The Autobiography of My Father

by Martin Edmond

  Would that be home brew or a commercial …?

  No, it was commercial. Sold at a profit. They got it up somehow by themselves and sold it. Everybody did it.

  But you used to go to the Club?

  Yes, there were two clubs, there was the Pioneer … there were three clubs, there was the Pioneer Club which was down in town, the RSA Club and the Sunbeam Club which was at the Junction.

  How did those places get around the licensing?

  They were, they were private clubs. Had a licence to sell.

  So you could still get a drink?

  That’s right. When I left Wellington all my friends said, oh, you’re going to a dry area, what the hell’s the point of that? Completely wrong. It was nowhere near being dry. And there were three clubs. There’s only one now, they’ve combined, they’ve got a new building. But it certainly wasn’t a dry area. The other way was, you could always get stuff delivered from Taihape through the Farmers’ Co-op. Buy booze. Get it delivered to you, through the Farmers’. In town.

  What about the Christmas when the Taihape police raided the town …?

  [LAUGHS] Confiscated all the beer? I got a ring on the phone saying: Come down and help drink it! It’s all at the police station. I didn’t go. The local cops were in on everything. When they wanted to go on holiday, they’d go round the droppers and say: I want some money. For my holiday. That was their … payment for not being prosecuted. ’Cos they were quite illegal.

  Sounds like a bit of a frontier town.

  Oh, it was. Very much so. Even more so than the West Coast, I think. It was right on the frontier. The King Country would have been perhaps the least developed, when I went there, of any place in New Zealand.

  And were there still old bushmen?

  You could always recognise them in the Club, they’d have a couple of fingers missing. You seen them? Oh, you know, through their work, they lost fingers. Very common in the Pioneer Club to see these guys with perhaps two or three fingers missing. Where they’d had an accident.

  Your thesis?

  On Ohakune. Have you read it? Well, when I was teaching I got to Grade 4 in secondary teaching. There were five grades, I got to Grade 4 and the inspectors came and told me although I was a good teacher I wouldn’t get into Grade 5 unless I did my thesis. Had a BA. I’d passed the papers for MA but I hadn’t done my thesis. So I thought, oh well, the only thing I knew much about was Ohakune so I thought I’d do a study of Ohakune. But I was lucky that Dr Somerset … you probably haven’t heard of Somerset, have you? He’s written a very good town survey of a place called Littledene in the South Island and he happened to be lecturer at Victoria and he agreed to supervise my thesis – on the lines of what he had done himself in Littledene. And I wrote … I used to write a chapter and post it down to him and he’d post it back with comments and corrections and things. And I did a lot of local interviewing – of local people who knew the history of the place and the background, what had happened, how the town had developed or not developed, the coming of the railway, the passing of the old ox wagons … it was interesting stuff. And I interviewed all kinds of people. Somerset was very good, he used to post back almost straight away with comments, suggest changes and corrections and things like that. All done by post. I had one interview with him. I finally finished it when I got the job in Greytown. I finished it those holidays. And … [COUGHS] Pat Lawn typed it for me. But it was poor copy, very poor copy; I had to get it re-done. Remember Angus Fleming? His wife was a typist, so I paid her to do it again. She did, she did it very well. And … it had to be in by the first of … first of March. I had it bound and done by a firm here and got it in. And I got quite a good mark for it, not as good as I’d hoped, but a good enough mark. Second-class honours. I wasn’t game to send a copy back to Ohakune for quite a long time.

  What was the response when you did?

  Not good. Well, you know, I was critical … there were things wrong with Ohakune and its people and … you have to tell the truth in these matters if you can. I subsequently have sent it to quite a few people in Ohakune, not, not straight after.

  Who did you send it to?

  Oh, my friend Grace Garrity. She was Grace Read, she was a pupil of mine. And one or two others, Ben Winchcombe.

  He was the town clerk.

  Yeah. He’s got terribly religious. Retired to the country, had a small farm, got very, very religious. He came to see us in Wellington, oh, a few years ago. He was full of God and heaven and salvation and … but I didn’t show many others.

  What about the building of the Mountain Road? Now that was an epic in the history of Ohakune. Were you involved in that?

  Yeah, I was. Yes. I was on the committee. I did some work, mostly shovel work. We started from scratch. Old Max Gould … remember the name Gould? The baker? Well, it was his vision and it paid off and it’s a different place now from what it was.

  It was almost as if the town was going to die and everyone had to dig … dig its way out.

  That’s right. Well, we had a committee and the local people rallied around, they brought bulldozers and trucks and things like that. We used to have volunteer gangs working on the road, digging, and then the machinery coming in after us. And you know, it’s paid off, Ohakune’s a different place but it’s only because of that Mountain Road. It’s been a terrible struggle at the start because we couldn’t get any help from anybody. The government wouldn’t help, the Ministry of Works wouldn’t help, nobody would help. It was just a harebrained idea. But while I was there we took it a mile and a half. And finally after I left the Ministry of Works took it over. And it became a fact. And it’s been … well, it’s just made the town. Completely.

  ’Cos that’s the access to the Whakapapa ski fields.

  No, not Whakapapa, that’s the other side. Turoa. And it certainly has. Have you seen Ohakune recently? Well, it’s amazing. The change. And old Max Gould, people laughed at him but there’s no doubt it worked. And it’s been a tremendous success. It’s a beautiful … you’ve been up there, have you?

  I have been up there.

  That time you lost your money?

  No, I went up with Barry and Ruth. It was a very wet, misty day. We couldn’t see a lot. [PAUSE] What about the time the circus came and the elephant died?

  [LAUGHS] It ate tutu. It ate tutu and died. They had to bury it, they had to get a bulldozer to bury it with. Tremendous sensation.

  It’s still there. That’s just at the bottom of the Mountain Road.

  That’s right. By the river there. Well, apparently tutu’s only poisonous at certain times of the year. But he ate it at a bad time of the year. We had a tremendous ceremony and buried it in the hole. Yeah.

  Which circus was it?

  I think it was Wirth’s.

  I remember the grave, this huge mound of earth with a few tiny flowers on top.

  That’s right. Yeah. The other interesting thing about Ohakune was the fact that, despite all the drawbacks … do you remember the Art Service? Well, when we were there, there was an Adult Education Art Service. It toured actors, ballet dancers, opera singers, on a cheap basis – you billeted them. And we had a lot of … I was the Secretary of it. And we had all sorts of very good shows that came, and people went to them. Even to things like opera and ballet. It was a very big thing in the life of the community. And people used to say, well, what would you do in Ohakune? But we did these things. And we produced plays. Two. Three. And there were interesting things, despite the fact that it was a raw town. And it was a raw town. It was good.

  Do you recall anything about the Tangiwai disaster?

  Oh, hell, yes. I was a reporter for the Wanganui Chronicle. You remember Bruce Tabb? Well, he was coming to stay with us. He was coming on the train. It was Christmas Eve. And I was to meet him at about … I don’t know, one o’clock or something. And I got a ring on the phone, the Wanganui Chronicle saying there’s been a … no, that’s not right. I went to the station to meet Bruce. That’s right. And
a bloke said, look, there’s been a disaster somewhere down the line. I can’t talk to you, we’re too busy. Went back home and the Chronicle rang and said would I go out and cover it. [PAUSE] And I … that must have been about four in the morning. And I was still trying to get hold of Bruce.

  He was coming from Auckland?

  Yeah, from Auckland.

  So he wouldn’t have been on that train. It was the Wellington-Auckland train that …

  That’s right. Anyway finally he arrived and I took him … I didn’t get any sleep that night. The doctor rang, Doctor Jordan, and said could I take him out there. He didn’t have his own car. He’d gone out to the crash, he’d crossed the bridge, the road bridge, and it had been swept away. His car was on one side and he was on the other. He got a ride back, through National Park back home. Could I take him out again? To the scene of the disaster. Which I did. And did a report on it. Terrible disaster. It really was.

  What do you remember?

  This tremendous swirl of water rushing down. The bridge had gone. And people desperately trying to find out if their own folk had gone. A hundred and eighty-six?

  A hundred and fifty-three, I think.

  Was it?

  Did you know any of the victims?

  Yes. You remember the Kennedys? Well, the others can’t remember the girls. It was Clare? I’m not sure of her name, she was …

  Gay?

  No, not Gay. There were three girls. Three girls. But she was in the sixth carriage. It was the carriage they were trying to save … do you remember the Reynolds? Down the road? Well, Barry Reynolds, he was on the train, he was in the front carriage. And the front one landed on the other side. The engine and the front carriage crossed. Before the bridge went. And the last ones stayed on the other side. He was in the front carriage. He was in Taihape and he was coming home for Christmas and of course all the empty seats were in the front carriage and he got on there. So he was all right. I saw him the next morning. He was OK.

  That must have been a strange Christmas.

  Very difficult. [PAUSE] That’s when you made your famous remark. The Duke of Edinburgh was out in New Zealand. Do you remember that …?

  Well‚ I know there’s always a disaster when the Queen’s in New Zealand.

  Well, he was here too. He was here too. They were broadcasting and you said: ‘Dat Duke!’ [LAUGHS] Dat Duke!

  In your researches did you find out how the Chinese came to be in Ohakune?

  Yeah, well, it was the market gardening. Sue Joe and … Lin Joe? Ken Lin, was it? The one you played football against. His father, Lin Joe, and the others, they came for the market gardening, it was an ideal place to catch the crops before Pukekohe came in … after Pukekohe came into production we followed on. That was the attraction. Most of them went to Pukekohe in the end themselves. But they used to rent land off farmers with the proviso they put it back in pasture when they finished. And they’d use it for two or three years and put it back in pasture and hand it back … they didn’t own much land. Well, Sue Joe’s changed, they began to own their own land. But the general pattern when I came was that they rented land for two or three years then put it back in grass and handed it back and went somewhere else. Get the benefit of fresh ground all the time.

  I had an idea they might have gone there to help build the railway.

  I wouldn’t have thought so. They mostly married Maori ladies.

  Of course, the pa was in Burns Street, wasn’t it?

  It’s still there.

  Did you have much to do with those people?

  Not a lot. Taught the kids. And ah … they used to pick puha in my back garden.

  Mrs Aubrey used to come and get the puha.

  Yes.

  What were some names from that pa?

  Akapita. I think Riki Akapita’s still at the pa. Mareikura.

  The Wahos?

  No, they were Karioi. And the Wilsons. Remember them? I taught them.

  The Rawiris?

  Raetihi. Hawireas. In Raetihi.

  Tell me about the time you went to Jerusalem.

  [LONG PAUSE] On the river? I never went there.

  I thought there was a time you met Jim Baxter at Jerusalem.

  Oh, I’m sorry, yes, I did, yeah, I’m sorry, yeah. [PAUSE] Lauris and I went to – for the weekend we went to Wanganui and when we came back again, we took the River Road, we drove up the River Road …

  About what time is this? Which year?

  In the sixties. Went for a drive up the river; it was the old road, beside the river. Right up, as far as you could go. As far as the road went. And … we stopped at Jerusalem and I went for a walk. And they had this old church; it was one of the original churches in New Zealand and I wanted to see it so I went up and I was standing outside and there were two people there. Coming out, actually. One had a big beard and they were both pretty roughly dressed, in boots, and I just said, ‘Can I go in?’ And this voice said, ‘The church belongs to God.’ And I didn’t know at the time but I realised after, it was Baxter. He had someone with him. He looked after drug addicts. This was one of them. I went into the church and sat down for a moment. But I didn’t realise until after, it was him. I was most impressed … have you ever seen him? Impressive bugger, wasn’t he? I thought he was. We had a big fight on the way there.

  You and Lauris?

  Mmmnnn.

  We were talking before, off the tape … this is going back to your mother and father and you told me their birthdays and ages and I just wonder if you could repeat it.

  Well, my mother was twenty-eight when she married and my father was twenty-four. And he died . . I think he was sixty-seven. She was over seventy.

  What years were those?

  Do you know, I can’t remember.

  I have a feeling he died in 1959.

  He died while I was in Ohakune. Yeah, you’re probably right. I went up to the funeral.

  And she died …?

  About four years later.

  We were in Greytown?

  Yes, I was in Greytown, yeah. Yeah. About ’63 or something like that. Yes, we were down here, I flew … never forget that flight, I went from … the old SPANZ, remember SPANZ? They flew the provincial towns. They don’t exist any more. They used to come to the Wairarapa and fly from there. And I hadn’t been on a plane since the war. And Lauris … you were there too, you wouldn’t remember, saw me off. And … it took off and I got in a proper panic. I hadn’t been in a plane for about … oh, I don’t know, twenty years. And I started to panic. Never forget it. Flew via Napier to Hamilton. I got a hell of a fright. Just being off the ground and up in the air again. You know, it just seemed quite wrong. But I went, that’s when I went to her funeral, that’s right, about … it’d be about ’63. I’ll never forget that flight. I was absolutely in a panic for the first quarter of an hour. And I hadn’t worried before. But ah … yeah, well, she died and they’re both buried in Hamilton, in the lawn cemetery. But I don’t get much from going to graves. Do you?

  Visiting graves? Well, no.

  Lauris goes to Rachel’s grave quite frequently.

  When did Charlie and Ada move to Hamilton?

  After the war. Be about 1946. They were at Oriental Bay. There was a flat. Inverleith Flats, Oriental Bay. They’re still there. They had the top one. There were four flats. Four flights of stairs, uh, three flights of stairs, to the top flat, they lived there. Lauris and I lived there for a while. After we were married. Before we went to Salek Street.

  Did Lauris get on with Charlie and Ada?

  She got on very well with Charlie. And not much time for Ada. She liked Charlie. And he, he retired from his job with the Motor Trade and Todds got him this Hamilton agency. Which he took in partnership with Don.

  And that’s what became Don Edmond Motors?

  He was a half partner in it. That’s where his income came from after he retired. [COUGHS]

  Can you remember smoking your first cigarette?

  No. I remember sm
oking my first pipe.

  I had an idea Ada used to give you cigarettes.

  Oh, that’s right, she did. Quite right. When I was home swotting. University exams. She was … often used to offer me cigarettes. This was at Seatoun. When I was in the law office. And living at home and I had some time off to swot at home. She used to offer me the cigarettes, that’s quite right.

  So she was a smoker?

  Well, she was in a way, she didn’t actually use it much, she used to hang it out of her mouth. Just hang it out and leave it out. All the time.

  An unlit cigarette?

  No, lit. But not smoking it.

  And Charlie, I suppose, being a real old wowser …

  He smoked heavily for years. He gave up when the war broke out. He made a vow, he wouldn’t smoke any more. He smoked a thing called BDBs, I can still see them, sitting on the mantelpiece, packets of them. It’s a long time ago now. I don’t know what they stand for, they were called BDBs, there used to be a stack of them on the mantelpiece, above the fire. I don’t know, I was away when he stopped, but he said he always made a vow he wouldn’t smoke again until the war was over. And so he stopped. And he got fat. You know, he was a heavy smoker. He had a bad heart attack … I was still at school, I think. He was in a theatre in Whangarei. The pictures. He had a stroke. He was home in bed for about three months. Either in hospital or at home. I remember waiting on him hand and foot. But he dropped dead, he had two more. But wide apart. No, he wasn’t a drinker but he was a smoker.

  I remember you telling me once he had some secretary he was quite fond of.

  That was terrible. Miss Devon. Miss Devon? That name came to the surface. When he was secretary to the Motor Trade, he had an office in Courtenay Place and she was his private secretary. And he got very … I don’t know how serious it was but he got very keen about it. He used to bring her home and sit in front of the fire and … it was very tough on my mother. In the end the girl left work. Went somewhere else. She got embarrassed. I don’t think he did anything but he was certainly … well, he made a fool of himself really.