CHAPTER 18   THE FUN YEARS   NEW ZEALAND February 1985 to March 1988   After a brief introduction to a few members of the staff at Advance Foods, Les Grant took us to a house that had been made available for us, in Bedford Terrace. Les Grant was a local JP and was well liked by most of the town’s folk. He also carried the title of unofficial Mayor and the can do man. The house had been cleaned up and a few items of furniture had been donated and scattered around the rooms, giving it a homely lived in feel. Some of the neighbours had even left flowers and bowls of fruit arranged on the tables and furniture. Within just a few minutes of our arrival, two young children arrived at the front door offering the loan of a Television to Sharon and Mark. To be followed by the local dentists younger daughter Rosie, inviting us all to have dinner with her family that evening. With in minutes a few members of the staff at Advance foods arrived, having missed us earlier when we visited the factory site. Dave Smith the Chief Engineer who was to be my boss for the next three years, Bruce Newcombe who I had met a few months earlier while he was in the UK and Mike Harrison who was the personal assistant to Peter Egan the mastermind behind the whole project. Our first impressions of New Zealand had turned out to be very favourable and from know on it would be up to us how we fitted in. I was given a few days off to help us settle in to our new surroundings and to get to know the area. In that time, we tried to get to know the town as best we could. Therefore, we spent a lot of time just walking around sight seeing. The main street that ran through the middle of the town reminded us of a Wild West town and I commented that the only thing missing was the hitch rails out side of the shops. One evening as we were sheltering under a tree from the rain, a lady called out from the other side of the road, inviting us to shelter in the local Tennis club. Once in side we were introduced to Mrs Peacock who at that time was the president of the club. She then showed us around the premises, continually insisting that we should join and that it would be good for our health. We then sat down in the cafeteria area, as she ordered one of the staff to make us a pot of tea, while she continued to tell us more about the club and what nice people the members were. Mrs Peacock was suddenly interrupted by the staff member shouting out, “Here! Mrs Peacock we have been bloody robbed”. Having looked into the cash register, she had found it completely empty. Emily and I just looked at each other, as neither of us knew what to say next. However, we both had the same ideas going through our heads, had we arrived on the door step of a thief’s paradise. The whole atmosphere at the club was suddenly thrown into chaos as Mrs Peacock and friends started running around. Emily and I beat a hasty retreat before the Police arrived, not wanting to get bogged down answering millions of questions. Once out side I started giving Emily all of my usual one liner jokes about being robbed and of how we could have stayed in the UK to be robbed, that we did not need to have come halfway around the world just to be taken to the cleaners. After checking our pockets we continued our evening walk around the town. Later that evening I sat down to write a letter to my Mother, to assure her that we were okay and that we were settling in to our new way of life. In order to give her a little idea of what Waipukurau was like, I grabbed hold of a copy of the local newspaper, the Herald Tribune and was about to scan through its pages for something of interest to add to my letter. However, the front-page grabbed my attention with the headline reading “Drugs Crime”, “Body found in trunk of car in the Waipukurau Hospital car park”. I could not believe what I was reading. To think that I was just trying to explain to my mother what a nice quite sleepy little town Waipukurau was. The total population of the town was only 3000 people, sorry after reading the article I realised I should have said 2999 people, so much for calling Waipukurau a nice quite sleepy little backwoods village. The way things were unfolding, Waipukurau was turning out to be the crime capital of New Zealand and the hub of the drugs world.             We were all amazed at what was growing in the garden round the back of our new house in Bedford Terrace. We could not believe it, there were oranges and lemons, Sharon and Mark wasted no time in picking them off the trees and tasting them. These were fruit that you only saw pictures of in National Geographic magazines and we never dreamt that we would ever have some growing in our own garden.             Then there were the earthquakes that everybody was constantly warning us about. We all wondered what was going to happen when we felt the first one. After all, while in England if ever an earthquake received publicity in the newspapers or on the television, it was always accompanied by picture of total devastation. Therefore, we were all left to our own imaginations as to what the first one would feel like. To make matters worse the local people had informed us that Waipukurau was on what they called a fault line and that it passed right under one of the local schools. Talking of schools, Les Grant wasted no time in helping us enrolling Sharon and Mark into the local high school.             One evening as we were all watching the television, we heard a large truck out side with its engine roaring quite loudly.  I got up to look and to my amazement, I saw a house going past the front window. There was a complete house on the back of a truck and it was being driven down the hill in front of the house. The neighbours told us, that was what you did in New Zealand. If for some reason you did not like where you were living, you simply purchased a new piece of land and moved your house to the new location. Alternatively, if you wanted to build a new house on your existing piece of land, you sold the old house and it was carted away. I started work at the Advance Foods Factory site the following Monday on 18-05-85. On arrival at the factory, I took a walk around trying to get a feel for the place. Some of the main factory exterior walls were up, the Brine Tank was already half finished and a start had been made to put the main roof on. I could not believe they had set the opening date of the plant for the 1st May. To my way of thinking there was just no way that they were going to achieve that dead line. Although at the time I had totally under estimated the average Kiwi workers ability under pressure. I soon realised that they are hard working ingenious guys. Anything they cannot buy, they will make for them themselves and they are also very loyal people to a cause.             That first morning I walked into the site office to meet Dave and Bruce I was confronted by a table full of photographs all scattered around. Showing every conceivable piece of machinery along with the buildings and taken from every possible angle. Bruce had taken these while he was in England and they would have numbered in the hundreds. His first words to me were, “Boy have we been waiting for you”. “How the hell do we line all these photo’s up so we know what we are doing”. In his haste while at Bernard Mathews, Bruce had taken as many photos as possible. Unfortunately he had forgotten to record what he was taking and where it all fitted in to the jig saw. This large factory was being built in an area of very high unemployment. It was a dream come true to most of the towns folk and wrongly I was being treated as the man bringing all that prosperity to their community. A lot of the population made themselves known to me and I made very good friends with all of them. My job was to show the Kiwi’s how to construct the factory, it being an exact replica of the one I had worked in back at Halesworth Suffolk. As I had seen it as a finished item, I knew exact ally where everything went, without looking at the drawings. Upon the factory’s completion I was to teach the maintenance department how to look after the machinery side of its daily running. Some of the Kiwis even thought I was Bernard Mathews himself and treated me so. With that type of adulation being heaped upon me you could not blame me for taking full advantage of the situation. We worked twelve-hour days and it was very hard work, however once work was over we also played hard at the local pub, the Waipukurau Hotel. I soon acquired a taste for the ice-cold local beer known as Leopard. Most nights I could not help myself and would go down for a drink. I used the excuse to Emily that it was a good way to introduce myself to the locals and to learn more about their way of life and customs. Because most people drank Leopard beer for some reason the Waipukurau Hotel attracted the nickname of the Leopard Hotel, the in saying was “I’ll meet you at the Leopard”. At the beginning there was only Brian Connors the local Electrician. Timmy Foggarty a Welder, who attracted the nickname of Two Dogs, Ross a Carpenter and Neville Wilkie who was to be the future cafe manager. We became the nucleus of what would become the maintenance department, which would finally grow to number around thirty-two. Timmy Foggarty became the very first friend that I made, somehow as friends we just clicked. Unfortunately, one of the first guys I fell out with, through no fault of mine was Brian Connors. Brian had been recruited by Dave Smith and believed that he would be the eventual person who would be picked to run the Department. Unfortunately, a little friction developed between us once when Brian realised that Peter Egan was grooming me for the job. The situation was made worse because I was not aware of what went on behind the scenes. In New Zealand it’s a whole new ball game to what I was used to in England. It also became a little embarrassing a few months later when Dave also recruited an old friend Brian Foster, who also believed that he might get the job running the maintenance department, although at the time I was not aware of this.             At first, I did not really know exactly what my job was supposed to be and not many people could help, whenever I asked them. One day while I was walking around the factory, I spoke to Timmy who was welding together the brine tank. The brine tank is twenty meters long by about twelve meters wide and about two meters high. It is constructed of steel and when in use it is filled with brine, a type of salt solution that is taken down to temperatures of around minus twenty degrees. It is used to deep freeze the meat product very fast. To give you a little idea of the temperature, I once went into a tank at Bernard Matthews in England, with my feet wrapped in muslin cloth and wearing only wellington boots. When I finally came out of the tank, the rubber boots were completely frozen, when I hit them with a spanner they cracked open and almost fell off my feet.             I asked Timmy to show me how he was welding up the tank and to my amazement he was only welding up one side of the steel sheets. I told him that he should be welding both sides, because of the low temperatures that the joints would be exposed to. If not there was a possibility that the welds might fail. Tim explained, by tell me that it was too late, the only way he could weld both sides was to take the whole tank apart and to start a gain. He knew that Peter would not allow that, as they would loose a couple of months work. I went and saw Peter and explained what I had just picked up and he ordered me to get it put right. I told him that I did not know what my role was and that I did not think that the workers would listen to me. Peter gave me authority to tell anybody what to do and that I was in charge when it came to anything that I had been involved in, while at Bernard Matthews. Dave Smith my boss was in total control of the site, but was concentrating his work into the building of the powerhouses, that would eventually freeze the brine. With Peter’s words still ringing in my ear, I took up my new role and started to get the factory up to scratch. Although I have to add that he did not permit me to rebuild the brine tank. Instead we checked over Tim’s welds and kept our fingers cross.             Like I’ve said in earlier chapters I’ve always been the type of person who would not ask somebody to do a job I could not do myself. Thinking along these lines I joined in with Timmy, Brian and Ross who were digging a trench by hand to lay the main Electricity cable from the sub station. The digging took the best part of a day to complete and during that time we were all in the sun. Now I have dug trenches in England in the sun, but that day I struggled. I could not believe just how hot it could get and here we were in the lower part of the globe. New Zealand is way below the Tropic of Capricorn, but the heat reminded me of my time in Singapore back in the middle sixties, which is only eight degrees from the equator. Hawkins Building Company employed mostly local labour, in the construction of the factory, all over seen by Peter Egan. Peter was a hard man, he knew what he wanted and in order that it was right, he ruled with an iron fist. Somehow, we just clicked and he took a liking to me and I enjoyed his company and friendship. Because of the hard work, that everybody was undertaking during the day. Most of them would unwind each night at the Leopard pub, where it constantly got out of hand, as the beer flowed freely with the locals showing me many of their local customs.             One custom I did find strange was that you did not purchase a pint of beer, instead you bought a jug full containing 2.5 pints and you then topped up your own glass, whenever you felt like it. The landlord of the pub would usually give out free jugs of beer to his regular customers each night and a lot of those usually ended up in my area. I used to somehow manage to stagger home by about 11pm. I had to be up at 5am to be back to work by 6am, seven days a week, week in week out. As you can imagine the work was also full on with a tight dead line to meet.             When some of the machinery finally arrived from England, it was packed into very large wooden crates that would have cost an absolute fortune in timber to construct. Some of them were so big that a family of four would have been able to live in them quite comfortably in the Sudan. Once they were opened, we suddenly found our selves with half a dozen very large empty crates on our hands, some of them measuring over two meters high. It seemed a shame to just smash them up and to either burn, or take them to the dump. Until that is Timmy asked Dave Smith if her could deliver them to his brother Paddy’s farm just out of town, where he could use them to house some of his Angora goats. The deal was further sweetened when Timmy told Dave that Paddy would probable give them a pallet of beer in return. At that remark everybody’s face lit up and it did not take them long to work out how much beer each of us would receive. This was all new to me and I could not believe that so much alcohol was consumed on the site. There was even a fridge to make sure that it was all kept cool. In fact once the temporary Electric power was connected to the site, the very first thing installed was the fridge. In England, it had always been taboo to have alcoholic drinks on the premises. The other thing that surprised me was Timmy talking about delivering a pallet of beer. Now I’ve consumed a lot in my time, but never a pallet load. Even the word Pallet left me wondering just how much beer it would contain. The other thing to mention is that most of their beers were of a larger nature, there was no mild or bitter beer like in England and I guess if there was, the temperature would play havoc with their taste. Because of the daytime temperatures all beers had to be chilled to a very low temperature. Although I must add that once the factory was in full production all alcohol was totally band from the site.             The delivering of the wooden crates to the farm introduced me to Paddy Foggarty and a good friendship developed between Paddy and his wife Yvonne and my family that still holds today. I ended up seeing Paddy most nights of the week at the pub and especially at weekends. Paddy also gave Mark a job on his farm, daily checking that the goats and sheep were all okay. Because their farm was quite large, he even gave Mark a three-wheel motorbike to patrol the boundary fences. Releasing any animals that were caught in the wire and later on, he left Mark in charge of suckling the young calves. I am always grateful to Paddy for the way in which he gave Mark a chance to show what he could do. I like to think that it was the making of Mark into a young man and it got him through what I consider are the most dangerous years of a youngsters life. It was because he never had many friends that he did not hang around with the bad elements of the town. I like to think that he got away from being tempted by the drug culture that seems to have gripped our society nowadays.             The factory was located next door to the Waipukurau grass airfield and at the weekends, the local gliding club operated from the field. One Sunday I climbed over the fence and paid them a visit. Now the story of my arrival, which included my history of flying, had previously been splashed across the front page of the local newspaper. Therefore, as I walked into the clubhouse everybody knew who I was and I spent an hour answering most of their questions. They all seemed very interested in what I had achieved in the UK. Eventually one of the pilots took me up for what turned out to be a fabulous hour’s flight high above Hawks Bay. Un-like in England here the thermals were popping off all day and it was so easy to catch one and to gain many thousands of feet. The size of them also amazed me where as in England they are so small that you have to turn very tight to stay within the spiral of rising air, here in New Zealand they could be as wide as a mile across and so you could fly leisurely and flat as you circled up to the clouds.             The first few months we were in New Zealand, we all suffered an array of medical complaints. We did not seem to be able to shake are ailments off and at one time we began to wonder if there was a curse on us or something like that. Unfortunately, as our plane came in to land at Auckland Airport, I had trouble trying to pop my ears. It was a painful feeling and it went on for more than two days before they finally popped. After seeing several specialists, I had been informed that my right ear had been permanently damaged and that I will have to live with the pain, which I still do to this day. Then there was the flu and colds, that we all suffered, I think we all had two bouts of those nasty viruses. What we could not under stand was that it was very hot as we were heading towards the end of New Zealand’s summer. We had all been used to catching colds and flu’s during the winter months. Emily had put her neck out while riding on my lap in Les Grant’s car as we drove from Napier airport. To this day, she still suffers with this complaint as she can put it out very easy at any time. Poor Mark he had some very large boils in one of his ears and had constant pain that lasted weeks before they were all cleared up. I’ve always believed that these were what I had suffered from when I was very young, my Mother had described them as Mastoids. All I can remember is that they were very painful and Mother told me that I constantly complained that I had a bee buzzing in my ear. This just happens to be the very same ear I damaged as I flew in to New Zealand. While Sharon could not seem to shake off the sore throats that accompanied her several bouts of flu. At times we were like a band of walking wounded from the last war, as we constantly visited the local Doctor. Somehow, we all managed to put it behind us and to get on with living.             One evening while I was having a drink in the Leopard Hotel I was told that Peter Egan was in the back room where he was entertaining several of his friends to a slap up meal. Word arrived via the landlord, that Peter wished me to join his little party. Unfortunately, by that time, I was well and truly drunk and was dressed in only shorts, dirty Tee Shirt and with flip-flops on my feet. Even though I was drunk, I still had my wits about me. While realising that it was not the way, I wished to be dressed, in order to present myself to Peter’s friends, who I might add were wearing suites and ties. Unfortunately, most of the people in the pub heard of my offer and also my decline. Within minutes they were all fussing around me, dusting me down and trying to make me look a little more acceptable. Somebody got me to put on his slip on shoes, while somebody else tied a necktie around my neck even though I did not have a collar to my shirt. Against my will I was then frog marched unceremoniously in to the room to meet Peter.             Peter came over to where I was standing at the door and took me to his table sitting me down beside of him and his wife. I was as nervous as a kitten and did not know what to say or do next, now that’s unusual for me, to be lost for words. Peter did most of the talking and I am sure he did it to make me feel comfortable. However, I was even more dumb struck when he told me to go up to the main table and to help myself to some food. I did not want to get up and walk in front of all those people especially in the clothes I was wearing. Not wanting to parade my off the cuff clothing style in full view of their eager beady eyes. However, Peter’s persistence forced me to take that long walk to the food table, as I tried to act sober and to keep a straight line. Once back at the table I buried my head down and tucked into the plateful I had just dished myself up. Peter leaned over to me and whispered in my ear, “It’s not cloths that makes the man”. Those words have remained with me ever since and I constantly find myself repeating them on numerous occasions. Halfway through April, Paul Barker my old boss from Bernard Matthews in  England, along with Roy Bloomfield one of the production managers from another plant and Monty Johnson from quality control, all came out to help with the commissioning of the plant. Somehow we managed to complete the factory on time, although I’m not sure how. On the evening of 30th April, all the site and factory workers had been invited to the Leopard pub, to have a drink with Peter Egan and to celebrate the factory’s successful completion. Although the plant had finally been completed, we were feeling a little dejected, not having produced any product to show for all our hard work. However, Peter had forgotten about the UK being twelve hours behind us in New Zealand. Secretly a small group of us had completed about 50% of the first batch of Boneless Lamb Roasts. Halfway through the night and unbeknown to Peter Egan, Paul and Roy slipped back to the factory to finish the process. Unfortunately, Peter got wind of their disappearance and secretly went after them. The result was that all three returned to the pub with the very first Lamb Roasts prepared at the plant. Peter was ecstatic and so excited that he had beaten the dead line of 01/05/85. That he rang the Bernard Mathews Directors in England, getting them all out of bed to tell them that he had completed his task, with a couple of hours to spare. The construction of the plant had seen great days and times, but now we were moving into a production mode that would see a few changes. It was now a whole new ball game as we set about trying to run the place efficiently and to get production up to the targets that had been set a couple of years earlier when the project had first been conceived by Peter. I was made up to a shift supervisor in the maintenance dept, teaching the guys how to maintain the machines. We decided to run three shifts, two during the day for production and a third shift through the night to clean up and prepare for the next days production. I was to run one of the day time shifts while Gerry Durham, who I had made good friends with was made up to run the opposite shift to me. Because of my previous experience I was to be on call twenty four hours a day in case of problems. During those early months I had some very long days being dragged out of bed and also the pub, many times to help with problems that had arisen during production. However, things were still not too bad that first year and I did enjoy the challenges that were thrown at me. It’s at times like this that I enjoy and get a great kick of satisfaction when I’ve solved the problem and some of them were quite big ones.  During the construction of the factory, I had divided my time up equally between the factory and the pub. However, I had also tried to keep an eye on my family, who did not have the same interest in the factory as I did. After all, it was my work that had brought me to New Zealand. As part of my family they just had to follow, having no choice in my decision to come. There was always the possibility that they might not have wanted to come. There was also the consideration that my job was keeping me occupied, while they could have been quite bored. So as regular as was possible I would sit them all around the table and we would try and talk about the way our lives was unfolding. If anybody had a problem, they were allowed to have there say. I even used to ask them if they were happy and if they wanted to return to the UK. It always makes me feel good that not once did any one say they disliked the place and wanted to leave. Sharon was the only one who seemed to miss her school friend and we always tried to tell her that once she had left school she would have moved on and made new friends. Although over the years she is the only one who has kept up a constant friendship with them. In order that the family did not fall out with any of their new friends that they all made, I tried to tell them not to keep on about what and how we did things back in England. Which they all did successfully, except for me that is. I was the one who found it hardest to let go of the old country. I was constantly telling people that in England we did it this, or that way. Although to be fair it was usually work related and I was only trying to tell them how were did it back at Bernard Mathews. Thinking back I guess it would have been ten years before I finally let go of the way things were done in the old country. By then life around the world had changed anyway and everybody was doing it in a completely different way. The hours I spent at the factory were so long, that from day one right up until the end of June, when the production problems were being sorted out, I had not taken one single day off work. During that time Peter Egan had been very pleased with what we had all achieved and knowing that Paul and Roy would soon to be returning to the UK, he paid for us Pomme’s to have a weekend away.  Graham Wigg and Chris Cullen two of the site sub contractors took Paul, Roy and I to Pahia, for a spot of blue marlin fishing. Graham had made a name for himself a few years earlier when he had represented New Zealand sailing a yacht in Olympics, while Chris’s claim to fame was on the Rugby field. In fact, year’s later Chris’s son also represented New Zealand when he played many games for the All Blacks Rugby team. We had a great weekend together, once we had under taken a sixteen-hour drive to Pahia, stopping off at Auckland along the way to see my very first live game of Ruby Union. The English Lions versus Auckland, sorry to say the Lions lost.  We must have been the only English supporters in the stand and the crowd knew it. As they taunted us with every single try that the Kiwis made. We were packed into the stand so tight that we could not move. In fact every time the Kiwis scored, we had to stand up with the crowd whether we wanted to or not. Unfortunately the Lions failed to score that day, so we just accepted our defeat gracefully. During the whole trip we drank over $300 worth of beer between us and need I say that we never caught any fish. No, that is not quite right we did catch some fish. In order to catch Marlin you have to first catch the bait. These fish swim around in shoals and once spotted by the skipper he would circle the boat through the shoal as the guys fishing try to catch as many as possible. I caught one, it would have been about two foot long and I then spent some time showing off my prize to everybody on board. However, my ego was soon deflated as I was unceremoniously told that it was only the bait. Bait, I exclaimed it was the biggest fish I had ever caught in my life. Who wanted to catch Marlin as far as I was concerned I had just caught the biggest fish of the day. The atmosphere on board the boat was very subdued because the day before, unfortunately the first mate had accidentally shot his son dead in a shooting accident and everybody was looking and feeling bleak. The sea turned out to be so rough that the boat rolled all over the place, mind you none of us was seasick. However, the seabed must be littered with empty beer cans. I could not believe that every single empty can was thrown over the side. When I challenged them about it, I was told that it was a custom and at least they punctured the bottom of the can so that it sank. I could not believe it, the way the Kiwi drinks the whole of the ocean sea bed around New Zealand must be carpeted with aluminium cans. The recyclers of the day would have a field day her and make a fortune in the bargain.             Sorry to say that I had taken my very first holiday, but sadly I had gone on my own. Poor old Emily, she had to stay behind with the children and it would be Christmas before we eventually went out and had a look around the country. New Zealand fascinated me, it seemed that every corner you turned, there was always something more fascinating to see. I still say that today about New Zealand, it is a beautiful country to visit for a holiday.             We moved house a couple of times during those first couple of months. The first was to 13 Ferguson Avenue. Luckily for us we met up with Colin at a party and he was going to England in search of his wife who had left him a few months earlier. He gave us the keys to his house on the condition that we would look after his furniture for him. Well that was just what we needed, as we had no furniture of our own. Months later Colin rang us from England telling us that he would not be returning, said we could have all his belongings for $1000, well we just snatched it up. That was to good an offer to refuse, he then put the house on the market so we moved on to 30 McLean Terrace.             The hospitality of the people in Waipukurau was fantastic and I know that Emily felt the same. The Kiwi people are so friendly that you can not help fitting into their way of life very easily. Sharon and Mark both fitted into the school system quite well, we had both been worried for them, but it all worked out fine. Sharon struggled a little at the beginning with the subjects, as she told us that she was about 6 months behind her classmates in French and a couple of other subjects. However they both made friends very easily and I am sure they enjoyed their stay in New Zealand.             One thing that did stand out to us was the way in which they treated their animals. They thought nothing of killing a sheep in the back garden or of hitting their pet on the head if they thought it was getting to old. Now I know that in England, we have our pets put down, but it is usually by an injection. On one occasion Roy and Paul were invited out for a days shooting just South of Waipukurau. While they were getting their gear out of the truck, a complete stranger pulled up in his Ute and asked if they would put his dog down. However, it was the friend who had invited them out for the day, that actually shot the dog right there beside the main road. It was a good job that I was not there that day, as I just love animals and I don’t know what I might have done witnessing that event. I learnt that day that the price of an animal’s life in New Zealand is not worth much.             The same day that the boys went shooting Monty Johnson decided to take to the Waipukurau River in an effort to try to catch his tea. He could not believe that he could purchase a fishing rod, reel and a fishing licence all for the very low sum of $25. Not only that he managed to catch two lovely 2lb trout for his troubles. We reckoned that it would have cost him more if he had bought them from the fishmongers. A way of life like this did not exist in the UK, but in New Zealand it’s taken for granted and is a fisherman’s paradise.             Timmy Foggarty once took me to a local river claiming he was going to show me how he could catch my tea. As we walked along the bank somewhere near Waipawa, he suddenly stopped and told me to be quiet, as he pointed to a group of fish over by the far bank of the river. It was a beautiful sight, as there must have been almost a dozen fish in the group. Timmy went on to tell me that they were all trout. By this time, I could see that he was fiddling with some thing in his pocket, but I had no idea what it was. He then assembled a small two-piece fishing rod and from his pocket he took what ever he had been fiddling with and placed a very small piece onto the hook. Timmy then asked me which one I wanted for my tea. Inside I was laughing thinking he was pulling my leg, surely he could not be serious. Wanting to participate in the leg pull I pointed to the one in front of the group. Timmy then delicately cast the line and dropped the bait in front of the fish. To my amazement the fish took the bait and he successfully landed the fish I had chosen. I told him he was kidding and that I had just been set up for some big joke, I even looked around expecting to find the local Candid Camera team filming us from the bushes. Timmy just smiled at me and said, “Now I’ve caught your tea, I’ll take you home with me and I’ll cook it for you”. Timmy was some guy, the type that usually ended up being a legendary character around the town, in his later years. I might not have spied the local Candid Camera team hiding in the bushes, but a couple of minutes after he’d caught the fish we spotted a couple of people heading our way along the river bank. Whatever Timmy had in his pocket was quickly dumped into the river, as I was instructed to get a move on head back to his Ute. I only looked back once to see where the guys were. By then they had both arrived at the spot where we had been fishing and I could not help noticing that the water was being churned up where Timmy had thrown the mysterious substance. It looked like a shoal of Piranhas were feasting in the area, whatever it was it must have tasted good to the fish. Although to this day I have never found out what it was, while a couple of friends have since suggested Aniseed, I guess I’ll never know.             The very first Earthquake that we experienced happened as we were all sitting in our front room watching the Television. It was so strange because some of us felt the shock, while others did not. I was reading the newspaper and had my elbows resting on the arms of the chair. Suddenly the newspaper started moving gently in front of me. For a few seconds I had no idea what was happening. Then the chair started moving, it was at this point that I started shouting Earthquake. However, before the words had left my mouth it was all over. Emily had been sitting on the floor by the leg of my chair and she had felt nothing, while Sharon felt it sitting on the settee and Mark sitting beside her had not. Looking around there were no scenes of utter devastation that I had imagined would accompany the event. It was all very strange and we talked about it for hours. Emily even felt cheated having gone through the experience, but not knowing anything about it.             September saw a large major refit at the factory, in order that we might be able to boost production. Peter Egan had not been happy with the way production was going and wanted more from the factory. Therefore, he took half a dozen of us top guys to the Leopard Hotel for a meal. Afterwards the waitress placed a pencil and paper in front of us and Peter said, "I have just bought you all a meal, now you can earn it, design me a new boning room", which we did. He then asked us all in turn to explain what we had designed and why. To me one of the main problems at the factory was that nothing ran smooth and the carcases of meat seemed to travel miles while hanging on the meat rails that weaved its way around the main building. My idea was to get rid of all of this unnecessary travelling and in doing so, I suggested that we reverse the direction that the meat carcasses flowed from the chillers. I must also add that a couple of the other guys suggested the same idea. Once we had explained most of the fine detail to Peter, I was very surprised that Peter accepted and adopted the idea right there and then. We were given only two weeks to complete the task and in that time, we completely gutted the whole boning room apart and totally rebuilt it. To do this the maintenance staff was split into two, we then worked two twelve-hour shifts for fourteen days. It was very hard work to meet this fourteen-day deadline, pressure was on many of the personnel including myself and sad to say I did crack under the strain. I became involved in an incident that I regret ever happening. One of the fitters was giving me a bit of lip and larking about. I asked him if he was taking the piss out of me, he replied yes, so I just hit him, it was a reflex action. Although I was to learn later that he did not quite understand my English. It was no use crying over spilt milk, I had hit him and so now I had to wear the consequence. Owen Wood was the guy’s name, funny thing was I liked the chap and got on well with him. Oh well it had happened and I could not change it now. I went straight to Dave Smith and told him what I had done and was expecting to be laid off. Luckily, I was not sacked over this very regrettable incident. I was also very impressed when my fellow Electricians. Backed me up and threatened to switch off the power to the plant if I was sacked, they claimed that Woody had been asking for it all day, some even said that they had felt like hitting him themselves, that I had just saved them the job. As a foot note I might add that the whole building project of the original factory had cost $12 million dollars to build. While I was later told that a further $7 million dollars had been used to change it all around. It works out that it cost half a million dollars for each day we worked.             Later that year along with the help of Ivan one of the fitters, I organised, a golf match for the Maintenance department guys and there wives at Porongahau Golf Club. What a day, we played in strong wind and very heavy rain that drenched the course. I noticed one of the guys Tip Tutaki trying to hit a ball off a pool of water. Dave Smith's wife Dawn took thirty-two shots at one hole. Randle one of the guys tried to go around the course backwards while playing left handed and he beat most of us. Well it was all for fun and we all had plenty of that. We ended up with a slap up Hungi meal accompanied by a long drinking session at the clubhouse which had been put on by the local Maori people. I even had some small statuettes and shields made up for the occasion and a great deal of fun was enjoyed as I presented them to unsuspecting winners.             Another incident I regretted happened at a party held at Shaun and Martha Wards house in Freyberg Terrace. Shaun was an Electrician and was a member of the maintenance department. We were all invited to a fancy dress booze up and what a booze up it turned out to be. I went dressed up as a baby, in a rather large nappy all held together by a very large stainless steel safety pin that Gerry Durham had made for me in the factory workshop. I was also wearing a pair of booties that Emily had made up from a pair of old football socks and of course a very nice baby’s bonnet. In my hand, I was carrying a bottle of beer with a baby’s dummy fitted to its top. Shaun had mixed up a large batch of punch in a plastic rubbish bin and it had been placed in the corner of their living room where we could all scoop out a pint when required. During the evening, I became very drunk and full of devilment and I was caught paddling in the bin. Timmy Foggarty had been watching me and I believe he tried to out do my effort. As he tried to pick up the bin to move it, he stumbled and fell tipping the bin over emptying the contents. The next moment there was gallons of deep red punch all over their living room carpet. What a trail of damage he left, it also brought the party to a temporary end, as Timmy was thrown out in to the street. Most of the remaining partygoer’s all joined in to try to clean up the mess he had left behind. I have always blamed myself for the incident. I guess it is the effect of the alcohol upon our brains, which gives us these crazy ideas that at the time seem like they will raise a laugh. Although we usually feel quite guilty in the mornings once we begin to sober up and realise the carnage we have caused, while the brain trying to return to some sort of normality.             We all grabbed dish cloths, towels, tea cloths, anything that we thought would soak up the mess that by now we were all paddling and kneeling in. As we tried to soak up the punch in to whatever we were using, we would then wring it out back into the rubbish bin and I’m sure that some of the guys were still drinking from it. I would guess that there were about twenty of us and we were all on our hands and knees. So many that some could not get near the bin to wring out the liquid. As with all parties the devilment was still in most of the partygoers and it was not long before somebody threw a cloth at the person kneeling opposite them. As this coursed a big laugh, it was not long before somebody else received a cloth in the face. The next moment it was full on as cloths were winging there way across the room from every direction. Some struck the walls and you could see the thick red juice running down back onto the carpet. Everybody was laughing and thought it one big joke. Unfortunately poor Martha was in tears, somehow Shaun managed to bring the full on war to a halt and the mess was eventually cleaned up. To use the word clean up is a little exaggeration from the truth, because all we could do was to soak up as much of the liquid as was possible. This did bring the party to a holt and we all left. As a footnote, I must tell you that by the Monday morning the whole room was starting to ferment and that mould was starting to grow on the carpet. Shaun had to get the steam cleaners in and it took them a whole day to clean the room up. However, within a month they had to tear up the carpet and replace it with a new one. Luckily most of the guys in the maintenance department clubbed in with some money to help pay for the damage. Dave Smith gave me some good advice when the factory was in full swing and to this day, I thank him very much for it. He told me to walk the meat chain each morning and to get to know every one of the workers on a first name basis. A task I under took and somehow I managed to remember every single one of their names. This was quite hard as most of the workers were of Maori decent. The advice paid off for me one morning, when for some very trivial reason a flash strike was called in the boning room. At that time, there would have been several hundred lamb carcasses left hanging on the chain in the room. It gave me a chance to use the second piece of advice that Dave had past on to me. I walked over to Tiny the biggest Maori on the line and asked if he could help me return the carcasses back to the freezers. With just the snap of his finger, he ordered several guys walking past to help me and the job was finished in just a few minutes. If it had been left to management, it would have taken at least an hour before they would have been able to return the carcasses to the freezers. I must also add that I do not think that the workers would have helped them either. Incidents like this showed me who my true friends were. I was one of just a few white guys who used to go into the Tavistock Hotel at the top end of the town. At that time it was mainly frequented by the Maori factory workers, I had many a drink with Tiny and his friends and found no friction with them. Most of the other factory workers would usually go to the Leopard Hotel at the bottom end of town.             There was also a certain amount of vandalism in most of the factories in New Zealand. To the New Zealand people, it is just a way of life and they accept it and got on with their lives. I was once told that at the Takapu meat works, one guy once used a meat hook on the meat chain, hooking it onto a water pipe that was attached to a stainless steel knife steriliser. Standing back to watch all the pipe work being pulled out and broken, leading to a large part of the factory being flooded and disrupting production for a couple of days.             Our product was mainly made of Lamb and was extruded as a round log about 100mm in diameter, from a Handtman sausage filling machine. It also had a 3mm layer of fat wrapped around the out side of the log being supplied by second sausage filler. This layer of fat is what Bernard Mathews had invented and was holding on very tightly to the copy right. The extruded log was about 20 meters in length.  It was then place into the brine tank to be deep frozen for a day and later it would go through a further process that cut the log into small manageable portions about 80mm thick for sale to the public back in England. It might be worth mentioning that up until now Bernard Mathews had always shipped the chilled New Zealand lamb direct to his English factories to be processed and that most of the unwanted parts of the Lamb was then thrown away. By moving the plant to New Zealand he would not waste money transporting bones and parts of the carcass that was of no use. In addition he would also be able to use fresher meat. At that time chilled meat only had a limited shelf life of around twelve to thirteen weeks and then it had to be thrown away. Even with the advent of gas flushing that the Kiwis had also invented it only added a couple more weeks to its shelf life. With all this in mind it was a cheaper way to produce the product, while only paying freightage on the consumable part of the finished item. Gas flushing means that the carcass is placed inside a plastic bag and a special amount of a certain gas is added to the bag. All tricks of the trade in the meat industry, much like the use of certain lights over the meat on display in the butchers shop. Certain colour bulbs will make the meat look more appetising.             One of our factory workers actually managed to get a complete apple in to the end of a meat log. The amazing thing is that he knew we would find out and also that we would know it was him who had done the dastardly deed. Of course, he was sacked and amazingly he could not see what all the fuss was about, to him it was just one big joke. In a meat factory where everybody uses a knife, most of the workers are constantly cutting their fingers and use a plaster to stop the bleeding. These plasters would turn up in the most unbelievable of places. So the workers were made to wear special plasters we had bought for the factory’s use. They were all blue in colour and had a fine strip of metal imbedded in them, so that our many metal detectors could pick them out. Even so a few managed to get through and would come back to haunt us later with threats of the company being sued. Not to mention the people who place items in side of their purchased logs, trying to get money out of the company. What a crazy world we are living in, when people will do absolutely anything to extract money from others and in doing so put the livelihood and dependence of others in to jeopardy.             It always amused Emily and I, how the kiwis under take their roadwork repairs. In England, the council workers usually repair one lane at a time, so that the vehicles always have a decent piece of bitumen to drive on. However, out in the countryside of New Zealand, they have a completely different idea how to tackle the problem. They just dig up the whole road and at times, the traffic has to wait until the diggers have completed whatever task they are doing, before the traffic is allowed to drive on the bare rough unrolled soil. At times, it feels like your driving in a hill climb cross-country event, but that’s after you have been held up for at least twenty minutes.             In December, I organised a raft race for the maintenance department, which took place from the Waipukurau Bridge to the Partongata Bridge on the Tuki Tuki River. We all drifted down on very large truck inner tubes, carrying with us as much beer as was possible, that was loaded into a second tube that was attached to the first by a piece of string. In order that the beer did not fall through the middle of the tube, a piece of sacking had been draped across the centre. These rules all went by the wayside when Charlie Cook and Sacko turned up with a sheet of solid roof insulation from the factory on the back of their Ute. It was twelve feet long by eight feet wide and was made up of a slab of Polystyrene being more than eight inches thick. As soon as it had been thrown off the back of their truck, they set about cutting small holes all around the out side of the sheet. Once this was completed they inserted a bottle of beer into every hole, all fifty of them. We set off on our epic journey at about 8am and reached our final goal at 4.30pm in the afternoon. Having been in the sun all that time and with only swimming togs on, you can well imagine how burnt some of the guys were. Must just mention Brian Foster, who had tied a deck chair onto his tube plus a sun umbrella, he even had a mini icebox under his feet, for his beer. However we had made a rule that no oars were to be used, poor Brian he just went around and around in circles for the complete duration of the trip. By the end of the race, nearly everybody had tipped over at some time or other and had lost something in the river. Tip Tutaki had lost some of his beer, Gerry had lost his wristwatch twice and both times Tip had duck dived and found it for him while Brian had lost his sunglasses and his way. At one particular spot where the river became narrow and swept under some low hanging branches. Several of the best swimmers in the group that included myself, beached our tubes to make sure that the others negotiated the obstacle safely. One young girl Connie’s, whose husband had chosen to follow the trip by road, was swept off her tube and sank into the deep water of the bend. Luckily, the water was crystal clear and I could see her hanging on to a branch that was about half a meter below the water. For some reason she would not let go of the branch and I could see her body completely out straight, with the force of the water pointing her feet down stream. I became worried for her, when I saw many air bubbles coming from her mouth. So I waded into the river and grabbed her by the waist, it was a few seconds before she must have realised what was happening and she let go of the branch. Our wives met us half way down the river with some dinner around midday. Because of the alcohol, most of us were well and truly drunk by this point. Gerry and Charlie Cook became so drunk that they were taken out of the race at the Tamamo Bridge. By well wishers and thrown in the back of Timmy’s Ute, who had been following us down the river.             1985 ended with plenty of Bar-B-Qs and celebrations all accompanied by lots of drinking and partying. On Christmas day Emily, Sharon, Mark and I went to Porangahau Beach where we all had a swim. While we were all messing about in the small waves of the crystal clear water, a Pelican flew along one of these waves just a few inches above the water. We could not believe how close he came to us and watched in disbelieve as he came back a few minutes later. At one time, I am sure if we had wanted, we could have reached out and touched him as he went past. For dinner, we had roast duck, followed by strawberries and cream. Something we had always said we would like to do knowing full well that everybody back in the UK would be huddled around their open fire places freezing cold, while trying to look happy celebrating Christmas.             During the first week of February 1986, the factory experienced its very first major strike. Most people took advantage of the break and went down to Wellington to watch the “Dire Straits” Concert. I took Emily and Sharon went with her friends. I am glad I went as it was a great show, but one big regret I have had ever since is that I never took Mark with me. That boy missed out on so many things during his early years and I feel responsible for most of it. The “Dire Straits” Concert turned out to be the best concert I had ever been to so far and was fantastic. Somebody worked out that 10% of the New Zealand population saw them at one of three concerts they performed in the country, Auckland, Wellington and Christchurch.             During the return coach ride from Wellington to Waipukurau, I was suffering from a very bad hangover having had a few drinks before the coach departed, so I was not in the best of moods. One particular guy who I had never seen before got on the bus. His dress immediately made him the main attraction for the journey as it included a bowler hat and he was carrying an umbrella, while swinging it around like Charlie Chaplin at every opportunity. He also took it upon himself to be the life and soul of the party by constantly walking up and down the isle, trying to rouse the other passengers in to song. I have no idea why he did it, but every time he walked past me, he had to keep accidentally bumping into me. I am not exaggerating but I would think he did it twenty times. On the twenty first time, I tapped him on the leg as he went past and as he turned around and slightly bent down to hear what I had to say. I grabbed his necktie and pulled him right down to the level of my mouth. I then whispered in his ear, that if he hit me one more time, I would stuff his umbrella in a place where most monkeys stuff their nuts. I then told him that I would inflate it and further more I would kick him off the b----y bus. Emily nudged me telling me to watch my language, as people were listening. Unfortunately what I thought was a whisper was actually loud enough for most of the close passengers to hear every thing I had to say. Anyway, it sure stopped that guy bumping into me and for the rest of the trip we never heard a peep out of him.             There is also a strange footnote to that story, because a year later he actually ended up playing in the band with me as a trombone player. To this day, nothing has ever been said about the incident, by anybody through out the town. However, we both got on very well and became good friends. If you would like to know if I would have carried out my threat, well in those days, you bet I would have and along with anybody else who might have sympathised with him. One Saturday afternoon I took Emily down to the local football field by Tuki Tuki river, to watch her first game of Rugby League. We were so close to the action that we could feel the ground shudder under our feet, as the players raced past us. I think it was the violence that she remembers most of all. At one stage as the scrum was taking place just in front of us she turned to tell me that she could hear the punches going in. I could not comment, as it was also my first league game, as the game I had seen in Auckland had been a Union match. There were several car yards around the town and not being the type of people to miss out on a sale, they all at one time or another got in touch with me trying to sell me a car. However, I was not ready and besides I had not found a car I liked. All the cars being sold were new to me and I was not sure what to buy. At that time I could not tell one brand from another. One day as I was walking through the town and past one of the show rooms the manager came out and invited me in to have a look around. I knew he was about to put the hard sell on me, but I went along with it, hoping I could under stand the cars more easily. After about an hour he offered me a fairly new Holdern and told me I could borrow it for the weekend so that I could take my family out for a drive. It all sounded good to me, so I made arrangements to pick it up on the Friday evening. That weekend Emily, Sharon, Mark and myself had a great time driving to all the places nearby we had heard of, but never visited. I’m not sure but I believe we put a couple of thousand kilometres on the clock. Anyway I took it back on the Monday morning and told the guy that it was a nice car and that we had enjoyed our drive around. However, he became very angry and abrasive when I told him I was not going to buy it. I had to walk away before the fists started flying because he was a rather large guy although he was a lot older than me. For some reason he never spoke to Emily and I whenever we walked past his show room. I might add that because New Zealand used the Kilometre instead of the Mile for its distance measurement, for a while I found it hard to work out distances, although like I’ve mentioned before the kiwi used time as a more accurate measurement.             One Saturday morning around the same time Emily and I went along to the Waipukurau High School paying fields, to watch Mark play football. This turned out to be the first time in my entire life that I ever watched Mark play a sport of any kind. I was quite impressed with what he had achieved and it surprised me a little when he eventually packed up playing. I also admire him for confiding in us that there was a drug problem at the school. He told us that the pupils were so blatant in the way that they smoked pot. That they would sit down on the far side of playing field smoking out in the open and would wait until the very last minute as the teachers approached them. Before casually dropping the butts on to the ground and stamping on them only inches from the teacher’s feet and then deny that they had been smoking. He also admitted to us that he had once taken a puff of the cigarette, telling us that he did it just to keep the school bullies off his back. He claimed that once he had taken it with out making a fuss, most of the guys left him alone. What he did not know was that I saw two of his teachers on a regular basis at the Leopard Hotel and as far as I was concerned they were both hippy looking pot smokers. So how are our children to be saved from this vice when some of their teachers participate in the habit and knowing society like I do. I wouldn’t mind betting that they even promote some sort of medicinal use of it, what ever the drug is.             After work, most of the guys on my shift arranged to go and have a game of golf and asked if I would like to join them. For a moment I did not know what to say, as I knew back in England you could not just walk onto a course and play. About nine months before I left the old country, I had been taking lessons at the Thorpeness golf Course with the club professional. It was common knowledge that in those days you could not go onto a course until the professional at the club gave you the all clear that you were good enough to start carving up the greens. Even then, you would not be allowed on some courses, as they were reserved for the rich and famous. If you were lucky to find a course, then there were always certain times of the day that you could not play. In the nine months that I was being taught how to play, the professional only took me around the course on one occasion. Mind you that was only after he had milked me of a considerable amount of my savings. Ben Wright the drummer from the Forbidden Fruit pop group and Peter Cady who I worked with at Richard Garrett’s, secretly arranged a game on the Aldeburgh course for me. They felt that it was not right that I leave the country without playing at least one game on an English course. The sad thing is that halfway around the course it started to rain. However, like the true professionals we thought we were, we carried on playing. If we thought that was as bad as it was going to get, we were all sadly mistaken. Within a few minutes it turned to snow, can you imagine what it’s like trying to hit a very small white ball, in two inches of snow. Somehow we managed to complete the game, however we were all frozen stiff by the time we got back to our cars for the drive home. I cannot even remember what the scores were or who might have won, although I doubt it was myself.             Anyway, I arranged to meet my fellow workers at the Waipawa Golf course. The sight that greeted me as I parked my car was nothing more than amazing. The guys had all turned up wearing shorts, Hawaiian beach shirts and some were even wearing flip-flops on their feet. I could not believe it, in England they would not have been able to walk with in three miles of the place dressed in that fancy dress disguise. The next big shock was the way in which we paid for the game. We all poked a $5 note through a hole in the wall by the front door of the clubhouse. For clubs the guys lent me a seven wood and a putter and with this arsenal over my shoulder, I enjoyed one of the best games that I had played to date.             On another occasion while once again, the maintenance staff was playing golf on the Waipukurau course. We were playing ahead of a special tournament and we knew the rules that you must never hold a competition up. We had already decided to call it a day and to head for the club house once the tournament got to with in one hole of our team. However, the club manager had panicked and came over to our group and virtually ordered us off the course. I told him not to worry, as we were about to call it a day. The manager then walked away, heading for the club house. When he was about twenty meters away from us, Murry Sturm took a swing and the ball left his club head at ninety degrees to the direction he had intended, at about a hundred mile an hour. It struck the course manager square in the back of the neck, dropping him to the ground. By the time, he got to his feet and looked at us we were all pointing towards Murry explaining to the manager that it was him who had fired the deadly shot.             During another day on the same golf course, while a few of us were playing the back nine holes that ran parallel to the main Palmerston North road. We suddenly heard a terrific crash that was followed by a loud scrapping of metal along the road, beside the course. We all rushed to the hedge to peer over and was horrified to see a car whizzing past us on its roof, with several very small children all spilling out of the back window onto the road. It slid up the road until it was brought to a sudden holt when it hit the side parapet of a bridge, over the near by river. We all dropped our clubs and ran out onto the main road expecting to find carnage every where. To our amazement, there were no serious injuries, the worse that could be reported was that the smaller of the children were all crying in unison. Apparently, what had happened was that the very old car had experienced a blow-out and had flipped over. As we helped the husband and wife out of the car both were expecting to hear the worse about their rather large family of children. However, they also started crying once they knew that they were all safe. Once the Ambulance arrived to look after them we all went back to our game of golf.             We did have one very sad day on the factory site, when we were closed for a couple of weeks to maintain the place. The management had recruited several soon to be school leavers, to help clean the place up and to give them some worker experience. Thomas was one of several young Maori boys who were given the opportunity to see what they would be up against once they were let loose in the work force. Unfortunately he had taken a fork lift with out asking permission to help remove some rubbish from around the buildings. As he was speeding it around the site, he spun the steering wheel in an effort to spin the forklift around in a tight circle. Unfortunately, it flipped over trapping the young lad under the cage that was supposed to protect him. It took us several minutes to get him out and into an ambulance. Sadly, he died that night having received horrific internal injuries. Later when everybody was trying to find some one to blame, several people were pointing the finger at me. However, I did not even know the young guy was on the site, as I was only in charge of my maintenance staff. Thomas was supposed to be working under the production staffs supervision and it turned out that nobody was looking after him. All work had to be stopped for three days at the plant, as is the usual Maori custom for such incidents. I went to his house with Tip Tutaki to meet his family and to pass on my condolence. I went with Tip because I did not want to make a fool of myself not knowing local Maori customs. The tragedy was also brought home to us as a family, as both Sharon and Mark were friends with him at their school.             Tip Tutaki became a very close friend as I enjoyed his company and friendship. He spent many hours with me explaining the Maori way of life and their customs leading up to the present day. At one time he invited Dave Smith, his wife Dawn, Emily and me to an old time dance in the village hall at Porongahou. It turned out to be a wonderful experience although I did notice that we were the only white people attending. Everybody was so friendly towards us and we spent most of the evening dancing. At one time an elderly guy came up to me and asked “What was wrong with his wife”. For a moment I was lost for words not really knowing what he was talking about and besides I did not want to say something out of place and offend him. “Sorry” I said, he then repeated the question, “What’s wrong with my wife”. Before I could answer he went on to tell me that I was dancing with all the other women in the hall so why wasn’t I dancing with his wife. He then pointed to a very old looking lady sitting in the corner. Not wanting to cause a scene I went over and had the very next dance with her. As we danced around the hall I noticed her husband watching our every move and he had a look of satisfaction on his face. Well at least I’d got out of that little scrape with out causing an international crisis. Later Tip introduced me to his Mother who was a Maori Princess and I spent some time talking to her. Later while at work Tip gave me one of her photo albums so I could look through. It had belonged to her husband who had been captured by the Germans and imprisoned during the Second World War. Tip went on to tell me that up until then she had never loaned it to anybody and that I had made a big impression upon her at the dance. I felt quite honoured and got a buzz from looking at the album. Unfortunately I never met up with her again, but I do carry the memories with me.             The day of our very first big Earthquake scared us all and the family had different stories to tell each other, as we were not together when it happened. I was in the town and I suddenly heard what I thought was a train going through the town. To me it sounded like a train going at full steam and its sound seemed to go from my left to my right. However, I soon realised that it was early in the day and that the one and only train that went through the town, usually arrived at midday and would always stop. It was only when I felt the ground start to shake that I realised what was going on. Upon meeting Emily from work, she was bubbling to tell me all about her experience that she had encountered in the clothing factory, which by the way was right beside of the railway tracks. Emily explained her feelings in exactly the same way as mine, however to her she felt that the train had past right by the factory. It was a big jolt and many people in the town experienced damage in their houses, with crockery and glass items being shaken from shelves.             I loved the New Zealand way of life which included the wearing of shorts, tee-shirts and flip flops, while attending Bar-b-Q’s that flowed with the local thirst quenching beer. In fact, this whole year just turned into one big drinking binge. It also amazed me just how many of the women folk also drank quite hard.             Unfortunately, the drink was starting to get hold of me and I was spending an increasing amount of money each week. I estimate that at one time I was spending around $150 per week at the Leopard Hotel, added to that was the fact that the landlord was also handing out several free jugs to the table I sat at on a daily basis. While at home the fridge was always well stocked and I’m not quite sure how much that was costing Emily when she bought the weekly groceries.      Gerry had lent me his bike to get to work, so after work I would always stop off at the Leopard Hotel on my way home. I would usually leave the bike outside, although once or twice I did take it inside to the amusement of the other drinkers as I rode around the tables. However, it also vanished on several occasions, to the delight of my fellow drinkers. One night, I left the pub at 11pm although there was no official closing time, to find that it had gone once again. Oh well, I thought I will just walk home, as I knew it would turn up eventually. The next morning I got up early knowing that I would have to walk to work for a 6am start. It was still quite dark, but as I left the house I could see a Ute parked in the driveway and it looked like Charlie Cooks. He had taken the bike the night before and was so worried that I would have to walk to work. He had slept in the Ute all night parked in our drive way to make sure he gave me a lift. Good old Charlie and boy was it cold that night, because the Ute was covered with frost.             Slowly as other members of the maintenance staff started to understand the machines my work load eased a little and at one time we went down to a six days a week. By now I had managed to purchase a second hand Red Holden Sunbird car, I believe if cost me around $7500. On Sundays the town just seemed to shut down with nothing much happening. Even the local Leopard Hotel was only allowed to sell beer to registered over night patrons, although that rule was easily gotten around on many occasions. That must have been about the only rule on drinking that was occasional adhered to by some of the main drinking houses. Therefore most Sundays Emily and I would take a drive around the area, just looking at the countryside and of possible houses to purchase.             On the subject of buying a house its worth mentioning that we had always wanted to buy a house, it was just that we could not find anything we liked. Maybe we set our standards to high. I really don’t know we just felt why buy something we did not like. There were four of five Real Estate offices in the town and all of them would take you around in their cars in an effort to talk you into purchase a house from them. Although every single house in the town that was up for sale was on all their books. Therefore Emily more than me took them up on the constant offers to show us around. Mind you after several months of this most, started to leave us alone although there was one who constantly pestered us, Michael Harding. On one occasion he took Emily around on her own and upon stopping at the seventh house for the day he turned to her and said, “Now here’s one you can really do something with”. To which she replied “Yeah with a with a bulldozer”. There was a few seconds of a pregnant pause before he turned to Emily and said “Why don’t you go back to England then you might find something you like”. Well that was the straw that broke the camels back. He must have gone back to his office and rang around all of the real estate offices in town because we never got another call from anybody wishing to sell us a house. One nigh while we were all partying at the Leopard Hotel, another Hotel along the Waipukurau to Hastings road rang in warning us that a small convoy of police cars was heading our way. This was how the police set up breathalyser traps, by using police forces from another town then there was no way the local people could be warned. It was all a big joke and I along with many other people made a point of going around the pub telling everybody. Later in the evening somebody arrived at the pub to tell us that the Police had actually set up at the main traffic light intersection in the middle of the town. Once again we all went around the pub passing on the information to everybody. When it came time to leave, I was completely drunk and so there was no way I was going to drive. Emily had drunk a few but thought she might be okay, although I was not so sure. Anyway as we all got in our cars I once again told everybody to go the long way home so they missed the centre of town. I watched them all drive out of the car park and to the left, only to be amazed that Emily turned right and before I could correct her we were being stopped by the Police at the traffic light intersection just down the road from the Leopard Hotel. I could not believe what she had just done. I turned and told her she would be spending the night in the lock up, because even I could smell the alcohol on her breath. As she rolled down the window the officer asked where was she going. To which she replied that she had just been to pick me up at the pub and was taking me home. The officer flashed his light on me slumped in my seat pretending to be asleep and he waved her on wishing her a nice evening. I could not believe that he had let us go. Even Emily had to admit the same and told me that her legs were still shaking. We later learnt that we had been the only car that the left the Leopard Hotel that night that was stopped. In the afternoons on my way home from work I would usually call in to Leopard Hotel for a serious game of Pool. Because the factory was working three shifts there were always plenty of people playing the game. By the score board on the wall was another board and on this you usually placed your name, informing those present that you were the next in line to play. Usually by the middle of the afternoon the board would be full of names. On this particular day there was a guy who had been cheating all afternoon and the more I drank the more he started to annoy me. I pulled him up on a couple of occasions pointing out to those around what he was up to. Unfortunately he was the father of one of the local Mongrel mob gang leaders and so some of those present were scared to say anything to him. The Mongrel mob are a Maori gang that have chapters in all parts on New Zealand and rule the roast with physical threats, that are usually carried out on a single un-defensive person. As individuals they never worried me, but a gang of them had to be watched very closely. I suppose I could best describe them as a Maori bikie gang and then you will know what I’m talking about. Anyway when my turn came up to play pool this guy tried to take my go. I did not care who he was I was having none of his cheating and I walked straight up to him and he shrugged his shoulders and stuck his face to within a few inches of mine. To me I was being threatened and so I just head butted him to the floor. One hit and he went down like a sack of potatoes. As soon as I had struck him I knew there would be trouble, so I went over to the landlord behind the bar expecting him to throw me out. Instead he thanked me because he had felt like doing it a couple of hours earlier. He went on to tell me that the only thing I had done wrong was to let him get up off the floor. The guy slunk out of the pub after he realised that there was to be no sympathy for him as we all carried on playing pool, although I was still shaking with rage so much that I could not play. Some people told me to watch out, as he would be back with some of his children’s mates to sort me out. For some reason they did not arrive, although I might add that before he left he could see that I had the Foggarty family firmly entrenched around me and that would spell a full on war if they were involved. Something that had happened a few years earlier which left several people injured on both sides with knife wounds, one of them had been the younger brother Kevin Foggarty. Then there was the time when the Mongrel mob had gone after the Foggarty’s Father on his land and the whole Foggarty family had greeted them in a line across the driveway all holding a shot gun. That incident had also got out of hand when somebody was wounded. As far as I know nobody came to the pub after me and so I left to go home. To be greeted by Sharon and Mark who had already heard the news on the grape vine as it had flashed around their school, that I had given a guy from the Mongrel mob a “Liverpool kiss” as we called it back in England. Boy news travels very fast in a small village there’s no need to use phones. That guy kept his distance from me and I had no more trouble with him, although it was several weeks before he ventured back in to the pub. Even though I was satisfied that I could handle my self Emily was worried, as she told me that it was alright for me. However, what if a gang tuned up at the house while I was at work and she was on her own. I had to agree with her and had no answer other than to promise I would think twice next time trouble arose. When ever I lost my temper she used to make me count from one to ten to help get my temper down and then I would hit them on eleven.             New Zealand is a wonderful country for sight seeing, the scenery just blows you away. However, the houses leave a little to be desired mainly because of our up bringing in England and to what we had been used to. While in New Zealand it was a total different ball game. One of the main things we could not get used to was the use of corrugated tin on the roofs of many buildings, to us tin meant garden sheds. At that time it had not occurred to us that in the out backs of New Zealand it was necessary because other products were not available. There were no brick works and no roof tile factories. Up until then everything had to be transported mainly by road from ether Auckland or Wellington, so it was more economical it use tin which was easier and cheaper to transport. It must also be remembered that when we first arrived there were still many roads that were unsealed and I could tell a few stories about them, but I’ll leave that for another day             Mum and Dad arrived in May 86 to come and live with us, I never thought they would ever make that thirty-two hour flight, but here they were. Looking as well as ever and they both loved New Zealand very much in those early days. Dad loves his bowls and was able to play six days a week through the summer and Mother loves pottering around in her garden, the marvellous weather meant that she would be able to do all of that. They bought a house within three months of their arrival and settled into Waipukurau as if they had been born there. One thing they do not like though is the New Zealand income tax system, but then I have never met anybody who likes any countries taxation system. As a foot note its worth mentioning that the day they left England was the very same day that the Russian Nuclear power station at Chernobyl blew up. Dad always told everybody that they got out of Europe just in time. I hadn’t the heart to tell him during the fifties the British had let all there atomic bombs off in Australia and that all the trade winds blow from west to east, so that both Australia and New Zealand were probably lightly coated with the dreaded radiation fall out radiation. I always remember Emily removing a nylon jumper in the dark one night and to seeing it spark owing the friction. I went on to tell her that it was probably due to the radiation from the nuclear bomb tests.             I arranged a cycle race, only this time it was open to everybody at the factory. To make it more interesting and to involve the wife’s I made it husband and wife team race, from the Wanstead pub to the Waipukurau Hotel. Most people had managed to get their bikes delivered by other family members to the Wanstead pub that was several miles out of town. They were then propped up and placed in a long line in front of the pub as a display. I had arranged for the local newspaper to attend for a midday start. Unfortunately, they were running late. Can you imagine what a problem I had trying to keep a couple of dozen Kiwi’s away from the bar for an extra hour, awaiting their arrival. What a mess, we were all drunk before the race even started. When I eventually got the race under way, it was a scene of utter mayhem and carnage as scores of drunken people ran out of the pub at the same time. The first guy to arrive at the line of bikes knocked one over and in doing so, it then knocked them all down in a concertina like effect. There then followed what looked like a fight as people were trying to grab their bikes, that had become entangled in with a half a dozen or so others that had been placed around them. It was mayhem, but somehow I managed to get them all away safely. Even though some of the contenders were a little slow, it did not matter because just half a mile from the start was a one in eight, three-mile long hill. This almost brought the race to a stand still. As everybody had to get off their bike and either walk or run to the top. I might add that not many under took the latter, as the hill just about buggered everybody. There was also the family part of the race that I had included into the rules. That said that the entrants must cross over the finish line as a team. In other words it was not much good the guys racing off and leaving their wives behind, because she had to be with him when he reached the pub in Waipuk as the locals called it. Emily and I stayed together giving encouragement to each other, or to be a little more accurate, she was nursing me to the finish line. She must have made a good job of it as we came second in the race. This ended up as one big party in the Leopard Hotel, where the skylarking got a little out of hand when Gerry brought a garden hose in the bar to squirt Timmy. Then all mayhem was let loose and it was a good job that the landlord was out of town. Somehow, we managed to clean the place up before his return. The Landlord at that time was Neil Finbow and had made a name for himself as a regular Rugby player for the New Zealand All blacks. I became very friendly with Neil and he always treated me well, with the usual free jugs of the Leopard beer. Mind you I guess I had assisted him to enjoy a high standard of living.             Around October we once again moved house, as we got the chance to move nearer to Mum and Dad. We went back to 7 Ferguson Ave. I must admit it always felt warmer in that area. It being on the other side of the hill, where the westerly winds would miss us as they swept down off the Rouhine Mountains and it was only a short walk through the high school property to see Mum and Dad. It was also much easier for them to come and see us. On a down side it was next to the school that had a fault line running under it and we had always had visions of large gaping cracks appearing in the ground that swallowed up anything that got in its way.             This was also the time that Sharon finished school. She sat and passed her final school certificate exams, but then found it very hard to find a job. Eventually she became lucky ending up at a local supermarket on the checkout desk. It was also the time she started flatting with a girl friend from school, out near the Waipuk golf course. At that time she was also getting very close to her by now regular boyfriend Aaron Wallbank.  Aaron was the local boxing star doing very well in the local tournaments while under his father’s guidance.  It is strange when I think back, but somehow every single young Kiwi had to go through the experience of flatting. I traced this custom to the Kiwi young all watching a Televisions comedy show that came from the UK, called “Robin’s Nest”. In the show, a guy and two girls share a flat together and the Kiwis thought that everybody in the UK lived like this. I could not make them understand that it was just a Television show and that in real life it did not happen that way, or at least up until then, it did not. Anyway, Sharon finally left the family nest, after a few choice words that did nothing to help the situation. It was a case of she would leave whatever we thought or tried to do. Emily was a strong believer in that she was still our daughter and at least this way she was still part of the family. The last thing we wanted was to alienate her, so she split totally from the family. Both Emily and I agreed the house seemed very empty once she had gone.             While I spent most of the evenings in the local pub, as well as drinking with friends from Advance Foods, I would also have a glass with other people from around the town to befriend them. I was amazed how many of these people bragged that at some time or other they had all played in a Pop group at some time or other. Paul Defranye, David Sloan, Stuart Coleman to name but a few. So I decided to call everybody’s bluff, I suggested forming a band just to play at the Leopard Hotel on a Saturday night. Now I will see who is swinging the lead and telling lies, I thought. In late November I let it be known that everybody was to meet in the back room one night, so we could have a jam session together. I was surprised to find that twelve people turned up and from that nucleus a seven-piece soul band was formed. Unbeknown to some of the musicians present and myself, two totally un-connected groups had been separately trying to get something up and running. This meeting that brought it all out into the open and we placed all our energy into the idea of forming just one super group. The band comprised of David Sloan on Rhythm guitar, Barry Searle on Lead Guitar, Mike King on Drums, Roger Davies on Sax, Warren somebody on piano and with my self on Bass guitar. We started to practice all of the usual old Rock and Roll standards from the fifties and early sixties. Things were moving along nicely, until that is Warren decided to move out of the area. Somehow David managed to find a replacement in Keith Walker and brought him in to the band on Trombone. I did not believe that a Trombone would ever fit in to our style of music, but I was so wrong, Keith was a brilliant musician and could he play. He turned out to be the best musician in the band and his talent was desperately needed. Keith was also the guy I’d had words with while on the bus trip to see “Dire Straits”, when I told him what I would do with his umbrella. Funny but that incident was never mentioned between us and I’m not even sure if he remembered it was me. However, from that crazy beginning we became very close friends.  By a sheer stroke of luck, we finally came across Dennis Bethel, our long awaited singer.  We were on our way, as we started practising regularly once and sometimes twice a week.  We set our target for the first gig, on or around the end of February. Paul Defranye did not join us as he was already playing for another local band along with David Sloan’s brother on Drums and anyway he was a Bass player. I could not let that happen, as I would have been out of the Band, although he was also very good on lead guitar. Paul and I spent many hours together discussing music and to what we had both achieved in our music careers to date. It was Paul who once told me that music was “Total Recall”. Going on to tell me that whenever you hear a piece of popular music you can always relate to it, remember what you were doing at the time when it became a hit. Most people usually remember the girl they were going with, or at least an incident, either way it helps to assist the memories to come flooding back. Therefore it’s Paul who I must thank for giving me the idea of the title of this Autobiography. I just added a slight alteration of “Almost Total Recall”, knowing that my memory would not be sufficient to recall every single detail of my life. It was also Paul who helped me totally rebuild my guitar so it became easier to play and handle.             Emily and I had looked at a piece of land by the lake just out side of the town by the race course. At that time it was owned by a member of the Peacock family. However, every time we went to see them they kept putting up the price as they could see we were very interested. We wanted to open a garden nursery on the land by the lake, which would later include a small tea hut. We would then send invitations out to all of the old folk homes in the area inviting them to come and visit us. I had always believed that once these people had enjoyed their beautiful cup of English tea they would then buy a plant to take home as a memento. I also wanted to grow shrubs and bushes, knowing that unlike flowers they would not die off each year. They would only grow larger and in doing so the next year, therefore we could charge more because they had grown higher. I had done my home work and found out that at that time there was not one single nursery between Napier, an hour’s drive to the east and Palmerston North an hours drive to the west. The piece of land was a along back road and had a log cabin that was used as the house and covered an area of around 53 acres in size, although they had it on the market described as 57 acres unfortunately they were not allowing for the rise in the lakes water level when ever it rained. During one discussion with them about the acreage I told them that I did not want to grow rice and that I wanted land above sea level so the plants could grow in the sun light.             Every year the locals always celebrated the opening of the Duck shooting season on the lake a tradition going back many years. Most Kiwi guys living in the country side are hunters and love to go into the mountains hunting deer whenever the opportunity arises. With duck shooting, they could under take their lust for hunting while still remaining in town. This form of so called hunting always took place on the Lake, where most of the dedicated shooters had what they commonly known as hides that had been handed down through the family over a couple of generations. These consisted of a very small flat platform about four meters by four meters that were positioned out in the middle of the lake just above the water. While around it were a few bushes and tuffs of grass that had been strategically placed to try and disguise the hide. Mind you from what I saw most ducks would not have been taken in by the ugly looking monstrosities that seemed to litter the whole surface of the lake. At a guess I would think that most ducks would have detoured the whole area being able to spot the traps a couple of miles away. These hides are only used for a few weeks of the year, during the remainder of the time they usually fell into disarray. However, a week before the opening of the season, most of the dedicated guys could usually be seen tidying up their hides. By dragging in new clumps of bushes to arrange them, just like their wives would a vase of flowers. The night before the special day, there is always a constant stream of Ute’s and trucks all seen heading towards the lake, loaded to the gunnels with cartons of beer. This is then all ferried by hand into the hide in readiness for the celebrations that always take place. It was quite easy to walk to the hides because the water was usually only about one to one and a half meters in depth. I used to think that the whole charade resembled a German beer drink festival rather than a duck shoot. Anyway, once the shooters could find the door leading from the local pub, they usually made their way to the lake and took their positions in the hide just before dark, in readiness for the possible dawn slaughter. I say usually before dark, that’s so they can strategically place their beer cans in positions that would be easy to find in the darkness of the ever lasting night. It’s a good job that the ducks did not fly in during the night time, because the sound of many men constantly peeing in to the water could be heard for miles around and there was I thinking that the lake also had its own waterfall.             During one such duck shoot we lived near to the lake and could see it from one of our windows. As soon as the sun starts to poke its head up above the horizon, a few of the more stupid ducks usually start to fly in to land on the water. Then its on fo