Twigg, Douglas Russell and Kathleen Mary (Kath) Interview

Today is 25th January 2016. I’m interviewing Douglas Twigg, retired farmer of Maraekakaho. I’ll ask Douglas now to start off and give us the life and times of his family. Thank you, Douglas.

My great grandmother, Douglas Mary McKain, immigrated from England with two sons and two daughters to accompany her. She arrived in Wellington 20th April 1841. She immediately bought a section in Pipitea Street, twenty eight perches in area. After a while she bought land with a good acreage in Te Aro, Wellington. The two sons built houses which Mary let to new immigrants. You’ll notice from these comments, Douglas Mary was a great entrepeneur, even for those times. Now Douglas Mary left Wellington in 1860 to live in Petane, Hawke’s Bay, where she lived alternately with her two girls. She died in 1873 aged eighty-four.

Now Julia, her third child, who hadn’t immigrated with her mother – she’d stayed in England and she married Joseph Andrew Torr. They left for New Zealand in 1841 where they set up a store in Lambton Quay. He spent most of his time saw milling at Kaiwhara. [Kaiwharawhara] This developed into a shipping business of logs – pit sawn timber. He was in partnership with his brother-in-law, William Villiers. Early in 1853 the Torr family, now with eight children, moved to the Esk Valley and bought Petane Grange.

Now Joseph Torr farmed and shipped eight hundred and fifty bushels of wheat and ten tons of potatoes in one shipment. This is probably the first recorded sale of European grown produce from Hawke’s Bay. In 1872 he sold the property to Henderson James Twigg, his son-in-law, who had married his daughter Elizabeth Mary Torr, who naturally enough was my grandmother. They had issue: Samuel, Francis, Ernest, Desmond, [Despard] Annie, Violet, Garnet and two other children [who died] as infants.

Now Francis, better known as Frank, was the second son of Henderson James Twigg who was a JP [Justice of the Peace] and early settler; he’d immigrated from Ireland and spent his early days in Hawke’s Bay on Maraekakaho Station where he served as accountant, tally clerk, general contact with the staff; with Donald McLean who was rarely on Maraekakaho Station. Now Henderson James [correction: Francis, or Frank] farmed Ridgemount with his father Hendy [Henderson] James; and then Mangaaruhe, Wairoa in partnership with his brother Samuel. Later in life he farmed Riverina, Wairoa; Glenbrook; Brooklands – not the subdivided Brooklands but the huge property that stretched from the bottom of the Apley Road through to encompass Puketap, [Puketapu] back to where Brooklands now is farmed. He also farmed – before Brooklands – Te Aratipi, which he sold to Selby Palmer Senior. And lastly, Hukanui was sold to Thomas Cooper after Francis had farmed there for forty-three years.

Francis Cassidi Twigg married Olive Edith Russell at the age of fifty. They had four children – Russell, died as an infant; Douglas of Ngātarawa; Deirdre Atmore of Otaki; and Mary Buxton of Tauranga. Douglas married Kathleen Mary Rawlinson, widow of Donald Rawlinson, a young lawyer. She had two daughters, Keren Anne and Jennifer Mary. Douglas and Kath had one daughter, Fiona Elizabeth, and two sons, Ernest James and Samuel Victor.

Kathleen, née Corcoran, had been born in Australia but immigrated to New Zealand as a child. She was brought up in Oamaru and qualified as a school dental nurse, and later in life became an elected artist member of the Academy of Fine Arts, Wellington. Douglas, a now retired JP, farmed at Ngātarawa from the age of twenty-four until he reached retirement, when he sold most of his lands for vineyards. Keren, the senior daughter, married W W [Winston] Williams; Jenny married S O [Samuel] Nelson; Fiona married G M R [Mark] Harris; James is single, and Sam married Bronwyn Catherine Barrett.

Your family must’ve been amongst the first to come to New Zealand in 1841?

Yeah. And Robina, her daughter who was on the boat with her – she was one of the first white women at Ahuriri. She worked for Villiers, looking after his children; his wife was ailing. And she promised on the wife’s death bed to look after the children until they grew up. Well of course in time she married Villiers, who was a lot older than her. But Robina McKain will go down as one of the first white women at Ahuriri. ‘Course some of them smirk and say, “Well, you know …” But that’s all in these books where they talk in detail.

Yes. So when you look back and think how traumatic it must’ve been to come out on a sailing ship – three or four months, maybe longer, with probably not very good facilities to look after young children. And of course it’s so long ago, but we can imagine it must’ve been very hard.

Yeah, well even in [the] McKain family history, she’s inclined to skirt through the voyage; and she’ll tell you what produce was worth in New Zealand to buy. I don’t think it was a hazardous voyage for her, not by reading the notes.

But I didn’t mention that Joseph Torr had a sailing boat or schooner … whatever you had in those days … the ‘Salopian’, and that’s what he and Villiers were shipping the cargo from.

Yes.

‘Cause he was a real trader, and he had a store on the old Spit at Napier. I think roughly, if you just want to look at my antecedents … [I] couldn’t give you any more detail than that.

No, but you said most of this would be covered in the books. ‘Cause we can copy those books and attach them to that history you’ve just given me, and that gives us the full story, doesn’t it?

As long as you can guarantee that I get the book back.

Oh yes,we guarantee – we certainly do.

I rang the author of the Torr family history, and she’d been doing audit work; and she said, “I’ll try and find someone who’ll reprint you a copy.” So it’s only got a spring binder … don’t know where my copy is.

It’ll turn up when you’re not looking for it. [Chuckle]

Yeah, I know – I thought I’d found it the other day.

Just coming back to your family farming. They farmed some pretty big properties …

Yes he did.

… when you talk about Brooklands.

And he was single.

Riverina … Riverina was a big tough station. I remember Tony Scotland … it would’ve been a lot smaller, I would imagine, when Tony had it.

Yeah, well when Dad was at Riverina, Sam owned Mangaaruhe. But Sam lived in Napier most of the time, and he popped into … [the] story goes … to Dad at Riverina; he said, “Look Frank, I’m off to England on Friday – just keep an eye on Mangaaruhe for me, will you?” [Chuckles]

How big would they have been?

I can’t tell you.

Now the Twiggs of Napier – the solicitors; are they related to you?

Yeah, we’re all … Jock, he was the eldest son of the youngest son. And Sam had one boy, Connelly, who was killed in the war. And Francis was the second son, so I being his eldest son living, I then became the … what we would’ve called in old days, ‘the head of the family.’ But Jock’s son was Peter, and in talking with him, he said, “Oh, I thought we were the head of the family.” [Chuckle] I said, “No.”

And Des went broke, and Dad was his favourite brother, I think. Des farmed a block in Kimbolton in Feilding; good stuff but not a great acreage. And he had all these boys, so he thought he’d sell there and bought the Pinnacles at Tauranga. And of course soon after doing that, he wrote Dad a letter, which I’ve got, saying, “Wool’s worth a penny a pound”, and wanted Dad to bail him out. So Dad made the mistake of guaranteeing him, and he put £400 in the Dalgetys account I think, in Napier; and they took that and took my uncle’s equity … whatever stock …

Yes, yes.

Took the lot. And then Des lived in Te Puke all his life. And Dad, who was single, he lived in Roslyn Road in Napier, and his maiden sister lived up Lincoln Road; and the boys boarded with Annie up in Lincoln Road. And Dad paid the piper – he paid for their education. And the only one I ever thought really appreciated it was Frank Junior.

Now was he the stock agent?

Yeah. You’ll know him – yeah.

Yes, I knew Frank very well.

And … well, in short, Dad once said to me, “Why don’t you dress like Frank? He goes to the sale, or goes to buy stock.” I’d been to a ram dealer and bought some rams, you see, and I was in my work clothes and I popped in to see him in Havelock [North]; and you knew then that he held Frank …

Yes, in high esteem.

… up there as the role model. But those boys – Jock was adjutant to Kippinberger through the big campaigns; and Paddy, he was a hell raiser – he was in a Bren Gun Carrier in the Western Desert with Pat Donnelly, and they got hit with a shell. Paddy lost his leg; he was as big as me. [Chuckle] How he got round … I often thought afterwards he might have lost more than the leg ’cause he didn’t have a family. Old Pat Donnelly, [chuckle] he got away with it, but they were great mates, so you get an idea of Paddy’s character and lifestyle.

So Paddy, where did he live then? After the war?

Paddy joined the Loan Company as a stock agent and he was manager I think, at Tauranga for a long time. He lived at Tauranga and he married a widow. And that’s another point – my father didn’t marry ‘til he was fifty; Jock married someone twenty years younger than him; I married a widow; Frank married a war widow – he was killed at Tarawa. And even that in a close circle is quite a thing, I think, anyway.

It is, it is. So coming back to your childhood … where was the family home?

In Havelock, Middle Rd. ‘Cause I subdivided it.

Where was this?

Did you know where Bogle’s old two storeyed house … old, old one?

Just past Lucknow Lodge?

Well, then there was Exmoor Street which was a blind road. That cattle stop down there, I brought it here; and that went over off Middle Rd and we had five acres there. It was in a long neck – there was about three sections in the neck, and then it fanned out. And we had as neighbours, Bogle, who was an old Norwegian sea captain. I saw him cutting down pine trees at ninety-two, [chuckle] with a cross cut saw. He had as a tenant, Albie Smith who came out as a bachelor and was a great orchardist, later years.

So did it have a name, the property?

Thorndale. We’d didn’t plaster it around, but that’s what it was called, Thorndale.

And Dad went up to Hukanui on a Monday and came back on a Friday, because Joe Tanner managed Hukanui for thirty years, and … well he left Hukanui when Sid, his son, was killed in the Air Force in England. And he left, and we couldn’t get a really worthwhile manager, ‘cause it was tough for a woman – cold as hell, shaded over the house. So Dad went up on a Monday with stores, you know, he’d go to the orchards and get a bit and so on; and we usually were lucky enough to have a married couple and perhaps what we called a cowboy. So that meant that Mum lived in Havelock with us kids. And we went to St Luke’s kindergarten. And Dierdre was dux and Mary was dux in the big room that boys weren’t allowed into. So when I turned five I had to leave there and I went up to Mrs Doiley’s, up … what d’they call it now? Past Eve’s, up there. She was on the right.

Was it like private school?

Yeah. And there was – I think I might’ve been the only boy. There was Elizabeth Hassell there; Dierdre went eventually. And then when I outgrew that, probably after a couple of years. I went to Hereworth as a day boy. That was an absolute disaster for me, because remember the eldest brother died as a youngster, and I was the only son left; the age of my father then. And I was told not to jump; “Don’t climb on that chair, you’ll fall off.” And of course being thrust into Hereworth with cross country runs and gymnasiums and … you know, it was just … And the staff – a chap Buchanan – he picked on a boy called … I’ll think about it. But Tony Parker … you know Tony? He was about five and he went there, and his aged parents went off to England and left him there. Well he couldn’t do his boot laces up; you know, he was barely weaned. But he got on all right. So anyway, I could sit there and do an exam with any of them; Derek Glazebrook and I were first equal.

Oh, another thing they were doing – I think it was the ‘Pirates of Penzance’, and John Wenley had the lead. And we all had to be sounded out for the chorus, you see. My name came up – “Sit over there, you can’t sing!” You know, and these things sort of stick in your mind. You know, there was some nice teachers … Elder, Norman Elder, and Preston Thomas who’d come from that Portland Island weather station where he’d been stuck with a wolf …

Yes, yes, yes.

… he was excellent, and a chap Dunn wasn’t bad. But boy, they were … some of those were sadists, absolutely! You know, they collected so many detentions; and then on a Monday morning you had so many you were caned by Buchanan. And I remember being in the classroom and this guy started to really cry or scream, and [the] teacher sneered, and said, “Oh, Buck’s in good form this morning, isn’t he?” You know, he was all right to me, I don’t think I held anything against him. But there was one chap, A J Player, who was another single child of aged parents; and every time detention lists were called – A J Player, two detentions. You know, and he just shouldn’t have been there. And then of course it wound up he was caned and … He was a wee bit different, but you know … I might be the only one who reckons that they were sadists, but … Tell who was there with me who was a good bloke – Mark Brody.

Was he Dick Brody’s ..?

Well I don’t know Dick Brody, but Mark had – his first farm was [in] Ellis Wallace Road.

So you left Hereworth …

Went to Havelock North Primary School; Standard 3, and clicked straight away. Charlie Pankhurst; did you know … Charlie and I were great mate[s] all through primary. I used to play down at the back of the Post Office, or Charlie was picked up by my mother and driven up to Thorndale and played there. And there was another good guy there – Ken Swanwick. By jove – if there was three or four people I wanted to pick to break out of a difficult situation – Ken; Alec Welsh from Dannevirke High – out at Clive. So Havelock North Primary – we used to sing the ‘Marseillaise’ – why I don’t know. We ran up the flag, stood to attention, and old Tommy Thompson was Headmaster. Well – he had a florid face and a fist that’d hit your desk, and the inkpot’d jump [chuckle] clean out. But he wasn’t a sadist, you know what I mean?

Yes, I do.

But he was hard and fair, I thought. Well, Tommy Thompson; Garra Neilson – he used to take those young adventurers like John Phillips and John Nimon and Mac Matheson boating in the Tukituki [River] in the weekend; taught them how to make boats.

Did he become the headmaster later?

Garra … Garra Neilson – no. But he next Headmaster was Donald Stuart McDonald, and he had one kidney. And he had one son Stuart, and he and I were good mates at school. We were good mates when we went to Dannevirke. And Mrs Diana Hoogerberg – did you know her?

Yes, I did.

We use to call her mad Doris. [Chuckle] She was a clever girl – by God, she was clever! She wouldn’t study; she went to New Plymouth Girls’ [High School]. She was dux and should have been a dux by a country mile, but she just sneaked in. And she was dux, and co-dux with the Headmaster’s son, Stuart, who was also pretty brillant for a primary school kid. And I was tagging along, probably third.

And I did a crayon drawing of war-time bombers over Leyte Island. And [chuckle] [the] Headmaster said, “It’s all out of proportion.” I said, “Well I’m drawing it as if I was in another bomber, looking down on Leyte.” “Oh no; no, no, no – you’ll lose marks over this.” And that killed my effort. So that really got me through primary school. We had a pretty good team of people there.

And I went on to Dannevirke High as a boarder and so did the Matheson boys. Mousey’s Deputy Head of Hastings Boys’ [High School]. So there was Mac, Graham and Noel, and we all went there. And even ’til late in life, Mac and Dorothy always came in here when they were in Hawke’s Bay. And he died of cancer; before he died, he said, “You and Kath are our rocks.” [They] worked for Unesco in Kabul, and all round.

So Dannevirke High – I was a boarder, and I won the Junior Speech competition, which was something. I wasn’t much good at sport, but I remember ‘bout the Fourth Form there was a swimming sports you see, and I thought, ‘Well it’s no good me going in the championship class, so I’ll put myself in later in the day in the long distance race. [Chuckle] ‘Course I was fresh, and Colin Moore who was the champion swimmer – they were all getting a bit jaded, and I was fresh. And I couldn’t dive, and I wet all the ladies’ paperwork [chuckle] as I plunged in. And I won by about half the length I suppose, of the bath[s]. [Chuckle] It was nine lengths, I think. Well, straight after that, a Housemaster who was damn good to us, Benge – he used to be in Havelock in retirement – Alf Benge. He said, “Oh, after that effort”, he said, “I’m going to put you in my Fourth XV.” [Chuckle] He thought I had stickability.

Then Gordon Black, he came to the high school, [a] bit later. And he and I learned bookkeeping from Hugh Henderson and Alf Reeves, and I was librarian there. And we used to go up and shut ourselves in the library on Sunday afternoon and get the old Book One exam papers and sit down and see who could get it out. And Gordon was pretty sharp, you know, he was quick.

I remember Don Davidson, who eventually became a partner in Brown Webb – he shoved Gordon’s head down the toilet because Gordon said that I should’ve been a house prefect. Don wasn’t – I never really liked him. Brian, his younger brother, was better.

So anyway when I left Dannevirke I applied for a job at Brown Webb. And who else should apply … [it] was Gordon Black. And old R D Brown, he chose Gordon; which I would anyway out of the two, if I was in his place.

Yes, sure.

And I walked down to the Public Trust and they welcomed me there, and I took over from Jack Begley. I took him to his first game of golf out here at Bridge Pa. Two different types of people, ’cause the juniors in the Public Trust had to get bookies’ doubles charts and fill them in and pass them round on a Friday. And Kevin Percival was there, and a girl who’s a great squash player … Devoy? Her father, Jack, was there, and he was a hell of a nice man. He was cashier, but nothing like her; she appears to be pretty tough. Bill Shepherd was there. Aidan was his only son – he’s done well in life.

Oh, and then the staff personnel officer came up from Wellington, and he said, “D’you want to study?” And I said, “Yeah, I wouldn’t mind going down”, so he said, “come down to Wellington head office. You can be Wills Deposit Cadet”. So I went down there. I actually flatted in the Public Service hostel with Kath’s husband. I was godfather to Keren, eventually.

I didn’t mention but at high school Gordon and I got Certificates of Proficiency in Book One in Merc [Mercantile] Law – I think it was One – and they weren’t allowed to be counted; you had to sit them again once you’d matriculated. So I was in the Public Trust there [a], good year I suppose.

Dad was still trying to farm Hukanui.

Where was Hukanui?

Go straight up – it’s right on the skyline; you know the Hutchinson Domain? Straight up. [Chuckle] You went straight on up by horseback to get over the other side to do anything. Three thousand acres up there; the house was at two thousand six hundred feet. So I went up there to find out the difference between a ewe, a ram and a hogget.

So that was your first farming opportunity?

Yeah. I just went up in the holidays occasionally. I knew how to sit on a quiet hack.

So you were at Wellington still at that stage?

Yeah. So I left up there, and they said, “Why are you leaving?” And I explained to them – ’cause I wasn’t too impressed on [the] Public Trust farming properties as Trustees – and I thought, ‘Be better, you know, if you don’t know much practical farming, but as long as you can watch the Lsd.’ [£sd, or pounds, shillings and pence]

So anyway, I went up there and I was with Dad for about another year, year and a half. And he was trying to sell it to the government for settlement for £4 an acre, and they wouldn’t take it on; they wouldn’t look at it. Rabbits were brown on the hills. So Tommy Cooper who’d been at Hereworth with me, but senior – he had all this property, and he bought it for £5 an acre. ‘Cause Dad said to me, “Will we sell it?” Well I said, “Sell it!” Huh! For God’s sake!” You know, you’d put cattle in the paddock and you might lose five, because someone put a standard at the top of the hill without footing it, and the weight of the wires …

Pull it down …

… and walk over into no man’s land. So that’s where Dineen is now.

So anyway, then I rode my hack from to Hukanui to the Swamp Road and I went shepherding. Where would I go first? I think I went Tuna Nui. And Alec Sinclair and I got on spot on.

He used to manage it for the Russells, did he?

Yeah. And Alan Joll was married shepherd, and he – as long as I talked racing, [chuckle] he’d dig the post holes. We got on damn well, Alan and his very nice wife. She was a war widow from Tarawa, like Frank’s wife. And anyway, the General … I lived in a sort of a chauffeur’s loft. Have you been into Tuna Nui? Well it was handy for the garden, you know … single boys’ [?] And he used to let me borrow books from his library, one at a time or two at a time, like ‘The Battle Plans of Ganges Chakan’; if you took that you were allowed a lighter one as well, but you had to have one. They were military history.

Then I left there and Alec Sinclair said, “You go up the road and live in that little whare of mine, and look after my block further up the road.” Right next door was Tommy Dysart, who’d married D S McDonald’s widow.

Is that Tosh’s father?

No, Tosh’s uncle. Bill was Tosh …

That’s right.

And she used to have me in for morning tea; cream cakes. [Chuckle] It was just that … ‘bout halfway around my beat, and … no, that was good times up there.

Was Peggy ..?

Peggy? Well, she’s older than me. She was Bill’s daughter.

She was at Elsthorpe, anyway.

Yeah, one of the big families out there; married one. And Shelia was my vintage. And I was at a dance there where Shelia first met Rob Comrie, and that was easy to see it was love at first sight if ever there was love at first sight. ‘Cause Rob had been down at varsity with us in Wellington. And when he bought that bit of land right up the top, Sherenden – no man’s land – his father, the lawyer, put an ad in the Public Notices: ‘I will not be responsible for any debts incurred by my son’. That sticks in my mind, ‘cause Rob wasn’t a bad guy. Anyway, he married Shelia, and I was up there probably for two years. I had to cross the road to go to the toliet. There use to be a dog’s leg thing there, and he owned the bit of land on the other side of the road and that’s where the long drop was.

And then of course David Hildreth was wafting round the district then, and the property he eventually bought was [the] property of a mental patient, and the Tuna Nui shepherds sort of did the stock work. Anyway, it was put up for sale, and the General decreed that Stan McCauley would get it. It was a leasehold block; “That’s for Stan.” Anyway, Stan never got a bid. It was David Hildreth and me. [Chuckle] And Dad went to ten guineas [ten pounds ten shillings] for the leasehold; it was going to cost £40 to freehold it. And David got it on eleven [guineas], but the lease on it. So Glen [?Elmer?] Stud was where he started. And Tuki Hindmarsh was up the road – incidentially, his father was my first bookie. My mother bet with him, and when we were fifteen or so she’d let me have five shilling bets.

So you were corrupted from a young age?

Oh yeah. Yeah, well Irish from my mother’s side.

Newrick was there, ‘cause his son Des, he was friendly with Charlie and me. So after Sherenden I came down here, and I worked at Glen Aros for a lambing beat. That was so so. The manager was a stud Angus man, and unless the paddocks were like that … And then he’d put in-lamb two tooth ewes in them, and they popped bearings. Anyway, he was a good stock manager, but his head shepherd was Merv McLaren, and when he retired he ran the Storford Lodge office.

At the saleyards?

Yeah. And his son’s done very well in the South Island on stud stock.

But I did a stint at Ocean Beach which was beyond me, you know; my dogs had been doing five hundred acres. And Ocean Beach, Haupouri Station, was seven miles along the beach.

Well who owned it at that stage?

Ian Gordon. And his wife was a Brocklehurst, and her father was Dean of St Johns. And her mother was killed in the earthquake – a beam or something fell on her.

So your dogs found it a bit tough, seven miles?

Down the beach, and no water. And the manager had … he just had so many dogs behind him, just a pack of barkers and pushers, but he coped all right with them. He’s dead now. So virtually, from there I came here, and …

So Michael Gordon would be Ian Gordon’s son?

No, Michael’s son. Yeah – Jean was his elder sister who married John Stovell, and then he had another sister who married an accountant in England and then there was Michael. And Graham Thelwell was manager. He was just married and his wife was a champion swimmer, I remember, and what they did – they must’ve given a paddock or two right in the centre of Taurapa … “And you can farm that, Michael.” [Of] course it wasn’t a unit and it lasted so long and no more; then he went out and bought in the Swamp Road. And he’s quite a bit younger than me. His father used to wander round in Scottish plaids and tam o’shanters.

I’ve known Michael since when they were first married and went out to the farm. He’s not a fool. So over the years I always remember going out to Swamp Road. He had all his father’s trophies in the wool shed, all the tigers’ heads and lions’ heads. I don’t know what’s happened to them now. Yeah, he married …

Robyn. She was the only child. Kath knows her quite well.

Yes. So you came back to here then, to this area?

I came from Alec Sinclair’s to here, ’cause it was just about the start of lambing and Alec wasn’t too pleased. But I got the opportunity; I came down here on a Sunday. Jim Scott drove us round, and he said, “Well, you’ll have to make up your mind – he wants £100 an acre for it. It won’t last long on the market.” You know, pressurised Dad – I didn’t have anything to put in. Anyway, we signed up that Sunday afternoon.

How many acres?

I think there was a hundred and fifty six in the original corner – that was called the Windmill paddock. Then shortly after that his brother, Harry – oh I got this block and I got forty acres down the other side of Wedd’s which was in there. And his brother had thirty acres on the other side against Mac Graham, and he said, “Oh, if you want to buy it you can buy it.” And I said, “Well give me first refusal; I just don’t want to at the moment.” So over the fence old Derek made the blue; he said, “Oh, I’ve been looking at a block of land down there, and he wants too much for it of course.” I said, “I’ve got first refusal on that block.” If he hadn’t’ve said it he’d’ve got it. And I paid the same money but it was lighter paddock than the one next door. And Mason Waterworth had leased the two; Mason was my father’s sort of adviser.

He used to come to Napier Boys’ High and instruct us in sheep husbandry.

I’ve got three grandsons there now; the triplets are there, Sam’s triplets. Just shows you, you’ve got to watch when you’re talking about land locally, you know. He didn’t like it, either.

And then when Gary and I were negotiating with Rouse for the Paratu – ’cause Rouse had ‘bout eighty acres. Well, he had some land – no, all on his side of the road was Rouse land. Well Derek, when he heard that Gary and I were negotiating sort of as a partnership, he hopped in, got into Bill’s pocket and got ninety acres. It must’ve been Rouse land. Anyway, he got a paddock over here somewhere, and Gary wouldn’t have anything to do with him, ’cause of something. So when the auction came up … I’ve still got Gary’s papers that he drew up that I signed … and no matter what it bought at auction he knew, and told me or showed on the paper what I’d pay for a hundred and ten acres, which had the stream in it up there. And all they wanted was the graveyard paddock by the Washpool entrance for their trust. So we got Jim Scott to bid for us. And Klingender was … he was the auctioneer, Dick Klingender, and for ages it went pound for pound for pound. And the underbidder was Jeff Russell whose wife had just sold at Elephant Hill. If she hadn’t put that deal through we’d have picked it up for nice money. Anyway, that’s how I got that.

But Gary was damn good. When Wellwood’s [was] for sale he took me round it. He said, “You should buy this, Doug.” I said, “I’m not going to buy it because of the leasehold on the riverbed.” It made the farm. Gordon Kelt’s got it leasehold upstream. And I said, “As soon as I get the lessee to buy it, Gordon’ll get my piece.” So I said, “No, forget about it.” Well Gary got it. I think he only paid about £33 an acre or something, you know. I think they were the only bidders, but I didn’t go to that auction. But I’m quite glad I didn’t buy it ’cause you’ve only got so much equity. [Chuckle] You know what it is? I’d rather – I always wanted what was known as Jolly’s; that’s where Rouse … I always wanted that, and I thought ‘I’ve got to play my cards …’ Because when it came to buying that, I just had to go to my financiers and say, “Well, first mortgage on that, first mortgage on this”, which only owed the family money, and there was hardly any more borrowing involved. They couldn’t dispute that this collateral wasn’t worth per acre what that was. So that roughly [is] how I got here.

Ngātarawa was a special area to farm. If you didn’t farm it early there was nothing to farm, was there?

No, it was just like this. And you had to have hay or something; ‘cause I always had the sheep on at about five or six or seven per acre in every paddock, but I had hay, or I used to buy chickpeas that they used to feed ducks, and maize, barley. I worked out that you fed barley when it was as hard as this so they picked up every grain. Once it rained you switched to maize, and there wasn’t the wastage.

So that means you’ve been farming this farm for … how long?

I asked Kath, “When did we get married?” [Chuckle] She couldn’t remember. I know I bought the farm the year [?Bosole?] won the last race at Hastings; paid £70, led all the way. But somewhere I’ll find it. I’d say sixty odd years or thereabouts.

And it’s an interesting area, because who would’ve thought sixty years ago this would be a prime vineyard area. Yes, it’s amazing the transformation … you’re living in the middle of a green belt now, aren’t you?

Well Gary, he said that once all these vineyards come on we’ll get a lot of passing showers. There’ll be no more thermals. And we do, we get showers we’d never have got.

So mainly it’s been a fat lamb farm, hasn’t it?

Yeah, fat lamb. But I couldn’t pass a beginners’ test in farm theory. I wouldn’t, honestly. I never learned to shear with a handpiece, ‘cause my father taught me to shear with the blades.

But that hasn’t held you back, has it?

No, it hasn’t. Because this was going to be an irrigation scheme on it’s own border dyke from the river. The Ministry of Works surveyed every acre and then, when it was all there and we were sort of ready to find out what it would cost us to buy the water, they said, “Oh, there won’t be enough water in the Ngāruroro River when you want it.” [Chuckle] God! I was chairman of that. The economist from the Ag [Agriculture] Department said to me before it was wiped – he said, “You know you won’t net anything more off an irrigated lot than you do as you’re doing it.” They had all the figures.

It’s about timing, isn’t it? When the grass is growing, when you’ve got the sheep …

I’ve still got the bit on the Swamp Road. You know that paddock? It’s probably the longest … [it was] my father’s bullock paddock for Hukanui.

So whereabouts on Swamp Road is it?

Coming from Fernhill, you know where the big pine plantation was on the hill? Timms? In front of there it goes right back under the hill, all flat to the stream. The stream’s two sides, and I lease it to Peter Clayton. He bought [?Henna’s?] house, and he’s had it probably for six or seven years.

The Henna block, Athol Purvis, McCutcheons, Trevor Taaffe … and of course Michael Gordon bought Trevor Taaffe’s block. Where are you in relation to those?

Well I’m right below Peter Clayton. D’you know where Anne Pharazyn used to be? Straight below there. You’ve got a bridge across the drain; there’s no number on the gate ’cause we haven’t got a residence there.

Oh, so you’ve got some heavier country?

Yes, it reduced the flood. And I grew thirteen crops of maize in a row with a guy in Ōmarunui Road, who sort of looked after the workings of it and planting.

Danny Beasley?

Danny … he was my father confessor.

Yes. I knew there was someone behind you there.

I stayed here; I said, “I’ll write out the cheques, Danny.” And so he did it for years. And I leased it to Johnny Bostock, and he took summer crops off, and didn’t do much in the winter with it, but I leased to him for the year. And then he got caught with a crop – it rained at New Year or something. And if I’d been here – I was in Ōtaki on holiday; I used to go out with a wide-mouth shovel and spend the morning just breaking the furrow lines and …

Letting the water away.

I’d’ve lost some crops at … I lost one crop of peas when I was away, too. But he lost one and he said, “Oh, I’m not going to lease it again unless you drain it properly.” So I leased it then to Jonty Moffett – Johnny was his father – and he had it probably five or six years. He was making noises of … it was too wet. So Jonty’s father said to me, “Look, the boys and I … we’ll organise a proper drainage scheme with two pumps.” So I said, “Well you do that; you just tell me what you reckon it’s going to cost.” And he said, “Oh, about $50,000”, you see, and I said, “Well do it, but I don’t want to be involved at all. I’ll write out a cheque at the end.” And his son is a qualified engineer, and he looked after the pump. And Awakeri Drainage, they did the …

Drainage.

… put a great centre pipe in like a herringbone with feeder pipes out; and it’s gone from there. It’s ten miles from here. Years ago John Struthers used to drive a few cattle back and forward, you know, for me.

But you know, I suppose it’s drained; there’s no problem with wetness. And it’s beautiful land when it’s drained.

So Clayton, what he does … he leases back to Bostock for a summer crop, and then he puts it into a winter crop – fattening. And he’s made a hole or a big gate in the fence where he can have cattle going up on the hill to camp, and they come down and graze on it. So he farms it damn well, I’m always happy with him. His mother was a Dearden from Waipuk. [Waipukurau] Well these Dearden’s up here are his cousins.

So that’s your farming. And over the period of the last twenty years your farm has diminished in size because you’ve sold to someone local.

I sold to … well you know who … the vineyard. I’ve only got fifty acres left. The damn council, they say fifty acres is minimum. But I think you can get round it if you sell to a neighbour; you just have a boundary.

There’s ways of doing it, I’ve seen that. So you have had some other interests as well as being a farmer. Were you ever … follow the dog trials?

No, no. I had my own dog trials here; never any good with a dog. No, I …

So the dogs were really trials to you.

Racing. Racing morning, noon and night.

Did you ever own a horse?

No.

So you totally were an investor?

I didn’t do much of that. I used to go to Trentham. We’d get a taxi at four o’clock in the morning at the clock tower, go to Trentham with four pounds [£4] in my pocket. There were eight races, and that was ten shillings [10/-] to win, one horse in each race. And I’d never spend any more – I might have a pie at lunch but … Racing was only on a Saturday; you’d spend all week studying it.

Well I always remember going to Wellington to the Wellington Steeplechase.

And you’d miss a race.

This was in 1959.

Meikle had [a] huge number. I saw ‘Greenlight’ race down there with ‘Paramour’. And ‘Kentucky Flight’ fell at the last fence. And ‘Greenlight’ didn’t know how to fall, but he didn’t know how to race much either, [chuckle] and he plodded through the mud, and he won it. Waddell jumped on ‘Kentucky Flight’ as if to … he was so far in front of ‘Greenlight’, and ‘Greenlight’ actually beat him in the slog end in the mud. [Chuckle] But Meikle’s – they and Howard Glazebook shared some horses – ‘Peas Blossom’ was one. Nolan … I remember Nolan, he worked for the church.

The monastery down in Takapau. Yeah, he went down there as a silent monk, but Nolan had too much talk in him to be a silent monk.

And David was his brother.

Yes, and David’s dead now. Nolan’s dead.

Plowman was their manager.

That’s right. So then you certainly had some interest in politics over the period?

I’ve been a National Party supporter since my first vote, and I’ve never wavered. I pay my sub [subscription] every year, but I don’t like this chap out at Waimarama. Well, he came here and we had all the organisation – you know how good it was. And I rang him and I said, “Look, if you want to know anything about the electorate give me a ring, and if I don’t know it, I’ll find out.” He never even rang me.

It’s a funny thing, Douglas … I always remember the day that Tim Symes … he formed a deputation with himself, and he came to see me when we were living on Thompson Rd. And he said ‘would I like to form a branch at Brookvale’? And I said, “Ooh …”

I think I was with Tim that day.

Well you may have been.

‘Cause we had two branches to form; that one, and cutting something in half I think … Anyway, that’s a long …

Well, it’s a long time ago. [Chuckle]

My job was was to make sure there was enough money to keeps the dues paid to Wellington. That was my …

There are no books anywhere from Hawke’s Bay electorate. No one knows where the minute books are … all the records.

A lot of them were here, and I’ve given them in to his office.

Craig Foss’s office?

Into Foss’s.

Have you? Were they Hawke’s Bay electorate records?

Yes. And in fact they should’ve known I had them.

But how long ago was that?

Well it went back … it was just a small bound book. And I think [the] National Party was formed about 1930 – from then.

I rang Wellington the other day and I got hold of James Austin, and he said he’ll have a look and see whether they’re in some of the archives. Nobody knows.

What a fool they were. I had it sitting in my desk; Kath or someone dropped it in, just over the counter. And I rang them back about a month later. “Did you ever receive those records of mine?” “Oh – yes we gave them to the Hastings branch.” She said, “I’ll get them back”, or you know …

Was this in the past twelve months? Earlier?

Twenty four months probably.

I’ve been talking to them over the last eighteen months about any records. I’ve spoken to Foss, I’ve spoken to his secretary.

Well we left them into that office on the corner. I couldn’t leave them in so I must’ve been getting to this stage, you know, I’ve been like this in various degrees for quite some years. And I thought, ‘Well I’ll follow it up and see if you’ve given them to Foss or …’ Mac Menzies proposed me off the floor for chairman when I was new to the district, and it goes back … some of the old chaps like Sally Bogard’s father, those sort of people. – they were all, you know, there’s a page probably for each year. It wasn’t sort of full of ideas and …

It’s just the history … we’ve got no idea who the people were. Somewhere, someone will … they will be somewhere.

It’s a black bound book; it’d be about as big as that – might be foreshortened a wee bit – and it’s got ruled paper. I bet I’m mentioned in more than half the pages. It’s at least in their office.

Now coming back to Kath. You made mention that you used to flat with Don, her husband.

Well, her boyfriend then.

And you became …

Godfather.

To her ..?

First daughter.

And then you became …

Their father. And the godchild’s on the same birthday as mine.

Isn’t that wonderful?  So where did you meet – was Kath a local person?

She came from Oamaru, and she was a dental nurse in Geraldine. Don was in the Government Law Office in Wellington. He was brilliant, but he had rheumatic fever. And they married and lived in the street behind the Havelock Primary School, Campbell Street. And old Reeves … I think he helped her out a bit, you know – he and Dan Hursthouse. And I was living in Havelock. When Don died my mother – she was very good to Kath, and her mother was in Christchurch … Kath’s mother. So we got engaged; and we’ve been married a long time. We’re both pretty stroppy. [Chuckle]

And she plays with paints; she’s an artist.

Yeah, of some renown; she hides her light under a bushel, you know.

Yes, yes. So she had …

Two little girls.

… and then you’ve had …

Fiona, James and Sam. Keren’s got bialoba – she’s in Waiapu – the eldest one.

Oh! What’s bioloba?

Oh … she’s perfectly healthy, keeps herself pretty spick and span, but has to be drugged up for … head. And it’s hereditary, and she’s very hard on Kath. You know, if Kath brings her presents, she’s … “Oh no, I’m not having that, it’s poison.” I wouldn’t let Kath go and see her on Christmas day ’cause we were going to Jen and Sam’s, and Kath’s pretty sensitive – I knew if she’d had an ear bashing … spoil her whole day, so I said, “No, we’re not going.” And Kath didn’t really object. We went between Christmas and New Year and that wasn’t too successful.

Best thing that happened, we were coming out of there and who should be going in but Ted and Shirley. So we had a good chat and Ted livened the situation. He doesn’t look any different. He and Robin Bell were good mates; they’d OEd [travelled on overseas experience] together. Well Robin Bell … Elizabeth would’ve been a year older than me; if Robin had been alive, I think he’d be … ‘cause Ted and Robin were of an age … he’d be eighty-three, eighty-four. He still writes a sharp letter to the paper.

He does.

Talking about interests … well really, racing’s first; then the National Party – I’m not participating at the moment, but voting. And farming’d be last. Bookkeeping, accounts … doing accounts – love it.

Yes, see that’s a side of you I never knew, that you’ve done all your training. Your mind was focused on accounting.

Yeah, I wasn’t too bad.

But the old story, Douglas, you don’t have to be a precise farmer to be a successful farm[er]. A lot of good farmers failed because they weren’t good bookkeepers.

No, that’s right. I’d say to a young bloke, “You must have a bit of capital or equity, and then as long as you’re good with your books and account for everything” … and I taught Sam a fair bit and he’s pretty good. And the girls are pretty good. But I taught them sort of … like Sam’d look in the paper and if there was two cattle beasts for sale – Jersey Cross down at Pakipaki – we’d go down and buy them [chuckle] for cash and truck ‘em home, and he got the proceeds less the cost of cart[age] … that sort of thing when he was Standard 5 or 6.

Otherwise – I don’t – didn’t like dancing. I wasn’t really a social butterfly. I admired Kay when she was young, one of the best looking girls; she was, wasn’t she?

Yes. Well I suppose, you know – here we are sitting in this lovely oasis in the middle of a Ngātarawa …

Drought.

… summer – well it’s really just another summer, isn’t it? So I think that probably gives us a fairly good idea who you are, where you came from and what you did.

Today’s 10th March 2016. This is an addendum from the other side of their family. Douglas, would you like to now tell me something about that.

Yes. Now Henderson James Twigg, grandfather of Douglas Russell Twigg, [speaker] was born in Thorndale, Ireland. He emigrated to New Zealand, where in 1862 he applied for a position on Maraekakaho Station. Donald McLean engaged him as secretatry/bookkeeper in 1864. For six years he helped administer the station before leaving in 1870 for Petane, north of Napier. The following year Henderson married Elizabeth Torr, daughter of James and Julia Torr. Taking up residence in Petane, he founded the Petane Grange with his father-in-law. Later in life he bought the Grange, where he and Elizabeth raised Samuel, Francis, Ernest, Garnet, Desmond [Despard], Annie and Violet.

Right; now Kath will tell us something of her family’s line. Thank you, Kath.

[Speaking in third person] Kathleen’s family originated from Wicklow in Ireland. Her grandmother, Alice Manley (née O’Connor), from Oamaru, was a highly respected resident and early pioneer of North Otago. Alice’s father was an Imperial Officer in the British Army for twenty three years. He served in the Crimean War and Indian Mutiny, and at Queen Victoria’s command he returned to England where at Buckingham Palace, Her Majesty Queen Victoria decorated him for bravery and distinguished service. Kathleen Mary Corcoran lived in Oamaru and spent much of her younger life at her family’s farm at Duntroon, Otago. Later she went to Wellington to train to be a School Dental Nurse. Kathleen eventually moved to Hawke’s Bay where for many years she has been a well known exhibiting artist in Hawke’s Bay, and is also an elected artist member of the Academy of New Zealand Fine Arts, Wellington. Kathleen and Douglas have lived at Ngātarawa for many years and have three daughters and two sons.

Where did you go to school then, Kath?

I went to the Oamaru South School. I remember going up … [chuckle] … going up the hill, and I knew when I was coming down there’d be this horrible little dog. [Chuckles] And I used to run down the hill to try and avoid him, but very often I fell and skinned my knees.

So what was Oamaru like those days?

Oh … boring.

‘Cause it was a bustling port once, wasn’t it? With lots of grain stores down by the wharf? I stopped off to have a look at Oamaru a couple of years ago … some beautiful old buildings there.

Oh, there are – they refurbish them. They’re all made from Oamaru stone.

And so that was your primary schooling in Oamaru?

Yes.

Did you go to a high school?

I went to the high school; I had a bicycle. Mother bought me a bicycle, which I use to clean every weekend. It was shining and beautiful and clean, [chuckle] … like new.

And so then you went to Dental School?

Oh, they called me up in September, unfortunately, because I was going to be in ‘The Gondoliers’ play. So I was torn between the two, [chuckle] but I thought the better of it, and because my mother was a widow I thought, ‘Well, I would be quite independent’, because we were paid while we trained. And I enjoyed it, but when I finished my training I wanted to go on and learn more and be a Dentist. But somehow it didn’t happen.

And your interest in art. Has that always been with you or did you develop that? It was a natural … [speaking together]

Yes. It was something I had to do, like going to the bathroom, cleaning your teeth. It was something in me that drove me to keep up with it. But of course during the years when the children were little, and their father decided I was in charge of the children and he was in charge of the farm, I was either in the kitchen or looking after my children. [Chuckle] So I didn’t have too much time to draw.

No. It’s interesting, there’s an article in this morning’s paper about W J Rush, and it was saying about – he was an architect, very busy – but they said there was hardly a day when he didn’t paint something. And some of his paintings do look like that …

Yes, I’ve actually got one.

I’ve got two, or three. But there’s going to be a big sale of them soon in Hawke’s Bay. Someone has had a big collection and they’re all going to be released and sold. And that art has carried on right through your life and you’re still doing it now?

Yes, I’ve got one down at the New Zealand Academy at the moment. Mind you, part of it … part of that painting I had done some time ago. And I … just like a lot of artists do you don’t know what to do next, so I gave it a rest – I put it against the wall so to speak. And then when this request from the Academy came up to do ‘Art from the Heart’, I thought, ‘By jove, I’ll get that painting out.’ And you know, it just seemed to all fall into place.

It’s about mood, isn’t it?

Timing more than mood; timing.

So you became a North Islander eventually ..?

Yes, well actually I married before; and Don was a barrister and solicitor, and he unfortunately died.

This was in Wellington, was it?

No, we came up to Hawke’s Bay. And we lived in one of …oh, those cottages in Campbell Street. You know, a certain person used to build those buildings.

Douglas: Chapman … [speaking together]

Kath: Had a thatched roof?

Yes, I know.

What was his name?

Chapman-Taylor.

And we bought a section over the road where we planned to … Don planned out the house that we were going to live in. But it didn’t happen – he died. I had a baby of thirteen months, and one of two years.

Yes – those Chapman-Taylor houses are both still there. There’s the one on the corner, and then there’s a smaller one just down from the corner.

We lived in that little one to begin with.

So then you where left with two little babies, and ..?

Yes, I must remember to remind you of an incident where I used to put the pram. It’s when Keren, my first child – I used to put her out in this pram under this tree. And one morning I must’ve been a bit late doing it because there’d been a storm, and a big huge bough came right down where I used to put the pram.

Was this off the gum tree?

So, oh, I was absolutely horrified. I thought how fortunate I was that I hadn’t been early.

And so then you married Douglas?

Yes, he was the godfather of my eldest child. And we had difficult years, but it was because I think Douglas became sort of … the cry of the children, you know, “What’s that baby crying for?” and all this sort of thing … rattled him somehow.

Well, we didn’t hear those sounds out on the farm did we, Douglas?

Douglas: No.

So the wives heard them mainly, because we were never home.

Kath: And it certainly was difficult.

Douglas: Oh, well dear, it’s a two-edged sword I suppose … takes two to tango.

Kath: I was the mother of those children. That made the difference.

Okay, well is there anything else that you can think of? And then I’ll switch back over to Douglas.

Douglas: Well you didn’t mention Geraldine, Kath.

Kath: Well, I saved his life just recently. Did you know about that?

No.

One day …

Oh – does Geraldine come first?

I used to be a dental nurse there.

Would you like to just tell us about your time in Geraldine?

Oh, it was a very happy time. I was friends with a lady who lived across the creek, as we called it. And I flatted with a girl who was a … oh, what d’you call that? I can’t quite remember what it was now, but she did a two year course in teaching, and we got on fine, you know, we worked out without any upsets or quarrels or arguments. But she’s not alive now, she died; Noeline Lindsay’s sister. And apparently Noeline Lindsay was the spoilt one in the family – there were two girls. And the father and she used to go for trips over to Europe and around about, and Beverley would after her mother, who strangely enough had a health problem where when she’d had a baby she became quite paralysed. Yeah; and she was all right during the pregnancy. And what caused it, goodness knows.

Yes, well that would have been a pretty little place to be in, Geraldine, wouldn’t it?

Yes, it’s a lovely little place.

Yes, it still is a nice town.

I was sole charge of the clinic there. And some mornings in the winter it was so cold my hands were absolutely numb – and my feet. And I had to, you know, [chuckle] clap my hands under the tap.

And you would’ve had one of those drills that you pump your leg up and down on?

[Chuckle] No, they didn’t have those then but they’ve got them now. I don’t really approve of those. But anyway, no, it was a good time; very good time. And what was the next question?

You said you saved Douglas?

Oh yes. Well, he’d been saying for a few days, “Oh, I don’t feel … don’t feel all that good.” Oh, and I’d say, “Oh, stop your moaning.” [Chuckles] I’m sure a lot of women have to say that, too. Anyway, this particular day he suddenly went as white as a sheet, and I said, “Douglas! Douglas, keep breathing … keep breathing!” And I started pushing his diaphragm to make him breathe. And then the next thing he came into a flush, and sweat all over his head, and he told me later his shirt was soaking. And I called the ambulance, and they eventually came; and do you know what the driver said to me? Not the driver, but the man that was with the driver – he said, “Oh, fancy calling us out all this way just because your husband doesn’t feel well.” Anyway, they took him in and I went in with him. And I’d rung Fiona, and she rang Jen up the road – that’s my other daughter – and we went in. And no sooner had he got to the hospital than they decided he had to be flown to Wellington to have a pacemaker. They don’t do it at the Hastings hospital. And so I went down on the bus to see the exhibition opening, and my son, James, in Auckland shouted me a night at Rydges Hotel, [chuckle] and I loved that, it was great. And then the next morning I got a taxi up to the hospital and I saw Douglas, and he had to be there for … what was it? Five days? And then they flew him back on a hospital plane again when they had enough passengers; two were coming down from Wairoa, and then he came back and he went to the Hastings hospital.

Oh, to be monitored. I must say Douglas looks better than last time I was here; he’s quite different actually.

Douglas: Yeah, it’s taken a long time to …

Kath: But he’s really back to normal … grumpy. [Laughter]

Yes, but some of us were born that way. [Laughter] I’d better make it the plural rather than point it at you, Douglas.

I’ve got to get the whip out now and again.

Yes.

‘Cause he really should exercise.

Douglas: Which I can’t.

Kath: But he also should have his legs up now, and be right back, you know.  But he does what he wants to do.

But isn’t it wonderful how quickly they can do things? You know you’re here, and you’re down there, and next thing there’s a whole lot of these young suited men come and have a look at you, and you think, ‘God, these boys are not old enough to be out of high school yet.’

Douglas: No more than most of the older blokes.

If there’s anything else you can think of ..?

Kath: I … it takes me back to a time when my sister and I were children, and we decided we’d go for a swim. And so we took a picnic lunch, and we swam over to the other side. And then my sister, who’s deaf, suddenly as we were swimming back, she grabbed me around the neck, and I thought, ‘Oh! I can’t talk to her, she can’t hear me; I’ll just keep going.’ And I noticed that the river was quite swift on the other side and there was a big log there that seemed to be stationed there; it was probably a tree. And I kept swimming and swimming and the water was … oh, I don’t know how I did it. It was just determination, power and focus, and we got there. And I don’t think anybody else in the family knew about it.

Was she just frightened?

Yes, she got tired.

So she was holding on to you for support, but choking you.

Just about – we could’ve been both drowned.

Yes we can all look back and think of little things like that. Some things we never tell anyone about. Kath has got just a few more details.

Thank you. Yes, well my three lovely daughters, Keren, Jenny and Fiona; and James and Sam.

And they’re all local are they?

Well James lives in Auckland; Sam lives down off the Pōrangahau Road in Ormond country; and yes, Keren’s in Havelock; Fiona’s in Havelock; Jenny’s farming with Sam … she married again, and she’s with Sam Nelson; his first wife died in a terrible riding accident.

And grandchildren?

Yes, Fiona and Mark have two sons; one’s engaged over in Canada. And Andrew, or Andy as we call him – he’s in Wellington, and he also is engaged to be married and he works in the ANZ bank – I think he’s in charge of thirty-four people. So we see them from time to time. And Toby – Bron and Sam’s eldest boy – is down in Canterbury now at Elam. [Ilam]

Douglas: No, excuse … it’s Lincoln. Toby’s at Lincoln College.

Kath: Oh well. I thought he was at University, but …

Douglas: Yeah, but you said Elam, that’s an Art School.

Kath: No. It’s a University.

Douglas: Anyway …

Kath: And Ilam’s [Elam] in Auckland, isn’t that right?

Ilam’s in Catherbury; that’s the boarding area for Canterbury University, Ilam House. My son was there.

Well that’s Elam. Elam’s in Canterbury. And that’ll be boarding, where he lives. Oh, I’m not sure. Anyway, you’ve confused me now, Douglas.

He’s down in Canterbury …

Douglas: Lincoln College.

Yes.

Kath: And our three other boys who are … yes, I’m not allowed to call them triplets anymore … that’s Joseph, Louie and Issac …

Triplet boys?

… they’re pupils at Napier Boys’ High School. Strangely enough Douglas’ father went there.

Douglas: Before 1900.

I went there before 1950. [Chuckles] Fifty years later.

Kath: Were you a good pupil?

Absolutely! Perfect pupil. [Chuckle] But I must tell this … of all the strange things I wanted to be an accountant, and for the life of me when I think of all the accountants I’ve dealt with over my life, they’re the last people I’d want to be.

I reckon it’s a very stressful life being an accountant.

And do you see them regularly?

Oh, yes we do.

You can always send them back though, can’t you, the grandchildren?

[Chuckle] Oh, now we’ve got great grandchildren, too.

Oh, have you? Oh, how many of those?

Yes, we’ve got four; two in Hastings and two over in Perth. Sarah, my daughter Jenny’s eldest daughter, she has Madeline and Oliver. We were all delighted that she had a boy. And he’s bonny, and he’s just the spitting image of his father, and Maddie is just like her mum. There’s a photo of them up there. And the two at the bottom there, those are Rachel and Henry’s two little girls, Ruby and Poppy. And just the one above is Maddie and Oliver. Yes, but he’s walking now.

Douglas: Well the two little girls’ mother is head of Art at Lindisfarne – Rachel. And her husband is sports teacher, and he’s a house master; so they’ve been granted the use of a Lindisfarne house.

Kath: A two storeyed house, and they’ve got a little garden, and they’ve even got a little coop to put chooks. [Chuckle] And they’ve got this wicker basket which is about that tall … a long handle and narrow, and you can imagine the two little girls going to the little coop [chuckle] picking up the eggs. [Laughter]

So any of the children arty?

Rachel is … it’s not the art that I do, it’s computer art and I don’t call that art. I think hands on art is art. But she was four years at college in Palmerston [North], so she learned everything there was to learn. And her mother use to say she was institutionalised. [Chuckle] But anyway, she met this chap, he actually came out – Henry – as an exchange student, and they just clicked, these two. We’ve met his mother and father; they both married different people again … quite involved really. He has aunt who lives further up the Island here, or a half-sister, I think … yeah, half-sister. He’s a very good cook – he’s amazingly good at cooking. And very quick, you know … gets the cushions puffed up and the curtains tidy, and it’s all done in … and Rachel’s the opposite.

All right – is there anything else that you can think of, Douglas?

Douglas: Not really, but I think Kath’d like to know where all this is channelled, wouldn’t you, Kath? [Recording stopped while interviewer explains; recommences next section mid-sentence]

Douglas: … in the hall Kath, didn’t you?

Kath: Yes, it all happened in the hall.

This is the Maraekakaho Hall?

Kath: Yes, the Maraekakaho Hall. And I’d considered, because I had extended myself, I thought, ‘Well, what about all the other farmer’s wives up here? They’re just sort stuck at home and having cups of coffee, and cooking and baking and all that sort of thing; and sending children to school and they haven’t got anything to extend themselves’, so I decided, as I’ve told you, I would get someone to come and show them how to do knitting, patchwork quilt making, all different kinds of sewing, and also to make bread. I got someone else to come out and show us how to make bread and buns, and we did all that. And then another thought was – did I say a butcher? But it did start up people going to the hall more and playing badminton, and you know … Then Kereru started doing things so it sort of planted a seed, and it made people happier and they got to know each other.

The butcher … you said you had a butcher to come and teach you how to cut meat up as well.

Yes, yes, I did.

Mm, that’s a good idea because most wives or husbands, unless you’re a farmer, had to find that out for themselves.

Douglas: Well Kath got the butcher – he was quite an identity in Hastings. Kath: I can’t remember his name. Douglas: He had something to do with Richmonds. Do you know him? No, he use to conduct cookery classes, butchery classes in Hastings.

Yes, I know who you’re talking about.

He’s probably the best commercial butcher we had at the time.

Kath: I know when we go down to see Sam and Bron, we often … we haven’t been for ages ’cause they’re really busy with their horses, and Sam’s busy with his real estate; we used to buy meat at the Waipawa butchery. A very good butcher there, a really nice man.

Makes great sausages and saveloys. I’ve got friends in Havelock that go down there to buy their savs and sausages. [Chuckle]

Douglas: I used to go in and behind the counter he’s got a freezer, and I said, “What’ve you got hanging up?” I’d say, “Well I’ll take the hind quarters of that one”[chuckles] – I didn’t want the full quarter. But I bought a lot of meat at that time, you know, $40 worth or something, and he never gipped. I’d buy just the loin chops, not [what] they call shoulder chops, and rubbish that they have now, but he was quite happy with it. We bought meat here for years, you know, I used to get reject lambs from Whaka[tu] – that was good stuff, and they were low-weighted ones and …

Kath: If they had a bruised leg or something.

Three-legged ones; we used to buy our meat there, too.

Douglas: And then when I sort of eased up on farming, I did home kills. I never killed cattle, but I sometimes went to the chain at Whakatu when I was killing cattle off the Swamp Road, and said, “Keep me a hindquarter off that one.” And they’d present it to me as a hindquarter, and I’d bring it back and [chuckle] … it wasn’t that kitchen table. It was a bit of an ordeal, you know, breaking it down …

I know.

… but it was nice meat.

Kath: He’d hung it down at the tree down there with a guillotine thing. We used to have a safe; we used to make butter, too.

What do they call those things that you hang the meat on?

Douglas: They’ve got a little hook and spreads the hind legs … gambol.

Gambol, that’s right. All right, well I think that was just a nice quiet little chat …

Kath: I think if you can have a chuckle when you’re reading something …

Today’s the 22nd of April 2016. This is just a small add-on about Douglas’ family.

My father, Francis Cassidi Twigg, was born at Petane in 1874, the second son of Henderson James Twigg and Elizabeth, née Torr, Twigg, early settler[s] from Ulster, Scotland who farmed the Petane Grange in the Esk Valley. Here Francis spent his boyhood. He was educated at the Petane School, Napier Boys’ High School, Lincoln Agricultural College. He farmed Ridgemount Station with his father before joining his brother, Samuel, as partners in Mangaaruhe Station, Wairoa. In later life he farmed the Hawke’s Bay properties of Riverina, Glenbrook, Brooklands, Te Aratipi, and lastly Hukanui. He married Olive Edith Russell from Gisborne. Together they had two sons and two daughters; Russell, his eldest son, died in infancy. His surviving son, Douglas Russell Twigg, farms at Ngātarawa, while his daughter, Florence Deirdre Atmore, lives in Otaki. His youngest daughter, Mary Olive Buckston, has retired to Tauranga. There are nine grandchildren: Ernest James Twigg, Samuel Victor Twigg, Keren Ann Williams, Jenny Mary Gilbertson, Fiona Elizabeth Harris, Paul Atmore, Graham Atmore, David Atmore, Susan Wilson. The great-grandchildren are Tobias Twigg, Joseph Twigg, Louis Twigg and Isaac Twigg; Benjamin Harris and Andrew Harris, Sarah Ivanov, Rachel Harland and Rebecca Collins.

Thank you, Douglas, that’s great.