Sunday, March 18, 2012
Sunday, March 04, 2012
Michele Hewitson interview: David Hartnell
David Hartnell, despite his 40 years of rubbing shoulders with celebrities, lives a fairly staid life, it seems. Photo / Paul Estcourt
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David Hartnell, despite his 40 years of rubbing shoulders with celebrities, lives a fairly staid life, it seems. Photo / Paul Estcourt
Of course I had my picture taken with the gossip columnist, David Hartnell. Wouldn't you have? The one thing everyone knows about him is that he has all those photographs of him with famous people and that they are prominently displayed in his house, even in the loo, which is where he keeps what he calls his "wanker's wall".
There was no good reason for going to see him except that, as he knows better than almost anyone, flattery will sometimes get you somewhere. In this case it got me into his house and if he regretted the outcome of his sweet-talking, he heroically hid it even when I pointed out that his famous pictures were a bit (a bit!) dusty. "Who cares? As Quentin Crisp said: 'It doesn't get any worse after three years!"
He had sent me a very sweet email, mentioning in passing that when his memoirs came out last year he'd asked the publisher to ask me if I'd interview him. They didn't (to the best of my recollection) but of course I'd like to interview him: He has always seemed a completely made up person and they are always interesting, in person. So I told him to come up with a peg. He is, as he says, a total media slut, but he proved sadly hopeless. Never mind, it was Oscar week, we could do the best and worst frocks.
"Of course!" he said. "I'd forgotten all about them! The trouble is: I don't know a lot of their names!" He says he sometimes goes to the loo and thinks: "Ooh. A lot of these people have flicked the twig!" He's 68 and he's written gossip for 40 years so he might be permitted a bit of a rest. Do not suggest this. I asked when he was going to retire and he looked at me as though I was as mad as, say, Liza Minnelli, which brings us to his loo.
When we were in the loo - he had said, "would you like to go to the toilet? Come this way. I'll take you, darling" - I said: "Where's Liza?" I didn't mean the dog. He and his partner of 19 years, Somboon Khansuk, have two: Miss Liza, not named after the other Liza; that was the name she arrived with; and Miss Cele, which is pronounced Sally after an earlier dog named Sally.
He says he couldn't remember the new dog's name so called her Cele. This seemed to make perfect sense at the time he told me, and in only a slightly nutty way. Anyway, he says the other Liza is not off her rocker, as I so rudely put it; that she has had a stroke, which most people don't realise. I meant before that, actually. He said, purse-mouthed, "I'm not sure ..." and we moved up the hall where he showed me a framed certificate proclaiming him the patron of the Variety Club of New Zealand.
He emailed later to ask if I could possibly mention this; he's very proud of being the patron, so of course I'm happy to. He and Somboon were very kind to me and gave me a lovely afternoon tea, a poodle key ring made, by members of Somboon's family, from pink beads, and a ride home when the taxi didn't arrive.
Somewhere along the way, we had what could charitably be called a digressive interview which was mostly my fault, but not entirely. So, right: where were we up to with Liza? In the loo, then, I asked where she was and he said: "She's in the other room." That is not a conversation you are likely to have with anyone else, in any other house in the country.
I am not likely to have my picture taken with a gossip columnist and a large stuffed monkey wrapped around my neck in any other house in the country. What mad things he has. Why does he have a large stuffed monkey? He said, a bit huffily: "You saw the monkey and you enjoyed it, and so many people do and the kids who come here love the monkey."
I shouldn't have been rude about the monkey (or Liza) because we share another mad thing: A model of the Queen which has a tiny solar panel on the top of her handbag and when the sun shines, she waves. "When she's waving, I know it's going to be a good day. If she's not waving, I think: 'Ooh! It's not a good day." His Queen is far superior because of course he's embellished her. "They missed something very important. She had no brooch."
He went to the $2 shop and bought one of those Indian hand decorations and made her a sparkler. "We can't have the Queen without a brooch! I'll get you a pink one." He did, the very next day, and emailed: "Now remember - it goes on the left hand side of her coat, she always wears her brooches over her heart."
I thought he was probably a bit bossy (see above) but Somboon swears not. He was a bit bossy with me, but only in a helpful sort of way. He certainly wouldn't let me boss him. I wanted to know where his famous little black book was. "On my desk." Could I have a look at it? "No." Why not? "I am not going to show you my little black book." Just a little look? "No."
He gave me some tips on interviewing, which were welcome, I can tell you. "An interviewer needs a good opener question, a middle question, in case the interview's crap, and a good closer. I've always spoken to people as I would like to be spoken to and shutting up and listening - like you're doing to me - is a good interviewer." I said: "I can't get a word in, David!" "Well, there you go. If I was giving you 'yes', 'no' answers you'd say: 'For God's sake!"' I said I was only teasing him and he unhuffed immediately. "I know you are!"
He says he's not a complicated person, and I believe him. He lives, happily and quietly, with Somboon and the two dogs, and they visit Somboon's family in Thailand most years where they do "nothing!", except watch DVDs and he has a very occasional Baileys and milk and potters about on a push bike - an image which made me giggle; it makes him and Somboon and Somboon's family giggle too.
He says he had a very happy and stable upbringing, although it doesn't much look like one on paper. He was raised by his mum, and her parents, after his father left when he was a very little boy and he didn't see him for years and years. He later discovered a half-brother and sister who knew nothing of his existence.
After his father left, his mother cut all the pictures of him out of the family photo album. He never asked his mother a thing about his father until, in 2000, he saw a death notice of a man called John Segetin. He asked his mother (who is still alive, aged 88, in a retirement village) if that could be his father and she said: "That'll be him."
And that was that. He is not at all bitter. He says it never occurred to him. He has never talked to her about being gay; they have never talked about being gay with Somboon's family either. (Somboon, at 45, tells me he is the "toyboy", which I said I was relieved to hear because it saved me saying it.) It's just not a big deal and he is not much interested in talking about being gay to me, or to anybody. When he was talking about the dog called Miss Liza, he said: "People say: 'Trust you to have a dog named after Liza Minnelli.' It's so camp. But it's nothing to do with us at all."
Is he camp? "I don't know. I would have no idea. What do you think?" I said that I thought he might be a bit camp. "Well, that's all right. I am gay. So that's a compliment, I would think." He doesn't know why anyone would be interested what anyone else does in bed, for one thing. "But yes, I have sex, if that's the next question."
It most certainly was not. They are such a staid, married couple (even if not actually married), it was like hearing that your parents have sex.
It was a relief then, to hear that he has never been a party person; he was always career-minded and he really did make himself up: He left school, without School C; he became a champion roller skater (he still has his skates, of course and God only knows what else he has hoarded over the years.
He did give away some of his 200-plus trademark bow ties to the doorman at TVNZ but of course not all.) Then he became a make-up artist and worked in New York and London where he met the stars and the rest is the stuff of gossip column history - except that he has never done anything wild enough to appear in one.
He might have been born middle-aged, really. He never ever took drugs, he has those two Baileys a couple of times a year, he managed to make a very good living while wearing bow ties and refusing to be photographed without one ... That really is about it.
He always wears his brooch, his Member of the New Zealand Order of Merit button, because he's terrifically proud of having been awarded it, "by the Queen," as he always says. He signs all of his correspondence, including emails, MNZM. He thinks he's the only gossip columnist to have been so honoured, for services to entertainment.
He knows people think he's a name dropper and that all those pictures of fading, or dropped-off-the-twig stars are silly and show-offy. He says he doesn't care and, mostly, now at least, he doesn't seem to.
If he ever frets, and he does occasionally, about what will happen next, Somboon tells him not to worry, whatever will happen, will happen. They both say he really doesn't care that one day people might say: "Whatever happened to David Hartnell?" I think this is almost true, and I hope it is because it would be sad for him if not.
But I can't write about him and not name drop Joan Collins because they are friends. I asked if he really loved her and he said: "I love Joan, as I say in the book, but not as much as Joan loves Joan." What a thing to say about a friend! "No! No! Stop! She's a survivor. That's what I love about Joan. I love strong women ... And Joan is always promoting Joan." At which my mouth dropped open and strange squeaking sounds came out. Ahem! Ahem! I managed. "Well!" he said, "You've got to keep the name out there, honey!"
By Michele Hewitson | Email Michele
5:30 AM Saturday Mar 3, 2012
http://www.nzherald.co.nz/nz/news/article.cfm?c_id=1&objectid=10789440
Expand
David Hartnell, despite his 40 years of rubbing shoulders with celebrities, lives a fairly staid life, it seems. Photo / Paul Estcourt
Of course I had my picture taken with the gossip columnist, David Hartnell. Wouldn't you have? The one thing everyone knows about him is that he has all those photographs of him with famous people and that they are prominently displayed in his house, even in the loo, which is where he keeps what he calls his "wanker's wall".
There was no good reason for going to see him except that, as he knows better than almost anyone, flattery will sometimes get you somewhere. In this case it got me into his house and if he regretted the outcome of his sweet-talking, he heroically hid it even when I pointed out that his famous pictures were a bit (a bit!) dusty. "Who cares? As Quentin Crisp said: 'It doesn't get any worse after three years!"
He had sent me a very sweet email, mentioning in passing that when his memoirs came out last year he'd asked the publisher to ask me if I'd interview him. They didn't (to the best of my recollection) but of course I'd like to interview him: He has always seemed a completely made up person and they are always interesting, in person. So I told him to come up with a peg. He is, as he says, a total media slut, but he proved sadly hopeless. Never mind, it was Oscar week, we could do the best and worst frocks.
"Of course!" he said. "I'd forgotten all about them! The trouble is: I don't know a lot of their names!" He says he sometimes goes to the loo and thinks: "Ooh. A lot of these people have flicked the twig!" He's 68 and he's written gossip for 40 years so he might be permitted a bit of a rest. Do not suggest this. I asked when he was going to retire and he looked at me as though I was as mad as, say, Liza Minnelli, which brings us to his loo.
When we were in the loo - he had said, "would you like to go to the toilet? Come this way. I'll take you, darling" - I said: "Where's Liza?" I didn't mean the dog. He and his partner of 19 years, Somboon Khansuk, have two: Miss Liza, not named after the other Liza; that was the name she arrived with; and Miss Cele, which is pronounced Sally after an earlier dog named Sally.
He says he couldn't remember the new dog's name so called her Cele. This seemed to make perfect sense at the time he told me, and in only a slightly nutty way. Anyway, he says the other Liza is not off her rocker, as I so rudely put it; that she has had a stroke, which most people don't realise. I meant before that, actually. He said, purse-mouthed, "I'm not sure ..." and we moved up the hall where he showed me a framed certificate proclaiming him the patron of the Variety Club of New Zealand.
He emailed later to ask if I could possibly mention this; he's very proud of being the patron, so of course I'm happy to. He and Somboon were very kind to me and gave me a lovely afternoon tea, a poodle key ring made, by members of Somboon's family, from pink beads, and a ride home when the taxi didn't arrive.
Somewhere along the way, we had what could charitably be called a digressive interview which was mostly my fault, but not entirely. So, right: where were we up to with Liza? In the loo, then, I asked where she was and he said: "She's in the other room." That is not a conversation you are likely to have with anyone else, in any other house in the country.
I am not likely to have my picture taken with a gossip columnist and a large stuffed monkey wrapped around my neck in any other house in the country. What mad things he has. Why does he have a large stuffed monkey? He said, a bit huffily: "You saw the monkey and you enjoyed it, and so many people do and the kids who come here love the monkey."
I shouldn't have been rude about the monkey (or Liza) because we share another mad thing: A model of the Queen which has a tiny solar panel on the top of her handbag and when the sun shines, she waves. "When she's waving, I know it's going to be a good day. If she's not waving, I think: 'Ooh! It's not a good day." His Queen is far superior because of course he's embellished her. "They missed something very important. She had no brooch."
He went to the $2 shop and bought one of those Indian hand decorations and made her a sparkler. "We can't have the Queen without a brooch! I'll get you a pink one." He did, the very next day, and emailed: "Now remember - it goes on the left hand side of her coat, she always wears her brooches over her heart."
I thought he was probably a bit bossy (see above) but Somboon swears not. He was a bit bossy with me, but only in a helpful sort of way. He certainly wouldn't let me boss him. I wanted to know where his famous little black book was. "On my desk." Could I have a look at it? "No." Why not? "I am not going to show you my little black book." Just a little look? "No."
He gave me some tips on interviewing, which were welcome, I can tell you. "An interviewer needs a good opener question, a middle question, in case the interview's crap, and a good closer. I've always spoken to people as I would like to be spoken to and shutting up and listening - like you're doing to me - is a good interviewer." I said: "I can't get a word in, David!" "Well, there you go. If I was giving you 'yes', 'no' answers you'd say: 'For God's sake!"' I said I was only teasing him and he unhuffed immediately. "I know you are!"
He says he's not a complicated person, and I believe him. He lives, happily and quietly, with Somboon and the two dogs, and they visit Somboon's family in Thailand most years where they do "nothing!", except watch DVDs and he has a very occasional Baileys and milk and potters about on a push bike - an image which made me giggle; it makes him and Somboon and Somboon's family giggle too.
He says he had a very happy and stable upbringing, although it doesn't much look like one on paper. He was raised by his mum, and her parents, after his father left when he was a very little boy and he didn't see him for years and years. He later discovered a half-brother and sister who knew nothing of his existence.
After his father left, his mother cut all the pictures of him out of the family photo album. He never asked his mother a thing about his father until, in 2000, he saw a death notice of a man called John Segetin. He asked his mother (who is still alive, aged 88, in a retirement village) if that could be his father and she said: "That'll be him."
And that was that. He is not at all bitter. He says it never occurred to him. He has never talked to her about being gay; they have never talked about being gay with Somboon's family either. (Somboon, at 45, tells me he is the "toyboy", which I said I was relieved to hear because it saved me saying it.) It's just not a big deal and he is not much interested in talking about being gay to me, or to anybody. When he was talking about the dog called Miss Liza, he said: "People say: 'Trust you to have a dog named after Liza Minnelli.' It's so camp. But it's nothing to do with us at all."
Is he camp? "I don't know. I would have no idea. What do you think?" I said that I thought he might be a bit camp. "Well, that's all right. I am gay. So that's a compliment, I would think." He doesn't know why anyone would be interested what anyone else does in bed, for one thing. "But yes, I have sex, if that's the next question."
It most certainly was not. They are such a staid, married couple (even if not actually married), it was like hearing that your parents have sex.
It was a relief then, to hear that he has never been a party person; he was always career-minded and he really did make himself up: He left school, without School C; he became a champion roller skater (he still has his skates, of course and God only knows what else he has hoarded over the years.
He did give away some of his 200-plus trademark bow ties to the doorman at TVNZ but of course not all.) Then he became a make-up artist and worked in New York and London where he met the stars and the rest is the stuff of gossip column history - except that he has never done anything wild enough to appear in one.
He might have been born middle-aged, really. He never ever took drugs, he has those two Baileys a couple of times a year, he managed to make a very good living while wearing bow ties and refusing to be photographed without one ... That really is about it.
He always wears his brooch, his Member of the New Zealand Order of Merit button, because he's terrifically proud of having been awarded it, "by the Queen," as he always says. He signs all of his correspondence, including emails, MNZM. He thinks he's the only gossip columnist to have been so honoured, for services to entertainment.
He knows people think he's a name dropper and that all those pictures of fading, or dropped-off-the-twig stars are silly and show-offy. He says he doesn't care and, mostly, now at least, he doesn't seem to.
If he ever frets, and he does occasionally, about what will happen next, Somboon tells him not to worry, whatever will happen, will happen. They both say he really doesn't care that one day people might say: "Whatever happened to David Hartnell?" I think this is almost true, and I hope it is because it would be sad for him if not.
But I can't write about him and not name drop Joan Collins because they are friends. I asked if he really loved her and he said: "I love Joan, as I say in the book, but not as much as Joan loves Joan." What a thing to say about a friend! "No! No! Stop! She's a survivor. That's what I love about Joan. I love strong women ... And Joan is always promoting Joan." At which my mouth dropped open and strange squeaking sounds came out. Ahem! Ahem! I managed. "Well!" he said, "You've got to keep the name out there, honey!"
By Michele Hewitson | Email Michele
5:30 AM Saturday Mar 3, 2012
http://www.nzherald.co.nz/nz/news/article.cfm?c_id=1&objectid=10789440
Sunday, February 26, 2012
The Stone Store in the Kerikeri Basin
The Stone Store was constructed to hold mission supplies and wheat from the mission farm at Te Waimate, but the building was mainly leased as a kauri gum trading store. Today, you can shop for authentic frontier trade goods & classically branded Kiwiana products recalling the great Kiwi summer holiday & the Stone Store’s place in history as a Northland tourism icon. Enjoy an ice cream, or shop online www.historic.org.nz
Located next door to Kemp House, the Stone Store is NZ's oldest stone building. It was designed by Wesleyan missionary John Hobbs, and built by Australian convict William Parrott.
Star Hotel Kawakawa
The Star Hotel was established in 1879. Its a Hotel which has a colourful history with the locals
She might be a little rough around the edges, but for a 132-year-old she's in pretty good shape.
Kawakawa's Star Hotel celebrated its 132nd birthday last Saturday, the same day the Bay of Islands Railway Trust celebrated winning the supreme prize in the TrustPower National Community Awards.
Publican Frank Gardiner said it was fitting the pub and the railway celebrated on the same day, as they were the two oldest surviving institutions in the town.
Mr Gardiner and his wife, Eleanor, were invited up from Timaru by the pub's Auckland owner in a bid to make the hotel once again a focal point of the community.
He established the pub's birthday after unearthing a news clipping from April 19, 1879, about the pub's opening.
The milestone was celebrated with a hangi for 400 people, the United Kawakawa Rugby Club's prizegiving and a country and western club knees-up.
Mr Gardiner said plans for improving the historic pub included revamping the garden bar and some improvements inside, but nothing ostentatious. "That would be sacrilege," he said.
http://www.northernadvocate.co.nz/news/kawakawas-star-hotel-celebrated-its-132nd-birthday/1052313/
Bay of Islands vintage railway
The arrangement is not unique in the world, but Kawakawa is highly unusual in having the main railway running down the main street.
However it was not the original plan. The town centre was up the hill by the old courthouse, which unfortunately burned down, and the railway as constructed actually ran along the river bank. So all of the north side of the main street is where the river used to run.
Today the railway line only handles the Bay of Islands vintage railway, which trundles a couple of coaches most of the way to Opua and back on a 45 minute journey.
Helpers clamber aboard Kawakawa's vintage railway
Peter de Graaf | Tuesday, January 31, 2012 8:00
An SOS from Kawakawa's vintage railway has led to a surge of new volunteers, but more are still needed to ensure the historic line stays on track.
Bay of Islands Vintage Railway Trust chairman Johnson Davis said he was "very heartened" by the response to a series of stories this month in the Northern Advocate and Northland Age about a critical shortage of volunteers.
The lack of firemen, whose job it is to feed the steam locomotive's boiler with coal, was especially acute. Already-overworked engine drivers were forced to fill in as firemen on their days off, and the railway was at risk of closing.
A leaflet drop around Kawakawa late last year sparked little interest, despite the town having more than 140 able-bodied adults on the unemployment benefit. At the time Mr Davis said it made him ashamed to be a Kawakawa-ite.
Far North Mayor Wayne Brown has added his voice to the appeals for volunteers, saying the town has re-invented itself on the back of the railway and Hundertwasser toilets and had done very well for itself as a result. "The community there needs to recognise that, and get behind the railway," he said.
The response this time, however, had been positive, with about a dozen new volunteers in training, including a few from Kawakawa. The new recruits included an ex-Navy captain from Mangawhai, alerted by a newspaper poster about the volunteer shortage. He qualified last week as a diesel driver and his wife was volunteering in the shop car while training to be a railway guard.
The railway had two new firemen, from Kaikohe and Whangarei, with others showing interest. Crucially, some of the new crop of volunteers keen to work towards being steam drivers were aged in their 30s. Most of the railway's current volunteers were the "young retired", Mr Davis said.
The railway was still keen for more helpers. "If we can get enough volunteers, instead of being a burden, they may be rostered on just once a month."
Mr Johnson said he was grateful to everyone who had helped put out the railway's call for help, and to Mr Brown for backing his call for the people of Kawakawa to get behind the railway.
- If you're keen to lend a hand phone Mike Bradshaw on 021 171 2697 or (09) 404 0450, or email mikethesteam@hotmail.com http://www.northernadvocate.co.nz/news/helpers-clamber-aboard1/1253966/
Frederick Hundertwasser
Frederick Hundertwasser first visited New Zealand in the 1970's to mount a public exhibition of his work. He was so captured by the country that he resolved to make it his second home, purchasing an isolated rural property on the Waikino peninsula on the Waikare Inlet east of the Kawakawa.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
The geneology of Auckland street names
Alan Perrott delves into the genealogy of Auckland’s streets.
Alan Perrott researches up on the history of Auckland's road signs. Photo / Thinkstock
Every day I leave Surrey Hills Estate, wander through the home of the six-horned sheep to Dedwood, and then head down a slope remembering a celebrity who rather took our fancy.
This is Auckland's history in road signs. And, as retired history professor Russell Stone says, while they are barely acknowledged, these signs are likely to linger longer than any of our crumbling buildings.
All it requires is a little attention and any journey can teach you more about where you are than simply your location. It's a rare street or landmark that doesn't have a story behind it.
Take Shortland St, a typical inner-city thoroughfare now known better as a soap opera. But the show's producers may have thought again if they knew it was named after a colonial secretary who was pretty universally written off as pompous, incompetent and tactless.
Okay, he had one mate, Felton Mathew, the Londoner who was put in charge of naming our oldest streets. But he's hardly great company, as his contemporaries labelled him "venal" and connected him to Shortland via some rather dodgy land purchases.
When Shortland was finally sacked by Governor Fitzroy, he was for some reason rewarded with running the Caribbean islands of Nevis and Tobago.
Unfortunately for Mathew (he pronounced it "May-thew" thank you very much), he met his maker in Peru. Not to worry though, he lingers as an avenue in St Johns.
Then there's Mt Hobson, which, as everyone should know, is named after our first governor. But did you know that Hobson also helped escort Napoleon into exile, then sailed to the West Indies where he chased pirates, was captured twice, escaped once, and contracted yellow fever three times? It was so much fun that after being retired he practically begged the head of the Admiralty, Lord Auckland, for another command.
In return, the lord got a city and a New South Wales county named after him, while his family, the Edens, got a volcano, a suburb, a stadium, several roads, the odd cafe, and an Australian town.
And how about Mt Roskill? My favourite origin theory here involves a mad Irishman who liked to spend his days climbing to the top to preach the gospel, a notion which dovetails nicely with the suburb's old Bible-belt reputation.
Anyway, as I said, I like to see my path to work as a trip through time. And it always starts with a failed attempt at property speculation, the Surrey Hills Estate.
It all began in the 1840s, when land to the west of the Auckland settlement was chopped into small farms. Two English booze barons, James Williamson and Thomas Crummer, saw pound signs and bought up enough land to establish Surrey Hills Estate with the intent of grazing it until property prices shot up.
Unfortunately, their long-term scheme fell foul of the 1880s depression and they had to subdivide for far less profit than they'd hoped.
If it was any consolation, they did get to name the major roads after themselves and their mates like Mssrs Pullen, Mackelvie, Murdock and Rose.
They named the rest after their favourite bits of home. There was nostalgic comfort to be found in living on a road named Sussex, Norfolk, Lincoln or even Douglas, the Isle of Man capital and home to the above-mentioned, multi-horned sheep.
Their work was finished with nods to a few classy, artistic types like Dickens, Elgin and Arnold, a poet whose father was headmaster at Webb Ellis' Rugby School.
Surrey Cres was left as the only reminder of the original estate and the suburb was renamed Grey Lynn in honour of former governor Sir George Grey, who had become a latter-day champion of Auckland. Then, in a possible comment on the boozing that had funded Grey Lynn's creation in the first place, its new residents voted the suburb dry in 1905.
So, having travelled from Surrey to the Isle of Man, I now find myself on Ponsonby Rd, or as it was known until the 1880s, Vandeleur Rd, for the divisional commander who served under Wellington at Waterloo. Colonel Ponsonby, in turn, served under Vandeleur.
At one time Ponsonby Rd not only stretched to the Three Lamps corner (unimaginatively named for the three lamps that sat atop a large stone) and the Ponsonby Club Hotel (aka the Gluepot - because once you went in you couldn't get out) but also west towards the former slaughteryards of Westmere. This section was eventually renamed, as was the custom of time, in honour of brand new governor-general, Sir William Jervois.
As for greater Ponsonby, it was first known as Dedwood, a fantastic name of mysterious origins, although there is some thought that it comes from a farm on Shelly Beach Rd. Still, if Dedwood itself is, well, ded, its name lives on as a terrace in St Mary's Bay.
I now leave Ponsonby Rd and head down Franklin Rd into Freemans Bay, an area named after James Freeman, Hobson's secretary, and a man who Sir John Logan Campbell said was "the most disgustingly immoral swindling scoundrel in town". Another pillar of the community, it seems.
Happily for property values, Franklin Rd has much posher origins.
Socialite celebrities weren't regular visitors to our shores back in the olden days, but the Franklins came close.
Rear-Admiral Sir John Franklin was a heroic naval officer and Arctic explorer who became lieutenant-governor of Tasmania in 1836. His second wife, the beautiful Lady Jane Franklin, was a vivacious Princess Diana-like figure.
After undertaking all manner of works of charity and exploration, they were the "It" couple until they were shoved out by opponents who didn't share their enthusiasm for reforming the island's harsh penal system.
So, in 1843, they boarded the good ship Rajah and stopped off in Auckland on their way home.
Being a rough-and-tumble type, Lady Jane left hubby at the hotel and set off up the track leading to Dedwood. That track eventually became Franklin Rd, our most famous boulevard of Christmas lights.
Sadly it was all downhill from there for the Franklins. In 1845, Sir John launched his third voyage to the Arctic wastes and promptly disappeared.
More ships and lives were lost in the various rescue attempts than had left on the original expedition. His widow's highly public woe inspired a ballad, Lady Franklin's Lament, which has since been recorded by the likes of Pentangle, John Martyn and Sinead O'Connor.
Once at the bottom of Lady Jane's road, I catch sight of that lush legacy of old Dedwood, Victoria Park, just one of many infrastructural tributes to the royal couple of the day still littering Auckland. You must remember that in those times we weren't so much New Zealanders as Brits abroad.
Victoria's lovely park owes its existence to the complete lack of dunnies in its neighbouring suburb. Next time you're crossing its grassy expanse you might like to consider the 51,000kg of poop that was dumped there every week during the 1870s.
From here, my journey is a royal one, with Victoria St leading to Albert St before arriving at one final historic tangent, Wyndham St. Once more, it's a throwback to Napoleon's Waterloo.
One of the most famous actions of the battle was the scrap for control of a farmhouse, Chateau d'Hougoumont, and it was Lt. Col Henry Wyndham's battalion of Coldstream Guards who were charged with keeping the Frenchman's armies out.
The vital moment came when they stormed inside only for a small group of defenders, including Wyndham, to charge back, close the farm gate and trap the attackers inside. The incident freaked the good colonel so badly that he apparently never closed a door again.
Despite this heroic connection, by the late 1800s Wyndham St was mostly known as home to most of the city's lawyers and, while the Depression might have buggered the grand plans of Williamson and Crummer, the vultures did pretty well from the misery. The road became known as Wind-Em-Up St.
Now, I'd have to say that's a fair whack of history to cram into a 40-minute walk - and that's without getting all bogged down in detail.
The sad part is that so much of it is forgotten. Then again, says Stone - the source of several of these tales - this failure probably reflects the origins of most Aucklanders. We are migrants. Our city may have always been the biggest show in town, but it seems few were born here.
"I've spoken to a lot of large groups," he says, "and I've asked them to put their hands up if they had two grandparents born in Auckland. Very few ever do. So, in the most basic way, this is a city without history because most of us simply never knew it. Our families haven't been here long enough for the old stories to be passed down, which is a shame, because Auckland has such an exciting history. In the end, it means we lose a lot of our identity."
So, next time you take a left, you might want to take note of what the sign says - and then find out what it's really telling you.
By Alan Perrott | Email Alan By Alan Perrott
10:00 AM Tuesday Feb 21, 2012
http://www.nzherald.co.nz/lifestyle/news/article.cfm?c_id=6&objectid=10786955
Alan Perrott researches up on the history of Auckland's road signs. Photo / Thinkstock
Every day I leave Surrey Hills Estate, wander through the home of the six-horned sheep to Dedwood, and then head down a slope remembering a celebrity who rather took our fancy.
This is Auckland's history in road signs. And, as retired history professor Russell Stone says, while they are barely acknowledged, these signs are likely to linger longer than any of our crumbling buildings.
All it requires is a little attention and any journey can teach you more about where you are than simply your location. It's a rare street or landmark that doesn't have a story behind it.
Take Shortland St, a typical inner-city thoroughfare now known better as a soap opera. But the show's producers may have thought again if they knew it was named after a colonial secretary who was pretty universally written off as pompous, incompetent and tactless.
Okay, he had one mate, Felton Mathew, the Londoner who was put in charge of naming our oldest streets. But he's hardly great company, as his contemporaries labelled him "venal" and connected him to Shortland via some rather dodgy land purchases.
When Shortland was finally sacked by Governor Fitzroy, he was for some reason rewarded with running the Caribbean islands of Nevis and Tobago.
Unfortunately for Mathew (he pronounced it "May-thew" thank you very much), he met his maker in Peru. Not to worry though, he lingers as an avenue in St Johns.
Then there's Mt Hobson, which, as everyone should know, is named after our first governor. But did you know that Hobson also helped escort Napoleon into exile, then sailed to the West Indies where he chased pirates, was captured twice, escaped once, and contracted yellow fever three times? It was so much fun that after being retired he practically begged the head of the Admiralty, Lord Auckland, for another command.
In return, the lord got a city and a New South Wales county named after him, while his family, the Edens, got a volcano, a suburb, a stadium, several roads, the odd cafe, and an Australian town.
And how about Mt Roskill? My favourite origin theory here involves a mad Irishman who liked to spend his days climbing to the top to preach the gospel, a notion which dovetails nicely with the suburb's old Bible-belt reputation.
Anyway, as I said, I like to see my path to work as a trip through time. And it always starts with a failed attempt at property speculation, the Surrey Hills Estate.
It all began in the 1840s, when land to the west of the Auckland settlement was chopped into small farms. Two English booze barons, James Williamson and Thomas Crummer, saw pound signs and bought up enough land to establish Surrey Hills Estate with the intent of grazing it until property prices shot up.
Unfortunately, their long-term scheme fell foul of the 1880s depression and they had to subdivide for far less profit than they'd hoped.
If it was any consolation, they did get to name the major roads after themselves and their mates like Mssrs Pullen, Mackelvie, Murdock and Rose.
They named the rest after their favourite bits of home. There was nostalgic comfort to be found in living on a road named Sussex, Norfolk, Lincoln or even Douglas, the Isle of Man capital and home to the above-mentioned, multi-horned sheep.
Their work was finished with nods to a few classy, artistic types like Dickens, Elgin and Arnold, a poet whose father was headmaster at Webb Ellis' Rugby School.
Surrey Cres was left as the only reminder of the original estate and the suburb was renamed Grey Lynn in honour of former governor Sir George Grey, who had become a latter-day champion of Auckland. Then, in a possible comment on the boozing that had funded Grey Lynn's creation in the first place, its new residents voted the suburb dry in 1905.
So, having travelled from Surrey to the Isle of Man, I now find myself on Ponsonby Rd, or as it was known until the 1880s, Vandeleur Rd, for the divisional commander who served under Wellington at Waterloo. Colonel Ponsonby, in turn, served under Vandeleur.
At one time Ponsonby Rd not only stretched to the Three Lamps corner (unimaginatively named for the three lamps that sat atop a large stone) and the Ponsonby Club Hotel (aka the Gluepot - because once you went in you couldn't get out) but also west towards the former slaughteryards of Westmere. This section was eventually renamed, as was the custom of time, in honour of brand new governor-general, Sir William Jervois.
As for greater Ponsonby, it was first known as Dedwood, a fantastic name of mysterious origins, although there is some thought that it comes from a farm on Shelly Beach Rd. Still, if Dedwood itself is, well, ded, its name lives on as a terrace in St Mary's Bay.
I now leave Ponsonby Rd and head down Franklin Rd into Freemans Bay, an area named after James Freeman, Hobson's secretary, and a man who Sir John Logan Campbell said was "the most disgustingly immoral swindling scoundrel in town". Another pillar of the community, it seems.
Happily for property values, Franklin Rd has much posher origins.
Socialite celebrities weren't regular visitors to our shores back in the olden days, but the Franklins came close.
Rear-Admiral Sir John Franklin was a heroic naval officer and Arctic explorer who became lieutenant-governor of Tasmania in 1836. His second wife, the beautiful Lady Jane Franklin, was a vivacious Princess Diana-like figure.
After undertaking all manner of works of charity and exploration, they were the "It" couple until they were shoved out by opponents who didn't share their enthusiasm for reforming the island's harsh penal system.
So, in 1843, they boarded the good ship Rajah and stopped off in Auckland on their way home.
Being a rough-and-tumble type, Lady Jane left hubby at the hotel and set off up the track leading to Dedwood. That track eventually became Franklin Rd, our most famous boulevard of Christmas lights.
Sadly it was all downhill from there for the Franklins. In 1845, Sir John launched his third voyage to the Arctic wastes and promptly disappeared.
More ships and lives were lost in the various rescue attempts than had left on the original expedition. His widow's highly public woe inspired a ballad, Lady Franklin's Lament, which has since been recorded by the likes of Pentangle, John Martyn and Sinead O'Connor.
Once at the bottom of Lady Jane's road, I catch sight of that lush legacy of old Dedwood, Victoria Park, just one of many infrastructural tributes to the royal couple of the day still littering Auckland. You must remember that in those times we weren't so much New Zealanders as Brits abroad.
Victoria's lovely park owes its existence to the complete lack of dunnies in its neighbouring suburb. Next time you're crossing its grassy expanse you might like to consider the 51,000kg of poop that was dumped there every week during the 1870s.
From here, my journey is a royal one, with Victoria St leading to Albert St before arriving at one final historic tangent, Wyndham St. Once more, it's a throwback to Napoleon's Waterloo.
One of the most famous actions of the battle was the scrap for control of a farmhouse, Chateau d'Hougoumont, and it was Lt. Col Henry Wyndham's battalion of Coldstream Guards who were charged with keeping the Frenchman's armies out.
The vital moment came when they stormed inside only for a small group of defenders, including Wyndham, to charge back, close the farm gate and trap the attackers inside. The incident freaked the good colonel so badly that he apparently never closed a door again.
Despite this heroic connection, by the late 1800s Wyndham St was mostly known as home to most of the city's lawyers and, while the Depression might have buggered the grand plans of Williamson and Crummer, the vultures did pretty well from the misery. The road became known as Wind-Em-Up St.
Now, I'd have to say that's a fair whack of history to cram into a 40-minute walk - and that's without getting all bogged down in detail.
The sad part is that so much of it is forgotten. Then again, says Stone - the source of several of these tales - this failure probably reflects the origins of most Aucklanders. We are migrants. Our city may have always been the biggest show in town, but it seems few were born here.
"I've spoken to a lot of large groups," he says, "and I've asked them to put their hands up if they had two grandparents born in Auckland. Very few ever do. So, in the most basic way, this is a city without history because most of us simply never knew it. Our families haven't been here long enough for the old stories to be passed down, which is a shame, because Auckland has such an exciting history. In the end, it means we lose a lot of our identity."
So, next time you take a left, you might want to take note of what the sign says - and then find out what it's really telling you.
By Alan Perrott | Email Alan By Alan Perrott
10:00 AM Tuesday Feb 21, 2012
http://www.nzherald.co.nz/lifestyle/news/article.cfm?c_id=6&objectid=10786955
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Brothers holding the hammer again
Brothers Tom, Murray and Boyd Quinn are back wheeling and dealing at Hawera's mart.
In 2003 Quinns Auctions partnership broke-up, with Tom opting to sell cars and Boyd heading to greener pastures in New Plymouth, leaving Murray with his son-in-law Justin Meads operating the business as Quinn & Meads Auctions.
Together again, the three brothers have more than 100 years' combined service to the mart, which was founded just over 60 years ago. They have changed the name back to Quinns Auctions.
Back in the 1970s the oldest brother Tom left school at 15 to work at the mart, then 18 months later he was joined by brother Murray. The youngest brother Boyd also went to the mart straight from school.
They began by working for their father Jack Quinn and Frank Eades, who was the son-in-law of the founder Fred Finer. Fred served as Hawera mayor from 1952 until 1970.
Tom later bought Frank's shares and Murray bought the remaining shares from his father.
Tom, the elder statesman, has many memories of his 35-plus years at the mart. He recalls the day that they stopped selling poultry in the early 1980s.
"It was the best day of my life when we finally went out of chooks. We used to get complaints from the neighbours if a rooster started crowing. When they escaped it was us boys that had to chase them across the road to the old Taranaki Farmers produce building (now Hawera Cinema).
"People used to buy them for their weekly meat. Cleaning the pens was also left to us boys.
"On the brighter side the mart featured on national television in the early 80s when Benjamin Disraeli's piano went up for auction. Disraeli served twice as Prime Minister of Britain, first in 1868 and again in 1877 until 1880. Now that was a big day for the Hawera mart.
"Dr Fitzgerald, a well-known doctor of the district, selling his collection of Maori artefacts was a big day also, it was the only time that we had to call the police as protesters tried to stop the auction," Tom said.
The boys have no big plans to change the layout or look of the historic mart.
So what's the future?
"Well," said Tom, "we are the only licensed auctioneers to run secondhand auctions in Taranaki. Boyd will be working out of New Plymouth for three days using the Hawera base for selling secondhand goods.
"We have plans to start up a Facebook page. Antique auctions are our speciality and we plan to build on this as there is still a big demand for quality antiques.
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"We have plenty of secondhand goods that people can buy off the shop floor; we aren't all about selling at auction.
"It's like fashion, things change, and we have to change with it. At the moment people are collecting things from the 70s. Old Beatles and Elvis vinyl records are also hot. I've only been back a few weeks and I've had inquiries about people wanting to buy old turntables to play the 33 1/3s on. A few years ago we couldn't give them away."
This writer can also remember the day that the Star made a mistake in Finers Mart's classified ad by substituting an F for an M. The Star was a broadsheet then and was selling for half a crown.
Only a limited number made the streets before the mistake was noticed. A big mistake for its day. After all – he was the mayor at the time.
- © Fairfax NZ News CLIFF HUNT- SOUTH TARANAKI STAR
Last updated 10:26 19/01/2012
CLIFF HUNT
The Quinn Brothers are back: Murray, Boyd, and Tom are trading under their old name, Quinns Mart.
In 2003 Quinns Auctions partnership broke-up, with Tom opting to sell cars and Boyd heading to greener pastures in New Plymouth, leaving Murray with his son-in-law Justin Meads operating the business as Quinn & Meads Auctions.
Together again, the three brothers have more than 100 years' combined service to the mart, which was founded just over 60 years ago. They have changed the name back to Quinns Auctions.
Back in the 1970s the oldest brother Tom left school at 15 to work at the mart, then 18 months later he was joined by brother Murray. The youngest brother Boyd also went to the mart straight from school.
They began by working for their father Jack Quinn and Frank Eades, who was the son-in-law of the founder Fred Finer. Fred served as Hawera mayor from 1952 until 1970.
Tom later bought Frank's shares and Murray bought the remaining shares from his father.
Tom, the elder statesman, has many memories of his 35-plus years at the mart. He recalls the day that they stopped selling poultry in the early 1980s.
"It was the best day of my life when we finally went out of chooks. We used to get complaints from the neighbours if a rooster started crowing. When they escaped it was us boys that had to chase them across the road to the old Taranaki Farmers produce building (now Hawera Cinema).
"People used to buy them for their weekly meat. Cleaning the pens was also left to us boys.
"On the brighter side the mart featured on national television in the early 80s when Benjamin Disraeli's piano went up for auction. Disraeli served twice as Prime Minister of Britain, first in 1868 and again in 1877 until 1880. Now that was a big day for the Hawera mart.
"Dr Fitzgerald, a well-known doctor of the district, selling his collection of Maori artefacts was a big day also, it was the only time that we had to call the police as protesters tried to stop the auction," Tom said.
The boys have no big plans to change the layout or look of the historic mart.
So what's the future?
"Well," said Tom, "we are the only licensed auctioneers to run secondhand auctions in Taranaki. Boyd will be working out of New Plymouth for three days using the Hawera base for selling secondhand goods.
"We have plans to start up a Facebook page. Antique auctions are our speciality and we plan to build on this as there is still a big demand for quality antiques.
Ad Feedback
"We have plenty of secondhand goods that people can buy off the shop floor; we aren't all about selling at auction.
"It's like fashion, things change, and we have to change with it. At the moment people are collecting things from the 70s. Old Beatles and Elvis vinyl records are also hot. I've only been back a few weeks and I've had inquiries about people wanting to buy old turntables to play the 33 1/3s on. A few years ago we couldn't give them away."
This writer can also remember the day that the Star made a mistake in Finers Mart's classified ad by substituting an F for an M. The Star was a broadsheet then and was selling for half a crown.
Only a limited number made the streets before the mistake was noticed. A big mistake for its day. After all – he was the mayor at the time.
- © Fairfax NZ News CLIFF HUNT- SOUTH TARANAKI STAR
Last updated 10:26 19/01/2012
CLIFF HUNT
The Quinn Brothers are back: Murray, Boyd, and Tom are trading under their old name, Quinns Mart.
Monday, January 09, 2012
Beryl's the Rahotu go-to lady
Beryl Washer has just decided it might be time to test her brakes.
But the Rahotu woman, who turned 90 in May, won't come to a grinding halt. She swears she will continue to potter around her 2.4-hectare garden, drive herself from A to B, and play a key role in the community for as long as she can.
"I'm still pretty fit, I think. The only difference is I'm made to have my stick now, just in case," she says, pointing at the unwanted tool.
She talks ninety-to-the-dozen in between lunch and cup of tea offers, suggesting her life has been nothing but fast-paced.
Only last year Beryl retired as coach and secretary of the Rahotu Tennis Club.
The role was hers for more than 45 years and she played a huge part in running a weekly competition for primary school children.
"I used to take the kids every Wednesday and wouldn't give it up until I knew there was someone else there to take it over," she says.
The position earned her a Taranaki Top Coach award and Beryl says she stayed in the role for so long because the kids kept her feeling youthful. She laughs at the number of her former charges who stop her on the street these days.
"Gosh, it's astounding. I have to say 'well who are you?' because I can't remember. And they go on to say 'oh you used to coach me 20 years ago'." And it wasn't just coaching she excelled at. Beryl played tennis and netball for Taranaki, as well as Victoria University, and was awarded a New Zealand Blue for netball after being recognised as an outstanding athlete at the university games in Canterbury during the 1940s.
There's just an inkling of pride as she shows off the award and recounts her trip to receive it at Government House.
Having grown up on a sheep farm in Ararata, Beryl had always been fond of rural life. Therefore, it was a bit of a shock when she packed her bags and went to New Plymouth Girls' High School as a 12-year-old boarder.
The change in scenery did little to hinder her performance, however, with Beryl passing bursary in sixth form and winning a scholarship to attend Victoria at the same time.
"In those days I knew I had to work. If you'd been through a depression like we had on the farm then you knew you had to work," she says of her high school achievements.
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Reaching for her framed degree, Beryl explains how she graduated with a Bachelor of Science at 19 and was awarded the Sir George Grey scholarship to pursue post-graduate study in England.
But World War II got in the way. "At the time the Japanese submarines were in the Pacific and I would have had to travel by boat. My father told me it was far too dangerous and wouldn't let me go," she says.
In 1945, Beryl married Charlie Washer.
Although he is no longer with her, it's evident that Beryl still holds a candle for her husband.
Her voice softens as she talks about his time as a bomber pilot in the NZ 75 squadron.
"He received a Distinguished Flying Cross and that's his plane up there," she gestures to a dramatic painting that takes centre stage on her dining room wall. They moved to Rahotu in 1957 with their three children John, Marie and Jenny, after buying a property off the Maxwell family who were rhododendron specialists.
This is still Beryl's home and the place her love for gardening blossomed.
The passion is obvious as she circles her park-like garden, fondly pointing out the different species of rhododendron.
She stops to make sure the prized copper beech that towers over the section isn't overlooked.
The inviting lawn that stretches out from the Washer's summit stone homestead has also seen plenty of action.
As president of the Rahotu Women's Division for 32 years, and the North Taranaki president for three, Beryl has hosted many a garden party. She also held functions for the National Party, one of which could have been the biggest event to ever hit Rahotu, with more than 500 people in attendance.
"Oh, that was a lovely day," remembers Beryl. "We even had Venn Young and his wife here with Jonathan, who was just a little boy." The Rahotu garden has also opened for many years during the Taranaki Rhododendron Festival, and for fundraisers in conjunction with the Coastal Garden Group. They raised money for charities such as the rescue helicopter, Hospice and A House for Karen.
Close friend and women's division associate, Madge Jarman, says Beryl was the perfect host on such occasions.
"She was definitely an entertainer," says Madge. "She would get me in to do the afternoon tea and she would be off talking to everyone." Madge says Beryl's friendly and social nature is what has made her an appreciated and well-known member of the community.
"She's always the first one to introduce herself to someone new, and if she see's someone she doesn't know she'll accidently bump into them at the shop and introduce herself.
"A lot of people say she talks too much but that's just her and everybody loves her. They just make sure they have enough spare time if they're going to visit," laughs Madge.
Beryl was also the go-to lady for tutoring in the area and helped scores of students get through School Certificate and Bursary unscathed. "I had a lot of kids come here over the years and I'd help them with their maths or chemistry. We used to sit at that desk over there," she says, pointing to the dining table where a prepared lunch sits.
"I've got my grandson living with me at the moment you see," she says momentarily distracted. "Gosh, I spoil him. But yes, I used to love teaching the kids because it kept my brain going." And Beryl's brain is so well wired that she's managed to get through life without relying on technology. "I used to say 'I won't use a calculator'. Charlie used to use it and I'd just about have it all added up before he'd pushed equals," she laughs.
"I won't learn the computer either," she says sternly, referring to the brand new Apple iMac that was bought for her.
"Bevan (grandson) says, 'look gran you've got to learn'.
"I just say to him 'well look, at 90 years old I'm allowed to say no'," she laughs. Despite her spirited life, Beryl has endured her fair share of difficult times.
The grandmother of eight and great-grandmother of five, faced cancer at 50, but didn't let that slow her down one bit.
"I had an operation and had the sigmoid section of my bowel taken away," she says dismissively, as if she'd had the flu.
The death of her husband Charlie in 1999 was also a difficult time when she greatly appreciated the support of her family and friends.
"It was very hard for me when Charlie went, but I'm fortunate to have such wonderful people around who have kept me going."
Although Beryl is gradually beginning to slow down, she says she will continue to do as much as her body will allow her to do. "It's hard at this age, but I think you've got to keep busy. I like to have a purpose when I wake up in the morning."
- © Fairfax NZ News HANNAH FLEMING
Last updated 10:18 31/12/2011
HANNAH FLEMING
Beryl Washer has recently retired as a tennis coach in Rahotu
tdn beryl stand2
Beryl Washer, left, and partner Kath Sole won the North Taranaki woman's doubles title http://www.stuff.co.nz/taranaki-daily-news/life-style/6204383/Beryls-the-Rahotu-go-to-lady
But the Rahotu woman, who turned 90 in May, won't come to a grinding halt. She swears she will continue to potter around her 2.4-hectare garden, drive herself from A to B, and play a key role in the community for as long as she can.
"I'm still pretty fit, I think. The only difference is I'm made to have my stick now, just in case," she says, pointing at the unwanted tool.
She talks ninety-to-the-dozen in between lunch and cup of tea offers, suggesting her life has been nothing but fast-paced.
Only last year Beryl retired as coach and secretary of the Rahotu Tennis Club.
The role was hers for more than 45 years and she played a huge part in running a weekly competition for primary school children.
"I used to take the kids every Wednesday and wouldn't give it up until I knew there was someone else there to take it over," she says.
The position earned her a Taranaki Top Coach award and Beryl says she stayed in the role for so long because the kids kept her feeling youthful. She laughs at the number of her former charges who stop her on the street these days.
"Gosh, it's astounding. I have to say 'well who are you?' because I can't remember. And they go on to say 'oh you used to coach me 20 years ago'." And it wasn't just coaching she excelled at. Beryl played tennis and netball for Taranaki, as well as Victoria University, and was awarded a New Zealand Blue for netball after being recognised as an outstanding athlete at the university games in Canterbury during the 1940s.
There's just an inkling of pride as she shows off the award and recounts her trip to receive it at Government House.
Having grown up on a sheep farm in Ararata, Beryl had always been fond of rural life. Therefore, it was a bit of a shock when she packed her bags and went to New Plymouth Girls' High School as a 12-year-old boarder.
The change in scenery did little to hinder her performance, however, with Beryl passing bursary in sixth form and winning a scholarship to attend Victoria at the same time.
"In those days I knew I had to work. If you'd been through a depression like we had on the farm then you knew you had to work," she says of her high school achievements.
Ad Feedback
Reaching for her framed degree, Beryl explains how she graduated with a Bachelor of Science at 19 and was awarded the Sir George Grey scholarship to pursue post-graduate study in England.
But World War II got in the way. "At the time the Japanese submarines were in the Pacific and I would have had to travel by boat. My father told me it was far too dangerous and wouldn't let me go," she says.
In 1945, Beryl married Charlie Washer.
Although he is no longer with her, it's evident that Beryl still holds a candle for her husband.
Her voice softens as she talks about his time as a bomber pilot in the NZ 75 squadron.
"He received a Distinguished Flying Cross and that's his plane up there," she gestures to a dramatic painting that takes centre stage on her dining room wall. They moved to Rahotu in 1957 with their three children John, Marie and Jenny, after buying a property off the Maxwell family who were rhododendron specialists.
This is still Beryl's home and the place her love for gardening blossomed.
The passion is obvious as she circles her park-like garden, fondly pointing out the different species of rhododendron.
She stops to make sure the prized copper beech that towers over the section isn't overlooked.
The inviting lawn that stretches out from the Washer's summit stone homestead has also seen plenty of action.
As president of the Rahotu Women's Division for 32 years, and the North Taranaki president for three, Beryl has hosted many a garden party. She also held functions for the National Party, one of which could have been the biggest event to ever hit Rahotu, with more than 500 people in attendance.
"Oh, that was a lovely day," remembers Beryl. "We even had Venn Young and his wife here with Jonathan, who was just a little boy." The Rahotu garden has also opened for many years during the Taranaki Rhododendron Festival, and for fundraisers in conjunction with the Coastal Garden Group. They raised money for charities such as the rescue helicopter, Hospice and A House for Karen.
Close friend and women's division associate, Madge Jarman, says Beryl was the perfect host on such occasions.
"She was definitely an entertainer," says Madge. "She would get me in to do the afternoon tea and she would be off talking to everyone." Madge says Beryl's friendly and social nature is what has made her an appreciated and well-known member of the community.
"She's always the first one to introduce herself to someone new, and if she see's someone she doesn't know she'll accidently bump into them at the shop and introduce herself.
"A lot of people say she talks too much but that's just her and everybody loves her. They just make sure they have enough spare time if they're going to visit," laughs Madge.
Beryl was also the go-to lady for tutoring in the area and helped scores of students get through School Certificate and Bursary unscathed. "I had a lot of kids come here over the years and I'd help them with their maths or chemistry. We used to sit at that desk over there," she says, pointing to the dining table where a prepared lunch sits.
"I've got my grandson living with me at the moment you see," she says momentarily distracted. "Gosh, I spoil him. But yes, I used to love teaching the kids because it kept my brain going." And Beryl's brain is so well wired that she's managed to get through life without relying on technology. "I used to say 'I won't use a calculator'. Charlie used to use it and I'd just about have it all added up before he'd pushed equals," she laughs.
"I won't learn the computer either," she says sternly, referring to the brand new Apple iMac that was bought for her.
"Bevan (grandson) says, 'look gran you've got to learn'.
"I just say to him 'well look, at 90 years old I'm allowed to say no'," she laughs. Despite her spirited life, Beryl has endured her fair share of difficult times.
The grandmother of eight and great-grandmother of five, faced cancer at 50, but didn't let that slow her down one bit.
"I had an operation and had the sigmoid section of my bowel taken away," she says dismissively, as if she'd had the flu.
The death of her husband Charlie in 1999 was also a difficult time when she greatly appreciated the support of her family and friends.
"It was very hard for me when Charlie went, but I'm fortunate to have such wonderful people around who have kept me going."
Although Beryl is gradually beginning to slow down, she says she will continue to do as much as her body will allow her to do. "It's hard at this age, but I think you've got to keep busy. I like to have a purpose when I wake up in the morning."
- © Fairfax NZ News HANNAH FLEMING
Last updated 10:18 31/12/2011
HANNAH FLEMING
Beryl Washer has recently retired as a tennis coach in Rahotu
tdn beryl stand2
Beryl Washer, left, and partner Kath Sole won the North Taranaki woman's doubles title http://www.stuff.co.nz/taranaki-daily-news/life-style/6204383/Beryls-the-Rahotu-go-to-lady
Monday, January 02, 2012
Foot Rot Flats and Lion Safari Park
Footrot Flats = Te Atatu
The one in te atatu was originally called Leisureland, then footrot flats, then something else.
I was on the original ad on tv for leisurealnd lol, and in the paper. The park there origionally opened about 1984
Leisureland originally started out with things like a BMX track, the drivers town cars, farm truck, bumper boats, canoes, roller coaster etc.
Later on as it changed it got more of the fun rides etc, like gravatron, the superloop, the spinny things on arms etc.....
I remember the Lion Safari Park. They had lions, tigers and camels. I can't remember what else. People would drive through the lion/tiger enclosure in their cars. They also had a water slide and go-karts.
I loved going to Leisure land/Footrot Flats too. The little cars were fun. You had to get a license and have driving lessons before you could drive on your own. When the lion safari park closed the lions went to Te Atatu.
http://www.waitakere.govt.nz/abtcnl/ct/pdf/council2006/260706mr.pdf
http://erwin.bernhardt.net.nz/oceania/nzlionpark.html
The one in te atatu was originally called Leisureland, then footrot flats, then something else.
I was on the original ad on tv for leisurealnd lol, and in the paper. The park there origionally opened about 1984
Leisureland originally started out with things like a BMX track, the drivers town cars, farm truck, bumper boats, canoes, roller coaster etc.
Later on as it changed it got more of the fun rides etc, like gravatron, the superloop, the spinny things on arms etc.....
I remember the Lion Safari Park. They had lions, tigers and camels. I can't remember what else. People would drive through the lion/tiger enclosure in their cars. They also had a water slide and go-karts.
I loved going to Leisure land/Footrot Flats too. The little cars were fun. You had to get a license and have driving lessons before you could drive on your own. When the lion safari park closed the lions went to Te Atatu.
http://www.waitakere.govt.nz/abtcnl/ct/pdf/council2006/260706mr.pdf
http://erwin.bernhardt.net.nz/oceania/nzlionpark.html
Sunday, December 25, 2011
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