Evans, Mona Interview

Today is Thursday 27th July 2023. I’m Maxine Rose, and today I’m with Mona Evans of Hastings. Mona is ninety-six … ninety-seven next week … and she came to live in Hastings when she was sixteen. But she’s going to talk first about her early life growing up in Akitio, Dannevirke and Palmerston North. Mona, what year were you born, and where was that?

I was born in 1926, on 4th August in Dannevirke. As we lived out [on] the coast Mum had to come into town to have me. and we were still living in Akitio for about eight or nine years, I think.

Tell me about Akitio, what you can remember?

Oh, I loved living out there, it was quite a free world and there was a beach in front of the house where my brother and I used to play, where Mum could watch us from the house really. We used to have lovely times down there.

What did you do?

Oh, we fought, and did all sorts of things, and swam. There was a river just handy, and I couldn’t swim and he was chasing me; he was [a] bit of a bully, so I took off and I swam away from him. It was just so funny really, but he didn’t catch me so that was something.

You told me about catching fish though …

Oh yes. Coming home from school we used to walk along the beach front and the little waves would come up. And as we were walking along there was all these flounders, and if we were lucky and had a stainless steel knitting needle we would go collecting them and take them home for Mum, for tea. So it was quite interesting.

And the whitebait?

Oh that one. My brother and I were playing on the beach and there was a little stream down past the house, and we were just walking up the stream having a look; and I said, “What are those little fish?” I’d never seen them before. So my brother said, “Oh, I’ll go up and get a kerosene tin”, which they used to do, and put a handle on it in those days. We had no buckets like today. He went up and got this tin, and we filled it with whitebait, so you can just imagine, we took it up to Mum at the house – well she was rapt of course, you know, whitebait fritters! After that everyone was in, as you can imagine. But to buy whitebait today … you just look at it and think, ‘Oh that looks nice.’

Your mother cooked whitebait for your brother?

Oh yes, my younger brother; he would eat whitebait fritters only if Mum had cut off the heads and tails, because he said they were looking at him. [Chuckle] She always did that for him; he was younger.

There wouldn’t be much whitebait left …

Well … there was always plenty to go collect some more if we wanted some.

Talking about your brothers, tell me about your family?

I had four brothers when I was young, one older, then me, then my other brother who was very close to me. And then Mum had two late boys when I was about twenty.

What were the names of your family?

My elder brother was Alexander, then me and then Douglas … Doug; they both died ‘bout ten years ago. And then the two youngest – one lives here, Lindsay, and Christopher lives in Perth. He went over there about thirty years ago.

Now tell me about your father, what did he do?

He was what they called a builder, but in those days they weren’t called builders; they were called carpenters. And he used to build things. He worked on this farm where they built a very big wool shed and all sorts of things. They had their own electricity, and he had to build that. It wasn’t a shed, it was a special type of shed, really. And he fixed fences, did everything, whatever was needed, you know. But he just pottered around and did things on the farm, always.

Were you on a farm, or just a large section?

My father worked for the Armstrongs. They had two farms; one was what they called the front station, at Akitio, and one further back in the country. And we had a house that belongs to the farm, which … they must’ve paid rent, about 7/6d [seven shillings and sixpence, or seventy-five cents] a week or something like that – sounds silly. And we lived in that house for a long time; a big house it was.

And was there a garden?

Oh yes, there was always a vegetable garden which we had to weed, so that was our job to do. But otherwise it was lovely living there because we would walk up to the house. Mum knew the lady who was cook at the main house, and she always gave us cakes which we thought was very good. And they had this great big stairway, went up one day [way] and down the other, and we would run up [and] down. The uncle would come out and say, “Please do not run up and down the stairs.” We were told off.

But that uncle, who was Hamish Armstrong, had an aeroplane, and he wanted to take us up in this Tiger Moth. I wouldn’t go, I was too frightened; but he eventually went up in his plane in the Ruahines here, and got lost. That was when I was quite young. We presume he was killed; but him [he] and his plane were never found. They sometimes say, “Oh he took off to Australia”, but you don’t know – it’s just a mystery now.

Tell me about your mother?

Oh, Mum. She seemed to be working all the time of course, if it wasn’t washing it’d be cooking on the old coal range.

Was she a good cook?

She made beautiful scones, which I can’t do. When the earthquake came Dad had to build a fire outside with corrugated iron round [it] so he could cook the meals.

Why was that?

Because the chimney fell down. All the chimneys in the houses in those days were built on the outside of the house, not in the middle like today, and it just falls out. So we had no fireplace, but we’d go out when Dad had his fire and sit there at night. It was lovely and warm when it was colder.

What did you have for light in your house? Did you have a lamp?

Mum and Dad always had a kerosene lamp in the kitchen and dining room or the lounge, wherever they were, but us children only had candles. I’ve got a thing about candles. We’d go to bed with our candle and we’d have a candlestick in a real candle holder, and I’d put it on the little table next to my bed so I could read. And [of] course the wind’d come up and the curtains would flow out; catch fire, wouldn’t they? The next minute they … whoof! You know … they went up. Mum would come rushing in and put it out.

You’re lucky to be here … [chuckle]

Oh well, I don’t know …

Were you a good child or a naughty child?

Oh, I presume I was good, I don’t know. I don’t remember getting a hiding or anything. I don’t know. I must’ve been naughty at some stage.

But you were expected to help in the house?

Don’t remember much about that. I can remember there was a bathroom there and this huge bath – twice the size of the one I have here. And the three of us’d have to get in and be washed; only one lot of water. Anyhow, that’s how it was in those days.

What about doing the washing?

Mum had a bit old wash house outside with a copper and a big mangle, where you could put all the sheets and things through and wring them out. Then she’d hang them on this long clothes line, peg them on safely so they wouldn’t blow off or anything. They’d dry very quickly. And then if it was damp she had a thing she’d pull up in the kitchen with a trolley … like, you’d pull it up and put all the clothes on this like a … well, I don’t know …

A pulley.

Like a big long thing, and you could put all the clothes on this and then pull it up so it went right to the ceiling … don’t know what they call that.

Did you have animals in your place?

We always had a cat. We didn’t have a dog; everyone was so busy, they hadn’t, you know, have time.

Did you start school when you were at Akitio?

Yes. We went to a little school, it was in one big room and it was about one person in every class … only ‘bout twelve people, I suppose. They had a fireplace in there to keep us warm in the winter; it was all right in the summer time. We had a creek that ran through the school, and the Maori boys used to get a stick and flick all the eels out so they could take them home to eat. The Maori boys used to come on a horse … [there’d] be three boys with no saddle, no nothing, and just on the back of a horse. They came quite a way, I don’t know … up Pongaroa way somewhere … but they came to school. And we also used to go down to the beach and watch the boats come in with the wool. They’d bring the wool on a big tray [dray] with the draught horses and put the wool on the boat, little boat, [lighter] and take it out to the steamer or whatever they called it. One day we were asked if we’d like to go. “Oh, yes please!” We all wanted to go out and have a look. But what happened? The teacher came and wouldn’t let us go, so that was it.

[Chuckle] Do you remember the teacher?

Not a great deal. One of them used to board with us; they used to board with families, you know, ‘cause it was so far out. But I can’t remember names or anything. We didn’t bother her when she stayed with us, we’d just keep to ourselves.

When did you move to Dannevirke?

Oh, I suppose I must’ve been ‘bout ten; I can’t remember.

Why was that?

Well I think Dad wanted a change, and things were changing in the world. We stayed there about a year. I went to the old North School … it’s been pulled down and they built a new one. About a year, and then we went to Palmerston North. And Dad met up with this chap he knew; he was a great builder from Auckland – can’t think of his name at the moment, it’ll come. And he said to Dad, “Do you want a job?” and Dad said yes, he did. So he went to work at the airport over at Bulls, [RNZAF Base Ohakea] and they were building hangars. They built three; they’re still standing today so they must’ve been built well. He used to go at six o’clock in the morning and it’d be six o’clock when he came at night – you hardly saw your father, it was quite sad really, ‘cause I got on well with my dad.

What did you call him?

Oh, just ‘Dad’, I suppose. It just was Dad …

Did he have a pet name for you?

Oh, I don’t think so. No, he didn’t see much of us really. [Chuckle]

Were there grandparents in your life?

Yes, they lived in Dannevirke. We used to get on the train with Mum and go over there to Dannevirke for the school holidays. And they had a property, and they had a lot of gooseberries growing, and [of] course gooseberries when they’re ripe are beautiful – [of] course not when they’re sour. But we used to eat all the red ones [chuckle] and she’d make a gooseberry pie of course. But I loved my grandparents. My grandfather worked for Hawke’s Bay Farmers, and he used to deliver all the groceries to the farms. I haven’t told you this – and he’d take us with us [him] on [in] the holidays, and we’d go in and deliver the groceries. And I can remember one day we went in and he said … ‘Garbies’ we called him … he said, “The lady in here is sick in bed.” “Oh well, we’ll go and see her.” So we trooped in and cheered her up, which was quite good apparently and she thought that was all right, you know. She was lying in bed on her own all day long, you know; husband was out working. We really loved going with him, you know.

And your grandmother?

Oh yes, she was lovely. She taught me to sew actually, when I think of it, on the old treadle. She was a lovely person, spoilt us like anything of course.

So were these your mother’s parents or your father’s parents?

My mother’s. My father’s mother lived in Dannevirke; she always wore black in those days. And when we lived in Dannevirke we used to walk from the bottom end of the High Street right up – she lived right up the top of the street so the three of us would walk up to see her. Didn’t have so much to do with her … you’re sort of closer to one more than the other. She was lovely, but she always seemed so old, ‘cause of the black, I suppose, really. But she lived in that house ‘til she died.

Tell me about going to school in Palmerston North?

Yes, we went to the West End School, it was the primary school there. The three of us went, and walked from the house … wasn’t terribly far; we’d take our lunch. We’d just have sandwiches and have our lunch at school and come home. Then when we got through to … what was it? Must’ve been Standard 2, 3 or something, we went to intermediate school. It was a brand new school; we were there for a year and then the Army came in and said we had to get out because they wanted the … for the Army.

Then as we got older we went to the high school, Palmerston North Technical High School they called it. Of course it’s changed over the years and they built a new one called Freyberg High School; that’s further down Rangitikei Street. Anyhow, I was still going to school, the second year at high school I think it was, when we decided Mum and Dad would shift to Hastings ‘cause Mum had a sister here.

Staying at school at the moment, what did you like? What were you good at at school?

I was a good swimmer and diver, and I won every cup in every school I went to. We used to have swimming carnivals at the Municipal Bathing Pool, but it’s not there now, it’s been pulled down of course. And we had a swimming pool at the West End School, and we used to get over the fence and jump in, and you know, go for a swim.

And your brother dared you to jump?

Oh … yes. There was a very high diving board in Palmerston North Swimming [Pool]. But anyhow, I got up there and they said, “Well if you dive off I’ll give you a shilling.” Well a shilling was a lot of money in those days. I stood up there for ages before I got the nerve to dive. I did it in the end, and after I’d done it once I could do it quite often so it didn’t worry me. Also, when I think of it we had a girls’ and boys’ race at the high school and I even beat the boys, so I always felt that was very good. [Chuckle]

That was excellent, actually. Did you have cousins?

We had cousins in Palmerston; we didn’t see much of them. And then my brother married and lived in Palmerston; he had children. We caught up with them but we were living in Hastings by then, and I had cousins here, three girls, and that was lovely really, to have them there.

Tell me about some of the shops that you remember … where did your mother shop when you were very young?

I wouldn’t have a clue. See the Hawke’s Bay Farmers were in Wairoa, Dannevirke and Masterton, and so it may [have] be at one of those shops

Was food delivered to your house? You know, did the milkman come, or the butcher?

No. When we went to Palmerston to live, we didn’t have a car of course in those days; we used to go up town on a Friday night, and they’d go to the Self Help shop – that was the shop in those days – and get our groceries, and Dad would carry them home ‘cause we didn’t have a great deal of you know, places to go. Wasn’t far, and when we got home and got the groceries out there’d always be a bag of lollies to share with us three, so that was really all our luxury we had.

It was your Friday night treat?

Yeah, well that was for being good, [chuckles] I presume.

Did you belong to any groups like Brownies or Girl Guides?

I went to Girl Guides once but wasn’t very impressed; I don’t know why. That was in Palmerston. Otherwise no; I belonged to the swimming club, and we used to go down to Levin by private car and also to Wanganui where we had carnivals, and we’d swim you see, and beat them if we could. And that was quite enjoyable really, and you met a lot of people you wouldn’t otherwise have met.

So you would’ve been about sixteen when you came to Hastings – what brought your family to Hastings?

My father eventually … before we left Palmerston he wasn’t working; he bought a taxi and went into the taxi business. He took me down to Wellington with him to the Petone … now what did they call that? You’d pick up a car, and it was a taxi, and he brought it back; it was a V8. And we found out eventually there’d been a man murdered and they used that taxi. And every time my young brother and I’d get in that car we’d look at each other and think, ‘Oh my gosh!’ [Chuckles] But never mind.

And from there he got more cars, and then he sold it all up and went to Hastings and he bought another taxi business, had two cars, and it was parked in the main street opposite where Foster Brooks – it was a bookshop – opposite there. And he paid for it and he was you know, going into business. And after a wee while the people that he’d bought it off [from] wanted to buy it back; they didn’t want to sell it. So Dad sold it to them and he started round the corner with two more taxis. He did very well actually, he made quite a bit of money in those days.

And did you learn to drive?

Not ‘til I was … ooh, ‘bout – I don’t know – nineteen or something, twenty. I wasn’t going to learn to drive but my girlfriend came round one day with her brother’s car. She said, “Come on, I’m going to teach you to drive.” I’d never thought of learning to drive a car; anyhow, she taught me, and I passed.

Tell me about going for your licence – what did you have to do?

There’s only one thing I remember; we used to have to stop on the top of Murdoch Road. You know where you come up onto the top and then go down to a stop sign? I had to drive up there and stop – made sure there was no train coming of course – and then took [take] off. And the traffic cop said, “You left quite a bit of metal there, didn’t you?” But anyhow … I thought, ‘Oh dear.’ I passed, so that was all right, and I had it for over seventy-two years; no tickets, never had a ticket, never had to stop. Oh, I did have to stop one day just as I was going into our driveway. Traffic cop stopped me and he said, “You’ve only got one light.” I said, “What?” So I got out and had a look; sure enough I only had one. I didn’t know. I said, “Well I live right here.” He said, “Oh well, just drive in … forget it.” [Chuckles]

It’s an amazing record. [Chuckles] So what age were you when you left school, and what made you leave school?

Well when we came up here to live I didn’t want to go to another school ‘cause I didn’t know anybody. So I said to Mum, “Well, I don’t think I’ll continue at school, I’ll leave.” So I got this job in this retail shop.

Can you remember the name of the shop?

Baird’s. Yeah. Talking about shops in Hastings, there was Bon Marche and Roach’s and the Farmer’s, Baird’s, Heighway’s – there was [were] quite a lot of family businesses in those days.

What kind of shop was Baird’s? It was a bit like Farmer’s, same principle, different things. I looked after the stockings; we had nylon stockings which were in demand. You had to have coupons in those days. I sold handbags and all those sort[s] of things.

Did you like clothes yourself?

Yes I did. That’s where I bought me [my] red frock. [Chuckle] I was in the ladies’ department one day and I saw this red frock; I thought, ‘Oh that’s lovely, I’ll buy that.’ It was only about £3 [$6] those days; and I also bought a green one, a plain green. It was accordion-pleated round the top – got it somewhere – pretty green, pale pale green … and I paid them off. We couldn’t afford to buy them outright; you didn’t get that much pay.

How much would you’ve got?

Oh, about £2/5/- [two pounds five shillings or $4.50] or something … not much.

Did you have to pay your mother something?

Yes, paid Mum ten shillings, [10/- or $1] and I also paid a bike off. Mr Hannah down the road had a bike shop – he lived round the road – and I said, “Could I buy a bike? But I’ll have to pay you off.” So every week I’d go down and give him ten shillings. Can’t remember how much I paid; wouldn’t be much.

A new bike?

Brand new, and it lasted me a long time, and I looked after it, you know. And when I had David we put a seat on the back, and I used to go and watch them play basketball over at Ebbett Park in those days, bike over there, take David with me. He’d play around with the children while I just watched for a while. And then I was playing again; I used to love playing basketball – [of] course they call it netball, do they, now? David was only about two or three, I suppose.

Before you had David, you would’ve been going out to dances and meeting ..?

We used to go to the dances every Saturday night. It was held in what they called the Oddfellows’ Hall. It was a long skinny hall in Warren Street, and it used to be packed. It was run by the Boys’ High School for funds. In those days it was a girls’ and boys’ high school. Anyhow, that’s what they used to make their money, and we’d go there which was very enjoyable. You went with your girlfriends and you knew practically everybody there. [Of] course during the war there wasn’t [weren’t] many available men, you might say.

And were you allowed to go home with somebody or …

Oh, we’d just go home with us girls. We’d go home when it was pitch black and we’d all walk in the middle road because there was hardly any cars around in those days.

So when did you first meet Len?

Oh, I was out with someone else actually, and I was introduced to him but I didn’t sort of take much notice, you know. But then we went to the Saturday night following dance, and who should be there but Lenny. He came round in the Gay Gordons, and he was sociable … you know how you are. And when he came round the next time he asked me out, and I thought, ‘Oh my gosh!’ [Chuckle] So I said, “Yes”, you know. I went home and told Mum; she said, “Oh you’re terrible! You don’t last with boys.” I said, “If I don’t like him I don’t like him, and that’s it.”

How old were you at this stage?

Oh, I don’t know. [Chuckle] Must’ve been about nineteen, I suppose, twenty; I don’t know. I rang this bloke up; said, “I’m sorry, I’m not going out with you any more.” [Of] course my mother went mad at me. And anyhow, I started going out with Len, and I brought him home to meet my parents, ‘cause his parents lived in Dunedin; he came from Dunedin.

What did your parents think?

Don’t know – I think they must’ve liked him because they invited him in, and he’d have supper and …

So what attracted you to Len? Tell me about him.

He was very quiet, but he was very good to me. Some men you meet are not so … you know; you meet quite a variety of types of course, depending where they were brought up I think really. But he was always a real gentleman – I think that’s what got me.

And you told me he dressed beautifully?

Always. I was looking at photographs recently – he was always immaculate, you know.

What did he do?

He worked for Bradshaw’s and Noonan’s; they were fabric shops, and he did very well. He came up from Dunedin to work for Tom Noonan ‘cause he worked with him in Dunedin. And of course he was promised this, that and the other thing, you know how they do. He used to get a bonus every year and that bonus used to pay for our rates, insurance; and [of] course when you don’t get it … you know what I mean? Anyhow …

What was his job in retail?

Oh, you sell materials. People used to dressmake a lot in those days. I used to make my dresses mainly; if there was anything special I got it made. But that’s what they used to do, they sewed a lot. [Of] course today they don’t bother.

Len was also a window dresser, I think, is that right?

Yes, he was a window dresser. And we used to make the blossoms for the Blossom Parade, and he’d put them on big branches to make them look like trees. We used to make them for … I don’t know who it was in the Parade now, I can’t remember.

For a float?

Yeah, one of the floats. It might’ve been one of the kindergartens or something. We used to make these ‘til we were sick of the sight of them, you know.

Did he propose? Or did you just decide to get married?

He just said one day, “I’ll think we’ll get married.” [Chuckles] Quite funny really.

Did you have a ring?

Yes, I had a lovely solitaire ring. We bought it, or at least Len bought it. And that was the thing … all my girlfriends were getting engaged about the same time. Anyhow, unfortunately when David was about three I lost the stone out of my ring. I was very annoyed, because I think it should’ve stayed more [longer] than that. I just happened to be looking and it was gone, I didn’t even know it was loose; [Of] course you never used to take them off, did you?

Did you have insurance?

We didn’t have the right one unfortunately, but he did buy me another couple later on; but it wasn’t the same.

Tell me about your wedding … where were you married?

Yes. I had two girlfriends, they were bridesmaids, and Len and I had been bridesmaid and grooms man to a friend of his from Napier. We were in her wedding group … I’ve got some beautiful photos down there. Anyhow, as I say we said we’d get married so we made arrangements; and I said to Mum, “Oh this is the date we’ve got, to get married.” She looked [at] me a bit silly, and I thought, ‘What’s the matter with you?’ She said, “Well I’m sorry, I’m having a baby.” And I was twenty. It was Lindsay, the one that comes to see me; and I was so disgusted with my mother. But anyhow, she had Lindsay, and then before she could turn round she was pregnant again.

But you managed to get married in between?

No, I didn’t.

Oh, you didn’t!

Had to wait; then came Christopher, the one that lives in Perth. I had to wait for him to be born. Well, I didn’t want my mother sticking out a mile in photographs, so we waited. And within that time we started to build our house. [Chuckle] It’s quite funny. But anyhow, she had Christopher and he was three months old [when] we got married at St Matthew’s Church. My uncle gave me away; it was Faye’s grandfather; because what happened? My father was in hospital and couldn’t give me away, he was sick. And I thought, ‘Oh dear, I hope nothing happens to him before …’ because you just couldn’t’ve gone through with it. So anyhow, Uncle Harry came up from Christchurch and gave me away. He was rushing me down the aisle, and I said, “For goodness sake, stop running – I’m not in a hurry! Just take our time.” [Chuckles] He did, he was rushing me down the … you know, I often think of that. And I said “Don’t rush me, we don’t have to run”, I said, “he’s still waiting.” [Chuckles] It was funny.

Tell me about your wedding dress?

Oh I had a lovely one, it had silver thread through it. My girlfriend made it for me, and the two bridesmaids’ frocks. Anyhow, I had this frock, and we’d built the house by then and I thought, ‘Oh, I’ll sell that, it’s no use sitting there.” It was lovely. So I sold it to a girl in Clive I think it was, and with the funds I bought the blinds for the house. [Chuckle] See, it was [a] bit of a hand to mouth in those days, you know.

Tell me a little bit more about building the house. Who designed it and who built it?

Oh, Len had made a sketch of what he wanted and he took it to this chap who did it privately, and he drew it all up for us. We got two men [who] were the builders and they built it. In those days you just built the house, and they did everything. We didn’t have to pick the taps or the lights … what they have do today apparently. It’s a bit of a hassle today. And they took a while; it wasn’t finished when we got married; we had to wait ‘til it was finished, so we went and lived with my brother from Perth. He had built a house at Havelock [North] so we went and stayed with them because Jackie was having a baby, and it was company for her. And I’ve been here forty-two years now.

In this place?

This house … this flat.

But the one that you and Len built, where was that?

It was in Hastings, in Eastbourne Street.

What number?

509 East. It was built behind the Catholic Church.

Is it still there?

Yes, we sold it. “Don’t go and have a look at it, Mum, leave it alone.”

So you sold it to come here, where you live now?

Yeah. I was very lucky, I had a new house … a new flat. This wasn’t finished actually, that’s why I went and stayed with Christopher.

Tell me the lovely story about Len carrying you over the …

Oh, that one. [Chuckle] We had been shifted in the house I don’t know how long, and Len called me out to the back door; and I went out, and I wondered what he wanted. And he said, “Come and stand beside me”, which I did. And I looked at him; the next minute he picks me up and walks me over the threshold. Well, I was telling someone about it recently and they thought it was lovely, ‘cause they don’t do that sort of thing. And [of] course, we laughed and laughed so much.

Tell me about your children; when were they born?

David was born up at the Hastings Memorial [Hospital] … I don’t know, 1952 I think, and then Paula was born – I had a miscarriage between the two; she was born at the Memorial as well.

How long did you have to stay in hospital?

Two weeks, which was heaven. Another thing – Paula and my friend’s son were the first two children in the new hospital to have their tonsils out – that was when it was first built – Neil and Paula went into hospital. And Paula came through no trouble, but Neil got sick after that – he got nephritis, it affects your heart.

Your kidneys …

Yeah. And he was very sick for a long time; he used to have to take penicillin. My poor friend was just so … you know, devastated is the word really.

Did you enjoy being a mother?

Oh yes I did, I loved my children and they were very good. David was a very good little boy, but Paula – she’d cry and cry … I don’t know, she used to cry a lot. I used to get a bit impatient, I’m afraid; Len’d growl at me, you know, but men didn’t help you in those days. Here’s me cookin’ the tea and doin’ the washin’ and doin’ this and minding the baby. Took her about a year before she settled down.

We used to down to Dunedin; I haven’t told you this. By this time we had a little Prefect motor car, and David used to just lie across the back seat and go to sleep while we drove down. We used to go from Wellington to Lyttelton and stay on the boat overnight. We’d stay with Uncle Harry, Faye’s grandfather, overnight and then we’d drive on to Dunedin. You don’t realise how straight that road is [chuckle] to go right down there.

How long would that’ve taken you?

Practically all day, I think. We’d stop, you know, and then go on again. Not a very big car of course.

And you weren’t driving at this stage? Did you share?

No, I didn’t drive then – oh I did, but I wasn’t driving. Men in those days – they had to drive the car. My father was the same. But anyhow, we parked outside Grandpa’s house, and it was on a rise like that. And I’m sleeping in the front room and Len’s in the back bedroom – had to do everything right, you know, at me [my] in-laws to be. And I could hear this funny noise, like a click, click, click; and I lay in bed and listened for a while and I thought, ‘That’s strange.’ In the end it got the better of me, so I got out of bed and went down and woke Len up; I said, “Look there’s a funny noise, come and have a look out the front and see what the noise is.” It just was persistent. Anyhow, I went and stood at the door and Len went outside. Car was still there. Anyhow, it stopped and we didn’t hear it any more. Len went back to bed and I went to bed. The next morning Grandpa got up to get the milk which was delivered, and he found our door handle from our car was sitting on his verandah. Apparently they were trying to break in you see, ‘cause they’d just need to push it down the hill and they’d be off and away. Grandpa said, “There’s a lady down the bottom of the street who has a garage to put your car in”, so we put it there every night after that. But it just shows you how quickly it could’ve disappeared.

A car would’ve been a very precious thing to have then?

Oh yes, yes, it was.

Both Paula and David have children? Tell me about them …

Yes. David got married; he was married out of Iona College … most beautiful chapel out there with a big round window, it was a lovely spot. My daughter-in-law went to Iona. What happened? They were overseas at that stage; they came home and got married, went back to Australia for a while and then they came back to Auckland, and they were [in] Auckland for ten years. While they were up there the children were born, two little girls; Corinne who’s about thirty-four now … ooh no, she’d be more than that … and Laine is about thirty-four. We had a better car by this time and we used to drive up to Auckland, but we’d go and stay at Rotorua in a motel, because Len’d get tired driving, he wouldn’t … I’d have a drive occasionally but I had to talk him into it. Men are funny. They’re always like that, are[n’t] they? Anyhow, I know when Len was down at Ozanam House I had to drive him home from Palmerston, and I’d say “Are your feet through the floorboard yet?” [Chuckles] Because he used to sit there and be grumpy. [Chuckle] I laugh now; we used to laugh. But he didn’t like me driving. He said, “You’re a better driver than me.” I said, “Well why don’t you let me drive?” But that was men in those days, you know.

And your other grandchildren?

Anyhow, we’d go up to Auckland quite a lot, and when the second daughter was born we went up. And they had shifted house, and it was three levels. Bedrooms there, lounge here and the basement … we slept down [in] the basement. Corinne, the older one, slides down the steps and come[s] and joins us in the mornings; gets into our bed.

And we went up to see the wee one, and we’d go up to the bedroom and I said, “Where’s the baby?” You know, I couldn’t see the bassinet anywhere. And she said, “It’s in the wardrobe.” And I said, “What?” She said, “It’s in the wardrobe.” I looked at her, and I thought, ‘Are you going silly or me?’ Anyhow, she started to laugh, and she showed me … she had a great big wardrobe where they had all their clothes and their shoes, and it was so big that they put the baby in there when it was cold. And it was [an] ideal place to put her, you know, she was warm all the time. So that’s where Laine landed up, in the wardrobe; we often laugh about that now. And then they decided to come back to Hastings. My husband wasn’t well. I didn’t mention that my husband played bowls and he did very well. He won a lot of prizes, and he loved his bowls. He hadn’t played any other sport since he was young, so he decided to take bowls up and did very well.

Once he had some time?

Well yes, at the beginning he was working but when he left he had a lot of time to go to bowls, and he thoroughly enjoyed that which was good for him. Even when the children were younger he went to bowls, so while he went to bowls I used to drive over to Westshore and we’d all go for a swim, you see. My son was a devil – he was going right out. He wouldn’t come in … oh, he used to make me wild.

Do you see much of your grandchildren?

Oh, well they’re still working now actually. One’s learning to be a radiologist and the other one’s married now with two children. She had a lovely wedding over at Taradale.

When you were younger did you look after the children?

Occasionally, not very often … oh, they lived in Auckland; they’d come down you see, and they’d stay for a few days with her mother; and then they’d be coming up our drive and saying they were going. Len’s waving away … “Lovely to see you, don’t come back too soon.” [Chuckle] ‘Cause you get tired minding the children.

And then Paula of course, she had her son and I used to mind him when he was about three or four while she went to work. And him [he] and I got on very well; I’d go to his place. I remember one day I was minding him and I went from the family room to the laundry, and it was one of these push button doors and he shut the door. And I’m standing there thinking, ‘Oh what am I going to do? What do I do?’ I thought, ‘Do I get out the window and walk around? No, I can’t get back in if I get out.’ And I called Jarif – he was watching the box I think, and he came … “Can you open the door for Nana please?” So he fiddled around; fortunately he got it open, and ooohhh, I was just so relieved. Here’s me locked out, you see … didn’t have a key of course. So anyhow, I went in and I thought, ‘No, I mustn’t go out that door when I’m minding him.’ [Chuckle] Ohh, look I felt sick; I thought, ‘If I get out there I can’t get back in again ‘til Paula comes home.’ He was very good, he was no trouble, but I used to mind him quite a lot.

There were a couple of things that you told me that I’d love to hear about. The end of the war, what do you remember there?

Oh, yes. When the war was declared finished, everyone sort of went hysterical, laughing and singing all down the main street of Hastings. In those days the street was open all the way down, and you could go right through with no trouble. And then a few days later they had all these trucks out, and they had a parade with everybody, you know, singing and enjoying it all. Couldn’t realise that we had won – which we thought we would in the end, but … took a long time. It was quite an interesting time, actually.

Were any of your family involved in the war?

Well Len had gone – he was in the Army, and he went to what they call Fanning Island – it’s an island [atoll, south of the Hawaiian Islands] off the coast of San Francisco, and it had a cable station there. And they had to you know, keep an eye on it and make sure that the Japs [Japanese] didn’t come, because they thought they would. The island wasn’t very high. [Maximum three metres above sea level] I meant to ask my son to check on it to see, ‘cause my husband always said that it would flood over eventually. Anyhow he hurt his knee; I don’t know what he … had to have an op [operation] on his knee; I think it was his kneecap – and he came home. We weren’t married then of course, he went to Dunedin, had an operation. And he was supposed to go on to Tripoli where the fighting was, and his two mates from Hastings went there, where Len didn’t go. Unfortunately they were both killed, so Len was very lucky he had hurt his leg. And then he came out of the Army because he couldn’t go marching or whatever they do. and that’s what happened, but that’s how it originally worked that he came up here, you know.

And your brothers, were they involved?

My elder brother was in the Navy. He said to my dad he wanted to join the Navy and he was only … ooh, I don’t think he was even eighteen in those days. And Dad wasn’t very keen on him going ‘cause a war’s a war; and he said, “How long do you go for?” Well it was the duration of the war, and the other one [option] was ten years, that’s right. And Dad said, “What are you going to do?” He said, “I’m going to go with the …” you know, the generation [duration], “but not the ten years.” So he said, “Oh well, you can join the Navy.” The Navy was his life; he really was involved and he eventually came back. Prior to the war finishing, he finished and got out, because he was a duration … the length of the war.

Anyhow prior to that he was on the ‘Achilles’, and they went up to Japan where the war was finished and he was there for the signing of the Peace Treaty. That’s when they dropped the bomb [on] Hiroshima, and he said, “Oh, it was just devastated.” He showed us photographs he’d taken, and it was just devastating. But he came out of the war and he had a dreadful rash; we always think it was from the bomb because he had it for the rest of his life and couldn’t seem to cure it.

But he loved his Navy, and he became the head of New Zealand Ex Navalmen’s Association, and he used to go all [a]round with my sister-in-law and take her to these conferences that they used to have. He used to come and see Mum and stay the night with her, and he’d ring me up; “I’m coming for a cup of tea tomorrow – make some pikelets please?”

Which brother is this?

This is my older brother, Alec. He got married in Wellington, I was bridesmaid. And that wedding didn’t last; she liked the Americans at that stage.

Mona, what differences do you particularly notice between your younger days and the present?

It’s totally different. The young drink so much now, it’s amazing. And I don’t know what’s going to happen; I feel we’ve had the best years of our life, where today they seem to live for today and not worry about what’s ahead of them. They’re not thinking like we thought … about the future … as we went along. And we lived within our means. I think it’s quite sad; I fear for the young today. My brother was just saying today he’s a bit worried about his little great-grandchildren; what’s going to happen to them. It’s a thing they think of now, where I don’t think about those things; it’s gone, and that’s it.

But you are turning ninety-seven next week; you’re still in your own home, you have a good memory, you’re a lovely lady. Why do you think you’ve lived so long?

It’s a funny thing you say that – my doctor asked me that, this new doctor. He said, “Why have you lived so long?” And I looked at him; I said, “Oh”, I said, “I don’t know.” And then I thought about it for a moment, and I said, “I really feel that I’ve lived a good life because I’ve eaten what was good for me and there was no bits and pieces and rubbish and all that sort of thing.” I’ve never been one to eat a lot of rubbish; although I’ve been doing it lately, and they say, “Mum, you shouldn’t eat that”, and I said, “Look – it’s too late now.” [Chuckle]

 

This is the second of two interviews. Mona, tell me about the role of church and religion in your life. Were you a churchgoer?

I was. When I was working I met up with a girlfriend, and she happened to say she was going to Holy Communion on Sunday. And I said, “Oh, can I come with you?” So we’d get on our bikes and we’d meet at the Muni – that of course is the Municipal Theatre; I call it the Muni. But anyhow, we’d get on our bikes and go down to St Matthew’s Church – lovely old church.

And then I met a lot of friends from out of town who came …well, from Auckland, all over … which [who] I kept for years really, and belonged to different things at the church. We used to have a ball once a year and luncheons and all that; quite entertaining at that stage. But then I would do my own thing, and Grace and I would go to church and Holy Communion. And then I met my husband.

So you were married at St Matthew’s?

Yes. Len was the same religion, not that he came very often … men are funny like that. I met him and we became engaged, and we got married in St Matthew’s. Unfortunately my father couldn’t give me away because he was in hospital; had anything happened to him before I couldn’t have gone through with it, but my Uncle Harry in Christchurch, he gave me away because he was very much like my father.

Were you involved in things in the church like, you know, arranging the flowers?

Yes, I did the flowers for twenty years. And we used to have a lot of fairs, and we had groups where we made things to be sold. We used to make quite a bit of money. We’d have a big fair once a year, about ooh … November, and it was just amazing, the people that used to come and enjoyed it very much. And then the vicar’s wife asked if we would start a Young Wives’ meeting, so I was one of the original members; there’s very few of us left now.

What form did that take?

Well we used to go to the vicarage and they’d have a little discussion and then we’d have supper and go home. It was about the only thing we could get to, ‘cause you’d leave the baby with your husband, you know, and we used to enjoy that.

As we got older we had to go and join the other group which was the Family Fellowship; then we had to move on again. As your children got older you went to another group. Then it was the Mothers’ Union, but there were so many old ladies in there we didn’t [chuckle] want to go and join that one, but we did eventually, and we ended up more or less running it which is quite funny. But we used to always be raising money; not a great deal, but it did help. Of course now most of the churches are going into debt because they haven’t got the money, which is very sad. But I haven’t been able to go to church for a couple of years now – when I drove I’d go down myself, you know. But we used to have some lovely times and friendships which was very good.

So the church was an important part of your life?

Oh it was, yes. I had the children christened there, not that they ever continued on of course. My daughter married a Catholic and my son married a Presbyterian, so they left my church; but never mind.

Tell me about the Highland Games.

Well I can remember [the] first time going down to Windsor Park. My son was in a little pushchair, and we used to walk everywhere in those days; we didn’t have a car. Fortunately we lived on that side of town, and we would just go down and watch them for a while and then go home again; we used to go and watch what they were doing.

And what were they doing?

I used to love watching the Highland dancing. The girls were lovely really. I can’t remember much about that now really; I suppose I had a family to run and a house to run …

I presume they had piping?

Oh yes – I loved the pipe band[s] ‘cause my name was McIntosh before, [chuckle] like Faye.

And was the Blossom Festival part of the Highland Games or was that something separate?

No, that was something completely separate … I don’t know how that started, I’ve forgotten. But we used to have to help make blossom[s].

Is this when you were a child or as an adult?

As an adult. And of course we’d have the children helping us; they weren’t too happy about that, but we would make all these and my husband would pin them on branches.

You’re talking about paper flowers?

Paper flowers. They were all pinks … mostly pink really. And he was in retail so they window dressed all the shops, you see. I think every shop in town would have blossom, and then they would have a prize for the one that everyone voted for, to see which one was the best.

Can you remember any of them?

Oh dear … no, not really. It’s gone; [chuckle] … so long ago. It was very interesting, had a great time really. Most big firms had a float, and the kindergartens and all those sort of things, the schools, and all the children of course would love to be on it. And Father Christmas of course.

And did people come from beyond Hastings?

Yes; then they started bringing a train from Wellington. It worked out very well really. They’d come up on the train; I think they went back the same day, until one time it rained, and they all rebelled, and oh dear, dear! What a mix up! But never mind. I had taken the children up to see it, but then I brought them back home again, it was too risky to …

What was happening?

Oh they were fighting, and you know, doing stupid things. You know what young boys are like. In those days it was you know, [a] free-for-all really. It was quite sad; so the next time they cancelled the train. Anyhow, they left it for a while, and it’s sort of come back again. I haven’t seen it for a wee while, but some of them were very good, you know.

Another thing you told me about was going to Windsor Park for the roller skating; tell me about that.

We used to go and watch them roller skating.

So there was a park actually built?

There was a park, it was round in [the] Grove Road side – just a basic place it was really, and they had roller skates. We all had a turn, but either you liked it or you didn’t.

Were you good at it?

Oh no, well that’s a [the] point. And yet my husband used to tell us as he lived in Dunedin they used to go ice skating. I’ve never done that. Is it easy? I don’t know; quite hard. But we used to do that in Palmerston when we lived there, go roller skating quite often. Maybe ‘cause we were older we could do it better; I think it was down Cuba Street then. But never mind, it was very nice. We used to enjoy ourselves, you know, good clean fun in our day. We were lucky.

Earlier I asked you about your mother doing the cooking and you remembered something about the black stove?

Oh yes. She used to have this … what was it called? Just a stove, wasn’t it? Every house had one, and there was always a rack up the top where they’d put the clothes to air. And as I say, there was always a big pot of soup on the go ‘cause Dad would’ve a big vege [vegetable] garden, and everything went in the pot, I think. And she used to make these beautiful scones; I’m not a scone maker, I’m afraid, I’d rather make pikelets. [Chuckle]

But you apparently used to do bottling and preserving – tell me how you did that?

I was shown how to do it, and then I quite enjoyed having – well when you have them all filled up and all lined up it always look so nice,and you always had plenty of fruit for the winter.

Where did you get your fruit?

I used to go down Percival Road, and this lady … can’t remember her name, but where the new Athletics centre is, that’s Percival Road there. And she had these great big boxes of … you know how they have apples in these big boxes? They had beetroot in them and you could go and pick out how much you wanted and then just take it home.

How did you get it home?

Well, on the bike. If I had one of my brothers … [if] I’d been nice to them they might take me out. [Chuckle] But we went out every year, and everybody knew this lady ‘cause I think half of Hastings went out there to buy their beetroot. And then there was a pear man, we would go and get our pears down … just not far from that lady, and you would bottle pears as well.

Was this for breakfast or did you make puddings and desserts?

Well I had to have a pudding every night – If I didn’t have one I’d soon hear about it, I think.

From Len, or from your children?

Oh the children really; see we didn’t have ice cream because you know, we didn’t buy ice cream. We used to try and make it but it was never very successful.

What were some of the puddings that you made?

Oh crumbs! Be a chocolate pudding or apple pie, which everyone loved, [as] long as we had some cream. What else would it’ve been? Apple crumble, apricot slice or something like that. Just the basic ones.

When you were a school girl there was no electricity, so what did you do in your home when it was dark?

Well Mum always had a big fire going in two rooms, and as I say, the cooker was always going. It was always warm.

And what about light, though? Lamps?

They had like a kerosene lamp. And I can remember the Napier 1931 earthquake; I was only about four or five and my younger brother was only a baby, and Mum took me outside. And of course it was still … it was only slight, it wasn’t very big. Mum said I said to her, “When’s the house going to fall down?” But it didn’t; but what did fall down – in those days they used to always build their chimneys on the outside of the house, and the one in the kitchen and the lounge fell flat out on the lawn, you know.

I think you told me you used a candle to go to bed?

Oh yes – as we had no electricity in those days we had to have a candle with a candlestick. And we’d go to our bed, my brothers in another room and I was on my own, and I put the candle on the little table between the beds with the window behind, and if the breeze came up the curtains would catch fire. [Of] course I’d scream for my mother; she’d rush in and pull them down, and I’d be told off, you know; it was my fault, of course.

Did you read by candlelight?

Yes, I tried to … wouldn’t be very long. [Chuckle] It’s quite funny really.

We take so many things for granted now, don’t we?

Well, that’s true.

Let’s finish it there, that’s lovely. Thank you very, very much.