CHAPTER 18 THE FUN YEARS NEW ZEALAND February 1985 to March 1988 Photos               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. Within 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 now 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 sightseeing. 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 outside 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 inside 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 outside 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 outside 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 again. He knew that Peter would not allow that, as they would lose 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 substation. 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 ourselves 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 understand 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 day’s 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 their 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 anyone 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, years 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 too 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 cannot 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 day’s 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 license 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 something 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 whatever 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 carcasses 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 their 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 outdo 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 their 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 passed 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 outside 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 outside 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 aisle, 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 everything 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 throughout 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 understand 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 without 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, whatever 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 within 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 within 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 nearby river. We all dropped our clubs and ran out onto the main road expecting to find carnage everywhere. 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 without 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 someone 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 without 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 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 camel’s 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 night 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 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 myself 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. Whenever 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 upbringing 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 marvelous 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 standstill. 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 myself 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 practicing 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 outside 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 hour’s 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 whenever 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 everlasting 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 it’s on for one and all, to me it sounded like the Falklands war all over again, the only thing lacking was the sound of a jump jets as it strafed the lake with its cannons. At times, I thought the shooters had machine guns stowed in their hides. Once the shooting starts, so does the heavy drinking and the skylarking. The later in the day the ducks arrive, the better chance they have of surviving the slaughter. By the middle of the day, not many birds are being downed as the shooters are already plastered from their constant drinking. In fact, I told the guys later that I had seen ducks flying over while thumbing their noses at the shooters. By mid afternoon the ducks do not even bother flying to the lake. Therefore, with the shooters becoming bored, they started attacking each other’s hides, pinching bushes. While the worst crime of all is to pinch each other’s booze. Most of them are usually wearing leather jackets and that is for a good reason. It has been known for some of them to take the occasional shot at each other. The whole event is usually wound up towards dark that evening, as they all assemble back at their club meeting hut in town, to award prizes to the best shots of the day and to brag of what might have been. That is unless they have slumped into a drunken heap in the corner somewhere. Mind you, a good time had been had by all and nobody seems to get hurt. I guess in some way these guys are keeping up a tradition that has been around for many years. Because of the low kill rate and the fact that it is in an out of the way place like Waipukurau. They just might be left alone to continue for many more years to come. The shooters usually come from a handful of old families who have been in this area since most can remember. Family names like the Foggarty’s and the Saunders to name just a couple.             These families are also prominent in the sport of boxing and Waipukurau was one of the few towns to have its own boxing hall that was frequented by the very same families, just across the road from the Leopard Hotel. Their names can be seen on most of the local boxing trophies. In fact, some of them have gone on to become New Zealand Champions that included Paddy and Kevin Foggarty.             There was also quite a bit of practical joking taking place around the town and many of the ideas were usually conceived over an evening’s beer at the Leopard Hotel. On one occasion Timmy and I had been discussing David Sloan’s latest piece of hardware he had devised to attract customers to his premises. David had commissioned somebody to make a life size Horse and it had been stuck on a rather large pole in front of his shop that was on the main road on the out skirts of the town. Timmy and I drove over to a friend’s farm knowing he owned a couple of horses. There we relieved him of a couple of bags of his finest horse poo. We then drove to David’s Saddlery Business and emptied the bags right under the back end of the horse. We then made our way back to the pub to await something to hit the fan.             On another occasion one of the car dealerships in town had hired a rather larger gas fill Balloon and had it tethered to one of his buildings in the high street. I’m not sure how high it was flying but it could be seen from almost every location around the town. While Timmy and I were having a drink he gave me a wink moving his head towards the exit door as he got up to leave I followed. Once outside we both got in to his Ute and he grabbed his gun from the rack behind his seat, “Have a feel of that,” he said. As I took it from him he drove off. He then explained that he’d wanted to shoot that bloody balloon down for weeks and that finally to night was the night. Instead of going up the main street where we might be seen  he drove up one of the side roads that ran parallel to the town, it also lead us up a hill past Michael Harding place giving us a great view. Even though it was night time, you could still see the balloon in the moon light. The biggest problem we had was in trying to judge the distance. Timmy wasted no time in finding himself a rock to rest the gun on and before I knew it he was ready to take the shot. I must admit I asked him if he knew what he was doing to which he replied cause he did. That thing had been crazing everybody for a couple of weeks and any way it would soon be duck shooting time  and that it would scare all the birds away. Now as far as I was concerned if that was the case then I was all for leaving it where it was. However, not wanting to sound like a winger, I’d already worked out that there was just no way that he was going to be able to hit the balloon anyway. I just kept my mouth shut ready to ridicule him on his missed shot. You could have knocked me over with a feather because he hit it on the very first shot. It was an amazing shot something you would not see too often. Therefore, I had to try to deflate his ego a little, by telling him that he’d had a tail wind and that any fool could have hit it. We did not have to get away in a hurry because we were out in the country and nobody would have known it was us. Therefore we sat and watched it slowly fall down in to the centre of the town laughing as it sank ever lower in what seemed like a slow motion replay. Finally Timmy could not resist the temptation and we got in to his Ute and drove around to the town to take a closer look. To our amazement it had come down in the high street and somebody had already drove over it, so there was no way that it was going to be flying in the next couple of days. All Timmy could say was bring on the ducks.             David Sloan was a well liked guy around town and as well as running his own business and playing in the band with us, he was also a volunteer fireman and while not putting fires out he would be cutting people out of cars. David was always a guy you turned to for help and he would always be there for you. However he was involved in a tragedy that shocked the whole town and left us all reeling. On one particular nights call out to a car accident, David’s fire truck raced to the scene, I believe it might have been on the Hartuma road. Only to be confronted with his own son being trapped inside of his car. Lucky for David the first fireman on the scene had noticed the number plate of the car and David was kept from looking inside, sadly his son had died on impact. The whole town of Waipukurau came to a standstill the day the young lad was buried.             About this time, I started to experience the flying bug once again. I had not flown since my crash with Bob Foster back in England. Which I must add, was the only crash I experienced in a Microlight, unlike my Hang Glider flying when I experienced several. One day while I was talking to Brian Foster at work, I explained to him in great detail what I had got up to while in the UK flying my Microlight. He became very interested in the subject and I suddenly got the urge to fly once again. So promising Brian a flight, which I failed to keep, I went home to talk it over with Emily. The net result was I rang “Solar Wings” back in the UK, who had by this time changed their name to “Pegasus” and spoke to Graham Slater ordering a “Flash 2 Trike” unit, with a 462cc liquid cooled engine and a selection of instruments. The total cost of shipping and insurance delivered to my door was about $17,000. I then set about getting all the necessary paper work from the NZ Civil Aviation Department so I could obtain a permit to fly. This took a long time and luckily I under took this while the Trike was in transit, not wanting to wasted time once it arrived. It finally arrived late one afternoon at the factory about a week before Christmas. While I was unpacking it from a very large wooden crate the maintenance crew were changing shifts, so I had a rather large audience gathered around watching my every move and waiting to see it all unveiled. Pete McKenzie was one of those coming on to shift and asked how I was going to transport it around. I must admit that I had not even thought about it, mainly because I was not sure of it dimensions. Peter went on to tell me that the evening shift was always quiet and that he could lay his hands on some material and a set of wheels, if I gave him the word he would make a start on a trailer right there and then. It was an offer to good to turn down and so Peter and Gerry Durham made a start. They worked all night and by first light the next morning the project was completed including a coat of paint. By 8am the Trike was assembled and sitting on its brand new trailer awaiting a tow back to my house. Unfortunately I was not game to fly it without the necessary paper work, although I doubt anybody would have said anything to me. Although rules are rules and I had earlier been informed that the New Zealand CAD (Civil Aviation Department) wanted to inspect it before they gave me my permit to fly, so it was not flown until 02-01-87.             Christmas day that year gave me something to remember when I was awoken by a phone call from the local hospital. It was Graham one of my Electricians from work who was being released and wanted me to give him a lift home. I was surprised because the night before I had been drinking with him at the Leopard Hotel, but I had left just before so called closing time, in order that I did not end up in Emily’s bad books, after all it was Christmas Eve. Unfortunately, Graham had become the innocent victim of a so-called prank that went wrong. Connie the girl I had pulled out of the river during our inner tube race had been in the lounge with her husband. During the night, he had become so drunk and very rowdy that he had been thrown out of the pub. He had been so upset that he drove his car right into the pub and had pinned Graham up against the bar, breaking his leg. I will never forget when I dropped Graham off at his house that Christmas morning and his neighbour who happened to be Shaun Wards father, was standing at his front gate. Watching Graham struggle to get out of my car and hobble up to his front door on a crutch, he uttered the casual words of, “Must have been some party”.             December also saw another raft race, but with many more participants this year. However, the race took much longer this year, as there was less water in the river. I was on the river from 8.30am to 6.30pm and was just about suffering from exhaustion by the time I arrived at the finish line. I was glad to make the pub, while several people ended up walked down the riverbank towards the finish line, just to warm up. In the pub, the usual beverage was under taken and those who were not already drunk soon became plastered.             I started to get interested in the possibility of writing my autobiography, at first I only talking about it, but then later I finally put pencil to paper and I took the plunge in to what was to be 12-year project. Mind you, I wasn’t writing all the time, just a few lines here and a few lines there, along with many hours of talking and planning. I decided to write all the early years intending later on to add in the Borneo story, as I had not been able to get it printed, this being the few bits of paper that I had given David Cooks wife Katharine a few  years earlier. So I changed all the names back to the correct people, I did not have to change too much, as it was correct in most details. It got very interesting, specially trying to get the dates and places accurate. I also used my love of music to assist me. I can always remember where I was at the time of a hit record. Therefore, with the help of the Guinness Book of Hit Singles, I started to get the project together.             The 2nd January 1987 was the day I flew my new Trike from Waipuk airfield. After I’d, had it checked over by the Civil Aviation Department. It all turned out to be a bit of a laugh really, this guy turned up at my house to check out my machine having not seen one before. Unfortunately, he had no idea of its performance, or how it was even controlled and to make matters worse he could not even fly. I ended up having to show him all I could about the machine.  However, I believe I put my big size 12’s well and truly in it. Because I was told later, that it became the yardstick for other weight shift machines in New Zealand. Although it did not seem to worry the average Kiwi, because even though there were rules and regulations, not many people stuck to them and the authorities did not seem to do much about it anyway. It brought back good memories of my early flying days back in England with David Cook. The view was if you built a single seater, they were not too worried if you killed yourself, but two seaters were something different, the two seaters had to have rules, as you were not allowed to kill somebody along with you. There wording not mine.             Anyway, I was given a permit to fly and headed down to the local airfield that was only five minutes from the house and within an hour I was airborne. During that first days flying I gave Mark, Sharon, Aaron and Timmy a flight. All had come down to the airfield to take a look at what I was doing. I was very impressed with it and it came up to all my expectations. The handling was far better and easier to control than the machines I had flown in the UK two years earlier. During most of January, very early in the mornings you could always find me at the Airfield. I say early morning, because that is when the air was calm, up to about 11am, after that the thermals started popping off and at times it could be quite rough. However, in the late afternoon it would usually smooth down and so the evenings would be another good time to fly. This was also a great time to take up friends who would constantly be plaguing me to give them a flight. I always believed that if you gave them a smooth ride they would usually enjoy it, but if you gave them a rough one they would be put off the sport for life. I soon found out that the thermals were far more powerful than what I had been used to the UK. Some of them were very violent and I quickly adapted to the conditions and stayed away from the big ones. I had also discovered that I was in one of the best places to experience what is known as Wave Lift. It’s when the weather conditions and the surrounding area create lift that will take you up very high and allow you to glide vast distances without landing. Some of the gliders who took off from Waipuk would fly down to Wellington and back a couple of times a day. These were conditions that I had never seen in England and therefore at first did not appreciate what I could achieve while flying in them. To best describe what they look like I can only say that the clouds look very high and look like waves, as the clouds are usually in lines in the sky. I believe that one of the main reasons they were good over Wiapuk is because we were on the Eastern side and in the lea of a long range of mountains that ran down the centre of the North Island of New Zealand, known as the Rouhines. While the prevailing winds usually came from the West over the top of the mountains. These mountains would kick the super heated winds up skywards along with all the hot air they had picked up along the way on the western side of the mountains. Because we were in the lea of these mountains on the eastern side there was no wind therefore the whole area heated up very fast as the sun got higher in the sky, lifting all the gliders up into the wave lift. It was even better in the middle of the summer when the grass died off through lack of water to keep it green, the brown colour reflecting the heat where as dark green usually absorbs the heat. Although during the winter months because the air was cold and heavy, as the winds blew from the west when it reached the top of the mountains it would drop over the top and come straight down on to Waipuk bring very chilly winds with it.             Because of these near perfect gliding conditions, each year the New Zealand Gliding Championship was held on the Waipukurau air strip. This was a big event for the town as it attracted a lot of people from all over the country, who stayed around for the duration of the week in which it was held. It was also a time to meet other flyers, to swap stories and to look at other machines. I was asked to give a flying demonstration at two of these meetings and I like to think I gave them good value for money. Most flyers would used up the whole of the grass strip in order to get into the air. They would then fly past in front of the audience while under taking a couple of different manoeuvres along the way. He would then disappear from the far end of the airfield for several minutes before he suddenly reappeared to under taken another fly past. When I taxied out on to the field for my slot, instead of going right down to the beginning of the runway, I just set myself up about two hundred meters from the main club house. When I was given a signal to start my display, I wound up the throttle to full speed, when I released my brake the Trike shot forward. I was already off the grass long before I reached the club house. I then pushed my A frame bar foreword and climbed at a phenomenal rate of knots, however I was climbing way past my safety envelope of forty five degrees. I was climbing at something like seventy five to eighty degrees. At five hundred feet I cut the engine and spiraled back down to earth just in front of the club house, almost ending up where I had first lined the Trike up on the strip. When I was approximately twenty feet off the ground I turned and once again lined myself up to go past the club house however this time I was gliding. I was now only a couple of feet above the ground. I reached foreword and pulled my starter rope, the engine burst into action and once again I went straight up in to the air like before. I then continued to dazzle them with one of the best displays I had ever under taken. Not once during the display did I leave the confounds of the airfield. When my display was over I landed and taxied over to where Emily had been watching by our car and trailer, just as the next aircraft was lining himself up on the grass strip. I found myself saying under my breath, “Beat that if you can”. During a couple of the evenings our band played at the club house dances that were also well attended.             Something I have not mentioned is that January is the hottest month, with temperatures up in the thirties. It would usually be very hot and dry, as all the grass would be burnt and browned off by the heat and dryness of the summer months. In June, July and August temps could drop to -3 or 4 degrees at night, if we got frosts at night then the days would always be very sunny with cloudless sky and temps up around 18 degrees, all in all a very nice climate. From the airfield, you could see the Rouhine Mountains only thirty minutes drive away. In New Zealand, mileage is judged in driving hours. During the winter the snow covered mountains look marvelous. Unfortunately when the westerly winds blew and they usually did in the late winter around October time, it would be quite chilly by the time it enveloped Waipukurau. However, with the cold air also came the best flying conditions for the novice flyer hence the best time to fly is in the winter. Unfortunately, the sacrifice is that you must wrap up in flying suits, but at least you could usually fly all day.             At the end of January the New Zealand Microlight Association held a fly in at Mata Mata. Mark and I drove up for a week and had a great time showing off this new machine to several mouth opened onlookers. However, the big problem I had in trying to sell these machines was the cost. Almost everybody who saw it, wanted to fly one just like me, but they were not prepared to part with their money. Instead, they were quite happy to try to build one for about a third of the cost. I have spoken before about the Kiwi’s ability and ingenuity to make things. These guys were so blatant, turning up at the airfields all carrying measuring tapes. At times, I had to cover up the machine with a blanket just to keep them off. I might add that several of them had a go at me about my actions and were upset that I had stopped them. They thought it was their right to be able to copy anything they choose. Kind of reminded me what it was like in the early sixties when the Japanese tried to copy everything they could get their hands on. One guy even believed that because I had been granted permission to stay in his wonderful country that I was now a Kiwi and as such I should welcome the opportunity to share my information with fellow Kiwis. That one took a little bit of swallowing, although he walked away when I asked if he was prepared to share his wife.             I think many people got a shock that weekend, because nobody had seen the speed at which I was flying and my climb out angle of almost sixty degrees. However, as is usual at events like this something had to go wrong and it did, when I split a tip on my wooden propeller.             Mark and I made some quick repairs with some araldite glue and a battery operated hair dryer. To play it safe I never flew any more that first day. Needless to say I took a bit of ribbing from the local’s in the pub that night, like “Can’t you fly that thing”, or “Not a lot of good if you can’t fly it” etc etc. However, the very next day I made them all eat their words, when I dazzled them with some dare devil flying. Having both enjoyed the weekend Mark and I then moved on to Hamilton, to show some perspective buyers how it performed. We spent a week there and just blew them all away, although once again I never managed to actually sell one. The guy I had specially gone to see just wanted me to help him build a replica after assuring me he was interested in purchasing one.             The following weekend we made another trip, this time it was to Fielding in the south of the country for their annual fly in. On the Friday night, we all flew around Palmerston North, taking off only one hour before dark, to entice the public out to the airfield the next day. We actually flew over the centre of Palmeston North Airport Runaway at 500 ft, as a wide-bodied passenger jet took off below us. Mark was with me, I turned around and said to him, “Heads will roll over this”. Wrong again when we got back to the field nobody battered an eye lid over the incident. Nor did they worry when two or three of the guys did not get back until it was completely dark. One went down in the college grounds, Mark and I had a sleepless night as they borrowed our car and trailer to retrieve him leaving us to sleep rough in the hanger. One other point, they damaged the trailer, mucked my seats up and never even replaced any of the petrol in the car. The guy who borrowed the car never even said thank you, I sometimes wondered if it was in their vocabulary. Well the Saturday was a blown out anyway, a few tried to fly but all came unstuck, I called it a day and drove home early in the afternoon.             By this time I had formed my own company and called it “Stratus Microlight Systems” so I could import and sell Microlights around the country. I also obtained an instructors license to teach people to fly, but I did more trade joy riding at $20.00 a time. This was also against the rules, but everybody did it and I was also allowed to continue the practice even at the air shows. However, I had chosen a bad time to start up, money was scarce and the country was going through a bad period having just introduced their version of a VAT they called theirs a GST. I believe it stands for General Service tax.  There was a lot of unemployment and belt tightening taking place just like in the UK in the late 70’s. I eventually made more money on the joy riding side, taking up over sixty people from Waipukurau, during their air show. I usually got the local people to bring their cameras with them, so we could photograph their houses from the air, which was usually a novelty for them. During this time, I also under took some long flights on my own, over to the Rouhine Mountains or up to Tomata Peak, or to a field near Bridge Par, where the Napier Microlight club was based.             One day Mike Ryan and I flew from Napier to Foxston. We went through the Manamatu Gorge at the southern end of the Rouhine Mountain range and that was exciting. The whole trip took us about two and a half-hours, something I would love to do again some time. I am told now that the part of the gorge where we flew is now a wind farm housing many dozens of windmills. However, it was a different story trying to fly home. At ground level, you could not feel any wind, so we took off at 6am to be hit by a 40mph head wind once we were at 500ft. Anyway we had to continue, it was Sunday and we both had to go to work the following day. Unfortunately, we became parted and very severe turbulence put me down in the Palmerston University grounds. I tried to take off again, but there was no way I was going to get out of the hole I had chosen to land in. It felt like a very large hand was holding me down. Reluctantly, I walked to a nearby farmhouse and rang Emily to come and pick me up with the trailer. Mike somehow had made his way back to Foxton and flew home the next day. He also confessed to being scared, as it was one of the most hairy flights he had ever under taken. He called into Waipukurau airfield on his way home to Napier, where I met up with him to swap stories of what had happened to each other.             Another good fly in Emily, Mark and I attended was held at Masterton, about one and half hour’s drive south of Waipukurau. I entered a pylon race and found myself asking the Marshal of the event where he wanted me to position my Trike. Very arrogantly, he made the remark that I had one of those old hang glider things, to which I nodded my head in agreement. He then told me to park it at the back of the field so I did not get in the way of the other local flyers as they took off. Most of the machines that took off before me would have only had a top speed of around 25 to 30mph. When I scorched out of that field at 65 mph, I was told later that the marshal’s mouth just dropped wide open. Mark and I raced around the course, over taking as many competitors as we could. At one pylon I went around it at about 1000ft and as I looked down below me. I could see three other machines all fighting with each other to be first around the pylon, flying at only a few hundred feet. We over took the lot in one manoeuvre and sped on back to the airfield. Upon our arrival we did not even both with the customary circuit of the air field, instead we just turned and swooped straight down and landed, where we arrived back almost ten minutes ahead of the second placed machine. I drove straight up to the marshal and asked him where he would like me to park our machine. In addition, there was no way that I was going to bend over backwards to accommodate his remark.     We had a good three days there with Emily enjoying a long flight around the town sight seeing. However the following day I flew her out to look for a farm, to see if we could find Mike Ryan. The return trip became very bumpy and I think the experience put her off flying Microlights for life, I don’t think she ever flew with me again.             At Masterton I also met up with a National Geographic Magazine photographer. Who in exchange for a flight with me took some superb photos of Mark and me taking off. Two other people I made friends with at the meet took a video of us, sadly they were killed later that month when their plane just dropped out of the sky. Rumour has it they were trying to cut a toilet roll. This daredevil stunt usually meant that you climbed to about 2000ft where you drop and unroll a toilet roll, you then tried to cut the paper with your wing as many times as possible before it reaches the ground, all totally illegal.              In early April as a family we were invited to the Murapowa fly in, the airfield was at a place called Galatea then the centre of the world’s largest man made Forrest. The hospitality shown us by the local flying club was fantastic and we stayed with a family on a farm overlooking the Galatea valley. We were all looked after and treated well. The flying was also very good, even though the rest of New Zealand was blown out with strong winds. We flew the whole weekend, the strong winds seem to go over the top of the valley, providing that we did not fly over 4000ft it was very smooth flying. This area was just south of a very large earthquake area that had struck four or five months before. The locals told us of all the horrifying stories they had experienced, one chap said he was flying high looking into the valley, watching the ground rolling. He described it as just like large waves going down a valley. Another spoke of driving down a flat road, when the road just seemed to rise up in front of him. He said, he thought he was driving up a hill, so he parked on top, got out very carefully to have a look around and found himself standing on a long flat road with not a hill in sight.             Earthquakes are something I have mentioned before, they happen very frequently usually only lasting a few seconds. You just feel the ground shake, sometimes you hear a noise like a train going by, occasionally there’s a big one.  I have felt about ten since I have been in new Zealand, up until now Emily has only felt a couple. Sometimes she has even been standing beside me at the time I have felt it, but she had not.             Waipukurau has many fault lines all around the town, the longer we lived in the town the more we discovered where they were. One is right near the local hospital, one is under the local high school and very close to Ferguson Avenue where we lived. At one time Sharon had even rented accommodation that had one directly under the house. The bedrooms were on one side of the fault and the kitchen was on the other. Most Kiwis just accept them as a way of life and do not get bothered by them, unless they are quite big and last a long time.             Having befriended Timmy, Kevin and Paddy Foggarty I must add that I was also very friendly with their father, who I occasionally met while in the Leopard Hotel. Once he knew of my Trike, he was constantly telling me of his long term ambitions. Of being able to travel across the water on the lake, like they do in the Florida Everglades on their swamp buggies. What attracted him to my machine was the very large wooden propeller and he wanted one just like it. He intended buying a shallow flat bottomed aluminium boat and to fit and engine coupling it to the propeller behind a high seat that he was going to erect in the middle of the boat. He used to tell me that he wanted to travel across the lake to his hide, without getting his feet wet. I told him that maybe he would scared the ducks away while he was doing it. Anyway every time we met the conversation was always about how he could obtain a propeller just like mine and how was he going to fit it to an engine. The conversations used to go on and on and on, unfortunately the project did not progress beyond the discussion stage.             I received a letter from Neil Cartwright, who used to work with me at Bernard Matthews Halesworth Plant back in the UK. He wanted to come to New Zealand and was asking if I could help him. There was not much I could do to help, I just told him to go through the normal channels. I did however have a talk with Dave Smith and told him what I thought of Neil. As far as I knew he was a hard working guy and that he also knew all about the machines we were using at the plant. Whereas most of the local people we were recruiting had never seen them before. Anyway Dave got in touch with Neil and promised him a job if he could make his own way out to New Zealand. I heard later that Neil had sent all of his furniture out to New Zealand by container and then just three days before he was due to fly out of England, Dave Smith rang and told him that he was sorry but he had to withdraw his offer of a job. Poor Neil was left almost devastated, his furniture was on its way and he would have no job upon arrival in the country. He was committed and could not call the trip off, I might add that he also had a wife who was pregnant and two very young children coming with him. I had nothing to do with what happened, but upon his arrival, I somehow felt responsible even though I hardly knew the Neil. I ended up trying to help him get some accommodation and a job. I even took time off work driving them around. I took him to Wellington so he could pick up his VW van and all his belongings from the docks and at one time, I even loaned him my car. The accommodation was the hardest thing to come up with, as they had also turned up with the family pet, which just happened to be a very large Labrador dog. They were very lucky, as the good people of the town upon hearing what had happen to them, all tried to help in any way they could. At first he managed to get a job in Napier working for an Air Conditioning company, later moving back to Waipukurau where he managed to get a job at the local Hospital in the maintenance department. The whole family were also taken in by some of the locals until they got their own house together. This say’s a lot about the good-natured Kiwi and that most of them are very kind hearted people.             All this time I was still trying to fit in a few practice sessions with the band. At least we had settled on a name, it being “Stratus” after my Microlight Company name, I was very pleased and it was a majority decision. Although it had been David Sloan who had suggested the name, strange as it may seem I had nothing to do with it. We were starting to take bookings for the month of March, so we had to work hard with practice trying to get together about sixty numbers. Most of us had played in bands before so it was easier than if we were all beginners. Most of the early numbers were just a jam session with everybody just putting in little bits here and there, but it worked out and steadily we strung a few numbers together. We used to practice in those early days at Mike Kings house until 10pm in the evenings. I dread to think what his neighbours thought. Later on, we moved to David Sloan’s Saddlery manufacturing workshop at the top end of the main street.             The first booking was set for 30 March 1987 at the annual Weta Festival, held at the local Cattle sale yards in Waipukurau. We set up in the main sail yard building that can best be described as a very small auditorium with solid wooden bench seats sloping up away from the area where the cattle would normally be parade around while they were being sold. This was the small area where the band set up our gear, while all around us on the ground lay several old dried up heaps of cattle dung. We all made many mistakes that night, but covered them up well. The result was that everybody enjoyed the night, including the band. For our trouble, we earned the hansom sum of a crate of beer, not bad I thought, maybe there were better things to come. We then progressed to Palmerston North Constitution Club for this we received $500. Then later a regular booking was agreed on at the Waipukurau Leopard Hotel, for Friday and Saturday nights. It was great exposure but not a lot of cash, but we did start to get a good loyal following. In August we under took a big Rock and Roll night at the Waipukurau Memorial Hall and people came from all over, some even came up from Wellington, this was another $500 per night. We also started to get a few bookings from local Rugby Clubs, who paid us very well. The bands final line up consisted of Mike King                               .Drums David Sloan                            Rhythm Guitar Barry Searle                           Lead Guitar Roger Davis                          .Sax Keith Walker                          Trombone Denis Bethel                          Vocals Terry Aspinall                        Bass Guitar Graham Abraham’s                Keyboards                                    At one time we even tried out two girl singers but it was all to no avail, as we stuck to the original seven and why not as the sound was good. One week we had a gig at Herbertsville so for the trip we borrowed an old single Decker bus from one of the guys who followed us around.             After loading up at the Leopard Hotel with all our gear and a few crates of best beer we set off. What a weekend that turned out to be, we stopped at every pub we passed on route and of course all the beer was free at the gig. That night everybody wore fancy dress, so it turned out to be a great night. One guy went dressed as an old style New Zealand Police officer and I was informed that in the fifties he had been hunted in the bush by the polices for something trivial. Apparently, he was on the run evading every attempt to catch him for more than six months. Because of this action, he became a legend in New Zealand folk law and there was even a film made about the incident.             “Stratus” just seemed to go from strength to strength, as we got better and better. We were suddenly becoming rivals to the already established local band of twenty years, “Sir Duke”. One of its members was David Sloan’s brother Neil, so you can imagine the conflict that started to arise between them, especial when you consider that they worked alongside each other.             There was talk of “Stratus” making a possible record and also of gigs in Auckland and Wellington, so you can see the future was looking rosy for us, although I would guess that it was going to get a little complicated later, because of individuals work commitments. At one time while I was contemplating my future with the band, a part of me was thinking that maybe I was walking out on possible success. After all, I had been playing for nearly twenty years, always hoping that one day I would make it big. If the band did made it to the top after I had left, I would kick myself forever. Anyway if I was meant to be lucky one way or another in the end it would all unfold for me, so for the time being I stayed where I was.             The month of May also saw some very settled flying weather, so I thought I would attempt another record. I had checked with UK by writing to Rik Wilson the records officer with the British Microlight Aircraft Association, who had helped me when I achieved my record back in England. I also wrote to the New Zealand Microlight Aircraft Association to find out what was available for me to attempt, which turned out to be everything because there were no Microlight records. After studying the book work I worked out the safest route on the map. New Zealand has many mountain ranges and I did not want to fly over them, so I settled on a distance record. Not being greedy, I once again thought about having a go at three in the one attempt. A straight line out distance record as one and an out and return as the second both New Zealand records and I might also be able to break the out and return UK record. I felt good that I still held the UK distance record, as it will never be beaten. However, the rules have since been changed, with new classifications on Microlight weights.              I set a route from Napier Airport to Masterton Airport and a return, a total of 246-86 Miles or 394-98km. I then went about getting everything set up with witnesses, airport permission, TV, Newspapers and finally I set a rough date. With everything hinged on a good forecast, I would ring everybody the night before the attempt.             The day came and I had everybody assembled at Napier Airport at 4am in the morning. The glider was all set up and ready to go, when suddenly a strong wind got up to around twenty to thirty miles per hour, including plenty of big gusts. I could not believe it, especially after spending so much time on the attempt. Reluctantly I called off the attempt and drove home at around 9am. To my amazement at Hastings 20km away there was no wind and there was frost on the ground all unbelievable. Still it was too late to attempt it, because I needed to go early. For the attempt, I needed no wind going to Masterton, while hoping that on the return, a southerly wind would help bring me back to Napier where I did not want to contend with on shore breezes late in the afternoon. Unbeknown to me a couple of powered gliders from Bridge Par Airfield were going to fly to an old Airfield halfway along the route and wait for me to return. They were then going to follow me in formation back to Napier, for the TV cameras. Sadly it was not to be, as it was the last good weather day for a couple of weeks. However, I left everything and everybody on hold until the end of September. Sadly, I had missed my last chance and now have little chance of ever achieving another record.             One Saturday night I remember a big party and drinking session at the Leopard Hotel. It was a long one and I cannot remember much about it. What I do know is when I awoke the next morning Emily was not talking to me and I could not remember what I had done wrong to upset her, I also had one hell of a hangover. It went through my head that if I could not remember what I had done, it was high time that I did something about it. Emily had made noises as well, that if I did not curb my drinking she might take steps to force me. This helped me make up my mind right there and then. From that Sunday, I decided that I would give up the drink forever. The first few weeks I found very hard, especially when I went to the pub to meet my friends or when I was out playing with the band, when I felt embarrassed as I ask for an orange juice or a coke. One evening I went to the pub with Paddy Foggarty and he ordered a sarsaparilla as I bought a coke. You could have heard a pin drop in the pub that night. The result was that nobody cracked a single joke about my none drinking that night. Paddy was not a person to upset and most locals would choose their words wisely before speaking to him. Gradually everybody got to know that I was on the wagon and they left me alone and so then it became easier for me. Emily could not believe that I was sticking to it so rigidly, but I must admit that I surprised myself. Although as you can be seen by my writings, whatever I set my heart on doing I usually achieve it somewhere along the line. Later many of the local people congratulated me in sticking to it. It was very hard because in New Zealand everything revolves around the pub, it play a central part in their life. Therefore if you want to socialise you meet your friends at the pub even if you do not want to drink. As a comparison in Australia the pub plays a small part in the very day normal life. There the average Aussie takes his beer home and you socialise in your house. You either go to his house or he comes to yours either way at least the wives can be involved instead of being left out all the time. Another strange thing I had worked out, in England you went home from work had your tea got changed into some descent clothes and then went to the pub. In New Zealand you stopped off at the pub on your way home and finally arrived home around 11am still cover with dirt and grime you had picked up while working during the day.                 In January 1988, David Cook arrived out from the UK on a holiday and on his way to Australia and made a special detour to visit Emily and me. It was great to see David once again and to talk about all our old times together. We picked him up at the Napier Airport and he stayed with us for two days. I showed him around Waipukurau and the close surrounding area. Finally, I drove him right across the North Island to New Plymouth on the west coast, where he wanted to drop in on the family of one of his employees at his “Shadow” factory in England. Emily also came for the ride, which she enjoyed. It took us about six hours each way, however it was a nice way for us all to see New Zealand together.             Later I took part in my very last raft race, only this time there were a lot of new faces, Rolly from the Takapau meat works, Neil who was out from the UK, Mark my son, Adrian his friend, Wendy and Warren, Sharon’s friends to name but a few. What a time we had, it was a very hot day and once again there was not much water in the Waipukurau River, so progress was very slow. As usual we stopped halfway down the river and had some dinner with the wives at a prearranged spot. We left Waipukurau at 8am and arrived at the Partongata Bridge at 5pm all very exhausted, where most of the competitors got drunk. However, for the first time I did not take part in the pub rivalry. Remembering that I was on the wagon as they say and had not touched a drop of beer since 08-07-87 not bad going for a first attempt.             During our stay in New Zealand, we experienced two horrific floods. The first one was at its worse in the northern part of the North Island and in fact, it completely wiped out the town of Thames. Waipukurau also suffered very badly with all its rivers in the area breaking over their banks. Emily and I drove around where we could, just trying to take in the scale of the devastation. It was a cruel sight to witness thousands and thousands of lambs all lying dead in the corners of the fields where the flood waters had swept them, leaving their carcasses all entangled in the barbed wire fences. As you will have guessed by now I am an animal lover and these scenes brought me to tears.             As we drove around a corner just a kilometre from our house, we came upon a scene that stopped us both in are tracks. The field in front of us was already under about two feet of water. In the corner of the field must have been a couple of hundred sheep, with the floodwater already halfway up their bodies. They were all struggling to get through the barbed wire as the flow of the water had swept them in to the corner. We both got out of the car that just happened to be on a raised section of the road. There was nothing we could do to help them, other than just look at each other and to try to convince ourselves that it was nature’s way. Realising that within a short period of time we were going to watch them all die.             To our relief a local guy suddenly appeared and jumped out of his Ute with a pair of wire cutters in his hand. He then slid down the bank in to the water and cut the wire fence allowing all of the sheep up onto the main road and safety. However, he soon sped off, I guess in order that he might save some more further up the road. It did not seem to matter that they were now all roaming around on the country side. He just had the attitude that they could sort out who owned what later, by looking at their brand marks. That was an eye opener of a day, something neither of us have ever forgotten.             We have often discussed how cruel nature is, as in New Zealand all of the lambs are always born at the coldest time of the year. When you think about it there is no shelter for them as they wander around the fields, or paddocks as the Kiwi calls them. The mother just drops the little one, and it has to get straight up and follow the mother around. At that time of year it is either frosty or its bucketing down very cold rain water or blowing a gale. When we first arrived, we were told that there were 70million sheep in New Zealand. I dread to think how many there would have been if all the lambs had been born in the summer time. We have often wondered how many were left after all the floods had subsided.             With our befriending of the Foggarty family, we would always try to help them during the lambing season. Paddy was a farmer from what I call the old school. To him it was not right to help nature along. He would never pick up one of his lambs, to him it had to survive on its own, or it was not meant to be. He felt it was nature’s way of toughening up the stock, making them able to cope with the bad weather of the future. However, unbeknown to Paddy, his wife Yvonne had feeling just like Emily and I. She would pick up the real bad cases where the mother had deserted its young and so that Paddy never knew, she would give them to friends to look after. What better allies did she need than Terry and Emily who had just recently arrived on the scene. We became a foster home to most of her young lambs and goats. At one time we had nearly twenty of them in our care and we were hand feeding them all by bottle.             Of course, we had our little favourites and one was a tiny little feral goat we named Midge. I have a photo of him when he was only as big as a videocassette cardboard case. By a strange twist of fate, I sometimes think that Paddy had it all worked out right in the first place. Even with all the love and attention that we heaped on to midge. His life span turned out to be only half that of a normal feral goat in the wild.                  As well as the farm, Paddy also ran a weed spraying business from his premises. I used to think it incredible to watch him drive his Jeep spraying vehicle up what I considered to be almost vertical hills, in order that he could spray the weeds around the paddocks. There used to be a standing joke going around the Leopard Hotel. Why waste money on buying weed killer for your garden, when all you had to do was invite Paddy to your house for a drink, telling him to leave his Jeep parked in the driveway. There was so much chemical on the outside of that vehicle, that it would kill every single weed within a hundred meter radius around it.             It also amazed me how many of the local people were killed in one-way or another during our brief stay. However, in the vast majority of these cases alcohol contributed to the death. One young Maori guy Mark who was well liked my most of the town people was killed on the Waipukurau Bridge, after crashing into the side parapet. Andy Ryan his passenger, who was one of the factory production managers, was lucky enough to survive the crash. They had been coming home from a party in Waipawa. By another twist of fate, Andy was later killed in another vehicle accident, once again while he was on his way home from another party. There were several others unfortunately, I cannot remember their names now.             At the same time that the band and my flying was taking place, I was still working at Advance Foods. Things had quietened down, so life was not so hectic. My hours had dropped off and I only had to work one Saturday in two, alternating with Gerry. In fact the job was becoming very boring, just nuts and bolts stuff and with no real challenge to back it up. The factory even had a shut down for ten weeks because they could not get any lambs because of the floods, overall I was getting a little fed up.             I also felt that because I had shown everybody everything I could, relating to the factory and machines, that they now thought they knew it all. A lot of backstabbing started taking place towards me. It’s funny but when I first arrived, a fellow English immigrant once told me not to show them everything that I should always keep that little something special that they would need me for. However, I am not like that, it has never been in my nature to treat people in that way. In fact, if I have a problem it is that I tell people too much. I always say that if I am working for a company, then they are paying my wages and that I should repay them with a good day’s work, keeping no secrets. Quite a few, if not most of the maintenance staff wanted my job, or at least wanted me out of the way. This included my boss Dave Smith, so the old Pomme bashing slang and nasty jokes started to surface. All reckoned they could do the job better than I could. However, I can remember way back in February 1985, when Bruce Newcombe had all of his photos laid out on the desk and said to me, glad you are here, how the hell does this go together and in what order.             Quite a few of the white Kiwis at the factory turned out to treat me in that way. However, it stood out like a sore thumb that the Maoris, who were all unskilled, untrained, bottom of the ladder people, treated me very good. In fact, better than those whites who thought themselves superior? It did not go unnoticed to me that the races did not get on well with each other. Although most people who were not connected with Advance Foods treated me very good, I know the people and will never forget them. People like Rolly Webb and family, the Foggarty Family, the Saunders Family, Norman Gerhard, Barry Searle, Mike King, Keith Walker and so many others that I cannot remember their names. I also noticed at this time that there was a colour problem amongst the population and it was getting worse. Races were run down verbally in the open, I noticed it got bad in the last two and a half years and felt it would get even worse. Crime was also on the increase, every week a dozen burglaries took place in a small town like Waipukurau. We lived near Tailstock road and every farm on that road had been burgled since we arrived in the town. It would get worse because the unemployment was becoming worse owing to the problems the government was going through. I started to worry and think that maybe it was time to think about moving before it all got out of hand. We had two attempts of people trying to get into our house in the one week when we were staying at 13 Ferguson Ave. Lucky for us, Buster our dogs barking scared them off.             It did not help that there were two pubs in the town and that the Maoris frequented one, while the whites mostly used the other. I can best describe the situation by using Tip Uptake as a yardstick. Tip was the very first Maori that I befriended and I drank with him whenever possible. During that first year even when he was dead drunk, he never once mentioned anything to do with race or colour and I admired him for that. During my second year when Tip was drunk, he would occasional mention problems that had arisen between the races. However, during my third year Tip would openly talk about race problems at any time and that his family wanted the Duck Lake back as he believed that it originally belonged to his family. When we first went to New Zealand, I had always thought that I was going to meet Kiwis. However, we met Parkahas and Maoris and instead of coming together, they were in fact drifting apart which was very sad. Like I’ve said many times, New Zealand is a wonderful country and what they were experiencing at the moment, will eventually tear the country apart. They could do with a person like Peter Bowden from Felixstowe to be their Prime Minister for a few years. He would sort them all out and set them on the road to live together. To help explain the problems that the country was going through economy wise. At one time our money in the bank from the sale of our house back in England was earning 23% and Kiwis were leaving the country to live in Australia at a rate of 2000 a month.             I found out that after three years in New Zealand, I would be able to apply for citizenship. I would then be able to obtain a New Zealand passport, this would allow me to get into Australia and to stay legally as a resident. Therefore, I discussed it with Emily and we decided what we would do. Until February 1988, we would stay where we were and I would continue working at Advance Foods. However rough the guys made it for me and Emily would stay at Soma Textiles, where she had been for just over a year, as a machinist.             I should have mentioned that within six months of our arrival Emily had taken a job at Advance Foods, packing the meat into Multivac machines. This work she hated because the air temperature was only about 5 to 6 degrees and the cold temperatures played havoc with her hands. Therefore she left after a time, when the factory temporarily closed down for a couple of weeks due to lack of lamb to operate. She also had to go into hospital for a gall bladder operation and was three months in convalescence before she got back to some resemble normality. This was a very hard period for me with the trouble against me at work, knowing I could not do anything until next February. How I stuck it out so long I will never know. I guess my flying and the band work was a way of just forgetting all of the problems I was going through.             I started to work out where we would go and somehow I settled on Perth. Do not ask me why, I do not know I even open a bank account with the ANZ in Perth. I started sending for leaflets and booklets from the Australian Tourist Board. Reading up all I could while trying to work out our future. At that time Advance Foods had a visit from a Mr. White the Chief Engineer from a meat works in Albany, two hundred miles south of Perth. So later, I wrote to him for a job, to my surprise I was offered the Chief Engineer job, but they wanted me to start right away. Because I did not have my citizenship yet, I had to turn it down, but I was told if ever I was in the area to look him up.              Anyway February eventually came around so I started writing for jobs in Australia, one company I tried was Lindgrens in Brisbane. Yes, I know Brisbane is not Perth, but I was prepared to try anything. Lindgrens are the Pacific area agents for most of the machinery used at Advance Foods. While some of these machines were being installed, we had people from around the world commissioning these machines for us, including a company known as Protocon from Holland. Their service Engineer was Peter Van DeHook who I made good friends with. He had given me Lindgrens name and address one day during a conversation. Out of curiosity, I had dropped them a line and just forgot about it. Then quite unexpectedly in early February, Emily received a phone call while she was still at work, from Lindgrens of Brisbane, wanting me to contact them as soon as possible, as they were interested in employing me, having already known of my history on their machines during the previous three years. However, they were desperate and wanted me in Australia as soon as possible, even though I still did not have my New Zealand citizenship and passport. In fact, our three years were only just up, unfortunately I had not even applied for the paper work yet. It usually took a couple of  months for the paper work to go through and then there would be a further wait for the New Zealand Passport application the be accepted. ..........I discussed the situation with Emily and decided we should not let the chance slip by, so I contacted Lindgrens and said I was very interested. They in turn sent Donald Southerland over to interview me at the Leopard Hotel. However, I had a plan growing in head to beat the passport problem By obtaining an Aussie Visa in my UK Passport I would be able visit Australia on a Holiday Visa. In the mean time, I could fill in all of the necessary New Zealand Citizenship forms. Emily would then be able to post them to Wellington and when she had the New Zealand Passports. I would return to New Zealand and pick Emily, Mark and Buster our dog up and we would all return to Australia together. I passed the interview with Donald Sutherland and all arrangements were made for me to go to Brisbane. I told them of my predicament, and agreed to work for nothing. However, as far as I was concerned it was a golden opportunity not to be missed allowing me chance to set up a new home for my family. ..........During those last couple of weeks I had also been watching the currency exchange rates very closely, knowing that I would need to move my money over to Australia. The New Zealand dollar exchange rate with the Australian had always sat around the $1.25. While I needed it to be a little lower in order that I might get the best rate possible. Every day I would either call into the bank, or ring them to get the latest rates. However as my intended departure date drew closer I knew that I was going to have to accept whatever I could get. Then by a sheer stroke of good luck the rate suddenly started dropping quite fast in my favour. I waited until the very last day and to my surprise the bank manager announced that it was down to $1.09 the best it had been for several years, in fact I was to learn later that it had not been below $1.08 for many years. Without hesitation I told him I would take it and he wrote me a bank cheque out in Australian dollars and I walked out of the bank with a broad smile on my face. For once lady luck had smiled on me and I had made a bit of a killing. To my surprise after a couple of days it climbed straight back up to around $1.18. It also became apparent that I would have to sell my Holdern Sunbird car and that was not going to be easy. Because of the financial state of the country, coupled with the new GST taxes the bottom had fallen out of the second car market. With this in mind I knew that I was going to lose a lot of money on the deal. I was of the opinion that if I sold it in Waipuk because everybody knew everybody I would not have got much for it, especially when they know you have to leave the country in a hurry. Some might sit around thinking that you would never sell it and that then you would give it to them, I’d come across that attitude in England. ..........With this thought in mind I drove to Napier and toured around the car sale yards trying to get the best price possible. I knew that the paint work along the sides was badly pitted through stone chips. A problem all Kiwis have because of the road coating material. I had originally paid around $7500 and from what offers were being made, it looked like if I was lucky I might be able to recoup around $3500. I was feeling a little down in the dumps until I drove into one sales yard as it was starting to rain. As the salesman was walking around the car humming and haring I noticed that the rain was actually disguising the stone chips. To my amazement he offered me $6250 if I accepted his offer right there and then. I graciously accepted his offer before it stopped raining and he changed his mind. Although I made out that I thought it was worth a little more. Deep down I knew he would not increase his offer and anyway I was in one hell of a hurry. I was leaving the country the very next day and it was about to stop raining, I just wanted to get out of the place. Within fifteen minutes I was walking the bus station with $6250 neatly rolled up and in my pocket. I could not believe my luck was holding up and was hoping that I would not be brought down to earth with a big bang. ..........The last few days had been very hectic as I tried to wind up all my loose ends and pack my belongings in readiness for my departure from New Zealand. Unfortunately it did not allow me time to say goodbye to several people who I had befriended during my brief stay in their country, so I had to leave them all messages and hope that they were not offended. Unfortunately it was a foregone conclusion that I would probably never see them again. As I watched the lush rolling hills of Auckland drop away from my window of the Boeing 737 the air hostess asked me if I would like a drink. It suddenly dawned on me that no alcohol had past my lips for 9 months and that would have been the hardest nine months of my life in one ways. However, in another I believe that the whole New Zealand experience had been a very enjoyable time and well worth living through.

© Copyright Terrance Aspinall 1998
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