Open Writing

When we first came to New Zealand, my father made the effort of taking us on holiday at Christmas. This was an unusual event, as when we lived in Australia, I can remember only one holiday we took as a family, our parents, my sister Joy, and me. We went to Sandford Beach. What possessed my father to give up his bowls for this time I can't imagine.

My sister and I ended up getting very sunburned and spent about two days unable to move. My mother spent her time bathing us in cool water, then smothering our skin in calamine lotion, (doctors didn't come into our lives as they do these days), until eventually we were able to move again.

Our first holiday in New Zealand was at Brown's Bay. This, at the time, was a beautiful beach resort across the harbour of Auckland on the North Shore.

We travelled via ferry, as this was long before the event of the Auckland Harbour Bridge. There were holiday homes, known as baches, everywhere, as well as permanent residents and shops. We stayed with some friends in a home they had borrowed from other friends who had gone elsewhere for their holiday. We had to walk some way to the beach, but as we were only young, this was not a hardship.

The Waitemata Harbour is beautiful, with pohutukawa trees, the New Zealand Christmas Tree, so-called because of its glorious red blossom at Christmas time, growing prolifically along the coast. The Waitemata is so-called because of the sparking waters of the harbour, which twinkle like chips of diamonds in the sun. And across, not that far away, is the almost round island of Rangitoto, an extinct volcano. From wherever you view Rangitoto it looks almost exactly the same. The Waitemata Harbour is full of islands, and over the years we got to visit most of them, except for the ones that are uninhabited.

My father was keen on fishing, not that he ever did much, but sometimes at night in the summertime he would take us down to the wharves and we would catch sprats, with dough for bait, and bread to attract them. One night we caught one hundred and ten. Sometimes we caught piper, previously known to us in Australia as garfish.

At Brown's Bay he decided to hire a dinghy and take us all out fishing. He hired some rods, bought some bait, and my mother packed some lunch and drinks and off we went. My mother was not keen, we could tell by 'her look', which we all lived in fear of, including my father.

The person hiring the dinghy helped us in, and my father took the oars and started off. He'd only rowed about four strokes, when because of the waves washing onto the shore, the boat turned sideways and over, and tipped us all into the sea. Boy! What pandemonium! All the people on the beach stared and burst into laughter. Not one person came over to try to help us. My mother grabbed my sister and my father grabbed me, and took us to the sand, then he turned the boat up and dragged it to the edge of the sand, and rescued all the gear, soaking wet food and all. My mother took Joy's and my hands and marched off in one of her rages. When we all got back to the house, Joy and I wanted to get changed and try again. But, 'No, not on your life,' said my mother. 'To be made a laughing stock of in front of everybody.'

My father too was angry, not this time with my mother for a change, but with the people on the beach. 'Those buggers,' he said. 'Not one of them offered a hand, they laughed, can you believe it!' This became part of the story if he ever related it. 'Those buggers on the beach just laughed!' I don't think he ever got over it.

© Shirley Henwood