Newbigin Family – Jim Newbigin

Jim Newbigin: It’s the 13th of November and I’m at Landmark[s], and the talk tonight is from EJD … Jim Newbigin.

Joyce Barry: You’ve all come to hear about him, and I know nothing about his family history; I just know arriving in Hastings in the 1970s and seeing this wonderful big vat sitting in the middle of Hastings, and not knowing anything about it. So tonight the story is right back to the beginning, and he’s done a marvellous amount of research. So I welcome Jim Newbigin; it’s a lovely story and you’ll enjoy it I promise. Okay, Jim?

Jim: I hope you will enjoy it. [Applause] Well, I haven’t been standing up here since my Rotary days when I was the Sergeant at Arms at Havelock, and every week I had to fine people. But anyway, I won’t fine you tonight but I feel sorry for you all the same. [Chuckles]

The history of the Newbigins – and it’s a bit boring, the first ten minutes, but anyway, I’ll give you background on them. Our Northumberland family as far as can be traced with accuracy, were living from an early date in Hexhamshire. Their place of origin was the wooded hamlet of Newbiggin … B-i-g-g-i-n; and my spelling’s B-i-g-i-n, and I’ll come to that … of Newbiggin at the junction of Dipton Burn and Devil’s Water, a place first mentioned in documents in 1355. From here it would surely seem, the family name derives; and only a few miles further north in the Wall country there appeared towards the end of the Middle Ages that [what] we might term our first ancestors. The name Newbiggin derives from old Norse – a new biggin, being a building or dwelling. Several places in the north of Scotland bear this name, while it’s use as a surname occurs in scattered references throughout the Middle Ages. [Of] course it came from Norway originally and went to England, and some of them got sent back to Norway. [Chuckles]

In the thirteenth century there was a family deriving their name from Newbiggin-by-the-Sea in Northumberland; another near Midridge in Durham. A William de Newbigging (new beginning) was one of the outlaws who kidnapped the unpopular Bishop of Durham in 1317. John de Newbiggin, 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, described as a Scottish knight, agreed to Border Laws in 1249; whilst that [what] is probably the earliest reference to the use of the name occurs with Robert de Newbegyng … N-e-w-b-e-g-y-n-g … of Newburn, who witnessed a deed in 1166.

As a surname, Newbigin is rare and distinctive to the North [cough] Country. Only one individual bearing this name appears in the entire list of householders enumerated in the Hearth Tax of Northumberland in 1664, and from him we can claim direct descent. The spelling of the name can take every possible variety from the mediaeval struggles with Neubighying … N-e-u-b-i-g-h-y-i-n-g; [chuckles] and Newbiggynge … N-e-w-b-i-g-g-y-n-g-e; to the rustic Now … N-o-w-b-i-d-g-g-a-m; and another one … N-e-w-b-e-k-i-n, in Hexham of 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 a place name, it had become a matter of pride to his descendents who have followed the traditions since; and that’s how our name is.

In Australia there’s a whole lot of Newbegins … N-e-w-b-e-g-i-n, and at a recent reunion we had I told them unfortunately they couldn’t get into New Zealand … that’s why they went to Australia … ‘cause they were convicts. [Laughter] I didn’t get a very good reception at the dinner. [Chuckles]

John de Newbiggin of Errington in the chapelry of Saint Oswald, in the parish of St John Lee in the county of Hexham, came to the Cathedral Church at Durham on the 7th of July 1496, and thereupon the ringing of the bell he was immediately given immunity. Before this, the 12th of June, that is the Sunday after the Feast of Saint Barnabas the Apostle recently passed, he made insult to a certain Gerard Still of Hexham, a freeman, and struck the said Gerard in the chest with a semi-lance called a spear-staff, from which the said Gerard died; for which crime he is [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 V111 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, and they were a hardy lot. Later many became trader[s] for butchers; followed by so many generations of Newbigins, it was perhaps a logical extension from their early days in cattle lifting. [Chuckles] That’s a new name for it. [Chuckles]

How we got that name – 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 the Saddle Newbigins. The cloth read: ‘Edward Newbigin’s wife Jane (Campbell) 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. And they got lost after the First World War.

Edward Newbigin, third son of Joseph 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 1890 [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 the 6th of 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 Tyne. Then in 1861-62 coal was discovered under the farmland. John Newbigin 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 the 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.

My grandfather, Edward – born at Ryton in Northumberland, UK, 1850. Edward, along with his father John, brothers William, Andrew, sisters Elizabeth and Clara, set sail on the ‘Ardberg’ in 1864 from London to Auckland. The ‘Ardberg’ was a fine looking ship of nine hundred and twenty-one tons, and in addition to a large cargo it brought to our shores a hundred and thirty-six passengers all in good health, there being only four deaths (infants) and four births. And the trip took a hundred and twenty days. I just think of those things – he did two or three trips back to England, and you know, taking that long – I don’t know what you’d do with yourself while you are doing it.

Edward was granted a hundred and forty acres by the Government … and I understand it was in Auckland … before he left England. He did not come out as an assisted immigrant but paid the passage money for all his family, and was entitled to this grant of land. He sold it for 3/6d [three shillings and sixpence] an acre, but never saw it.

Unfortunately, in 1865 a severe fever epidemic came upon the family, and John, William and Elizabeth died. They were buried in the Grafton Cemetery. Andrew joined Edward and moved around the Auckland area for some years eventually moving to Napier. Andrew worked in the hotel industry; [coughing] he died at an early age and was buried in the Napier Cemetery.

Edward and his sister Clara then took a steamer to Napier as well. Edward wanted to be a farmer, and arriving in Napier he rolled up his blankets and pack and walked forty miles to Sherenden, where he worked for Mr T H Lowry. Each Sunday was wash day in the river and some horse trading.

After eight weeks he decided to head back to Auckland; on the way, while taking refreshments in a local pub in Napier, he was talking to a friend in his North of England brogue – a Mr Swan, who was the Mayor of Napier and the owner of Swan Brewery – who asked, “Are you from the north of England?” “Aye,” he replied. Mr Swan told him to report to his brewery on Monday, and there he stayed for twenty years, starting off as bottle washer to Head Brewer. Edward had brought Clara down from Auckland, built a home, and she lived with Edward ‘til she married F G Smith of Napier … Frederick G Smith … in 1880; a well-known family in Napier, as we all know.

Margaret – in May 1882 Edward married Margaret Willis from Newcastle, New South Wales, Australia, at the Presbyterian Manse in Napier. They had three children – Elsie, born in England, and twenty years on came Doreen – later [to] become Doreen Roake – and my father, Dudley.

Edward took a trip back to the UK with his new wife and on returning to New Zealand brought the Hastings brewery from Mr George Ellis, the then mayor of Hastings, thus starting his career in 1884. Our bankers were … Bank of New South Wales, was it? Might’ve been another bank … and we were the second people to join the bank; the other one was Foster Brooks … were number one. [Chuckles] Our phone number was 12. [Laughter] He was President of the Hastings Bowling Club; involved with Hastings Fire Station as a volunteer; vestryman in the Anglican Church.

Edward suffered considerable loss during the ‘31 earthquake, and during the Depression he offered land in Market Street for a ‘Good Cheer Depot’; the site of where his building was demolished during the ‘quake. A report states: ‘The meals were 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 from twelve to two and three thirty to five pm; school children before adults.’

He had an Austin car – that’s an interesting story, but I’ve got to cut this down. And I’ve done my family tree a way back, and I was interviewed at the Hawke’s Bay Knowledge Bank some years ago by my good friend, Frank Cooper – who’s now my boss at the Knowledge Bank – [chuckles] and we talked about the Austin car, a 1912 Austin 8 horsepower car that he shipped back to New Zealand in 1913. And it had to stay in England up until then because it was shown at the Paris Motor Show, and then he brought it out. We’ll see a better picture of that car in a minute.

[Showing slides throughout remainder]

At the time, the brewery had all the latest appliances for the manufacture of beer and cordials – lemonade, etcetera. Water was obtained through a three-inch pipe from a well of two hundred and seventy-one feet – long way in those days, and you wonder how they did it. A three-story building was built; worked on the gravitation principle. All ales were delicate to the palette for brilliancy and flavour; leave nothing to be desired; won many prizes. And I was just telling Ewan McGregor that he won many prizes at the A & P Show, and his opposition in Napier at the brewery, opposed it, and he had to give all the prizes to the other one. [Chuckles] I think he still won a few.

Burton Brewery – there’s the car that came out, [showing slide] and they turned it into a delivery vehicle for the brewery in the end. And there’s quite a history about that car, and it’s now being re-built. They found the chassis, and a guy in Fielding is rebuilding it pretty close to that, as you can see … doing a wonderful job.

We don’t know too much about this one here; and see the crates of beer? In those days they used to be four dozen, and that’s what you had to carry. So you know, people were sturdy in those days; these days we’re down to a dozen. [Chuckles]

The Burton Brewery, later to become Leopard – and this was our trademark for our cordial department because there was another Burton Brewery in Palmerston North and they clashed a bit, so we changed the name. It was a block away from our family home; it was on the corner of Hastings Street/St Aubyn Street; it had twenty-three artesian spring wells; some of the purest water in New Zealand. The first one was sunk in 1892 to two hundred and seventy-one [feet], and later two others were sunk at three hundred and thirty feet.

Just bypassing that – later on Douglas Myers … Sir Douglas Myers … told me we’ve got the purest water of any brewery in the country. And anyway, four guys from New Zealand Breweries went to Harvard University and came back to New Zealand and said, “You don’t need a brewery in Hastings, and you don’t need one in Palmerston North, and you don’t want another one in central North Island – Taihape I think, there’s one – so they cut out about eight breweries. I’d like to get my hands on them. [Chuckles]

In the brewery my 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 and the furnace going; and this took about forty-five minutes to heat to the right temperature. Then off to the brewhouse and load the vats with malt and 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 emptied into the brew for colouring – how much depended on [whether it was] a lager or a stout. Later in the process the beer was piped to the bottling shed, filling [filled] into ABC Bottles and crowned into wire crates and then into tanks of hot water, and lowered into these for pasteurising, then labelling, ready for sale. Following the vats being emptied, the grain had to be shovelled out down the chute awaiting Mr Steiner – and you’ll remember him from Meeanee; owned a pig farm – to feed his pigs. We used to get the MacGyver boys from Hastings, who were New Zealand boxing champions in their weight division; and this was good for their staying power and fitness as there were no gyms in those days.

The draft beer was delivered in wooden kegs up to fifty-six gallons to hotels around Hastings and Napier; bottled beer in quarts (750ml) was pasteurized and bottled and mainly sold at the brewery. During the war years deliveries were by horse and cart.

Brewhouse – that roof on the top there, a local painter was given the job to paint it. I think he lasted just on two hours, [chuckles] and it was too steep; [chuckles] … had enough. The floors of the brewhouse and bottling shed – both beer and cordials were sloshed in water or hosed down to get the sticky stuff off the floor, and no gumboots were worn most of the time. Way back in the twenties grandfather Edward wore boots … no gumboots; then it was said this had lead to the amputation of part of one leg where gangrene had set in.

The Barrel Room – interesting place; this is where we made all our own barrels. And we had a Welshman; lovely old fellow, very big, tattooed stomach and back; had a horse I remember, with a spear on it. I [coughing] never saw him with a shirt on; just a great cooper, and he was renowned around the place for making these barrels. Most of those were fifty-six gallons, and butts used to be a hundred and twenty gallons, and they were pretty hard to move.

That’s the entrance into the brewery in the earlier days, round about the thirty, forties; and a little bit more modern. When I look back … I thought it was bigger than that. There’s a bit of a well there on the far side over here, and we just sunk that down so the trucks could back back, and their tray was equal to that, ‘cause there were no forklifts in those days either.

Our Soda Syphons that we had – they were imported from England. [Coughing] We’re not sure about this one here [indicates] … what was put into it; soda in there; ginger beer in there; and they were all bottled in England. And that’s E Newbigin; some came out later on. [Coughing] That’s E Newbigin, or it may be DH; but anyway they both came out. And this one here had a marble in it – soda bottle – you may remember?

Response: Yes.

We had a big fire at the brewery in 1940 and those bottles exploded, and some of the marbles inside were found in the Hastings Railway Station. [Chuckles] So they all just flew up and landed over there.

This is one of the earliest bottles; like a Champagne bottle. That’s E Newbigin on there and it had a [coughing] top on it like a champagne cork, and they were around in the early 1900s.

And that was our Export No 1. I’ll tell you about that – one Christmas a guy came along and said, “Dudley, I want Export No 1 – I don’t want this Hawk Ale”. This was the other brand that we had. Dad said, “I think we’ve sold it all, but anyway bring your Hawk Ale back and I’ll go and see if we can replace it for you.” [Chuckles] So I can remember we took it back to the brewery, soaked off the labels, [laughter] put the Export No 1 on; “Dudley, you’ve made my day.” [Laughter] Label drinkers. [Chuckles]

These were the boxes, and that was [those were] the lemonade bottles; took two dozen, and they were all made in England at the time … sent out.

After we sold the Brewery to Malayan Breweries – and that’s what it looked like, a little bit different from our day. That’s the corner of Ellison Road, entrance way in there; there’s the brewhouse that we had; their old brewhouse, and then they added on here, and this is all coolers, and they put a big bottling plant in for the cans and went into cans and bottles after they took over about two or three years later. I hope I’m not boring anyone?

Response: No.

It’s all right? Well we’ve had some great speakers here; Joyce has picked out some wonderful people.

Joyce: I’m going to give you a drink, Jim, because your’e doing so well.

Jim: Oh, I rang her up this morning with a very croaky voice and I said, “Look, I don’t think I can make it tonight.” [Laughter]

The Wine and Spirit Licence – hard to come by in those days, where the minimum sale was equal to two gallons … eighteen litres. Your order, if you came into the bottle shop to buy it, your order had to be made up to twelve bottles, like six bottles of spirits or six bottles of beer, but it had to be twelve bottles. They didn’t want you to drink in those days, so they [chuckles] … that’s what they did to you – twelve bottles of beer and spirits. I’ve just digressed a little bit from there with my notes.

At lunchtime when we went into the brewery, down at the yard that I showed out came the tennis balls, and crates for stumps, and cricket was played. And I often enjoyed [it] when I came home from Wellington; and the game really was great fun, as everyone wanted to smash my bowling out of the yard, and all wanted to get me out. The lunchroom was papered with cricket news from the Wellington Evening Post on 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 on 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. The 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 to negotiate, as did Dominion Breweries; but their offerings were well short of what we had decided. Then the main shareholders of the Canterbury Malting Company said, if we sold to an international company that they would not allow malt or barley to be sent to us. Heineken then said they would import their own, or bring it in with their own ships. So the sale went through, 1959, with the exception of the Wine and Spirits.

Now I get on to my father, Dudley – born in Hastings; schooled at Woodford House, Croydon (later Wellesley), and Christ’s College in Christchurch. In those days, Dudley’s return to Christ’s was by steamer from Gisborne to Napier, then on to Lyttelton – three days, and then the same coming home. After leaving College, Dudley, Doreen and Elsie did a world tour; the first of two before marriage. While [on] his second trip he worked in the brewery at Prestonpans for half a year, then was back home after 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 near Bridge Pa with the brewery truck. Dudley won many trophies at Air Shows throughout the country. He had [a] pilot licence in New Zealand – Number 31; [was] a foundation member of the Hawke’s Bay-East Coast Aero Club and an executive member from ‘29 and ‘30, when he won the first triangular course race from Mangere down to Hamilton, and across to near Tauranga I think, and back to Auckland. 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 horse, Aladdin; also, with the hounds, was another passion. He was the first to have a horse float, made at the brewery and placed on the back of one of the trucks. And everyone thought he was barmy, but it was not too long before the local carrier, Powdrell, had followed, and he had about three trucks. Dudley at College was a boxer, winning the Paper weight Cup; he was only a little fellow [chuckles] – where’s Paul? Hi, Paul [chuckles] … about your size – and later in life, a leading amateur boxer of his day winning many trophies; and later became President of the New Zealand Boxing Council 1929 to ‘31. So all in all, he was an accomplished all-round sportsman. He often told me, “Son, keep your hands in your pocket”. [Chuckles] Travelling was on his agenda with three world trips one following the 1924 All Blacks on their tour of the British Isles, undefeated.

Dudley married Moira Margaret Brunton from Greytown, September the 4th, 1930 in Wellington at the Basilica; living on the corner of Victoria and Hastings Street[s], where Club Hastings is now. They were there for many years before moving to Havelock North, and Dudley and Moira had three children – me; two sisters, Elizabeth and Virginia. I’ve got a story here about my baptism I’m just wondering whether I’ll tell it or not. [Chuckles] As you can see, my father was Church of England; my mother was Catholic. My grandfather seemed to have quite a bit of control with the churches in Hastings, because we supplied the communion wine to all of them. [Laughter] My mother must’ve been away somewhere, and my grandfather, got the church faithful to come and see us one day, and I was christened in the Anglican Church. My mother the following week, thinking the ceremony was on that weekend … and my grandfather came out and said, “No, I’ve got him, I’ve got him.” [Laughter] So then later on in life, Dad used to take me to Pippos; and of course the Catholics had fish. Dad’d take me down to Pippos which was a fish shop, and he’d get in there and in a very loud voice used to say, “Steak and eggs for two.” [Laughter] It was a sad time when Dudley passed away far too early in life, at sixty-two.

Now I’ve put on here, a break; and if anybody wants to leave I will not be offended. [Laughter] I know you’ve got other functions to go to and there’s meetings to go to, and Council meetings, and there’ll be something on, so by all means you know just [coughing] get up and go. Anybody?

Yeah, that’s virtually the history of the family. As I say, I got interviewed and I had to cut out about an hour and 3thirty minutes of the interview. I had it down to forty minutes, and so there’s a lot of stuff I could bring up. So, the next one is if you’d like to hear eighty-seven years of my life …

Response: Yes.

… to date, that is. [Chuckles] I might get a few more yet, I hope.

My earliest days were my upbringing in Hastings at the family home known as ‘Karare’, which is where the Hastings Clubs are; built about 1922, covered about a quarter of a block, and it was a beautiful oldish home on the corner of Victoria Street and Hastings Street. Our car was a Buick 8, about 1938. 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 washboard – rough wood in the middle – and when washed put through a ringer to release the water before being hung out. A lot of you older people will know this, but the younger people don’t seem to remember too much. In case you’d forgotten, I’ve just made a few notes here: we returned milk and fizzy bottles to the shops for a credit.

Response: Yes.

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 or old clothes, not bubble wrap or styrofoam. We moved our lawns with a push mower – human power. Later we had a Morrison motor mower with a roller. This often took a lot of time to start as the plugs got overheated. We drank tap water as there were no plastic bottles; we filled writing 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 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; the early paper was delivered by boys on a bike, or in town a boy would have a bundle under his arm and sell; and some of you will remember outside Westerman’s there always used to be a bloke at night there saying, “Herald Tribune” … [paperboy’s cry] Remember that, Richard? They were probably outside Bon Marche as well. [Chuckles] Mail was always delivered by the postman – blew his whistle on delivery, and if you had a dog, that started barking. [Chuckles]

Now I’ve got some earliest recollections that I thought I’d just talk briefly on. My first school was kindergarten with a Ms Ramsey in St Aubyn Street West, in a garage. And [I] suppose I went there at about five ‘til about seven, I suppose. I went to Hereworth at six and … something. On our phone, I think we had six people on our line, so you didn’t need a newspaper; [chuckles] you got all the gossip that you wanted from everybody if you wanted to listen.

I went to Hereworth in 1939 and had seven years there as a boarder through the war years. It was a good place to go for people, I think your parents wanted to put you off there, as they were virtually a babysitter. I enjoyed that; learnt a lot; learnt how to play sport; learnt a little bit in the classroom; and it was a good grounding.

On to Christ’s College, and in those days we used to catch the train at Hastings at eight o’clock; the train came from Gisborne with the Gisborne lads, and we had forty-three on the train between Gisborne and Hawke’s Bay, that went to College. And then we arrived at College next morning, and you could see the North Islanders at Chapel, ‘cause you could see them moving from side to side after being on the ferry the night before. [Chuckles]

Arriving at College – first year of course; then we became fags, where you had to do jobs for our Seniors. And my job was as Study Fag – I had to be up at six o’clock each morning and clean out … sweep out and clean up three studies; and in the evening I had to go to the Dining Room each night, get bread and whatever they wanted to cook that night after prayers. And that went on for two terms and that was long enough. Mind you, when I became a prefect I had a fag too, [laughter] and he was a local boy from Hawke’s Bay. My father said, “Don’t be too tough on him; his father might give me the works.” [Chuckles] So all he had to do was clean my shoes; bring my pyjamas down every night – make sure they were warm, especially in the winter; [laughter] clean my buttons for Army drill on Fridays, and if they weren’t clean enough send them back and have them redone again – depends what sort of mood you were in.

Before you become a prefect you went into a Senior study … a harrowing experience for a young guy, and I know what it was like. We had to run around a hockey stick … go round and round, and then stand up at attention which was pretty impossible; laugh at yourself in the mirror was another one; go underneath the beds … crawl under the beds right round the dormitory; get slammed with a pillowcase, sometimes with a slipper in it as well; and one guy had his head split and the Headmaster found out about that and he was gated, and the cane as well … ‘course we had caning in those days. Didn’t do you any harm at all. [Chuckles]

Sometimes some of the prefects used to say, “Oh … pretty quiet night, isn’t it? I’ll tell you what – go up to the dormitory and see who’s been talking up there”. “Anybody been talking in here?” No one puts their hand up. “Right – the whole lot of you put your dressing gown[s] on, and downstairs.” So they all got three each from the prefects. I mean that was College at the time. Valentine Fire – we were right in the middle of that; happened one afternoon. Some of the boys were involved in that, and helped out and did a lot.

Anyway, after College I faced the real world. I got a ride from here; my father gave me £100 and a suit; “I don’t want to see you for five years.” I was picked up at Longlands … hitch hiked … the bloke took me to Wellington. “Where’re you staying?” “I don’t know.” “Well I’ve got a place in Thorndon, if you’d like to go there and start off”. So I went there. There were about 50 people, all on mattress[es] on the floor, and the lady said, “That’s yours in the corner.” She said, “Now most of them will be up at five in the morning; they’re all wharfies. You can stay in bed a bit longer, and then go off to Levin & Company. Do you know where to go?” “No.” So she told me, and off to Levin’s I went, and there I was for three and a half years.

First of all I was in the box; we had to keep the invoices up to date, put the carbon paper in; we had to keep a thousand invoices ahead. So, it was a big job. I had to collect the mail at six o’clock in the morning; seven o’clock, eight oclock, nine o’clock, and the last one at ten o’clock; sort the mail and then give it to the managers in the building, and there were seven of them. We had to clean their inkwells; make sure the ink was fine; blotting paper was in top condition and clean. The pay was ten shillings [10/-] a week. After I was there about six months they came in with a boarding allowance of five shillings, so that helped. You could get the tram there, but there were two days when you had to walk to work to suffice.

I’ve got the ‘Echo’ here. Levin & Company used to have a flat-bottomed boat. We used to go from Wellington to Blenheim, up the river, deliver the goods. Great time us juniors on those boats; play cards all night; the firm paid your accommodation … your board; oh, boy we had … well, great time. We’d go over one day – I think we did one-night trip; that was a bit harrowing – and we’d stay the night and then come back the next day.

And then I talk about P Store when I was in the Customs department at Levin’s. We’d open the cases; and we were the agents for Black and White Whisky, Catto’s Whisky, and Saccone’s Speed. And of course we brought an awful lot of whisky in – it was all imported in those days. The people on the boats could get into the case without cutting the wire, and they could lift it out … take the bottles out; and they’d fill them with bits of dust or brick or something like that; and it was remarkable that they got virtually the same weight as what you’d have with the bottles in there. And when you had a part-case, the shipping man would say, “Now … you have a bottle” … and there might be only five bottles in there; “You’d better have a bottle too. Now would you like a bottle for the flat?” So you know, doing this over a period, even twelve months, you had a pretty good stock. And of course we didn’t drink spirits in our day, we just drank beer. And our grocery bill got a bit high at the local store just around the corner; we said to him, “You wouldn’t like to take some liquor, would you? In place of our account?” “Oh, yes, I would – yes.” [Chuckles] So he took it.

We got home one night … gee! The police were there in numbers [chuckles] at the store. Gee! We had one look; back to the flat; boy! We nailed down the floorboards, and … [Chuckles]

Okay; moving on from there, I had an interesting experience just recently, a book was given to me by Wayne Mouat. A lot of you will know Wayne from radio days; lives in Havelock. He gave me a book on Cotton-Eye Joe. Some of you will remember that. And he was my boss in the Customs Department, and he was sitting there and I was the boy here, in the high chair. You weren’t allowed to sit down for too long. But I just felt … I could just feel him there, and all the stories that he told, and what he did; I wish I had’ve known more of what he did. But he started me on jazz, and I’ve been a fan of jazz all my life. The other one was Randy Stone [chuckles] – “I’ll cover the Night Beat for the [?Daily?]. Hi there, I’m Randy Stone.” [Murmurs] That was another good one.

The Wharf Strike in ‘51; I was a scab, as all us young guys were – we were all scabs. We used to leave Levin’s; and the other ones from Dalgety’s and Wrightson’s we used to meet at the police station and go by Army truck onto the Wharf, and we’d have four hours working there and that was something to remember. I remember a guy who had a sack – elderly guy, about the age of … yeah, I’d better not. [Chuckles] And the sack fell off his trolley, and a couple of us went over to help him out and the Union man came along and said, “You can’t do that; you leave it to him. He’s got to put it back on the trolley.” I felt very sorry for him, poor old fellow.

I enjoyed cricket from Hereworth days and then on to Christ’s, and you know, 1st XI and what-have-you; and then into Wellington. Started off in Third Grade in the Wellington competitions and finished up in Senior. Got an invitation to play for the Wellington Wanderers; went through the third degree; had to report to the Chairman … de Chateau was his name … and two others, to see if I was of good character or not. And boy! They give you a grilling; yet I’d been playing Senior cricket in Wellington as well, so they must’ve got some idea. However, I was eventually made a member, and from there on in I played every Sunday in their teams. And we played all the schools, and we went away to Wanganui and Shannon and Kapiti Coast; and how I got time off work I don’t know.

Yeah, we played a bit of squash in Wellington, we started off … ‘course, I played squash at Christ’s as well. The Wellington Club had a storeroom that they used during the War years and it was a real mess; and we asked if we could clean it up and play squash, and they agreed to that. We spent our weekends toiling away, got it all spotlessly clean; then the members decided, ‘Mmm; yeah, we’ll play squash now.’ We were told we could go there any time, and then we were told that, “You’ve got to write a letter into the Secretary to make a time.” [Chuckles]

I’ll just carry on with the squash side. When I came back to Hawke’s Bay we set up the Napier Squash Club, and that was in Cameron Road inside the old Reservoir. And the Mayor, Mr Spriggs, had organised it; had a meeting, and of course we had a number of people who’d been away to war and come back from England, who played there; and some of the masters from Napier Boys’ High School were members; they came along. We had the New Zealand Champion, Don Mocken, who worked for Newman Brothers in the Napier office, but he was a member of the Palmerston North Squash Club.

At the first meeting we had, they discussed it; Spriggs told us how much it was going to cost, and he had a builder on hand, ready. He had Doug Dalton ready to do the plastering. And he said, “We want £6,500, and I think the builder can start Monday.” Two local well-known gentlemen in Hawke’s Bay got up off their seats, disappeared out the door; they were back in twenty minutes … “We have raised the money.” So the builder started and we were playing squash in six and a half weeks. We didn’t have to go to the Council and get permission to do anything at all; we just started, and went away. While we were building the squash – and I always remember a gentleman saying, “Now, will there be a bar?” And one guy got up and he said, “Oh yeah, we’ll have shower, and we’ll have a wash basin so you can wash your feet and what-have-you.” “I couldn’t care a damn about the washing of the outer part of me – I’m talking about the inner part!” [Laughter] So that was my first start of being on committees on Squash Clubs.

I was lucky enough that I had the chance to play Hashim Khan and Roshan Khan in exhibition matches at Napier as well, and they were both world champions; lovely guys to play with, and you just learn so much, so much from them.

Just one or two pointers – wine and spirits which I had for a number of years – wholesale wine and spirits – just a couple of things that cropped up. Nordmeyer’s Black Budget – that was real problem that we had; and we had to ration our spirits to people, and that caused a few problems as well.

I was selling oysters, bringing them up from Invercargill. No one else was selling them at the time in tins, so I gave that a go and boy! With great success. Pippos came in; he was a very nice man. “Jim, you selling oysters? I can’t sell spirits; how come you can sell oysters?” [Laughter] I said “Ah well …” He said, “I’m cancelling my account.” I said, “Okay, so I’ll take your bottle away from you and I’ll give it to someone else.” So away he went; he was back within ten minutes – he’d gone to the Albert Hotel to get a bottle of whisky down there and he was refused. [Chuckles] He came back and he said, “Jim I want to be a new customer of yours.” [Laughter] So anyway, we came to an arrangement, and that was good.

One of the other things; I came back from Wellington and I wanted an import licence to bring in spirits, wine, sherry, liqueurs. I went to the local man here – I won’t mention any names, but his brother was also my bank manager. [Chuckles] And he said, “No, you’re too small. You don’t need any licence at all – you can buy it from the other wholesalers, but that’s your lot.” So having come from Wellington, I rang up the Collector of Customs who I played golf with at Manor Park, and told him the story. “Jim, how much do you want?” So we went through all the categories. “Now Jim, you [could] double that surely; get more than that.” Anyway, I walked away with a loadful of import licence; couldn’t use it all in twelve months, however it was there for me.

Got a call from Napier, so I knew what it was about. Took my lawyer with me, Peter Gifford’ please I did. “Don’t you ever go over the top of my head again.” I said, “Well, if you won’t give me what I want, I have to go …” And my father always said, “If you ever want anything, go to the top”, so that’s what I did. However, he gave me a really hard time from there on in; and then he did something else to me, and Peter Gifford wrote a letter to him and on the top of the letter, ‘Copy to Head Office’. [Chuckles] He was gone in two weeks after that letter, so that was a blessing.

You had to sell two gallons; and I remember a Sergeant around the place, and a little old lady came in for a bottle of sherry and she brought a doctor’s prescription with her and [which] said she’s entitled to a bottle of sherry. [Chuckles] So – nice lady, too. Anyway, I sold her the bottle of sherry. Round at the side of the building, “Ah … Constable – how are you?” And it was the Constable, and he said, “Right – I’m charging you for supplying this lady.” I said, “Well, she’s got a letter from her doctor.” “No – no good to me.” So anyway, I went off to Harlow – he was the Magistrate here and a customer of mine; [chuckles] and he said to him, he said, “Look, don’t waste our time please – you must have better things to do than this.” So – case dismissed. [Chuckles]

Joyce, I thank you for the opportunity and I hope that I fulfilled that; and I’ve got something here that I just want to finish with – a friend of mine in England gave me this:

‘It may be a triumphant and transporting thought that the great-grandchildren of the present race may think kindly of the scribbler of bygone days.’ Thank you. [Applause]

Joyce: ‘It’s a relief’, he said. [Chuckles] He’s been very nervous about this. Jim, that is just a wonderful way to finish the year; it’s fantastic – I‘m going home to have a whisky. [Laughter] It’s question time, any questions?

Jim: Oh, David May.

David: Many of us driving south pass a good bit of history – could you please tell us briefly a little about the Dudley Arms?

Jim: Yeah, well the Dudley Arms in Mangatainoka? We used to bottle Tui beer, and they used to bring it up in kegs, and we used to bottle their beer for them before they got into high quality machinery. And of course we had to go down there, and I don’t know – I think they just … Dudley went in there and that’s how it started. Yeah, every time I see it too, I think of my father.

Joyce: I think you think of those ads with those beautiful girls in it. [Laughter] It’s a very unique ad there. Any more questions? Well, thank you, Jim; it’s a big relief for Christmas. Please, if there’s any Rotary or Probus here, he’s not over-keen in talking all the way through next year, [lchuckles] so …

Jim: No. I’ve finished from that; Richard Jones got bombarded, [chuckles] and he told me … what, twelve Rotary Clubs was it? And Probus Clubs … No. Finished.

Joyce: Anyway, thank you so much, Jim, it’s been fantastic. We’ll give him another round of applause, please. [Applause] Thank you very much, Jim – that’s great.

Jim: Could I just add to … something that I have here; I’ve just found it on this page. [Chuckle] Just my hobbies. I’m trying to break my age at golf; quite difficult. I’ve done the eighty-six one about eight or nine times, but now it might get easier now that I’m eighty-seven, and soon gives me another shot. I’ve got a knitting club every Tuesday – there’s a group of us. We don’t know how to knit. We’ve been going about six years; [chuckles] women are not invited, but we may get around to inviting them one day and ask them how; and of course the knitting club came about from the Hereworth days when we used to knit scarves and camouflage nets for the Army.

I’ve also started – just to keep friendships going when you retire from work and get people together; the idea was to get it from each Company, you know, and we came up with a name. And it’s been going for seventeen years now, and the next AGM is in December; the last minutes recorded will be read, which was 17 years ago. [Laughter] It’s called the Coffin Dodgers. [Chuckles] Dinner; get together; and we meet every second month. We’ve lost five friends in that time.

The other two that I’m involved in is Senior Net: learning how to use a computer and my iPad; and the other big one that I’m involved with is the Hawke’s Bay Knowledge Bank, where we interview people from Hawke’s Bay and record their story for the future. And if any of you here are interested, or if you’ve got any news at all about old Hawke’s Bay, or you’d like to be interviewed, please ring the Knowledge Bank and talk to them, and Frank Cooper will come and see you, won’t you, Frank? Thank you, Frank.

And something that I regret and that is not finding more information from my parents, uncles, about days gone by and family history. Everybody wants to pick up all that; it’s just something to keep the family tree going. You get into it, and when I go on [the] website at the Knowledge Bank and you can read about different people that’ve been interviewed, the stories are just amazing. Amazing. I interviewed someone this week; they’ve got a farm. Ninety-nine years they’ve had it out at Maraetotara, and boy oh boy! What I dragged out of him was just wonderful; really worthwhile. Anyway, thank you very much indeed. [Applause]