Newbigin, Edward James Dudley (Jim) Interview

Good morning, Jim.

Good morning, Frank.

I’m recording an interview with Jim Newbigin. Today is the 10^th September, 2014 and we’ll start now with some statistics. Jim will introduce his life. Thank you, Jim.

Thank you. I’ll endeavour to do something for you, Frank.

First of all the history of the Newbigins. Our Northumberland family, as far as can be traced with accuracy, were living from an early date in Hexhamshire, North England. Their place of origin was the wooded hamlet of Newbigin at the junction of Dipton Burn and Devils Water, a place first mentioned in documents in 1335. From here it would surely seem the family name derives only a few miles further north in the Wall country. There appeared towards the end of the Middle Ages what we might term our first ancestors. The name Newbigin derives from Old Norse, a new begin, being a building or dwelling. Several places in the north of England bear this name while its use as a surname occurs in scattered references throughout the Middle Ages.

In the thirteenth century there was a family deriving their name from Newbigin-by-the-Sea in Northumberland, another near Midridge in Durham, a William de Newbigin (ning) who was one of the outlaws who kidnapped the unpopular Bishop of Durham in 1317. John de Newbigin, ordained at Corbridge in 1335 was a [the] bearer of a letter from the University of Oxford to Winchester in 1333, and subsequently rector of Gateshead.

Another John was Bailiff of Newcastle in 1397; Adam de Newbigin – that’s de Newbigin – described as a Scottish knight, agreed to border laws in 1249. Whilst that is probably the earliest reference to the use of the name, [the name] occurs with Robert de Newbegyng of Newburn who witnessed the deed in 1166.

As a surname Newbigin is rare and distinctive in the north country. Only one individual bearing this name appears in the entire list of householders enumerated in the Hearth Tax for Northumberland in 1664, and from him we can claim direct descent. The spelling of the name can take every possible variety from the Medieval struggles from Neubighying and Newbiggyng to the rustic Nowbidggan and Newbekin – Hexham, Northumbrian tongue. Certainly in the middle of the eighteenth century when Joseph Newbigin, founder of the Ryton branch began to sign his name with a single ‘g’ to distinguish it from the place name, it had become a matter of pride of the descendants who have followed the tradition since.

That’s interesting, Jim, isn’t it?  How so much can be in a name? It’s very historical.

It is. John de Newbigin of Errington in the chapelry of St Oswald in the Parish of St John Lee in the county of Hexham came to the cathedral church of Durham on 7^th July 1496, and there, upon the ringing of the bell, was immediately given immunity. Before this, 12^th June, i.e. the Sunday after the feast of St Barnabas (the apostle recently passed), he had made insult to a certain Gerrard Still of Hexham, a freeman, and struck the said Gerrard in the chest with a semi lance called a spear star, from which the said Gerrard died;  for which crime he was given immunity and freedom.

By the sixteenth century the Newbigin family were firmly established in this area. Because of the strict vigilance needed in the borders, all able bodied men between the ages of sixteen and sixty were required to bear arms in readiness. The meticulous muster roll of Henry VIII in 1538 shows the number of men and their recruitments, both able footed soldiers and those more able having a horse and harness. There appears a concentration of Newbigins in the vicinity of St John Lee. They were a hardy lot. Later many became traders, for butchers, followed by so many generations of Newbigins, was perhaps a logical extension from their early days of cattle lifting – not cattle rustling, cattle lifting.

The name Newbigin appears around the city of Durham through the marriages and branches, Newbigin of St John Lee, Newbigin of Barwell, Newbigin of Bladen, Newbigin of Newcastle and Shields, Newbigin of Hexham, Newbigin of Ryton Grange and Newbigin of Ryton, and that is the start of the name Saddle Newbigins. How we got that name (so runs the family legend about the Saddle and old Campbell as he was known to them) … until the First World War two Newbigin aunts of Ryton Farm preserved the saddle cloth and panniers belonging to their forebear, James Campbell;  with the visible evidence handed down, this branch of the family became known as Saddle Newbigins. The cloth read ‘Edward Newbigin’s wife Jane had a sister whose family had to escape from some danger in the hills of Argyll to join the great Argyll.  Their parents travelled on a famous white horse, old Campbell’s wife on pillion and the children in panniers at their side. The great Duke of Argyll wanted to buy the horse on account of its wonderful performance, but old Campbell replied “No, my Lord, for I like a good horse as well as you.”‘ The saddle cloth and panniers were preserved at Ryton farm, and Jane’s family who kept them were always known as the Saddle Newbigins.

Fascinating story.

Mmm – and I don’t know what happened to the saddle cloth from here on in.

Edward Newbigin, third son of Joseph Newbigin and Mary White, settled at Ryton west farm in Ryton Grange as a farmer with a hundred and twenty-six acres. In 1799 he married Jane Campbell, so making a dual link between brother and sister. They had nine children. The latter five were baptised in a batch by his friend the Rector of Ryton. In 1819 he presented Edward with an inscribed bible;  and indeed his farming friend was a respected pillar of the community, to judge from the newspaper report of his death in 1848 … ‘Death at Ryton on 6^th October after a short illness.  Aged seventy-five, the much deservedly regretted Mr Edward Newbigin, farmer. He was the oldest tenant on any of the Townley estates in the county of Durham and had attended eighty rent days without a single interruption.’

All did not run smoothly after the death of Edward, with disputes over the land and the fishing rights on the [River] Tyne. Then in 1861-62 coal was discovered under the farmland. Edward’s son, John, had taken up his father’s tenancy, and was now edged out. Several letters on the archives of the Stellar Coal Company testify to this attempt to gain control. Finally it ended in the case of Newbigin versus Townley in Newcastle County Court on the question of tenants’ rights. John was awarded costs – £148 – but lost the tenancy. His wife, Elizabeth, died in 1858, and being now a widower with several children to support he decided to seek a new life in New Zealand.

Oh, so that was the start.

That was the start of our time here.

Fascinating, Jim, isn’t it?

Mmm. Now Edward Newbigin, born in 1850 and died in 1934, born at Ryton in Northumberland, UK. [United Kingdom]  Edward, along with his father John, brothers William, Andrew and sisters Elizabeth and Clara, set sail on the ship ‘Ardberg’, 1864 from London to Auckland. I might add here that William, Andrew and Elizabeth and John died in the typhoid [epidemic] in Auckland about 1865, and Edward and Clara were the only surviving ones.

The ‘Ardberg’ was a fine looking ship of nine hundred and twenty-one tons, and in addition to a large cargo had brought to our shores a hundred and thirty-six passengers, all in good health, there being only four deaths (infants) and four births. The trip took a hundred and twenty days. Edward was granted a hundred and forty acres by the Government before he left England. He did not come out as an immigrant, but paid the passage money of all his family and was entitled to this grant of land. He sold it [Edward sold it after his father died] for 3/6d [three shillings and sixpence] an acre, but never saw it.

Unfortunately in 1865 a severe fever epidemic came about and William, Elizabeth and Andrew and John all died. They were buried in the Grafton cemetery. Edward moved around the Auckland area for some months, eventually moving to Napier as he wanted to be a sheep farmer.

On arrival he rolled up his blankets and walked some forty miles inland up [to] the Taihape area, where he worked, from all reports, on the property of T H Lowry, and also got board there.

I didn’t realise the contact … the association … the Lowrys and Newbigins went that far back.

Yes, it’s amazing isn’t it, how it all unfolded later on.

So Sundays was wash day, and all the stockmen, as he was, went to the river to do their washing;  and later the day was spent in horse dealing, selling and swapping or exacting. After eight weeks experiencing shepherding he decided to return to Auckland, but while staying in a hotel in Napier waiting for a steamer, a Mr Swan, who was the mayor of Napier at the time, heard him conversing with another person and asked him if he came from the north of England. He replied, “Yes”. Mr Swan then said, “If you go to the brewery I will give you a job”. That was in 1874.

From the previous brewery in England [more likely in Auckland where Mr Whitson, who was like a foster father to him after his own father died, was a brewer, and where Edward often worked between other jobs] he had a fair knowledge of [what] brewing was all about, and from bottle washer he rose to brewer where he stayed for twenty years. The brewery had a big fire under suspicious circumstances in 1869 and was very badly damaged.  The shareholders sold their shares to Mr Swan and on a rebuild it was called Swan Brewery, and changed again – White Swan. By this time Edward was the manager, 1884.

On February 26^th … Edward was no stranger to Napier having [been] employed since 1874, the last five years as brewer to the company. He was said to have a reputation for courtesy and attention to business which would stand him in good stead for his new venture. From the Hawke’s Bay Herald Tribune in 1887:

‘There was a very pleasant gathering at the White Swan Brewery last evening when His Worship the Mayor, Mr Swan, gave an invitation ball and supper to celebrate the coming of age of his eldest son Mr George John Swan. There was a large attendance of friends of the host and hostess, fully a hundred and fifty ladies and gentlemen present.’

Not a bad number.

‘The festivities were conducted in a large malt house which was beautifully decorated for the occasion with evergreens, flowers, flags etcetera, and illuminated by rows of coloured lanterns suspended from the ceiling. Music was provided by Mrs Morrison on the piano and Mr Sorrell, violin, who succeeded in thoroughly entertaining the many guests. For no dancers, card rooms were fitted up and were utilised by many prominent citizens who love a quiet rubber occasionally.  [Chuckle]

‘The supper provided was on a most lavish scale, all the delicacies of the season being on the tables in great profusion, and the desserts including all the varieties of fruit procurable in the district. In addition to the dancing there were songs at intervals by some of the guests, and nothing was wanting;  calculated to make the gathering what has proved to be a most enjoyable one throughout. The toast of the evening was felicitously proposed by Mr H Williams who, on behalf of the company, expressed his good wishes to Mr Swan’s welfare in well chosen words. The toast was enthusiastically honoured, and was responded to in suitable terms. The toast of the host and hostess was cordially honoured, and served to show respect in which His Worship the Mayor is held. During the evening Mr Newbigin, on behalf of the brewery employees, all of whom were present, presented Mr Swan with a handsome gold Albert chain as a token of their respect and esteem, the presentation being made in very feeling terms and similarly responded to. At midnight the party sat down to supper, after which dancing was recommenced and lasted ’til the early morning.’

That’s amazing, Jim, isn’t it? When we think … you said how enthusiastic they were with the toasts and how many came – maybe because Mr Swan was a brewer and the function was being held in the malt room – it was probably part of the draw card. [Chuckle]

In December 1892, shortly after returning to Napier from a visit to England, Edward Newbigin purchased the St Aubyn Brewery at Hastings from George Ellis who was the Mayor of Hastings. On January 31^st 1893 he took possession of the brewery. In February it was reported that a reporter overheard in St Aubyn Street, “Well, my man, I bought the brewery. Yes, it is a ‘new beginning’ for Hastings”.  During this time [working at Swan Brewery in Napier] he built a house, and brought his sister, Clara, to Napier, and they lived together until she married Mr Frederick George Smith, a successful business man in Napier [on 2nd March 1880].  And in [on 10th May] 1882 at the Presbyterian Manse in Napier, Edward married Margaret Willis, aged seventeen, in the presence of F G and Clara Smith. Margaret was born in Newcastle, New South Wales, Australia. Margaret’s parents’ names were … father was Henry Willis, Mine Overseer at South Shields in England, born 26^th March 1855; and mother, Mary, born in Blythe, Northumberland, England.  So they had come out from England and moved to Australia. Just after their marriage [probably around 1891-1892 as he took over the brewery in January 1893] they took a trip to England, and on his return moved to Hastings and went into business on his own account. So [that] was the start of the Hastings brewery known as Burton, and later its trade name, Leopard.

Edward suffered considerable loss during the [19]31 earthquake, and during the Depression he offered land in Market Street for a ‘Good Cheer Depot’ [on] the site of where his building was demolished during the ‘quake. A report states the meals were as ‘plentiful, nourishing and piping hot;  boiling hot vegetable broth with more or less unlimited bread was followed by a great plate full of Irish stew’, with carrots and turnips added to the stew. The hours were twelve to two and three thirty to five;  school children before the adults.

Edward and Margaret lived in a fine two storeyed house on the corner of Hastings Street and St Aubyn Street, the brewery being their neighbours. They had three children – Elsie born 1885, died 1961; then came Doreen quite a few years later, 1900-1981; and my father Dudley, born 1902 and died 1964. All were schooled at Woodford House in Havelock North;  Dudley later at Croydon [now Wesley School] in Wellington, and Christ’s College in Christchurch.

In a few notes I’ve made from there:

• the typhoid epidemic was in 1865 in Auckland, and took the lives of William, Andrew, [John] and Elizabeth;
• and in 1878 an individual told the Daily Telegraph that he was married. Edward replied to the paper, “I beg to state that I feel flattered by the announcement, but as I have not been able to bring matters to a pleasant conclusion I hope they will not be disappointed if I tell them it is not true”.
• he was a member of the Wycliffe Lodge in Napier;
• bought a section in Woodville for £35;
• he owned a hotel in Woodville as well;
• 1889 – owner of the Mohaka Hotel halfway between Napier and Wairoa, and he had a notice in the paper, ‘To Let’ – and it went with six hundred acres;
• he returned from a trip from [to] England on the ‘Tarawera’ on the 15^th October.  That’s a funny date, 15th … that’s my birthday.
• ​​1895 he was a lieutenant in the Hastings Fire Service;
• the birth of his first daughter in 1886, Elsie, 31^st October – a lot of things happened in October;
• 1894 he breached the Beer Duty Act and [was] fined £50;
• 1896 he joined the Hastings Bowling Club, later to serve on the committee for many years and latterly was the President;
• 1898 his Commercial Hotel, Woodville was burnt down;
• 1900 he entered a barrel of beer in a competition at the A & P Society;  protest about the markings were upheld so [he] was disqualified … not too happy, as it came from a competitor;
• 1901 – voted on as a councillor for the Hastings Borough Council;
• in 1913 – with Margaret and Elsie returning from Vancouver, struck a cyclone off Lord Howe Island and had to heave-ho [heave-to];
• 1914 Elsie got engaged to Norman Beatson who lived in St Aubyn Street, Hastings;
• and Edward also owned the Carlton Hotel in Hastings and sold it to A D Douglas.

Oh, it’s fascinating, the community involvement over those periods of time.

Yes, so that’s as far as I can get with the history of Edward, and I’m still endeavouring to find more information about him.

Dudley Harmood Newbigin, born 1902 and died in 1964, born at Hastings on the 30^th April;  schooled at Woodford House, Croydon (Wellesley), and Christ’s College. After leaving college, Doreen and Elsie did a world tour, the first of two before marriage. While on his second trip he worked in the brewery in Prestonpans for half a year, then it was back home and learning the trade.

His social passions at this time were polo, golfing and flying. He had a Gypsy Moth plane, wings folded back;  kept it at the brewery in Hastings, and would tow it out to Bridge Pa with the brewery truck. Dudley won many trophies at Air Shows throughout the country. He had a pilot licence, No 31 in New Zealand – a Foundation member of the Hawke’s Bay-East Coast Aero Club and Executive member in 1929-30 when he won the first triangular course race from Mangere, Auckland, in a Tiger Moth in 1929. He was awarded the New Zealand Cup for this feat, the first time the Cup was open for competition.

Show jumping and hunting on his fine show-jumping horse Aladdin, and he also followed the hounds … [that] was another passion. In fact he was the first to have a horse float – made it at the brewery and placed it on the back of one of the trucks. Everyone thought he was barmy, but it was not too long before the local carrier, Powdrell, had followed. Also, he dabbled in racing with a horse that he thought would be a winner, but he was taken to task by the authorities with the name and the co-owner. Not a successful venture.

Dudley at College, and at Croydon was a boxer. He was best all round boy at Croydon. He was into athletics, cricket, rugby … and a pretty good scholar. At College when he went to Christ’s, he got beaten in his first year and from then on he was quite a good boxer, winning the paper weight; and later in life a leading amateur boxer of his day winning many trophies;  and later became President of the New Zealand Boxing Council, ’33-’35.  So all in all he was an accomplished all-round sportsman. Shooting was another pastime – he was a crack shot with his made to measure Greener that he bought in England – double barrel side by side shot gun – and he loved his yearly duck shooting at Porangahau each May.

Just a question there, Jim – where’s Croydon?

Croydon is now Wellesley College in Days Bay in Wellington. They changed their name.

Travelling was on his agenda with three world trips, one following the 1924 All Blacks on their tour of the British Isles when they were undefeated. He married Moira Margaret Brunton from Wellington at Wellington at the Basila [Basilica], in the presence of Harry Stanley Rathbone, a sheepfarmer in Waipawa in Hawke’s Bay – he was my godfather;  Alec Stead of Hastings and Kathleen Penelope Blundell of Wellington. After marriage Dudley and Moira lived on the corner of Hastings Street and Victoria Street, a really nice home, sunken garden, fish pond, tennis court and swimming pool, two large walnut trees, massive garden and plenty of lawns, as well as a short walk to the brewery. They were there for many years before moving to Hillington in Havelock North, another large property with ample room to play in.

Elizabeth, now Greenslade, was married at Victoria Street in 1960, and Virginia at Hillington in 1962, to David Everary White, (died tragically early), and then to Tim Wall of Martinborough.  Dudley and Moira had three children, me (Edward James Dudley born 1931), Elizabeth Beatrice born 1934, and Virginia Anne born 1938.

The brewery, first named as Burton, but one with the same name was in Palmerston North, so a name change to the trademark was … and that was Leopard. The draught beer was delivered in wooden kegs up to fifty-six gallons to hotels, first of all by horse and cart and later by motorised trucks. Bottled beer in quarts only was pasteurised and bottled, and mainly sold from the brewery;  also soft drinks and cordials were made at the brewery and sold to shops, motor camps and hotels in the Hawke’s Bay district;  a wine and spirit licence, hard to come by in those days, where the minimum sale was equal to two gallons (eighteen litres);  your order had to be made up of twelve bottles of beer and spirits.

Elizabeth, now Greenslade, and Virginia, now Wall, and Jim had a wonderful time with our parents who were firm but very fair. If [we] misbehaved, out came the strap and that was the end of the matter. It was a sad time when Dudley passed away far too early in life at sixty-two.

And a few snippets that I picked up:

• 1911 – spelling prize and Sunday school prize at Croydon

• 1912 – lost first round the lightweight boxing competition

• Picked for Hutt Cricket XI versus Upper Hutt

• 1913 – won the Bantam Weight boxing competition

• 1916 – Croydon School,  seco in the mile;  first in the 880 yards;  runner up in the tennis singles;  won the doubles with Warren, the singles champ [champion], and he was runner up in the singles handicap – he was on scratch and he got the ‘best all rounder’

• 1922 – he was a Vestryman at St Augustine’s Church in Napier

• 1928 – played polo for the Hastings club in Chatham Road and had a handicap of 4

• 1929 – gained his pilot’s licence at Bridge Pa

• 1930 – married Moira Margaret Brunton of Wellington – and I might add here that my mother was Catholic, so my two sisters were in the Catholic faith as well – and I don’t know how it came about but my grandfather had me christened Anglican, as was my father

• 1936 – best man for Gerry Durand and Joan Landells, very good friends in Hastings

And that’s all I have with him.

Right – we’ll move on to my life history. I was born in 1931 and I’m still around. My parents were Moira Margaret Brunton and Dudley Harmood Newbigin. My grandparents were Margaret, who was a Willis – nee Willis – and Edward. I have two sisters, Elizabeth Beatrice and Virginia Anne.

My earliest days was [were of] my bringing up at the family home in Victoria Street, known as ‘Korari’. It was a beautiful, oldish home built about 1922, and covered about a quarter of a block. Hastings was formed in blocks. It had a tennis court in grass, a swimming pool, sunken garden, chook house and an outside washing shed along with tool shed and garage, two magnificent walnut trees at one of the entrances. We used to gather up the walnuts in a barrow and sell them to Mr Landells for a shilling or two. In those days it was quite a lot of money.  A plot for a vegetable garden was outside the kitchen window, where I saw my father pulling out weeds, then planting carrots, potatoes, spinach, silver beet;  also a chicken run where we got eggs each day. And this is all in the borough of Hastings.

We had a circular drive both on Victoria Street that led to the front door that opened into a spacious front hall;  then straight in front was a sitting room with all the finest materials used, and this was only used for entertaining;  then into the smoke room where we sat most evenings with a fireplace and large cupboard that housed the drinks. Sliding doors to the dining room and into the kitchen – high ceiling, gas stove, dishes washed by hand, pantry and safe for keeping food – no refrigerators, dishwashers, clothes washers in those days. My mother bottled fruit and beetroot, made beautiful ice cream which had to be really eaten before it … and it never got frozen. Following on from the kitchen was the maid’s room – later to become my sleepout when I came back home after school – and then the nursery with a wetback for the airing cupboard. Down the hall we had another bathroom and two bedrooms and then another short passage, bathroom, black bath and basin, pink walls and a toilet, my father’s dressing room and then the main bedroom. Our car was a Buick 8.

Monday was wash day, so about six-thirty the tub in the outside wash house was filled with water and a fire lit underneath to heat the water. Clothes were scrubbed on a wash board, rough wood in the middle, and when washed, put through a wringer to release the water before being hung out to dry.

Some other points:

• we returned milk and fizzy bottles to the shops for a credit – the shops then had them collected and credited when their next delivery was made
• we had one radio and much later had a black and white TV, very small with a screen about the size of a handkerchief
• in the kitchen we blended and stirred by hand, as electric machines had not been thought of
• when we posted fragile things we wrapped them in shredded paper and old clothes, and not bubblewrap or styrofoam
• we mowed our lawns with a push mower, human power – later we had a Morrison motor mower with a roller, and this often took a lot of time to start as the plugs got overheated;  it was frustrating
• we drank tap water as there were no plastic bottles
• we filled pens with ink
• we sharpened old razor blades instead of throwing them away
• people took the bus or rode their bikes or rode a horse to school, and walked … nothing to walk five or ten miles instead of expecting their mothers to run a taxi service
• we had one electrical plug in each room, not an entire bank of sockets to power a dozen appliances
• milk was delivered to your house each day by horse and cart;  one put out coupons – and the early paper was delivered by boys on a bike, or in town a boy would have a bundle under his arm and sell [them]
• mail was delivered by the postie who blew his whistle on delivery;  if you had a dog, that started the barking
• trams were used in the cities – a great way for getting around
• we had one telephone in the house and our number was 2574 – party lines – up to six people would have the same number but a different ring;  that is where a lot of the gossip came from – eavesdropping

My grandfather had a Ford car and I have a photo of that in the Scrapbook No 1;  and we had a Buick 8 and later a Vauxhall Velox followed by a Humber Super Snipe. When I had returned from Wellington I bought a Morris Cowley 1928 with a dickie seat in the back that opened like the boot, with seating for two. This had a canvas roof. I bought it for £12 – $50 today.

The Burton brewery (later to become Leopard) – this was our trademark for our cordial department – was a block away on the corner of Hastings Street and St Aubyn Street, and it had twenty-three artesian wells – some of the purest water in New Zealand. During my holidays from school I helped my father with the odd jobs in the brewery. Many times I was up at 3 am for a cuppa, and then Dad and I went off to start a brew for the day. The first job was to fill the bucket with coal, about a hundred shovelfuls, while Dad turned on valves and a pump to set the fire in the furnace going, and this took about forty-five minutes to heat to the right temperature;  then off to the brew house, load the vats with malt grain, then when the water was at the right temperature the taps would be opened to the vats and the vats filled to the top – about nine thousand gallons. This was left for two days with stirring every four hours;  molasses was emptied into the brew for colouring, and how much depended on a [whether] lager or stout.

I always felt most important when the men got to work and I was off home for breakfast. Later in the process the beer was piped to the bottling shed, where filling into ABC bottles and crowned, into wire crates and then into tanks of hot water for pasteurising, then labelling, and ready for sale. Following the vats being emptied grain had to be shovelled out down a chute, awaiting Mr Steiner who owned a pig farm at Meeanee, to feed his pigs. We used to get the McIvor boys who were New Zealand boxing champions in their weight division for boxing, and this was good for their staying power and fitness. No gyms in those days.

Just coming back to … you’re talking about the ABC bottles and selling the bottles, I always remember McMahon’s bottle exchange in Warren Street. He was also the agent for Hauraki mussels that he used to have brought down by the super sack. Hauraki mussels were like the packhorse mussels – they were about ten inches in size.

He was a real traitor, that man.

He was indeed.

My earliest memories were – I went to kindergarten with Miss Ramsay in St Aubyn Street West, with about twelve pupils in a garage, as I recall, from 10 am ’til about 2 pm … must’ve started about four or five years of age. It was fun, very strict.

I had the biggest hiding in my life from my father. I do not recall what for, but I hid under Mum and Dad’s bed amongst my mother’s hat boxes, but my father found me and really gave me a whipping that stayed with me for a very long time. I can remember my mother telling Dad to “Stop, stop, that is enough!”  But he continued. I howled for days and threatened to run away from home. Perhaps I should have sued him!  [Chuckle]

One of my pastimes was to throw a tennis ball against a house outside the kitchen, allowing it to bounce once and then twice and catching it. I was told I did it for days, weeks at a time. It must’ve been the start of my [the] enjoyment that I got for playing sport.

I lived in a lovely setting in Victoria Street – corner section with Hastings Street – now the Heretaunga Club. We had a tennis court, swimming pool, sunken garden – that often flooded and overflowed into the next door neighbour, a Mr Price, who was also a fireman;  disliked by many including the Fire Chief, Harlen, who often sent him to [chuckle] empty that with the Fire Station equipment.

In 1939, the beginning of the Second World War, my first year at Hereworth, the youngest in the school, I was just seven. It was the start of many years of boarding at school and a learning experience – in the early years was a little frightening. In the first two years if you got more than five minus marks for being naughty you did an hour’s detention on Friday afternoon, gardening, firewood for the headmaster Mr J D H Buchanan, and later the cane after morning assembly – plus the detention if you had too many minus marks.

The day started with rising at six thirty, exercise in front of the school building for twenty minutes, a run to the front gates followed by a cold shower;  make your bed, inspected by your prefect, then breakfast.  Assembly at eight thirty and classes at nine am. Four classes in the morning, two in the afternoon. My first two years we had to lie down in the afternoons for about an hour. Between classes in the morning a bottle of milk with thick cream (yuk!) on the top – and it was compulsory.

Jim, if you tried to make children have those cold showers – that would be definitely a no-no today, wouldn’t it?

It would be. Fire drill at nights without being told;  Havelock North Fire engine would come. We would go down the fire escapes and report to our squads for roll call. It was fun.

Another was when my father Dudley and Pat Barker, who both had planes – Dudley a gypsy moth and Pat with a tiger moth – would fly over and drop flour bags as if they were bombs. We would all scatter to our trenches that we had dug out, and lie flat in [them]. A siren would sound for the commencement, and at the end … remember this was during the Second World War, 1940-’45, so we had to be prepared. Everybody had a ration card for our food, so we were on short but healthy meals. In our spare time we made nets for the army to camouflage guns.

Sport consisted of cricket at the start of the year followed by hockey, then rugby in the second term – soccer for first years – and then the start of the third term, hockey followed by cricket. Swimming sports in the first term, athletics in the third term, with rugby on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Saturday, and a barley sugar after our games.

Friday assembly was when the headmaster Buchanan read out those who had been naughty during the week and had earned a detention. Too many minus marks meant that you did the jobs around the school for an hour and those with too many then reported to the headmaster’s study to be caned on the backside, usually three strikes.

Sunday we went to St Luke’s church in Havelock North. We walked, and in those days as I remember it was a gravel footpath, as was the road. Hereworth was a wonderful friendly school with understanding masters … Norman Elder, Syd Grant, Preston Thomas, someone Collins and a Miss Buchanan – Piglet we used to call her.  Dixon – I remember Dixon – I threw some chalk at him one day and he sent me to the headmaster. And a Mr Spinney for music.

I took a shine to all sports especially cricket, making the First XI for three years, captain in my last year. Hockey I enjoyed, played centre half. Swimming – I learnt all the strokes.  [I] remember the barrel race in a half barrel racing down the pool – you sat in the barrel and paddled with your hands, often falling out. Rugby I enjoyed. I remember playing cricket in Colts club against our mothers. I was the promising player in the school and my mother bowled me first ball. [Chuckle]  She never let me forget it. [Chuckle]  It was a grubber along the ground all the way.

At an early stage when Moira and Dudley went to England I stayed with the Harrises at Hangaroa near Gisborne, and went to school at Waerenga-a-hika and Hangaroa for a month or two before Hereworth time;  and then from there it was then off to Christ’s College in Christchurch, and into School House – I was following in my father’s footsteps as he was at Christ’s in the same House from 1916 to ’19 [1917 to 1920]. We used to board a train at Hastings railway station with Mother and Father, heading for Christ’s via Wellington, then onto a ferry to Lyttelton, train to Christchurch;  so it was a twenty-four hour trip. My size of clothes had been sent to Ballantynes’ Clothing so that after two days I was set up for the start of my secondary schooling. I was introduced to the headmaster, Tec Richards, and the housemaster, Pat Williams, and Matron;  shown around the School House, common room and dormitory. Mum and Dad left their little boy and headed home the same way as they had come.

Although I had spent seven years at Hereworth as a boarder, I was still homesick in being on my own for the next few days. Our train that left Gisborne at one am with a number of boys ex-Hereworth, leaving Hastings [at] eight thirty, arriving Wellington four thirty. Some of the names on our trip were Duncan Buchanan, Robert Fish, Duncan Hamilton, Neil McHardy, Tony Moore, Ashton St Hill-Warren, Digby Hilton-Smith, John Tiffen, a number of Williamses from Gisborne, Harris, Reeves, and they were all from Gisborne. It was some trip, with stops at Waipukurau, Woodville, Palmerston North for a cuppa and a pie, and then Levin. No heating in the carriages, and they rattled. On arrival in Wellington I often went up to my Uncle Jim and Aunty Delia McParland for a light meal before heading for the interisland ferry to Lyttelton, then by train to Christchurch, taxis to college in time for Chapel. It was twenty-four hours each way. A lot quicker than when my father, Dudley, went down by boat – that took three days to Lyttelton from Napier. Amongst our luggage was [were] our tuckboxes – extra eats that went into our lockers in the common room.

Within the first two weeks we had to learn the school haka, and we got our orders on our jobs as ‘fags’ – and we were fags – and as in my case, cleaning the prefects studies, two of them each morning;  rising at six, and then in the evening collecting bread and milk from the dining room, delivering back to the prefects for their late supper. I had that for two terms. Within these two weeks we had the new boys’ concert where we had to sing two songs standing on a table with a light directly in front of us. If we stuttered while singing the prefects would tell us to start again. It was a harrowing experience. If we stepped out of line in the House a prefect could put us on report, to meet at the House library before bed time to be caned – three strokes. One could appeal to the headmaster, but if that failed you got double.  [Chuckle] The prefects, if they decided on wanting some sport, often would go up to the dormitory and ask, “Who’s been talking?” If no one answered the whole dormitory were told to go to the library, and each prefect then took turns caning each of us – twenty-two in our dorm.

First year students were to clean and polish prefects’ shoes each day, and army Cadet uniforms with brass buttons had to be polished to a real shine before Cadets’ army training exercise each Friday afternoon. Talking of Cadets, we used to have barracks, I think once a year, when we went to Burnham Army Camp for training with machine guns – Vickers and Bren – pull them apart, put them together again. We also shot on the firing range from different vantages. I will always remember a new master that was a Sergeant Major who took us for long marches, and he would say, “Quick march, quick march;  pick it up, not so quick in front”, in a gravelly voice.

School started in the morning with House roll call about seven after we’d all had a cold shower or had plunged into a bath of cold water;  then to the common room for roll call, then off to the dining hall for breakfast. Some days we had exercises on the quad, like – knees bent, arms outstretched and swinging from side to side;  touch your toes, no bending your knees. Often during the winter months we walked out the school gates into Hagley Park.

Chapel each day at eight thirty, with the first of two classes each morning;  lunch break and a further two classes in the afternoon followed by sport;  cricket or rowing in the summer or rugby or hockey in the winter. Gymnastics, boxing, swimming were part of the curriculum. Tennis in your own time. We had a court at the back of School House. Other sports were fives and squash. Athletics also … more of that later.

Unlike today, time outside the gates – one was to get leave from the housemaster, and only for a term. The same on Sundays to visit friends that [who] had been approved by your parents.  So with [a] twelve-week term we had many weekends to fill in at school, although the Botanical Gardens next door were in bounds, and that allowed us to catch a duck or two, kill and cook over the Bunsen burner in the chemistry lab [laboratory]. Not too bad as Sunday meals, but those who stayed in were minimal.

If I remember our study day was:  Period 1 – maths, geography, botany, Latin, lunch, history, scripture. Scripture was virtually every day. Gym classes twice a week. Sport in the afternoon each day except Friday. I enjoyed my time at college;  met some great friends who are mates to this day. Enjoyed all sports, especially cricket, squash, hockey, fives and rugby. For two years First XI, the captains being Eldon Coates and Douglas Jardine and John Lester. We were a very strong team and won virtually all our matches including [against] Christchurch Boys’ High School, one of the highlights in my time in the XI was against Boys’ High School.  I took the last two wickets with the last two balls of the match. Our first win for ten years [chuckle] and again the following year.  We were one of the best teams College had put together for a number of years.

Squash champion for three years in a row – ’48, ’49, ’50. A story I’d like to tell is, I was asked many times to play with one of the housemasters, Tank Poole … who was in Flowers House … after prep at night, and often I would let him win and he would invite me to supper. He would then announce to his fellow teachers that he had beaten me.  And another teacher, Zane Dazel – rugby player for Canterbury, a good player – did not believe him, because he could easily beat his fellow teacher but hardly ever won against me. At a reunion many years later he remembered this and then asked me “How come?” I explained that if he won, I had supper after the game.  [Chuckle]

Senior study – one below the prefects.  And these people were the real bullies in the House – you would get first and second year kids and call for them to report to their study. You had to stand to attention while they yelled at you, made you put your head on top of a hockey stick and go round and round – that you got so giddy you could not stand up, so they pushed you from one of these thugs to the other. Another was to laugh at yourself in the mirror while they screamed at you. Another was – called to a dormitory where you were told to crawl under the beds while they hit you with a pillow, and often they had a slipper or something harder inside. We did have some satisfaction during the year when the headmaster heard about this and they were all caned by him and gated – that is, not to leave the school grounds for two weeks. Mind you, they tried to find out who spilt the beans to the headmaster.

As you [I] went through the years I became a House prefect. We had very little trouble with the new boys. My fag was a Hawke’s Bay boy, Tom Lowry, and I knew if I was too tough on him his father would probably let my father know, and he would give me what-oh!  Tom reminds me that I have not paid him for his jobs that he had done … ten shillings.  [10/-]

Isn’t that amazing, with that link up again with the Lowry family … has gone through the generations?

Isn’t it?  [Chuckle]  Meeting the real world when I left school, 1951, and working in Wellington. Boarding, Customs, Levins, cricket, hockey, Reid & Reid, wharf strike. When first arriving in Wellington about ten days after leaving school as a boarder for twelve years, I was having my eyes opened to the real world of working with men from all backgrounds. My first boarding house was in Thorndon amongst fifty others, on the floor with mattresses and two blankets, and told that the bulk of the people started work at five am, “So you will be woken early.”  I stayed two nights, then moved on with two others that I met at Levin & Co [Company], General Merchants, where I was to work for the next three years. After the two nights I moved into a boarding house in Austin Street with two from Levins, one from Johnson & Co, another General Merchant;  a lovely landlady, but her husband was not so nice and worked on the wharf.  And more of that later. I stayed in Austin Street for more than a year and had to move when the house was sold, and then moved to Blakey Street in Karori with two teachers and another who was a trainer. Had a happy six months but found the travelling just too much, with trams not always running on time. And that was in Karori.

So then it was off to a flat in Hawker Street in Mt Victoria with John Ashworth who worked at Levins, and John Barnett, ICI. This guy used to put brandy on his weetbix the night before, to soften them up for breakfast. [Laughter]

Levin & Company was an old firm in Wellington. My father had organised that for me, where the Directors were old school mates of his at Croydon School – now called Wellesley College – in Days Bay, just out of Wellington. My day started at six thirty collecting the mail from the Central Post Office, taking it back to Levins, opening and distributing to the different managers, repeating this every hour ’til ten am. In between, as the office boy, my job was to put a piece of carbon paper between four sheets of invoice papers ready to go to the typist. My job was to keep a reserve of about one thousand invoices so that the typists never ran out. If one of the managers rang a bell I ran to that office to carry out his message.  Leaving at night after the last manager had left, locking all papers in the strong room – most nights if you got away by six o’clock you were doing well, but at the boarding house the evening meal was on the table, so after some discussion with the landlady, Mrs Hagar kept my meal ’til I got home. This was not what her husband wanted.

Later I had Richard Day join me in the box. That was our office, and his father was one of the Directors of the company, so he pushed me into a number of errands that I was to make. We had some arguments, but I found he went home to Daddy, told him a ‘cock and bull’ story which was not true, and so found myself being told off next morning.

Each morning after the first mail I was to clean and fill and polish ink wells, and change the blotting paper of all six or seven managers. My father had asked the Directors to move me around the company to give me a grounding in all aspects of work;  next moving to Merchandise, taking orders from shops for groceries and liquor. This was crazy, as I had no idea what half the items were, so I had many callbacks to go through the orders again. I made a suggestion that one should work packing groceries first and then moving [move] back to taking the orders, and so it came with a bright suggestion and a big thank you, and with a bonus in my pay that week of two shillings – about twenty cents today.

My pay was ten shillings a week with five shillings for board a week;  buy your own lunch and your travel both ways by tram – not much left over, I can tell you. After about three months the Directors moved that anyone more than one hundred miles from work was to get an extra five shillings a week, and that was a big help. During my time at Levin’s I moved around different departments, starting in the box then moved to Merchandise, taking orders from customers then out to the Store, packing orders for the customers, learning what baked beans were and what size cans; toilet rolls and the size, and whether they wanted rough or smooth.  Then into Insurance;  on to Customs where we cleared liquor for Embassies … looked for stock that had arrived from the UK, searching out the stock from the different sheds on the waterfront – and this was a really good area, to be walking along the waterfront meeting others from likewise [like] firms;  checking out fishing lines which we all had a share in. We were not that successful.

I had a good relationship with Customs New Zealand and the examining officers where we used to meet in Shed 29 which was called P Store, where goods that were suspect were opened, tested, and [we] looked for any tampering within the case. Some cases of Black & White Whisky and Catto’s or Saccone’s Speed Whisky were the main problems of tampering from the long boat trips from Scotland, where [it was] often was found that a powder substance would be falling out of some cases, and on opening up would find bricks inside. The crews were masters of opening these cases without cutting the wire that kept the lid on, sliding bottles out and putting the bricks in for the replacement. The weight of the case usually was the same as an ordinary case with twelve bottles in it.

An amusing story here was, on examining a case with say five bottles damaged in the case, the guy from the shipping company would hand a bottle out to those attending. I would take my lot back to the flat or boarding house. I was doing this for about nine months so you can imagine how much stock I had. When our account got too high at the store on the corner where we got our groceries, the owner was asked if liquor would suffice for payment, and he always agreed. One day after work and walking back to Hawker Street, the Police were at the store;  who [they] were questioning him about selling liquor, which of course was not allowed. Hell, I got a fright – as did my flatmate – so we nailed the floor boards down very securely in case we got a visit.

And I always remember – which comes to mind too, that walking along the wharf when we were doing all the sheds, we had to wear a suit to work.  And I had my coat off and the Managing Director happened to be driving past on the wharf. “Son, why haven’t you got your coat on?”  It was a boiling hot day. “It’s a bit hot.” “Put it on.” So that’s – you know – you had to look the part;  the Old School.

My boss, Arthur Pearce, in the Customs Department of Levin & Company was a colourful gentleman who also had a radio show one night a week called ‘Cottoneye Joe’. This show got me started onto jazz, and stayed with me for the rest of my life. People like Louis Armstrong, Duke Ellington, Hogie Carmichael, Ella Fitzgerald, Glen Miller plus many others were real favourites. Arthur lived in Paremata, just out of Wellington, and he had a magnificent range of records;  and I often wondered where they all went.

On Friday nights after the Grand Hotel – we all congregated there for the swill – the pubs closed at six.  We (the Levin lads, about eight of us) would return to Levin’s knowing that the travellers of the company would be having a few spots in the spot room, and that the front door would not be locked.  So we got in and hid behind the counters until all was quiet and all had left, so we carried on where they had left off. We also had one of the boss’s sons with us so that was a help if we got caught. The travellers woke up to this after a while, and seeing the bottles emptying rather quickly started marking the bottles, but we saw the marks and refilled the said bottles with water. In time we did get caught.

It was at this time that the 1951 wharf strike was on, and us young lads after work reported to the Police Station to be taken onto the wharf by army vehicles to do three or four hours shift. We were called ‘scabs’, and disliked by the wharfies. Also we would have a sleepover at our wool stores at Kaiwharawhara on the road leading up to Khandallah, as the wharfies were known to try and burn them down. We caught two on different nights trying this.

One of the major events in my time at Levin’s was the centennial ball in the Kaiwharawhara Wool Barns, where all the branches – Wanganui, Hawera, New Plymouth, Blenheim – were invited. Us juniors were sent out to erect wool bales around the dance floors and set up food stalls. Shaw Saville Shipping staffed them, and the bars … Fort Dorset army staff staffed them. What an event!  Next morning one of the managers was missing, but found about eleven o’clock – he’d fallen between some wool bales, asleep … I think a little bit under the weather.

We played rugby once a year against Dalgetys, another merchant, with both sides featuring rep [representative] players. They were certainly great days and I made life long friends. The company paid our lodgings on these sleepovers;  we played cards, ate fish and chips and generally had a great time. The company had a scow that sailed between Wellington and Blenheim with goods for our South Island branch, and the lads once more were called into service.

While at Levin’s packing groceries I used to leave early to go to the Basin Reserve for cricket practise, and the floor manager got a bit cheesed off about this and decided to sack me. I had just been picked in the Wellington Plunket Shield team, so having had a year or two at the company I went and did my thank you’s to the managers, who asked, “Why?”  When I got to Mr Duncan, the CEO [Chief Executive Officer] – a fine gentleman who had been a very fine all round sportsman representing Wellington and New Zealand – he would hear nothing of this. The Floor Manager was called for while in his office and asked why I was leaving work early to go to cricket practise – Eric Tyndall, the selector, had already rung one of the managers and it had been okay, I was informed. Well, along with the rugby rep, Ted Buttercom, we were presented in front of the staff and given a present;  and so I stayed.

Moving on, I was then sent to the cellar to learn how to break down spirits in the strength that was set at the time – that spirits were allowed to be at that time. I really enjoyed this and it held me in good stead for my future. A position along these lines came up in Reid & Reid, a South Island subsidiary operating behind the public library, which I took, and stayed with them for about fifteen months. My job was to break down brandy and rum that the company brought in from overseas. That was to make it drinkable as on arrival it was over proof – that was over a hundred per cent OP [over proof] alcohol – I was to bring it back to thirty-five under. This was done by using distilled water and caramel to colour it. The hogshead that [it] came in carried about one hundred gallons and sometimes we had butts that carried one hundred and sixty-five gallons. To roll these around took some doing. In those days we did not have fork lifts – pallets had just arrived, and our company had just purchased a pallet lifter that lifted about six inches off the floor.

When breaking down spirits I had to wait for a Customs Officer to oversee the way I did things. I must have been very reliable as the officers often told me to go ahead without them being present – [there were] only four officers for Wellington. Once broken down I then bottled the spirits into 700ml bottles – the largest in those days. We had one customer that wanted brandy in a stone demijohn of about three gallons, and they also took sherry. After bottling and corking then it had to be labelled. As I was appointed by HM Customs to fulfil these tasks I was the only person allowed in that area where these functions took place, so my job was full on. I can remember one of the biggest jobs I had was opening one hundred cases of Westminster gin that had small bottles – sixty-four per case – with the screw tops, and I was told to open them and tip the contents into a vat and then bottle them into 700ml bottles. The fumes that came off when tipping in the vat really made you very woozy, and I had to take a break every half hour or so. I was pleased when I had finished the task.

Were you just breathing it, not drinking it?

Just breathing it.  Put me off gin in my early days. I really enjoyed my time with Reid & Reid, a small company tied to the Dunedin company of Speights’ Brewery. Met some real friends as well as Customs people who helped me greatly when I was back in Hastings.

During this time my cricket was going from strength to strength p,laying for the Wellington club, having the New Zealand captain in my first two years, Geoff Rabone and later Lester Castle, a lawyer. We had a pretty talented side and being the youngest team we were given John Reid, a very good New Zealand cricketer, to play for us. Perhaps we relied on him too much, but as it turned out we won every game that John was not with us. He would be playing either for Wellington or New Zealand and during our winter, in England playing in the Lancashire league. I was the fast bowler and started in the lower grades of the club, and I had been in the team for a couple of years;  and it was not too long before a new import from Christ’s arrived, and along with David Crowe and Robert Whyte (ex-Christ’s First XI) [we] were turning heads at the pace I was bowling. Halfway through the first season I was promoted to Second XI and then the following season to the First XI where I stayed until I came home to Hawke’s Bay in ’56.

I played a number of games for the Wellington team in unofficial games – Manawatu, Hutt Valley etcetera – and then [was] promoted to the Wellington Plunket Shield team and played two matches versus Auckland at Eden Park, and Fiji at the Basin. Records are not that flash, but however, I got seven wickets, and batting wasn’t great. In 1954 I was awarded the Ron Murray Memorial Cup for the most wickets in Wellington club cricket – fifty-seven. In fact Trevor Mallock, Kilbirnie, took one more than me but the club bowled him throughout the innings and did not do too well, and the powers-that-be decided as my Captain played to win our match, that he only bowled me as he thought fit.

While in Wellington I wanted to get my squash going but the only courts were the Wellington Club on the Terrace, and that was being used as a storeroom.  Sso I went and saw the manager and asked if I could get some people to clean the court, and then could we use it? “Oh, that will have to go before the committee.” As it so happened of the committee members were Mr J D G Duncan, Levin’s – and I’ve mentioned him before, he was my boss at Levin & Company – and a Mr Riddiford from Lower Hutt, and he was the Chairman of Levin & Company who also had a court in Lower Hutt … private one. Well, Dave Crowe and Bob Whyte who I mentioned before, and a couple of our mates got stuck in at the weekends and scrubbed the walls and floor, got rid of the cobwebs and after about four weekends had it ready for play. The members thought, “By jove this is great, we must use it more often.” So I was told that if I or my friends wanted to use the courts we’d have to write into the committee, and they would make the decision and let us know each time we wanted to play. [Chuckle]  Once more it was who you know;  and it came to pass that all we had to do was ring the manager and he was to give us the ‘okay’. It seemed that it was appreciated by the members, and we seemed to have it to ourselves most weekends up to three pm when the club closed.

Mr Vogel, the Chairman of Levin’s – I was asked by J D G Duncan if I would go and play squash with him at his court in Lower Hutt on Sundays about two pm. This often happened, and after my first visit I would catch the train from Wellington to Lower Hutt, walk about two miles to the Vogel mansion, meet Mr Vogel at the court that was at the bottom of his garden. After the first game he would cough and splutter. My thoughts were, was he going to have a heart attack?  But no, he came back and after about an hour he would call it off. Back to the house and change, and before offering me afternoon tea while he poured himself a good spirit … I remember him often saying, “I must give up the booze and the cigars” … but he said that every time I played. I got to know him really well and he was a great help. It was who you knew in Wellington that opened doors.

Also at that time I became a member of the Palmerston North Squash Club, and often hitchhiked to Palmerston North in the mornings, played squash most of the day and back to Wellington in the evening. In the early days I left my gear in a locker and the following visit my gear was so stiff it virtually walked out to meet me. I met a girl at the club who offered to take my gear home to her mother who would wash it and leave it back in the locker. [Chuckle] Very nice.

I watched John Gillies, ex-England champion, play ten of the top Palmerston North men one evening. He won all matches and had about five points scored against him. It was brilliant, and from that game I took it up in the way he played, with the drop shot and the lob. From then on that was what I practised – and if I say it myself I became fairly good at it.

In April 1955 while playing cricket near the end of the season, while throwing a cricket ball, a loud crack like the sound of a bullet being fired – I’d thrown my arm out of my socket. It was painful, so my father said, “Home, boy, and get treatment at the Hastings hospital.”  So I did.

It was hard settling down at home after having spent seven years at Hereworth, five years at Christ’s and five years in Wellington. I had treatment on my shoulder for five months, every day along with stretching exercises, and at the beginning of the cricket season I was ready to go. I joined up with Old Boys’ Hastings Cricket Club.

I started work with my father at Leopard Brewery after a month of arriving in Hastings. My first position was to rise three days a week at three am to start [the] brewing process, fill the hopper with coal, keep filling it – and I learnt to turn the right taps and boil and get the steam up. Then I opened the sacks of barley and measured the portion of hops used. Once I had done that my father carried on until another employee arrived to help, as he knew the process. It was then home for breakfast and back to work at nine thirty. Washing bottles, a tedious job, a washer going around and bottles into crates upside down – very primitive based on today’s standards. We – also at the Brewery – handled cordials and soft drinks. Once the beer was brewed and stored in wooden vats it needed the froth taken off, and when I knew what to do I was sent down at all hours of the night – called to rack off. It was a full time job as we had to keep it going, as we were selling our beer and we brewed. The only break we had was Christmas. We would put up a forty-five gallon keg in the brew house for our customers, and when they came in to buy beer or to be filled into [fill] their demijohns, to get their beer out the [a] hole was bored into the bung to let some air in and then the wooden tap was inserted. At the Brewery we also made cordial and supplied about every grocery, fish and chip shop from Hastings to Havelock North.

There was one other smaller maker just starting up;  also was a wine and spirit shop on our premises with brands of beer, quart bottle, glass bottle brands. I remember a gentleman one Christmas morning coming round to our house in Victoria Street, complaining to Dudley, my father, that he had asked for Export No 1 ale and he had received Hawk ale, and he did not like it. Dudley said, “They’re out of stock and that was all we had”, but he would take his crate back and see if we could find a crate of export.  We soaked the labels off the Hawk ale and replaced with Export, dried the bottles, delivered the said crate back to him. He was over the moon and thanked Dad very much. It showed how people buy product by the label.

It was a big day when we bottled beer as it was hands all around setting up the filling machine, capping, labelling – I think I’ve been through that. The floors in the brew house and bottling sheds, both beer and cordials, were sloshed in water or hosed down often to get the clean sticky stuff off the floor, so gumboots were worn most of the time. Way back in the ’20’s grandfather Edward wore boots. No gumboots then, and it was said this had led to the amputation of part of one leg where gangrene had set in.

My father had a great team working with him where all the staff stayed for many years. Jack Walsh, thirty-seven years;  his son Basil, twenty-two;  Joe Bell, thirty-two;  Harry Butler, thirty;  the Appleby brothers, thirty-plus;  the Townsend brothers, thirty-plus;  Jack Fendall in the office for twenty-five years. Lunch time, one hour … out came the tennis ball and the crates for stumps, and cricket was played. I often joined them when I came home from Wellington, and really great fun was everyone wanted to smash my bowling out of yard, and all wanted to get me out. The lunch room was peppered with cricket news from the Wellington Evening Post cricket results.

Then one Sunday afternoon Dad and I were preparing for another brew when a gentleman came into the Brewery looking lost in the middle of the yard – just wandering around and not being approached – asked if the Brewery was up for sale. “No”, was the reply. This foreign-spoken man said he was representing Heineken, [Dutch brewery] and left his contact details. After many discussions with our accountants, Brown Webb and others, it was decided to press ahead with a possible sale. A price was set along with other arrangements, and that the wine and spirit department was not for sale. Lion Breweries heard about the sale and the top men came to Hastings and negotiated, as did Dominion Breweries, but their offerings were well short of what we had decided. Then, as the main shareholder of the Canterbury Malting Company said, “If we sold to an international company, that they would not allow malt or barley to be brought.”  Heineken then said they would import their own or bring it in with their own ships.  So the sale went through about 1959, with the exception of the Wine and Spirits.

Liquor licences were few in Hastings – besides ours was Luttrells, later Hawke’s Bay Farmers, de Pelichet McLeod and Vidals, and we had to sell a minimum of twelve bottles (equivalent to two gallons) but at a cheaper rate than the hotels where one could buy a single bottle at a dearer rate. In our case when a customer bought we had to write all orders into a fixed page book with a name, initials, address and what they bought. This was inspected by the Police each month. They were looking for persons to see if they were buying too much and if so, were they selling it on, or [was it] for their own use. When I came from Wellington I changed the system to writing an order out into a three-copy book with carbon paper, and the third copy acted as the Police copy. This did not satisfy the local constabulary, and [they] would not accept it, so in the presence of a constable or sergeant I rang my friend who handled this particular issue in Wellington and asked him to speak with the constable.  And after some time a very red-faced man then told me never [to] go over his head again. I was right, but he gave me a hard time after that, once taking me to Court claiming that a dozen of beer did not have the full quantity, and the magistrate, knowing of this gentleman’s reputation around Hastings, was told to pull himself together and stop wasting everybody’s time. Case dismissed. He retired within six months.

I started with a bottle store at the rear of our office. I was the first person to open a bottle store on a Saturda,y starting from nine to twelve, and two to five. After about a month someone rang my father at lunch time wanting to know why there were so many vehicles lined up outside the Brewery gates. Well word had spread, and I was on my way. Business really moved on from there. Others followed a few months later. The matter was brought up at the National Wine & Spirit level;  a letter was sent to desist, but I ignored it. The powers-to-be [that-be] came to Hastings via the train to lecture me, but being stubborn I was not going to bend for the big men in the industry who virtually ran the liquor business in New Zealand for major companies, and I was an individual. I found out in later years when I was on the Council that the power was with the DB, [Dominion Breweries, New Zealand Breweries, New Zealand Wine & Spirits – an off shoot of New Zealand Breweries. Unfortunately they did not have the numbers to vote.

The new bottle store and our wine and spirit was built in ’58 on the corner of Ellison Road and Miller Street, and had a drive-through. One was only allowed to move a bottle store within a quarter of a mile … so our move from the brewery site to the next block. It was designed by Neville Norwell of Davis Phillips and Chapman, Architects of Hastings. We were in those premises for about eighteen years and then moved to the corner of Miller Street and St Aubyn Street, once more designed by Neville Norwell, and moved in 1977. [1974]

Many things happened during this time, the major one being the black budget of the Minister of Finance, Mr Nordmeyer, a teetotaller. He raised taxes on liquor in a big way. Imports were affected as well as restrictions were placed on supply of spirits to customers. This became a tricky business, where I had to determine who could get what and how many bottles each month. No one got more than six bottles. Then again we were a small company. Import licences seemed to be restricted in Hawke’s Bay.  I had contacts in the Customs Department in Wellington. I went over the head of the local man in Napier whose name was Mr Richards. His brother was also the manager of the Bank of New South Wales (now Westpac), and after my application went to Wellington I was granted [a] substantial import licence for spirits, wine and fortified wines.

I was called to Napier one afternoon to see the Collector, and knowing what I was being called for to Napier that afternoon I took my lawyer, Peter Gifford, with me – and pleased I did, as threats were made to me of going over his head to Head Office. I found out later the Head Office gave him a bit of a rev up as well. From then on he gave me a hard time until later – after several months – I felt I was being unfairly treated, and Peter Gifford then sent a letter to him and a copy to Head Office. He settled down after that but I still felt he had it in for me, and then out of the blue he was sent to Auckland for retirement. [Chuckle]

I ran this business with Don Bryan, an accountant, so I had no knowledge at all of accountancy.  I wished I had, in fact … sorry I did not take this up at school. Easy to look back.

It was during this time I married Louise Walker from Longlands, Hastings, [in] 1962. We were married in the chapel at Iona College, Louise’s old school, with a reception at the Hawke’s Bay Farmers’ Tea Rooms. Our honeymoon was to the Coromandel and Taupo, and on our way home we got a broken windscreen in our Volkswagen Beetle. It was cold and wet so we were all rugged up with balaclavas. We looked like a couple of thugs. About that time a prisoner had escaped and was in the area of the Rangitaiki area. We could have been stopped as we did look out of place. At that time the police were looking for an escapee who had made a name for himself, a Mr Wilding. [George Wilder]

We lived on Havelock Road just outside the village boundary for a few months, and later in the house next to our bottle store in Miller Street, where we spent a few years before moving into our old family home in Kaponga Road … big rambling old home, comfortable, really very large, with outbuildings [and] drainage problems.  And I remember the Havelock [North] Council made us join the local sewer system instead of a septic tank we had. A drain had to be dug from the back door to the road at the bottom of a very long drive in. It cost a mint that we could hardly afford. About this time my mother was not that well and a house was built on the lower tennis court in front of us. During this time Sam and Edward were born. With the large area they had room to play. Later, having bought a section on the hills of Havelock North – top of Durham Drive, a section of ten acres, great views of the whole of Hawke’s Bay – we built and moved in ’68;  house built by Peter Bridgeman, with a swimming pool, a safeguard for the water in case of fire. A happy time was spent here with a little frost and often above the clouds when all else was covered in fog. Mary was born – our daughter – in 1968.  After some twenty-five [thirteen] years we moved closer to the village to Gillean Street, a short walk to the village. The house was being built at the time – two storeys, three and a half bedrooms, two showers, three lavatories, small garden, originally with a spa bath but after the children left home we converted into a plunge pool.

[Education:]  Samuel James, following Havelock North [Te Mata] Primary School, Hereworth School, Christ’s [College], Havelock North High School in their last year and Massey University;  Edward much the same, but he went to Victoria and he also did Outward Bound, and Mary went to Havelock [North] Primary School, Woodford House, [Teachers’] Training College in Palmerston North and then moved into teaching worldwide. And we are still in Gillean Street.

My first memories of my cricket was at Hereworth with Mr Preston Thomas who showed me the straight drive, the dead bat and the defence shot, then it was how to catch and finally to bowl. I thought this game was great and was the start of a life long sport that I followed all my life. From those informative years I progressed through the stages of going up the grades, finishing with three years in the First XI and the last as captain. This is at Hereworth. I remember the time when we were playing our mothers and I strode out to bat and my mother bowled me out first bowl with a grubber along the ground. On to Christ’s, and started in the Under 14 grade and progressed rather quickly up the grades, skipping two of them. I had turned into a useful slip and gully field, fast bowler and a useful batsman making the First XI as twelfth man for the main school matches, and in my first year in ’48 and for the next two years, [was] a regular member of the side. I was classed by the media as a very fast bowler for a schoolboy. My most notable achievement was at Christchurch Boys’ High School. This is after we won the Boys’ High School game by taking the last two wickets with the last two balls of the match as the clock was striking 6 o’clock in the village [city] – we could hear it. Back at College, and as we trooped into the dining room the whole school stood and gave us a standing ovation, something along the lines of school boys stories we used to read about. The following year with practically the same side we gave them a real thrashing.

Now about Wellington Wanderers and playing for Okawa. My first visit was my invitation from the late Tom Lowry, owner of Okawa, with a coconut matting laid over concrete on a picturesque setting surrounded by huge poplars [trees], the ground not that even with lumps of sheep droppings etcetera. Driving out to the ground with my skipper, Gavin Newman, Old Boys’ Cricket Club Hastings, I remember him saying, “When Mr Lowry asks you where you field, just say ‘wherever you put me’.  Or ‘where do you bat?’ – ‘Just wherever’.”  Well, that first game he put me at second slip and the first day I took a screamer of a catch;  and I remember him saying, “Always been looking for a good slip fieldsman.”  At the end of the over Newman said to Tom, “Put him in the covers. He will save many runs in that position.”  That was his preferred position. Well, at the lunch break Tom gave me a real dressing down, saying, “Why did you not tell me?”  From then on I learnt much from the game, and also the way the game should be played. Hard but fair, no questions asked. Many enjoyable days spent with Tom Lowry and others – Snow North; John Gordon; Reg Beddington, his brother in law who had been twelfth man for Australia and a very good spin bowler, especially on matting; Steve Lunn, Jim Lowry, brother and Oxford Blue for tennis; and Doggie White and others. I was fortunate to have had this opportunity, and also went on tours around the North Island against some fine ex-New Zealand players.

Later still after Tom died, and the old brigade of that era had retired, I managed to keep some of my old cricketing mates together and we started playing the schools such as Karamu, Hastings Boys’ High, Lindisfarne, Hereworth, and at the same time have a coaching session with the boys along with their coaches. We managed to play other out of town teams, Wellington Wanderers, The Valley of Peace in Christchurch, the Diplomats from Wellington, amongst others. Players were Paul Jones – great prankster – Peter MacLean – stories for hours and very knowledgeable of all sports especially cricket – Mike Patton, Lloyd Singleton, Don Bryan, John Henderson, Lee Toddy, Roger Spencer, to name a few.

Wellington Wanderers – while working in Wellington I played cricket for the Wellington Club where my great friend Trevor McMahon, whom I’d met in my first year in 1951 – wicket keeper, he played for New Zealand on the tour to India in 1953 – put my name forward for membership with the Wanderers. It was such a prestigious club that it was a privilege to be asked let alone to be admitted. However in due time I received a letter asking that I present myself to the President, Mr du Chateau, and some of the committee to put me through the wringer and see if I was a suitable candidate. I must have [been], because the following week I was picked to play against St Patrick’s College, Silverstream, presented with my cap and welcomed. After that virtually every Sunday I was picked to play against many of the secondary schools in the region as well as the yearly trip against Foxton, Wanganui Collegiate and Shannon. How I got off work I do not know. We had some really fine cricketers – Ru Morgan, twelfth man for New Zealand at the age of nineteen … I can still see him playing the cover drive – the best I’ve seen along with Walter Hammond who played for England. Ash Ashenden, a swing bowler, swung the ball both ways. Taught me so much on how to bowl out swingers and ducking the ball back.

I joined the Wellington Club side under the captaincy of Geoff Rabone, New Zealand captain – hard task master. I was selected for the top team. I can remember not sleeping for nights before my first game at the Basin Reserve, and it was against Wellington College Old Boys, and in my fifth over I had a hat trick, that is, three wickets with three balls. That was a great achievement and was well written up in the papers in Monday’s Dominion Post.

Later I was picked to play Plunket Shield versus Auckland at Auckland, versus Fiji at the Basin, and other games against Hutt Valley/Manawatu. Wonderful, wonderful days, with a great number of friends [with] whom I share their company when attending test matches. Wanderers in later years bought some land at Waikanae and laid a ground out with a pavilion so they could reciprocate and invite the schools and others. Wonderful days were spent in my days at Wellington, and the many friends I made for a lifetime.

I left Wellington 1955 for Hastings and here I am back with my parents.  Not knowing many friends at the time in Hawke’s Bay it was difficult, and as my arm progressed and summer was approaching cricket was in my thoughts, and what club should I play for. I was approached by Don Bryan, later to become the accountant in the bottle store, to play for Old Boys, Hastings. My first visit to the nets at Cornwall Park, I arrived in my whites. I got looks from many. “Is this our new coach?”  [Chuckle]  In Wellington it was compulsory to wear whites.  And from then on it was shorts of any kind and any kind of shirt. Over the years we won the Interclub championship on many occasions and during my time as Captain we won three in a row. I also played for Hawke’s Bay and Captained the side on a few times, served on the committee, and was club captain and made a life member in ’72.

Squash. I wrote earlier about squash in the early days in Wellington, at Christ’s and now in Hawke’s Bay. A few diehards who had played in days gone by, got together and looked for a site in Napier. I attended the first meeting in the company of Don Mochan, New Zealand champion, working in Napier but playing out of Palmerston North courts. Along with Don was Ken Elliott, ex All Black, John Tonkin, Michael Rout, schoolteacher from Napier Boys’ High School, and the Mayor, Mr Spriggs … [we] played during the war years. The mayor along with Don, John, Ken, had some plans drawn up for two courts inside the old reservoir in Cameron Road. It was decided at the meeting that if those present agreed we would raise funds as quickly as possible. As it turned out two phone calls were made before the end of the meeting and cheques were in the mail to the tune of £5,000;  so the mayor rang a builder, asked when he could start.  The answer was, “Now.”

Seven weeks later we were playing squash. It was unbelievable how everything just fell into place, and more money was forthcoming. I never saw anything move so smoothly in my lifetime – none of this red tape we have today. We had a downstairs grotto where we had a bar and this place got a name all over the country from visiting players for the hospitality that we turned on.

One of the highlights was that the New Zealand championships – that the head of New Zealand Squash thought we were incapable of running – turned into a howling success when [with] the visiting English team. Others to play were Hasham Kahn, one of the world’s best players, Roshan Kahn and many top Australian representatives. I served from day one on the committee through to President and was the club champion on a few occasions. Many great stories.

I left Napier to start finding premises in the Hastings/Havelock area, eventually building two courts in Havelock North. The club has just celebrated fifty years and now has four courts, and I was awarded life membership of the Hawke’s Bay and Hastings Squash Clubs along with the Cornwall Cricket Club and the Hastings Golf Club. What an honour.

Golf … I was a member through my parents, 1946. Moira, my mother, was Ladies’ President for three years and later awarded life membership. Enjoyable, interesting game, learning all the time. Back in 1956 I, along with my long time friend, Harry Dodson – we won the prestigious Jones 4 Ball Competition. I’ve had seven holes in one over my lifetime. Many long hours and days played with many people, and later after I reached the age of fifty-five, I was considered a veteran.

I’d joined the New Zealand Veterans Golf Association in a most peculiar way in Rotorua at the AGM.  [Annual General Meeting]  I had left the room for a comfort stop, and unbeknown to me at the time nominations had been called for the committee. My name had been thrown into the mix and was selected. Six years on I then became the President. As it turned out it was the year that we had the International during the Club Centenary of the Hastings Golf Club in ’98. I was the Chairman of that tournament and we made a profit. The first time in twelve years that the New Zealand Veterans had run with a third party. The largest gathering of any previous championship – one hundred and fifty-six players from Australia, Singapore, Hong Kong, USA (including the world President from Texas), Scotland, England, Scandinavia, Fiji and Canada. I served as Club Captain in 2000-2008 of the Hastings Golf Club;  awarded life membership in 2012.

Something I regret, and that’s not finding more information from my parents, uncles, and days gone by, and family history. The most memorable things in my life were to be born;  married to Louise;  the birth of Samuel James, married to Joanna Leuch;   Edward Dudley married to Penny Hurlstone [diss 2016];  and my dear daughter Mary Louise;  and to see my grandchildren James Paul, Georgia Joanna [Georgie Kate], Milo William. God Bless you all.

It’s been a pleasure to listen to the start of the family in New Zealand and overseas until today.