Crew, every candidate had to sit and pass these exams. This exam it was said would be equal to a matriculation. However there were many in my group that had already sat and passed their matric, and they were struggling with the pre-entry exams. I volunteered in a military fashion, (We have decided on your programme, and you will do this) I settled for a combination of both worlds, I guarded Aerodromes at night for some hours, and then went back to school during the day. I had no trouble in passing their exams, and was immediately posted to Rotorua where the Air Force had taken over the whole town. It was headed for bankruptcy until it was taken over lock stock and barrel by the Air Force. It was a tourist town, and the one thing we didn’t have in New Zealand during the war, and that was tourists.
Council Chambers were given a new direction as lecture rooms. Tourist Hotels were reopened and taken over to give them a new life. They lifted the carpets, and they became dormitories for the young Airmen. Local Halls and picture theatres became lecture theatres. Exams became a way of life. Extensive medical and eyesight tests so they certainly had the healthiest bunch for our age group. Exams on academic subjects were given weekly to assist in their selection process. Morse Code was one part of my training I struggled with, but finally I could receive and send the pass rate of fifteen words a minute. The fact that I never used the code was by the by. Slowly and surely we were being sorted to what kind of training we were going to receive in the future, whether it be a Pilot, gunner, pilot/ navigator, or gunner/wireless operator.
As luck would have it I was selected to train as a pilot, and was immediately posted to Taieri to train in Tiger Moths with the object of gaining some sixty or seventy hours in this primary trainer. The Tiger was a basic trainer in every respect. An open cockpit, protected from the elements by a leather helmet, goggles, lambskin coat, pants, jacket and boots. Thick gloves made your hands clumsy. It’s instrument panel was meagre., Two switches for magnetos, Altimeter, Air speed indicator, needle and ball, compass, rev counter, throttle and mixture control. Oil pressure gauge, turn and slip indicator. And that was your lot.
Directional control was by two pedals moved by your feet to activate the rudder, and a column between your legs to control elevators and ailerons. Everything about this biplane was strange and unfamiliar. Even to how the Air Craft smelt. The dope they used on the fabric body and wings, the burnt engine oil.
The instructor asked me when in the air. Could I point out the aerodrome to him? I couldn’t even point out the nearest town. I was so busy with the unfamiliar controls, but gradually everything became right, and one day after about eight hours tuition, I took to the air on my own and solo’d.
At the end of this course when we passed out, we were sorted into for single engined Aircraft, Fighters, or Multi engined, bombers. Half of our course was selected to go to Canada and the other half would be trained in New Zealand. We were given three days leave and soon climbed onto a boat for North America. I was sent to service flying school in Ontario Canada to train on Harvard Aircraft. Now this was a powerful radial engined machine, Aluminium sheaved monoplane with a retractable undercarriage. When I opened the throttle I knew I had control of a real aeroplane this time. The noise was deafening, but it was surprisingly easy to fly. After four of five hundred hours, I graduated and was given my wings. I hadn’t realise it at the time but once I entered the Air Force I had entered onto a an educational programme and it never stopped. I benefited from much of this. In later life I came to realise what a gift I had been given, and I was very grateful.
Love from Christchurch,
Wally
In my last letter I described how I managed to get myself into the Army. It wasn’t my choice, as I’m not a physical large person, the thought of being involved in one to one hand combat appalled me, if I’m going to have to Fight, I would at least prefer to do it with the aid of a machine, where at least you could ‘out think’ the enemy. So for me, the Air Force was very attractive proposition. As well, I was already fascinated by Air Craft, the thought of flying one appealed in more ways than one. But then again, I had a small problem. My Father who was already in the Air force, didn’t share my fascination with military flying machines. He was more than aware of the attrition and the high number of accidents that went with the training of Pilots. Anyway I persisted with my requests, in the end he relented and signed my papers. For the record I never had any problems with the flying training. I had many close calls and encounters that could have ended my flying career prematurely, but I escaped harm, and was quick to put these incidents down to experience.
But I really should start at the beginning, after an initial interview when I handed in my application to join the Air Force. All air crew were volunteers Twenty one years of age, or with parents permission. Then I was given a set of books, headed ‘Pre Entry exanimations, and study requirements for the selection of Air Crew’. Even to get considered for Air Crew, every candidate had to sit and pass these exams. This exam it was said would be equal to a matriculation. However there were many in my group that had already sat and passed their matric, and they were struggling with the pre-entry exams. I volunteered in a military fashion, (We have decided on your programme, and you will do this) I settled for a combination of both worlds, I guarded Aerodromes at night for some hours, and then went back to school during the day. I had no trouble in passing their exams, and was immediately posted to Rotorua where the Air Force had taken over the whole town. It was headed for bankruptcy until it was taken over lock stock and barrel by the Air Force. It was a tourist town, and the one thing we didn’t have in New Zealand during the war, and that was tourists.
Council Chambers were given a new direction as lecture rooms. Tourist Hotels were reopened and taken over to give them a new life. They lifted the carpets, and they became dormitories for the young Airmen. Local Halls and picture theatres became lecture theatres. Exams became a way of life. Extensive medical and eyesight tests so they certainly had the healthiest bunch for our age group. Exams on academic subjects were given weekly to assist in their selection process. Morse Code was one part of my training I struggled with, but finally I could receive and send the pass rate of fifteen words a minute. The fact that I never used the code was by the by. Slowly and surely we were being sorted to what kind of training we were going to receive in the future, whether it be a Pilot, gunner, pilot/ navigator, or gunner/wireless operator.
As luck would have it I was selected to train as a pilot, and was immediately posted to Taieri to train in Tiger Moths with the object of gaining some sixty or seventy hours in this primary trainer. The Tiger was a basic trainer in every respect. An open cockpit, protected from the elements by a leather helmet, goggles, lambskin coat, pants, jacket and boots. Thick gloves made your hands clumsy. It’s instrument panel was meagre., Two switches for magnetos, Altimeter, Air speed indicator, needle and ball, compass, rev counter, throttle and mixture control. Oil pressure gauge, turn and slip indicator. And that was your lot.
Directional control was by two pedals moved by your feet to activate the rudder, and a column between your legs to control elevators and ailerons. Everything about this biplane was strange and unfamiliar. Even to how the Air Craft smelt. The dope they used on the fabric body and wings, the burnt engine oil.
The instructor asked me when in the air. Could I point out the aerodrome to him? I couldn’t even point out the nearest town. I was so busy with the unfamiliar controls, but gradually everything became right, and one day after about eight hours tuition, I took to the air on my own and solo’d.
At the end of this course when we passed out, we were sorted into for single engined Aircraft, Fighters, or Multi engined, bombers. Half of our course was selected to go to Canada and the other half would be trained in New Zealand. We were given three days leave and soon climbed onto a boat for North America. I was sent to service flying school in Ontario Canada to train on Harvard Aircraft. Now this was a powerful radial engined machine, Aluminium sheaved monoplane with a retractable undercarriage. When I opened the throttle I knew I had control of a real aeroplane this time. The noise was deafening, but it was surprisingly easy to fly. After four of five hundred hours, I graduated and was given my wings. I hadn’t realise it at the time but once I entered the Air Force I had entered onto a an educational programme and it never stopped. I benefited from much of this. In later life I came to realise what a gift I had been given, and I was very grateful.

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I join the Army

Sunday, October 9th, 2011
Dear Peg and Friends,
At the commencement of the second World War, New Zealand and Australia were both in perilous positions. They stood alone and in the path of the victorious Japanese who had brought the War to the South Pacific and so far had swept all before them. New Zealand was in a very vulnerable militarily position as all her able bodied young men, had already been called up, inducted into the Army. Currently they were fully occupied fighting in the Middle East keeping the Germans and Italians from capturing Egypt, and cutting off the sea route the Canal. This would close our food life line to the UK, who without the shiploads of food we were sending them, and  coupled to the effects German submarines in the Atlantic were having, they would soon be starved into submission.
We now had the Japanese headed our way after their incredible capture of Singapore, Thailand, French Indo China, Hong Kong, and the Malaysia Peninsula. The Japanese were a seasoned and a formidable force, who had been fighting in China for some years. So far they hadn’t suffered a defeat in their extensive conquests. But their lines of communication were now becoming extended, for this reason alone, they themselves were becoming vulnerable. Further they had also attacked the Americans, and declared War on that Nation, luckily for us, the Japanese now had another front to occupy them. This gave us some breathing space, plus an Ally who was also able to supply us with arms, and as well we were able to offer our country as a staging post and base. Our humiliating defeats so far, was brought about by very inept and stupid leadership, as we at the time outnumbered the Japanese.
Desperate times, called for desperate measures, and the New Zealand Government of the day now called up all young men starting at eighteen years of age and upwards. This included me. As an eighteen year old. I was told to report to the Dunedin Drill Hall, with a thousand other ‘odd bods’ for processing. I passed their medical exam, and was soon issued with a .303 rifle, bayonet, dress uniform, great coat, fatigues, Webbing, Glengarry, (I had ended up in the Second Scottish regiment) Back pack, water proof ground sheet, woollen underwear, water bottle, two pairs heavy boots socks, and mess gear.
In groups of eight we were each given a vintage Bell Tent (Probably saw service in World War One) and then marched over to the stables where we filled, or stuffed our palliasse with straw. It would seem the days of our pampering with home comforts were rapidly coming to an end. We were as green as grass, and immediately we were embarked on a crash course to turn us into soldiers. Marching, shooting, familiarity with weapons, more marching. Our only illumination at night was by candles set into the base of an old triangle bayonet left over from yet another war. This was stuck into the ground. Much personal time was spent improving our comfort. Looking for wooden boards to sit our palliasse on, and keep our beds off the ground.
As I held a heavy truck licence I was given the task of training some thirty or so, how to drive a heavy vehicles all with ‘crash’ gear boxes. Of course the big problem was, where to house all these men? Our Racecourses first came to mind, and we had many, all under utilised and they were  Exactly what the Army was looking for. Large kitchens and toilets, sufficient to cater for hundreds of race patrons, so ideal for soldiers . As well large covered recreation areas. So suddenly they were all converted into Army camps. Showers and ablution blocks were quickly built, so hygiene standards were maintained. One day many of us were ‘School boys’ next week, sitting in a grandstand listening to the medical Officer deliver a lecture and a warning about our sexual behaviour, and what could happen to you if you didn’t take precautions. That was a surprise to many who as eighteen year olds up until this point haven’t given much thought to the consorting with prostitutes, and women of lower moral behaviour, or even the enthusiastic amateurs. To hear our women described as cess pools of pus, was enough to put the frighteners on any young man.
Food was plentiful, but the cooks too, had a lot to learn, which they did. I never liked eating meat that had been cooked, about an hour or so ahead of time, then carved. By doing this, to me, the meat especially mutton seemed to take on a ‘Taste’ which I didn’t like, but this was a small price to pay against the ability to deliver several hundred hot meals.
It would seem a new life for me was about to take off.
Love from Christchurch,
Wally

At the commencement of the second World War, New Zealand and Australia were both in perilous positions. They stood alone and in the path of the victorious Japanese who had brought the War to the South Pacific and so far had swept all before them. New Zealand was in a very vulnerable militarily position as all her able bodied young men, had already been called up, inducted into the Army. Currently they were fully occupied fighting in the Middle East keeping the Germans and Italians from capturing Egypt, and cutting off the sea route the Canal. This would close our food life line to the UK, who without the shiploads of food we were sending them, and  coupled to the effects German submarines in the Atlantic were having, they would soon be starved into submission.

We now had the Japanese headed our way after their incredible capture of Singapore, Thailand, French Indo China, Hong Kong, and the Malaysia Peninsula. The Japanese were a seasoned and a formidable force, who had been fighting in China for some years. So far they hadn’t suffered a defeat in their extensive conquests. But their lines of communication were now becoming extended, for this reason alone, they themselves were becoming vulnerable. Further they had also attacked the Americans, and declared War on that Nation, luckily for us, the Japanese now had another front to occupy them. This gave us some breathing space, plus an Ally who was also able to supply us with arms, and as well we were able to offer our country as a staging post and base. Our humiliating defeats so far, was brought about by very inept and stupid leadership, as we at the time outnumbered the Japanese.

Desperate times, called for desperate measures, and the New Zealand Government of the day now called up all young men starting at eighteen years of age and upwards. This included me. As an eighteen year old. I was told to report to the Dunedin Drill Hall, with a thousand other ‘odd bods’ for processing. I passed their medical exam, and was soon issued with a .303 rifle, bayonet, dress uniform, great coat, fatigues, Webbing, Glengarry, (I had ended up in the Second Scottish regiment) Back pack, water proof ground sheet, woollen underwear, water bottle, two pairs heavy boots socks, and mess gear.

In groups of eight we were each given a vintage Bell Tent (Probably saw service in World War One) and then marched over to the stables where we filled, or stuffed our palliasse with straw. It would seem the days of our pampering with home comforts were rapidly coming to an end. We were as green as grass, and immediately we were embarked on a crash course to turn us into soldiers. Marching, shooting, familiarity with weapons, more marching. Our only illumination at night was by candles set into the base of an old triangle bayonet left over from yet another war. This was stuck into the ground. Much personal time was spent improving our comfort. Looking for wooden boards to sit our palliasse on, and keep our beds off the ground.

As I held a heavy truck licence I was given the task of training some thirty or so, how to drive a heavy vehicles all with ‘crash’ gear boxes. Of course the big problem was, where to house all these men? Our Racecourses first came to mind, and we had many, all under utilised and they were  Exactly what the Army was looking for. Large kitchens and toilets, sufficient to cater for hundreds of race patrons, so ideal for soldiers . As well large covered recreation areas. So suddenly they were all converted into Army camps. Showers and ablution blocks were quickly built, so hygiene standards were maintained. One day many of us were ‘School boys’ next week, sitting in a grandstand listening to the medical Officer deliver a lecture and a warning about our sexual behaviour, and what could happen to you if you didn’t take precautions. That was a surprise to many who as eighteen year olds up until this point haven’t given much thought to the consorting with prostitutes, and women of lower moral behaviour, or even the enthusiastic amateurs. To hear our women described as cess pools of pus, was enough to put the frighteners on any young man.

Food was plentiful, but the cooks too, had a lot to learn, which they did. I never liked eating meat that had been cooked, about an hour or so ahead of time, then carved. By doing this, to me, the meat especially mutton seemed to take on a ‘Taste’ which I didn’t like, but this was a small price to pay against the ability to deliver several hundred hot meals.

It would seem a new life for me was about to take off.

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