Open Writing

For me, Orange Mountains and kids trolleys, go together. One seldom sees children with home made trolleys today, but in my day every boy had a trolley. I was about seven or eight years old when I saw the Orange Mountain. I have never seen one since. It stands out in my memory however, and it was only there for maybe two days before it vanished. "An Orange Mountain" you might say "What on earth is she talking about?"

Well, what I remember was getting an urgent summons from my brothers to come with them "right now." I wondered if I should put my shoes on first, but they were barefooted so I just obeyed and followed them down the road and over the bridge that crossed the river, wondering where we were going.

They had their trolleys with them and they were walking very fast. About a hundred yards from the bridge they turned into a gateway. And there, before me I saw the orange mountain!

Kids by the dozens were climbing, and yelling and laughing as if this was too good to true, as indeed it was. This was no mountain of rocks and dirt, and stones this was a mountain of dumped fruit.

Food was rationed during the war - and fruit was expensive. Oranges and bananas were rarely seen, but on this occasion oranges were there for the taking. Truck loads had been dumped in our local tip. Many were rotten or had bad spots but a good percentage were OK with no bad bits at all.

We scavengers picked out the good ones. Trolleys were filled and carted home. A wash and dry, and they became an untold treat!

Dozens of kids carted the dumped oranges away in their trolleys, over the next two days. Their mothers welcomed the unexpected bonus of free fruit

Heavens knows what the Public Health system would have done about it, had they known that kids were eating dumped produce from the local tip.

We heard that the ship bringing the cargo to New Zealand from the Pacific Islands was so long at sea, avoiding enemy submarines. that the fruit spoilt. It’s an ill wind…