Fiction.Chocolate. Sinfully Superb

Chocolate, Sinfully Superb
Some people dream of drowning in a vat of whiskey, my fantasy is slowly slipping away while being smothered in creamy milk chocolate, hoping to be able to swallow just a few more litres of this heavenly delight before passing away.
Now chocolate comes in big slabs, small blocks, mini bites, wonderful flavours of milk, dark and white, who cares, it’s got to be good for you. Many people consume tonnes of this delicacy in their lifetime; including your truly. My preference is the milk variety with a side dish of white and lots of it.
I have been told dark chocolate is very good for you having lots of anti oxidants, again who cares, the mere mention of that nine letter word sends me into a maniacally frenzy, drooling at the mouth, that first bite sometimes sends me into a chocoholic climax which can last through the entire block. I do know my limitations, never buy a huge slab, it gets devoured in record time down to licking out the last crumbs in the tinfoil wrap.
That’s just the choky blocks, next comes the boxes of carefully itemized delights of all shapes and tastes, one needs to read the different flavours, study the ingredients, alas an urgent frenzy takes over and not too long the whole box is devoured. Among my favourite brands are Cadburys Roses, and any liqueur filled morsels, and a definite lean towards imported treasures such as Ferro Roche from Belgium and I just can’t resist the Swiss Lindts individually wrapped varieties.
That’s just the beginning of what can be done with the seed of the Cacao tropical tree, a native of South America where it was first domesticated and highly prized by the Aztecs. It has been extensively cultivated in the old world since the Spanish conquest. The fruit is a pod containing a sweetish pulp in which are embedded rows of seeds, the harvested pods are fermented by naturally occurring bacteria and yeast to eliminate their bitter, astringent quality. The seeds are then cured and roasted, the clean kernels, called cocoa are manufactured into various products. Their large percentage of fat, removed by pressure, (trust me, it is non-fattening) this is called cocoa butter, used in soaps and cosmetics. Another interesting bit of history, Cocoa beans were used as currency in pre-Columbian civilizations, between 80-100 beans would buy you a new cloth mantle.
Now we have that all confirmed, lets move onto the next use of this product to die for. Cakes of all styles, chocolate Log, Black forest and shortcake, a large selection of biscuits, plain and cream filled. Chocolate icing always adds that final touch to sponges and cup cakes. Another of my favourites, (wish I was a good cook) Chocolate Éclairs, yum!
Moving through the chocolate ranks you must not forget the old favourites drinks like Cocoa and Drinking Chocolate, and the mouth watering Whiskey based home made Irish Cream Liquor, very smooth on the palate but with the kick of a mule if over indulged, the family recipe has been passed down to me.
Now that seems to cover a lot of ground, so lets all take a minutes silence and dream of our favourite combination, plus deciding which is the closest shop to make our hysterical dash . I think I have gathered a kilo or two just writing this short document on my favourite pastime. Now where did I put those Eclairs?
Word Count. 580.

Non-fiction. Army life, the way it was

Army Life, the way it was!
Compulsory Military Training or C.M.T as it was referred to back in 1953 was for all eighteen-year-old males who passed a medical examination.
My turn had arrived and I soon found myself lining up for my uniform at the Papakura Military Camp in New Zealand along with hundreds of others in the same age group, we were about to change our lives taking part in some vigorous physical training and discipline. Most of us came from country towns and were very quiet and a bit shy away from the comforts of family living and like me I still hadn’t learnt a lot about worldly things outside the small community I was brought up in,
As we were informed, this the 11th intake of C.M.T, we were to be doing four weeks of basic training at Papakura, then six weeks of selective training, maybe in other camps around the country. Our uniform was strictly army style, two sizes, too big or too small, somehow I must have been among the average and most of my kit fitted. It consisted of a heavy dress uniform, plus what was called a lemon squeezer hat which had to carefully moulded into four creases coming up to a peek, two sets of fatigue uniforms for training and a set of lighter dress clothes for bull ring marches and rifle drill, plus heavy boots that took ages to break in.
The camps had been set up for world war two training before the troops went to war so everything was still there, huts that held about forty soldiers in two sections with our Sergeant in charge residing in a private room in the middle. There was a stretcher bed and bedding, a small side cupboard, which was for our personal items. We were instructed on how our beds were to be made, extra mess duties if they weren’t done to perfection. Not a speck of dust or dirt was to be found on the floors, the windows shining, all army clothes folded a special way and neatly put in the cupboard, shoes and brass buttons polished.
There was a huge mess room for meals, a roster for duties making the meals, dishing them up and doing the dishes. The quality was very good, as most of us had been used to plain wholesome food. The latrines and showers were not what you would call very private, taking a shower with many others took a while to get used to and overcome shyness. Every day there were new rules to obey but our hut 11 boys soon became good friends and helped each other overcome this new way of living.
The early morning wakeup call, I think it was 5.30 or 6.00am, took a while to adjust to as our young bodies were very tired with aching muscles every day from hours of exercise and marching. After the morning oblussions and breakfast, the early rally in the bullring seem to go on forever as our Sergeant needed perfection or else we stayed till he got it. Learning to take abuse from a corporal shouting into your face certainly made me feel like giving him an uppercut to the jaw but as the weeks rolled by you learned to handle the abuse and try and perfect what was required.
Our 303 rifles proved to be very heavy after an hour or so of training but as we all became stronger, so did the rifles become lighter.
The month of basic training went very slow and our brains had a lot to remember as everything needed many hours of repetitive work and towards the end we were able to look back and pride ourselves in learning this entirely new way of life in such a short time.
One particular march of twenty miles in full kit proved a painful experience, developing blisters, I was soon limping along wondering how I was going to last the distance, finally I took my boots off and finished in bare feet, very pleased with myself after noticing many stronger soldiers were giving up.
In that month I was able to go home twice to see my family, the other weekends I was on kitchen duty but were able to go into the Papakura town in the evenings, but hotels were strictly out of bounds as the age limit was still 21 years, of course our uniforms gave us away and we were refused entry.
The passing out parade was colourful and I can recall our hut 11 were awarded some merit for being well run and tidy, not that it meant a lot, an extra few shillings in our pay packet would have been nice.
Now was the time to tell us all where we were going for the next six weeks of selective training, somehow I was put into Army Service Core or A.S.C at it was referred to, this meant I was to become a driver of a huge G.M.C. truck and other smaller ones, I only had to move to hut 12 next door, not sent south where as winter was approaching it would be bitterly cold on manoeuvres and root marches.
After settling in, making new friends, I found life was a little easier, the sergeants and corporals who blasted us for a month actually became human and started teaching us in more detail the finer points of warfare training.
One morning several of our names were called and we were to report to the transport department for training in driving, we were each aloud to drive a smaller truck around the yard and told where different working parts were, after an hour were told to gather at a certain point to go for our licence, “what!” I thought, “I can’t drive that truck!” Somehow we started off down the road with the first soldier to be tested, lot’s of kangaroo jumping and grating of gears, I think we were more scared on the back of the lorry than the driver. My turn finally arrived, tough on me as we were approaching the town, more traffic and confusing signs, just my luck I was close to a round-about, I had never seen one before I came to town, my instructor told me to turn right at the round-about, I did! , Around the right side of it, I thought he was having a heart attack, he screamed at me to stop and reverse, then I was told to get out of the drivers seat. Back at the camp we were told to assemble and wait for results, they were duly read out and to my amazement my name was called as passing my test, the instructor saw the surprised look on my face and quickly made the remark, “ Yes Fitzthum, I don’t want to risk my life again with you”. Now that’s how I got my heavy trade licence. The instructor did tell me later that he thought my reversing was very good?
One weekend some of us on day leave only put together money and allotted one
person to catch a bus to Henderson, a town on the other side of Auckland city, go to a winery and purchase eight ½ gallon jars of sherry and bring them back for a party that night, he arrived next afternoon with only four jars, he looked terrible and was suffering from a huge hangover, it had been a hard job covering up for him so he wasn’t booked for being Awol.The remainder of the sherry was very good but made most of us sick, just as well we never had the lot.
Now six weeks had passed quite fast, I was actually enjoying this new life and quite proud that I had built up some muscle, made lots of friends, learned much about the army trucks, rifles, (never call them guns) discipline and knowing how to react to orders. All this made me a much more mature person, bringing out some hidden qualities I never new I had
Our passing out parade was a huge family gathering, I felt very proud and pleased that my parents had made the journey and I watched them, knowing they were very proud of their quiet boy who had finally became a man, the lecture on the way home was all about staying on the straight and narrow and how to treat ladies, etc.
I was put on the reserve list for the army. which meant three weekend training a year and a three-week camp once a year for three years. After the first year we were aloud to apply for discharge, I did enjoy these training sessions, especially the camp but it was time to get serious about my future and start to save some money so I could fulfil a dream of owning my own little business so I applied for and received my discharge from C.M.T but stayed on the reserve list for a further ten years, Luckily I was never called up for military service overseas but was prepared to accept it if called.
I think this compulsory training was sadly stopped at the 23rd intake; it was a valuable part of my maturing and certainly would help other generations to do the same.

Fiction. Boyhood dreams

Boyhood Dramas
James and John were next-door neighbours, only children of business parents. This meant they were left alone for many hours and had to entertain themselves while their folks worked long hours.
Having known each other most of their young lives, plus there were no other twelve year old children to play with, the two boys
Spent many hours together with their computer games, ipod music and many other gadgets their parents had bought them to make up for the minimum time they could spend with them,
It was a Wednesday morning of the first week of school holidays; James arrived at John’s house.
“John, are you out of bed yet?”
“Sure” says John. “I’m just feeding the cat and dog, come in”
“What about we bike over to the dam, we can take our fishing rods and togs with us”
“Sounds like a good idea, gets lonely around the house, I’m sick of computer games”
“I’ll go home and put some food in my backpack, see you in half an hour”
The boys cycled off through the track in the bush and twenty minutes later were enjoying a rest in the shade of a huge Casuarinas tree on the banks of the dam.
“We had better get fishing before this bait goes rotten”
The lines were baited and cast into their favourite spot but so far the fish were not interested. It was a good time to discuss their many gadgets and computer games, also the new blonde chick who had just started in their school before term break. Each boy argued that Mary-Lou had given them the glad eye; maybe she will become their friend. It was a warm day and both boys were bored, as there were no bights, they soon fell asleep.

“Lets have a swim, I’m sweating and there’s no fish”

‘Okay James, I’m first in”
“You’re a cheat, you have your togs on under your clothes”
“Smart Eh! Come on, I’ll race you to the old log”
Old Charlie, who lived in a shack beside the dam came running to the shore full of excitement, waving his arms and jumping up and down.
“ Boys, come here quick, there is something very strange just around the corner among the trees”.
James and John had known the old man all their life and he had taught them to fish, showing them his own special spots where the big ones were.
“What’s up, Charlie, you look like you’ve seen a ghost”
“Just follow me very quietly, we don’t want to disturb him”
“What are you talking about?”
“Come quick”
As they rounded the corner, there in a clearing was the strangest of objects, it was about the size of mini bus, round very shiny silver and stood about two mitres off the ground on three sturdy legs.
“Wow” Said James. “ I’ve always dreamed of seeing a real space ship”
“Just be careful, it may be those smart Jones brothers with one of their silly pranks”
An opening appeared on the side of the craft a ladder slowly made it’s way to the ground, then a man in strange clothes started down the steps. The boys backed off a bit but old Charlie stood his ground, he also thought it was someone trying to frighten them.
The stranger stood tall and erect, brushing off his silver suit he stared at the three, and then he smiled.
“Don’t be scared, I have come in peace, my name is Amos and I have travelled through time from a far away Galaxy. There are three more just like me inside our craft, we would like to speak to you about your planet and want to learn some more about how it operates”
The three other men appeared and joined their leader; they were identical in looks and dress.
James was the first to speak, being full of curiosity; he was amazed that they looked like some of the warriors in a war game he had got for his birthday.
“Why do you all look the same”?
Amos introduced his travelling companions as his brothers.
“We have the power to take on any image we want to and have done a lot of study on the inhabitants of your planet and decided we would look too different coming here in our own image. Also we have learned your language which is very simple for us”
“ What do you really look like?” John said, realising they were quite harmless.
All of a sudden a mist appeared and when it cleared there were four strange looking creatures in front of them. They had one large eye in the middle of a huge head which had scales on it and resembled a reptile, a small mouth and no ears, their orange bodies was very rounded and had four arms and two legs and a short curly tail.
The two boys and Charlie stood back and were starting to get scared at the horrible sight, another mist spread over them, when it cleared the four aliens were back looking like humans again.
“How do you manage to change your looks like that?” said James.
Amos replied.
“Our planet is millions of light years ahead of you. Our bodies never die we can create what you humans call magic to just about anything you could think of”.
James thought, we could rule the earth in a matter of minutes.
Amos could read his mind, but decided to let him dream a little longer.
“I have some questions to ask you”
“Anything that you like, we think you are really neat, especially when you take on a human look”
“We are interested in how the larger countries of earth have rulers that are always causing unrest among their people, interfering in other countries affairs and sending soldiers to sort out their problems and usually make things worse”
Old Charlie thought he should try and answer the questions as the boys were still young and would not know much about these affairs.
“The world of ours has been fighting for centuries, mostly over greed and fame, some countries fight about religion, others about what wealth they can get from each other”
Although James and John didn’t know a lot about the politics of the world, John did remember hearing his parents talking about it with friends. He said
“There are many horrible things happening to people, us kids are worried about what will happen to us when we grow up”
Amos and his friends talked among themselves for a while, and then spoke about how their planet works.
“We don’t understand why your world should fight as ours are all born equal, we don’t need anything more as we already have it”
Old Charlie answered many more questions, and then asked them why they decided to come and visit us.
“Because we have learned about all these horrible things that happen here in our history and have been sent here for answers, now I think we have a lot of them and we can go home and try and make our brothers understand, I’m sorry but we have a better life than you”
James asked Amos.
“How can you speak our language, do you know what is going to happen to us?”
“Our people speak every language in the universe, we also know what will happen to you but our laws wont allow us to tell anyone”
Old Charlie had another question
“Are you staying here for a while, maybe we can answer any more questions you need to know”
“We have made many landings on your planet over the last few weeks and will be quite happy to go home now to our lovely life, it has been very nice talking to you all, now it is time to go, thank you for being our friends, goodbye”
The aliens were soon back in their craft, pulled up the steps and closed the door, with a very quiet whirling noise they lifted of and were soon just a speck in the sky.
Old Charlie spoke first.
“I think we should keep this our secret, no one will believe us and they will say we are mad.
“Wake up you two, I’m sure you have each caught a fish “
James said.
“What happened, are we alone here”?
Old Charles looked at him and thought he was still dreaming.
John said.
“Yeh, what happened, where are those strange men?”
The boys discussed the dreams with Charlie who was amazed they had the same dream, in every detail.
“How can we have the same dream?”
“Maybe you were both dreaming of a certain young girl, I think one of you called out Mary-Lou”
“That’s weird, I’m sure I wont be telling anyone, will you keep this our secret, Charlie”.
Sure will, come with me now, I’ve got something to show you both. Around the next corner there was a clearing like someone had flattened it with a heavy roller. The two boys stared in amazement; James went over to take a closer look. He saw something shining and picked it up.
“What a neat looking button, it has some strange markings on it

Word Count. 1539

Non-fiction. Coffee & Bun

Coffee & Bun
During the time I spent in college I became familiar with a little old lady dressed entirely in black, even down to black wool stockings she wore summer and winter. A black hat perched on the top of her neatly gathered grey hair, styled into a bun at the back of her head. She carried a large black bag, the handles so long the bag nearly touched the ground.
I travelled to school by train from the country to the city every morning, this conspicuous figure would be waiting on the platform as my 8.30 am. train pulled into the station.
Her deep blue eyes were always swollen and red, probably from hours of crying, a quiver of emotion showed in the corners of her mouth. Stretching as much as her petite little body would allow she peered into each carriage as it slowly passed, her eager eyes darting back and forth examining every window.
Every time I saw her I seem to have an emotional and sorrowful reaction, which lasted for ages, I wondered why this lonely lady met the train each morning.
Starting to ask around people in shops, acquaintances on the streets and school friends there were many different answers to my questions. I did discover from the lady in the snack bar at the station that she arrived every morning at 8 am. and ordered a big railway cup of coffee and a currant bun, as soon as she heard the whistle of the train approaching she would jump up and hurry straight to the platform.
Sometimes as I walked the streets during lunchtime I would see her go by slowly , some people were very cruel to her, crying out abuse like “ what a silly old woman you are”, and “ what’s with the black stockings?” or “ here comes coffee and bun”
This really made me angry and there were times when I spoke out to defend this dear old lady but only got a mouthful of abuse and told, “ Why don’t you go and join her”
As the years went by, I had left college and working in a small town. While visiting my grandparents in the city I happened to glance through the local newspaper, an article caught my eye. “ Coffee and Bun found dead, curled up on a park bench” immediately I had a flash back to my college days, I eagerly read the article.
Apparently her fiancé was killed in action during the Second World War, they had been planning to marry as soon as the war was over, sadly the reaction of hearing about his death was such a shock she just never recovered and would not believe that he had been killed, that’s why every day she went to the station expecting him to hop off the train.
In my eyes and the way she dressed I always thought she was an old woman but her age was stated as 45. She lived with her widowed mother but spent most of her days roaming the streets thinking maybe she had missed him at the station.
She seemed to be a legend around the city, not many people hadn’t heard of “Coffee and Bun” but no one ever new what her real name was, a friend once told me she was completely deaf which was a comfort knowing she never heard any of the abusive things people would say to her. In conclusion of this sad story my thoughts would be that she died of a broken heart.

Word Count 598

Poetry. Akuna

Akuna.
Many months I have been waiting
A Sea Plane thrill for the taking
All four of us Tourist Volunteers
Are to have an experience to remember for many years
With the Akuna Company and their popular tours
Our day had arrived and excitement lures

One more slight hitch for our morning start
It was delayed to afternoon for us to depart
A brilliant day with storms predicted
We assembled near the plane, it’s size looked restricted
Climbing up the floats was quite a fete
Our friendly pilot’s persuasion, his humour was great

All strapped in, nerves a bit rife
Security checks done, motor bursts into life
Soon the seaplane taxied down the runway
Then a final blast, as it joined the airway
The motor gave a shudder as it banked towards the sea
Deep Blue Ocean, frothy white waves, so gentle and carefree

Many stately resorts framed by golden sands
It was a new experience to view something so grand
The coastal road snaked in and out, as far as the eyes could reach
Tourists as big as ants were relaxing on the beach
A sharp turn inland, Mount Coolum was there
In all it’s majestic charm for all of us to share

Now way in the distance, black clouds were rolling in
The sun was gone now, rain about to begin
It was getting darker; thunder roared, lightening could be seen
Now the patchwork of the sugarcane fields, a shade of emerald green
Some pockets of bush, small farms dot the land
Close to the coast with a rural stand

Rain was falling heavily in the hinterland
Our little plane banked towards the river and bushland
Angry dark clouds were closer now, with some very bright flashes
Our pilot, calm and unconcerned, for us afraid of clashes
A huge relief was overcome now the runway was in sight
Another clap of thunder and the sky was all-alight

The seaplane taxied to its hanger, rain steady now
Steamy heat from the tarmac brings sweat to the brow
A wonderful experience over and hopefully soon
Maroochy River will have the Sea Planes pontoon
Many thanks to the staff of Akuna Sea Plane
For the privilege to explore, and pleasant memories remain

Non-fiction. My Memories of Waitoa's Past Years

MY MEMORIES OF WAITOA’S PAST YEARS.

By JIM FITZTHUM.

My family arrived to Waitoa from the northern town of Waiwera in 1940 , we had spent two year on a farm at Tauhei near Morrinsville first before father managed a job in the Waitoa factory. There was Father, Mother my brother Maurice and myself Jim. Father bought a small cottage in Farmer Road which had only the basic home comforts. Just a coal range for cooking and heating, no hot water, no flush toilet. Bath night meant heating the copper in the outside wash-house and bringing the hot water inside to the bath by bucket, the clothes washing was also done in the copper and the usual washing-board to clean the clothes. Our toilet was a small corrugated affair tucked in behind the wash-house, just a four gallon tin which had to be emptied often, a hole was dug and carefully staked out across the vegetable garden , this was one of my allocated jobs for many years. There was only tank water and had to be spared over the hot, dry summers of the 40’s-50’s.

My sister Nancy was born soon after we moved there in 1940 and my second sister Noeline was born in 1946. My schooling started first in the Waitoa school for six months and then as a seven year old started at the Te Aroha Catholic school where we all went to , there was a free bus run by the church to pick us up each day which was a great service for those days

Waitoa was just starting to grow to a lively little township , the Dairy Factory being the centre of why people came here, was an old corrugated iron building , I can recall the milk powder dryers creating a lot of heat and was quite frightening as a young kid to sneak in and explore , usually someone dared you to do. The butter factory connected to the main factory burnt down and was rebuilt around the mid-fifties, I can remember the extreme heat and spectacular display of flames and explosions from tins of milk powder store close by. Slowly the old factory disappeared as new concrete sections were built and modernised, there always seem to be a new addition being built.

The little township consisted of the essential shops. There was Wallace supplies grocery store managed by the Mc Carthy family, G.E. Clarke farm and produce , a Post office and exchange, ( the old number please style) I can still remember our number was 51S. Two Butcher shops supplied meat for the town and surrounding farming area, two garages and petrol stations . The railway station was a very busy place with trains passing through to Te Aroha/Thames. Farmers Trading had a department store near the factory and was always popular with locals able to buy their clothing and household goods on hire purchase. Campbell’s Store arrived around 1950, this was the first time we could buy an ice cream and milk shake, also get fresh bread on a Saturday morning, I used to work for Fred Campbell in the shop on Saturdays, it was a very busy store, bread 7 1/2d a loaf and milk 4d a pint, we had to weigh the biscuits , sugar and flour. I think it was about 1944 that I started the first paper delivery for the New Zealand Herald, just a ten year old and I had to control a grocery bike with a small front wheel and huge cane basket, full of papers it was top heavy and quite often in the dark hours I would collide with a big rock and get tossed over the handle bars, papers flying everywhere. A very welcome morning treat in the winter was calling on the Taylor family in their small transit hut they were allotted till a factory house came available, Mrs. Taylor would greet me with a mug of hot cocoa and a round wine biscuit, kindness one never forgets.

During the fifties saw a big progress with the dairy factory and larger concrete buildings began to appear along with probably fifty plus very comfortable houses for the staff, there was a huge wooden hostel that housed the single workers, this of course made the little township prosper, the building project seemed to go on for many years until today it would be one of the top largest Dairy Factories around the world, very modern and automated which sadly the work force was to suffer and the town loosing all it’s housing and shops.

At the end of Farmer road was Wallace’s Boiling Down Works which took care of all the dead cattle from the district and turned them into fertiliser etc., this gave the area around us a nasty smell if the wind was blowing in the wrong direction, the Works are still going but of course up to health standard now.

The local Hall in Farmer Rd. was always the centre point of our small community, I can remember some of the farewells for local armed forces leaving for the second world war and the return welcome home for the lucky ones after the war, living just three houses from the hall, mother and father would take us to these gatherings and a lot of us kids would search the drains on either side of the road for empty beer bottles, this gave us some well needed pocket money, 1d per bottle. There was also a monthly movie night at the hall, we were allowed to go sometimes, I can remember the breakdowns , usually partway through an interesting part, plus seeing the overseas news on screen was a novelty. In the early fifties with indoor basketball becoming popular Waitoa was able to muster together quite a few teams, we played twice a week in the hall and were soon travelling to other centres for competition matches, this was very enjoyable, also there was the social side with dances quite often. Some of the fellow players names I can recall are Oz. Cooper, Paddy Curtin, Des Cooper, Marge Cooper, Joe Marsden, Elaine and Ivy Phillips, The Oates brothers, Colin Martin, Kath Webster, Betty Dunkley, Ted Mc Carthy and many more.

My older brother Maurice left Waitoa to do a cabinet makers apprentership in Hamilton early 1950 and this left me with added chores like going to the factory each night to collect our billy of milk, in the days of trucks arriving with cans of milk picked up from the farms and the milk being tipped into large holding vats, I had to wait till the staff who tipped the milk found a good grade of milk and then filled our billy, this was left to settle on the bench at home till the cream could be scooped off and made into butter, maybe on a special Sunday I was sent to the cream factory for a jar-full for steam pudding or apple pie. I think the milk was free but the cream would cost us about 1 shilling. There was also the lawns to be cut with a hand mower. During the summer months the male kids of factory workers were allowed to use the factory staff showers when we were short of tank water, this was a real luxury, not having had showers before and we used to stay in them much longer than needed. The deep drains along Farmer Road got piped and filled in around the 1970’s and done away with all those horrible bridges to the houses.

There were not very many boys and girls around my age in the neighbourhood , we amused ourselves in Spring/Summer by bird nesting, hut making and swimming in the Waitoa River along with lots of fat eels which fed from the waist pipes from the factory. Some of the locals that used to hang out together were Roy and Alan Oates, Graham Murray, Merle Forbes, the Workman sisters, Colin Martin, sometimes I was allowed to join elder brothers friends fishing or swimming, I felt important on these occasions.

After my primary School education I was able to follow my brother to Hamilton Technical College in Hamilton, this meant a train trip that started at 7.30 am and got to Hamilton sometime after 9am if you were lucky and how much shunting the train did along the way, This was free travel until what was going to be my third year there and father told me I had to leave as he couldn’t afford to pay the 16 shillings fare that was about to start per term, I was very angry with him for having to stop my education and it wasn’t till many years after he died that I discovered just how much money he earned to support a family and pay off a house. Father had already found me a job at Magills Draper store in Te Aroha, a job that I found not very exciting, I moved on to a similar shop called Hetheringtons where I stayed a further eight years before moving to Te Awamutu dairy Factory to earned some better money.

Father died in 1957 , my youngest sister was still at school made a lot of hardship for mother as it took nearly twelve months before she was paid out the small superanuation which was put to good use updating the home with building on a wash-house, flush toilet, hot water system which made life a lot easier, mother had an electric stove a few years earlier so all was more comfortable now and I was able to leave home for greener pastures.

Our Farmer Road made up our futures with Nancy marrying Mick Hill who lived next to the hall, I got engaged to his sister Tup but we called it off, I finally married Bernice Baine from Te Aroha, sister Noeline became friendly with Kevin Campbell next door, ( the son of Fred Campbell who had the local Dairy ) I can remember the well worn pathway between the two houses, they married and now live in Paeroa. Brother Maurice had moved to Napier where he married a local and started his boat building and fishing trawlers.

The family home in Farmer road sure had a lot of hardships but was always filled with love and warmth, some of the “ take it for granted things of today” were an education to me, for example switching the electric light switch on and off amazed me , having never had electricity at the old homestead in Waiwera, travelling by bus and train was another novelty, the many trips to the big selection of beaches reasonably close by and in later years our family holidays to Mt. Manganui towards the end of summer when the factory workload tapered off, somehow father managed to buy some decent cars after the war which gave his family the pleasures that we had missed out earlier.

Our home had a ¼ acre of section , rich peat soil which always produced a wonderful variety of vegetables and fruit and mother prided herself with a brilliant flower garden, father somehow always managed to plant a few long rows of potatoes on a dairy farm and harvesting was quite a family chore, digging , drying off and bagging many sacks full to keep us over the long winters. In those early days there were weeks of very hard frosts which didn’t thaw out for days after, now of course the pattern has changed in our weather, thank goodness the old coal range was kept along with the electric stove, this always made our house a home.

Our dear mother lived in her little home for a total of over 57 years and was not very mobile for the latter few years having arthritis in both legs and hands, she managed with family help until she had a bad fall in the garden and broke her pelvis and had her first taste of hospital except for having her children, much to our relief she decided herself to become a resident of Kenwyn retirement home in Te Aroha and enjoyed a couple more years under the special care of the most caring staff anyone would wish for. All of her children were able to spend a whole month with her before she passed away, I think she was trying to unite us closer and I’m sure this has worked even though we all live long distances, ( my brother and sister Nancy live in Australia ) we are a very close family thanks to a very good teacher in mother but unfortunately father was called far too early and had to miss out on seeing the next generation grow up. To our delight an old family friend Neil Foster from Morrinsville bought mothers home and renovated it to the standard that would make any of us proud to call home, he rents it now to some folk that treat it in the way it deserves to be treated.

A summary of looking at Waitoa today , sadly I can pass through my old home town with not even seeing a familiar face , the same goes with the many young families who lived in the factory houses and enjoyed the pleasant standard of living to raise their offspring, the houses have all gone to other towns hopefully to repeat the purpose they were put there for, also looking at some of the older homes in Farmer Road and recalling the many close family friends and neighbours who have either passed on or moved to other places. Now there is just one store left there which used to be the very busy Wallace Supplies, no Post Office, not even a Railway Station anymore , the train whistles and shaky ground from the peat base are still with me though and the memories of those many concerts in the Waitoa Hall put together by local singers and bands along with short plays and story tellers.

Hopefully my few words of memory will help others to appreciate a happy upbringing in a small country town that only our thoughts can keep it alive now, I have gathered a few cherished photos of the past so as to remind you what was ours to enjoy, add your own to these so they can be passed on to future generations, I know that little WAITOA should be thought about in bold letters.

CHEERS

JIM FITZTHUM

Non-Fiction. The Victorian Dunny

The Victorian Dunny
As a child one of my allotted jobs was to take care of the families outhouse loo. We lived in a small country town, no town supply water, only rainwater tanks, no flush toilets, and no hot water. The weekly bath night started with heating up an old copper in the washhouse, carrying the water inside to the bath in a four-gallon tin.
Now hidden behind the washhouse was a cute corrugated iron Dunny that housed a wide plank with a hole in the middle, underneath a four Gallon tin with a wire handle, (Reject from the local dairy factory where father worked)
Our lush vegetable garden was systematically laid out in sections, a spare part of which was put aside for the burying of the so called tinny.
Firstly my job started with digging a hole under strict instructions for a certain depth and width, next was the tricky part, being only a pint size kid I needed to stand on the loo seat and heave with all my strength the four gallon wonder, then struggle out to the designated area, empty the contents in the hole and replace the tin in it’s rightful place. Most important the stake needed to be moved onto a fresh position for when the chore needed to be repeated. probably 2-3 times a week, rain hail of sun.
On a lighter note, once upon a time our very large cousin was visiting, soon after I had completed my disposing of chore, she made smart remarks about some of my duties I had to do. Being about a quarter of her size, a payback had to be from my brain, not my brawn. Somehow I charmed her into the garden and slowly edged our way over to the freshly raked soil, result being cousy was soon up to her knees in the proverbial. Screams and cries soon brought our parents running to the scene of the crime.
Being a gentleman I wont describe the sight, what a shame about her pretty new dress and lovely lace petticoat. The painful wacks across the beam with fathers leather razor strap was worth it.
As the years rolled by, town water and flush toilets were the in thing, I never had the opportunity to pass on this dreadful chore to the next generation.
In Conclusion…
Fathers vegetable garden was a high producer of quality produce for many years, as for me every time I see a four-gallon tin I have terrible flashbacks

Word Count. 420