McCracken, Julienne (Julie) Interview

Today is Friday 1st September 2023. I’m Maxine Rose and today I’m with Julie McCracken of Hastings. Julie was born in 1940 and she’s lived in Hawke’s Bay all her life. Both her grandfather, Charles Croft, and her father, Robert or Bob Croft, leased the Stortford Lodge Hotel in Hastings in the 1940s and ’50s, and later owned Fernhill Lodge. Julie and her family lived in both of those hotels. So Julie, tell me something about your family.

Right. In approximately 1943 my Dad, Bob, and Mum, Jimmy, whose actual name was Pauline Hazel, but she hated that so she was always called Jimmy ‘cause Granddad thought she was going to be a boy. So they took over the lease of the Stortford Lodge Hotel from his Dad, Charles. [It] was situated on the corner of Heretaunga [Street] and Maraekakaho Road, the property going [as] far back as Plunket Street where the milk station used to be, and across each side to Stortford Lodge and Maraekakaho Road. I was about three years old then, and a year later my brother Peter was born there.

At the back of the hotel there were horse stables which were managed by Mr Bert Kelleher who also lived at the hotel with us. So Bert trained several of the horses there, and I loved being in the stables where he groomed and fed them, and often would sit there and he’d feed me molasses which he would put into the horses’ food. So that was really lovely times.

Can I ask you, why were there horses?

We had stables … there was a horse stables there, so … ‘cause the hotel was actually shifted from another area, and I think it was somewhere down by the sale yards; I’m not sure. It was shifted onto the area of Heretaunga Street. So how come the stables were there – whether they were built there for racing, ‘cause Dad owned a horse there and others did too. And Mr Kelleher was the trainer of those. Mum used to ride, and so she would ride the horses out on exercise as well. And Mr Kelleher then later – ‘cause Dad sort of kept buying the wrong horse for me – but he bought me a lovely pony, and I would go out with Mum on the horses, so that was really fun. And he then became my godfather, ‘cause I wasn’t baptised ‘til I was about seven, unbeknownst to [chuckle] … it wasn’t ‘til I was at church going to make my first Holy Communion they said, “Where’s your Baptismal certificate?” And I didn’t have one. Dad was not a Catholic and my grandmother was very anti-Catholic, so we never got around to being baptised until then. So we sneaked off and Bert Kelleher was my godfather [chuckle] ‘cause he was the nearest; and he must’ve been a Catholic. [Chuckle]

So further back from the stables there were kennels that Dad built because he trained and raced greyhounds which were very, very successful in their time. And we got lots of lovely trophies and this is actually one of them, way back. And Mum also did most of the walking and exercising. They were actually like pets; one of them was called ‘The Crofter’ after Dad and the other one was ‘Homic Tracer’. They used to just roam around like pets.

He also had other pups there. I was not really into girly things – I had a doll but I didn’t really fancy it much – and I had a pram, so I’d take the pups in the pram and tuck them all in and take them for walks, and [chuckle] people would say, “Hello dear, what’s your dolly’s name?” [Chuckle] And I would say these names of the doggies; they’d be just lying there all tucked up. [Chuckle] It was really fun.

So on the same property but back opposite the hotel, we had a huge area fenced off which was sort of like another playground for Pete and I. And there was a huge walnut tree; they gathered the walnuts and pickled them. So they had them at the hotel, of course with other bits of puddings and everything else. So that was a great playground for us climbing up the tree, Pete and I, and making out we were Tarzan and Jane. And Pete would dig up the thing and make it all mud and muck, and so we’d swing down there. So it was just lots of lovely fun around there with other kids from the neighbours as well. We had a lovely free ranging childhood actually, we just took off everywhere so it was really fun.

On the corner of Maraekakaho [Road] and Heretaunga Street we were, and across the road there was a big garage called Williams Garage – that’s gone – and next to them was a family called the Harrises. Now they’ve all died, but the youngest son now still owns the shop in Omahu Road … Clifford Harris, and Clifford was a great friend, the same age as my brother Pete, and so they used to play together. And at the time – I think must have been Depression time because they were not very well off – and we had the hotel, and we had butter on our table for the guests. And he would go home and say “Can we have butter like the Crofts do?” And Pete would go over and stay there and he … “Can we have dripping like the [chuckle] Harrises do?” They were great mates; then of course once we shifted out to Fernhill we sort of lost a bit of time with them. They’ve all died now except Clifford, but I haven’t caught up with him lately.

So we used to roam and down on the corner of Orchard Road and Maraekakaho Road there was a big swamp, which is opposite the cemetery now. So it was all muck and gnarly trees and very spooky, so that was another lovely playground which we thought was like jungle with snakes and alligators, and we played there a lot. Another time … we’d sort of be at home, but Mum and Dad were at the hotel working; they never worried about us. But one time Pete and I and some other kids from down the road … ‘cause the dump was in Omahu Road, not that far, ‘bout a mile away … so we tootled off there and we were playing in there making stuff in the carts, and didn’t get home until dark. So everyone was out looking for us of course – no phones or anything like that – so when we got home Mum said, “Quick, run upstairs!” So we ran upstairs and then Dad’s yelling out from the bottom, “Come down here!” He used to call us ‘mud bastards’, [chuckles] but he’d go out, “What are you doing?” And he had this great stock whip and it was cracking like that, so I said to Pete, “You go down first.” [Chuckle] Anyway, we hung out the door … “But we were only just making things”. [Chuckle] “Don’t you ever do that again or I’ll whip the skin off your arses!” [Chuckle]

Did he ever?

No, no. He never hit me … might have just got it as I’m going past, but I don’t remember Dad ever hitting. Pete was always in trouble, but Mum was very soft and so when he was going to get a hiding she’d say, “Let him have a head start.” So she’d [chuckle] line up and Dad’d say “All right”, [chuckle] and Dad by that time was pretty big. And so she’d say, “Right, go Pete!” And so Pete’d tear off with Dad after him, [chuckle] trying to catch him. And of course he’d dart in and out and whizz under a hole in the fence, or [chuckle] get into a hole in the garage where [chuckle] he couldn’t get … Dad – “I’ll get you next time.” So it was always quite funny really, so I never saw him really hitting Pete until one time later, which I’ll tell you about.

Yes, Dad was a wrestler in his day, very handsome and slim looking, totally different from what he ended up as; and later he became a top referee and many notable wrestlers stayed at the hotel with us. All the wrestling was done at the Municipal Theatre which is now Toitoi of course, and was always very well attended. There’s lots of people I [when] mention [it] now they go, “Oh I remember going to those.” And some of the wrestlers were so large that they didn’t fit into our beds at the hotel, so [chuckle] Dad had to sort of organise something a bit bigger for them. And a couple of the names – I can’t remember that many, but one very prominent [one] was called Lofty Blomfield; and then there was another one, ‘The Angel’, who was apparently very ugly because when my aunty took her son to show Dad after he was born, he said, “Oh, he just looks like The Angel!” And later Mum said, “That was kind of you”, ‘cause he wasn’t really very sentim[ental], and he said, “No … because that was the ugliest [chuckle] wrestler.” [Chuckle]

Did you ever see your father wrestling?

No, I didn’t ever see him. I think – not wrestling ‘cause I was too young – but I did go to one of the wrestling [matches] when he was refereeing. But it didn’t really interest me as a kid, ‘cause I was still only in those early years, you know. Yes, so that was that; so they stayed on and off. I was trying to find it in the book but I just haven’t got that far yet.

The laundry for the hotel was all done by Mum onsite, and we had other staff come in of course. And we had a very long clothesline going right down the paddock which was quite a long one with the props going up. And next door to there was Sawyer’s furniture shop. It was a very big manufacturing furnisher, so Mr Sawyer and his two sons ran that, and Pete and I were very kindly welcomed in the factory and we’d play with the wood and all that sort of jazz. I was more … Pete would often take the dogs for a walk [chuckle] but I liked all this other stuff … and we played with bits of offcuts. And anyway, one day when I was helping Mum hang out the washing and it was very, very windy, Mum said, “You hang on to the clothes wires”, while she hung the pegs on. But while we were doing that a big gust of wind came and lifted the props and me and all the sheets up over [the] top of the fence, and as I was wavering in the breeze I looked down and Mr Sawyer [chuckle] was on the other side in the garden. He [chuckle] got a real shock! “Hello Mr Sawyer!” [Chuckle] And he goes, “Oh! Hello, Jules, nice to see you this morning.” [Laughter] “Is it nice and windy up there, dear?” And then ooff! Down I went again. [Chuckles]

How much did you have to help your mother?

Just – at that stage I was only about nine, ten and eleven – I’d just do little jobs for Mum. But most other times we were working … like, we did gathering up stuff, and I’ll go over what we did there. But there was the odd time in those early days there; more I worked harder at Fernhill when I was older, of course.

So our clientele were a mixed lot; there’s [there were] lots and lots of drovers used to come in with their horses and all sorts of things, and tie them all up and their carts and things. And they were a great source of lots of loose change when Pete and I were gathering up for Guy Fawkes; so they’d always dump some things and we’d make our Guy Fawkes, and have it all blown up [chuckle] in the next door place. But Dad was a bit mean; so we’d get a few things and then we’d say, “Will you get the bangers, Dad?” And he’d go, “Yes”, and then he’d come out with a rifle on the night and [laughter] then he’d shoot the gun. “Well you don’t want to waste money, it’s going to sound the same.” [Laughter] Well it does, too. [Chuckle]

At the hotel there was a private bar which were [was] for guests; then there was the big public bar where all the men were, and at the back of the public bar there was another sort of a lounge area where husbands and wives and women, if they wanted to have a drink, they would be there. So the bar person could serve from both sides. There was a piano in there and there was always lots of music and things like that.

So roughly how many people could be staying at a time?

Well, sometimes there was sixteen. Most of those like, booked up. ‘Cause Pete and I had our own bedrooms, and Mum and Dad. So mostly it was pretty full most of the time. And then with other guests coming and going …

But there was a cook?

Had a cook, yes had a cook, and there was sort of what they called a housemaid, and a general who did the waitressing, and she would do other things. And then Mum was always doing all sorts of other things as well. But then of course Mum’d start getting ready to go … when I came home from school she’d be just getting ready to go into the bar ‘cause it started to get busy and things like that, so that’s when we used to just tootle off and do our own thing.

Were you allowed in the bar?

No – well we could pop in and say hello to someone, but it was all men. But we used to go round the back part at night where the people were staying and the music was going; we’d often go in there, and Pete and I had the run of the place, chasing each other or hide and seek; so we were in and out all over the place so that was all good.

So at closing time, when it was getting near about ten to six – which Granddad used to do – he’d call out, “Come on gentlemen, home to your wives and families. Five more minutes to go”; and Dad carried on the same thing. And then the bells would go and they’d all go tootling off.

Was there after hours drinking?

More so at Fernhill again, because Hastings was a bit closer to the police station, whereas … in those days, again I was only about eleven, and I didn’t sort of recognise so much of that part of it.

I remember though we used to have what they called counter lunch and Dad would bring out little hot potatoes for the men in the bar to have, or mousetraps or those little weeny saveloy thingies, so there’d be actually food while they were drinking, so that was all good. There was a huge big kitchen, and then what we called a scullery; and then from the scullery round towards the dining room there was a huge big fridge area with big fridges and sort of a bench along where they’d take out. But anyway, Pete and I mostly had our tea together, just he and I, in the dining room at the family table because Mum and Dad were in the bar. But [of] course we didn’t really like some of the vegetables; so we were near a window, so when the waitress was gone [we’d] take it out, we’d whip [open] the window and throw anything out we didn’t [like]. But unfortunately, [chuckle] some of the men going to the toilets which were round the back and they would see. So we got told off and then we were locked in the fridge area [chuckle] … we had to eat our tea in the fridge area, which we didn’t think was very fair. [Chuckle]

And then on a Sunday Dad and Mum would have a sleep – oh, they’d do stuff in the morning then have a wee sleep. And then they’d say, “Now, you can go and make me …” ‘cause I was doing cooking lessons … we used to go to cooking classes where Intermediate [School] was. We learned to do scones and things, so Dad said, “Go and make us some scones and we’ll take you out later on.” So that’s what I used to cook on these big gas stoves, and Dad says my scones were the biggest he’d ever seen, they were like loaves of bread. [Chuckles] Anyway, he’d have them.

Then we’d have to rub his feet with Johnson’s Baby Powder, and massage them; [chuckle] and then he’d get ready to take us out, which was actually taking us out shooting and gathering up firewood. [Chuckle] So he’d shoot something from just outside the car, and then we’d have to run up the hills and bring the rabbits back in. And half the time he’d say, “You’ve got to kill it”, ‘cause it’d be squeaking; I’d be nursing it and it’d be squeaking, so he had to show me how to do a rabbit kill, which I absolutely hated.

And did your mother cook them?

No, the cook cooked them. And Dad, if we were driving out and he saw a turkey – didn’t matter if it was on someone else’s property, it was near enough – [chuckle] he’d shoot it. And often he’d say, “Ah, I’m just going down the road, I saw some turkeys. You kids, now keep an eye out and if a car comes just toot so that I know.” And so one time Pete and I were getting a bit bored so we started fighting. Anyway we got louder and louder, and I punched him and he went over the front seat and onto the horn. [Chuckle] And Dad came running up – ‘cause he’s a big bloke – he looked so funny running up with the gun, climbed over the fence and got in and waited. [Chuckle] No car went past at all. [Chuckle] “Oh, we thought there was one coming.” [Chuckle]

So beer was sold in bags … paper bags of a dozen or half a dozen, so there was the six on top and you turned them up; so we had to learn to do that. We were supposed to get sixpence [6d] a bag, but then that was taxed [laugh] by Dad. [Chuckle]

So they didn’t have those … what was called a ‘half g’ or ..?

Later on we had flagons, but most of them at Stortford Lodge that I can remember was mostly the bagging of those.

D’you have you any idea what a half a dozen beer would’ve cost?

Oh, not now, I can’t remember.

Be interesting to speculate, wouldn’t it?

Yes. Some of the older blokes would know; Jim [Newbigin] might know also. Yes, so then we’d also go out – “We’re going on a picnic.” So the picnic concerned [comprised] of finding an area where we could pick up cones; so we’d pick up cones and bring them home for the fire, so that was another wee job. My neighbour in Stortford Lodge – I went to school with her, she became a very good friend, we went to primary and then through into St Mary’s in Wellington – she came out, and I said, “Well Dad’s going to pay us. ” So anyway, it was supposed to be sixpence a bag as well, so her Dad said, “What did you earn today?” “Oh it’s sixpence a bag but then it was less tax because Mr …” [Laughter] You’re not supposed to take tax off children. [Chuckle]

Your father was a hard taskmaster, wasn’t he?

He was a very hard taskmaster. I think it was through the war, you know, things were sort of tough, but [chuckle] … And Nana was Scottish, [chuckle] so … oh dear! Yes, so those were sort of those days.

What about school?

Yes, so then when I turned five I met Mary who was round the corner, and she was going to the school. She had a brother and a sister and they both were there. The older sister went on to St Mary’s College in Wellington and later became a nun, and then she became the Head of the Soup Kitchen in Wellington. She worked for the Home of Compassion.

What family are we talking about?

The Greens. Yes, they were in Stortford Street. He was a builder and owned some buildings also in Napier, and they had a little orchard at the back of their house, so we used to climb trees and that there. And they were very, very kind to me. Mrs Green could play the piano beautifully, and everything Mary was allowed to do … “Mum, can I play the piano too?” But I was pretty hopeless, and the person that [who] taught us used to reckon [??]. And then Dad’d come in and say, “Well play us a tune.” And it was a piano that Poppa gave me, but half the notes weren’t going; and so then he’d go, “Oh, that’s a bit useless, what a waste of money!” So anyway … so I was stopped my piano lessons. [Chuckle] That was the end of that.

So what school did you go to?

I went to St Joseph’s Primary School – Catholic school – so I was there until I was twelve, and then I was supposed to go to boarding school with Mary but her sister was still in Wellington, so they said until she leaves and comes home, have a year together. So then instead of going in the third form Mary and I went in the fourth form and I had the last of my [school] years in St Mary’s, which was a Catholic school in Hill Street in Wellington, near Parliament Buildings. And it was great because when I came home from school to do homework, I didn’t bother because Mum never said, “Do your homework”, or anything. And the next day I’d think, ‘Ooh, gosh, I haven’t done any homework.’ So I wasn’t very good.

Was that your first experience of being away from home?

Yes, yes, apart from just popping out to Poppa and Nana’s, so it was. Yes, it was a bit of a shock because I had my own bedroom at the hotels, and going into a whole ward [dormitory] of kids on either side … there would’ve been about twelve or thirteen of us in a room, so that was tearful.

And the food would have been a bit different to what you had ..?

Yes, although it wasn’t too bad; others moaned and groaned, but it was certainly no worse than … well I thought at the hotel. I was very sporty and did a lot of sport and I was always really quite hungry. [Chuckle] We had our dining room with about six at a table, I think. And I would go in and say, “Can I have the leftovers, Sister?” And she’d say, “All right dear, if there’s any leftovers.” Anyway, probably months went past; she said, “Dear, I just want to test you out for worms.” [Chuckles] And I didn’t have worms, I was just sort of into every sport that I could get hold of. [Chuckle] So I took fencing lessons, I did swimming, and running, and jumping, and hurdling, and netball and tennis, and everything else that I could do which took you outside, so I was into all of those sports.

We’re very lucky to have had a lovely, lovely nun as sports mistress, and she was a lovely big lady. And in those days they had the black veil with things down there; she used to lift up the front part of the skirt and tuck it into a big belt, wrap the rosary beads in a knot, and she’d be running and playing. Dad and Mum always called me ‘Bones’ because I was always skinny as a child so then Sister would always call me ‘Bones’, and she’d say, “Run, Bones!” [Chuckles] All my teachers were lovely … the nuns were lovely. We had a lot of Fijian, Samoan young girls at school, so they were older but they were, like, younger in the boarding school. And then we also had a lot of postulants, that’s new ones coming in, and they were very gentle and used to teach us different songs and things from the Islands. So my days at boarding school were really, really happy and good, and I did well there because there was [were] times for study, and if you couldn’t there was always a nun to help you. So I did well at school there, which I never would have been very good at.

How many years were you in Welling[ton]?

I think … I was fourteen, so three and a half years. Yes, so that was good. Came back from there and got a job with Tourist Motors & Farming Company.

Did you have to do some training for that?

No, just went in, ‘cause I did shorthand/typing at school, so I went in as a shorthand typist. I was only a junior so I did a little bit of that there. That was when Jack Blake was the manager there; Jack Blake, and his son, John, went on, and of course John died first. And it was a lovely place to work – I met Ian there.

Well before we go onto Ian, shall we go back to the hotel and carry on?

Back again, yes. My brother, Peter, he went to Frimley School, ‘cause Dad not being a Catholic he decided his kid wasn’t going to be. So he went to Frimley, and then when he was twelve or thirteen he went to – I can’t think of its name, [St Joseph’s, now Chanel] – it was a Catholic College in Masterton. When he came home, and after some work he joined the Navy. So I’ll carry on with the Navy later on; otherwise, he did well in the Navy and did his diving courses there and later became a deep sea diver. One of the big jobs he did, and it was very well publicised because it’d never been done, was to bring up the gold bullion that was shot down by the Germans. And I don’t know who it belonged to, I think it was the English; and because it was so deep they couldn’t dive but then they got into the [diving] bells, so Pete was into that lot.

And what happened to that?

I don’t know where the bullion went, I suppose it went back to whoever owned it. So somewhere I’ve got a photo of it. Yes, world news there. And of course then my son took up deep sea diving after Pete and also was down in those big bells doing stuff, yeah.

So going back to Poppa … going back to Fernhill … I was twelve when we left Stortford Lodge and went to Fernhill. Prior to that I used to go out there on holidays, and I loved it because Poppa was a much gentler man than Dad was, and I just followed him round, you know; so I was only about – I can see photos of myself, I looked about two, three – right up until he died. And he had cows, Daisy and Polly, and he’d milk those, showed me how to milk it [them], let me ride them. And he’d get the milk and take it into a shed he had and separate it into cream, so that was clotted and everything for the porridge. And in the kitchen there was [were] big long pulley things where the washing was held to dry out, and big old coppers and washing machines there.

Julie, can I just clarify and go back slightly … so your grandfather had Stortford Lodge …

Yes.

… and then he moved on to Fernhill, and your father took over from him …

Took over later, when he died, yes.

So Poppa had a huge big tall chook house which you could walk into, so they supplied all the eggs for the hotel. And so we used to go, you know, and he showed me how to do all of that. And I used to follow him into the bar area when he was working in there, and trying to build me up he’d give me sarsaparilla … raspberry and sarsaparilla, and stout. Nana would try and give me Lanes Emulsion [chuckle] so you could tell which one I liked the best. [Chuckle] And Poppa played the piano – he was lovely; he played the piano and then he’d sit me on his knee and my hands would go on his hands, and [we’d] sing all the lovely old songs, ‘Danny Boy’ and all of those, and then he would get up and dance, and I would stand on his feet; so he was a delight.

Very different to your father?

Oh, I couldn’t believe the difference in two men. Nana was not an outgoing person, she was really quite severe and totally different, so I suppose that must’ve rubbed off more onto Dad, I think, yeah.

And then Poppa got gout … this is when I was just going back and forth on holidays … and I remember going up to the hospital to see him. Then sort of a week or so later I was over at the store at Stortford Lodge; opposite the hotel was a big manchester store run by Mr Johnson, Johnson’s Store – they sold everything. And he said, “Oh, I’m sorry about your Poppa.” And I go, “What’s happened to Poppa?” And he’d died. No one told me. Yeah. I was so upset, and I said to Mum, “Why didn’t someone tell me?” “Oh, because you know …” Not very good for children to know these things in those days. So I was broken-hearted about him dying.

So after that Dad then bought the Fernhill, and Nana moved into … now I think she moved into Plumstead Buildings; up the top there was accommodation for Rita Anderson who lived at the Stortford Lodge with us – she run [ran] the shop. And Nana lived up the top for many, many years, yes. So that was when I was … I was twelve when we moved out there, so prior to that was the nine years at Stortford Lodge; so those years I was in and out to Poppa and Nana’s there. But the bridge at Fernhill was being built. It used to be an old wooden bridge and the men that were working on the bridge stayed at the hotel quite a lot. I remember them coming back and forth and being there. Yes, so those were sort of, as I say, they were lovely days there at Fernhill.

What about the cooking and things at Fernhill. Did your mother still ..?

Yes – we had a husband and wife that had a little sort of bedroom/shower thing out from the back of the hotel, and so she was the cook and he was the barman. So mostly there was a couple doing that; and then because the housekeeping part and waitressing was often done by a Maori girl; they lived there. So they [there] were often different ones coming and going from there. On the day off of one of them Mum would fill in and help with the cooking or do the cooking. And before I went to boarding school I was home more, so I started to help with the dining room part of it.

And we did all the laundry at Fernhill as well, so we had a big wash house with all the washing machines and two big roller dryers, [and] irons, so I could sit and do that part of it. And Dad was [a] big man and so he had big shirts, nearly as big as a sheet, so when he was doing the lawns or anything out[side] he would take off his shirts and there would be shirts all round the grounds. And they were huge! I had plaits at one stage ‘cause [of] the wringer, and I caught my plaits in the wringer. [Chuckle] And we had the blue bags … soaking the sheets in the blue bags, so there was a lot. And even after I came back from boarding school when it was holidays, I of course came back home, and mostly it was busy then; there was [were] football team[s] … ‘Cause we had annexes [that] Dad built on, so [the] annexes would take about twelve or thirteen guys or girls in beds, and we had about two of those, so they were big weekends. And when they went there was all of that laundry to do. By that time after I’d met Ian I was going out with him on a Sunday sometimes, and he would have to come and sometimes he’d have to help, or I couldn’t go. But Mum was very kind, she’d say, “Off you go, Jule, you’ve got to go out.”

I’m interested in your mother …

She was wonderful.

Before we go onto Ian, tell me more about her, because did she have this sort of background?

No. Her Dad was a stock agent, and he was lovely – I never met him but Mum said he was absolutely lovely. I think she was his favourite because she again was more boyish, and her sister was very girly and beautiful, curly hair and talented at everything … sewing, and did everything. So she was sort of like Nana’s sort of favourite thing, and Mum was a bit more boy-ey, and [the] boy went to the Navy, so … There wasn’t sort of much about Uncle Jack. But they had a big house in Waipukurau, and Nana was very, very tough apparently. And they had to do quite a lot of work and stuff like that, and so they’d get a bit angry and think, ‘Oh, we’ll polish the floor.’ ‘Cause Nana was a big woman, very big woman, smoked like a chimney; and she would walk, and so they thought if they polished all the floors she’d fall over. [Chuckle] But anyway, Nana caught onto that, and their punishment was castor oil or a stick. [Chuckle] So they often got caught with caster oil and sticks, and Mum was often in trouble so she’d get locked in her bedroom or … no, she had to share a bedroom with Aunty Pat. Aunty Pat was a bit of a naughty girl and she often had little outings and sneak out [of] the bedroom, and she’d say if Mum told [on] her she’d kick her with her shoes on in bed. [Chuckle]

What was your mother’s name – her maiden name?

Mum’s actual name was Pauline Hazel Brittain. My grandfather … his actual name was Hubert Francis but he didn’t like that so he called himself Joe Brittain, being a stock agent. But then Poppa got very bad with – I think he got TB [tuberculosis] in his spine. He got quite ill, and so he would take Mum out of school [to] drive for him. So she learnt early to drive and do stuff for him so they were very close.

And they had a horse and Mum rode to the Catholic school in – I think it was Waipawa or Waipuk[urau]; they lived in Waipawa I think, and then they lived in Waipuk. Then Poppa died quite young, before I was born, so I never actually ever knew him. But Nana Hazel would sometimes come, and she stayed and she did the cooking when one of the cooks had left or something like that. So she was a fairly stern sort of a lady. She wasn’t sort of a favourite; I wasn’t that close to her.

But Mum was lovely, and fair; and I might’ve got a smack once when I was only little – I think I threw a bit of a … oh, we were walking somewhere with Nana, and I decided I wasn’t going to walk so I stamped my feet and said, “I can’t walk, my legs are sore.” So Mum dragged me into the thing, gave me a smack across the backside and said, “Now see if your legs work”; which they did. [Chuckle] But my plaits were the thing, so I’d get my plaits pulled; so I hated having my hair done because my head always seemed to be sore. [Chuckle]

So across the road from the hotel in Heretaunga Street was a shop – it was sort of like a drapery shop but sold everything. It was called Johnson’s Store and we shopped for different items from there. The other bigger things for the hotel were from de Pelichet McLeod’s – that was the big stuff, but across the road. Further down there there was the ambulance driver. And the van, [it] was called Mr Unwin; and in front of his place to the side which was facing onto Heretaunga Street, he had a dairy called Unwin’s Dairy. And when we were little, my friend and I and the kids, you could go and buy, if you had some little money … they made these lovely sodas with all [sorts of] things in it. [Them] And one of the favourite ones was called a spider, and I was talking to someone a while back and they [said], “Oh, I remember a spider at Unwins.” Yeah. So they were there, and underneath that was Rita Anderson’s drapery shop where I worked after school, so that gave me [a] little bit of money so that was really nice. I learnt a little bit about dealing with money.

And then on the other corner – did I tell you about the garage? No – on the other corner of Maraekakaho and Omahu Road, straight across, was a big garage called Williams’ Garage … Mr & Mrs Williams; and next to them towards Maraekakaho Road there were [was] the Harris family, and they had five children. The youngest boy, Clifford, runs Hastings’ Harris Machinery, [now Harris Pumps & Filtration, run by third generation] still in Omahu Road.

Did your family socialise?

No. No. Mostly it was all publicans, ‘cause there was the Albert Hotel, and there was all those hotels at that same time so it was all publicans, so there was no socialising and those sort of things.

So where did the beer come from?

The beer, as far as I can recall, ‘cause I didn’t really take too much notice – I know we had a big cellar and that would open up and big barrels would go down. But I think it was Mr Newbigin, that would be Jim’s father … Dudley, I think his name was … I think he had the brewery and I think we may have got it from there. That’s as far as I’m aware, and at Fernhill – I don’t know that part of it either.

So let’s go now to your working life; you started to tell me …

So after I finished boarding school my first job was with Tourist Kelt Motors. Jack Blake was the manager at that time, and then John [Blake] became salesman, I think, there.

Ian had been at school at the same time in primary as I had, but you didn’t really have much to do with boys in those days, so when I went I knew who he was. And so after so many months he asked me out. So we used to go out on … I think Wednesday was our picture night, and that was his night out; [chuckle] and then other times I went out with others that did dancing and all sort of things. So you know, for a few years it was [a] pretty free relationship and it was really good. So he stuck through the whole lot. [Chuckle]

Where did you go to dances?

At the Premier Hall where the St Joseph’s School is. On that property, backing onto Eastbourne Street, there was a hall called the Premier Hall. And every Saturday night they had a dance and my uncle, Mum’s brother Jack, used to run it and so everybody went, they had the band; and you didn’t have to have a partner, you just went along. The girls sat on one side, the boys on the other, eyed up who they were going to ask to dance [chuckle] and you danced with them [and] if you liked them, well, you danced again; [chuckle] if you didn’t, well, you just said, “No, I’ve got to go to the toilet”, [chuckle] or something. And they had supper, and they were great years. ‘Cause by that time of course I was at Fernhill, and I had a girlfriend whose parents leased a big farm, and so we became friends catching the bus into school, and she used to come to the dances with me. So then outside the dance we just went home with whoever was sort of going, but Ian always came with his two mates to see if we had a ride home – if we didn’t [chuckle] he’d take us home. [Chuckle]

So how long did you go out before he proposed?

Well after all those years Dad went off and had another business in Auckland and he stayed away a lot, so Mum took over the [as] lessee. And so Mum and I were there most of the time and there was a lovely barman called Syd Drinkwater. [He] and his wife, Biddy her name was, lived in a cottage … as you come over the hill at Fernhill there was a house, and they lived there. And he was a great chap; I think he might have stayed because I saw it in the book, but I don’t remember that. But anyway, he was sort of like the bar manager. And then we had another little fellow called Mr Wong … Barry Wong … and he did all the maintenance and did other cleaning things at home. So you know, those were the ones that were there most of that time.

Now you’ve mentioned ‘the book’ several times, so tell me about ‘the book’.

The book … someone brought me the book; I don’t know where it came from but it’s a record since 1949 – or might have been less [earlier] than that, I’m not too sure – of all the people that stayed at the Stortford Lodge Hotel. So I’m just donating it to the Knowledge Bank.

And who would’ve kept that record?

Well whether it is Mum’s writing, I’m not too sure, I don’t recognise it as, but then of course as a child, you don’t. And I don’t remember an office lady … always remember Dad or Mum being in that office part. It’s a bit sketchy, those days.

So for the record I’ll just describe this book – it’s a large red heavy covered book which has a record of everybody who stayed every night during that period. Sometimes there’s a mention of an amount that the people paid but most of all it’s just a record of everybody who stayed, so it’s a very interesting document to have.

Let’s go to Ian now – do you want to talk about getting married to Ian?

Oh – well eventually Dad had met another woman after so many years, and said that he wanted to bring her home, and that Mum could either stay – can you imagine it? Or we had a bach in Taupo and he had a little bach type of house at Herald Island which is on the way to Whenuapai; it’s between Whenuapai and Huapai, and it had a causeway going across and he had a bach there. Mum’s sister lived in Auckland and she did have some other friends that she knew, a husband and wife, and so she went there. So there Mum stayed, and got some jobs at the hotels – two different hotels – and stayed there ‘til she retired, and came back.

I went and boarded with a Mrs Walker, which is … Doug Walker, who had big properties out [in] Twyford Road; I boarded with her and then moved into town and boarded with another lady until Ian and I got married. Then I had a year; I got a job at the United Empire Box Company [UEB] from Tourist Motors ‘cause it was about $5 a week more money. And I stayed there for so many years and then I decided to go and have a year with Mum, which I did, so Ian said, “Oh well, have that year and then we’ll see if you want to get engaged or not.” So he came and got me a year later and we got engaged.

And what was your first home, yours and Ian’s?

We flatted in Avenue Road, and then from there we went to Twyford; we rented in Twyford – I was pregnant so it was only a little two-bedroom – and stayed there until I had our first child, and in the meantime was planning our … I had a section in Ballantyne Street, so I was drawing up plans for that. My Nana left me some money to buy the section; it was just opening up, so we bought that section. Before that though, we bought a section in Margaret Avenue in Havelock [North] and we’d drive a tractor out and start to clear it, but then it was back and forth all the time and Ian’s work and mine was … so we sold that. And then as I say, Nana gave us the money for the section which I think was only about … oh, something cheap like £600 or … I mean very, very cheap. And we had that for a few years and then built, so Ross Mossman who’s a builder, and his son’s a builder, so they built our first house …

So the house is still there?

The house is still there, looks the same colour [chuckle] and everything else. Yeah, so that was our first home, and we were there for a couple of years. And then we bought three sections down the end of the cul-de-sac; it was a Dutch chappie … Bolga. He had three sections there and then he sold them. One of the Poppelwell boys bought one; a girl; and we bought three sections there. I decided I want[ed] to try and build another house so we bought those. I drew up some plans for that, but by the time I’d finished that Ian needed to buy another truck. Oh – so in between times he bought the business …

So tell me, what did Ian do?

At Tourist when we first met he managed the Parts Department. He was wanting to be a mechanic, but Mr Blake said, “Oh, I think you’d be good to do that”, and so he managed the Parts Department right up, and then he started his own business.

Tell me about the business?

So the business; Ian was actually born in Wairoa and he moved to Hastings in ’44 and was at St Joseph’s Primary and later St John’s Secondary School. In 1955 he started in the Parts Department at Tourist Motors, and later moved to car and truck sales. In 1962 he purchased Hastings Parcel Service with one Volkswagen truck, later increasing it to a larger truck and also merging with Gough Hughes – whose son had Hughes & Smythe Pharmacy. He taught him to drive as a young boy, so that was David – and with a fleet of four trucks. Gough retired in 1972 and the fleet grew to eight plus a loader and a forklift, and storage. Sold to Hart Transport in 1978, then moved to refuse with mini and jumbo bins, and sold that in 1980 and joined Deacon Motors in truck sales, and retired in 1999. So on [the] purchase of [the] parcel business my [his] depot was at Newbigin’s Wines & Spirits, and through Jim [he] was introduced to new business contacts etcetera – Leopard Brewery, High Grade Packaging, Morrison Industries and Unilever.

Fantastic – so your family have had an association with so many other families and places, haven’t you?

Yes, yes, yes. It has been quite widespread. Out at Fernhill there was the McLeods, and then there was all the farmers that came and drank at the hotel, so there was a wide range of different people. And so I had different boyfriends that lived out there that [I] used to go out [with]; and one had a speedboat and one had a yacht. So it was all fun days. At Fernhill – later of course after I’d been to school and everything – we had a whole gang of people that were doing surveying of oil and gas fields. I think for about a year they lived at Fernhill, the boys, so there was probably about ten or twelve. A lot of them had cars so I was able to drive their cars back and forth …

So when did you learn to drive?

Oh I was driving in the paddocks sort of … well, fourteen and fifteen; I got my licence as soon as I could and …

Tell me about getting your licence … bet it was a bit easier then?

It was easy. I just learnt up the Road Code and sent that off, and then just had to drive down Murdoch Road, over the railway lines, ‘cause you had to stop and go up over and stop; so that was quite good, and then just drive down the road. And he’d say, “Stop!” So I carried on, put my hand out the window, and went on. He said, “I meant to stop straight away”, [chuckle] “but anyway, you did well.” [Chuckles] Oh, it was easy, so I was able to drive the boys’ cars back and forth to get them so that was all good.

And we had a lovely little Morris Minor, and Mum had it all painted up sort of lovely yellow and black like a little bumble bee. And that was really lovely, and it had a lovely new canvas hood on it, but we had a horse in the paddock and so not long after having it all done the horse ate great holes, chewed all holes in the night. [Chuckles]

We had a polo pony down the road, and there was a chap called Jack Masters who had polo horses so he put his horse in another paddock not far away, and I used to ride that … ride it to the polo things and back, so I was able to have a horse most of the time. It was a really lovely time there.

Going back to Fernhill, Pete and I – Peter was four years younger than me and he was a bit of a pain at times ‘cause he wanted to come out with me all the time. But at home we were close together; And at Fernhill there was a big hill that went up to the side of us, and there was [were] lovely big trees up there so we built a thing up there. And what was quite interesting, there was [were] big trenches, and when I asked Poppa prior to that, he said they [were] built there when the Japanese were thinking of arriving in New Zealand, and so they had trenches, as they did right along Napier foreshore. It was either [the] Germans or the Japanese. So they were great times of hiding in those and doing things there, and sliding down the hill.

And as I say Pete was often into trouble – we had wild cats there which kept the rats and stuff away, and Pete had some pigeons. Anyway, one of the cats got in and ate his baby pigeons, so [chuckle] Pete ran out and was strangling the cat. Dad, although was a very hard man he was very good with animals. We always had miles of different types of [animals] – we had Scotch [Scottish] terriers, fox terriers, dachsies, [dachshunds] Great Danes – all sorts. And if anything had a little operation or … they used to get seeds … he’d just cut them open. He was very good with animals like that.

Pete … oh, that’s right, so he had his cousin [who] he went to boarding school with staying. And we had a big, big loft which all the hay and everything was kept in in Poppa’s day; it was two-storey and you could go up the top. So Pete I think, decided that they’d hang one of these cats after it had killed his pigeons. Anyway Dad happened to look out the window and saw him, and he charged out, dragged the kids down and held Pete up by his neck and said, “How do you like being strangled?” So Mum went into hysterics and rushed out … “You’ll kill your own son!” [Chuckles]

Pete was always into sort of trouble, so Dad would get out the shotgun or whatever gun he had and start shooting – oh, and one time I was with him and we hooned up the Fernhill hotel and up the trees. [Chuckle] Dad would be shooting. [Chuckle]

I can see why people say your father was a character. This is what I came across when I was doing some research. This is Byron Buchanan talking:

‘I remember Crofter’ … obviously your Dad … ‘I remember Crofter going round the bar raffling a saddle for ten shillings [10/-] a ticket. Jack Murphy, a drover who had full board at the hotel and kept his horses in paddocks outside the Stortford, won the raffle. In walks Crofter with the saddle for Murphy, who yells, “You bastard! That’s mine!” That was Crofter … everybody took it as part of the fun. Fun days without the bitterness and haranguing of today.’

It’s a great story, and it sort of epitomises obviously, the sort of man that your father was.

Yes. We had great times at Fernhill. At the marae there was often football matches, and we were always invited to go over and watch. And then there was always a lovely hangi afterwards. And Maori people … you know, they respected Dad. He was a hard man but they all respected him at the hotel; they were always good. The doors were always open, we never worried, and my windows were open. And people’d come in at night – there’d be … not a hangi, but [a tangi] … someone had died and they would come in; and not only them but everybody else came and wanted after hour[s] drinks. We had steel poles going up to the second floor and they’d get a coin and they’d dong on those … ‘ding ding ding’. And so you’d [he’d] go down. So it was all after hour trading there, and I often used to – when Dad was away – help Mum, and I’d go down and serve; no worries about opening up, taking their money, putting it in, giving them change. So that was a big thing. Everybody knew about that, ‘cause I’ve spoken to lots of guys – they’d [say], “Oh, we used to do that.”

Did the police ever come?

Oh, the police just loved trying to catch Dad out! And so we had people along the road from Stortford Lodge to Fernhill that when they saw the police go past they would ring; but unfortunately in those days there was a party line, so often somebody would be chatting and you couldn’t get through – no cell phones. So the odd time Dad would send Mum and I to sit halfway down the road, [chuckle] and I think we must’ve had somebody jacked up that we could run and ring … try and ring them, anyway. One time Mum and I we were getting bored and we were chatting away and we happened to miss the police car going [chuckle] and Dad got caught. There was a Sunday session as well so yes, we always had to have someone on guard on [for] Sunday sessions so everybody’d come out …

But he was never … he was never prosecuted?

Oh yes! Prosecuted several times, yes, and fined. But it was quite crafty ‘cause most people would get hold of Dad and say, “The cops are on the way”, so we’d clear out. But one time I was on guard, and just before the rise there was McLean’s Stores – before the hotel – and then there was sort of a big rock so I often would sit up there and wait. But anyway, one time I was a bit short – they came over pretty quickly and [I] missed it – I managed to sort of yell out, “Cops are coming!” And so everyone hooned out; they were running in all directions, and one of the police said to one bloke, “What are you running for?” And he says, “’Cause I can’t bloody well fly!” [Laughter] Oh dear! And Dad used to book them in so that there were people there; “Oh, they’re in the house.” And some of them would run up and hide in the bedroom or the bathroom or the toilets – they just ran everywhere. And others would say, “Oh, we’re in the house”, and they’d say, “What room?” And Dad’d say, “Oh they’re in this bedroom.” [Chuckles] So those were very many scary days. [Chuckles] Oh dear.

Also when Dad went to Fernhill they did up a lovely area across the road from the hotel backing onto the Ngaruroro River; the bank was behind, and Dad built a lovely garden bar sort of thing, that people could take their children, they could sit outside, he had sort of little annex things built, and there was umbrellas and everything out there. So it was all laid out, there was a fish pond he did in the middle, and then fenced off another little area with swings and slides for [so] the people that they could watch their children and they were in a separate area. But once Mum left and Dad sold on the hotel, they took it away and made it just into car parks which was a bit of a shame.

But at the time that must’ve been something quite unique?

At the time … very nice, and people would come with their family and it was all outside in the sunshine and it was very unique. And when they went to get their drinks, from the private bar there was a big drop-down, we’ll call it, area that they could just get their drinks … be served through the private bar by somebody and then they’d take them over to the things there. So it was always very nice.

So as I said about Mum going to Auckland – she worked at the Ponsonby Club which was a big hotel in Auckland on the corner of Ponsonby [Road] – now that’s gone now. And then she worked at Huapai; but met some lovely people there, and the owners of the Ponsonby Club had a house so that when Mum retired she bought a little house that they owned from them, and spent the rest of …

So Julie, just to finish, a little bit about life now …

Life now? Yes, well I had four children … actually five; one little girl died at birth. The children are now grown up of course; so my eldest son has gone to United States. He took up diving like his uncle, and [has] been all round the world. He’s retired, and now he works on one of the big wharf things in America. And he has two daughters and two stepsons. And my next son Greg, he is [has] shares in Stephen Hill Motors; did work sweeping the floors at Tourist Motors and went on and worked for Tourist Motors, following in both our footsteps. And then I had another daughter, Paula, and she’s here now. She married Jason, and they lived in Christchurch for many years and then moved to Hastings and live in Havelock [North]. And another younger daughter, Anna, married Ashley Stichbury who was very well into car racing. He died when his baby was seven months old and left Anna a widow, and she has since married again and she’s got three children. Yeah, so that’s all the children.

And I started different things, sort of when I was pregnant, thinking I needed something else to do. So I went to Hastings Boys’ High School where they had night schools, and I did woodwork, but I wasn’t very good at levelling out so my high tables turned out to be a coffee tables. [Chuckle] And I made bookshelves, and trucks, and everything else for [the] kids, then got a bit bored with that and went on to basket weaving. My baskets all turned out sideways [quiet chuckle] and quite weird; then went on to pottery.

And then there was a ‘Have a Go’ day in Hastings, and my girlfriend, Jo Geor – Peter Geor’s got a business in Omahu Road – they had an orchard in Kaiapo Road and we became very good friends and so we went off to these different things; ended up at Keirunga Gardens where Frank Bacon was doing demonstrations with art, so we thought, ‘Oh, that looks quite good’; “Can we take it up?” And he said, “Well we haven’t got anyone teaching at the moment.” After that there was [were] painting classes at Rudolph Steiner [School]. We painted on wallpaper and they read stories, and we sort of painted that.

And then six months later Frank started up schools teaching art, and we joined, and I’ve been a member every since. I learnt to paint through all of that time, and then I painted with Rua Longley, Terry Longley’s wife … she was a great artist … painted with her and went to every workshop that was available coming into Keirunga [Creative Arts] over the years, and really enjoyed water colour painting which I did. And [I] eventually ended up being asked by the Hastings High [School] if I would take over the outdoor painting class, which I did from St Matthew’s Church which we run our class from. But then some of the ladies decided that we shouldn’t be teaching, that it should be just a drop-in centre; but the high school said, no, we were paid to teach. So he found me another place in the Nelson Referees’ Rooms, which were ghastly; they were all cold and everything else. So from there we shifted out to Havelock and went to Our Lady of Lourdes Church. And they had a hall there, so I said to them, “How about leasing it out to us?” So they gave it to us just for a donation, and I’ve been there ever since, teaching water colour from there. And I’ve just retired from teaching but I still go out with the group. So that’s really good, and I’m still a member of Keirunga. Yes.

And I’m involved in our Catholic parish of St Peter Chanel, which I’ve been in ever since Peter was baptised there. I’ve been a member fifty-odd years, before it was even built; so we had Mass in the hospital grounds in the Nurses’ rooms, and also at St Mary’s School; we had rooms there. And then they built the church so I’ve been involved there ever since. I’m on the Liturgy committee, and on the Bereavement committee, helping people do their funerals.

And you also have a beautiful garden …

And a big garden there as well; a vege garden and everything else so that keeps me very occupied. And I was also doing other’s gardens … I had about ten or eleven gardens at one stage when I was younger. But gradually people have died or gone into Homes, so I’ve cut right down. I just do all the parish garden[s], my next door neighbour’s sometimes, and another friend that [who] can’t do anything. And yeah, I do other bits and pieces, cooking and …

Julie, it’s been a [an] absolute[ly] fascinating hour. I’m absolutely amazed at what you’ve packed into your life, [chuckle] and it’s been really interesting, so thank you …

Oh, it’s a pleasure, Maxine …

… very, very much.

… that’s lovely; I hope it’s a help to somebody.

Right, okay.