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APPET I SER

Not So Trivial Pursuit Thus reads an Auckland Star headline in1985. Auckland Mayor Dame Catherine Tizard is pictured with Bob Reynolds, inventor of the Game of Auckland. The newspaper item continues, “Dame Catherine plans to give copies of the game away as Christmas presents – and Auckland councillors are on her list.” Turn to page 52 to read about this mastermind of New Zealand board games.

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E D I TORIAL

Dear Readers, New Zealand Memories would cease to exist were it not for the people who have taken time to record their personal memories. The heart-warming stories demonstrate how our young country has grown and how ordinary families have shaped its development. For this reason the publication stands apart from other historical compendiums. The leading article by Christine Scales is a fine example of how memories can become intertwined with the past as this author reflects back on the early inhabitants of Te Awamutu and muses on her schooldays, comics, Enid Blyton books and homespun entertainment of the 1940s. Allan Smith shares the same decade in his recollections of the war years when “everyone was doing their bit to keep the home fires burning”. Archivist Jo Smith’s submission dates back to mid-nineteenth century Lyttelton. When emigrant Isaac Philpott arrived on the ship Randolph he observed from the deck “dog kennels or pigeon houses” on the hill; hence the title of this unusual account. In comparison, relative newcomers to the country, Malcolm Ford and Columba McBride pen their own positive observations upon settling in New Zealand from post-war Britain and beyond. The action shot of Malcolm cycling down Lyell Street in Hastings is a classic! There’s always a line up of smaller snippets to amuse and delight: rugby anecdotes; going to “the pictures”, postmark collection; war rationing; and tongue-in- cheek verse from Bill Conroy. Jean Arundale asks “Were you there?” in reference to an Auckland Domain Nativity play. Perhaps you were! One author in this issue who has already achieved recognition is Bob Reynolds, inventor of board games. They have become New Zealand icons in this era of computer games. Check the top shelf of your cupboard or the bach; there may well be a Reynolds early edition tucked away. Blessings to you and yours this Christmas,

Wendy Rhodes, Editor

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ges).

C ON T EN TS

Editor Wendy Rhodes Photographic Scanning Anne Coath Administration David Rhodes Distributed by Gordon and Gotch Subscriptions & Enquiries Phone tollfree: 0800 696 366 Mail: Freepost 91641, PO Box 17288, Green Lane, Auckland 1546 email: admin@memories.co.nz www.memories.co.nz Annual Subscription $79 for 6 issues (Price includes postage within NZ) For overseas postage: Add $49.00 for Australia Add $69.00 for Rest of the World Contributors Alexander Turnbull Library, Wellington, NZ. Arundale, Jean Bronlund, Irene Coldham, Margaret Conroy, Bill Dalmatian Cultural Society Dargaville Museum de Bonnaire, John Dragicevich, Kaye Ford, Malcolm Heberley, Miriam Hodgson, Vera McBride, Columba Methodist Church of New Zealand Archives Mihaljevich, George Morris, Maisie New Zealand Cricket Museum Reynolds, Bob Scales, Christine Scurrah, Violet Sherratt, Ian Sills, Raewyn Sir George Grey Special Collection, Auckland City Libraries Smith, Allan Smith, Jo Subritzky, Mike The Treasury, Thames Turley, Alan Whakatane District Museum & Gallery Yerkovich, Helen Yerkovich, Milan Opinions: Expressed by contributors are not necessarily those of New Zealand Memories. Accuracy: While every effort has been made to present accurate information, the publishers take no responsibility for errors or omissions. Copyright: All material as presented in New Zealand Memories is copyright to the publishers or the individual contributors as credited. ISSN 1173-4159 December/January 2018

Contents Childhood Memories of Te Awamutu

A nostalgic article by Christine Scales.

More Tall but True Rugby Tales

From Hull to Hastings

Gone

Dog Kennels or Pigeon Houses?

News Flash

I Remember One Christmas…

Rugby anecdotes from Alan Turley.

Malcolm Ford stepped off the MV Rangitane in 1949. Ian Sherratt remembers when… From Jo Smith, Archivist, Methodist Church of New Zealand. Bill Conroy offers a startling revelation. Jean Arundale wonders if others recall this beautiful nativity pageant.

From the Regions: Northland

Centrefold: Laughter Lightens the Load

Wartime Dunedin: A Schoolboy’s Memories

The Pictures

Our First Christmas

Making Do

When Board Games Ruled

Wherever Was That?

From the Regions: Bay of Plenty / Coromandel

The Phantom of the Kaipara

A vivid account from Allan Smith.

Margaret Coldham’s story will prompt childhood memories. Columba McBride transports us back to 1967. Maisie Morris explains wartime rationing. By Bob Reynolds, inventor of New Zealand board games. John de Bonnaire returns with an unusual contribution.

Mike Subritzky pays tribute to the Isobel.

Morris Yock Trademarks the Jandal

Index and Genealogy List

Editor’s Choice: Basin Reserve, Wellington

Nostalgic photographs from the New Zealand Cricket Museum.

Cover image: Isobel drying her sails in the Port of Auckland, 1935. Courtesy: A Cliff Hawkins photograph supplied by Mike Subritzky.

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STO RY

Childhood Memories of Te Awamutu Christine Scales (nee Paul)

acrocarpa. The distinctive aroma of these trees always reminds me of the tall macrocarpas which grew beside the home of my maternal grandparents in Te Awamutu. My family came from Christchurch to live in this small Waikato town during my father’s absence overseas with the New Zealand Forces in World War II. The time which I spent here during the four most formative years of my life have left me with everlasting happy memories. Te Awamutu – “the end of the river” – so named because of the early Mãori settlement in this area of the Waipa valley where the tributaries of the Waikato river were no longer navigable. European influence began with the founding of a mission station in the 1840s. One hundred years later, Te Awamutu was a thriving community whose economy was largely based upon the surrounding dairy farming countryside. The business and shopping centre was situated where Arawata, Sloane and Alexandra Street converged – the latter being bisected on the outskirts of the town by the main trunk railway line. The large dairy factory and the dried milk factory stood on land adjacent to the railway crossing. Residential streets spread out like a spider’s web, following the hilly contours on which the town had mushroomed. My grandmother had lived in a large house in Punui Road (re-named Bank Street) for most of her married life and it was here that we came to live from late 1942 until 1946. Set well back from the road and surrounded by trees, lawn and paddocks, this villa was typical of many built in the early 1900s. But to me it was always special. Many and varied were the reasons for my attachment to this old home – I loved every nook and cranny. But it was probably the kitchen which appealed to me most. This was my grandmother’s domain and it was here that she had, over the years, cooked for her large family of nine children. Her coal range remained in constant use as she continued to produce meals for a steady flow of family and friends. The congenial atmosphere within these kitchen walls encompassed the entire house. Our closest neighbours lived on a property which was entirely overgrown with trees. “Old Mr Kirkham”, as he was called, did not believe in felling or pruning one single plant. A narrow winding path through all the undergrowth lead to the back door which, in turn, opened directly into a most remarkable kitchen. The entire wall space was covered from floor to ceiling with yellowing newspaper cartoons cut from Punch magazine – or similar. A huge oak tree grew outside their front gate and I was paid twopence for every bucket of acorns which I collected for their pigs. The shopping centre was within walking distance along either of two routes. The “high road” passed the croquet, bowling and tennis clubs of Victoria Park; the local baths (where a Peeping Tom once caused consternation outside the girls’ changing shed); the war memorial and finally the Bank of New Zealand – on whose steps the elderly Mãori women would congregate on the weekly sale day.

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STORY

“My grandmother had lived in a large house in Punui Road (re-named Bank Street) for most of her married life…”

Roche Street was the “low road” and it was here that the old school, fire station, town hall and court house were clustered. Many of my Irwin uncles (one of whom was chief fire officer for many years) served with the volunteer fire brigade. The old school had been constructed of solid kauri in 1879 and featured those steeply pitched roofs so popular at that time. Like my parents before me, I came in 1942 to this same building to continue my education. When I graduated into Standard Two the following year, I attended the primary school in Teasdale Street. Every morning we assembled on the quadrangle where we raised the flag and sang the national anthem before marching to our classrooms to the strains of The Invercargill March. The very real threat to the New Zealand way of life in those days engendered tremendous patriotism. Children of my generation were left in no doubt that our armed forces overseas were fighting for King, country and the British Empire which, it was inferred, we had the immense good fortune to belong. At the peace celebrations in 1945 we fervently sang Sussex By The Sea and Land Of Hope and Glory. In the meantime, our school routine was periodically interrupted for air raid drill which sent us scurrying to the trenches which zigzagged under the trees next door at Victoria Park. We had a shallow pit under the old plum tree at home for the same purpose… luckily we were never required to test it. The school curriculum favoured the three R’s - we learned our multiplication tables by rote. Miss Bowler, our standard four teacher, once strapped me for a 5

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STO RY

“I enjoyed reading the ‘Just William’ series; the weekly ‘Sunny Stories’... and those wonderful comics such as ‘Tiny Tim’, ‘Rainbow’, ‘Film Fun’ and ‘Play Box’.” Pet Day at Te Awamutu Primary School, 1945. Christine Paul is photographed with her kitten.

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STORY

spelling mistake. The hurt to my hand and my pride was compounded by the fact that it was also my tenth birthday. I never forgave her, but I have been a good speller ever since! In the wartime years, when toys and books were of inferior quality, we girls were able to compromise with some measure of success. Dolls’ furniture was made from matchboxes glued together; autograph books were all the rage as also were “peep shows”. These consisted of an imaginative cut out picture show within a covered shoe box. A window at the end covered with cellophane would allow friends to view in exchange for the princely sum of one pin. Snap was a popular card game. Downtown we had our very own Mr Penny the Grocer and Mr Middlebrook the Butcher. The local drapers were Ahiers, Fanthorpes, Fowlers and Armstrongs; but my favourite shops were the booksellers – Giffords and Hebdens. I enjoyed reading the Just William series; the weekly Sunny Stories (no apologies for being an Enid Blyton fan) and those wonderful comics such as Tiny Tim, Rainbow, Film Fun and Play Box. The radio also entertained and / or enlightened us. The grown-ups always listened to the BBC News. The chimes of Big Ben would crackle through the static followed by the solemn pronouncement “This is London calling. Here is the news”. On a lighter note Dad and Dave were in their heyday, but I particularly enjoyed the children’s progamme David and Dawn – the story line long since forgotten but certainly not the theme music which was The Waltz of the Flowers from The Nutcracker Suite. Saturday morning was Brownies. I could choose to spend my sixpence pocket money on an ice cream soda afterwards at the De Luxe Milk Bar or keep it for an ice cream following the matinee at either the Regent or Empire picture theatres. The big treat was sometimes on a Saturday night when chocolate slab was sold – a pale, tasteless imitation but, I suppose, better than nothing. Because time conveniently dulls some memories and enhances others, I can only remember summers which, from a child’s perspective, consisted of blue skies and long, hot, carefree days. The road sides abounded with ripe black berries and frequent berry picking excursions into the countryside were the norm. One very hot day my mother and I biked out through Kihikihi to the monument on the site of the 1864 Battle of Orakau. Although the cries of battle had long since ceased I could, young as I was, appreciate the sense of history and atmosphere in the tranquillity of that warm afternoon. It was here that the supporters of Rewi Maniapoto defied the Imperial Forces and those most famous words “Kaore e mau te rongo, ake, ake!” (We will never surrender, never!) were written into our history books. There is also a memorial to the fallen in St John’s Anglican church in Te Awamutu. This has probably given credence to the legend surrounding the two or three footprints (I cannot remember exactly how many) on the sloping wooden ceiling of the church. Whenever I accompanied my grandmother to morning service, I was always far more engrossed in searching for the footprints scattered away above my head. It was believed that a boy who had walked in the blood of the battle victims had then stepped on to the wooden planks which were eventually used in the church ceiling. I do not know if this is true or not… but it makes a great story.

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P O E T RY

News Flash Bill Conroy New Zealand’s iconic Christmas tree, the Pohutukawa, may have originated from Australia a new study says. The University of Adelaide has claimed that two new fossil species of pohutukawa, dating back 25 million years, have been found on the east coast of Tasmania. (Published in the New Zealand Herald dated 24 June 1917.) The news has been well received in Australia.

The Pohutukawa Tree There’s champion news in the paper! In Hobart crowds are running free They’ve found fossils in Tasmania So Aussies now own the Pohutukawa tree I read it in the Australian press so it’s fair dinkum, gotta be true. It’s really exciting news mate I am passing it on to you Proudly we sing our national Anthem Advance Australia it is so Fair We’ll soon have so many Pohutukawa trees They’ll be growing everywhere Kiwis call them Christmas trees But really we don’t care We’ll grow them in the winter time and right throughout the year Over in the Off Shore Islands the news was heard with despair Kiwis don’t own Pohutukawa trees anymore the beauties are growing here Australia owns Phar Lap, Crowded House, and Mr Russell Crowe now we find another truth mate It’s in Aussie Pohutukawa trees prefer to grow. So they are dancing in the Sydney streets They’re celebrating around for miles We’ve scored another underarm victory over the mob in the Shaky Isles It matters not who found the Pohutukawa or the native feral ferret. Let’s celebrate the great discovery: award them all the Australia Order of Merit. Bill Conroy 24

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STORY

I Remember One Christmas…

… when the air was filled with singing and I saw more than a dozen angels. I wasn’t alone, for there were shepherds who also gazed up in wonder at the angels, so bright against the dark sky. The angels weren’t real but the shepherds certainly were! By Jean Arundale

his all happened quite a few years ago. I believe it was the first Christmas pageant to be held in the grounds of the Auckland Domain and on the roof of the Museum building where a stage had been erected. Spotlights and floodlights picked out the various players as they arrived to take part in this unusual drama. A short time before, we’d seen a picture in the New Zealand Herald of the angel Gabriel (arms extended beyond their usual length to give more credence to his wings) with details of this event. This had no doubt caused hundreds of people - who now sat in front of the Museum on plastic sheets, rugs and newspapers, wrapped in coats and cardigans against the unusually cold weather - to come along to watch a spectacular performance. Firstly, through the crowds, came Joseph leading Mary on a little grey donkey, walking towards and into the Museum. Then came the shepherds with their flock of sheep and a young boy carrying a lamb, and two very active dogs taking great care they did not lose their charges amongst the throng. To a stirring reading of T. S. Eliot’s Journey of the

Magi… “A cold coming we had of it, just the wrong time of the year…” three magnificent kings came on horseback, each accompanied by a mounted retinue. Members of the Chinese community played one group complete with cymbals, drums and a huge dragon. They all went in procession following where Joseph and Mary had gone and who were now illuminated way above us on the roof, along with the shepherds and the boy with the lamb. Within minutes the kings also appeared, minus their mounts. The perfumed smoke from the frankincense could be seen quite clearly in the beam of the floodlights against the night sky. Gabriel stood with his windblown wings guarding Mary, Joseph and the Child while a choir of school children sang O Come All Ye Faithful. Like Eliot’s kings, it had been a cold coming for us, and a long wait. But it was worth it. As we gathered up our camp stool and rugs, hoping we would find our car amongst the many parked in the Domain grounds, we felt we had vividly witnessed some of the Spirit of Christmas. This event was probably over thirty years ago now; I wonder if anyone else remembers? n

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Laughter Lightens the Load

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Soldiers from the 3rd Battalion, NZ Rifle Brigade sit on a captured German anti-tank gun on 20 November 1917. The photograph was taken at ‘Clapham Junction’ a muddy part of the battlefield in Belgium. Henry Armytage Sanders, official cinematographer and photographer to the New Zealand Expeditionary Force in France, is responsible for much of the official photographic documentation; he was assigned to the Division on 8 April 1917, prior to the Battle of Messines. The images, now a graphic documentation of the Great War, were sent back to New Zealand and sold to newspapers in aid of the war effort. These soldiers are gathered around a copy of New Zealand at the Front, a collection of written material and drawings compiled by men serving on the Western Front. An item in the publication obviously raised a laugh to lift the men’s spirits. Alexander Turnbull Library, Wellington, NZ. Ref: G-012980-1/2 Reference: http://ww100.govt.nz/photographing-new-zealanders-at-war

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STO RY

Columba McGann with her parents in Dublin, c.1918.

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STORY

Our First Christmas By Columba McBride. Written after the Christmas of 1967.

hristmas evening! The dinner things washed and put away. My sons and their wives have left taking with them the sleepy grandchildren as yet to know the meaning of this day. I am left alone. And I think of another Christmas Not of Ireland with the turf fire blazing on the hearth and the emptied stockings strewn upon the floor. Not of the turkey and plum pudding of English houseparties. Not even of Spain and the wines provided free by the management in that hotel in Malaga. No, I am thinking of a Christmas evening in an upland valley fifteen years ago, and of the things that led us there and the road we have travelled since. Left to fend for myself and three small boys in the

old country I struggled for five years. Then I used the last of my capital to pay our passages to New Zealand. Coming from Southern Ireland we were not eligible for any assistance (but a resident teacher post awaited me if I could pay my own way out). The boys, then aged ten, twelve and fourteen, were boarders at their College … but Christmas lay ahead. We had no place to go, no relatives in New Zealand. No money to pay for a holiday in New Zealand. I had just £500 left. How could that sum provide us with a home? I prayed, studied the newspaper advertisement. Then I saw it. “Bach, three rooms, garage and shed, new 1000 gallon water tank, section of native bush. £500.” (I barely knew what a bach was.)

Columba photographed in Stephenson and Turner’s Library in 1964, three years before she wrote “Our First Christmas”. At that time she was the librarian for Stephenson and Turner, architects, whose office was in Shell House, the first multi-story block on The Terrace, Wellington. Convent of the Sacred Heart (name later changed to Erskine College) where Columba had her live-in position in about 1953. It was boarding school for girls from the age of five. The photograph was taken on a major feast day – girls can be seen on the balconies. Columba kept up a close relationship with the nuns until she died in 1997. The building itself has had a chequered history; redevelopment of the site is now planned, with preservation of the beautiful Gothic chapel, but not the main building.

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E D I TOR’ S

CHOICE

Wellington’s Basin Reserve On Saturday 15th March 1955, more than 18000 people packed into the Basin Reserve (inset) to watch Wellington begin a First-Class match against the touring Marylebone Cricket Club (England). The tourists had just defended the Ashes in Australia, making them the hottest ticket in town. Taken from the newly-opened Carillon, c1932, the image below provides a view of the Basin Reserve and its surrounding streets. The photograph features a number of buildings completed in the 1920s which remain today, including the Mt Victoria Tunnel, Wellington College Cricket Pavilion, and the Basin’s Museum Stand. On January 11th 2018, the Basin Reserve will celebrate 150 years since cricket was first played on its hallowed turf. While that first game was most notable for the umpire’s comments on how bad the outfield was, in January 2018 the ground will host two ODIs against Pakistan on one of the best outfields in world cricket. To celebrate the anniversary, the New Zealand Cricket Museum is holding an open day on January 11th, with kid’s activities, tours, competitions, and more. Visit nzcricketmuseum.co.nz for details. Images courtesy: Don Neely Collection, New Zealand Cricket Museum, nzcricketmuseum.co.nz

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