My Life As I Recall It

By Henk Bange (b. 6.1.1924)

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Contents Dutch East Indies 1923-27, 1928-32 Suriname Dutch West Indies, SA 1932-37 Holland 1932-37 Dutch East Indies 1935/6 – 1945 December 1941 Pearl Harbour Kwik Djoen Eng, Salatiga Bandoeng – XVth Battalion Camp Repatriation to Holland Holland University & Rowing 1946–1951 Rowing Experiences 1946-49 France 1949 NZ, Wanganui 1951-52 NZ, Taumaranui – Manunui 1952-54 NZ, Mangakino 1954 NZ, Paeroa & Te Aroha 1954-56 Iraq, Derbendikhan Dam 1956-58 Holland & NZ 1958 NZ, Waihi 1960 NZ, Waihi Borough Council 1960-88 1. Council Staff 2. My 28 Years Work 3. Industries & Waihi 4. Family & Outside Interests Pot-Pourri of Events: Australia BangeReunion 1969 Visits to Holland 1972-73 The Children Separation & Divorce Committees 5. Retirement 1988 to 2007 Years with Doreen Te Puke 2000 Addendum

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Illustrations Kabandjahe Feb 1925, first steps Kabandjahe, our house Sumatra Kabandjahe, me and brother John 1929/30 Father and mother mid 1930s Semarang 1937, our house Java June 1931 Kabandjahe, Sumatra Maternal grandparents Uncles and Aunts Delft, Netherlands 1934 Family Semarang, Java May 1939 Tulip drawing 1937 Sea Horse canoe Semarang 1937/38 Lake Rawa Pening & volcano drawing Japanese registration paper Kwik Djoen Eng drawings Bandoeng Camp drawings (XVth Battalion POW) Bandoeng Sawmill drawings (XVth Battalion POW)

Tiny – flatmate 1946 Johan v Oldenbarneveld ship crew University registration certificates Marriage to Antje Bakker France Wanganui, Gonville Ave Morris 8 1952/53 Manunui MOW house Helena Joan Bange Deborah Anne Bange Waihi, 22 Moresby Avenue Judy Henrietta Bange Waihi Borough Council, Henk in office Michael John Bange Murray North Invite Waihi Borough Article Truus & Henk, Scotts Landing 2007 80th Birthday Invite 2004 Australia, funeral Ton Bange 2004 90th Birthday Invite 2014 Henk Bange Poem Retirement 90th Canvas Print 90th Birthday Cake

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Dutch East Indies 1923-27, 1928-32 I was born on the 6th January 1924 in what was then a small village in the Highlands of Sumatra, Kabandjahe, in the Dutch East Indies (now Indonesia). At the time, there lived only four European families there, including ours, which consisted of Mum, Dad, my brother John and now me. Our house was typical of the tropical style ‘villa/bungalow’ of the times. Tiled floors, a main building (eating, living and sleeping quarters) and attached wing containing ablution facilities, cooking areas and live-in servants quarters. There was also a ‘stand alone’ garage on the section. My father was a government employee engaged in agri- and horticultural research and development. He was a graduate from the Tuinbouwschool (Tropical) in Frederiksoord in Holland. Note: I have been told that Mum and dad started work in the Dutch East Indies running a florist shop in Bandoeng (Java) where my older brother Jan was born in 1920. Apparently I was born (to my knowledge a home birth) covered in black down and my mother repeatedly said, “That is not my baby, that is a monkey”. However I still remained a part of the family. We had quite a menagery, some for fresh produce ( a chicken run – fresh eggs), some of necessity; at least 6 dogs and some cats. The dogs had one ‘leader’ (self imposed through dominance) and at nightfall each dog had its apppointed place around the house, in front of doors and windows. A first class security system! Dad also had a horse and at one time I added a little goat to the ‘circus’. I don’t know where I got it from, but remember cuddling it in my arms on the way home and on arrival there pleading for it to be kept, and Mum let me. There was quite a lot of vacant land around our house.

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I only remember the odd snippet from my early years and it is too late to find out more with both Mum and Dad and my older brother John dead. Employment conditons for government employees at the time were 4 years in the tropics and 6 months furlough back in Holland, following each term of duty. Each year on duty ordinary annual holidays of a few weeks also applied. Father had two 4 year stints stationed in Kabandjahe, 1923-1927 and 1928-1932. I don’t recall having travelled as a very young baby to or from Holland so I must have been born early in the first 4 year stint.

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Just a few glimpses of those early years: At home (pre-school) I ran inside and fell on an earthenware flower pot with my face. The pot shattered and my face was covered in blood. Mother thought I had injured my eyes, but fortunately I had landed with the bridge of my nose on the edge of the pot and all the blood was from my injured nose. I had a scar on my nose for many years. Playing doctors and nurses in the long grass close to home with friends. Running away from home with brother John (why??) and being overhauled before long by our driver in Dad’s car and taken back home. The start of my ‘chocolate hail’ addiction as a sandwich spread. Apparently I was totally averse to eating butter on my sandwiches. Mum tried everything including putting the butter on the reverse side of the bread. But no way did I fall for any tricks. Eventually though, Mum found the answer. A very thin spread of butter and a thick layer of chocolate hail on top. For years after chocolate hail was the only thing I had on my bread (and butter). I once calculated in my late teens that I had by then consumed 300kg of chocolate hail. Now back to the main story. Although not as a ‘babe in arms’, I started travelling half way around the world (Indonesia to Holland) at a very young age, 3 ½ years old. Travel to and from Holland was always by passenger ship, even for children a treat and really a glorious holiday in itself. During the furlough in Holland my brother Ton was born on 2nd December 1927 (died 18 February 2004) in Rijswijk, a town just north of Delft (mother’s home town). On my first trip back to Indonesia, at a stop over in the Suez Canal, my older brother, John, had to look after me on shore and I was at the age of ‘Why? What? How?’ question after question. At

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last John said, ‘If you don’t shut up, we will go straight back to the ship’. I don’t recall whether I did shut up (for long). Also remember the killy-killy men, ‘sleight of hand’ performers (some of whom were allowed on board) who made little chicks appear from the most unlikely places. And the bartering for souveniers, with little boats bobbing along the ship and baskets on long ropes going up and down – merchandise up and money down (the other way around did not work – goodbye money!) Throwing coins over board and little boys diving after them. Stopping over in Ceylon (now Sri Lanka) in Colombo also stirs vague memories of shore visits. Back in Sumatra in Kabandjahe, I went to school at 5 years old. The school was some distance from home in Brastagi, and John and I were day pupils. The school was a private one, erected and run by the ‘Plantation Owner’s Association’ and most of the pupils were boarders. I don’t have any striking memories of my first few years at school there. I do remember family visits we made to Lake Toba where the only ‘development’ at the time was a ‘pasangrahan’ (rest house) on the beach. It is a huge lake with an island in the middle. The road to it was often narrow and winding. Once a massive slip covered the road and we were carried across it to the other side to proceed on our trip. At the time Mum and Dad were great friends with the family Derks. They had children of our age and we called Mr and Mrs Derks uncle and aunty. Mr Derks worked for the government in the equivalent of the Ministry of Works, substantially on roads and bridges. I understand that Lake Toba is now an international holiday resort with high rise buildings, even on the island. On the 8th April 1929 my only sister, Truus, was born. So now we were a family of six and it stayed that way.

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In 1932 back to Holland (I must have been 8 years old) and a short spell at primary school in Delft during Dad’s furlough. No wide open spaces and greenery. A hard surface playing area and a stark building.

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Suriname, Dutch West Indies, South America 1932-37 Dad’s next spell of duty was in South America, the Dutch colony of Suriname, where the tour of duty was only 2 years between furloughs (because of the harsh climate). Compared to the ocean liners on the Dutch East Indies run the ships to the West Indies were like peanuts, quite a lot smaller and older, but they got there. I remember vividly just about splitting myself riding a donkey in Madeira (the only stop over enroute). Apparently the ‘only’ tourist’s means of transport. Arriving in Suriname, the ship appeared to sail straight into a low lying coast, which miraculously split itself and gradually came closer on both sides of the ship. We had entered the Suriname River (at the mouth several miles wide) and kept steaming up for hours before we reached our destination, Paramaribo, the capital (and only town of any significance). The river here was still about 1.5 km wide. Ocean going bulk ore carriers sailed still further up river to load bauxite (ore from which aluminium is obtained) from the large deposits found there. In the two spells of 2 years Dad did in Suriname he established the citrus industry. Just a few impressions of my and older brother John’s short stay in that country: •

Every night foot inspection (we were not allowed to wallk bare foot outside) as there were ‘bugs’ in the soil who laid their eggs under your skin

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A trip up the river with Dad and native personnel in a rickety, wallowing, small and old motor launch. Crocodiles on the river banks (which I saw) and piranhas in the water (which I didn’t see).

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In school, open air class rooms (roofed over). When teacher left the class room for a moment the black board was covered in no time with rude remarks and ink wells were flying throught the air: in short pandemonium.

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Holland 1932 - 37 Obviously, compared with the first class private school in the East Indies, I and my older brother, John, werent learning much. Mum and Dad decided that John and I should be sent back to Holland to board with relatives and not suffer inadequate schooling. As I recall, John and I were only in Suriname for a few months. So we boarded the little steamer (KNSM) and travelled back to Holland under the care of a stewardess (part of the ship’s crew). In mid ocean (Atlantic) we saw a tornado developing (water spout) which caused a lot of excitement amongst the small group of passengers. We were all on deck, watching the spouts (a grey funnel extending from the sea into the black clouds above) erratic progress. Unbeknown to us it caused the Captain and crew of the ship a lot of anxiety in their effort to avoid a ‘collision’ with the ‘spout’. Frequent course corrections were made and eventually we left the tornado safely in our wake. In Holland, John boarded with Tante (Aunty) Bet and Oom (Uncle) Jan Nootenboom in the Laan van Overvest. They had a grown up son, Joop, and a daughter (a tomboy), San. Oom Jan owned and ran a sawmill in Delft and Joop was involved in livestock (cattle) dealing. I boarded with Tante Co Bitter and her boarder, Oom Wim van Leeuwen. Tante Co had a son, Jacques, and a daughter, Teuntje (both grown up but living at home). She ran a little corner grocery store along the main road and tram route from Delft to Rijswijk and the Hague. Across the road was a ‘glass bottle’ factory. In the shop was a whole row of glass ‘jars’ full of different types of lollies and as a special treat I was sometimes allowed to choose ‘one or two’ for myself. What an agonising decision that always was because they were all so nice!! Jacques was a painter at the Delft ware factory, ‘De Blauwe Fles’, and could decorate a plate in the blink of an eye.

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My grandfather, Opa Garnaat (from my mother’s side) also lived nearby, while Oma Garnaat was in an asylum close to Delft. (I never met Dad’s parents as he was an orphan and I don’t know the background).

I have fond memories of my time at Tante Co’s. I learned to swim in the public baths. A broad canvas strap around your middle with a rope attached to a rod which the ‘coach’ held to stop you from sinking as he walked along the side of the pool. Oom Wim had a clinker built life boat which was converted into a cabin cruiser and 12

Jacques had a small centre-board sailing boat, a BM. The summer holidays we spent cruising the canals and lakes. Jacques taught me how to sail. Tante Co’s house was small, behind and above the shop, with a small enclosed back yard. I slept in a small alcove upstairs and often had and cuddled the cat for company. This occasionally led to flea bites and lumps. ‘Bath’ was a weekly occasion for me in a tin tub in the kitchen. Teuntje usually scrubbed me down and had the greatest delight in ‘treating’ any flea bite lumps with vinegar (to stop the itch). That burned like hell, particularly if I had scratched them open and I usually yelled blue murder. Jacques had a large model steam train which very occasionally was operated upstairs in the main bedroom. Oom Wim was a wizard with radios and had a little workshop upstairs for his hobby. I think he worked in the Kabel Fabriek (cable factory). I got my first push bike from Opa Garnaat (I think it was a birthday present). A beautiful new gleaming boys bike. Oom Wim taught me to ride and on one of my first outings I got mesmerised and rode straight in between the legs of a pedestrian. Nobody got hurt. The area is now fully built up but at the time there was a vacant area of land nearby where we kicked a soccer ball around. It was a clayey patch and in winter like rock and pretty rough. One day I fell on the hard ground and split my knee open, bleeding like a pig. I hobbled home and was looked after. I still have the scar (it should have been stitched). The Nootenbooms had a car and occasionally I accompanied brother John and them on a days outing to the beach or just touring. I also loved to visit the timber mill with the smell of freshly sawn wood. When Mum and Dad came on furlough we of course joined the family. Mum and Dad usually rented a furnished house for the duration. One of these was in Bilthoven, a stand alone villa with a pine tree 'forest'. (When I start going through my old photographs I may be able to pinpoint which furlough it was). 13

Another time we had a semi-detached house in the Thorbeckelaan in Delft. It was there that I obtained a lifelong abhorrence of 'karnemelk' (a sour, thickish brew left over after butter production). Mother always assured that we had a healthy balanced diet and this 'stuff' (buttermilk) was supposed to be good for you (clarified your blood or something). I didn't want to drink it so I was put in front of the window facing the street with the glass of karnemelk in front of me and had to stay there until I drank it. I was there for a long time but didn't drink it. Mother had a part time home help at the time, a young late teenage girl, Annie, whom I met again much later after the war when studying in Delft. But I am getting ahead of myself. While I was boarding with Tante Co there were two Dutch royal family funerals. They always were impressive processions which passed by Tante Co's shop. All Dutch royalty is buried in Delft with the funeral procession starting in The Hague. On these occasions a 'Scottish Grandstand' was erected in the small back yard and sale of seats was a nice bonus income for Tante Co. We had a grandstand view from the second story bedroom windows. One of the funerals was of Prince Hendrik, the prince consort of Queen Wilhelmina. The whole procession was in pure white (his wish). He was known to be frequenting university student parties at the drop of a hat right through his life and the story was told that his funeral was paid for by the refund of deposits on empty beer bottles. My next boarding experience was with one of my father's sisters, Tante Cas. She was a spinster who had for many years been running a student boarding house in Delft. She had retired from this and now occupied living accommodation over the entrance to the 'Prinsen Hof' opposite the old church in Delft. John and I were both boarding with her. Discipline was strict and we did not have a happy time with her which must have come to Mum and Dad's notice because our stay with her didn't last long.

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On one occasion John and I were playing in the attic with John's steam engine toy. It was a nice solid toy with a shiny brass boiler. Tante Cas yelled from downstairs to come for dinner. Obviously we didn't respond quick enough (shutting down the steam engine took a bit of time and watching the thing was very exciting). Next she came storming into the attic and kicked the toy across the room. (It ruined it and couldn't be made to go after that much to our sorrow). She limped away and obviously had hurt her foot which I have to admit gave us some pleasure. One pastime we had was running circuits around the row of old chestnut trees which occupied the centre of the large (enclosed) yard beyond Tante Cas' residence. The challenge was who could keep running the longest. Today I am still surprised none of us dropped dead at this game because I certainly kept going beyond the point of exhaustion until nobody else was left. Our next boarding was with the family of father's brother, both John and I once again together. Oom Coos, Tante Anna and their only child, a daughter, Jeannetje, who was engaged to Jo van Bokhoven at the time. I have once again happy memories of the time with them. I was attending the HBS (Dutch secondary school where I started at the

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age of 11). Although I grew to a height of 1.85 m, I wasn't very tall at that time (shot up later in my teens). At one time I got into a fight at school with a bloke about twice my size. I can't remember the reason but he was a bit of a bully and a teaser. It must have been a hilarious sight as here I was rushing in with flailing arms and not getting within a mile of him. Fortunately for me he was happy to keep me at army's length otherwise I would have finished up being the worse for wear. Oom Coos had a little dog, a dachshund, 'Pluto', (resembling a sausage on short legs), who didn't readily tolerate any intrusion on its territory. As luck had it I must have treated Pluto with respect as I was never bitten. Oom Coos worked at one of the university labs and (contrary to Mum and Dad who were non-smokers and tee totallers) liked his regular little snort (without over doing it). He had a little red tipped nose!! I think it was around this time (but it could have been some time earlier) that I got into the habit of going around all the aunties and uncles in Delft on the weekend, supplementing my weekly pocket money, receiving 5 cents here 10 cents there, which was quite a bit in those years. Following the 'harvest' I was able to attend at least two children's afternoon cinema theatre sessions which cost the princely sum of 25 cents each. There were 3 picture theatres in Delft at the time and occasionally we were shouted an evening performance by Jeanne and Jo. Talking about cinemas takes me back a few years to Kabandjahe. They had a picture theatre there too, a large tin shed (like some of the old small town NZ ones). The films were mostly cowboys and Indians ones (my older brother must have taken me) and without remembering details, I still recall the absolute pandemonium breaking out when one of the 'baddies' sneaked up behind one of the 'goodies' and everybody started yelling (me included), 'Watch out behind you!!!'

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OK back to the present (in the story that is). Another memory is the occasional visit by Oom Theo and Tante Rika, who lived in Amsterdam. They had no children (Tante Rika was one of father's sisters). Oom Theo had a furniture factory and shop in Amsterdam and owned quite a bit of real estate (the only 'rich' member of the Bange relations). He was the only one I never scored my supplementary pocket money from. When he visited he showed a 5 cent piece and said, 'You can have it if you guess in which hand it is'. Then he proceeded in making two fists and rotating one above the other. I never got the 5 cents. It wasn't until years later that I was told the trick he played. The 5 cents was always in his top fist and if you guessed the top hand he quickly let the coin slip into the bottom fist. In the main summer holidays the family rented a beach place in Noordwijk on the coast for one or two weeks. That was a fun time always. Just a few words about some of the other aunties and uncles in and around Delft. A sister of mother, Tante Ans, was married to Oom Henk Nieuwpoort, they had no children and he made ‘deluxe’ handrolled cigars in a little workshop in the town centre. I quite often visited him at work, for two reasons: the smell of the tobacco leaves was nice and more important the ornate coloured bands that went around each cigar were a joy to behold and I often scored some of them. They were collector’s items but have all long gone. And a short bike ride out of Delft (I think it was Nootdorp) lived Tante Cor and Oom Gerrit. He was retired from the navy and had been involved with submarines and torpedoes. They were also childless and Tante Cor always spoiled me when visiting. I think she was quite a bit younger than him. So now the time was rapidly approaching for the whole family, that is John and me and Mum, Dad and the juniors, Ton and Truus, to be together again, because Dad’s next posting was going to be the Dutch East Indies again. I can’t recall where the family spent the last furlough in Holland.

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Dutch East Indies 1937 - 1945 Our trip to the Dutch East Indies started somewhat different this time. Mother was not a good ‘sailor’, was usually seasick as soon as the ship left port and never felt really well on the oceans. The boat trip from Holland to Indonesia started from Rotterdam, through the Gulf of Biscay into the Mediterranean, Suez Canal, Red Sea, Gulf of Aden, Colombo, Strait of Malacca, Medan, Batavia. The Gulf of Biscay is a notoriously stormy area and probably to avoid that we were going to join the ship in Italy at Genoa, travelling from Holland to there by train. We had sleepers and apart from the excitement of such a trip I recall little snippets of scenery, mainly in Germany and Switzerland as we travelled through it. After joining the ship in Genoa, on passing the island of Sicily, Mt Etna was erupting, a spectacular sight. I think we travelled in the ‘Willem Ruys’, the latest passenger liner from the Dutch Shipping Co. serving the East Indies. (Later in WWII used as a troop transport).

Dad’s first placing this time was in Semarang, a coastal town on the isle of Java. We lived in a pleasant ‘villa’ near the end of a tree lined cul de sac road off one of the main thoroughfares in the town. 19

There were large mature trees and lawns on the grounds and an old bougainvillea grew over a part of the house. The usual ablution and servants quarters were attached (covered gallery) and behind the house. At the end of this wing was a garage. At the back of the land was a ‘kali’ (small river) with heavily overgrown banks and not very clear water. John and I went to the local HBS (secondary school) originally the old one in town and later to a brand new development with 2 story classroom blocks on the outskirts of town. School was from 7am to 1pm (No air conditioning at the time and afternoons were too hot for study or sport). Both John and I were in the 1st grade school hockey team.

We had, for those years, the usual range of native servants, a ‘boy’ (serving meals), a cook, washing woman and a gardener (tukan kebon). I often remembered the gardener, when in my later years in NZ I was raking up leaves at home with a bamboo rake; a scene that I often came across then, coming home from school, with the gardener doing just that.

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Some highlights I remember from the time in Semarang: • •

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The Dutch royal family wedding of Juliana and Prince Bernhard. (7 January 1937) Careering up and down one of the main drags in town in a (I think it was a Ford) two seater car with a ‘dicky seat’ at the back, till all hours, with bodies spilling all over the vehicle. I am not sure whether at one count there were 12. Building my first canoe, a sailing one, in the garage at the back, with the help of one of our servants, who apparently was also a bit of a carpenter. My cousin, Jacques Bitter, had sent me the plans from Holland and later also the little sail to suit the canoe and a set of paddles. It was built from teak (native hardwood) and was beautiful. (Some photos in my 1924-1942 photo album). I don’t remember how we got it there, but I recall sailing it inside the breakwaters of the port of Semarang. It was called ‘Seahorse’.

Two other snippets I recall from that time. Our dog, a smooth haired foxy, got bitten by a snake (it was always roaming around in the rough growth along the river bank, back of the house). Its front paw was swollen and even its head. We couldn't get near it and it disappeared for days. We thought we would never see it again, but days later it returned and fully recovered.

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On another occasion Dad came flying out of the WC (in the outbuildings) with his trousers still at half mast. I didn't see it happening but was told about it. Apparently what happened was that after having sat down and finishing what he had come for, wiping himself and getting up ready to pull the chain to flush, for which he had to turn around, he spotted a snake between the pipe and the wall. (The old toilets had a cistern high up with a pipe going down to the bowl and a chain pull to flush). It had been there all the time he had quietly sat there contemplating. (One of the servants killed the snake afterwards). I think we were in Semarang for just over a year when father was transferred to Salatiga which was inland from Semarang in the mountains. A much nicer climate and we acquired a house facing a small park and a stone’s throw from Dad's office. Also close to the local swimming pool. Salatiga was a very small township with a 'regular army' garrison. Dad had several fruit (citrus) and flower (roses) research gardens under his control. My brother John and I continued to attend the HBS in Semarang. This meant a very early rise and breakfast, a long bus trip (school bus) to school and bus trip home. Up at 4am and back about 3:30pm. A long day. Mother was always up for our breakfast and to see us on our way. It was of course dark when we left home and close by Salatiga was an extensive shallow lake area - the Rawah Pening - on the shores of which I (or Dad) somehow managed to have my canoe 'housed'. (Helen has a little sketch I made on one of my frequent trips up this 'lake'). It was choked with water hyacinths which formed solid 'mats' or floating islands. I sat on one of these to make my sketch. In the background is one of Java's many volcanoes.

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Sometimes at full moon traveling down in the school bus to Semarang it looked as if the moon 'rolled down' the side of this volcano. An awesome sight. I can still remember well. We had quite a group of friends both boys and girls and had a very pleasant life. Little could we foresee what the future would bring. The Government Commissioner for the area, Mr Termeulen, had a large property with a tennis court on it. He had two daughters our age. There was also the Peelen family, with one son and two daughters in our age group, Annemarie and Gretl Peelen, both of whom later in life I came across in New Zealand. We often played tennis or went swimming in the local pool. A son of a school teacher, Hans?, I remember and also a daughter of an NSBer (National Socialist), Annemarie Seegers. To distinguish between the two Annemaries one was referred to as Annemapietje (Peelen) and the other as Anemasietje (Seegers). During the holidays Mum and Dad often rented a house still higher up in the mountains (Bandoengan) where the climate was even better. Swimming and tramping were the main pastimes and sometimes in the evening going out to eat 'Chinese' with a whole group of youngsters. On one such 'group eating' occasion one of our group did not eat very much. Practically every building in the tropics may have an odd gecko (larger lizard) but certainly quite a lot of tjitjaks (smaller lizards) in residence. They are harmless and eat insects clambering

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all over the walls and ceilings (they have suction pads in their feet). As it so happened they also were present in the Chinese restaurant kitchen and apparently (unbeknown to the cook) one tjitjak must have been overcome by the heat and fallen into the 'what jan' of food the cook was preparing. The cooked tjitjak finished up on the plate of one of our group (which cured her appetite!!). It did not affect the rest of us!! On another occasion when a group of us went on a little tramp I slipped on a boulder when crossing a small creek. I had a small camera (all of $2.50 worth) made out of plastic in my hand and trying to save this 'valuable' ?? possesion I smashed with my face on a boulder breaking my two front teeth (permanent ones). That was the end of the tramp and over the years those two teeth did cost my parents a fortune.

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24 July 2000 I better continue with my story, still a long way to go. In those years in Indonesia (as it was in Holland) any boys reaching the age of 18 had to enlist for two years military training. In time of war these became the 'reserves' to strengthen the regular army. My brother John finished up doing his training in Salatiga (stationed in the barracks) after finishing his secondary schooling and after this he had a job in Semarang and was boarding with the family Breunesse who had two sons, Kees and Jaap, and several daughters, Betty, Jos and Corrie. (John married Corrie after the war). In Salatiga the swimming pool was only a hop, skip and jump from our house and we spent many an hour in there (being the tropics you swim all year round). The changing cubicles had woven bamboo partitions, easy to poke little holes in. And boys will be boys. If an attractive girl went in to change after her swim, all the boys rushed out to the next cubicle to get an eye full (only the 'teasers' ever showed their assets and they became known). I finished the HBS (secondary school) when I was 16 years old and University was going to be the next step. My exam results allowed me access to the Engineering University in Bandoeng (West Java). As I wrote earlier, Mum and Dad had old friends from the time in Sumatra (late 1920's), the family Derks. We came across them again in Java where the Derks family was stationed in Semarang (their children 2 sons and 1 daughter, were in our age group). Why I mentioned the Derks family is that the stories told by Mr Derks about his work were probably partly responsible for me opting for a civil engineering direction. The first step to attend University was finding a place to live and in those days student boarding with a family was the most common. Following the receipt of many letters and offers in response to an advertisement placed by Mum and Dad (to board a 16 year old) a selection was made and Mum and I travelled by train to Bandoeng to meet face to face (quite a trip).

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It finished up mother selecting a widow and grown up daughter for my board. Both of them were quite attractive: the daughter was training to become a ballerina, was somewhat taller than me (and I think a year or two older) and most times wandered through the house in her leotard. A short while after starting university I wrote home that I was not very happy in my boarding place (somehow or other I didn't feel very comfortable there). Meantime I had met a fellow student at university, Wolf de Steur, who was boarding with a family that made a living out of boarding students and they had a vacancy. From memory there were about 6 or 8 of us, a mixture of boys and girls attending varsity and secondary schools. The house was a big two story one. Mum and Dad approved the move so I shifted and had a much happier time. Wolf de Steur had a younger sister boarding there, Annie, who was still at secondary school. Their father was the Government Representative ('The Controller', official title) on the island of Bali. Annie became one of my first 'calf loves' and we did a bit of 'necking' but nothing serious, going out for the odd evening walks. Not much chance in the house as the board parents were very strict and sleeping quarters for the girls were upstairs and boys downstairs. Although on one occasion (well after 'lights out') I sneaked upstairs to give Annie a cuddle (without being caught out). All boarders usually went home during the holidays and I was lucky enough during one of the (shorter) holidays to be invited over to Bali by the de Steur family. Had a glorious holiday, seeing all of the island on an 'inspection tour' with Mr de Steur, Wolf and Annie, visiting temples, outrigger canoeing on a lake, swimming at the beaches, buying local wood and silver artwork. At that time Bali was still a quiet backwater (today, as a lot of other beauty places, spoiled by tourism). Not only did I enjoy the holidays, I had a glorious time at the start of university life, despite the fact that it was still a somewhat controlled environment, ie. lectures had to be attended with records kept, but outside those hours you could please yourself. So we swam, played tennis, did bike tours and had a good time. I cannot quite recall but I am pretty sure I received some pocket money allowance from Mum and Dad. 26

But half way through the year there was a rude awakening! A letter arrived home from university warning my parents that if I continued the way I was the likelihood of passing the end of year exams would be '0'. I should note here that practically 90% of the first year at varsity was mathematics. Apart from the fact that I attended lectures but did no study at home I could still vividly recall my secondary school math teacher telling me on more than one occasion, 'Henk Bange, you will never be any good at maths'. So I got a stern warning from Mum and Dad, 'pick up your socks or else', and they were willing to pay for some tutoring (all extra costs). That was quite a shock and for the second half of that year I applied myself, not only to prove I could do it but also not to disappoint Mum and Dad. The tutoring was all maths, mainly past exam problems. Anyway the long and short of it is that I was successful at the end of year exams (one of the 20% of first year students passing) and thus could enter the second year after the 'summer' main holidays. I started my second year enrolled on 12/8/41 in a new boarding place close to where I had been boarding. A fellow student, Tom Degenaars, and me were the only two boarders there. The lady was either a widow or a divorcee with two grown up (working) daughters (Elsie and Annie) living at home. Elsie was a tom boy and Annie a bit of a quiet one. During my boarding there I got the mumps on one of my testicles, a very painful experience. When cured I only had one effective testicle left. The year's enrolment fee for university was 300 Dutch guilders.

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December 1941 Pearl Harbour Meantime Holland had been over run by the German army and war news from Europe was grim. The six months furlough in Holland due after 4 years duty in the tropics was being replaced by an equal period in Australia and our lives (apart from concern about family in Holland) rolled on quite peacefully and 'normal' until the Japanese Pearl Harbour thunder clap in December 1941, and the Japanese war machine relentlessly advancing across Asia and the South Pacific. I was at university in Bandoeng at the time. Mother and Ton and Truus were in Salatiga, Father was mobilized for active duty (reserves) as was my brother John (he was with the 'mountain artillery' - 75mm guns as well as having his 'sharp shooter' stripes). Where they were to be stationed we would not know. Initially nobody was all that concerned, there were large contingents of British troops in Malaysia. Singapore (naval base) was 'impregnable' with massive gun emplacements. The battle ship 'Prince of Wales' and heavy cruiser 'Repulse' were part of the naval strength. Everybody was glued to the radio for the latest news but interest and optimism soon changed to concern in a matter of weeks. Singapore fell, the large British war ships were sunk and the Japs had air supremacy in most if not all areas. Sumatra was invaded in February and in early March the Japanese entered Bandoeng. Meantime I had my 18th birthday (6/1/42), the age to become enlisted for military training. I passed my medical but in the chaotic situation which rapidly developed I never got an enlisted number. However I still finished up in uniform, as I volunteered as an ordinance rider. I was supplied with a motorbike (German DKW 250cc) and was soon scooting all over town delivering dispatches. Air raid sirens sounded fairly regularly and Japanese planes appeared over Bandoeng, the big red circle clearly visible. Usually they were fighter planes, the feared 'Zeros'. Occasionally making machine gun passes.

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Bandoeng was the Allied command HQ, evacuated before the Japanese landings on Java. As such there had been a heavy concentration of our troops around the city. There was also an Air Force base just out of town. Unbeknown to me my brother John with his artillery unit was part of the army deployment in the mountainous terrain outside Bandoeng. He found his way to Bandoeng where I met him at Jos Breunesses's flat. (She was a teacher then in Bandoeng, one of the daughters of the family Jan had boarded with in Semarang). As soon as the air raid sirens went he dove under a bed, while we kept watching the skies. I heard later that his unit had been decimated by constant air attacks, bombardments, machine and cannon fire, while in their mountain position. After the official surrender I lost track of him as all forces personnel were rounded up. While this was in progress not everybody obeyed the orders to report to designated places and some took to their heels. One such party almost proved to be the end of me. I was still in uniform and on my way home on my trusted DKW bike after duty when, approaching an intersection, I suddenly spotted a car at very high speed approaching from the left. In what must have been split seconds, I can still remember my thought pattern, assessing the situation, reaching a decision and acting on it. The roads were sealed, there was some loose sand on the road, it was sunny weather. I thought, if I braked hard I would not stay upright and slide in the sand, finishing up under the car. So I decided to give the bike all it got and accelerate to try and beat the car. I did not succeed. The last I saw was the front grill of what was then a late model Buick, looking like a '4 story house'. Next thing I was lying on the grass verge with a lot of people around me. One person was kneeling next to me and examining me (an officer in uniform), when a lady pushed through the crowd and said, 'I have got a first aid certificate', to which the reply was, 'Sorry madam, but I am a doctor'. What a stroke of luck for me. I later was told the sequence of events. The car that hit me was immobilized, the people in it had 29

run away. (They would have been shot by the Japanese if caught, as deserters). From the opposite direction a car with four Dutch army officers (one the doctor) had been approaching and saw the accident, expecting to find a body on the side of the road after they pulled up. I was taken on the front bumper of the car and apparently bike and me somersaulted about three times through the air before separating and landing. I had a compound fracture of both bones on my lower left leg and was on the operating table in hospital within a half hour of the accident. There must have been a guardian angel hovering over me as a top class surgeon handled my leg and did a first class job. What had saved my leg was a combination of factors: 1. The bike had 25mm pipe crash bars. Friends of mine, visiting me in hospital having seen the bike, told me the bar in the side I was hit was flattened. 2. I was wearing heavy stiff leather leggings (about 3mm thick leather) from ankle to just below the knee. 3. I had a large sheath knife stuck into the outside of my leather legging of the leg that got hit (I was shown this knife in hospital, it was like a cork screw). All this resulted in a 'clean' break of the bones, which apparently protruded through the leather legging. The hospital I finished up in had mainly war wounded in it, was commanded by the army and fully staffed by reserves as well as career personnel. I was in a bed right next to the entry door of the ward (with about 40 beds) and my leg was in traction, with a pin through my ankle, the weights suspended past the end of the bed (a pretty advanced treatment at that time). Only a light dressing on the wound. On the daily rounds I was the first the surgeon and his staff visited and the surgeon had a habit of grabbing my big toe of my hurt leg, giving it a little shake, while asking how I was. Every time he did this I cringed and he said, 'Come on, can't hurt that much'. Only later when an X-ray was made to check whether the bones in my leg were knitting satisfactorily he told me, 'Now I know why you jumped when I shook your toe! Your big toe was also broken in the 30

accident'. (Occasionally somebody walked into my weights and that did hurt!). On his first visit to the ward the surgeon also told me, 'You were not enlisted, your uniform has gone into the hospital incinerator, you are a civilian'. How critical this courageous action of the surgeon proved to be was brought home to me when a few weeks later a troop of Japanese officers came marching into the hospital, with orders for total evacuation of all patients, no matter what condition they were in. All military patients were to be transported to ?????? My leg had knitted sufficiently by then, it was xrayed (some anxious moments I had, if the bones were not properly aligned they would be broken and reset) and proved to be ok, put in plaster and I was sent to my 'home' in Bandoeng, the family I boarded with, on crutches. I was lucky to have a place to go to, as traveling back home to Salatiga was out of the question for the time being. My landlady cared for me as a second mother. Soon got used to moving around on crutches. Had another problem though. Turning over in bed and trying to lie on my left side caused an agonizing 'stab' in my shoulder. A visit to one of the few practicing GP doctors gave a diagnosis: a severely bruised muscle, give it rest'. I was pleased when the plaster cast was removed enabling me more mobility. I felt a burden on the family and tried to find means of being able to contribute to the household expenses. How and where I got the goods from I can not remember, but I became a mobile street vendor on my push bike. Everything was in short supply and whatever I could lay my hands on (bought) I could sell at a reasonable profit, enabling me to contribute to our household. Getting hold of a case of whiskey was the ultimate (maximum profit) but did not occur often.

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Meantime the Japanese occupation took control and apart from shortages and travel restrictions, life returned to 'normal'. I had long lost track of my brother John as all military personnel (including wounded) had been rounded up and transported to ????? Next step the Japs took was to encourage, initially, and soon made compulsory, the registration of all non-natives for a fee. I think it was 150 Dutch florins, giving you a certificate. The story was you could then travel and have freedom of movement.

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Soon after I got my 'travel pass' I said farewell to my Bandoeng family and travelled home to Salatiga, joining mother and the two young ones, Ton and Truus. Application to travel dated 22/6/2602 Jap =1942. Same problem here, limited resources and scarcity of supplies, but money could still buy necessities of life (fruit and vegetables were locally grown). Soon after arriving home Mother had asked our family doctor to come and have a look at my recent injuries (Dr Patsenberg was an Austrian Jew, who had escaped Europe before Hitler's rampage). Back in Austria he had been a top surgeon, but was now a GP in Salatiga. We were sitting in the lounge and from across the room he looked at my left leg (I had shorts on) and said, 'A first class job'. Then I undid my shirt and showed my shoulder. And again from across the room looking at it he said, 'That has been a broken collar bone, that is where 90% of them break'. (So much for the Bandoeng GP's diagnosis, after feeling the shoulder, of a 'bruised muscle'). We had a garage on our property which became a temporary classroom and I became a secondary school 'Maths' tutor. I think I had about 6 to 8 pupils which brought in enough to support our reduced family. Although gatherings of more than 3 people (not family) were banned, we never had any trouble. Later we found out that my 'classroom' was well known to the authorities - at that time the native police - who turned a 'blind eye' to the harmless gathering. The relatively quiet state of affairs was too good to last and soon the purpose of the registration passes became clear.

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Kwik Djoen Eng, Salatiga First, all men and boys over 12 years old had to report and were rounded up behind barbed wire. My brother Ton and I were lucky in finishing up in a local camp in Salatiga. It was a very large complex owned by a rich Chinese, a “villa” called Kwik Djoen Eng with dozens and dozens of rooms. The story behind this building was that the owner would die once he stopped building. Initially there were some 300 men and boys, which grew to about 600, after a Catholic priest’s retreat was rounded up and brought in. In this camp we were not allowed to do anything. The perimeter fence was pretty close around the whole building. If the grounds needed weeding, native gardeners were brought in. No books were allowed. Apart from the lack of freedom, compared to our later situation, we were in the lap of luxury. Meals were reasonable, we had real beds, with mattresses, and often clandestine supplies through the rear fence. (Our family’s native house boy regularly risked severe beatings by coming to the back fence with fruit and “goodies”, that mother had been able to do without). “Japs” guarded the camp, but stayed at the front gate and did not patrol the perimeter. While even pencil and paper were “frowned upon” by our captors, I somehow managed to lay my hands on an old blueprint and some pencils. On the blank back of this blueprint I made a drawing of Kwik Djoen Eng, sitting with my back against the enclosure fence. I found the “perspective” very difficult, sitting so close to the building. How I managed to bring this drawing through the years of moves and hardships I do not know, but it survived and is presently hanging in my daughter Helen’s house. Playing cards appeared in the camp in abundance and it was here I learned to play bridge. We even held bridge tournaments in the main hall. The “boys and young men” quarters were in the rear wings of the complex and an “old-timer bushman” taught us the rudiments of making wine from local fruit supplied through the back fence. The fermenting was started with a handful of raw rice. Under many a bed a bucket was “brewing”. It didn’t always succeed, sometimes a

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“vinegar” was the result. But successful brews often finished up with pillow fights of one wing against another. Church services were held (and allowed) in the camp and an ingenious contraption was built which allowed two accordions to be turned into an “organ”.

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Bandoeng – XVth Battalion Camp All in all we had “quite a good time” in Kwik Djoen Eng until one day a Jap officer appeared and everybody had to turn out to listen to his tirade. “We were shortly going to be travelling to a much better camp and, as he described it, something akin to “paradise”. We could take one small suitcase each. I had a small wooden trunk (about 500 x 400 x 300 mm) which stayed with me all the time as a POW. Not long thereafter we were loaded on to trucks which brought us to the nearest railhead and from there on in railway cattle trucks we departed to our unknown destination. This proved to be Bandoeng where large garrisons from the KNIL (Royal Dutch East Indies Army) had been stationed and consequently extensive barracks existed. There were several camps in close proximity to one another, we finished up in what became known as the 'XVth Battalion Camp' with some 15,000 POWs. Initially we were housed in existing facilities, buildings containing small cubicles (one sided open rooms) with tiled floors on which we slept (no beds or mattresses) with each person allocated about 750mm width (30"). I made a little drawing of 'the view' from our room (I think I gave it to Judy). Temporary additional barracks were still being erected. We shifted to these with about 100 persons per barrack. Continuous 'rough sawn planks' raised wooden platforms on either side of a central aisle. Each person's 'home' was just under 2 meters x 3/4 meter. At some stage (I think it was during our transport from KSDE to XVth Battalion) I had scraped the shin of my right leg, taking off several patches of skin. It was only healing slowly and played up regularly, as I will relate later.

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It will be obvious with so many thousands there was a great wealth of expertise in the camp. Camp leadership and liaison with the Japanese Camp Commander was through a small group of internees. As far as I know they were not elected or appointed by

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the Japs, but were 'natural leaders' who took control and organized some order into the chaos. In relatively short time cooking facilities were extended, ovens were built, water dividers located underground water, bores were sunk and fitted with hand pumps and vegetable gardens (mainly kumara) established on any unoccupied areas between the barracks. Some of the camp leaders had been CEOs or directors of large companies, not enlisted in the armed forces, as these organizations were essential to the war effort, and thus becoming civilian internees. They were generally better housed (old 'officer's quarters) than us 'run of the mill' internees, but also readily accessible and in first line should the 'Jap's ire' be raised for whatever reason. 'Black marketeering' never ceased completely in the camp, but only accessible to people who still had generous means secreted (at great risk), money, valuables or spare clothing. Rumors abounded in the camp (generally stating that the war would soon be over) usually groundless but keeping spirits alive. After the war it was disclosed that a radio was secreted at camp leadership quarters, hidden in a small stool on which the Jap commander was invited to sit anytime he called for discussions with the camp leadership or if a camp search was ordered or in progress. Access to this 'real' news was kept to a very restricted 'inner circle' to the end of the war, even when the 'tide turned' and the Japs suffered severe losses and started to retreat. Promising 'news' items were only 'released' as a rumor, after what was judged to be a 'safe' period of time. This radio was never discovered by the Japs. I will recall a few camp experiences in the following: In a way we were 'fortunate' that the camp was in the tropics, requiring not much in the way of clothing. Most of us wore only

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patched up shorts (I wish now that I had kept one as a souvenir) with patch over patch. Food Half if not all the time, our thoughts dwelled upon this, as there was always hunger. Breakfast (After roll call in front of the barrack, counting out loud in Japanese: 'Ish, Née, San, Shi, etc'). One ladle of starch cooked in water. Urinated out within an hour. Lunch A watery soup, vegetables in there mainly green chillies, and a small 'loaf' of bread (once the 'bakery' was built) to be shared between 3 persons. Some more about that later. Dinner A watery soup as above and a bit of rice. Some kumara in the soup at times. One place where there was no real hunger was in the camp kitchens. Fully staffed by internees, heavy, hard and long hours of work. The ovens were long wood stoked ones. The cooking vessels large steel drums (the size of 44 gallon drums) with two rings at the top rim through which a bamboo pole was put to lift the 'pots' off or shift them. It was every camp youngsters dream to be fit enough and land a job in the kitchen. I was fortunate enough to do so after a few months, but unfortunately my shin injury (I referred to earlier) became inflamed and I had to rest my leg and that was the end of my kitchen experience. Another place where extra rations (not on a par with the kitchen) were available to workers was in the 'sawmill'. The 'mill' consisted of a battery of pit saw stands under 'atap' roofs. Logs were brought in and teams of 8 on command: 'een, twee, ruggen recht' - 'one, two, straighten backs', lifted one of these on their shoulders, linked arms underneath and carried the log into one of the stands, where it was cut into rough sawn planks. (I had some little sketches I did in camp, I think I also gave them to Judy). I also had a spell in the 'mill', carrying the logs out, but again the heavy work inflamed my leg and I had to pull out.

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There were other less assured ways of 'occasional' extra food, some carrying severe risks. Meat or anything resembling it was the most sought after commodity. One source (not plentiful) was searching for and gathering the common big black garden snails (without a housing). Next was trying to get some salt (usually through a 'kitchen connection'). Place the snails in a bucket of salt

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water and soak. This dissolved all the slime and very small solid morsels remained. These were cooked (or if 'luxury' had turned up some fat or oil - fried) and at the time to us tasted like chicken (maybe they actually do but I've never tried them since). An animal in camp was also fair game. At one stage four of us had our eye on a little dog which regularly came past our barrack. One of us 'knew' how to kill the animal, with the only 'weapon' at our disposal, a lump of wood. We were lying in wait and, yes there it came around the corner of the barrack. Down came our 'expert's' arm and an almighty yelp resulted; the dog scampered never to be seen again. (He had hit the dog on the thick of the skull instead of breaking its neck). The kitchen's sweet potato patch next to our barracks created another 'possibility'. To find a sweet potato in a field of them in the dark is pretty time consuming, if not impossible (it is one mat of greenery). The 'system' was to put a small 'marker' stick near where the sweet potato was in the daylight, sneak out in the dark, locate the marker, dig out the kumara, smooth out any signs and back to barracks. Discovery by Jap guards would result in a beating and lock up in a 'cage' near the camp entrance. From memory I only risked it twice (the first time without a marker and didn't find a thing). Another 'chance' of extra food was joining one of the 'working parties' odd jobbing outside the camp. Absolutely no guarantee of food but another attraction was getting outside the barbed wire and break the monotony. You seldom knew where you were heading for, but if you felt like it and you were fit enough you reported in the morning and were put into a group. I went in quite a few but will only recount a couple of memorable cases. On one occasion our group finished up in a Japanese officers camp ground to clean up the gardens, sweep the paths, etc. one of the 'Japs' called me aside and took me to his quarters where he had a job for me. Next thing he gave me a broken alarm clock for me to fix. Whoaa!! Saying, 'No I can't do it', was no option - most likely result, a beating. Sign language was the only communication. He must have given me some tools (screwdriver and pliers) I think, so I went to work. Fortunately it was a very basic clock and after partly 44

taking it apart I discovered that I could fix it if I had a spare 'hollow rivet'. So I indicated that I would come back the next day and carry on with the repairs. To fill the rest of the day's time he indicated I could wash the tiled floors of his quarters. I went in search of a bucket, found one, cleaned the floor and returned the bucket. Knick of time! Instead of our guards counting us and marching us off, we had to stand to attention and a Jap officer started laying down the law in no uncertain terms. The long and short of it was that I was the culprit. The bucket I had used to clean the floor was a 'kitchen bucket' and who the hell had used it!?? (It should be noted that the Japs were and are scrupulously hygienic, in particular related to food or diseases - they wouldn't enter the camp hospital ward without a face mask). So I owned up and stepped forward, fully expecting an almighty hiding. But I must have once again had a guardian angel, as only a further verbal tirade resulted and we were marched off and on the walk back to camp I kicked something on the road and suddenly realized what it was; a belt buckle with a bit of leather attached to it. I managed to pick it up and yes, here were two hollow rivets staring at me. Back the next day and managed to get the alarm clock going. A very happy smiling Jap and as I got up to join my mates on the general clean up he indicated I should wait and off he went. Well, I thought he'll probably come back with some food for me, goody, goody! But no! To my horror he came back with a bucket full of watches, clocks and wrist watches for me to go to work on. Fortunately it was close to knock off time, so I indicated 'tomorrow'. I never went back!! On another occasion I was part of a regular 'working bee' which travelled into the countryside by train to work on extending a small railway spur line. A small native village was nearby where we were working, with quite a few 'free range' chickens wandering around the area, often amongst us workers. That was too much of a temptation and suddenly there were one or two less chickens wandering around. In the evening, back at camp, mouth watering smells emanated from some of the barracks as the chickens found their mark! I was never one of the 'lucky' participants, but my luck held in another way. One day I didn't feel too well and decided to stay in camp. That night. The whole working group staggered into camp!! The villagers had started to miss their chickens and had complained to the Jap 45

guards. On disembarking from the train and before marching back to camp the group of workers was frisked. Some chickens were found and the Japs went to work on all of them with their rifle butts. I missed that one!! I briefly come back to the 'loaf' of bread (I mentioned earlier under food) each three people shared. (The loaf was no larger than about 150mm x 80mm wide x 60mm high). Each group of 3 had their own measuring stick, marked off in 3 portions and all 3 watched the marking of and cutting of the bread. Each in turn got the middle portion and each end piece was pointed at with the recipients not looking and asked, 'For who is this piece?' Our threesome was my brother, Ton, an old wiry little fellow, young of spirit, and myself. Our barrack was a pretty happy one and at regular intervals on a fine day everything went outside and we 'burned off' the bed bugs in the wooden platforms, 'our home', by moving burning paper 'torches' along and underneath them. You never fully eradicated the blighters but at least it gave some temporary relief (I don't know where we got the paper or the matches from). Well it is about time for me to take up my April 2002 story again. Almost 20 months have gone by since my last entry. I started reading through what I wrote and compiled some small addenda to what was on paper so far. Before concluding about my camp experiences, I still have to mention a final source of not only extra food but also some 'luxuries'. All these were contained in the 'Red Cross parcels'; boxes of 'goodies' we only dreamed of. Most of these parcels, supposedly one parcel for each internee, never reached us. But occasionally some filtered through and were distributed, always only one parcel to be shared by a small group, 3 or 4 people. Cigarettes were counted out, chocolate had to be broken in pieces, and after the sharing, bartering started. Smokers (which I was not then) gave anything for extra cigarettes. If my memory serves me right I can only recall two occasions of Red Cross parcel distributions during my internment period. In each instance they were still a highlight.

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But all bad things come to an end. There had been rumors for some time, that the Japs were being beaten and even talk of surrender. We had rumors before, but suddenly truck loads of rice started to arrive in camp and vegetables (unheard of) became part of the menu, and shortly afterwards, the camp gates were opened and we were free to come and go as we pleased. But no sign of conquering troops, no VJ Day! The Japs remained at the gates and in town, fully armed!! But the biggest change was they were polite!!! This was weeks after the H bomb and their official surrender. It was all very confusing but we were glad to go outside the camp and were greeted warmly by the elderly native population. If we tried to buy anything (mainly food-fruit) we were given it. The local currency was practically valueless. We still returned to camp for our regular meals and a place to sleep. And then one day I was in the right place at the right time. I was near the camp's 'head office' when a ute pulled up. A rather 'large' lady got out of it and proceeded to wobble to the office. As this was something unusual from the daily routine I and some others nearby were curious and waited around. What the lady was after became clear in no time at all. She approached the camp commander (one of our internees) with a request for about a dozen able bodied volunteers to be made available to her, to be fed and housed by her. She was in the process of setting up a central kitchen, near the railway station in Bandoeng, to cater for trainloads of arrivals, practically all women and children, from camps in other parts of Java (Bandoeng having a moderate climate, being located in the mountains, was chosen by somebody?? to be a central rallying point). In no time at all the story spread and she was inundated by willing workers. She chose the ones to her liking and I happened to be one of them. We left there and then in the back of her ute. She was a half caste and had a group of half caste women working for her who did all the food preparation. The ovens were like the camp ovens and the cooking pots similar 44 gallon drums. She wanted us young 'men' for all the heavy work, firewood chopping and carting, shifting, lifting and loading the large 'pots'. Two 'men' to a pot and a bamboo pole through the rings. We also unloaded and carried the 'pots' at the various institutions where the new arrivals were 47

housed. All schools and suitable institutions were commandeered to house the new arrivals. Everybody in the kitchen, but also outside, called our 'large' boss lady, 'Aunty' (Tante). It was either Marie or Truus. She was a born organizer and also a champion cook in her own right. Realising the heavy work she expected of us she fed us a good nutritious diet and she and her staff (all volunteers) looked after us well. She managed to make me try and like 'fried brains' but did not succeed in me getting 'karnemelk' (buttermilk) down my throat; tried it with lots of sugar, a little sugar, no sugar, but no way!!! (My experience as a young boy trying to be forced to drink it, referred to earlier in these memoirs, certainly made a lasting impression). A small group of us finished up 'squatting' in a private residence we found unoccupied, including some girls we befriended. I became quite attached to one of them, Tiny. But although we cuddle from time to time, she was adamant she did not want to go 'all the way' until she got married. I respected her for this and we remained good friends. We spent the last night together at Bandoeng Airport when I left for Djakarta. I lost touch with her, she remained in Indonesia, married and sent me some photos of her first born - see my 1945-1980 photo album). But I am getting ahead of myself. As I mentioned earlier the only military presence we had in Bandoeng were the armed Japs. They obviously had orders to keep law and order and protect us ex-internees which they did admirably. Also the elderly native population treated us with respect, but not so the youngsters, they had been indoctrinated by the Japs and resentment smouldered close to the surface. At the kitchen we soon settled into a routine. We did the heavy chores in the kitchen, distributed the food and at the end of the day dropped off the women working in the kitchen at their homes before heading to our own home. Quite often on our final evening route we called at the railway station to see whether any help was required. Our vehicle flew a little Red Cross flag and we all had individual Red Cross passes. More about that later. In the mornings we often took a truck out into the countryside to buy provisions (fruit and vegetables mainly). I will finish this episode of my story with a few happenings which disturbed the routine. 48

Before doing so, however, I have to mention that finally some Allied troops had arrived in Batavia (Djakarta) and a small contingent of Ghurka soldiers had arrived and were stationed in Bandoeng. An order was issued for all Japanese troops to surrender arms and law and order was going to be exercised by the Allied 'forces'. These 'forces' were totally inadequate and soon young native radicals and agitators caused widespread unrest and at times armed open rebellion. The national freedom cry was 'Merdeka'. One of the first signs of this developing we encountered on our forage trips into the countryside. We started running into road blocks, manned by armed youngsters and children. I myself was signalled to stop by some children and told my driver to pull up, as in the background some armed youngsters had their rifles at the ready. Next one of the kids told us to get out of the vehicle and to start walking (back to town). We lost our vehicle. We were always unarmed, flew the Red Cross flag and had instructions not to resist. So we walked. On arrival back in town the incident was reported to the Ghurka HQ and in most cases the vehicle was recovered (by them) and returned to us.

29 April 2003 About time I continue my ramblings; has been quite a break. Meantime I have sorted out the bulk of old photos and put these in albums. Also most of my old 8mm films and had the family ones put on a video with a copy to each of the children and one to Anne. Helen processed any written comments to go with these videos. Now back to the past. On one occasion (during the day time) we became aware that an obviously hostile armed mob of natives had 'surrounded' our kitchen facilities. Our boss, 'aunty', did not hesitate, grabbed the phone, got the exchange. Her first words were the freedom cry 49

'Merdeka' and she then proceeded and asked to be put through to Ghurka HQ. She was connected and explained the predicament we were in. In next to no time a contingent of Ghurkas, with armored vehicles, appeared and the 'mob' melted away. We had no further trouble. As I mentioned earlier, at the close of work in the evenings, my driver and I (we had the use of a Landrover ute) dropped off the women volunteers at their homes and often made a last call at the railway station, to check on any known train arrivals due (with women and children evacuees) the following day. This particular evening there was no info, but on the station platform we found two forlorn young Dutch soldiers, with nowhere to go. They had hitched a ride on a train from Djakarta and had no idea where to go. So we said, 'you can't stay here, we’ll take you home and find you a bed for the night'. So they hopped on the back of the Landrover, guns and all. We left the station and had only travelled a short distance when suddenly our vehicle was surrounded by an agitated yelling crowd as far as you could see. Where they suddenly came from was anybody's guess. A lot of them were armed (mainly cutting instruments - machetes) and in next to no time the Landrover was brought to a stop. Our Red Cross flag on the vehicle didn't mean a thing. Our two young soldier friends on the back of the Landrover were just about 'shitting themselves' and to tell you the honest truth, I myself was not very far from it either. However I managed to tell them to stay sitting down and keep their 'bloody' guns out of sight. Fortunately they obeyed me and sitting down their uniforms were not that obvious. To be surrounded by a mob like that with no means of escape has been the most frightening episode in my life. There are no words to describe it. The mob was not quite out of control but working up to it; they had reached the stage of running 'amok', nothing would have saved us and I would not be here to tell this tale. Fortunately my 'guardian angel' was still with me. The crowd was parting to let a big black limousine through which was flying a red and white (the 'freedom' flag) pennant from the front mudguard. The vehicle stopped in front of our Landrover and out stepped an Indonesian officer in full uniform. Almost but not quite a 'hush' had come over the crowd. I explained to the officer what we were 50

involved in and that we were on the way home, showing him our Red Cross pass as well as indicating our Red Cross flag on the vehicle (I still have this little flag). He climbed on the bonnet of the Landrover, had taken his pistol out of the holster and holding the 'pas' (upside down!!) started to address the crowd, with his revolver pointing at the pass and 'following the lines??' and pretty soon the crowd started to drift away, slowly first then suddenly they were gone almost as quick as they had appeared. That was a narrow escape and we got home without any further incident. It was not until well after that I could smile thinking about the 'upside down reading' of our pass by the officer. Also his attitude may well have been different had he spotted the armed soldiers in the back of our vehicle. One final tale before departure from Bandoeng. One day a small Ghurka 'platoon' requested the use of our Landrover, to proceed to a reported incursion by rebel forces near the outskirts of town. 'Mad' youngsters as we still were, we (there were three of us including the driver) asked whether we could come with them. OK but we had to obey any commands the Ghurkas issued!! Close to the area of the reported activity the Ghurka commander decided to proceed on foot, leaving our vehicle with the driver in it behind. Our small group crossed two roads and were lying in a shallow ditch facing some open fields with scattered low growth, when suddenly all hell broke lose; rifle and automatic weapons firing erupted over a wide front facing us. We were obviously heavily outnumbered and the Ghurka commander decided to retreat across one road to a sandbagged position he had previously spotted. Under 'cover fire' from the platoon we ran zigzagging across the road, one at a time. Before we started crossing, my colleague was hit and killed. I asked the commander to take him with us as we retreated but he refused as the risk for further casualties was too great. As soon as we were across and in the sandbagged position the Ghurka commander directed firing by his men with himself head and shoulders above 51

the sandbags. Before long he was killed also and I and the small platoon retreated further, under cover fire by the Ghurkas. We were close to where we had left our vehicle with the driver, when much to our consternation the Landrover suddenly took off. We kept running until well into the built up area of town. Later we found out that our driver took off as he had been hit (shot through the throat) and while he still could, he drove himself to the nearest hospital. He succeeded in this eventually fully recovered. The day after our encounter, a large Ghurka contingent was sent to the area for a mopping up operation but found no resistance. They brought back the remains of our casualties which had been 'machetied' to an unrecognisable mess.

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Repatriation to Holland 1945 Not long thereafter there was a call for fit youngsters to assist with chores on the ships which were repatriating, in the first instance, women and children, to Holland. With the blessing of our 'kitchen mother' I volunteered and was accepted. It was too good a chance for an early repatriation to Holland. As the road between Bandoeng and Batavia (Djakarta) was not secure, we were flown in rickety transports from Bandoeng airport. We were transported to the airport (just out of Bandoeng) the evening before our departure day and friends were allowed to stay with us. As I mentioned earlier, Tiny stayed with me that night, cuddled up on the floor at the airport.

On arrival in Batavia we found that a group of some 200 young men were going to be assisting the crew on board the 'Johan van Oldenbarneveld'. She was a twin screwed old timer on the East Indies passenger run, before the war, and used as a troop transport during the war. If I remember correctly she was the first ship repatriating a large number of women and children from Djakarta to Amsterdam, over 2000 of them. I cannot recall how it eventuated but I finished up as one of the three leaders of the group of 200 volunteers (Hans Mets, Han Jacobs and myself - refer photo album 1945-1980). It meant a very hectic period for the three of us before departure. In consultation with some of the ship's crew we found out what work 53

was to be done by our group and subsequently put together work rosters and allocations. During the trip out 'triumvirate' remained the liaison between the crew and the 'workers'.

It was not until after we departed that we (three) found out what a 'lucky' break we had. The work of the 200 mainly consisted of lugging supplies to the kitchen and refreshment bars, all pretty physical and usually involving stairs! The three of us obviously had done a good job of rostering as we struck no major snag during the whole of the trip. As a result we three had a life of leisure, with time for shipboard romance (Wien Kapitz). We slept in hammocks and during the first part of the trip (in the tropics) I had managed to stake out a spot in a sheltered position (with cover) on one of the upper decks, where I slung my hammock up for the night. As it got colder I found an inside bunk. On this boat trip I really had the first real feeling that the war was over. We never experienced a 'V' Day with liberating troops and impromptu street parties celebrating liberation in Indonesia. The trip itself was a pleasant experience with no worries where regular meals were coming from. The old lady (Johan van O) started to show her age and heavy war time usage however and every now

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and then we 'limped' along at half speed or less, when one or other of her twin propeller shafts started to overheat; had to be stopped and 'running repairs' (bearings) made by the crew. In Suez all of us had a brief stopover and left the ship to be supplied with two full sets of warm clothing and an overcoat, also shoes from the 'NAAFI' store, a cavernous warehouse. Most of us hadn't seen anything like it for years and gladly accepted whatever looked a reasonable fit. (Those 'in the know' however turned into 'fuss pots' and virtually finished up with 'made to measure' clothing). We arrived in Amsterdam in the middle of winter (snow) and I still remember how cold it was despite our clothing 'issue'. The cold must have affected my brain?! as I have no clear recollection of the immediate period following disembarkation. I must have finished up at relatives in Delft. Which ones??? Somehow or other, substantially through the world wide resources of the International Red Cross organization, it was known to me that all six of our family had come through the war. Father finished up in Changi Prison (Singapore), brother John was liberated in Japan and sent to a recovery camp in the Philippines, mother and sister Truus were at a POW camp in Ambarawa, Java (mother only just survived) and moved around in Java to stay ahead of the unrest in the country. Mother received a postcard size photo of dad while still in Ambarawa and did not recognize her husband. He was so emaciated and she said when receiving it, ''Who is that?" All of us except my older brother John were back in Holland within a reasonably short time. John, who had survived the 'Burma Railroad' and slave work in the Japanese coal mines, finished up in the so called 'police action' in Indonesia after having been 'fattened up' in a USA recovery camp in the Philippines. He became once again involved in a flat out war, the so called 'police action' in Indonesia. All in all John lost some 7 years in military service and as a POW. I can't recall the details of my whereabouts in Delft between arrival in Holland and the family (including me) getting settled in a rental home in Delft at Kolk 2A, that mum and dad managed to secure. It 55

was a narrow terrace house (one room wide) backing on to ans 'air and light' shaft (two rooms deep) and three stories and an attic high. The ground floor was not part of the house but belonged to the student pub around the corner on the 'Oude Delft' street. The front door was right on the street and led via a very small 'hall' directly on to the first flight of stairs to the first floor which consisted of the lounge, kitchen and, next to the 'air shaft', a small shower alcove. A passage led to the second flight of stairs and two bedrooms on that floor (master bedroom at front). The next flight of stairs led to the attic which became the boys' domain. At the front was a small dormer window looking out over part of the old town and almost level with the top of the street trees which abounded along the old canals (grachten) in the historic centre of Delft. Dad managed to get a job in The Hague, a short tram ride from Delft. The tram stop was only a few minutes walk from our house. At the time I thought 'that poor old man' having to go back to work at his age. When I got a bit older myself I realized that he was then only just over 50 years old (and I am now approaching 80). Being still reasonably young the family assumed that I would take up my interrupted engineering studies at university. So I enrolled at the Delft Institute of Technolgy for a civil engineering degree. The Delft Institute was the largest tertiary technical study facility in Holland, originally established as an Academy in 1842, elevated to University status in 1905, with many diverse engineering disciplines available for study. At the time the total student population was around 5500, most of them boarding or flatting. I was lucky being able to live at home, as our family's 'financial resources' were severely limited and boarding costs for me would have been an extra burden. What was annoying for me was that my successfully completing first year studies at Bandoeng University was not going to be fully recognized and I had to repeat all the 'higher mathematics' subjects and pass these before proceeding. These form the major part of the first year's engineering studies and maths had never been one of my favourite subjects. Even at secondary school I still recall my math teacher at the HBS in Sewarang saying, 'Bange you'll never do any good at maths'. Anyway I passed the exams. 56

To pay for enrolment fees, books, etc. I applied for and received a 'student loan' for my first year of studies (to be applied for annually). I also joined a small civilian (as against student) rowing club which had its club rooms and boat shed in an old historic tower remnant of the old 'city wall' of Delft, only a short push bike ride from our house, as was the University building in which my lectures were held.

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Holland University & Rowing 1946 – 1951 I appeared to have a natural ability for the sport of rowing and soon was part of the 'beginners coxed four' in the 'stroke' position. Our coach was an ex Olympic rower, who had built up his own shipping company from nothing and was as 'hard as nails'. Training for competitions was daily, right through the winter. I recall that early in our training one day I didn't go to the club house because the canals were frozen over. The next day I was asked why I hadn't turned up and I answered, 'But there was ice in the canal'. Did I get a telling off!! Obviously I never missed a training day since. Many a time thereafter I was on the water when our boat (or in rowing terms our 'shell') broke the ice on the canal. 13 June 2003 I better hurry up with my reminiscence cues as I am now only just in 1946 (22 years old) and in another six months I will be (hopefully) hitting 80. It was at the rowing club that I met Anne, or was it Anne met me? This needs some explaining. Obviously the club had mixed membership and also some members of all ages. It was also a small club with as far as I can recall around 100 members. Anyway as a beginner you start off being instructed by an experienced rower, in what was called 'the box' (de bak). This was a rower's seat (sliding) fixed on the pontoon in front of the club house equipped with an outrigger for the oar, which had a perforated blade (as you were not going anywhere). Here you learned the technique of the stroke (our senior coach used the Fairbairn technique for our racing crews). During one of my first sessions in 'the box' several girls (including Anne) were looking down from the club house balcony (one floor up) and (I was told later) apparently Anne asked her friends, 'Who is that in the box?' apparently rather liking the look of what she saw. To cut a long story short, by the end of my first rowing season, Anne and I were 'an item'.

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The last races of the season were the 'Western', rowed near Rotterdam, where I 'stroked' the beginners four with cox to victory, winning my first 'gong'. My cox was Hans Kapsenberg, the brother of Lucy van Zoelen (née Kapsenberg), Anne's school friend who much later finished up in New Zealand. Our club had several other victories and our coach, V. Warkum, was so pleased that he invited all the crews to his house for drinks. He lived on a 'lifestyle block' between Rotterdam and Delft. A 'self made' man but also married (later in life) to a daughter of one of the better off (richer) Dutch business families. They had no children and his wife did not seem to be too happy with his invitation of all these noisy youngsters. Unbeknown to us at the time was that it was their wedding anniversary that day and as a surprise for her husband she had planned for an intimate dinner for two at home, with roast duck. The coach's invitation did not fall on deaf ears; end of season, months of training with no smoking or drinking behind us, all the stops were off. The house was overflowing, the champagne was flowing freely (I still have one of the champagne corks) and a jolly good time was had by all (apart from Millie, the coach's wife). Some how or other one of the senior rowers had got wind about the intimate planned roast duck dinner and started 'shooting ducks' from where he sat. A not so subtle hint to share the roast duck. It was well into the night when the party started to break up. Anne and I were getting a lift home in one of the cars there. With three on the front seat I had my arm around Anne but, also, in my by then befuddled state, around the car's doorpost, when somebody slammed the car door shut on my finger!! Sobered me up in a hurry and, close to fainting, I was unloaded from the car. Although extremely painful no doctor was required for the damage and I finished up spending the night in the coach's guest room. After everyone had left I was even offered some roast duck, but I could not face anything to eat. What irony!

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25 June 2003 Apart from the rowing club activities, taking up my studies, getting romantically involved, I also joined one of the two student organizations in Delft, the DSB (Delft Student Union). The latter involved a regular amount of social student interaction, with at the end of the study year a week long round of 'letting off steam', culminating in a ball lasting into the early morning hours. So I was a 'pretty busy boy'. I also realized that facing close to five years of study (2 years to preliminary exams, further 2 years to Bachelor degree and one further year to Masters degree), if I continued applying for and living on a student loan each year, I would start my working life with a 'big brick' around my neck, facing years of repayments. In looking around for work I was lucky enough to secure a job at the Research section of the Soil Mechanics Laboratory (SML) which also had a consultancy section. Although being an 'independent' organization, the SML was housed in the Civil Engineering University Building complex and closely associated with the university. Several students in addition to permanent staff worked in the lab. An added advantage of the job was that I was allowed to attend key lectures I had to follow for my study, during working hours. While working in the research section my work involved extensive small scale tests on drainage of clay soils by electro osmosis. Clay soils are notoriously difficult if not impossible to dewater (drain); a frequent requirement for civil engineering construction work in excavations. The system was used by the Germans during WWII for the construction of submarine shelters in Norway. Energy demand for it was extremely high but costs during the war time do not count in final decision making. In my final study and working year I transferred to the Consultancy section, interpreting and advising on foundation and/or stability problems. Data for use in this advice were obtained by field parties on site who either collected (soil) samples (which were tested in the lab) or produced bearing values of soil strata, usually through the use of cone penetrometers (at the time an advanced and patented soil mechanics tool developed by the Delft lab).

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While employed at the Consultancy section I qualified and obtained my Master of Engineering degree in Civil Engineering, allowing me to use the (in Holland) protected title of IR in front of my name. I stayed at the same desk doing the same sort of work but my salary overnight was almost doubled!! Qualifications!! But once again I am getting ahead of myself, so let us roll back a few years. Shortly after returning to Holland in 1946 I lost my virginity (willingly) seduced by a married cousin of mine. The affair lasted for a while. As well, earlier in this story, I mentioned a young home help, Annie, mother employed while the family was on furlough in Holland (at the Thorbeckelaan in Delft, my 'karnemelk' episode). Somehow or other I ran into her one day and found she lived close by the university building where I worked. She was married and had two children by then. Her marriage was a mixed (Catholic/Protestant) one and not all that happy. Following some morning coffee calls a brief affair developed. Anne and I got engaged and decided not to get married before I qualified which involved a four year wait which caused a few 'ups and downs' over this period. Anne assures me that when I proposed to her my first question was not, 'Will you marry me?' but, 'Are you willing to leave Holland with me?' The answer to both was obviously, 'Yes', and after I graduated on March 1st we got married on March 30th 1951. It was a simple civil ceremony in the Town Hall in Delft with mainly family attending. Anne and I arrived in a horse drawn carriage and were 'greeted by a guard of honor' consisting of colleagues of the Soil Mechanics Lab 'presenting' come penetrometers. Neither us nor the families had money to afford a 'wedding breakfast' for family and friends so after 'open house' at Anne's place with nibbles and drinks, the immediate families were going to have dinner in a local Chinese restaurant. To our total surprise and great delight we found the restaurant booked out by all our friends, greeting us with loud cheers when we entered. (They all paid their own way). We had a brief honeymoon in a 'B&B' in the countryside in the east if Holland and hired some push bikes to trip around. 61

After this we both went back to work, Anne to her job as a teller in the Delft Savings Bank and I at the Soil Mechanics Lab until our departure to NZ.

Why New Zealand? Well first of all I have to go back to my question to Anne, 'Are you willing to go overseas?' Coming back to Holland after the war I already knew deep in my heart that I would be looking for wide open spaces in a not too cold country for my working life. Two reasons; the first it was what I had experienced for most of my life to date and secondly my profession to be (civil engineering) had become extremely specialized in Holland (and

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Europe). Had Indonesia not been in such a turmoil at the time it would have been my first choice. A beautiful country extremely rich in natural resources. After that my thoughts were: South America, Australia and New Zealand with no particular preference. With Spanish the prevailing language in South America I took up optional lectures available at university for a while. (After English, Spanish is the most prevailing 'international' language). At work I had access to a large number of International engineering magazines and I kept perusing the adverts for job vacancies in these towards my graduation. I also wrote, late 1950, to the Snowy Mountain Project in Australia which had just started, a 25 year power (hydro) and irrigation development, but was advised that no engineering vacancies were available at the time. While in the middle of my final exams (both written and oral) I noticed an ad in an English magazine that a panel of NZ engineers was big to be in London to recruit British engineers for NZ. I wrote to the address in the ad expressing my interest and the position I was in (not graduated yet). I received a reply and was offered an interview. So one morning I left Delft (I think it was mid January 1951) by train to Amsterdam, flew from there to London, had my interview and was back in Delft that evening. I was offered a position with the Ministry of Works (MOW) subject to my graduating. Family fares by British passenger ship would be met as part of the deal. No housing accommodation was offered with the job. During the interview I was extensively quizzed about possible interest by other Dutch engineers to work in NZ as there was a considerable shortage. I advised the panel that most likely there would be, as this year with me there were some 300 civil engineers graduating as well as many more in other engineering disciplines. At the time as well work prospects in Holland were not very promising with a depressed economy, far from the prosperous state the country now enjoys. As a result advertisements in Holland followed and in later years interviews were even held in Holland. I was the first Dutch professional engineer to come to NZ and many more followed in my footsteps. So NZ here we come.

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Rowing Experiences 1946 - 49 Before continuing with my story I better slot in a few bits and pieces about my rowing experiences. Earlier on I recounted the start of my rowing 'career' in 1946. The following year I found myself as part of the crew (No.2) of the 'Senior 8'. Being a small club we just managed to put this crew on the water with no reserves, not one of us could afford to fall sick!! Our stroke (No. 8) was a veteran rower, Hein v Suylekom (in his early 40's) the old rowing partner of our coach van Warkum, in his early rowing years. Most of the crew except me and one other (Rinus Loonen) had been racing for years, including our cox, Jaap v d Ende. The coach had high expectations of us and had his sights set on the Henley Royal Regatta on the Thames in England and the ultimate 'rowing eight' trophy, the Grand Challenge Cup. We won the first race of the season in Holland and continued in that vein, won several races in Belgium and won the National Championship in Holland. Now we faced the Henley Royal Regatta and what an experience that proved to be. First off, the race course on the river Thames was established by tradition. It was just over 2100m long compared to the international standard length for men's crews of 2000m. Secondly, elimination was by two crews only competing against one another which meant many races to reach the final. The course was defined by heavy timber booms on each side, of a width giving only a few feet to spare between the blades of two competing crews and the blades to the booms. The transformation of the river bank for the spectator's enclosure near the finish line was unbelievable. Almost over night plain grassed areas were transformed with big marquees to serve meals and drinks, surrounded by flower beds. These were created by burying plants (pots and all) and a light cover spread of soil between them. Deck chairs were lined up along the river bank. This was the 'Royal Enclosure' and we as crew and our supporters had full access to it for the whole period of the Regatta.

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Our attire generally was a far cry from the 'high fashion' parading in the enclosure, but as 'foreigners' we were tolerated. Instead of loud acclaim and yelling at the finish of a race for the crew in the lead, the 'fashionable' crowd in the deck chairs gently clapped their hands on muttering, 'well rowed'. Anyway we reached the finals of the Grand Challenge Cup, rowing against Jesus College - Cambridge and their supporter's cries still ring in my ears. They were lined up along the course against the booms in punts and boats of all sizes. The race went 'neck and neck' with either crew edging out in front by a whisper and all the time the booming from the side lines was the cry, 'Jesus! Jesus!' Swelling to a crescendo towards the finish where Jesus College slowly eked out in front, winning by a canvas. Although we lost, it was the most exciting race I ever rowed. I had a scrap book about the Senior 8 with programmes and newspaper articles etc. Some years back I sent that to the DDS club secretary in Holland to go into the club archives. Coming home from Henley we still faced the European Championships which were going to be rowed on the 'Roth See' near Lucerne in Switzerland. We did our best but were not placed in these, we obviously had peaked at Henley. In 1948 I rowed once again in the Senior 8 of the club this time in No. 4 position. We weren't as successful as 1947 and came third in the National Championships at the end of the season. After that from 1949 onwards I became a supporter, encouraging other club members to 'slog their heart out' racing. One or two highlights are worth recording. I think both occurred in 1949. Three of us supporters decided to push bike to Amsterdam from Delft (some 60km) to attend the championship races to be rowed on the 'Bosbaan', (a man made race course for rowing just outside Amsterdam). To break the monotony we decided to take a bottle of square gin with us to slake our thirst en route. We had worked out how many 'nips' the bottle held and calculated how many kms we had to bike between nips (I should mention here that our whole trip would be along specially designated bicycle tracks!). One of us was 65

a Chinese student. Well we made it and finished up at the boat sheds in Amsterdam where our little 'Chinaman' just managed to get off his bike to fall fast asleep!! The gin bottle was empty. Another highlight as a supporter was when a group of us (at least 12 from memory) had the opportunity to attend the Henley Regatta in 1949 to support the DDS entry, once again for the Grand Challenge Cup. Our coach, van Warkum, had offered to take us across from Rotterdam to London docks on one of his coastal freighter ships. We all had our push bikes, tents and camping gear with us and were going to get permission from a farmer near Henley to set up camp on his property. We arrived late morning at the London docks, packed all our gear on the push bikes and started to pedal. To get to the road to Henley we had to traverse the whole of the London metropolis and this in the middle of a hot summer's day. Our 'caravan' caused quite a few heads to turn. We were sweating like pigs and dying of thirst, when only half way through the city and not a water tap in sight. At last, in desperation, we stopped and some of us entered a very imposing building with marble columns up front and lots of marble in the lobby and humbly asked whether we could have a drink of water!! Probably the strangest request they ever had in this, what proved to be one of central London's banks. Although some eyebrows were initially raised, after we explained our situation and where we were heading for, the staff willingly obliged and we were able to slake our thirst. We duly arrived at our destination, obtained permission and set up camp. Nearby was a small typically English country pub where we mingled with the locals in the evenings before diving into our sleeping bags. Our camp cooking duties were rostered. Our crew that year was eliminated in the heats. That is enough about my rowing period. Before returning to my chronological life tale, just a brief mention of two visits to France. (Some photos in my 1945 –1980 photo album).

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France 1949 The first one (I think it also was in 1949) was in the company of two “rowing buddies”. Jaap v.d. Ende owned a Citroen car and wanted some company on a trip to France, sharing expenses. Rinus Loonen (one of the 8 crew) and myself jumped at this chance and the three of us took off. First destination Paris, where at the time a married cousin of mine had a flat. (San Nootenboom, a daughter of Oom Jan and Tanta Bet with whom my brother John boarded for a while in the early 30’s, had married a French businessman, Jean Andre). We were made most welcome at San’s place to “bed down” for B&B. Husband Jean had a weakness for ties (shirt & tie) and had a wardrobe full of them. One day we knotted all of them together and festooned the flat with them. Jean’s face dropped on coming home from work that evening, seeing his pride and joy ”abused”. But when he noticed that we had carefully avoided not to tighten any knots (and San had warned us not to!), his face lit up and he enjoyed the prank (Photo 45/80).

We visited Versailles, the Notre Dame, Montmartre and of course one night a “girlie show”. The “Moulin Rouge” was outside our financial reach, but the show we went to was fabulous, with revolving stages and parts rising from below or disappearing down and “disrobing” girlies everywhere! There was no ‘door charge’ but drinks (champagne only) were exorbitantly priced and we ‘eked out’ one bottle of champagne between the three of us for the whole night. Another night we went to a specialist small restaurant, with only frog legs dishes on the menu. The restaurant was like a railway wagon, - long and narrow with small tables both sides and a central walkway. We enjoyed the frog legs and the wine. One patron (well under the weather) walked around with a pair of scissors and found a great delight in cutting off part of ties anybody was wearing. On leaving the restaurant every customer received a small lead cast frog as a souvenir. I had it for years, but I think it got lost. After leaving the restaurant we finished up in a local bar where everybody wanted to know where we were from and what we were doing. When they found out that we were student rowers from

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Holland and had been National Champions, free drinks flowed and we were the toast of the place. Any new entrant was told “Ah, ici les rameurs champion nationale”!! One of the patrons (a Frenchman) left the bar with us and insisted we try The! French dish (Bouillabaisse, a fish soup) with him, at an eating house nearby. We thoroughly enjoyed the late meal and in the by then early hours of the morning farewelled him and took the “Metro” to our flat, at the other end of town. The following morning after breakfast we were off to do some more sightseeing and walked down to our nearby Metro station, where trains were rolling through every few minutes to various destinations around town. And in this city of millions on a crowded platform who do we run into? The Frenchman we left on the other side of Paris the night before, going in a different direction from us. Talking about coincidence!! Another small experience putting on record here relates to French taste buds. My cousin San had noticed, that us three at breakfast thought nothing of it to have some marmalade or jam on toast, followed by ham or cheese. She suggested that we do that on purpose on the weekend when her husband Jean was home. Well, Jean’s eyes just about popped out of his head. Never, never do you eat sweet before tasty items. No wonder the French “haute cuisine” is so refined. After leaving Paris we travelled south, overnighting in small country taverns whenever we could, finding these cheap with good meals and comfortable beds. Our travelling lunches usually consisted of a French stick loaf with cheese and a bottle of wine (photo 45/88 album). On this trip I had my first (and only) mountaineering experience, when we hit the French Alps near the Italian border. We hired a guide and proper gear for the day to go up on the permanent snow and climb a small peak. Traversing a small glacier we were all roped together, in case of any hidden crevasses. Although I hate “cold’, it was great fun and on the “summit” we felt as if we had conquered the Mt Blanc (photo 45/80) How relative things are how much pleasure can be derived from even small achievements. We also paid a brief visit to the “Princedom” of Monaco and did some 68

“high” rolling in the Monte Carlo casino (we all lost our limited stakes). All in all we had a great time.

My second visit to France was a totally different experience. For my engineering studies, I had to have three months practical experience on a major engineering work (for me in the “civil” field) and compile a report on the project and your experience. I applied for and got a placing on a large project in the South of France – The “Donzere” – Mondragon canal” project. I hitchhiked from Delft to the project (just South of Lyon and close to the Mediterranean Sea) in just over a few days with a fellow student. En route we “overnighted’ in our sleeping bags on a grassy riverbank. We reported to the Contractors company office in the little village near the project, in our broken “school French” and were directed to the hostel on the project, where we each had a room with the bare essentials. I can’t recall whether our main meal of the day was provided for us. I think it was, while breakfast and lunch we organised ourselves in the hostel. The job was a massive earthmoving job, excavating for a canal to improve navigation along the river Rhone, with stop banks on either side of the canal and various structures (bridges and locks) along its length. There were several students from other countries on the project as well. We were provided with pushbikes to travel to and on the job. I got quite friendly with a young English student (no, not a girl) who had come over with his motorbike, more about him later. I concentrated on the “earth moving side” of the work which involved massive machinery, large motor scrapers, draglines, and

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dredges. The latter floated in their own excavation and deposited material on the side via several conveyor belts, which were supported on pontoons, which also provided swivel points. The dredges swung over an arch covering the bottom width of the “canal to be” and had cables running to anchors on both sides. They advanced by winching themselves forward after each swing. They worked shifts, going 24 hours a day. One night disaster struck, one of the dredge captains had been drinking and failed to control the dredge at the end of a swing. The result was that the bucket ladder of the dredge struck the batter of the underwater excavation. The winches kept pulling the dredge sideways on its swing and the whole show capsized. As well the conveyor belts towards the pontoons were wrenched and twisted (photo in 194280 album). This dredge captain didn’t last very long on the job! Another day a new machine was being assembled on the job a “walking dragline”. The bucket was big enough to drive a car into and its 24 hour “output” capacity was the same as that of one of the dredges. We students were free to roam around the job. One day I was timing the turn around run of tractor-drawn motor scrapers doing a short circuit, loading and dumping. Regular as clockwork! It looked so effortless and the loading area was kept as smooth as a billiard table. One of the drivers asked whether I would like to do a run or two and explained the basically simple controls. Drop the scraper cutting blade for loading, keep the tractor revs up and lift the cutting blade when the scraperbowl is full. OK, no sweat. Away I went. Whoops, cutting too deep, up a bit – down a bit etc etc. Anyway after a couple of runs the loading area looked like ocean waves. So with sincere excuses I handed the machine over to the operator. And what magic! In next to no time the loading area was again as smooth as a baby’s bum! That is enough technical talk. Will finish this episode with some “of the job” experiences. It was more than 20 years back to my basic school French and our on the job contact was mainly with the labourers and machine operators, who all only spoke French and to my ears as rapid as gun fire (middle and senior management spoke English as well, but we only had very occasional contact with them).

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Of necessity we had to rapidly acclimatise and after only a few weeks we could converse (within reason) in colloquial French. You can if you have to!! One evening after dinner three of us felt a bit lost in the hostel. We all had finished our meals, had no more letters home to write and thought it would be a good time to go and share a bottle of wine at the local bistro, a short walk away from the hostel. After one bottle we felt still a bit dry so we ordered a second bottle. We were not rushing our drinks, but after a while the second bottle was also drained. Now we had a problem: how to divide the cost of two bottles by three, so we could each pay our share! After some serious discussion, this problem (in our current state) was found to be insurmountable, however we found an easier answer. Yes, we ordered a third bottle and proceeded to enjoy its contents and one another’s company. By this time it was dark and after settling our account we took off for “home”. There were no street lights, no torches nor moonlight. After stumbling and falling into one or more roadside ditches (fortunately dry at that time of the year) we found the hostel and our beds most welcome! The English student I mentioned earlier needed new shorts. Lyon was the nearest town with decent shopping and work vehicles regularly made runs to it. He asked me to come with him and we soon managed to catch a ride with a man which had to collect some equipment in the city. As an aside, to the story which follows, I have to mention that en route our driver made a little detour and picked up a lady from one of the staff houses ( we found out later she was the wife of one of the French engineers on the job). Once in the city we arranged for a “rendez–vous” time and place and we went shopping for a pair of shorts. I soon found out we had a problem, my friend was looking for a pair of “English shorts” (the ones that come to your knees) and all we could find were French ones (which barely covered your bottom). In the end he settled for a pair several times bigger than he needed. On our return trip we found that our lady passenger was somewhat red eyed and obviously had been crying. After she was dropped off at home, we asked the driver what had happened. The answer was thay he had told her that day that their affair was finished and that her daughter had taken her place in his affections (talking about French triangles?) 71

Apart from work, which kept us occupied most of the time, there was not much to do where we were, so when a long week-end loomed we were looking for a way to widen our horizons. I had an old aunt (a lesbian retired nurse), one of Father’s sisters living with her partner in Menton on the South coast of France. My English friend had transport, his motorbike, so we decided to go touring. We visited Avignon (with the famous bridge and the song “Sur le pont d’Avignon”). One evening we went to a ballet performance in an old Roman amphitheatre. It was like a Degas painting coming to life. As well as that the acoustics were unbelievable. We sat near the top of the amphitheatre (stone) benches and could hear every word spoken on “the stage” without any sound system! We followed the (then) still beautiful south coast along the Mediterranean. We stayed a night with my aunt in Menton and just ventured into Italy for a brief look, before heading back to our work. A very interesting and enjoyable three months work experience came to an end in the summer of 1950 and I hitchhiked home with my backpack, which by now included a light 2 person pup tent and a French bottle of champagne. I got home in one day, Anne and I consumed the bottle of champagne during a brief sailing holiday on one of the lakes in Holland out of the best “glasses” we could find on board, some small mustard jars!

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New Zealand Wanganui 1951-52 Now back to my general narrative, where I had reached the point of Anne and me readying ourselves for New Zealand. The original information and part of the job offer was that we would travel by one of the passenger lines which then still regularly sailed from London to Wellington. We were really looking forward to this as an extended and second honeymoon trip. I can’t recall what interfered with this arrangement but the long and the short of it was that travel was going to be arranged on one of the Dutch immigrant ships which at that time brought thousands of Dutch immigrants to New Zealand. It also delayed our departure until late 1951. We packed our meagre belongings, apart from clothing and books, two single beds, the “Mechelse” cupboard, the “Beardman” jar, my drawing board and some small ‘knick-knacks” is all I can remember. To have some spending money for the trip we sold what little we had of some value, which included my quite extensive stamp collections. The immigrant ships were wartime “liberty” ships converted for passenger transport in “four bunk” cabins. To maximise capacity all passengers (without children) were in sex segregated cabins. Four men in one cabin, four women in one cabin (married or not). It was a bit of a disappointment at the time. Departure time came and we left for Rotterdam to board the “Zuiderkruis”. This meant queueing up in one of the wharf sheds, with your hand luggage and slowly being processed along rows of tables (there were several rows) manned by officials of all descriptions. I should mention here that Dutch immigrants could only depart for New Zealand at that time if the bread winner had a job and accommodation guaranteed in writing. We progressed slowly but came to a grinding halt. I had a job but no accommodation. Impossible! We did not follow the rules!! We were pulled aside and in the end, after much delay, a representative from the New Zealand High Commissioner appeared and vouched for our valid departure. When we finally

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entered our cabins, the other occupants were already well established and had seen our delays. They said “We thought you two were not going to make it”. We found that two of our cabin group were also married couples, one recently married (like us) and one a bit older (Jan and Rietje Knol) with no children. The 6 of us became virtually inseparable during the voyage. They were both “better off” families but we put a kitty together to share expenses. Our trip was via the Panama Canal and was fairly uneventful. I’ll first jot down a few “highlights”. The first time Anne saw cliff faces jutting out of the sea (instead of the Dutch flat sloping beaches) she couldn’t believe her eyes. Why didn’t they fall down? Because they are rock! (A virtually non existent material in Holland). At one end of the Panama Canal (I think it was before entering) we were allowed on-shore in the evening and the six of us were going to “taste the night life”. Because of our budget limitations, all we could afford to drink was “coca cola” at five cents a bottle. We started of in great spirits, progressing from bar to bar and observing the local scene - we finished up in the end, sitting down ordering our coca colas and leaving the full bottles behind, heading for the next stop. It put me off coca cola for life! Our passage through the Pacific was generally through very calm seas and often large groups of young people gathered on the foredeck of the ship swapping yarns and experiences. On one such occasion, the talk centered on the pre-war and war years, where you were when the war broke out and during the war. Quite a few in the group were in the Dutch East Indies pre-war and I started to tell my story about being caught up in Bandoeng at the time of the Allied Forces surrender and my motorbike accident in Bandoeng. One in the group started asking questions about the accident (which street, what hit you) and when narrowed down he said: “I was driving that car”! Nine years later, having survived the “Japanese Holocaust” and with thousands of immigrants going to New Zealand, we met again on a ship in the middle of the ocean. What a small world it is! As luck would have it, we made an unexpected landfall and stop over in Tahiti. The ship was running low on drinking water and the 74

captain decided to replenish supplies there. To add to our luck, the only supply line of the wharf was a small diameter hose. We were allowed off ship and spent the day sightseeing and shopping (Shell necklaces and the like) admiring the colourful tropical fish from the quayside and finishing off spending the night on the deserted beaches, for the first time since departing from Holland, that Anne and I were able to be together “alone”. The trip came to an end in Wellington Harbour, arriving late in the day and the ship had to anchor before berthing in the morning. Having admired the views of Wellington and surrounds and following dinner there was not much to do. But our group of six had got wind that the captain and officers had a party going in the Captain’s quarters. We knew the captain had an eye for “attractive young ladies” so we hatched a plot. The three women of our group would “infiltrate the party” and five to ten minutes later we, the men, would join them “innocently” looking for our wives. The ploy worked and we all enjoyed the banter and a few drinks until the captain became a bit amorous and started stroking the hand of one of our women who was sitting close to him. She felt a bit uncomfortable and signalled to her husband, who managed to sidle up and replace his hand for hers. The “stroking” continued until the Captain in his by then “somewhat befuddled mind” realised that it didn’t feel the same, woke up to the fact and stopped. He also noted that the lady had a drink in one and a cigarette in the other hand. The party finished when the Captain left (assisted) and was put to bed. We heard later that the reason for the party was “the safe arrival of the ship in Wellington Harbour”. Apparently the ships officers had been worried about striking any storm during the trip. I and people which had experienced voyages by sea had noticed that the ship, even in dead calm seas, was “wallowing” from side to side. Apparently these “liberty class” ships, built as freighters, were somewhat top heavy after conversion to “passenger” ships and inadequate ballast below deck.. Anyway that was the story. Early next morning we berthed and for those of us who had witnessed the state of the captain the night before, we couldn’t believe our eyes. There he was “as bright as a button” standing on the bridge directing the berthing of his ship.

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Soon after we heard, that somebody was looking for” Mr and Mrs Bange. We were ready with our hand luggage to leave the ship (after saying farewell to our shipboard friends) and found an elderly gentleman with “floppy” (no crease) trousers was there to welcome us. He looked like a sort of “porter “to us. Anyway he guided us ashore, carrying some of our luggage and took us to a car. He brought us to our Hotel (a then 5 star central Wellington Hotel) where we found a “whole suite” having been reserved for us (Bedroom, bathroom and sitting room). He left us to freshen ourselves up and said he would be back to give us a tour of the city. During the tour we expressed admiration for the surrounding hills of Wellington all being clad in golden yellow blossoms. He laughed his head of, it was one of the curses of the country. “ flowering gorse” imported from Scotland (where it is used for hedges) by early settlers and spreading like wildfire, costing a fortune to control. I think we stayed in Wellington one more day and had matters organised for the next stage of our journey. My first position was going to be as an Assistant Engineer at District Office of the Ministry of works in Wanganui. We were to travel by steam train (At that time all New Zealand trains had steam locomotives) Before we departed I had found out that the person who had welcomed us was the “top personnel officer” (One of the highest paid Government officers) of the Ministry of Works (just as well we had been polite to him). En route we were all eyes for the countryside, slopes everywhere and “funny ridges” on all the grassed hills. The train stopped at a station around “morning tea” time and suddenly there was an exodus, every one out of the train. “Refreshment stop”. We lined up and got ourselves a “cuppa” and a sandwich and sat down in the cafeteria. Suddenly we noticed, that we were almost on our own, everybody seemed to have boarded the train. So we hurriedly up anchored and did the same (don’t know whether we took our drinks with us, I think we did). Just as well, we were hardly aboard, when the train departed and we would have been left behind. 76

There were no “dining cars” on the trains then and these stops were the only opportunity to get drinks or food on your trip (Taumaranui was a famous refreshment stop on the Wellington to Auckland main trunk line). We had to change trains, I think it was at Palmerston North, to join the branch line to Wanganui. We arrived there and moved into out hotel in the centre of this provincial city. It was quite “a let down” from the Wellington standard, just a basic bedroom and shared ablution facilities along the passage. My contract with the M.O.W was for an initial four year period and included a clause that accommodation would be fully paid for by the M.O.W for an initial period (from memory either one or several weeks, a short period anyway). There after you were on your own (more about that later). I reported to the office and was introduced to the District Engineer OD Bell (the top “boss) and the Chief Draughtsman (my direct boss to be) and various other staff. The first thing was an invitation by “OD” to take Anne and myself on a full day tour of part of the district, which we naturally accepted. En route OD had a great delight in asking us to pronounce the (often lengthy) Maori names, on the AA road signs we passed and was somewhat surprised that our pronunciation was practically correct! In our innocence, all we did was pronounce this in “Dutch”. That is to say the “a, o, i, u and e” sound the same in Dutch and Maori. “OD” decided to try us out on one of the more winding district roads and asked whether we were inclined to be “car sick”. Both of us said “no!” so we travelled back along the “Parapara Road” at the time a twisting, tortuous, narrow metal road and survived that challenge also. On returning to Wanganui, he took us to his house for a “cuppa” and to show us his pride and joy, his “vegetable garden” (we learned later that without a proper “vege garden” you are not a real kiwi. But now the “real world” beckoned and work had to start. As I mentioned earlier, my direct boss was the Chief Draughtsman, a position which had surveyors and young engineers under it.

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Most of the work in District Office dealt with roading and associated structures ie bridges and culverts etc. Surveying, draughting and design work was involved. I joined one of the surveying gangs just as “one of the gang” and my first field job was cutting cross sections through “old man” gorse on a roading survey with a slasher as my “high tech” tool: blisters galore to start with ( a close encounter with the golden hills we admired in Wellington). I progressed fairly rapidly to having “my own” surveying gang, controlling the field work and draughting in the office with some basic design work. Early on in my work the Chief Drauhtsman called me into his office and asked whether in my studies I had dealt with “transition curves” in road design. My “technical” English was rather limited at that stage and I could not confirm that I had. When a bit later I got involved with these curves in road design I realised that my studies had covered these and advised my “boss” accordingly (they had only recently been introduced in New Zealand road design, replacing circular curves). Pavement design was pretty empirical, with pavement thickness based on experience with soil types. With my “soil mechanics” experience I was asked to and wrote a brief report, outlining field work, which could lead to a pavement design, using penetrometer field tests. Nothing came of this and this report is probably lost in the archives. Not until many years later were field data collected for pavement load and strength design, mainly based on American practices. When working in the office, I also experienced first hand, the New Zealand morning and afternoon “tea breaks”. With all the staff in one room “yakking away” to one another I could only “switch off” in the early stages. Although my “school English” was good enough in a “one on one” situation, in a crowd I could not pick up any of the conversation. It was like one great hive of bees buzzing. As time went by I gradually managed to “join the hive”. Also working in a “foreign language” environment was very tiring as I was continually translating “in my mind’ from English to Dutch, formulating a reply in Dutch, translating back to English. It took a while to start “thinking in English” as I have now done for years. 78

My very first “contract supervision” job just outside Wanganui involved the construction of a small (a few m2 floor area) explosive storage building in concrete. The contractor was a young builder I later became friendly with. He had a workshop in town and allowed me to use some of his woodworking machines. It is where I made my very first bit of furniture, a small oak coffee table (now in use by Helen). Before I go on I better relate our experience in finding our own accommodation. As soon as I started work, I let it be known in the office that we were looking for a flat. We also perused the newspaper ads daily but had no luck. By the time we heard about it or phoned up all we got was “just gone!” When our “free hotel” period expired, we moved to a nearby “boarding house”, called “private hotels” at the time. A lot cheaper and just within our range, although I can remember Anne and I at night, sitting on our bed, emptying our pockets and purse and counting out total cash financial resources, which came to around two shillings and a six pence ($2.50 in decimal currency). This was just before my first payday! And talking about money, here I better make mention of the salary I started on, £960 per annum. In decimal currency that is $1,920 New Zealand. At that time the New Zealand pound (£) was worth ten Dutch guilders and the pay was quite a bit more than what I was earning in Holland. Now back to our search for accommodation. As people got to know us the “time lapse” of our missing out on a “tip-off” became ever shorter and finally we struck “gold”. A one room “flat” with a closed in veranda as kitchen and shared ablution facilities (toilet and bathroom) was still vacant in Gonville Avenue. We viewed it, but “beggars can’t be choosers” so we took it and “furnished” it with our meagre possessions, two beds, my drawing board, on a box as a table, two folding chairs to sit on, a few “knick-knacks” on the wall and our “Mechelse” cupboard. Our room was in the front of the house and in the front yard were two old truck wrecks and the “grass” waist high. In the back yard was a “mountain” of empty beer bottles (several metres high). Our “kitchen sink” did not 79

connect to a drain, but spilled out on the ground. The husband proved to be a logging contractor who was seldom home and his wife was therefore the one we mostly dealt with, quite a pleasant slender woman. Every now and then “hubby” was home (when weather interfered with logging) and got stuck into the “piss”. At these times we did not see his wife at all. Until on one occasion, she knocked on our door and there she was, beaten black and blue. Apparently “hubby” regularly used her as a “punch bag”. With the shared “facilities” Anne hadn’t felt all that comfortable before when “hubby” was home, but this was the end.

We had kept looking for better accommodation all the time and had viewed a very nice house on No 3 Line but the rent was far too high for us. The owner was a minister of a church on transfer to another town, had studied architecture before and built the place himself. He did not want to sell the house and was looking for reliable tenants. So regrettably we had to say; “we can’t afford it”. He suggested we could share with another couple, as the layout of the house was quite suitable, giving each couple adequate privacy. But we didn’t know of anybody so had more or less given up on this “vicar house”. But “lo and behold” one day we got a phone call from the owner, still wanting us as tenants and he knew of another young Dutch couple to share it. The long and the short of it was that we met, found one another agreeable and moved in to the No 3 line

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house. A great relief, particularly for Anne, as for my work I was often away from “home” for a week at a time, surveying in far away parts of the District. Before carrying on with my story I must record the time I was called into the boss’ office after a weekend. By that time I had a “works” vehicle at my disposal, which I was allowed to “garage” at home but not use privately. Somebody had “dobbed” me in and the boss told me “that my vehicle had been seen and reported to be on a rubbish tip in Gonville Avenue”. So I told him, “That is where I live!” One tale leads to another. Talking about having the use of a works vehicle brings me to how I got a drivers license. The first day out with my own surveying gang, after loading all our gear (instruments, slashers, tapes, etc) in the vehicle my gang said “ok, you drive”, to which I replied ‘ But I haven’t got a drivers license!”. “No sweat” was the reply, we will soon change that!” So one of them climbed behind the wheel and the three of us all fitted on the front bench seat of the Bedford Truck. As soon was we were a reasonable distance out of town the driver stopped and said “All right, you take over and we’ll tell you where to go”. We were on the way to Ohakune, so had a decent bit to travel. I don’t recall whether the initial “take-off” was all that smooth, but the good old Bedford was very tolerant and we were soon up to speed. We were going to be up country for the week and my gang made me do all the driving. We also picked up a copy of the “Road Code” somewhere on the way, which I “studied” at night in our lodgings. As a little aside, a bit about this accommodation. In those days there was not a great deal of choice in a small town like Ohakune, there usually only was one “decent” boarding house, to provide a bed and meals. Apart from us, there usually were an odd travelling salesman and always a small group of single school teachers. I have never forgotten how this latter group always formed a “closed clique”, which never tried to contact or invite any “outsiders” (like us) to participate in anything (say an after dinner chat in the 81

common lounge). In bigger places we stayed in a hotel, but if we were working anywhere near Taihape, we usually travelled a short distance to Ohingaiti, where there were only a few houses and a couple of shops as well as a very friendly family run little country pub with about four bedrooms. The bar had one of the widest selections of spirits and liqueurs I ever saw. But back to my driving. It was not very long when my gang said that I was ready for my test. They had quizzed me on the Road Code regularly so an appointment was made with the Traffic Cop in Ohakune. The excuse being that I was only home in Wanganui on the weekends, when no testing was available. I duly presented myself at the Inspectors office and after passing the Road Code tests, he took me out to the Bedford. I had to drive around the block and pull up in front of the office and that was it. I got my license, that was in 1952 (I now face my first compulsory 80 year old test at the end of this year and thereafter every two years) After a year in the Wanganui District Office I was transferred to the Taumaranui Residency (one of the branch offices in the District). Before moving there, just a few Wanganui memories which come to mind. Anne had found a job with DIC, a for that time “large” department store in the main street of Wanganui. What surprised and impressed management was that at the end of the day her sales till always balanced to the nearest penny. It was absolutely unheard of. For Anne this was second nature, as in Delft she had worked in the Dutch Savings Bank as a teller and if at the end of the day a balance to the nearest cent was not achieved you did not leave the office until it was. Another source of some additional income (over part of the year) were the rose bushes in the garden of the house we rented. The owner had told us they were one of the earliest roses in the season and he sold them to the local florist shops. So, in season after work or after dinner Anne and I were flat out cutting roses in bud, wrapping and bundling them in dozens and placing them in buckets with some water in the garage. I still remember my first “sales run”. Before work with the buckets of roses in the back of the Bedford truck under the canopy, I called at the first florists shop. “Are you interested in buying some roses” I asked. The reply “What are 82

they?” Me “Yellow ones from No 3 line”. Shopowner, “oh Lorraine Lee’s”. Me, “Yes”. Shop owner “I’ll have X dozen” often also giving a repeat order. The next shop I stopped at was easy “Are you interested in some Lorraine Lee Roses?” and so on, until the “crop” was sold. I don’t recall what price I sold them for but at the height of the season we had up to 20 dozen a day and the income covered a fair bit of out rent. I also earned some extra money doing a “shelving” job in a chemist shop once. How I landed that job, I have not a clue anymore. All I had was hand tools. This was all evening work, after the shop had closed and was quite extensive. The shop owner was very satisfied with the completed project. Another experience I have to mention here is our going to a social Saturday night dance. We had become friendly with a local family (as a contact either through my or Anne’s work) who were very hospitable. I think the husband was a bus driver. Anyway they invited us to join them to the Caledonian dance evening. What an experience, all the men were on one side of the hall and the women on the other side (and never the twain shall mix, apart from when dancing). The “segregation” of the sexes, we found prevailed for many years, at all sorts of social occasions we encountered in New Zealand. And when, later in the evening “supper” was announced, there was one big “stampede” to the “spread”! (if you were slow or polite you missed out). Finally I can not leave Wanganui without mentioning our “rowing” experience there. Wanganui, at the time, was one of New Zealands strongest rowing centres with several clubs, I recall the Wanganui RC and Aramoho, but I think there was a third one as well. We “joined” the Wanganui one. At least I could join. “A woman rowing” ha ha ha! It must be a joke. It had yet to be seen. So they (the club members) decided to humour Anne. Problem one: No change room for women! It was solved and a single scull made available. Obviously not the best one in the fleet and the rigging was set all to hell! Anyway adjustments were made and Anne sculled away up the river, much to the on-lookers amazement. She could actually do it!! On returning to the clubhouse this was applauded and later at 83

interclub meetings she was asked to and did demonstration rowing at the regattas. Now of course women’s rowing in New Zealand is as strong as men’s rowing. I am not sure whether I mentioned the Wanganui interclub regatta. I was talked into being a member of one of the clubs eight oar crew with the assurance that it would only be a sort of “friendly rowover”, only a 1000m course (not the full standard 2000m one). I was pretty hesitant. I was obviously out of training, was smoking (I had started in late 1950 in Holland) and was out of town all week most of the time, so could only join the crew at weekends for “training”. Well, the “friendly row over“ proved to be a flat out sprint race over the full 1000m. How I survived and even managed to keep pace, I don’t know to this day. Never again. My rowing colleagues also introduced me to the New Zealand pub experience. After a Saturday afternoon row it was common practice to retire to the pub nearest the clubhouse to “bend your elbow”. At the time it was still 6pm closing time for all pubs. On my first visit all the crew had a beer and I was asked, “What you drinking Henk”. So I said “I have a square gin (Dutch genever). At which some eyebrows were raised, but my gin was duly supplied. Why the raised eyebrows? Well the 6 o’clock closing was also known as “the 6 o’clock swill”. As soon as your beer was served, down the hatch it went, ready for an instant refill and a repeat performance and so on till the 6 o’clock “last drink gentlemen” call. My “mates” thought that I would match them drink for drink with my gins. I think they were disappointed that I only slowly sipped my gin and had a couple only by closing time. Compared with some Dutch immigrants Anne and I were at a distinct advantage, “speaking” the English language. I recall one day coming across a middle aged Dutch immigrant in the butcher shop, who only knew one word for meat “steak” and realising I was also Dutch asked me in desperation, whether I could help him out. His wife didn’t speak any English and he had to do all the shopping. For months the only meat they had been eating was “steak” (mostly tough). So I gave him a few tips and alternatives to ask for (there were no displays in those days in the butcher’s shop window). 84

Taumaranui – Manunui 1952-54 About time to shift to Taumaranui. We were told that we would be provided with accommodation, a small cottage in Mananui, a few kilometres out of Taumaranui, to which ablution facilities would have been added by the time we arrived. Mean time we had became the “proud owners” of our first motor vehicle. An old little Morris 8 with a “home built” body conversion to a van. There were some memorable experiences with this “vehicle”. I better put on record before proceeding I had bought “the little beauty” (in my eyes) for the princely sum of £150; keen to show it to Anne I had parked it in Wanganui’s main street at lunch time, close to where Anne worked. I don’t think she could believe her eyes after I had pointed out my purchase. Well, it had four wheels and it went from A to B provided you knew some of its idiosyncrasies. The colour was a dirty dark brown. But we had a lot of fun with it. We carried a couple of beer bottles filled with water at all times to top up the radiator. The clutch had a habit of disengaging at the most inappropriate moments. However the driver could rectify this, by quickly switching a small cover plate (normally fastened on the floor with two bolts, but always only “fastened” with one) between the drivers seat and front passengers seats and fiddling the innards with one of your fingers and “hey pronto” the clutch worked again. The back part was big enough to get a double mattress in (and nothing else) and we used it on long trips as a “camper”, piling all other gear on the front seats to be able to use the mattress. Here is what happened on one long trip, a Christmas Holiday. We left Wanganui for Auckland. On the flat, once the revs were up, the old bus cruised quite nicely, but when we reached the Bombay Hill she slowed to a crawl (you could walk faster). I soldiered on as well as I could, coaxing old “Morrie” and hoping the radiator would last. You should have seen the queue by the time we reached the top of the hill (in those days it was just a two lane sealed road, with no passing bays or lanes and busy two way traffic). We visited some of our shipboard friends in Auckland and left after a few days to visit the Van Zoelens (Lucy and family) who were share farming

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on the Hauraki Plains. It was now the “Xmas Break” when everything closed down. So “Morrie” decided to play up properly. Cruising along on the Great South Road, still in the city, I felt a bit of a “wobble” so I asked Anne to look out of her window at the back wheel and she said “You’d better stop soon or the wheel will fall off!” So I managed to pull up on the side of the road and found the wheel hanging on by one of the wheel studs. We had lost all the other nuts and damaged the studs (see photo album 45-80). I phoned Jan Knol (one of the shipboard friends), told him our predicament and he would try one of his “contacts” and come back to us. Well we were lucky. He found a place for repairs and collected the damaged part (which I had meantime dismantled) but it wouldn’t be ready until the next day. We were “parked” in the middle of one of the suburbs commercial areas, in front of a church property with a tall hedge along the footpath. The church and adjoining vicarage were standing in the only “green area” for miles! We had all our camping gear with us in the “car”, knocked on the door of the vicarage, explained our situation and asked whether we could put our pup tent up for the night behind the hedge. No problem! Tucked-up in our sleeping bags, we quietly enjoyed the snippets of conversation or comments from passers by on the footpath who were quite unaware of our presence. We had no worries about our vehicle, immobilised as it was on a jack and three wheels only.

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The next day our saviour Jan arrived with the repaired (welded) part and after profusely thanking him we were soon on our merry way. Hitting the Hauraki Plains we were not very impressed with the scenery, commenting we would never like to live there. It was too flat! We found the “Van Zoelens” on their farm. From there we went via Tauranga and Rotorua to the Verboekets, also “Zuiderkruis” shipmates. Mr Verboeket was in the same POW camp as me in Bandoeng and was emigrating with a grown up family. They were in Napier. A lot of the State Highway on this route was still only metalled roads. A memorable occasion on this part of the trip was an overnight stop in the “wop wops” on the volcanic plateau. It was getting late so we pulled up off the road in a small cleared area with some scrub and trees nearby. We dove onto our mattress in the back of the van and were soon fast asleep. We got up early in the cool morning and “surprise, surprise” found that we had hot running water next to our “campsite”. We noticed some steam rising in amongst the trees and on investigation we found a “hot water” creek, much to our delight. We found the Verboeket family and without further mishaps we got back to Wanganui. But back to my transfer to the Taumaranui Office. Our little Morris 8 brought us safely up there but of course the cottage had not been added onto. It would be completed in the next financial year! The money for this year had run out! The “cottage” was located at the entry to the “single mans” Ministry of Works Camp at Mananui at the intersection of the main North-South State Highway and the one branching off to Lake Taupo, which crossed the Wanganui River almost immediately (Important to note, see later) It, the cottage, consisted of two single man’s huts, with a somewhat larger central unit in between (exactly like the cottage we had the use of from the Mountain family in years to come, at Ongare Point, before I enlarged that one). There was a separate small shed which held a tub, bath and night-soil can toilet. All camp “traffic” came close by past the cottage. There was no night-soil collection and very little privacy. The workers living in the single men’s huts and their mates had a party practically every weekend, which started Friday night after 87

work and finished in a drunken orgy on a Sunday at the earliest. Although the King Country (of which Taumaranui was a part) was a “dry area” at the time you could not buy bottles of alcoholic drinks, only consume drinks on a licensed club premises and at home. Consequently there were an abundance of licensed clubs and really, this area was “wetter” than many a “wet area”. One of these clubs (The Mananui Working Mens Club) was located across the railway line opposite our cottage. I don’t think I “blew my top” at the office, but must have spoken fairly forcibly about the promises made and the lack of progress on these for our accommodation. With the drunkenness in the “camp” and me sometimes working Saturdays, the situation was not very comfortable for Anne either.

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I have to slip in the “night soil story” here. With no collection, you were supposed to bury the contents of your can on your property. The only problem was, that only a small area of “our property” was diggable and that was our vegetable garden patch. The rest was gravel and boulders (part of the old Wanganui River Bed). So in the “dead of night” Anne and I carried our can up to the Bailey Bridge across the river (after a bit of scouting by me, to see the coast was clear) and with a quick “heave-ho” over she went. For this there was a very heavy fine, but fortunately we were never caught (we had some close shaves though). When the night soil collection contract was due for renewal, apparently only one tender was received and that was from the “milk man” Jim Stephenson. He had the milk run contract and proposed to get his milk truck converted to carry night soil cans low down and milk on a top deck. This was obviously not acceptable, so no collection. Jim and his wife Joyce also ran the general store in Mananui, which was a short walk from our cottage. We frequently called at the shop and they became good friends of ours. They had their house in Taumaranui The Resident Engineer L.P.Jamieson was “the boss” in the office. He had a “monster “ of a 4 or 5 years old son who managed to wreck any part of a car he happened to be in (including his fathers “works” vehicle) Ken and Dorothy Douglas ( Ken another young engineer at the office) and Olga and Leo Lansdorp (Leo worked in a car sales place and Olga did massages) come to mind as people we stayed in touch with for a long time. That was more than the night soil story “I slipped in ,so I better get back on track. The improvements to the cottage suddenly did not have to wait for next financial year’s estimates. Apparently some under expenditure on a bridge job occurred and was made available for the job. A shower and toilet, off a small new entrance lobby, was added to the cottage and a septic tank installed. Also a solid timber fence for “privacy” was erected on two sides of our “section”. With the cottage somewhat elevated you looked straight over the fence from 89

the camp access road (but at least it gave some privacy in the garden!). We started fitting the “Kiwi mould” in that we had a reasonably good vegetable garden here, after starting with one not so successful, at No 3 Line at Wanganui. Another aspect of the cottage worth mentioning is the curtains Anne made for the small windows. For marking any survey work in the field, red calico strips were standard usage. A bolt of red calico was issued to me, which was torn into little strips as required. The cottage soon had cheerful red curtains (we later heard that this was fairly common in outlying MOW houses!!!). What else about the cottage? Oh yes, I built a (loose standing) partition between the kitchen and the sitting area in our “all purpose” middle room, out of empty gelignite and nail boxes and hardboard sheets. With the addition to the cottage (toilet) completed, the little shed became my first “workshop”. Our furnishings were still very few and a dining table was becoming an urgent need. What was available on the market did not appeal to us, so I decided to build one myself. I always liked the Swedish style furniture and I still had some Japanese oak boards in stock. I doweled and glued them together and cut out a large round top. For the legs I had a “brainwave” (they had to be strong and slender) readily available hickory pick handles. Because Anne and I are both tall I also made the table 31 inches high instead of the standard 30 inches. The finished product only had one (minor) drawback. The pick handles being so flexible, rotation wise, the table was not rigid (it “shuddered” if you twisted it). Despite this it served us for many years. Eventually, after close to half a century, the top was cut in half and used as a fold down table when Helen added a self-contained flat on her property at Poronui Street in Auckland.

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21 August 2003. Anne meantime had soon established some nice flower borders around the cottage, but did not have a hell of a lot to keep her busy. And when one day she was in the garden and a passing train loco driver waved to her and she waved back she felt she needed a bit more “people contact” than this. As it so happened there was a vacancy for a clerk in the “admin” section of the MOW office in Taumarunui. Anne had no trouble landing that job and with office hours the same as mine, the transport problem was also solved, as I had a works vehicle available. Don’t think I mentioned yet, that I had the use of an old Ford Mercury sedan for my work, which I could take home as Mananui was some four miles away from my Taumarunui office. Anne was soon familiar with the office routine and with her usual efficiency quickly cleared any work put her way, including bringing any outstanding files up to date. One day, approaching the chief clerk (for the “umpteenth” time) to ask what else she could do, he cried out in desperation “For Christs sake, go and read today’s paper”. It is obvious, that the job did not give much satisfaction and some how or other Anne finished up dress making, working from home. She had always made a lot of her own dresses and had kept a subscription on “Beyer’s Mode”, a German fashion magazine, which included patterns. Anne was competent in adjusting these and could also make her own patterns, from measurements of a person. I built a “cutting table” for Anne in the “spare room” topped by an 8 feet x 4 feet sheet of hardboard. Anne had no trouble attracting customers, including some regulars. In particular, two young “girls”, who appeared to spend all their earnings on new dresses from Anne. On the other side was the not so enjoyable aspect, women who could not find anything in the shops because of their “impossible” figures. At one stage, Anne was earning more from dressmaking than me as a professional engineer!! Meantime I was getting involved in more interesting work. I had surveyed and designed a major highway deviation, just south of Mananui, where the road climbed out of the Wanganui River valley 91

up to the adjoining plateau. The job was approved by District office and a contract let to be supervised by me. Also a new reinforced concrete bridge (designed at head office MOW in Wellington) was to be constructed across the Wanganui River at Mananui, to replace the “temporary” existing Bailey Bridge. At about this time (after a year in Taumaranui office) word started to get around that my next transfer was on the cards, a move to design office in Wellington. It was common practice in those years for young engineers employed by the MOW (Minstry of Works) to be regularly transferred to gain all round experience and to be trained in all aspects of the MOW activities. It should be noted that at that time, the MOW was the biggest planning, design and construction entity in New Zealand. Many later consultancy practices had their staff grounding with the MOW and many a contracting business started off tendering for work, in the knowledge they could hire any plant needed from the MOW. With the emphasis on private enterprise in later years, this Government Department, like many others, is now completely demolished. It is debatable whether this has been to the benefit of the country. I think it is fair to state that the early development of this country’s infrastructure must be credited to the MOW and its predecessor(s). But I am starting to “philosophise”, so back to my story. With the transfer rumours in the air, I approached my boss, the Resident Engineer (LP Jamieson) with the request to stay put for another year, so I could see the completion of my first major road design. This was granted and I also landed the contract supervision for the new Wanganui River Bridge at Mananui. What about relaxation? Well, in the winter it was skiing. Nearby Mt Ruapehu was the big attraction. We were fortunate that an English immigrant was going up to the mountain every weekend from Taumaranui and he offered us a lift, on only one condition. We had to have our own skiing gear as he did not want to waste time at the hire centre on the mountain. So we bought some second hand equipment and learned to ski. Eventually competent to use the tow rope “ski lifts” to pull us up the mountain, so you could enjoy the 92

runs down the hill. We survived without any major mishaps. The worst I experienced was slamming (sideways fortunately) into an ice wall during “white out” conditions, where sky and mountain become one. In the summer we did the odd tramp. One of these was a traverse of Mount Tongariro. From the road this looks the least spectacular of the three mountains, but on top it is the most interesting, with a multitude of small craters and brightly coloured small lakes and on the eastern slope, the Ketetahi Hot Springs. It is on this tramp that Anne developed a life long aversion to sardines. Our companion and guide was an experienced tramper who had told us that he would organise the food for the tramp and all we needed to bring was fluids to drink. So at lunchtime out came he “food”, high energy trampers diet: a large cake of chocolate and tinned sardines in oil. Anne was sick after lunch, while our “mate” even drank the oil of the sardines. Don’t ever mention sardines to Anne! The Department of Conservation (DOC) huts at the time in this area and elsewhere were very basic, corrugated iron with a fire place (ie chimney) at one end and some bunks. Another mountain “experience” we had was a period of eruptions of Mt Ngarahoe, the most active of the three volcanoes. From our cottage in Mananui, we had a clear line of sight and using my survey instruments as a telescope, the eruptions at night were quite spectacular, like big fireworks, when red hot boulders and debris were spouting up high into the air. It was in Taumaranui that we got to know Ken and Dorothy Douglass and Olga and Leo Lansdorp. Ken was a young New Zealand engineer, a colleague of mine at work. The Lansdorps, Dutch immigrants, Leo worked in a vehicle sales business and Olga was a qualified masseuse. At one stage I had some back trouble and Olga cured that. When sometime later Ken complained about his back at work I told him about Olga and he made an appointment with her. After his first encounter he never went back, not even to collect his towel he had left behind. He reckoned the cure was worse than the complaint and thought he was being tortured or murdered. No “kid gloves” with Olga and she used a lot of iodine for heat. 93

Just a few remarks about work. The highway job went smoothly, but the bridge job developed into a major problem. It was a multispan reinforced concrete bridge, with several piers located in the main river channel and some spans across the floodway on the right bank of the river. The “Rope Brothers” got the contract (they built many major bridges in New Zealand afterwards) and construction of the abutments and piers in the floodway progressed smoothly. Framework was well advanced and from the right bank abutments out, beams and decking were partly completed, when problems were experienced with getting the river channel piers to depth. With the bridge designed in head office in Wellington, they became involved and the desired foundation depth for the piers was achieved. However considerable (several months) time delay was experienced and when levels of earlier completed work of the bridge deck (which cantilevered out from a completed pier) were checked, it was found that it had “drooped” several inches at the point furthest away from the pier. Head office was supplied with all the data and ruled that the stress created by this would be unacceptable in the completed structure and that the work had to be “jacked back” to its original levels. Easier said than done. It became an interesting exercise with a multitude of jacks and several level instruments involved, to achieve a gradual and evenly distributed correction. This was achieved and the bridge duly completed. We now come to the main event during our stay in Mananui. Our first born, Helen arrived on the scene. She was not positively planned, but all the same, most welcome.

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This certainly deserves a few lines in my story. First off, with Taumaranui and Mananui located in a large river valley, heavy fogs in the pre, post and winter months were a regular occurrence (sometimes these lasted right through the day). When Helen started to announce her “pending arrival” it was in the early hours of the morning, we had to proceed to the Maternity Hospital in Taumaranui. The fog was as thick as pea soup and the only way I could drive safely with my precious cargo was crawling along with my head out the window, watching the white dotted centre line on the sealed road. We got there safely. Anne had a very hard time of it and the baby also (two days in labour I think she was). On top of that, when Helen eventually arrived, the doctor panicked and spilled some ether in Anne’s eyes (which temporarily blinded her). All was well in the end and on 26th October 1954 there were three in the family. While in Taumaranui we sold our “trusted” Morris van to Siep Doktor, one if two Dutch engineers who had followed in my footsteps to New Zealand, married Allison and eventually rose to Chief Mechanical Engineer MOW in Wellington where he retired.

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Mangakino 1954 My second year in Taumaranui rapidly came to a close and the next transfer was pending. I fully expected this to be Wellington, but in stead we were placed in Mangakino. This was a village, specifically built and run by the MOW, for the construction headquarters and staffing in connection with a series of hydro dams to be constructed along the Waikato River. Maraetai No 1was completed and Whakamaru, in full swing. The senior engineer in charge of the project was Jim Macky. I was placed in charge of what was called the Anderson “Shed” manufacturing steel “penstock” sections. We moved into a cottage in the “workers” quarters of the township, as there was no staff house available on our arrival. Shortly afterwards we moved to a staff house in the street, locally referred to as “Snob- alley” - one of the older streets, with well established trees and gardens, housing most of the senior project staff. As it so happened “our” house was exactly opposite that of “the” big boss, the overall project manager and senior engineer. Apparently a very junior engineer occupying this residence, was not to the liking of some “senior” staff, who considered the closer you lived to “the big boss” the better opportunity for “bootlicking” and “climbing the social ladder”. Anne became good friends with the big boss’ wife, despite the fact that I put the garden hose on their dog, when he tried to use our garden for his toilet. While I and my colleagues had work, there was not much for the engineers wives to do and rotating coffee morning between a group in the street became a regular occurrence. Before relating a bit about my work in Mangakino, I had better record a couple of happenings at this house in Snob Alley. When moving into it we experienced a problem fitting my home built round dining table into the house (you may recall I made it a bit higher

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than standard height). After I had walked around the house several times (with the table), trying every door and window, I finally solved the problem by putting two legs though the glass of a fixed window and rotating the table in through the adjoining open window, reporting “a little accident” afterwards to the maintenance department. On another occasion Anne and I were walking on the lawn of the backyard with some visitors, when I noticed a bit of a depression in the lawn. To judge whether it might need a bit of fill to level it up, I jumped up and down on it and suddenly I almost disappeared. Instinctively, I spread my arms out as I fell through and these held me up on the lawn. The others pulled me out smartly. Thank goodness it hadn’t been little Helen. Apparently, one of the soak holes for the down pipes of the house had eroded a path into a “tomo” over the years. After some 17 truck loads of fill were hosed: into the hole, the fire brigade stopped hosing in the fill and just filled the hole up. Now just a few lines about my work in Mangakino. As I mentioned earlier, I was put in charge of the “Anderson’s Shed”, a massive corrugated iron shed in which the steel penstock sections (18 feet diameters pipe sections) were being prefabricated, by teams of (first class) welders. Practically all of these had been recruited from overseas, mainly the UK and Scots welders prevailed. A lot had “leftist” political leaning’s, some were outspoken communists. On my arrival in Mangakino (at my first morning tea staff gathering) when asked where I was placed on the project, the “hub hub” of conversation virtually came to a stop, when my reply was, the “A shed” and pitiful glances were cast my way. So it was with some trepidation I started my work there. It was not until much later I found out the reason for the staff’s reaction. Apparently the workers in the “A shed” were reputedly amongst the worst agitators on site, causing or going on strikes at the drop of a hat.

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The other reason I was somewhat anxious was that I had never held a welding torch or seen any welding done, certainly not on the scale involved here. I was introduced by my direct boss, Mr Fisher, to my foreman on site and to my predecessor, Mr Coleman, who familiarised me with the work routine and left me to my own devices. My office was a little hut, close to the big shed and my foreman had an office partitioned off in the big “A shed”. All work was done on a “unit rate” contract basis by teams of welders (usually four strong) who had one spokesperson per team, who negotiated unit rates with me. Essentially my job was to have penstock sections completed on time, in sequence required at the Whakamaru dam site and at a competitive cost (within budget) All welding was X-ray tested and any blemishes cut out and made good. Some of the welders produced 100% X-ray proof welds and I am sure, if it had been necessary, could have welded “hanging by their toes”. I soon settled down in my job, leaving the practical supervision of the work to my very capable foreman who had a lifetime experience in the welding industry. As a “professional engineer” I always have had a great respect for the practical experience gained by technicians and tradesmen in their particular field of work. They often had come across “clever” engineering designs in their lifetime, which may have been difficult if not impossible to put into practice and would have found a way around the problem, often simpler and equally effective. In negotiating unit rates for various “types of welds” discussion was on a “one to one” basis between me and the spokesperson in my office. Once rates were agreed upon, discussions often ventured far and wide, at time touching on political philosophies. I recall one such occasion the man I was dealing with expressing his surprise that I didn’t show him the door of my office (kick him out) when he 98

expressed some of his strong communist view points. My response to that was “while you are doing work under my direction, it is of my concern that it is to the standard required within the time frame laid down and at the unit rate cost we have just agreed upon”. “Should your team fail in any of this, I will want some answers from you. However what you think or do after working hours is none of my concern, it is a free country”. (Apparently my pre decessor held a contrary view). At the time “workers unions” were a strong force in the New Zealand Labour scene and on the A shed site, there were several unions involved in the operations with very strict demarcation lines as to which union had to do a certain type of work. The “riggers union” was particularly fussy about this. At times this could be frustrating when the riggers on site were otherwise engaged and a penstock section needed moving for the welders to proceed with their work (despite the fact that they, the welders, were quite capable to do the moving themselves). Tempers flared if the riggers did not turn up within a “reasonable” time as any delays affected the welders earnings, working on contract unit rates. Any “demarcation” breach would lead to “down tools” and a strike situation, apparently a fairly common occurrence before my time at the “A shed”. Probably the combination of my very capable foreman and a certain amount of tolerance from my side, achieved a virtual trouble free workforce situation during my time at the “A shed”, which was less than a year. More about that later. First a few bits that stand out in my memory. On the dam site, the penstock sections were unloaded from the transporters (trucks) by cranes with lifting gear locked onto two “lugs” on either of the penstock section located at the “centre of gravity’ of the section. These “lugs” were welded on at the “A shed” and part of my job was to calculate the position of these lugs. For the straight sections of the cylindrical penstock units this was “easy as pie”. But for the sections which formed part of a bend of the penstocks, some complex calculations were involved. It was the only time in the whole of my working career that I had to make use of “advanced maths”. The need to accurately position of the lugs on these penstock sections was brought home to me by an incident at the dam site. A section of penstock (prefabricated before my 99

time) was hooked up to the crane ready for lifting and when the rigger in charge gave the crane driver the lifting signal, the penstock section started to spin like a top. The rapid reaction by the crane driver, accelerating the lifting movement avoided a tragedy. When I calculated the centre of gravity for this section I found the lugs were wrongly placed. The welders were making good money (well in excess of my salary) but I reckon earning it. The massive corrugated iron shed with large “doors” at either end was impossible to heat in the winter. On a frosty morning, skin would stick to the steel if touched by bare hands. The only “heaters” in the shed were 44 gallon drums, burning waste oil which was dripped into them. At regular intervals workers would stand around these warming their hands to get some life back into them. In summer, the shed was an oven. In the yards, surrounding the “A shed” where completed penstock sections were stored ready for transportation, a “natural hazard” existed in the form of “tomos” or underground cavities which had been formed in this easily erodable pumice country. On one occasion a section (several metres high) disappeared “overnight” with only the top showing in the morning. The drivers of loaded transporters were well aware of the danger and ready to jump out of the cab if they felt part of their “rig” starting to “sink”. All in all I had an interesting and enjoyable time at the “A shed”. I was very surprised when on my leaving (after some eight months) the workers gave me a presentation (an electric shaver) as well as wishing me well. It was all the more valued when I heard later that it was the first time ever in Mangakino that a farewell gift had been presented to somebody who had been in the job for less than a year.

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Paeroa & Te Aroha 1954-56 So why were we on the move again? Part of my coming out to New Zealand for the MOW included a bond (for two or three years) not to leave their employ. This time was now well past, so I was free to “move”, subject to giving three months notice. The career prospects with the MOW were very good. But it involved initially being moved around every one or two years for some ten years, to give you an all round training. After that, should you wish to progress and “climb the ladder”, you would apply for transfers to a higher position. I had been “moving around” since birth and after talking it over with Anne, decided a change of scenery would be worth pursuing, also to “settle down”. My first boss in New Zealand in Wanganui (OD Bell) who had moved to become County Engineer of the Rangitikei County had earlier approached me to become his assistant engineer, but the area did not appeal to us. We wanted to be further north, preferably near the coast. I kept my eyes and ears open for any job vacancies and eventually applied for an engineer’s position with the Hauraki Catchement Board (HCB) with Headquarters in Te Aroha. The position was offered to me and I gave the MOW one months notice. Initially I was stationed at the MOW residency office in Paeroa to liaise between the HCB and the MOW, on the Waihou and Ohinemuri rivers Improvement works (WORI). The MOW had been in charge (design and construction) of all the work on these rivers (stop banks and channel diversion) since its conception in the early 1900’s and the HCB was in the process of taking over the responsibility for these rivers. Amongst others, I had to peruse some 40 year of old files, which fully occupied a small building and most of these had not been touched for ages. One year was “allocated” to this. I never got through all of them, but managed to abstract some useful technical data in whatever time allowed, as the HCB increasingly called on me to investigate local problem areas. The Rotokohu – Kuaiti farm area (close to Paeroa and the confluence of the Waihou and

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Ohinemuri rivers) which was subject to regular flooding was one and the “Pereniki loop” and floodway on the Ohinemuri River (just downstream from Paeroa) another. Our accommodation was a small MOW cottage in George Street, Paeroa (600 square feet, 3 bedrooms). The living room had five doors opening onto it and really was a thoroughfare (I think we used one of the bedrooms as a dining room). While we were in Paeroa the HCB was building its first lot of staff houses in Te Aroha in Poole Street, one of these was going to be ours. The HCB head office was housed in a converted two storey old villa at the Southern end of town. At the time there was only a small office staff. Mr Davies, a Welshman, the Chief Enigineer, the secretary, Mr Walsh, a hydrologist (Geoff Riddle) a South African Structural Engineer (Brown), myself, a senior clerk and typist and in the Kerepehi office, a senior engineer John Grindley (in charge of the Piako River Scheme) and his office staff. Those early years in the HCB were an interesting time, with basic river data and behavioural patterns to be collected and established. I supervised the construction of the gauging station on the Ohinemuri River at Karangahake. On the Waihou there was a station near Tirohia. Every flood flow had to be measured by gauging if at all possible and in particular severe floods, preferably at or near peak flow, no matter what time of day or night. The Waihou and Ohinemuri Rivers system is an interesting one, in that the Ohinemuri (the main tributary to the Waihou) is a rapidly peaking “flood flow” river, fed by an almost circular high-intensity rainfall catchment, while the Waihou river is a “slow peaking” one, with a longer lasting peak flow. The worst experience I had was a night time gauging effort of the Ohinemuri River, at Karangahake. We received word in Te Aroha in the evening that the Ohinemuri River was rising rapidly, with peak flow expected sometime in the middle of the night. It was still raining heavily in the catchment area. 102

By the time we arrived in Paeroa, the only access left to the Karangahake gauging station was to walk in along the railway line from Paeroa. We had the heaviest gauging torpedo weight with us (100lbs) and in full wet weather gear we trudged along the railway line. It was still raining when we arrived in Karangahake. We assembled our gear, two of us climbed into the small “cable car” and moved out over the raging river, which roared below us with “standing” waves. We had hooked up our heaviest torpedo weight for the gauging, but every time we tried to lower it into the torrent below us, it was tossed about like a cork. There was nothing for it but to abandon the effort and tramp back to our vehicles, arriving like drowned rats. A few days later I surveyed the flood gradient of the river in the actual gorge upstream of the gauging station from flotsam left behind during the flood. It measured an “unbelievable gradient” of “one in fifty”. But I am getting ahead of myself. Just after arriving in Paeroa, a family across the road from us welcomed us to the street and asked whether or not we liked chicken to eat. A few days later (they had a chicken run in the backyard) I was asked to come over and was handed a live chicken! They obviously noticed my consternation and when told by me that I had never killed any animal, not even a chicken, they did the “dirty deed’ for me. Shortly after arriving in Paeroa, an Engineer from England and his family moved into the cottage abutting our back boundary. They were Bob and Gerry Payne and their three young children, two boys and a girl. They became good friends of ours. Bob transferred to the MOW in Rotorua later and died unfortunately at a relatively young age. Gerry remarried and we lost touch with her. Another major family event occurred in that No 4 in our family. Deborah was born in the Paeroa Maternity Hospital. This happened at just about the time that we were going to move to the new HCB house in Te Aroha, one of a row of three or four staff houses. 103

We duly moved into the Poole’s Road house and the “raw” section which we started to convert into a garden. Meantime, in correspondence between us and our parents in Holland, Anne’s parents started to “drop some hints” as to when we were coming over for a visit. Apparently when fare welling us in 1951, in reply to a query from her Mother as to when she would see her daughter again, Anne had said “oh, maybe in eight years or so”. This was going to be a problem. No way could we see our way clear to finance a trip like this for the family in foreseeable years. I think it was some eight months after our move to Te Aroha, that the South African colleague of mine at the HCB came to me, drawing my attention to a “job vacancies” ad in one of the overseas publications available to us at the Board. The Iraq government was seeking “inspectorate staff” for the Derbendi Khan project (concrete engineers, soil engineers and hydrologists). He himself was interested, had spoken to Geoff, our hydrologist, who was also interested and he knew I had soil mechanics experience. What about it? So Anne and I talked it over, weighing up the “pro’s and con’s”. The political climate in the Middle East was far from stable, even

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then already. In the end we decided, reluctantly, to give it a go and I put in an application for Soils Engineer (my colleagues also applied respectively for Concrete engineer and Hydrologist). Before recording what eventuated I better make a note of a few happenings while in Te Aroha. First off, we acquired our second car, my trusted works car from Taumaranui, the Ford Mercury. I got wind that the MOW in Taumaranui were going to have a “surplus plant” auction and that “my” old car was going to be one of the items. Although she had clocked up a few miles, I knew that the car had a complete mechanical overhaul and new upholstery and should be in good condition. I went to the auction in Taumaranui and got it “for a song”. It served us well for the time we had it. The only mishap we had is that one day en route to Paeroa the muffler fell off and suddenly the full “lions roar” of the powerful V8 motor blasted around the countryside. I made some profit on the sale, before we left for Iraq. Another event to put on record is my one and only cricket experience as a “bowler”. A “social” cricket game event was organised by and for the HCB staff at the Te Aroha College grounds. Everybody had to have a turn at bowling, but at my turn, after I had “bowled” my first ball, I was smartly replaced. I “threw” the ball, according to all the participants which is dangerous!! Well, I never was a cricket fan, so what? Also, while in Te Aroha, we met the Henwood family. How we first made contact I cannot recall, but Pop and Mum Henwood became our “ N Z grandparents”. “Pop” had an ice cream factory in Te Aroha (taken over later by “Tip Top ”) and “Mum” was a “very big lady” with a large grown up family. She was a marvellous cook and had a commercial Aga stove in her home kitchen. They lived close to us in Te Aroha and we were always welcome. She adored our girls (She had mainly sons and one girl with a speech handicap.

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Iraq – Derbendikhan Dam 1956-58 So now what happened after I applied for the Middle East job? 04/10/03 (Note: Just back home from a week, visiting Jeanne in Auckland and Helen in Mahurangi East.) After a period of time a very lengthy telegram arrived for me from Iraq, with a job offer for a two year contract (20 months work and 4 months “full pay” leave), first class return travel N Z- Iraq for family and salary offered. The latter was more than twice what I was earning. You can imagine the “small town buzz” that eventuated, (No “privacy” law existed yet) everybody just about knew about the job offer to the new “Dutchie” in town and from the Middle East as well!! Both Anne and I decided to give it a go. But two problems arose. I was happy in the type of work I was doing and the prospect of an interesting career in it. So I applied for “leave of absence” for the contract period, should I accept the job offer. This was declined by the Board. I could apply on my return, should there be a staff vacancy, of which there was no guarantee. The second problem was more severe. Neither of us was naturalised, so we were still Dutch citizens (on a change of abode, having to report to the local police station) and found out that as such, the longest we could leave the country for was 18 months! Any longer and we would have to reapply for entry into New Zealand and join the queue! Well, that was not on. Both Anne and I were adamant that if we could not come back to New Zealand as of right, I would not take the job offered. Meantime I was having lengthy phone conversations with the Dutch Ambassador in Wellington, who made every effort to break the deadlock, but was not getting to first base. I was a member of the Te Aroha chapter of the Junior Chamber of Commerce (the “Jay Cees”) and during a casual conversation with

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some members at our weekly meeting night, mentioned my problem and could not understand that this country, desperately short at the time of professional engineers, would not let me automatically re-enter after longer than 18 months absence. Neither could the members of the club, so they decided that the Secretary write to the Minister of Immigration in Wellington on my behalf. Problem solved! Within a week there was a reply. I could accept the job and after 18 months absence, all I had to do was to go to the nearest New Zealand High Commissioner’s office to get re-entry permits stamped into Anne’s and my passports. That cleared the way for our departure. I gave notice to the Board, we sold our car and a few bits and pieces. I think the Henwood’s stored the few items we wanted to hang onto. They also saw us off at Auckland Airport. So off we went with two small kiddies in tow, Deborah really still a “babe in arms”. It was October 1957. Just as well we travelled first class! Even so, a baby bassinette was not always readily available on the flights. We changed planes in Sydney and had a stopover in Manila (Philippines). It was longer than scheduled as the plane had some engine problems. I contacted the local JC chapter and some members promptly turned up at our “5 star” hotel. They insisted to take us out but we couldn’t leave Helen and Deborah on their own. So in the end I succumbed and went with them. They took me to a court where a fast ball game was being played, I think it was “Pilote”. Two opposing teams hurled a small ball backwards and forwards using curved baskets, strapped to their lower arms. Betting went on continually and as heavy as the New Zealand TAB. When I came back to the hotel Anne had tried to get some soft custard for Deborah to eat. That was “too common” for this hotel and room service delivered a “baked custard sandwich”. Next day some of the JC members saw us off at the airport and stayed for a while after our departure, in case the plane had any problems and had to return. We had another brief stopover in Karachi of which I only recall an impression of heat and dust. Finally we arrived at Baghdad Airport, 107

expecting at least somebody to be at the airport to “welcome us” but not a sign of anybody. Fortunately, some useful information had been conveyed to us in New Zealand, amongst all the telegrams sent. I remembered some Baghdad hotel names. After collecting our baggage we piled into a taxi and sped off to the hotel (forgotten the name now) in central Baghdad. We booked in, got a room and the first thing we needed was some milk for Deborah, who was just about dehydrated by now. It was as if Anne had asked for the “Crown Jewels”. Fresh cows’ milk? Goats’milk maybe. I think we just finished up getting some reconstituted milk powder, better than nothing. Next day I contacted the company’s Baghdad office (could not get any answer on the day we arrived) and was told that “yesterday was a national holiday” so nobody was at work, not even to receive a family arriving from halfway around the world! And the little Cesna plane to fly us to the job, had been booked for us and had left empty, as we had not turned up. As well the little plane was booked solid for the next two weeks, so the only alternative to reach the job site was by taxi. In doing so we were advised to load the taxi up with as many groceries and supplies as it would hold above us and our luggage. Apparently the only source of supply “on site’ was the contractor’s store which charged exorbitant prices to non-contractor’s staff which we were (I was an employee if the Iraq Government on the Inspectors Staff, supervising the Contractor’s). Fortunately there was a major grocery store not far from the hotel and we managed to get 300 UK pounds worth of groceries in our taxi. After a hot and tiresome trip of several hours we duly arrived at the job site and were directed to the “upper village” for our temporary accommodation in the “guest house”. There was no house immediately available! As well, the guest house was not really fully operational and furnished. We finished up in a room with two or three single beds (not the same height) which we shoved together to serve the family of us four (I think we slept across the beds). I should explain here, that he “upper village” consisted of a group of large houses and the guest house-come-recreation centre.

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It was going to house the permanent operations staff once the large dam was completed. Meantime the houses were occupied by some of the more senior married staff on the job. It was located on a plateau above the river valley. The road from it to the “lower village” descended very steeply and had several “hairpin” bends in it. There was a regular free “taxi service” between the two “villages” (big old American cars with Iraqi drivers – hair raising) Practically all “on the job life” happened in the lower village which was situated on the river valley floor. The main site office, mess hall, bachelor’s quarters as well as smaller basic staff housing were located here. Some of these were built from local stone (thick walls) others were more composite materials prefabricated. All had air conditioning (units which made a hell of a racket!). Also nearby was the “Contractor’s village” and a scattering of mud huts, where locals lived and traded. The soils laboratory was located close to the main office. This was where I went to work. The lab basically had to be set up and local Iraqi staff trained, to do soil testing work. The Derbendi Khan dam to be built was what is commonly called a “rock-fill” dam. Although rock is the main component, it is a complex structure with a multitude of “graded” material zones and an “impervious” clay core. At the time it was amongst the highest such structures to be built in the world. When we arrived on site, the construction stage reached was “coffer dams” upstream and downstream of dam site in place, river diversion tunnel completed and excavation for dam footing and abutments in progress. Site work went on 24 hours a day in shifts, seven days a week. Prior to construction work, several potential “borrow pit” areas on the plateau, adjacent to the dam site had been identified for supply of the “impervious” dam core material. The soils lab had to further refine the study of these materials by extensive sampling and analysis of their basic properties. The consistency and variation of same, optimum moisture content for compaction being a key factor. Also for field testing during 109

construction of the “core”, some uniform grained sand deposits had to be investigated for use in volume- measuring of sample holes dug out of compacted fill. Of necessity a lot of this work is repetitive routine work. This was what the Iraqi laboratory assistants were to be trained for. Laboratory equipment was substantially USA manufactured looked very impressive, but I found in use not always having desirable tolerances of accuracy. However a bigger challenge was to impress on the trainees the need for absolute honesty when collecting sample data. They were inclined to please, rather than admit a mistake. They might spill part of a sample, brush it up as well as possible and carry on (if nobody had noticed) rather than discard the sample and start afresh. Enough job talk for now. We didn’t stay in the guest house very long. One of the (stone) houses in the lower village was in use for storage purposes and was being vacated for us. The result was that we finished up, not with standard married quarters issue, but with two of something and none of the other! But it was a great improvement on the guest house. Anne also managed to obtain the services of a “house boy” a middle aged Khurd, who doted on children and loved to take Deborah for a stroll in her push chair. Later on we found that he had left Khurdistan (in Northern Iraq) as he had stabbed another Khurd to death (The result of a family “blood feud”), an eye for an eye was a common attitude for then). We never had any trouble with Adam. I mentioned earlier that I was on the Inspectorate staff of the project. This was quite a cosmopolitan group, comprising many nationalities. The top man was American (The dam design was by American consultants Harza Engineering). The two I/C also and one or two others then Swedes, Danes, Irish, Scots, English, Greeks, Dutch and New Zealanders. Social life was pretty active; there was also a small swimming pool and tennis courts in the lower village. Despite the temperatures 110

reached (120ºF in the shade) in the summer, the latter were still busily used. The heat was a very dry heat and provided you kept your fluids and salt intake up, quite bearable. In contrast during the winter there were severe frosts (night) and even snow. And in the, all too short, spring the surrounding desert came to life, with an abundance of wild flowers. The famous Dutch tulips, I have been told, originated in the Middle East. I saw the wild tulips in bloom, miniatures they were, but the flower shape was unmistakeable. I tried to get down to the bulb and succeeded once, 30cm down into the rocky ground. This “flower show” only lasted a few weeks and everybody went wild with cameras including me, taking close ups of every type of flower showing (colour slides being the “in” thing). We once again moved house (staying in the “lower village”) further away from the main road and slightly larger and also having a full compliment of all the “household goods” for a married quarter. A few houses down the row was a Dutch couple (Hoeke) with a young son about Helen’s age and they encouraged their boy to play in the sandpit with Helen, hoping that he would pick up the English language! Surprise surprise, it was not very long and Helen could happily converse in Dutch with the boy. And talking about languages and kids there was another couple on the job, he was English, she was Lebanese and both were fluent in several languages (English, French and Arabic). They had a young son, I think he was two or three years old, who did not speak at all. Apparently at home they conversed in any one (or several) of the languages, hoping that the boy would grow up multilingual from the start. Instead he was totally confused. Among the staff there were some characters. One, an American engineer, Colonel Vance (they seem to keep their army title when they had been in the army Corps of Engineers) who lived in the “top village”, had his own horse and regularly went riding off into the desert in his cowboy outfit. Also, it was reputed, he came out to the job with several tuxedos in his baggage, expecting to be stationed in Beirut, on the Mediterranean Coast, while being involved in his work at Derbandi Khan!

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On the contractors side of the job there were quite a few American’s employed. The Contractors village was near but quite separate from ours. It also had the only “small supermarket” type store on site. The prices for contractors’ staff were heavily subsidised. We could also shop there, but paid through the nose. Because of this it was not very long and a group of us (the Inspectorate staff) organised a “coop”. As required, a buying trip to Sulamanya (the nearest reasonable sized town) was organised to bring in fresh supplies for the members. Coming back briefly to the American’s on the contractors staff (mainly operators). It happened, occasionally, that a new employee, flown out from the states, arriving from Baghdad in the little Cessna plane had one look at the job and the isolated location and didn’t even unpack his bags. They were flown right back to the States, apparently part of the contract arrangements at no cost to them. 07/12/03 Well I better carry on with this tale, otherwise I’ll be 90 before I finish. Still on the job in Iraq. There was one New Zealand engineer who had been on the job from the start, Stuart Menzies, he probably had been the deciding factor in me landing a position on the job. One of the persons I had referred to in my application was Jim Macky, one of the Senior Engineers in Mangakino. He was known to Stuart Menzies and a reference was obtained from him. Apparently in this, Jim had included that from the Dutch Engineers who had come to New Zealand, I had impressed him as one of the most capable. Several more New Zealand Engineers joined the workforce in Iraq around the same time as me. Bruce Tait, wife and young family (concrete) and Don Wilson come to mind. Both came back to New Zealand (like us) eventually. Bruce finished up in Wellington and Don in Auckland. As I mentioned earlier, the staff was quite an “international community” and an active social life developed outside working hours, parties and dances even a “ball-costume”. 112

I was fortunate enough to have a regular daytime job only i/c of the soils lab. As work on the dam continued 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, a lot of the staff were on shift work (shifts rotating regularly). A lot of the talk, particularly among the men folk dealt with cameras, both still and movie, electronic equipment and cars. I was as involved as anybody else in this and soon acquired my first 25mm SLR (Single Lens Reflex) camera a German Contaflex. This was stolen and I replaced it by the 35 SLR camera I still have. On the cinecamera front, the general local consensus was that the NIZ0 was hard to beat. How I acquired mine I will reveal later. A lot of discussion however centred about what car to acquire and in our case, how to arrive at 12 months ownership of a vehicle to enable us to bring it into New Zealand as personal effects. To achieve this, we had to buy a vehicle while still in Iraq and on completion of my 20 months contract work travel overland to Holland. Both Anne and I were keen on that adventure and seeing part of countries we were not likely to travel to or through once back in New Zealand. So I ordered an Opel station wagon from Germany to be shipped to Iraq. Little did we know what lay ahead! The revolution in Iraq, when the army took control (after murdering the whole Royal family) took place about half way through my contract period. Apart from a strict curfew being imposed on site and the presence of soldiers, we experienced no immediate effects on the job. But it certainly had a dramatic impact on any future plans. As soon as communications with the outside world were reestablished I managed to first of all cancel the order for my car, just in time to avoid any financial liability. That was a blessing. With no certainty about order or chaos likely to develop the next thought about most families including us was how to get woman and children out of the country to safety. Fortunately the opportunity to achieve this presented itself fairly soon and in August ’58 Anne with Helen and Deborah left for Holland and were received with open arms and a sigh of relief by Anne’s parents. The husbands staying behind meantime had their own “emergency plans” should the position become dangerous or untenable. We would “hike” to the

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Persian (Iran) border, although the terrain was pretty rugged each of us had an emergency pack ready, to leave at a moments notice. Fortunately the need for this did not eventuate and work settled down into its normal routine. After Anne left, one of the bachelors on site, Laury Donald moved in with me to share the house. Not all the families left, one that stayed behind were the McIntosh’s, a few houses down from mine (Margaret, Bob and their son Hamish). Contact with the outside world in general returned to “normal” fairly quickly, to the extent that I could safely plan for a brief visit to Holland for Xmas 1958 to see Anne and the family. Meantime I had wracked my brain, to see how we could still come back to New Zealand with a new car. One way to achieve this was selling or trading in a car which you had owned for 12 months and replacing it by a similar sized or model new car. Time for this was rapidly running out so I sent a telegram to Anne “buy a second hand Ford Zephyr, before such and such a date”. When this telegram arrived in Holland, Anne’s father commented “You’re sure Henk is all right, has not got sunstroke or something?” but Anne assured him that I knew what I was doing! So Anne and her father went car hunting and located a suitable vehicle before long. So the salesman said to Anne “would you like to take it for a test drive” to which Anne’s reply was “I have not got a licence!” A very perplexed salesman couldn’t quite fathom out why somebody without a license would like to buy a car. Anyway the deal was struck, Anne’s father drove the car home, gave Anne driving lessons and Anne soon sat her test and got her license. It gave her freedom of movement while in Holland on her own. My Xmas visit to Holland also opened the door for me getting an 8mm movie camera, at direct ex factory price. One of the German staff on the job had a contact in Germany and arranged for the NIZ0 camera to be delivered on board my plane, during the brief stop over in Frankfurt (Germany), en route to Amsterdam. I would meet the contact over a cup of coffee in the transit lounge and hand over the payment (I think it was in $US). It was a total matter of trust, as I would not see my “merchandise” until I boarded the plane again. To my great relief the “delivery” 114

was made. Next problem would be, how to get it into Holland, without declaring and paying duty, as I planned to leave the camera with Anne when returning to Iraq. So I left the plane, with the carry all case (holding the camera and all accessories) strap over my shoulder. Entering the arrival area at Schiphol airport, the ‘problem’ solved itself. There separated by only a waist height “barrier”, were Anne, Mum and Dad to meet me. I quickly took the strap off my shoulder and in pausing said to Anne, “There, take this, will explain later”. Went through passport control and baggage was just waived through and met the family outside. That was that. Had a pleasant break and a family reunion, before returning to the job to see out my contract. Anne and the children stayed with her parents in Delft initially, after they left Iraq. My parents had a house in Harderwyk and Anne managed to rent a house in their area. Some time after landing back on the job in Iraq I entered into an intimate relationship with my very uninhibited near neighbour. With her husband on shift work and my work involving only day shift, facilitated our meetings. Our confidence was badly shaken one night however, when suddenly a merrily whistling husband came marching up the track to the house, during his shift, and when he reached the front door, I just had escaped through the back door, with, I hoped, all my clothes bundled in my arms. I can still hear my heart thumping. Our liaison lasted till we left the job. As it so happened the husband and my contract finished on the same day as did I think it was Laury Donald’s. Winding up our affairs in Iraq was still an anxious time. I don’t think I mentioned earlier on, that from our earnings we were entitled to transfer 50% overseas. For this I had opened an account with the Bank of Scotland in the U.K. Any balance, from the other 50%, had to be retained in Iraq during our contract. At the end of the contract, application had to be made to transfer any Iraq bank balance overseas. How the bureaucrats in Baghdad would react from day to day was anybody’s guess. However all went smoothly for all of us and we happened to fly out of Baghdad on the same plane.

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The overseas newspapers we picked up in Baghdad the day of our departure, were full of articles about riots in Baghdad and the countryside general. We never saw any of this and the airport was normal. Shortly after take off we flew into a horrendous thunderstorm. The pilot had announced, there was no way around it. The large 3 engined plane was tossed around like a leaf, and I didn’t think the wings of such a plane could “flap up and down” like they did, without breaking off. I must admit I and all aboard were “scared shitless”. We got out of it fairly quickly and crossed over the border of Iraq, Syria and Turkey. At that point we finally relaxed and drank a toast on the completion of our contract and an escape out of Iraq in one piece.

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Holland & New Zealand 1958 I flew on to Holland and rejoined the family. From memory it was just the start of the main school holidays. One of the places Anne had taken Helen and Deborah to on fine days was a swimming pool complex in a pine forest nearby to where she lived in Harderwyk. So one fine sunny day we decided to all go there. But we had forgotten about the school holidays. You could hardly move from the bodies both in and out of the large pool complex. We still had a fun day, with some of it caught on the 8mm movie. About the only place in Holland where you can still find some privacy, is on a boat on the lakes and waterways. As a special treat for Anne and me our parents promised to look after the kids, so we could have a break together. We hired a small cabin sailing boat, the “Ellebell” from one of the yacht harbours on the Loosdrechtse Plassen (lakes). We had a glorious time with enough sun and wind and a little rain (wouldn’t be Holland without it). The trouble was, that when it rained there was a slight leak over one of the bunks in the cabin. That must have been the cause for the “launching of Judy”, as we only later discovered of course. The time in Holland with family and friends passed fairly quickly with no worries. We had a house, a car and my full salary kept coming in for the first four months, but there after nothing came in, while the expenses carried on. So towards the end of our stay I became a bit restless. We had booked our return trip to New Zealand by boat – the “Willem Ruys” and I had also ordered a new Ford Zephyr from the Ford factory in the U.K. to be shipped out in the same ship. (Ex factory price, no tax or duties). Next panic stations!! When trying to pay for the car from my account with the Bank of Scotland the verdict was, that my account was considered a New Zealand one and my funds therefore did not qualify as “overseas funds”. Telegrams flew backwards and forwards and I instructed the Bank of Scotland to get clearance of my funds from the Bank of New Zealand with whom I had kept an account open in Te Aroha. Later on (when back in New Zealand), I heard that the Bank of New Zealand staff in Te Aroha had been all a fluster when a telegram

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arrived from the United Kingdom, reply paid, with a request to clear my funds held in the United Kingdom as overseas earnings. In haste apparently, clearance was given (although later doubt was expressed whether this had been the correct decision). That cleared the way and a brand new (canary yellow) Zephyr Mk2 was ours. (The only new car I ever owned). Travel by passenger ship is utter luxury. It was Anne’s first experience of it (the 1951 trip to New Zealand by immigrant ship, was not in the same league). Everything you need is cared for and we thoroughly enjoyed this luxury end of our holiday. We disembarked in Melbourne with the family to visit my two brothers, John and Tony, who at the time were both share milking on different farms, not far from Melbourne. They were on the quay to meet us. We had not seen one another for years. Whether we joined the Willem Ruys again in Sydney or flew the last leg to New Zealand I cannot recall. Anyway, in late 1959 we were welcomed with open arms by our New Zealand “grandparents”, Mum and Pop Henwood, in Te Aroha. I do know, that I collected our car from the boat in Wellington. Because it had been used (briefly) on the roads in Europe, it had to be fumigated to avoid any ‘nasties” being imported. But that was not done after unloading!! I had to drive it halfway across Wellington, to a garage which was authorised for the procedure!!!! What a farce. But more urgent was my need to find a job and accommodation for the family.

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Waihi 1960 I had been scanning the newspapers for a while (The Hauraki Catchment Board had no vacancies at the time) and spotted an ad for a vacancy in Waihi, Borough Engineer. Worth a try, as both Anne and I would like to settle somewhere in the Northern part of the North Island, but not in one of the major cities. We went for a drive to Waihi, had a good look around and liked the look of the place, so I applied for the job. Meantime we had found out that the majority of the houses in Waihi did not have flush toilets and septic tanks, but were serviced by “night soil collection”. Also there was no house offered with the job in the ad. So I went to the interview with two must conditions should the job be offered to me. The Council to find me a suitable house to rent, which had to have a septic tank!! The salary offered was about half of what I had been earning in Iraq, but enough to live on and I never have been chasing big pay packets! Well, the long and short of it was, that I was offered the job and Council found me a house (with septic tank) to rent at 22 Moresby Ave. the house belonged to a Mr Binney, who had shifted to Auckland (I think he had been assistant Town Clerk in Waihi).

I was to start work after the statutory holiday in the New Year of 1960 and in December we moved from Te Aroha to Waihi. Our 1959 Xmas was memorable all right, in that both Anne and I were

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slaving away to clean out the house and make it a “home” with the bits and pieces we had recovered from storage. The house itself was a solid old kauri villa, but in need of a lot of TLC (Tender loving care). It had settled on the old timber piles and in several rooms the wallpaper was ripped and hanging down from the walls. The large kitchen was in the back of the house with a miniscule sink and bench top (about 4 feet wide), in a lttle alcove. It also had a coal range with a “wet back”, heating the hot water cylinder. Between the kitchen and the wash house shed there was an enclosed and roofed over area and through this and then the wash house you reached the back door to the rear garden and there in the full glory stood the little “outhouse”, with I admit a flush toilet in it, which had replaced the night soil can!! Also, as was common in the old houses, there were no built in wardrobes in any of the rooms, only in the kitchen, some cupboards. The house was big, with a rather awkward layout as it was, but we felt had a lot of ‘promise’ and the location and views from the garden we loved. So we decided to buy it and go to work on fulfilling it’s promise! House prices in Waihi at this time were rock bottom, after closure of the goldmine in 1952. A lot of people thought Waihi would follow other “gold towns” and become a ‘ghost town’. But, as Waihi has shown time and again, it would not die. We bought the house for 1500 pounds ($3000), and before any inside work I had to start at the foundations. I must have been hard to live with at that time, trying to bury myself in my new work and plans for the house, in an effort to forget Margaret. I was still corresponding with her and her letters were addressed to me at the Borough office. This arrangement ‘exploded’ some time after the birth of (on March 1st 1960), Margaret’s baby (Karen Fiona) , when the “postie” delivered one of her letters, with a photo of baby Karen enclosed, to our home address. Anne quite innocently had opened the letter and discovered my dalliance. Traumatic as this must have been for her, and expecting our third child, Anne stood by me, provided I promised to break contact with 120

Margaret absolutely. I did this and stuck to it until many years later, when I was well into my second marriage – as I will recount later in my story. On May 8th, 1960 Judy was born at the Waihi Maternity Annexe which virtually convinced me that I could only father girls.

Waihi – arrival of Judy Henrietta Bange – 8 May 1960 (Mother’s Day)

A little aside to this, my cousin Jeanne van Bokhoven, who during our absence from the country had immigrated to New Zealand with her family, had promised to baby sit while Anne was in the Annexe. I took Helen and Deborah with me to collect Jeanne in Auckland and it was late in the day before we were heading back to Waihi. The children were asleep on the back seat and Jeanne next to me in front. On the old “State Highway straight” into Ngatea I had dipped my headlights for oncoming traffic, when I suddenly saw a vague dark movement in front of me. I applied the brakes, but still hit, what proved to be a black cow, with my left front head light, in the neck as it swung it’s head away from the car. I got out, severely shaken (the kids and Jeanne were ok), and proceeded to walk to the nearest farm house, where a light was showing. I got the farmer out (with a gun) as the animal was in a bad way. By the time we got back to the car, the animal had died. We managed to pull the front mudguard clear of the tyre, the car started and steering was ok, so we could thankfully proceed on our journey home. We arrived safely and so did Judy at the Annexe. I found out that it was legally practically impossible to claim damage from the animal’s owner (if you could locate him), so my insurance company paid for the repairs and I lost my “no claims” bonus. That was a bit of a harsh New Zealand christening for the Zephyr. 121

Waihi Borough Council 1960 – 1988 But first, let me tell you a bit about Waihi Borough, the reason why they were looking for an Engineer and what I found when I started work. Gold mining created the town, with initially many mining companies operating or exploring the area in and around Waihi. Eventually only one large underground mine remained operational on Martha Hill, operated by the Waihi Gold Mining Company. This finally closed down in 1952 after many years of closing rumours,, year by year. Not only did the closing have a severe impact on the town, the years of uncertainty preceding it had led to neglected maintenance of all municipal services which existed at the time, and they were far from complete. Land values dropped and as a result rating revenue for the Borough was severely curtailed. I should briefly mention here, that in the earlier mining days, the Borough received gold revenue from every ounce of gold produced. This income peaked until the 1912 strike and thereafter never fully recovered, although it was for many years still very substantial. In the early years it was almost “astronomical”. The Borough was constituted as such in 1902. For a few years a qualified Engineer was in the Borough’s employ, with an outside staff of around 80. Following him, non-qualified “heads” of work staff were in charge, some still called “Engineers”. When I joined the Borough the outside staff of 12 was under the control of a foreman Wally Bidois, a very capable and hard worker. Apart from the mine closing, another aspect affected the potential of the Borough. The town came into being under the Mining Act and land titles were either R.S.L.’s (Resident Site License), or B.S.L.’s (Business Site License). The former, on which a house could be erected, were of a minimum size of one acre (0.4 hectare) and all these licenses were 21 year leases with perpetual right of renewal, at a forever fixed rental. For R.S.L.’s this was I think five shilling per year and for B.S.L.’s ten shillings or a pound per annum. These titles were therefore as secure as free hold titles, but the word Mining in the “title” caused many sources of mortgage or loan financing to shy of them (banks and solicitors). A saving grace, at the time of mine closing, was the existence of the Akrad

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(electronics) factory in Waihi, although employees were predominantly female. This factory came into being as the result of a local young man (Keith Wrigley), with an early hobby into radios. He managed to attract quite substantial contracts during the war related to his hobby, and his Akrad Radio Factory resulted after the war. They also produced a children’s bicycle for a while (a proto type is still in the Waihi Museum). Well, in a round about way, I have come to “Why was the Borough looking for an Engineer?” It was about eight years since the mine closed, the town had stabilised and needed urgent work to be done. Waihi was surrounded by the Ohinemuri County, with head office in Paeroa, who had a registered Engineer in their employ. From time to time the Borough Council had called on his services on a consultancy basis, with the County Council’s approval. The Borough Council also paid some nominal fees to the County to cover several Bylaw services (I think in the order of 50 pounds p.a.). By now (1959), the Borough Council had listed a number of streets in the town, they required to be brought up to a reasonable standard and sealed. They could not pay for this out of revenue, so a loan had to be applied for. The County Engineer compiled a schedule of work, an estimate and a loan proposal for 60,000 pounds ($120,000). This was approved by the loans board, subject to supervision by a qualified Engineer (for which the County Engineer was not available). So the Borough Council advertised for such a person and I applied, after Anne and I had gone over in the car from Te Aroha to look the place over and liked the general look of it. Lots of mature trees, a green hill in the middle of town (Martha Hill), and what looked like the ruins of an old church on the side of it (actually, the old Pumphouse from the mine). To get a section (if available), on the North West side of the hill to build a house on looked to us an ideal location. How innocent were we?!!! It should be noted that at the time there was no local information centre, nor did the Mining Museum exist, to enlighten us. I applied with some apprehension, as I by myself would be the whole of the “Engineering Department”, and I had no municipal 123

engineering experience. The salary offered was half of what I had been earning overseas. But everything else fitted our wishes. A small town, close to a beach, near enough to the larger cities and in the Northern half of the North Island. The whole Council interviewed me, mainly elderly citizens, with Chris Christensen as Mayor. One of the requirements I had to meet was to become “registered”, as an Engineer. This meant submitting some reports and drawings of work carried out under a registered engineer, a C.V, and attending subsequently what was called a “professional interview” (P.I.), consisting of a verbal interview by a panel of senior engineers and a written “report” about an engineering problem put to you by the panel. The earliest an application could be made for the P.I. was after three years experience, following university. By now I had eight years experience, but had to fall back on my earlier New Zealand work period. All the material submitted had to be signed by the applicable engineer, I had worked under at the time. I managed to get all this together, attended my P.I. in Wellington and became registered in May 1963. I don’t recall anything about the verbal part, but clearly recall the written part. The question was: As Borough Engineer you are to report to Council on a water supply development for the Borough, and outline the “pros and cons” of a gravity supply from a hill catchment or a pumped supply from a river”. How appropriate, that this became one of my biggest “battles” with Council, later in my career. From here on I will have to skip some of the minor details and stick to the highlights or I will not finish this tale of mine. (It’s now late January 2004 and earlier this month I had some very enjoyable 80th birthday celebrations). I have earlier told about “the state” of the house in Waihi we bought, and I should now briefly describe “the state” (existing) Borough services were in: Roads: Apart from the State Highways (No.2 and 25), through the town (Parry Palm and Seddon Avenue and Kenny Street East of Rosemont Rd) – Walmsley Road, there was not a metre of old sealed roads without pot hole on pot hole, including the main shopping street, Seddon Street. 124

Kerb and Channelling: High kerbs and deep channels (concrete) in poor condition in the central area of town mainly. Footpaths: Some sealed footpaths in the central area of town, remnants of old sealed footpaths mainly overgrown in various places. Road verges: Heavily overgrown, in tall grass and weeds, occasionally cut by tractor bar mowers. Street lighting: 100 watt bulbs in open shades on most road intersections only. Storm water drainage: Some remnants of originally installed glazed earthenware pipes (early 1900’s) remaining. Collapsed square wooden box culverts replaced by concrete pipes bedded on the timber floor of the old box, thus reducing the carrying capacity dramatically (by some 40%). Bridges: Generally in poor condition and/or “one way” structures. Sound ones, generally inadequate “waterways” (flood discharge capacity). Waste disposal: Human wastes by night soil collection disposed of on “Borough farm” (cut and cover trenches), several km’s out of town. Garden and general household wastes – no collection. To be buried on site. Wide spread practice; thrown out on road reserve fronting house. Water supply: Source, two hillside catchments close to town. The Walmsley intake, small dam and spillway constructed by Waihi G.M. Co in early 1900’s, limited storage capacity and Waitete intake, run of stream, through small weirs. Trunk mains to town, from Walmsley, twelve inch diameter rivetted steel pipes, in extremely poor condition. From Waitete six inch diameter fibrolite pipes. This latter supply was instigated by Councillor Owen Margan, only a few years before I came to Waihi, to somewhat alleviate the water shortages

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experienced each summer by the town. Some further comments on this later. Water reticulation: Substantially the original, cast iron– lead – jointed network, for pipe diameters from four inches (100mm), up and galvanised iron pipes for smaller diameters and service connections. All of these pipes suffered from sever “tubercular growth”, restricting their original carrying capacity and causing frequent blockages in service connections. Council had started on a replacement programme of the C.I. mains by fibrolite pipes. However in doing so, reticulation major valving had practically been eliminated, to save costs. As A consequence in the event of a reticulation failure and repair, water shut downs often had to extend over large areas, affecting many consumers. New service connections were made in copper piping and replacement of old galvanised pipe services by copper piping was in progress. The water supply was untreated, “run of stream” raw water. Abattoir: A small Abattoir, serving local butchers and private slaughter, was operated by the Council south of Parry Palm Avenue near the Waitete stream. (Now the land is occupied by Industries and the Refuse Transfer Station). All wastes discharged into the adjoining paddock. Cemetery: Some two km out of town. Old parts heavily overgrown. Newer “semi-lawn” part mown. Old large macrocarpa trees surrounded and part shaded the whole cemetery, with rank weeds and blackberry growth in between. You can see from the above, that there was no fear for a shortage of work for me to bring Waihi up to scratch. Two further factors aggravated the “problem” as to how to go about it. Firstly; limited finance. Because of the low property values after the mine closing, rating revenue was limited, even with rates set at 100% of the legal maximum permitted. Council had to fight an uphill battle to attain rating revenue to this level as “gold revenue” had 126

provided the bulk , if not all, of the Borough’s finances for many years. As this source gradually dwindled and eventually disappeared, rates revenue became the only annual source of finance available. Secondly; For it’s size the Borough was heavily “over roaded”. This was brought about by the original subdivision layout of the town with minimum one acre lots for residential section. It virtually had double the length of roading per head of population as other similar sized (population wise) rural towns. Consequently twice the length or amount of every municipal service, per head of population, had to be provided (or improved), and maintained, compared to these other small towns. Furthermore, most small towns accommodated growth, through the subdivision of adjacent vacant (often rural) land, usually requiring new roading and services, which had to be provided at the developers cost. No such costs contributions were available to Council in Waihi, as practically all subdivisions resulted from splitting up of the original “one acre lots”, all on ‘existing” roading and services. As if all this was not enough for me to cope with, the Town Clerk (Ken Bargh, close to retirement age), in his ‘wisdom’ had terminated the arrangements with the County Council, for the part time provision of various services, thereby “saving” some money, and had loaded those responsibilities on to me, amongst these were building and general bylaw inspection. What about old records? I found out that for years the filing ‘system’ had consisted of bundling all papers pertaining to a rating year, tied up by string and marked for that year. There was a room full of these bundles as well there were some old engineering plans. I sorted through the latter and retained a small amount of mainly old roading survey plans, which contained some historical information. After the initial tidying up and ‘finding my feet’, I started up two basic filing system; one for individual properties based on street names and numbers, cross referenced to valuation numbers, and one 127

system for subdivisions. No effort was made to recover predated records, but if any surfaced they were added to the systems. I had a total ‘works’ staff available of around fourteen, this included one ‘street cleaner’ (who looked after the footpaths and gutters in the central shopping area and the men’s public toilet on the corner of School Lane, next to Allan Dean’s building) and one sexton (who dug the graves and mowed the semi lawn part of the cemetery), leaving an effective staff strength of twelve. Although there was enough work for several times this number, Council’s revenue as it was, left little enough money to supply even the small staff with materials for any improvement works. The response, to any complaint received at the Borough office, in the past had been, to send a few workers around with a shovel. In nine out of ten cases they could not do much to alleviate the problem. As well this use of ‘human resources’ did not do much for staff morale. To change this waste full practice I decided to follow up any complaint I received at the office in person. I did this at least for the whole of the first year, explaining to the property owner, that little if anything would be achieved if any of my workers were sent out to him or her, but given some time, permanent improvement work would be carried out. I found, that practically every rate payer, thus approached was agreeable and willing to be patient. With a high proportion of elderly and retired people living in the town a major complaints category dealt with the condition of and the lack of footpaths. (When the mine closed in 1952, house prices in Waihi reached rock bottom and quite an influx of elderly people resulted; selling their Auckland property, buying in Waihi and having some capital to spare or invest). Although both, “above ground” as well as “under ground” services required major and urgent attention, I realised that ‘above ground’ work had to be the first priority, being more in the public eye and likely to result in improved staff morale.

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With the ‘roading loan’ already providing for some street sealing I therefore concentrated on compiling a footpaths programme. I also knew that this had to be ‘soundly based’ as to priorities, to avoid endless argument at Council meetings. To this end I analysed the whole residential area of the Borough as to density of development, both “area wise” for each block (surrounded by formed roads), as well as ‘frontage wise’ along each street. This allowed me to list each street section in priority order. Overriding this, was a proposed network of ‘feeder footpaths’ from outer areas to the shopping and business, centre of town. As well I proposed an initial ‘one sided’ footpath development in each street. Apart from a listed schedule of each street block in priority order, I also prepared a colour coded plan covering the Borough. Although footpaths were urgently required, ‘foot traffic’ density in all residential areas was likely to be light. I further proposed therefore that footpaths would be of concrete construction, more expensive to construct than sealed footpaths, but cheaper in the long run and outlasting sealed paths. A brief historic note here; In it’s prosperous early mining years, Waihi Borough had some 40 miles of sealed footpaths, when Hamilton had only five miles. The Borough operated its own gas works and tar from these was used. Very few of these paths remained, when I started work in 1960 and later when road verges were tidied up, remnants of old sealed footpaths were often unearthed. Council closed its gas works in 1951. It had the dubious reputation of having the largest unaccounted for gas losses in the country. Back to the story: Council was only to happy to approve my plan and thereafter progress was only dictated by annually available finance. Rather than engaging contractors, I had our own staff doing the work, after design levels were established by me, allowing for eventual road widening, strengthening and final kerbing- Reusable angle iron formwork was later introduced and ready mix concrete was used, when a local plant was established in Waihi.

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The staff had pride in their work, it lifted their morale, as often they received praise from nearby residents. 28/03/04 I think, to avoid jumping backwards and forwards during the remaining part of my story, which still has half my present lifetime (some forty years) to go, I will cover my long stay in Waihi and my eventual departure, by splitting it into several broad categories.

i. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

The Council and staff My 28 years work for the Council Industries Family and outside interests Retirement

1960-1988 1960-1988 1960 - present 1988 – present

1. Council and staff 1960-1988 In the 28 years, I served under a succession of Mayors, starting off with Chris Christensen who owned and operated a saw mill and timber treatment plant in Waihi. Chris chaired Council meetings by listening to all Councillors having their say, before opening his mouth. He had the ability to then sumup a clear consensus. Following Chris there were Albert Thomas (Waihi Timber and Joinery Co owner), generally more autocratic in his approach; Allan Dean (Private Accountancy firm), generally more relaxed approach, emphasis on economics of operations. Allan’s hearing deteriorated to such an extent, he stood down as Mayor, but remained on Council, and finally Owen Morgan; very tenacious and even with no initial support from his Council, never “giving up” in pursuing his own viewpoint. I also worked with a succession of Town Clerk’s, generally considered C.E.O’s of Council.

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Starting off with Ken Bargh (not necessarily in that order) there were Pat Whelan, Eirov Grabham, Lloyd Leman, Bob Freeman and Richard Penfold. Generally I had a good working relationship with all of them, except one (Lloyd Leman). Fortunately he only stayed for one year, any longer and a major clash would have erupted between us. As time went by and the town re-established itself, office staff increased. From a staff of; the Town Clerk (T.C), myself (B.E) and two office girls (Typist and public counter) it grew to 3 office girls, an Assistant T.C, an Engineer’s Assistant, a Building and a Health Inspector jointly with the Ohinemuri County. In 1960 the Borough Council building (now ‘The Chambers’ restaurant) also housed the Library, run by one Librarian (Rex Bell). Now the Library is housed in what used to be the BNZ building, which Council purchased when the BNZ relocated to its present site, run by the Librarian (Norma Aken) and an assistant. One of the longer serving Assistant Town Clerks, still there when I retired, was Gary Patterson. I had a very good working relationship with Gary, even more so, after computers were introduced to the office. He was extremely keen to find out what these “tools” could or could not do. With my “department” or rather me being involved in the major expenditure part of any revenues available to Council, I was intimately involved in the annual estimates, as well as keeping an eye on running expenditure during the year (month by month). This was particularly relevant to Subsidised Works (attracting preset annual Govt Funds) which if overspend did not attract extra Government Funds and if underspend did not allow to claim all the Government Funds allocated. When the manual accounting system was replaced by computer programme’s, the first time I received budget info from Gary, an almost one inch thick computer print out appeared on my desk. I threw up my hands in horror, went back to Gary and said; “All I want is summary figures of the various accounts”. Gary replied; “I don’t know whether that is possible, but I will try”. 131

Before long Gary discovered, that the computer programme allowed for such a summary to be produced and from then on, the print out I needed and got was only a few pages long. The above is just a small example of the general cordial and cooperative atmosphere in our office as a whole. In other authorities, often rivalry existed between the administrative and engineering “departments”, in turn leading to friction. A somewhat extreme case occurred in the nearby Thames Borough, where for years the Town Clerk and Borough Engineer, mutually, only communicated by written memos to one another. Other points worth of record are some of the differences, which existed between urban (Borough’s and cities) and rural (counties) Territorial Local Authorities before the reorganisation into cities and Districts in the late 1980’s. • First of, Municipal Authorities and Counties had their own separate Annual Conferences. As of right Mayors and Town Clerks attended the former, while County Chairmen, Clerks and Engineers attended the latter. These conferences were the major annual political forums and representation, as outlined above, was probably one of the reasons, that the Municipal Engineers Institute had less “political clout”, than the County Engineers Institute. • A lot of urban authorities, particularly smaller towns, had their meetings in the evenings, while Counties generally had daytime meetings. • “Engineering” wise, Counties work substantially dealt with roading and associated works, while Municipal work encompassed a very wide field of services. As time went by this difference became less and less pronounced, as urban developments within Counties demanded modern services.

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That is enough about “Council”, back to “Staff”. After a number of years, Council supported my need for an Engineers Assistant, as I became more and more involved in planning and management. I had several; Denis Smith who was “head hunted” by Paeroa Borough, Peter Newton who left for greener fields and for the latter years Wojtek Michalek, a registered surveyor who went to Papua New Guinea. He was one of the Polish Refugee children (2nd WW), who were brought to NZ. His hobby was scuba diving, which he enjoyed to the full in the islands around PNG, with a multitude of wartime ship and aircraft wrecks. Some of the Inspectorate Staff come to mind, Dick Veen, the result of a “pressure-cooker” Health Inspector’s Course. He did not last very long (more interested in land speculation). Bob Quantrill a Health Inspector (hard to nail down) still there when I retired, as was Bill Aken, our Building Inspector for many years. (His wife Norma was and is the Librarian in Waihi). He was a conscientious worker, fair and capable. And finally there were my foremen or overseers. When I started in 1960, it was Wally Bidois, an ex Goldminer, a hard worker who could turn his hand to anything. He was the one who showed me how to fix a “pinhole leak” in the old steel Walmsley Water main. Sharpen a dry Manuka stick and tap it into the hole. He knew the position of every water pipe and old gas mains in town. After his retirement I had planned to keep him on a small annual retainer, so I could call on his knowledge if and when required. Unfortunately Wally died very shortly after his retirement. Wally had a small cyst (I think in one of his legs) for years, that he could live with, but after he retired, decided to have surgically removed. All went well, but Wally was not one to sit still for very long. He was a very keen gardener with a large vege plot on his section on Victoria Street. A few days after his small “op” he decided to do some work in his garden where he suddenly collapsed and died – A blood clot!!

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Wally’s successor was Bill Flutey, with a Contractor’s background. He was also good value and still there when I retired. Before starting on my next “category”, just a few reminiscences that come to mind, still dealing with Council and staff. Initially Councillors were substantially “volunteers”, standing for election because of a genuine interest in the community (they received only a nominal meeting allowance). Over the years this gradually changed and after the reorganisation of Local Authorities (just after I retired) Councillors are now drawing an annual remuneration. Occasionally persons stood for Council, having an “axe to grind”. If elected at all, they normally did not last very long (3 year terms). The Waihi Council and Committee meetings (generally one of each monthly), were held in the evenings, allowing ordinary working (wage earning) people to stand for Council. One such person, I have to single out and mention here, is Mary Williams. She worked at the Akrad Factory, a Councillor for many years, extremely fair and with a lot of “common sense”. I had a great deal of respect for her. Another Councillor Doug Saunders, who had to step down from Council because of a conflict of interest, (his firm, Provincial Plumbers tendered for Council contracts) became my lifelong friend. Right from the beginning of my employment, the last Council meeting of the year (before Christmas) was kept to a minimum, business wise, and following closure of the meeting Councillors, Senior Staff and Press Representatives started to “unwind”, and a good time was had by all. Myself and the Town Clerk were usually responsible for seeing to it, that the Council Chambers were tidied up and the building left secure. I recall that on one of these occasions I finished up driving several Councillors and the Mayor home, each in turn, as they were not capable to drive themselves home. Included in this was also the newspaper reporter of long standing, Helen McCombie who then lived in Grey Street, in the “East End” of town. The next day I heard, that after I had dropped her off at home, she had “walked” 134

back into town to pick up her car (a little Volkswagen) and driven herself home. That was the last time I gave her a lift!!! The outside staff also had an “end of year do”, at the Borough Depot, to which the whole office staff was usually invited and later on wives and partners were also included. This always included a “hangi”, which was hard to beat, put down during the day by some of my workers. So it was not always “all work and no play” which brings me to my next “category”, notes on: 2. My 28 years work for the Waihi Borough Council As earlier outlined, there was plenty of it. To start with a few general remarks. My office space over the years; I started off in “a little cubby hole” next to the front entrance of the Council building. It had a door to the public lobby and a door to the main office, with just enough room for a desk and chair and a visitor’s chair. It faced the street and a narrow space between the front of the building and the massive office safe (small concrete room) provided some room for storage and filing, (in the current “Chambers Restaurant”, I think this is now the Manager’s office). My next office space was the room, to the north of the Council building, which had been the Council Gasworks Showroom, turned into a general junk room. After clearing out the debris and safeguarding some old plans, I moved in here. It had a connecting door to the main office, but also a direct access door to the street and a rear door to the outside as well. (Escape routes from irate ratepayers). I later shared this room with my assistant.

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Eventually I finished up with my own office in the main building, adjacent to what had always (in my time), been the Town Clerk’s office. This happened after the Library moved out of the building and major alterations were made to it. The “Council Chambers” were moved to where the library had been (southwest corner of the building) and the old Chambers made into office spaces for my assistant and the Health and Building Inspectors with counter access to the public lobby. (The “official grog” space was provided for by a small lock up cupboard, “The Mayors Cabinet”, adjacent to the Chamber) Now a few words about some “archaic” arrangements which existed when I arrived on the scene. Council had its own petrol pump, adjacent to the Council office building, with the key held by the Town Clerk. Every driver requiring petrol, got the key, filled up, signed the record book at the office, handed back the key and went back to work. The tally, between petrol pumped and bulk delivery made, never equated. There were always unaccounted for losses (vent pipe evaporation and/or underground tank leaks??). So Council agreed to do away with its own pump (and worries) and our plant filled up at the public pumps at Morton’s Garage, who also did most of our routine plant maintenance.

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Another practice which existed was, that if any of the outside staff required some materials or small item from a local shop, they had to call at the office, to get an “order form” from the Town Clerk, then go to the shop or depot and back to work. I changed that, so that each individual worker could purchase directly, what was required for the job they were on, up to a given limit (I think it was around 20 dollars -£10 at the time) provided they signed for it at the shop and noted the job it was for. Another aspect, which was totally lacking when I started, was forward planning. The T.C (Ken Bargh) brought every letter and circular received at the office during the month to Council. Made for a large agenda and a lot of wasted time. A typical early example of this lack of planning was, that in 1962 the Council suddenly decided that they wanted to celebrate the Borough’s Diamond Jubilee which was due in … 1962! No provision in the annual estimates, so what! Mister Borough Engineer, please get cracking!! So we had a Jubilee, which I partly recorded with my 8mm movie camera. At the end, to fill up the film, I had filmed Helen and Deborah playing on the edge of what was called “The Mine Lake”. I offered to show the film at a Council meeting, following the Jubilee celebration, which Council accepted. Afterwards the Councillors “to a man” (and woman) asked where the lovely spot was, showing the children playing in the water?? To which I replied, “That is a beauty spot, in the middle of your town”. Well, they never!! Back to work. I earlier already outlined my initial approach to the “mountain” of work required in the Borough. In a small way, starting with surface improvement works of a permanent nature requiring a minimum of follow up maintenance work. The flagship of this was the concrete footpath programme. I purchased a good quality dumpy level for this. A considerable amount of preparatory survey work was involved, as I refused to follow the example of the one concrete footpath laid in the Borough (along Kensington Rd) before I came on the scene. The property owners had offered and contributed half the cost, 137

Council met the balance. County staff had set out the path, with no relation to overall final permanent development of the full road reserve. Practically every road in the Borough required strengthening and widening and (eventually) kerbing and channelling. The latter, in most places, had to be considered a “luxury” for Waihi, as of necessity it would “simultaneously” require full piped stormwater development. With Waihi’s recorded rainfall intensities, virtually double those of the area’s outside the Ohinemuri River catchment, once again a service development requiring “above average” expenditure. “My” footpath levels were therefore designed to allow for, most likely, final road reserve development levels, taking into account likely road hierarchy (local feeder or arterial) and strengthening by overlay required. Wherever possible (and in most cases) the laying of the footpath was combined with shaping up the verge area between carriageway and footpath, allowing for a V shaped open water table, to improve drainage and this area was grassed. As well footpaths were generally laid some 75cm clear of property boundaries (to allow for future underground services development – cabling). A small amount of “salvageable” sealed footpaths were repaired and retained as chip sealed paths to begin with. An additional (economic) benefit of having shaped grassed drainage along roads was, that it allowed for part of the maintenance costs (verge mowing) to be charged to the “subsidised works programme” (roading) attracting Government finance. I generally allowed for 50% of verge mowing costs to fall into this category. While on the subject of road verges and mowing maintenance. When I arrived in 1960 road verges were only occasionally mown, using side mounted tractor bar mowers (attachments for the light tractors Council owned – Fergusons). These suffered regular damage, as the often heavily overgrown road verges were (almost generally) used to discard any unwanted or broken down household articles, bicycle frames were not uncommon. There was no rubbish collection. Over the years, verge mowing frequency was increased and mowing equipment and plant improved, to a standard of closely mown lawn conditions when I retired. If I remember right, I 138

calculated it once, there were some 20 acres of grass verges in the Borough, all (apart from those along PP and Seddon Avenues) in narrow strips along the “20km+” of formed roading in the town. I am pretty sure I mentioned earlier on in my story, that as a historic legacy Waihi was “heavily over roaded” for its population. One early action I took, to avoid adding to this problem, was to see whether any unformed, legal roads, could be closed or even, if roughly formed, and not “in use”. Only a few short lengths qualified and appropriate procedures were followed for closure. These areas then became Borough Council property. As a point of interest, I think this is an appropriate place, to slip in another important happening in Waihi’s history. The Borough when established in 1902 was, area wise, the largest one in New Zealand and I believe still was, until reduced in size a few years before my arrival. The original Borough included a large area around the 1960 one, the whole of the Waihi Beach Township and the full length of the connecting road reserve between the two. All these had become part of the Ohinemuri County. In these boundary adjustments, the Borough Council had retained the ownership of some 300 small lease hold sections at Waihi Beach. Originally these had been established for mine workers to retire to when suffering from the dreaded silicoses disease. Most of these lots were now occupied by holiday baches, with some permanent residents. The leases of these properties had a perpetual right of renewal, with lease payments reviewed every 21 years. Well, back to my actual work. Council had initiated the building of its first lot of 6 Pensions Flats, on the corner of Moresby Ave and Elliott Street (opposite our house). I supervised the building of these. Meantime, I also prepared and supervised contracts for road improvements to be financed by the 1st Roading Loan. Every effort was made for any known underground services work to be carried out by Council’s 139

own staff, ahead of any roading contracts. This included, replacing old water supply services and culvert repairs or replacements. Another source of finance available for roading and bridging improvements (and maintenance) works were Government subsidies from the National Roads Board (N.R.B) through District Roads Councils (D.R.C’s). Applications for these had to be made annually to the Ministry of Works, in our case through the Paeroa Residency Office to the Hamilton District Office. I built up a good working relationship with the engineering staff in both offices and the admin staff in the Residency Office. In Paeroa Bosselman, Fendall and Bill Stewart as Resident Engineers come to mind and in Hamilton Rex Hermans as District Commissioner. I also had close contact with the Ohinemuri County staff, engineers Don Dudding, Paul Edwards and Sam Didsbury and County Clerk Merv Parker. As well the Town Clerk of Paeroa Borough, Ian Parlane, I had frequent dealings with. I will not write about all the details of my work, as that will become utterly boring, but will record some of the main events which occurred, and will expand a bit about some of the major developments in the Borough. First off, in 1962 a major overnight collapse of old mine workings on Martha Hill (just north of Gilmour Street) occurred. There were also several old shafts on the hill. This and the need for Council to define land use etc under the new Town and Country Planning Legislation, caused Council to commission Mr Lowrie (the last Waihi Mines Superintendent, then retired in Auckland) to prepare a plan of Martha Hill defining, unsafe, marginal and safe areas of the hill. He duly produced such a plan and a report, indicating that the most likely place of a surface collapse occurring was where the 1962 one happened (large unfilled stopes of the Royal Reef). And talking about Town Planning, doubt was being expressed, whether Council could legally produce a Town Plan as practically the whole of Borough land comprised of Mining Titles. If this was so, Council was wasting good money on consultants (Murray-North) 140

preparing such a plan. To “test the waters” it was decided, that a “court ruling” would be desirable. The then Borough Solicitor was Mr Clark, an (if not the only) acknowledged expert on Mining Law in NZ. An expert Town Planning Lawyer from Auckland would be engaged. Before this issue was fully taken up, unfortunately a tragic accident happened in that Mr Clark drowned in a boating accident on the Bowentown Bar. (I think it was Peter? Haszard who survived and reached shore at Bowentown). This and the fact, that Council was making progress (after many years of lobbying Government) with a private members Bill before Parliament, allowing for free holding of Commercial and Residential Mining Site Licences, caused the issue to be no longer pursued. Meanwhile the “hole in the hill” was a blessing in disguise. I was in the process of removing old pine trees (some 200feet tall) along Seddon Ave, which originally were planted as shelter for now mature oak trees. Apart from dangerous dropping branches, they also were severely encroaching on the oak trees. After felling (free fire wood to the public), the stump disposal was a problem, until “the hole” appeared. From memory some 200 pine trees were removed over a 5 year programme. Danny Farmer’s bulldozer transporter was used to take one stump at a time up the Hill. As well “the hole” was used to dispose of old car bodies. Had I known or been told of the severe risk involved in operating close to this collapse, it would have been made “out of bounds” immediately. In our innocence we were lucky!! A further benefit Council derived from the old Mine Workings, was the use of extensive “Mine mullock” (waste rock) stockpiles on the Hill. I discussed access to these with the Mining Registrar (Rayna Nottle) at the Court House in Waihi and “common sense” prevailed. Strictly speaking, I should keep a record of the quantities removed and pay a small royalty per “cubic yard”. At the end of the year, I would then make application for a refund of these royalties to Council. So we both agreed, that provided all material removed 141

was for Council use only, we cut all the paperwork, and I had free access. Most of it was used for sub grade work on roads. I already mentioned the heavy and high-intensity rainfall for the Waihi area being on record. I had hoped not to experience an extreme occurrence of this, during my working life for the Borough. However this was not to be, and in 1967, an extreme weather pattern (substantially concentrated on the “Waihi Basin”), caused unbelievable havoc in the Borough. I will go into some detail about this major event. It was very early in the morning (just on daybreak) that the phone rang and woke me up. (I think somebody had no water supply). As soon as I hung up the phone, it rang again and this continued. Meantime, I had staggered out of bed and walked to our (new) kitchen, which overlooked the Mangatoetoe Stream valley (to the east of our house). I thought I was dreaming and could not believe my eyes. As far as I could see, the valley was one brown lake of floodwaters. I managed to contact my foreman, Wally Bidois, and with no water supply anywhere in the Borough, the first priority was to “survey” the condition of both the Walmsley and the Waitete trunk mains (water supply). This had to be done on foot, walking in over the hills. Wally took the Waitete and I took the Walmsley. Within a few hours it was apparent that the best chance to get some supply restored to the Borough was through repairs to the 6” Waitete trunk main. The main damage to this main was the washed out stream crossing, to the west of the Waihi College grounds. The 12” steel Walmsley main was washed out at every stream crossing, including the concrete support piers. No time was wasted to even further look at this main, Wally and a small gang were left to work on the Waitete line, while I and the rest of Borough staff concentrated on safeguarding any danger spots and cleaning up work. Once this was in train, I had to evaluate the total extent of the damage and establish priorities to be tackled. All loose metal was stripped of metal roads, practically every edge of carriageways had been scoured out, culverts blocked or washed out, several bridge approaches washed out. 142

All this havoc was caused by several days of light and consistent rainfall (which had saturated the ground), having been followed by 300mm (12 inches) of rain within 12 hours overnight. But “every cloud has a silver lining”. The storm caused a delay in the departure of his Worship the Mayor and the Town Clerk, to attend the Annual Municipal Conference. Their delayed arrival and their tale of the “disaster”, that had befallen Waihi, was one of the main reasons that within days a “high powered” team of engineers from the M.O.W. visited Waihi, to view the damage first hand. (I personally knew one or two of them). By then, I had prepared a rough estimate of repair and maintenance work required, in the subsidised roading work categories. The “team” approved these and as a result, the Borough received a 3 year “special assistance programme”, over and above our normal annual subsidised works programme. This greatly contributed to early rehabilitation of the roading and associated damage. No such avenue was available towards the water supply infrastructure damage. Coming back to this, foreman Wally Bidois managed to have, be it a limited, supply restored to the Borough within 24 hours, through the 6 inch Waitete trunk main having been made “operational”. When I went to look at the repaired lower Waitete Stream crossing, I shuddered; “crossed my fingers, toes, arms and legs”, hoping it would stay in place!! The pipes, with flexible joints, were suspended across the stream from a “cable” made out of No 8 fencing wire. It worked and it held until permanent repairs could be made. It took many months before the Walmsley main was back in operation. Fortunately I never experienced a similar storm during the rest of my working life in Waihi. A later major storm which closed the Karangahake Gorge for several days and washed away the Waikino shops opposite the Hotel in the 80’s did cause damage in Waihi as well, but not half as severe as the 1967 one. The then Ohinemuri County Chairman, Blanch Fisher, who farmed East of Waihi, had to use a helicopter to get to the County office in 143

Paeroa. He was a frequent visitor to the Waikino pub on his normal travel by road to Paeroa and told this tale after the floods; that if he had been standing at the bar, during the height of the flood, the flood waters were so high, that he could have just put his glass on the top of the bar, without a risk of losing it. Enough of that episode. Establishing a weekly refuse collection was a “major fight”. The only collection service in existence was a once or twice a year “inorganic” one, which was free and made good use of by residents. A weekly collection would have to be charged for in the rates and anything costing money was usually opposed to by the public, although they all wanted “better everything” in the Borough. Despite all opposition, Council proceeded to establish this service. The convenience of this service soon quelled opposing voices. Disposal was originally in convenient “hollows” within the Borough. The southern end of Victoria Street and an area between the railway line and Quarry Road were soon filled and for quite a few years the low lying area, between the netball courts and the football grounds in the Recreation Reserve, was in use. The Eastern Stream meandered through here coming close to the Bowling Greens. To fully utilise this area, the Eastern Stream had to be diverted, several times. The last deviation which would discharge the stream into a small quarry (no longer in use) to the east struck it lucky. I expected we would have to do some blasting but the “first bite” of the back actor bucket scraped on some “level rock”. It proved to be part of an old mine water race, which was soon cleared. There were no obvious other places in the Borough and as well Government and ad hoc bodies regulations and controls on many aspects of municipal work were ever increasing, so I had to start looking elsewhere or for alternatives of disposal of refuse. I costed out alternatives to a local “landfill” operation, but found these to be still uneconomic at the time. Two potential sites, just outside the Borough boundaries, I considered to be suitable in meeting several site requirements I considered essential. Both were estimated to have a 15 to 20 year tip life and one in private 144

ownership, the other a public reserve. One was a densely overgrown gully along Bulltown Road and the other a saucer shaped low area to the left of State Highway 2, just across the Ohinemuri River en route to Tauranga. The Bulltown Road site was the preferred one and acquisition approaches were made to the “farmer” owner, who was known to spend more time in the pubs than anywhere else. The noxious weeds and scrub covered area and a few old pine trees became most valuable, high potential farmland. Long drawn out negotiations were eventually successful. Next came applications for zoning of the site (Ohinemuri County) and water rights for discharges from the site (Hauraki Catchment Board). The first was readily acquired but the second became another long drawn out affair. I myself was only too well aware of the discharge problem which the heavy Waihi rainfall could cause. To control this I had designed the “Tip” to contain a small ponding area within the confines of the tip, as well as perimeter drains to discharge any run off from outside the tip area. A management plan was prepared and submitted to the H.C. Board and a “Hearing” of the Borough application took place in the Board’s Te Aroha office. I still have to “chuckle” about one question put to me during this hearing and my answer to it. The question put to me was; “Could I prevent any rainwater from falling on the tip area? And my answer was; “Yes, by putting a roof over the whole tip area”. In the end the necessary water rights were granted, these included regular sampling and testing of any discharge from the tip area. I personally supervised the clearing and all construction work for the tip, as instant decisions on soil types encountered had to be made. The downstream side of the tip was contained by a compacted earth fill dam, which at final tip fill level would be in excess of 20 metres high (putting it in the “high dams” category). A “floor” drainage system was incorporated and all discharges from this and the pond overflow separately piped under the “dam” to a central discharge point. A pump well chamber was incorporated in this

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area to, if found necessary, pump any contaminated discharge back into the pit area. During the time I controlled the tip no contaminated discharges were recorded and no pump installation required. The tip was originally open 7 days/week, 24 hr/day for inorganic tipping. Weekly household collections were used to create “cells” in the tip area to contain all other material tipped. Household refuse was covered immediately after completion of the collection. Abuse of the freedom to tip, eventually caused restricted tipping hours and eventually charges being levied. Also the tip was transferred to private operation control, which eventually led to inadequate effluent control and (following completion of Borough sewerage) pumping of effluent to the nearest public sewer. The delay in the Bulltown Road tip becoming operational, necessitated extending the use of the Kenny Street (Recreation Reserve) tip, which could only be achieved by raising the finished level of the area above the original design level. Rehabilitation of this area created an extra playing field on the reserve (large enough for a full sized hockey field). The Bulltown Rd tip exceeded its design life, was still in use after my retirement and for a number of years, before closing, even used as a district tip by Hauraki District Council. To my recollection the total capital establishment cost for the BT Road tip was $50,000, a bargain!! Enough about rubbish, what next? Just a few ‘small’ items coming to mind, before I jump into the next ‘big one’. Public Swimming Pool: An old concrete public pool existed near the netball courts on the Recreation Reserve, with access off Kenny Street. It was full of cracks and empty, no longer in use, when I started working for the Borough. There were moves afoot for a new pool to be built on the Waihi College grounds, which would also (part time) be available to the public.

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Rumour had it, that old mine workings and settlement had caused the old pool to crack. The fear held was, that, when full of swimmers one day the pool would totally collapse and all would be ‘swallowed up’. I trial filled the pool, which rapidly lost water. However I also noticed, that along the bank to the nearby Eastern Stream (not yet diverted) substantial ‘spring flows’ suddenly appeared and these ‘dried up; once the pool was empty. Some basic measurements and calculations showed me, that practically all water losses from the pool escaped along the Eastern Stream bank so there were no ‘deep fissures’ to old mine workings through which water escaped. I assured the council of this and recommended that the pool would be temporarily repaired (crack repairs with a bitumen compound), and after testing for major leaks, be made available to the public, until such time that the new ‘college pool’ would be available. This eventuated and activities in the old pool assisted, in a small way, towards fundraising for the college pool. The old pool was subsequently demolished and filled in. Street Lighting: I already mentioned the open shade 100w bulbs on street intersections representing this ‘amenity’ in residential areas, on my arrival in town. Combined with a lack of footpaths, this made walking in the evening quite hazardous. Together with the footpath programme, I made an early start with street lighting improvements of necessity spread over a number of years. In discussion with the Thames Valley Electric Power Board (T.V.E.P.B.), (the body at that time controlling power supply in our area), the lantern standard was agreed upon and the initial programme targeted street lights on one side of each street at some three to four chain intervals. (Note, once completed, it was intended to supplement this by additional lights at the second side of each street at in between intervals). This second stage was not reached in my time, but even without it Waihi borough became the best lit town in the T.V.E.P.B. area. As state highways were improved though the town the M.O.W. upgraded street lighting along their routes to full standards.

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Outside the commercial (shopping) area SH lighting was the yellow/orange colour (mercury vapour I think). In the CBD it was white (sodium vapour). In residential area’s generally white lights were established, but I had the yellow/orange type installed along a few ‘arterial’ roads, which led to or looped back to the State Highways, a ‘subliminal’ guide for motorists foreign to our area to find their way back to the State Highways. Street names and numbers: Street numbers were rather ‘erratic’ in the town until Ken Bargh, in the early 1960’s, the then Town Clerk compiled street numbers for the whole town. The story went (whether true or not I can’t tell), that before this happening, a ‘clever’ door to door salesman had been selling numbers to people, telling them what their numbers were? Street name signs were few and far between and where existing often chipped (old enamelled steel plates). A progressive programme of installing new reflectorised aluminium street name plates was therefore initiated. In the business area these were attached to verandas in the residential area initially mounted on tall posts on the road verge. Especially the latter were subject to regular vandalism. As far as I was aware the custom of ‘high’ mounting street name plates was amongst others to limit vandalism (being out of reach). So why blindly follow custom? I thought one day. As well I started thinking through the purpose of street names, being displayed, and I remembered my own experience, trying to find a street in a unfamiliar town when driving around. It was not uncommon, more so at night, for me to have to pull up and park the car near an intersection, walk up to it and read the street name somewhere ‘high up’. As well local people (particularly in smaller towns) would know which street was which, without name plates. So I decided, why not mount street name plates in residential areas low enough to read when in a car approaching an intersection?? It had two big advantages. In the dark they would be visible in the head lights of a car (even on dip), and at any time, a driver does not have to lift his or her eyes to try and read a sign, diverting his or her attention

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(even for a brief moment) from observing the traffic conditions on the intersection being approached. The only concern I had was, that mounted low, the sharp ends of the signs could be a hazard to small children, if they walked into one of them (at ‘face’ level). To this end I decided to mount the signs, not on a single ‘post’ but on pipe supports at both ends (50mm galvanised pipes). The experiment was a success and the example was followed in several other towns. Unfortunately vandalising of the signs continued unabated. (It is regrettable that – since my retirement – street signs are once again mounted high, still being vandalised). That’s enough about the few small items. The next ‘big one’ experienced by me, was the renewed interest in Mining or initially exploration for gold!! From memory it was about the mid 1970’s, that the first interest was shown. Council received applications for small diameter drill holes to be put down in several places and the use of water from the public supply system. These were readily granted with the condition, water use be metered and paid for, and the site reinstated on completion. I believe the odd drill hole was put down on private property, with a negotiated lump sum payment made to the owner. At one stage a drilling rig was operating on the verge area of Seddon Ave just West of Martin Road, so they were generally in full public view. Not a murmur was heard from the public. At the time Council had no input at all into any (mining) exploration licenses issued by the Mines Department in Wellington, through the Mining Registrar at the Waihi Court house. It was not very long before a large part of the town and adjoining County area’s were covered in new licenses. I believe a license over Martha Hill was being held by a company, which had opened up and was operating the old ‘lead mine’, on Mount Te Aroha, without any obvious exploration activities on Martha Hill.

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It was not until a ‘speculative entrepreneur’ Jack Barbarich managed to acquire this license that things started to happen on ‘the Hill’. Jack established a small processing plant, East of the Recreation Reserve, near the historic cyanide vats and started processing the top ‘soil area’ from the surrounding site as well as ‘samples’ of mined mullock from Martha Hill, recovering small quantities of gold. There still was little, if any, liaison between the Mines Department and Council and no harm was done, until just before the issue of a new prospecting license for Martha Hill. This intended to allow for an unspecified as to size ‘bulk sample’ to be removed from Martha Hill. The Borough Council, ‘somehow or other’, became aware of this proposal cooked up in Wellington, and alarm bells started ringing. The Mayor Town Clerk and myself went to Wellington to meet the minister (I think it was Tizzard at the time) and managed to convince him, that the proposed license went way beyond Prospecting and was in affect a ‘pilot mining’ operation. Consequently the following were achieved: 1. The bulk sample was limited to 30,000 tons and a cash bond (the first ever) was attached to the license. 2. A meeting was conveyed at the Waihi Borough Chambers with representatives of all the parties now involved or interested (Government departments, local authorities, Catchment Board came to mind), and the Minister in attendance. From then on the Borough Council stayed in the loop on any mining related developments in their area. To operate the ‘Prospecting license’, Jack Barbarich (Managing Director of Mineral Resources), attracted several short term ‘partners’. Generally large earthmoving contractors who brought in their own heavy plant onto Martha Hill. One of these was Green and McCahill. The ‘bulk sample’ was being taken by reopening the original open cut located on the West side of Martha Hill. As a matter of interest I regularly visited the operations on the Hill. On one such occasion, talking to the Contractor’s foreman on the job, I asked him, whether 150

he realised that he was excavating over the top of extensive old underground mining works, of which there was a glass model in the local Museum?? “No, he was not aware of that, neither had anybody told him about it”, was his answer. Within a few days of this conversation, a large collapse occurred over night in the working area and when I visited the site, the same foreman I spoke to earlier, talking about the ‘hole’ in utter disbelief said ‘All of my plant could have been swallowed up in there.’ Fortunately no plant was lost or anybody injured. That event stopped Green and McCahill in their tracks. Meantime Jack Barbarich was scouting around (internationally), for a major partner. He was a regular visitor to my office and on more than one occasion told me, that he himself was never going to ‘mine the Hill’. But, holding the license, he was convinced that he could make his fortune if he could ‘prove’ that the Hill still contained adequate gold resources. He was an interesting and colourful character and Jack was as comfortable, slogging away in dirty working clothes, at the ‘coal front’ in his gold recovery plant, near the Recreation Reserve, as he was in gentleman’s attire in a corporate boardroom’ selling his dream’. He had sunk every penny he possessed in this venture. By this time rumours were rife in the town. Some old timers swearing, there was still a fortune of gold in the old workings on the Hill and others swearing the exact opposite, nothing left!! One of the latter was the then Mayor of Waihi, Owen Morgan. Council as a whole was some what divided as to the ‘pros’ and ‘cons’ of possible? renewed mining activities in the town. As well, around this time, the ‘anti mining lobby’, supported and often initiated by persons well outside of our district, started to make it’s presence felt. Eventually, Jack Barbarich managed to interest a major partner into his venture. A big American mining company, AMAX. This company had the resources, and risk capital for a thorough and in depth exploration programme on Martha Hill. At this stage it became extremely important for Council to ‘show it’s hand’, to assure it remained ‘in the loop’ on developments controlled by Central Government (Mines Department). 151

I myself was convinced, that if it could be ‘proven’ economic gold reserves were still present in the Hill, a mining license would be issued to replace an initial prospecting license. Whether it was this conviction (which I regularly expressed at Council meetings) or not, I cannot be sure of, but in the end Council resolved to be in support of a full exploration programme so that once and for all the ‘fate of the Hill’ could be determined. Earlier on I had picked up a parcel of Mineral Resources shares (I think 20,000 shares in total), when they were at rock bottom @ two cents each purely as a gamble. Despite the fact, that I had more than enough work on my plate, to improve and maintain Borough services, I became heavily involved in evaluating the impact major prospecting and possible follow up mining would have on the Borough and it’s inhabitants. With Council in principle in support of the activity, I managed to convince Council, that knowledgeable input would be required for it to be taken seriously in the ‘condition setting process’. As a consequence Council engaged several Consultants as its advisors. Jim Clark (a partner in Murray North at the time) being one of the main ones. I and the Council’s solicitor George Gay, were the main liaison, between all other parties and Council. Many hours, outside working hours, often whole weekends were spent by George and me to iron out Council’s input. Not all ratepayers were happy with the expenditure of rating finance on mining related issues, but I myself am convinced, that if Council’s input had not been as thorough as it was, many ultimate conditions attached to the Mining license would not have been as “severe” as they were. The conditions arrived at and imposed, virtually became a standard for other prospecting and mining licenses issued by the Mines Department since (in the whole country). The first office of AMAX in Waihi was situated in School Lane, in Seath’s old furniture factory building, now the site of the Waihi Medical Centre. One of the geologists employed there, Don MacKay, is still in Waihi now (2004), and involved in further exploration around Waihi. My daughter Judy worked in that office for a while and I think it was there, that she met her first husband John Gilles, a professional photographer, who came out from Australia to do some photo work for the company.

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After many meetings and ‘ever lasting’ (Planning Tribunal) hearings a mining license for an ‘open pit’ on Martha Hill was issued, for a defined pit perimeter and depth. (The prospecting indicated reserves of gold and silver in this pit were to the value of $800 million). The rest is history by now and with further bullion reserves confirmed, below the original M.L. depth, a further license was obtained, some 50m deeper and extending the pit perimeter also. (Once mining was approved, I personally was convinced, that further in depth prospecting would be undertaken in the pit and a new Mining license applied for, if warranted). A succession of Mine Managers after Roger Craddock (who opened the pit) and several company changes have occurred, the operation on the Hill will be nearing its end within a few years from now. Despite some local (and further afield) opposition to the mining operations, I feel that Waihi as a whole has benefited from the activities and prospered as a result. (A minor nationwide recession in the 80’s never affected Waihi). One mining related aspect I have to mention here was the desire of the company to set up an information office in town. In talking one day with the company management and the issue being raised I said, “I know just the person to do this”, (my second wife to be), Doreen McLeod.” They agreed to interview her, as soon as she returned from a tramping trip she was on. She was interviewed got the job, and over the years proved her worth. From a small beginning in a vacated shop up Seddon Street, manned by Doreen it has grown to the purpose built information and education unit with some six staff currently situated on Moresby Ave/Savage Road corner. One incident at the first information centre in Seddon Street is worth recording. Among other displays, there was also a twenty minute video about the project, which was put on, on request. One day a group of ‘Black Power’ gang members came in, patched leather jackets and sunglasses on, and the following occurred: Black Power: “What you got to show us hey?” Doreen: “Apart from the titled wall displays, I also can show you a video. Would you like me to put it on?” Black Power: “Yeah man, cool!” Doreen: Starts video and offers chairs to them. Black Power: After a while are not watching the video anymore. 153

Doreen: Turns off the video. Black Power: “Hey man, you can’t do that.” Doreen: “Well, you obviously were not interested in it and not watching the video.” Black Power: “Yeah we’ll watch!” And they did to the end. Thanking Doreen when leaving. This is a good example of Doreen’s ‘people skills’. But back to mining, some general remarks in the ‘lead up’ to it. Already at the prospecting stage, the wildest rumours circulated in the town. Amongst them, ‘that the whole CBD would be taken in by the pit.’ Or even worse: ‘the whole town would be shifted to allow for the pit.’ Another rumour affected the next of my major work aspects I will deal with, the Waihi Borough water supply. To start this tale I have to go back to the early 1960’s. Owen Morgan was on the Council and had been for some years. He had been instrumental in getting the Waitete water supply established, supplementing the main old Walmsley supply, a few year before I arrived on the scene in Waihi. This had eliminated, to a large extent, regular water shortages being experienced in town, leading to restrictions. However this problem still arose during the summer, when ‘run of stream’ flows dwindled during ‘dry spells’. The Waitete intakes (two streams), had no storage at all and the main Walmsley intake a very limited storage capacity. A small secondary intake feeding the Walmsley main also had no storage. The catchments area’s for both supplies were roughly one square mile (about 2.5 km squared each). Another invaluable thing Owen Morgan had done, over a number of years, was the measuring of low stream flows from small streams in the hills surrounding Waihi. (He had used a small rectangular weir cut into a wooden plank for this – not very accurate for small flows). I continued these ‘gaugings’, for both the Walmsley and Waitete supply streams, using a more refined V notch weir, cut out of a sheet of galvanised flat iron. An adequate year long reliable safe water supply for Waihi had to be evaluated and eventually provided for. And in this, Owen’s and

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my philosophy were dramatically opposed, as soon became evident. Owen’s answer was to add more and more small streams to the supply, ever multiplying intakes. The options, in my opinion, available were, either pumping water from the Ohenunuri River or building a seasonal storage facility (dam) on either the Waitete or Walmsley stream. In both instances a treatment plant and service reservoir would have to be included. Apart form a multiplicity of intakes, Owen’s approach would also tie up more and more land as to be protected water supply catchments, limiting other uses of such land. Development of seasonal storage, i.e. building a dam to catch winter flows from a single catchment, would utilise the land to the full, ‘harvesting water’ year round and assuring summer supplies. It took many years of argument before Owen one day in an ‘aside’ confided to me ‘that he had lost!’ One of the reasons it took so long was, that Owen had for many years been the ‘water supply expert’ in the town and here was this young upstart Dutch Engineer trying to tell the council that Owen’s idea’s were wrong. Hadn’t Owen; ‘saved’ the town by construction of the ‘cheap’ Waitete supply. The Engineers ideas would cost millions of dollars. And yes, I was arguing for a ‘gravity supply’ to be investigated for the town in favour of a ‘pumped’ supply from the Ohinemuri River. And because the development of a water supply scheme is a very expensive entity, that has to be entered into in one full swoop. I also recommended to Council, to take up discussions with the adjoining Ohimenuri County with a view of possibly developing a joint supply, serving not only Waihi Borough, but also Waihi Beach and possibly Waikino townships. Both these townships suffered inadequate supply situations at the time. Particularly Waihi Beach suffered from summer shortages, aggravated by the massive influx of holiday makers during that time. Because of the size of such a study Council had to go to consultants and Babbage and Partners were engaged with partner Paul Edwards as project leader. These consultants had been engaged previously by the County and Paul was an ex County Engineer, familiar with the local territory. 155

Meantime, I had earlier constructed a permanent large ‘V notch’ weir, upstream of the small Walmsley reservoir, in concrete, capable of measuring all but the largest flood flows in the stream. As part of the study, this weir was equipped with recording flow level instruments and a recording rain gauge. This provided valuable rainfall – run off data and also rainfall – elevation above sea level data in correlation with the Waihi Town recording rainfall station. After initial data supply for our study the Walmsley station was for years operated by the Hauraki Catchment Board and must have provided valuable data for a typical small hill catchment. The brief to the consultants eventually covered two scenarios. One, for a development to service Waihi Town and immediate surrounds, only and two, to harvest the maximum supply from the catchment to be utilised and service Waihi Beach as well. The two schemes were soon referred to as the ‘low’ and the ‘high’ dam schemes. (The difference in dam height I recall to be only around two metres). Initial investigations showed that the most suitable dam location would be in the Walmsley Valley, a short distance down stream from the existing old concrete dam. The ‘supply potential’ from each catchment (Walmsley and Waitete), was about the same. More detailed analysis and design was therefore concentrated on the Walmsley and estimates prepared for both ‘high’ and ‘low’ dam schemes. Because a water supply is an expensive entity to establish, to utilise ‘water harvesting’ from the catchment to the maximum and to service the maximum number of consumers, I myself strongly recommended to Council and promoted the ‘high’ dam scheme. Moreover once a low dam was built it would be uneconomical if not impossible to turn this into a ‘high’ dam. At the time water supply developments (Headworks treatment plants and service reservoirs) were encouraged by Central Government and as such carried substantial subsidies. As well the Town Clerk at the time had discovered the existence of an ‘obscure’ small Government Fund (A few million dollars only), which Local Authorities could make applications for assistance to. The Town Clerk and myself put an application together and succeeded in 156

obtaining a grant of ‘several hundred thousand dollars’, towards the dam costs, should we proceed with the scheme. By now my Borough Council was fully in favour of the development, but a ‘battle’ was looming for the Ohinemuri County Council to become equally enthusiastic. The then County Clerk, Merv Parker, who had been in office for many years, was strongly against the joint development, as being too expensive for Waihi Beach. The County Chairman, Blanch Fisher, was strongly in favour but his Council, always politically divided between the ‘plains farmers’ (west of the ranges) and the ‘hill farmers’, east of the ranges, was equally divided and as always very suspicious, that another authority (the Borough), should be willing to extend a helping hand across it’s boundaries. (There had to be strong benefits for the Borough in it!!). Apart from the ‘struggle’ with the County, as well a rumour had started circulating in the Borough, that any dam in the proposed scheme was only required to supply the Mining company for their operations! There was not a grain of truth in this, but rumours are notoriously hard to quell. On top of all this, the tri-annual local body elections were looming. Loan applications for the Borough had meantime been made and approval obtained. A final meeting, to convince the County Clerk of mutual benefits, had been arranged between the consultants (Paul Edwards), the County Clerk, and County Engineer and myself in Paeroa. Knowing that the County Clerk was going to harp on the cost to County ratepayers for their part of the scheme, I had fully (manually, no computers yet), analysed the estimated annual charges for Borough ratepayers, County farmer ratepayers along the corridor route from the Borough to Waihi Beach township (Part State Highway 2 and then the Waihi Beach road) and Waihi Beach urban ratepayer charges. All this information I had ready to present at the meeting in Paeroa. Imagine my surprise, when before the joint meeting had started the County Clerk requested to meet with the consultant privately before me joining them. Little I could do but to agree. It took quite a while, when finally I was invited in. When informed, what the discussion 157

had been about (in my absence), I advised those present that I had all the answers with me and could have saved everybody a lot of time. (Paul did not have these figures as the consultants had not broken down the County costs in that much detail). When I produced the results of my analysis and how arrived at, Paul readily agreed as to their fairness, but the County Clerk was still ‘humming and haaing’ about the expense and what was in it for the Borough. I should note here, that the County Clerk’s approach to any major expenditure in the County was, ‘To put the cost of the proposal – expressed in rates – to a public meeting of ratepayers’, and if at such a meeting the ratepayers present voted the proposal too costly, it was abandoned and he considered the County Council had met it’s obligations. No effort was made to explain the need for the proposal long term and that it only would cost more in the future. The County chairman for many many years had been a farmer from the ‘plains’ (west) side of the County and any development on the east side of the County had for all those years been viewed with suspicion. When Blanch Fisher was elected County Chairman he was the first (and to date the only), Chairman from the eastern side of the County. He was making a tremendous effort to unify his ‘west – east’ divided council and was making progress in this. (After his untimely death the chairmanship reverted back to the west). Getting into a bit of political comment here, but it should be realised, that politics, were never far removed, being rather an integral part of local authority work. I was well aware of this and found it an added challenge! I had a good rapport with Blanch Fisher (County Chairman). But back to the water supply development issue. Following our joint (staff) meeting in Paeroa, the County Clerk, unbeknown to anyone not even his County Chairman, saw fit to compile and mail out a newsletter to all Waihi Beach ratepayers worded in such a way as to virtually condemn a joint water supply development with the Borough.

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I heard about this letter and managed to get a copy of it. As soon as I had read it, I climbed on the phone to Blanch Fisher, to enquire whether he was aware of it. The answer was, ‘no’. My comment to Blanch was; “Well, Merv (the County Clerk) has effectively torpedoed the joint Borough/County scheme.” Blanch followed up immediately, but the damage had been done and he was unable to turn the tide. Immediately following this, the Borough Council decided to proceed with the water supply for the Borough only (this included a small adjoining County area already on the water reticulation system). All necessary resolutions were passed. Unfortunately it was now very close to the Local Authority elections and a group of new candidates stood for Council, actively electioneering, that the water supply proposals were excessive and too costly. Unfortunately they ‘won the day’ and enough of them were elected to gain a majority in Council. At the first Council meeting, following the elections, they moved ‘en block’ to reject all the Council resolutions related to the water supply development (they had a meeting amongst themselves only, at one of their homes, to decide on action to take and to vote ‘en block’). So we were back to square one. However the Health Department had been on Council’s back for many years, to treat the existing ‘raw ‘ water supply, as a minimum requiring ‘chlorination’. I had fought hard against such a ‘limited move’ as the turbidity range of the raw supply varied over such a wide range, that ‘chlorination’ by itself would only give a false sense of security, as no equipment existed to deal with such a wide range of turbidity. So, immediately following the new Council’s decision, the Health Departments pressure came back on. Well, that let the cat amongst the pigeons.!! And the new Councillors were facing a steep learning curve. It was not all simply ‘black and white’.!!! They had to do something. They could not very well admit, that they had been wrong and accept the need for the water supply development. In their ‘wisdom’, following meeting after meeting (almost weekly), they ‘homed in’ on the most expensive part of the 159

proposal, the dam, for seasonal storage, which they eliminated, leaving the treatment plant and service reservoir to be developed. Note: The Walmsley trunk main had (following the earlier major flood damage) been renewed by a fifteen inch diameter main. In the original development scheme, with seasonal storage in the Walmsley catchment, the Waitete supply was going to be physically disconnected from the Borough’s reticulation system, being no longer required. (It would be left in place only to act as an emergency stand by supply). The only Councillor realising what the effect would be of the Council’s decision, ‘not to build the dam’, (which he had supported), was Owen Morgan. The Waitete supply, unless treated would still be disconnected, putting the town supply position back 25 years, which was totally unacceptable.’ Council resolved to link the Waitete supply main to the Walmsley trunk main prior to the treatment plant, spending extra money without solving the seasonal supply situation but ‘saving face’ for themselves. From memory the full scheme would have cost the Council some $200,000 more in loan finance, allowing for all the subsidies and grants which had been available. The loan would by now (2004), have been fully paid up and an assured cheap gravity supply would have been in place for many years to come. Before additional seasonal demands had to be provided for, installation of water meters, to curtail demand, would give a breathing space, to plan for new large capital expenditure timing. This avenue is no longer available, as the new District Council has instituted universal water metering already some years ago. Neither are subsidies and grants any longer available and to date no economic answer fro an assured seasonal supply has been found for Waihi. I still regret, that I failed in my efforts to establish this service for Waihi. In hindsight, had I left the County to its own devices and concentrated on the town of Waihi an assured seasonal supply for the town would have been in place. However this would have gone against the grain of my professional engineering ability, not to seek the greater good for the greater number, and faced with the same situation I would have acted the same. 160

Anyway, I succeeded in achieving a fully treated supply (flocculation, filtration and chlorination plus provision for later adding fluoridation) being established for Waihi. Before this was a fact I had one further worry and it was a major one! A large part of Waihi’s reticulation consisted of old cast-iron pipes (from 10 cm to 25 cm diameter) which were heavily encrusted (socalled tubercular growth). Large quantities of fine, organic sediment were trapped in these encrustations, and even live eels were present in the pipes. Regular “flushing” of the system through fire hydrants was carried out but would not dislodge all the sediments. My worry was that unacceptable tastes and smells would arise in the supply when treated (chlorinated) water replaced the raw water supply and react with the trapped organic sediment in the system. I contacted every available source I could think of, including many of my urban engineering colleagues in the North Island, to try and find a solution to this problem, but nobody could give me an answer. Proper treatment requires a nominal amount of residual chlorine to be present at the consumers’ taps. Very basic, cheap and simple measuring of this can be done. “Horrible” tastes and smells could only arise if no residual chlorine was present. For the changeover from raw to treated water I therefore worked out a pattern for flushing the reticulation system, using several gangs of my workers, while “super chlorinating” the supply at the treatment plant. Flushing was continued until residual chlorine was observed (using a simple test kit ) and repeated as required. From memory it took close to a week of repeating the “flushing pattern’ for the desired result to be achieved. And, to my great relief, not a single taste or smell complaint was ever received. That is more than enough about water! Before touching on the next category in my tale, one final work related item remains; sewage. 161

Way back in my story I mentioned that Waihi had very few septic tanks when we arrived on the scene. “Night soil” cans and collection service were the predominant means of dispersal of toilet wastes. Other liquid wastes were disposed of into soak holes or as was the case in commercial areas piped into the street channels. This was “acceptable” while the old mine was operating as dewatering water from the mine was pumped into the same street channels, thus flushing these 24 hours a day/ 7 days a week and ultimately discharging into the Mangatoetoe stream. However, when mining ceased in 1952 this “flushing” stopped and particularly in the summertime unpleasant smells in the CBD became unacceptable. (This was before my time). Apparently the Health Department brought pressure to bear on the Council and in Seddon Street a piped system was installed but still discharging into the Mangatoetoe stream. On to the 1960’s. Any new houses built had a septic tank installed and gradually more and more old houses had flush toilets and septic tanks installed. Eventually the Night Soil collection became uneconomic and before winding up the contract Council instituted a scheme providing finance towards an S.T. installation for people who could not afford the lump sum expenditure for same. Eventually a piped sewage disposal system had to be resorted to. It took many years for this to eventuate. Territorial Local Authority amalgamation plans which reared their heads from time to time in the end hastened the creation of this service for Waihi. Let me explain this: Apart from the multitude of problems Waihi had inherited from the many years of neglect prior to and after the final closure of the underground mining operations it had one major asset, namely 300 lease-hold sections at Waihi Beach. As values increased and leases were renewed this ownership had become quite an important revenue source for the Borough. However, if and when the Borough would be amalgamated with other local authorities to become a District, such an asset would, after only a few years, become a District asset. To increase its 162

options the Borough council managed to get legislation past to allow for freeholding of the beach leases. And as amalgamation drew closer and amalgamation “fears” increased it actioned this option and capitalised a major part of the leases. Meantime surveys for sewer reticulation were completed and plans prepared for a staged reticulation development. Murray North and Partners were engaged as consultants for this with a Dutch engineer in their employ, Han Endert in charge. Oxidation ponds west of the Borough across the Ohinemuri River were the chosen site for the treatment process, with discharge into the river. Once again we tried to interest the Ohinemuri County to include the residential areas adjacent to the Borough, at least in the survey and planning stage, but “No” once again, they were not interested. (Note: After amalgamation these areas were eventually serviced but extra pumping stations were then required). The first stage of the scheme was completed and became operational towards the end of my working career with the Borough Council. Total reticulation and increasing the oxidation ponds to final size was completed shortly after my retirement. I supervised, on behalf of the consultants, the oxidation pond enlargement contracts after my retirement. Quite an interesting job, not only because of the many soil types encountered but also because the ponds had to remain operational at all times. An interesting aside of this work were the old “mine tailings deposits” encountered along the riverbank. They formed a raised ridge of “fine sands” adjacent to the river. As a matter of interest I managed to get some samples analysed through the new mining exploration company, and, yes, they had a certain gold content but not enough to be economic to recover. One incident during the first stage of sewage development I think is worthwhile to be recorded here. It deals with the construction of the “rising main”, which is the pipeline from the main pumping station at the end of Victoria Street to the oxidation ponds.

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After crossing the Ohinemuri River the pipeline, which was attached to the new Victoria Street Bridge, entered private farmland to reach the ponds area which had already been purchased by the Council. An “easement” along the route of this pipeline had been publicly notified and was available for construction and future maintenance purposes. Within about one hundred meters after leaving the road reserve the pipeline had to cross a swampy little creek on the farm. Very close to the easement was the farmer’s metal track leading to his milk shed which also crossed the little creek. The obvious answer to tackling the swamp crossing for the pipeline was to use the farm track for machine access. I approached the farmer to negotiate access terms, times suitable to him, making good and even improving the track, but “No way!” The only access on his farm we could use was the easement. He was quietly gloating, because he himself had had no end of trouble to eventually put a reliable crossing in over the swampy creek. (Right from the start this farmer had been difficult to deal with). Fortunately we had very cooperative contractors (from Thames) on this job and they viewed the limited access offered as a challenge. I had discussed the situation with the contractors’ foreman and we agreed that we would achieve a workable crossing for the plant using “titree fascines” which the Borough staff would provide. So my own foreman (good old Wally) sent his gang up the Walmsley Valley to cut titree and bundle them up into fascines. Although use of the farm track would have been simpler we had no difficulty or time loss in crossing the swampy area (much to the farmer’s disappointment!) About time to touch on the next category: 3. Industries and Waihi I will only briefly touch on this, a facet highlighting Waihi’s difference from other small towns in New Zealand. I was told that during the great depression years in the 1930’s when severe hunger was experienced by many other New Zealanders people in Waihi did not suffer as mining continued going strong, providing work and money for food. 164

Following the closure of mining in 1952 a multitude of smaller industries developed in Waihi, whether it was a result of special skills being retained in the town or skilled labour being available is hard to say, but it is a fact that when I started work in Waihi there were a multitude of diverse industries in and around the town. Albert Thomas, when he was Mayor, used to boast that “per head of population, Waihi was the most industrialised town in New Zealand” In the late -70’s and early -80’s quite a severe recession occurred in New Zealand, culminating in closures or amalgamation into larger units, of many industries nationwide. Waihi did not escape from this and lost among others; a foundry, a timber mill, a timber treatment plant, the cheese factory (in the county), a pre-cast concrete manufacturing unit, a blacksmith’s shop. However, once again Waihi “escaped” the severe impact of this as simultaneously to these happenings renewed mining interests and related activities developed in Waihi, eventually leading to the opening of the new open-cast Martha Mine by AMAX. As well Cyprus Minerals, with their NZ head office and laboratories in Waihi, developed and operated a combined underground/opencast mine just west of Waihi at the Golden Cross for a number of years. As the town consolidated several new industries developed in Waihi, Ferrentino’s motorbike helmets, tool and die manufacture, timber yards, joinery manufacturing, Ready Mix Concrete, aluminium joinery, plus a multitude of small ones in the old Philips TV-factory, which closed through the consolidation of all Philips New Zealand activities in Wellington. Elliott’s furniture factory, which produces high quality solid timber (rimu) furniture, shipped all over New Zealand, deserves special mention here as an old family business in Waihi at the bottom end of Clarke Street.

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Waihi Family 1960 On to the next category of my story! 4. Family and outside interests from 1960 to my retirement. Earlier on I recounted Judy’s arrival in 1960 and we were quite happy with our family of three girls, but “accidents” do happen and Anne became pregnant again, and surprise, surprise, our son Michael was born on 26 April 1962.

Although we were all delighted with the latest family arrival it created a very busy time especially for Anne who had to care for 2 pre-schoolers and 2 early primary school children in the house, which was habitable, but for years the site of renovations and alterations, starting with the foundations. For the latter Anne was involved as well, as shown in the following: After I had raked all the accumulated debris from under the house, (including tins, glass and broken bottles) with often only space to crawl around on my belly, I started off levelling the house, which had “drooped” around the three solid brick chimneys as the timber foundation piles had rotted. I had managed to lay my hands on enough screw and hydraulic jacks to do this, one section of the house at the time.

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In replacing the timber piles with concrete ones I was setting these on concrete pads. After preparing for these pads I crawled from under the house, mixed a load of concrete and wheel-barrowed that to the nearest place around the house. I then crawled back under, taking with me a rope attached to a small oval enamelled basin which had a handle on either end of it (we had brought that with us from Holland in 1951). When I was in position under the house, I yelled to Anne, who then filled the little basin with concrete and I pulled it towards me while Anne held onto a rope attached to the second handle to pull it back as soon as I had emptied it. It worked like a charm and saved me a lot of crawling in and out, which even without any debris was a hell of a dusty affair. I don’t recall how long the reblocking took me, but I know it was “a hell of a job”. The height of the blocks varied from 18” to 30” and I dragged them on a jute bag as I crawled under. The smallest crawl space was near the front of the house, but towards the back there were spaces where I could just sit up. I am pretty sure that there must have been close to one hundred blocks to replace. After I had finished I swore that I would never again do such a job. And I never did! After this exercise it became a case of tackling one room at a time, and progress depending on finance available. The original layout of the house was a basic standard one of the early 1900’s when the house was built. The front door leading into a passage from which rooms to the left and right were accessed. Two on each side. At the end of the passage were the kitchen, the bathroom and a spare room to the east of the house. Off the kitchen was a small room (The old “maid’s” room) and attached to the east of the main part of the house was an enclosed “sun room’ with 2 walls fully opening windows; I’m sure this room was a later addition to the house. The width of the main passage was over 5

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feet (approximately 1.5 m) and the stud height (floor to ceiling) in the house was 11 feet (3.3 m). 3 August 2004 I won’t bore you with all the details of alterations; suffice to mention that some of the main upheavals were: taking down two brick chimneys, altering the bathroom and bringing the toilet inside, and shifting the kitchen from one end of the house to the other end (the “sun room”), and finally the demolishing of the old washhouse and “outhouse” at the back of the house and replacing these with a large “rumpus room” and a double roofed-over carport. In between all this I also managed to build a 12-foot canoe (in the lounge!) and enlarged the little bach at Ongare Point which we had been given the use of. As well I built, altered and designed several weaving looms for Anne. I had better enlarge a bit about the latter: Apart from helping me, the house work and the four children to look after, Anne found time to develop some hobbies. It started with an interest in wool. Spinning, dyeing and knitting from the fleece to the finished article. Apart from well-known dyes such as flax seeds, onion skins and “old man’s beard” moss we experimented with all sorts of concoctions, some very evil smelling!! Through this interest Anne got to know Jocelyn Mountain who with her husband Guy had a farm at Ongare Point. They were potters and weavers. They were the ones who offered Anne the use of the little “bach” at Ongare Point for our family. Several people had rejected the same offer, but we grabbed the offer with both hands. It was right on the beach although almost invisible from the road as well as the shoreline because of the tall gorse bushes around it. But back to Anne’s hobby! From the humble beginnings and courageous experimenting Anne became one of the foremost weavers in New Zealand. The rumpus room addition to the back of

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the house became Anne’s weaving studio with her bigger 4-shaft looms permanently set up. Later I developed a small fold-up portable loom of which some ten fitted in our car, and Anne travelled far and wide giving weaving classes (as well as at home). I made these small looms in the garage and we sold quite a few of them. After our divorce Deborah’s first husband-to-be, Bruce Maxwell, took over producing these looms, made some improvements to them and marketed them as the “Port-a-loom”. Eventually he sold out to, I think, a Dunedin outfit. When Anne started weaving looms were hard to find in New Zealand so she spread the word far and wide to let it be known that she wanted to buy a loom. One of the early responses to this search was from some old farmers (I’m not sure whether they were a couple of old bachelors or 2 old spinsters) up in the hills towards the coast. A “loom” was somewhere in an old shed on the farm. So, at the first opportunity off we went and found, not a loom, but an old spinning wheel, not quite complete but with all essential parts still on it, covered in chicken shit. It was a bit of a disappointment but we acquired it nevertheless, cleaned it up and restored it to working order. I think it is at Deborah’s place now. What about the kids? Coming back to New Zealand late in 1959 Helen and Deborah were ready for primary school and started at the Waihi South School, which has since been closed, in Victoria Street. Judy and Michael followed suit there when “of age” but also benefited from some pre-school attendance at Play Centre. From its inception at Waihi Anne took an active part in Play Centre and despite her busy life always had time for all four of our children. After Primary School followed Intermediate School in Moresby Avenue and finally College in Kensington Road both of which were very handy to our house at 22 Moresby Avenue. 169

From early on we took the children on camping holidays. I had bought a homemade trailer from a retired doctor in Waihi which I finally disposed of in 2000. It served us well and on trips was loaded to the hilt. Our first big trip was up North where we camped on a private farm along the coast, north of Whangarei. En route through Auckland we picked up a brand new tent, ordered at Farmers, a 10x15 foot tent with two centre poles. It was a heavy brute, but lasted us for many years. Standing out in my memory is the first night after setting up camp. It was a small hollow in the dunes, and an easterly storm with heavy rain developed overnight. So in the middle of the night I doubled up the tent stays in the pelting rain and a howling gale and dug a little trench around the tent to stop the floor flooding. All was well in the morning. The sun came out and the farmer’s wife came down from the house with a tray of hot scones!! We all went for a walk along the beach, 5 km of it with not a soul in sight, doing some beachcombing. Heavy seaweed littered the beach but we also found several of the large Japanese glass fishing net floats, which are now made of plastic. We had glorious weather for the rest of that holiday. Another memorable holiday trip was the one around the East Cape. In those years you could still pull up along the road side if you spotted a likely site to pitch a tent. We spotted a promising site late in the afternoon well east of Whakatane along the coast road and not far from the Motu River. We made camp and Anne cooked up a large pot of macaroni cheese for dinner. We finished our meal and there were enough left-overs for another meal. Just on dark a car pulled up with a young Maori family looking for a camp site. There was enough room so they set up camp near us. Anne offered them our left-over macaroni cheese which offer they gratefully accepted. The next day we drove to the Motu River and spent the day there with the kids, enjoying “lilo rides” in the shallow water channels away from the main river channel, sunbathing and a picnic lunch. 170

On arriving back at our camp site, imagine our surprise as we found a large crayfish awaiting us. A “thank you” gift from the Maori family we had “helped out” the night before. The husband and his young son had spent the day gathering seafood on the rocky coast. Once the bach at Ongare Point was fully organised we spent many long weekends and holidays with the family and friends there. Particularly after the extension was completed we quite often had a crowd at the place. I had sunk a shallow bore equipped with a hand pump for our water supply and rigged up an outside shower at the back of the bach. The “lawn”, established by cutting any regrowth with the lawnmower, extended right to the water’s edge when the tide was in. At low tide the mud flats, on which one could walk, extended several hundred meters to the main channel. We finished up with quite a little fleet on the water. We had earlier bought a little rowing dinghy. To this was added the canvascovered canoe I built in the lounge, and a bit later the centre-board “Idle Along” yacht which we bought in Auckland. How I got it to Ongare Point is worth recording. I took the trailer to Auckland to have a look at the boat. I hoped that it would fit onto the trailer if I was satisfied with the way it looked. I thought it was a nice boat and consequently bought it. Then I loaded it onto the trailer, but there was just one problem: The Zephyr had no wing mirrors, only a rear view one, and I had no rear vision. It was also quite a heavy load. Anyway, I took off for the ride home with a rag tied to the end of the protruding mast, but once I was out of the 30 mile-per-hour urban areas the heavy load prevented me from reaching the speed limit of the open road. I therefore kept as far left as I could and where possible pulled over to the side of the road, allowing other vehicles to pass me. All went well until about half an hour out of Auckland when suddenly a police car siren started blasting behind me. “Traffic 171

cops!” flashed through my mind, and as soon as I stopped a police officer was at my window. I wound my window down and he asked me, “What can you see at the rear when you are driving, sir?” to which I replied, “Nothing!” So he said, “That’s what I thought because I have been on your tail for quite a few miles. The only reason I will let you off with a warning is that you have been driving very considerately for the following traffic!” I thanked him profusely and had no further mishaps. Another addition to our fleet was a heavy clinker built sloop which we found washed up on the beach. We secured it, got some oars for it and had the odd family outing in it, as it could easily hold all of us. On one such occasion we misjudged the outgoing tide. We had been to Tanner’s Point and instead of following the channel, which was a very long and tortuous route we cut across the shallows. Half way along we grounded and the sloop was far too heavy to push over the mud flats. So we anchored it and walked home to the bach and then we just picked it up on the next incoming tide. Just past the bach was a small cabin boat with an inboard motor washed up on the beach, the “kotuku”. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong with it and we often wondered why it was never claimed. Over the years it slowly went to wreck and ruin. I think partly because of our fleet of small boats all our children became competent on the water. Gradually Ongare Point became too quiet for our two eldest daughters Helen and Deborah, particularly during the main summer holidays when all the action was at nearby Waihi Beach.

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Pot-Pourri of Events 21 April 2005 Yes it has been quite a while, so I better take up my pen to “complete” my tale. I don’t recall exactly when, but eventually we gave up the bach. At one stage Judy lived in it for a while full time. Some other people enjoyed it for a while, until a fire totally destroyed it, and now most of the “lawn” area included is fully overgrown again. In passing in my travel nowadays I occasionally turn off the highway to have a look at the spot. On my last visit I noticed that a small area is being (publicly?) mown. What is pleasing is that a small pohutukawa seedling we transplanted when it was some 6 inches tall has grown into quite a stately tree. It is the only survival from a small row we planted parallel to the road. It is on the left of the end of the road, facing the sea. In the following I will jot down some major happenings and experiences not necessarily in chronological order, so it will be a bit of a pot-pourri. Australia Bange Family Reunion 1969 In 1969 we had a Bange family reunion in Australia to commemorate Mum’s and Dad’s 50-years wedding anniversary. They came out by boat from Holland and we all congregated at Tony and Nel’s place. John, Cor and daughter Joan came down from Brisbane by car, Truus with Robert and Marianne flew down from Canada (en route they stayed in Waihi for a few days). The six of us flew to Melbourne. From memory Tony had organised some caravans on his section to accommodate us all. The only one missing was Truus’s husband Oscar. It was quite an occasion with a family dinner one night at a cliff-top restaurant overlooking Mornington Peninsula. After the celebrations John and his family and the six of us took off by car back to Brisbane where John had his family grocer shop. We

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travelled in two cars, a big Holden station wagon and a smaller Renault which was John’s favourite. How John had two cars at Tony’s I cannot recall. We were loaded to the hilt with camping and picnic gear included, but no tents. The first day out I was taking some photos of the children playing in a dry river bed, to fill up a film!! However, when the counter display on the camera went past 36 photos and I could still take pictures I became suspicious, and my worst fears were confirmed. After loading the film I had not checked whether it was advancing, and it was not! And that was the film supposed to have all the family shots at dinner!! I was so disappointed, as these photos would have been the only records of that dinner. Anyway, history, so on we went to our first stop somewhere along the coast at a large camping ground with cabins to rent. We had not made any bookings as our travel plans were “to play it by ear”. We pulled up at the office. “Have you any vacancies?” “Yes, one unit, how many of you?” “Nine!” Whoa!! Not a hope! So we explained that we had our own camp stretchers and sleeping bags and were quite happy to squeeze in. Fortunately the one family unit vacant was quite large and the camp manager was willing to accommodate us. What we had not realised and certainly had not even thought of was that the school holidays had started!! Our next stop was Canberra, where we made a “bee line” to the information centre to find out about accommodation. They looked at us as if we were from Mars. “Are you kidding? No bookings! Everything is full and overflowing!” But one person in the Centre suddenly piped up, “Hang on a minute! There is an Italian Motel operator who was planning to expand and has bought the shop next door which was vacant.” Off we trotted to the address supplied. We explained our predicament, 5 kids and our own bedding.

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Once again we were in luck, if we were happy he would let us use the vacant shop. The shop abutted the footpath and the windows had been whitewashed so people could not look in. It had a little kitchen, toilet and water so we were soon settled in, and after the children were bedded down we listened to some passing footpath traffic conversation. The following morning we had ordered breakfast in the motel and the proprietor was so delighted that we had been willing to use the empty shop that he could not do enough for us. We had bacon and eggs, sausages, fried tomatoes, toast, etc, etc. Next stop the outskirts of Sydney and it was raining! We managed to find a caravan park and rented two caravans for the night. The worst stop over of our trip, but we had a roof over our head. The next stop was north of Sydney on the coast. Here we found an old country style hotel a la Rob Roy or the Stirling in Waihi and got some very basic rooms; beds and wash hand basin. Toilets and bathrooms up the passage, and a TV room for guests. We managed to sneak our supplies of food up to the rooms via the fire escape back stairs, including some fish and chips we had bought. The kids wanted to go and watch TV taking their chips with them!! “No, after you’ve finished your chips!” They accepted that. For what the pub supplied, the room rates were exorbitant, I recall. The last stop before we reached Brisbane was once again at a seaside resort, but here we struck utter luxury! It was a modern motel with everything, TV, radio and amenities in the large suites, there was even a trampoline in the garden. All this for the same price as the old country pub of the night before!! After we had settled the children us four adults treated ourselves to a lovely Chinese meal (king prawns) in a nearby restaurant. The next stop was John’s house in Brisbane.

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Visits to Holland Visit 1972, 1973 In 1972, on my father’s insistence, I made a hurried trip to Holland. Mother had been bedridden after a severe stroke, and wanted to see me once more. Father paid for my trip out of my part of his inheritance. I packed as much as I could into that trip: Visited John in Brisbane as a first stop, then flew on to Sydney for transfer to a Thai Airways flight to Bangkok where I had planned a 2-day stopover. My transfer from domestic to international flight centre did not leave me much time. When I had already checked in my luggage I was told that the Thai flight had been overbooked and I could not board! Frantically looking for alternative flights to Bangkok, but the best I could get was a British Airways flight as far as Singapore on to Bangkok next day. Not good enough. At the British Airways counter the comment was, “sometimes we are surprised that Thai Air has actually got a plane on the tarmac!” By this time I was getting a bit panicky as my luggage was on board the Thai plane. In the middle of trying to arrange for my luggage to get unloaded there suddenly was a call over the speaker system for me to report to Thai Airways. And “lo and behold!” I was directed to board the plane. I was only just on board when the air bridge was withdrawn, the doors closed, and the plane was moving for departure. What a blessing that I was on my own. Just imagine this happening with a family! Phew! Once on board I have to admit that the service was admirable and so was the food. The hotel was on the river water front and I booked myself a dinner and show at the hotel desk, did some shop browsing during the day and bought some Thai silk for Anne. On to Amsterdam and spend a few days with Dad visiting Mum daily at the rest home. She still recognised me but at times was 176

vague and disorientated. Mother lasted quite a few years after my visit and finally died in 1978. After a few days in Holland I flew back and had arranged for a stopover in Canada to visit sister Truus. The first time I had visited her. Back in Waihi I “collapsed” shortly after arriving home and spent several days in bed recovering. In 1973 it was Anne’s turn and she spent some time in Holland with family and friends. The Children Also around this time our young ones started “to leave the nest”, starting with Helen. She started studying and working in Auckland. Boarding with aunty Jeanne + uncle Jo for a start. She met Roger Harrison (studying engineering) and in 1976 they married in our garden at 22 Moresby Avenue, Waihi. The wedding breakfast and party was in the Victoria Hall in Waikino. While engaged Roger was a regular visitor at our place and I am pretty sure that he helped me with the last improvement to our property; replacing the two broken driveway strips with a concrete driveway. Meantime Deborah obtained (after a very rigorous selection process) an American Field Scholarship and spent a year with her AFS parents, Peggy and Jim Danna and AFS sister Janet in California. She had a glorious time there and completed her schooling at Waihi College after her return. Our youngest daughter Judy caused us more worries than our 3 other children combined. She was determined to leave school at the earliest at 15 years old. I am not sure now whether she did not beat Deborah in “leaving the nest.” She met and lived with several “alternative lifestylers”. Had a brief spell in Australia with one at an early age but “homed in” from time 177

to time. I think deep in her heart she knew that no matter what she could always come home to us. One event in Judy’s early “career” is still vivid in my mind. She had applied for a one year study course in Hamilton, at what was then still the Polytechnic. There were 200 applicants for 12 positions on the course. Judy got in as one of the 12. I think originally we found board for her. But a few months later she advised us of a change of address. We felt a bit uneasy about that, so I went off to Hamilton one day to assess the situation having advised Judy of the date I was coming. Her address was a large old villa in central Hamilton and as Judy took me to her room via the back yard (full of junk) we passed a large lobby with a mezzanine floor in it, full of drapes and a reclining “guru” on it. He obviously was the boss of this den of iniquity. Anyway Judy’s room was neat and tidy and I took her out to lunch at a nearby Chinese restaurant. The story unfolded. She had abandoned the course and was working as a shop assistant in town. I told her that in abandoning the course she had deprived one of the many applicants of the chance to join and that I was disappointed in that. She had not thought this through. Anyway Judy eventually “homed in” on Waihi again and landed a job at AMAX, the American mining company which had the capital and was willing to evaluate Martha Hill once and for all. Their Waihi company office was then in School Lane where now the Medical Centre is. Meantime lost sight of Michael a bit in this story. He had joined the Air Training Corps (ATC) as a cadet. They trained in the old Drill Hall (behind the then Borough Office –now Chambers Restaurant), since demolished and now the site of the Recreation Centre. He was also a Venturer Scout for a number of years and was presented one year at Government House in Auckland with his Queen’s Scout Award by the then Governor General Sir Keith Holyoake. Quite a ceremony, which Anne and I, very proudly, attended.

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Eventually Michael obtained a Forestry Cadetship with the New Zealand Forestry Service which initially involved training at the Kaingaroa Forestry School near Rotorua. While still in Waihi Mike had got himself a small motorbike which he had traded up to a larger bike by the time he was in Kaingaroa. (I think it was a 400 cc Honda, a “beaut”). Then one evening we got the for any parent dreaded phone call. “Your son had an accident and is in Rotorua Hospital”. We (Anne and I) hurriedly packed some essentials in the car and took off to Rotorua. There we found Mike and one of his mates in a room. Michael looked absolutely untouched, but his mate looked the worst for wear. Talking to the doctor we found out that Michael was the worst off. His mate’s injuries were extensive, but superficial, but they suspected that Mike had a bruised aorta!! and arrangements were being made to fly him to Auckland, Greenlane Hospital. From memory we stayed the night in Rotorua. The small plane would have no room for either of us, so we travelled by car to Auckland “keeping everything crossed”. Apparently in Auckland awaiting Mike’s arrival a complete heart operating team had been put on standby. First additional x-rays were made which disclosed no damage to the aorta but showed that Mike had several fractured vertebrae and the risk for paralysis was severe. The result was a further transfer to Middlemore Hospital where Michael finished up in a “Turtle Bed”. He was not allowed to move at all for weeks (I think it was 6 weeks). The “Turtle Bed’ allowed for Michael to be regularly turned over from back to stomach to avoid bed sores developing. That was quite an anxious time for all of us. Eventually the vertebrae knitted together and Mike finished up with a “stiff” section of his back. Apparently what had happened, causing the accident, was that a ute with several of Mike’s mates in it lost control and rolled while travelling in front of Mike. Seeing that happening caused Mike to veer onto the shoulder of the road (loose metal) and crash himself.

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They were on their way from the Kaingaroa Forestry Camp to spend an evening in Rotorua. Well, I better get back on track with my own story. After all that is what these “memoirs” are meant to be. But then, the family growing up and events happening to them are part of the story. Anne’s weaving had advanced in leaps and bounds and the large rumpus room I had added to the back of our house had become her studio with several big looms set up permanently and a large stockpile of yarns in all colours of the rainbow. In 1981 an opportunity arose for a visit to America. An American friend, Jane, living in Hamilton planning a trip home was what I think started the things off. Anyway it finished up that she, Anne and Paula Hinch (from Waihi) went to the States and were going motorhoming there and amongst others would spend some time in the Navajo area (renowned for its native weavers) It proved to be a dramatic year for our family.

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Separation & Divorce Anne had arranged for Doreen McLeod who did weekly housecleaning work for Anne to look after the house and my needs while she was away. Shortly after Anne’s departure I initiated what became a very serious affair with Doreen. She was a willing partner in this but I don’t say this as an excuse for my actions. By the time Anne returned home I had more or less decided that I would leave her and be seeking a divorce. I think earlier on I mentioned that Judy had acquired a job with the AMAX mining company in Waihi. While there she met an Australian professional photographer who had been employed to take photos for the company, John Gillis. He got “carried away” by Judy, and Judy and John married in 1982 in Anne’s garden in Hamilton. (They moved to Sydney). And in 1984 Michael and Maree married, also in Anne’s garden. Meanwhile Anne and my divorce (after 2 years separation) was finalised in 1983 by Sylvia Cartwright (the current Governor General of New Zealand) who was then a judge in the Family Court. My liaison with Doreen was not particularly kept a secret and before long Doreen who was on a Domestic Purposes Benefit (D.P.B.) with still some children at home was tipped off to cease her benefit payments before she could land in trouble. She did and I moved in with her at 61 Consols Street and we got married in March 1985 in the garden there. The last from our (Anne and me) foursome to tie the knot were Deborah and Bruce Maxwell. They had been partners for many years through thick and thin. From a good house in Hamilton to a poky flat in Auckland (while Deborah did her doctor’s studies) and now living in a lovely home in Birkenhead. Their wedding in 1987 was in the “Kiosk” on Mt. Eden, Auckland. I’ll come back to the children later when dealing with my final chapter, the retirement period which started in 1988. 181

Committees Before that just a few brief remarks about my involvements outside of my work in Waihi. Shortly after arriving in 1960 I was invited and accepted as a member of the local Rotary Club, and I soon became involved in some of the “officers’” functions of the Club (song leader, sergeantat-arms) and eventually Vice President and President of the Club. I achieved my main impact during my year as Vice President when I organised the annual Rotary Ball in the Memorial Hall. For weeks before a small band of willing workers had assembled at our home, 22 Moresby Avenue, in the evenings to cut out and paint up “verandah signs” (applicable to the club members, many of whom were in retailing). The intention was to transfer the hall into Waihi’s main street. Trouble was that no nails could be used in the hall. I had worked out that everything could be suspended from the steel trusses in the hall. But we needed a lot of rope and timber. Provided that we did not cut the ropes and timber and returned it in good shape and clean (no nails in timber) we could get as much as we needed through some of our members (Albert Thomas -timbers, and Ernie Hands -Waihi Hardware, ropes). I think we bought some nails. There were very few suspended verandahs in Waihi at the time, most had verandah posts on the kerb-line. We could only have access to the hall the day before the ball. Along both sides of the hall a light timber frame work was supported by ropes from the trusses. The painted hardboard verandah signs were nailed to the timbers, and between each sign a “verandah post” (made out of sewn up calico with a stone in the bottom) reached to the floor. We also had ponga trees and greenery in the entrance foyer of the hall and some in the hall. My willing (small) band of workers was slaving away and without saying as much probably thought, “That so-and-so Bange must be mad!” 182

Things were moving very slowly as I was the only one with the idea in my head, trying to explain what I was after. Suddenly, I think it was close to midnight, one of the group said, “Oh, is that what you want?!” and from then on rapidly everything fell into place. I think we finished up at 2 o’clock in the morning with only a handful of workers left by then. Tables and chairs were grouped under the verandahs. I had organised a live band from Auckland and a Maori concert party from Rotorua and courtesy of Akrad closed circuit TV was installed in the hall. Well, it was a raving success. Nobody in town had ever seen the Memorial Hall transferred like this. The Club did not “break even” on the event, had a small loss, but nobody begrudged this. The day after the same small band of willing workers helped to dismantle and clean up for the return of the “borrowed” materials. One hilarious event occurring during the ball was, later in the evening when some people had imbibed in available drinks (tickets were “all inclusive”) and started leaning against the “verandah posts that weren’t”, which rapidly gave way much to the consternation of the “leaners”. I had also joined the Waihi Golf Club and bought myself a set of 2nd hand golf clubs. Although I never became a golfer I enjoyed the Saturday morning (men’s day) round and also the occasional outof-town Rotary golf tournament, usually attended by a couple of car loads from Waihi. My friends Doug Saunders and Neil Christensen (a brother of Chris Christensen, mayor of Waihi in 1960’s) were usually in the group. Two events of these tournaments stand out in my memories. The first, shortly after I started playing, still on 36 handicap, happened on the old 9-hole Te Puke course. That day I couldn’t do anything wrong, hit the ball “sweetly” every time and finished the day with several prizes, amongst them “the longest drive” and “the highest

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stable ford score of 46!” Murmurs in the club house of “Burglar, burglar!” during prize-giving. The second event happened on the southern motorway out of Auckland. We had played in Henderson and had spent some time in the “19th” at the club house after play and prize-giving. My favourite tipple at the time was scotch whisky and ginger ale. Doug Saunders was the driver of one car load and I of the second car load. Before leaving we had arranged that we would meet at “The Red Fox Tavern” for a meal. This was shortly after speed limits had been changed from “mph” to “km/hr” and my speedo (in miles) had “km”-stickers on it. Some 20 minutes out of Auckland I was cruising along at open road speed when I slowly gained on a traffic officer’s car in front of me. Without speeding up I changed lanes and slowly overtook him. Changed back to the left lane when suddenly siren and flashing lights behind me. I slowed down and pulled over on the shoulder, wound down my window and tried to keep my breath out of the traffic officer’s face when he said, “Did you know that you were exceeding the speed limit, sir?” and I replied that I had travelled at maximum road speed (100 km/hr) according to my speedo, but as his speedo was officially calibrated and mine not I had to accept his word. He had a look and saw the stickers on my speedo and let me off with a warning. The cop could easily have thrown the book at me. I had a Falcon station wagon at the time and the back was loaded with golf clubs in full view. That, the time of day, early evening, and four men in a car, could only mean one thing: On the way home after the 19th! While stopped, Doug who had been following me shot past and we eventually met at “The Red Fox”. Doug’s first comment to me, “You stupid idiot! Overtaking a traffic cop on the motorway!” Enough Rotary and golf! After the squash courts were built I also played squash for a while, but not for long as I felt that it would have killed me. 184

With our children participating I also became a member of the scout committee for a while and was elected to the College Board of Governors, eventually becoming Chairman of the Board. Two events while on the Board stand out in my memories. The building of the Gymnasium and the amalgamation of the College and the Intermediate School into a Form 1-7 school. For the latter I used my Chairman’s casting vote for the Board to support the amalgamation. I have since been told that a “casting vote” of the Chair is customary used to retain the status quo. In my view the larger school would allow for a larger and more diverse staff and a wider choice of subjects for the pupils which would only benefit future pupils. The school has grown from strength to strength and I have never regretted my voting decision. The College Gymnasium was also a controversial issue in the town. The only indoor “sports hall” in the town was the old army drill hall behind the Borough offices used by quite a few organisations, basket ball, badminton, ATC and others. Several of these vowed not to support any fundraising for a College Gym as they would not use it. They advocated a facility for themselves in the form of a public gym as the College one would only have public use for limited periods of time. Common sense prevailed and fundraising for the College gym was supported by the community. My own support for this development was based on the reasoning that once built the College gym would not require operating and maintenance costs to be met from the ratepayers’ pockets. Eventually a public gym could be built should the demand for such a facility be proven. I argued that should a public facility be built first the ongoing annual costs would prevent a College gym ever being established.

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I was instrumental in the siting of the facility in cooperation with the design consultants (I think they were Murray North from Hamilton). The floor level I fixed to avoid the large building to dominate the landscape. Considerable earthworks were required on site for this. The one design item I did not succeed to get incorporated was for the span of the building portals to be enlarged to allow for a spectator gallery clear of the playing field. The amenity once completed was fully utilised by all Drill Hall users including the basketballers who refused to help with the fundraising. That covers all my “outside work” involvements I can recall, so now to the final chapter of my tale. 5. My retirement in 1988 to the present. I will start with my retirement and after that it will be a bit of a mixture of what I did: family matters and whatever. Included will be an odd item I missed out before and thus totally out of sequence. One of these to begin with: I mentioned earlier that when I started work in Waihi I had no earlier municipal engineering experience. But I did not mention that in the northern half of the North Island the municipal engineers had started informal meetings amongst themselves several times a year, where problems and/or developments of general interest were tabled and discussed. This eventually led to a Municipal Engineers Division being established within our National Professional Engineers Institute. Those informal meetings were invaluable and very supportive for the likes of me, a “sole” practitioner in a small town. The meetings were hosted by individual municipalities (of which at the time Auckland Metropolitan area had some 27 I think) and the local Mayor usually spoke a word of welcome. In time Waihi Borough hosted one or two of these meetings. Why I specially record the foregoing is that I am sure it led to me becoming a “Fellow” of the Professional Engineers Institute. 186

Promotion to this class of membership only resulted on nomination by some senior members of the Institute. It was totally unexpected and I am proud of it and feel greatly honoured. I strongly suspect that some of my senior municipal colleagues must have been involved in my nomination. Retirement is quite a sudden change: starting with “farewell” functions and possible “Presentations”. My employer, the Council held one function for invited guests and presented me with an inscripted silver tray and 6 silver wine goblets. I have given the tray to Michael and the wine goblets are in daily use. Doreen has two of them (she asked for them when we separated) The Council’s function was of course held in the evening at the Council chambers. A much treasured presentation was a framed poem (commissioned by Deputy Mayer Ken Watters) titled “Henk Bange”. It still hangs on my wall. A further farewell function was organised by my outside staff and held in the Bowling Club pavilion on the recreation reserve. Quite a wide representation were invited to this function, including tradesmen and local contractors and a good and boisterous time was had by all. I was presented with a brown leather attaché case which has been busily used ever since. I think my foreman, Bill, had noticed my old battered leather briefcase I lugged around the office (a remnant from my student days!). And finally there was a further, totally unexpected farewell function organised by one of the Council’s major consultants firms, Murray North from Hamilton. They organised a “Cocktail Hour” function at “Grand Pa Thorn’s” restaurant in Waihi (at the time the top restaurant in Waihi). The invite list is in my photo album (1988-present) and apart from Borough councillors, Mayor and senior staff included reps from Ohinemuri County and Paeroa Borough as well as the local M.P. I much appreciated this function, which I never even thought of as a possibility.

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While talking about the end of my working life, I will have to put on record a remark made by Bruce Leach. I had a long working relationship with Leach’s Quarries for the supply of roading metal. Most supply contracts were based on mutual trust. One day Bruce said to me, “You are not a typical engineer, Henk!” This remark I still remember as a compliment.

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But onto my retirement. My last day at work was the 11th of September 1987. Some 2 months later than planned as my successor Barry Cox was due to start work on August 24th. Accumulated annual leave resulted in my actual date of ceasing employment becoming the 23rd December 1987.

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Although not looking for work after my retirement I was approached by the Borough Council’s consultants whether I was interested to oversee the contract for the Council’s sewage pond extensions. I agreed to this and thus had a part time job for a while. Following this I also did a couple of small jobs for the Waihi Gold Mining Company and then fully retired. Well before this I had become involved in one of Doreen’s ventures, the publication of JBMcAra’s book “Gold Mining at Waihi 1878 to 1952 -2nd edition”. Doreen had done all the spade work and had organised 5 sponsors to finance the venture on the basis that they be refunded as a first call on revenue. Although the McAra family had not asked for it Doreen felt that a small “royalty payment” per copy sold should be made. After considerable deliberations we finished up with ordering a 2000-copy reprint. The intention to have the book available at the official opening of the open cast mine was achieved. To mark the opening of the Mine a dinner was held for invited guests at the Golf Club building. As part of this the company provided each guest with a complimentary copy of the book. Specially numbered copies 01 to 100 signed by JB McAra were arranged for (I have No 11). Once the book was printed and delivery made, sales became the main target. Fortunately The Waihi Gold Mining Company was willing to store the almost 100 cartons of books when they arrived. I became heavily involved in the sales and book-keeping of the JBMcAra Book Trust from the start until the winding up in 1999. There was quite a bit of work involved in this, but it was an interesting experience. Although in setting the retail price we had allowed for a “publisher’s fee” per copy to be paid to Doreen she never received any payment until the winding up as the trust deed laid down that full repayment to the sponsors ($ 25,000) was a first call on funds. The sponsors accepted final payment in the form of books at cost price as part of the winding up. Doreen acquired the balance of the stock as publisher’s fee. Sales will gradually turn this into cash for her.

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I think I mentioned earlier on in my story that The Waihi Gold Mining Company established an Info Centre in a vacant shop in town (in Seddon Street close to the Sterling Hotel) and that Doreen was staffing this after having been taken on as info officer of the Company around the early 1980’s. Eventually The Gold Mining Company built an Information Centre on the edge of Martha Hill just below the old pumphouse (No 5 shaft). At that time some Waihi citizens were promoting the establishment of a local general information centre to promote the district. The stumbling block, as so often, was finance. Provision of a building and operating and maintenance costs. The Gold Company was approached and agreed to make provision in their building for a shared occupancy. Thus the Waihi Info Centre came into being, I think around 1990, manned by volunteers. I became also heavily involved in this as a volunteer committee member and during my last few years in Waihi as President of the committee. The Centre was open 7 days a week from 9am to 5pm in 2 shifts 91 and 1-5. Most volunteers, about 40+ did one shift per month with a small number doing multiple shifts. There were quite a few Information Centres on the Coromandel Peninsula and this group became involved in regular informal meetings to exchange ideas and experiences. Most of the Information Centres on the Peninsula finished up with a paid manager and struggled to attract enough volunteers. Waihi with its large number of volunteers was the envy of all of them. I am sure that the reason for this was that Waihi was totally run by volunteers and totally free of local authority control. The latter was only made possible through the “generosity” of the mining company. We only paid a peppercorn rental for the occupancy of part of the Company’s centre and the telephone was our only outgoing expense. Therefore we did not have to rely on local authority grant.

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I believe that when I left Waihi in 2000 Waihi was one of only two Info centres in New Zealand still voluntary manned in full. Well I better backtrack a bit, even going back to before my retirement. After having done up our old house in 22 Moresby Avenue I vowed I would never do up another old villa, but after I moved into Doreen’s house at 61 Consols Street I couldn’t resist my “builders pull”. Years with Doreen 27 April 2006 Come on, Henk, put your “A” into “G” and finish your story. The old villa in 61 Consols Street begged for some improvements and over the years the following major works were achieved, this time quite often assisted by builders and/or tradesmen: -A double garage/workshop replacing/part of old outbuildings (builder) –widening vehicle crossing and part of driveway and erecting ponga retaining wall (family working bee, -Michael supplied the pongas) -Cobblestoning and kerbing the driveway and parking area behind house (self) -Taking down brick chimney, recovering bricks and use for paving part yard East of house (self) -Extending cover over and access to rear terrace, shifted steps and added ramp (self and roofing contractor) -Putting in ranch sliders from lounge and master bedroom and added covered verandahs around house (builders) -Building in spa pool and adding fenced access enclosures (self). Waihi Borough Pool Permit No 1!! -New kitchen and carpets throughout (tradesmen) -Walk-in wardrobe in master bedroom (builders) -Added en-suite to master bedroom (self and tradesmen) -Added balustrades around west side of house to match existing ones along front of house (builders)

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-Renewed/repaired fencing on side boundaries (timber east side, iron on west side) (self) -Put in small water feature in garden (self) -Erected part of old Catholic Church bell tower on driveway (self and Peter McClung’s tractor) -Replacing ponga retaining wall along driveway by treated timber (builders) I think that just about covers it, once again spread over 10 to 15 years. Meantime it was not all work and no play. Doreen and I did quite a bit of travelling overseas, starting even before my retirement. Doreen’s brother Andrew and family were in Singapore, where he was teaching at the International College. He and his wife Jenny wanted to do a trip through part of Asia and wanted Doreen to babysit their young children (3 girls) while they were away, offering to pay her airfares. I paid my own way and accompanied Doreen. This was in 1983 (23rd March-18th April). We made a little side trip through Malaysia before Doreen’s babysitting duties were over. I am pretty sure I mentioned the Peelen girls early on, part of our group in Salatiga (Java) before the 1940-45 war. Annemarie and Gretl. Don’t recall how contact with Gretl was established. She was married to Joop Arnst, an accountant and lived in Hamilton at the time. We had a “sate/kebab” evening with them at a bach in Whangamata and talked about our upcoming trip. “Well”, said Gretl, “Get hold of my sister (Annemarie Blomberg) in Auckland, her husband has an import/export business on the island of Penang.” I duly did this and contacted Blomberg in Penang, indicating we may visit him. Got word back, welcome.

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Andrew got us train tickets from Singapore to Ipoh. We had a stopover in Kuala Lumpur and made a side trip to the old Portuguese/Dutch seaside town of Malacca. The two (now framed) water colours hanging in the passage of my house in Te Puke we bought there from a local artist (Malay $10.- each) I had exchanged our through train tickets in Kuala Lumpur for travel to Ipoh later. We booked into an old colonial type hotel across the road from the station., when I realised I had the wrong dates for our exchanged rail tickets. So, while Doreen settled in I went back to the station to alter our tickets. Well, what a to do. Could not be done. Finished up in the station master’s office with every member of the station staff having a go. Doreen thought I would never come back and they had arrested me. In the end I managed to exchange our tickets for the right date. We spent one night in Malacca in a so-called “Chinese Hotel”. Dirt cheap and spotless (Nobody spoke any English). Had a “Chilly Crab” dinner at one of the native dinner houses along the waterfront.. Next day in a “communal taxi” to Kuala Lumpur. Fixed price, and as soon as the car is full, off you go. Before taking off in the train again I just have to mention and describe the bathroom in our Kuala Lumpur hotel. I knew them from my days in the tropics, but Doreen had never seen one. It was a big tiled room, “en suite” to the bedroom with a large square (about 1.5m x 1.5m) water basin (about 1 m deep) in one corner. So you douse yourself with water using a scoop, soap yourself and rinse yourself again using the scoop (you don’t go in the basin). The floor got a drain hole, so you can splash to your heart’s content. Off to Ipoh, where we had a long walk to find a “hotel”. Found out later we were near, or just inside the “red Light” district. Went to a nearby taxi stand to arrange and negotiate for a taxi ride to the ferry terminal crossing to Penang the next morning.

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All went well, and Blomberg was at the ferry in Penang. Took us to a “Chinese Hotel” and insisted on viewing the room personally before we booked in. Was OK, so we had a base. He also drove us around on a “tiki tour”, and invited us to have dinner at a top class Chinese restaurant, where we had the most scrumptious meal. We did some sight-seeing ourselves. The old Dutch fort. Went by bus to the upper class tourist hotels beaches (Bukit Tingi) and had a swim. Boy, the beach was alright, but the sea!! You couldn’t see the bottom, and regularly slithered on some plastic bag or other debris. The colour of the water was light brown. Had a rain shower while there, the sea was warmer than the rain. Also did a taxi tour around the island, visiting a snake temple. Flew back to Singapore for our baby-sitting. The kids took us to all the spots we should see: the zoo, the Jurong bird gardens, Santosa Island, and a large swimming pool complex with huge water slides. We had another contact in Singapore, Stuart Menzies, an engineer I had worked with in Iraq, was at the time stationed there and lived in an apartment in one of the tower high rises. We visited him there, and he and his wife invited us to spend a weekend going to the east coast of Malaysia, a “short drive” out of Singapore. What a surprise awaited us. The place was a large fishing village, and you hired one of the motorised fishing boats for the day to take you to one of the off-shore islands. Most uninhabited. Took a picnic lunch with us. Glorious beaches, but rather nasty spiky sea creatures you had to avoid. The boat anchors off-shore, until you hail it. We had a little siesta underneath the palms, and Doreen had a wander around the little island. At one stage she heard rustling in the dense undergrowth, and she thought “What if it is a tiger?!” So she kept close to the water, being a good swimmer she would dive in and swim away from the danger. (It wasn’t until after this weekend that we visited the Singapore zoo, and there in the tiger enclosure Doreen spotted a tiger swimming!)

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After waking up from our siesta we spotted a pronounced trail in the sand close by. Stuart recognised it and said it had been made by a Komodo dragon, very large lizards that live on these islands. During the day a Jap family was dropped off on “our” island, quite a distance away. That evening we had dinner in the hotel on shore, and the same family was there, very excited. They had called for their boat in a hurry (this was after we had left), because suddenly out of the bushes a terrible animal had come onto the beach!! Another Komodo dragon. We spent a few more days with Andrew and Jennie after they came back from their trip, and did some more sight-seeing and shopping. We particularly liked a small local shopping centre, called Holland Village. Visited also old Chinatown. This is rapidly disappearing, flattened a block at a time, and replaced by modern high-rises. Eventually quite a lot of the “old Singapore atmosphere” will be lost!! But all good things come to an end, and winging our way back home to New Zealand we spent a couple of days “en route” with Judy and John in Sydney. In the following I will only briefly recount our various trips, only elaborating if something very special comes to mind. The photo albums with our trip photos will speak for themselves. Our next trip was in 1986 with George and Cherry Gay to Western Samoa. George (the Waihi Borough solicitor) and I had worked our guts out on the conditions for the mining development in Waihi, often whole weekends at George’s home at Waihi Beach. By 1986 all the “i’s” had been dotted and “t’s” crossed, so George felt a “break” would be in order. The Gays (also good old friends of Doreen’s) asked whether we would be interested to share a week’s holiday at “The Islands”. We picked Western Samoa and the second main island Savaii. It was a delightful experience. I have to go into some detail about this trip. We had booked through our Waihi travel agent, who had as a “travel consultant” contact in 196

Samoa a young lady who had just started off in the travel business. Anyway, we arrived in Apia and had one overnight stay there, before we would fly from a local air strip to Savaii. First “hick up”, our little plane had a break-down, so we had to use another one and land on the wrong end of Savaii. Road transport would be organised to take us from there to our holiday resort. Apparently the little planes (Cessnas) were more often out of action than flying. Somebody remarked that the propellers were powered by rubber bands!! twisted! So we got across. Road transport? Eventually and old ute was found (for 4 of us + luggage and driver). We piled in. George Gay in front. Then it started to rain. (Fortunately tropics –warm rain). No problem. The driver pulled into a house of one of his relatives, and a plastic sheet was produced to cover us at the back. We saw a lot of the island, had to go around two thirds of it to get to our accommodation. This happened to be two bures located on a little land spit jutting out into the lagoon. Fully self contained and verandahs overlooking the lagoon. We sipped our local beers and nibbles here in the early evenings. We bought fresh supplies every day from a shop just up the road. The resort was owned by the son of one of the chieftains, who occasionally turned up for a swim in the lagoon. He had a full lower body tattoo down to his knees, every inch covered. Meals were served in a roofed-over communal dining area (no walls) with plenty of tropical fruits at breakfast. Single-person outrigger canoes were freely available for use, and if we tried to double up in them they flooded, and one person finished up swimming behind it. The lagoon was shallow enough to stand up in, but the odd coral patches were very sharp. Doreen’s “natural” ability to meet and mix with people came once more to the fore. A friend of one of Doreen’s friends had been a teacher for a few years on the island of Savaii, and she had asked Doreen to take a parcel over to a family she had befriended there. The village where they lived happened to be only a short bus ride from where we stayed, so Doreen went up one day and finished up 197

staying the night in the village. The people were so hospitable she just could not refuse. It was quite an experience, and she was treated as an honoured guest, as well as being a novelty to all the children of the village. As an aftermath to Doreen’s visit, shortly before our holiday ended, the whole family paid us a return visit. Unbeknown to us they had been waiting on the roadside for some time, before finally some of the family were allowed to enter the site of our resort. And, they had brought a return gift, a live, small suckling pig!! (We donated this to the resort kitchen). After much “toing and froing” the family finally said their good-byes. Just one final happening on this holiday. On our due departure date once again the little plane was not flying, so we returned to the main island by ferry (converted wartime landing craft). To our surprise awaiting us at the ferry terminal was our young lady travel agent, full of apologies about the plane not flying and our willingness to accept all the inconveniences this must have caused us. She had transport for us and took us to her home for cool drinks. And as there was time to spare before our departure to New Zealand she took us to a secluded swimming hole on a nearby river. I don’t know whether she is still in business, but she certainly deserved to have succeeded. (Angela Pascoe, our Waihi travel agent, might know).

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12 January 2007 A few days ago I came back from my last visit to Helen. My sister Truus and her daughter Marianne had come over from Canada for a three weeks holiday, finishing with a trip up North to Cape Reinga and the 90-mile beach. The day after my 83rd birthday (at Helen’s) I dropped them off at Auckland International airport for their trip home.

Why I mention all this is that at Christmas time I got a pile of my typed memoirs from Helen and managed to proof-read all those and some more Helen had at home by the time I left her. There are still some pages to be typed, but now the pressure is on me to complete what is worth recording to date of my life. So here goes. Before I start with a “brief summary” of my major travelling after retirement, mainly with Doreen, but at times on my own, I would have to “slot in” here the arrival of my and Anne’s first grandchild. Helen’s son Mark arrived on September 7th 1988 in San Francisco. Anne went over to spend some time with Helen and Roger. Now about the travels. A special return flight offer to Perth including a week’s accommodation there initiated a visit to Western Australia in 1988. Refer to Photo Folder “Western Australia and Sydney 1988”. (Notes on back of photos). The main target was going to be a series of goldmine visits. Claude Anaru, a son of Albert Anaru (principal of Waihi Intermediate School 199

for many years) worked as surveyor in the Golden Crown underground mine, north of Perth in Cue. As well a geologist at the Waihi mine (a colleague of Doreen’s) gave us introductions to several mine managers east of Perth. We landed in Perth in the evening, booked into our prepaid motel, and told them “Do not worry if you do not see us for a week, because we will be away”. Picked up our rental car next morning, bought extra water and petrol containers, filled them up, and left on our “mining tour”. First stop Westonia (gold extraction by leaching pads) on the way to Kalgoorlie via Coolgardie. Some amazing sights in Kalgoorlie, topless barmaids, but also deep open cast workings just off the edge of the road with only a wire mesh fence between the two. One of the old taverns, the Boulder Block Tavern, has a mine shaft in the lounge bar. The story goes that in the old days, when the miners got thirsty they popped up this shaft for a drink!! Made a short trip south to a mine at Kambalda. Travelling along I remarked to our driver guide, after seeing some dirty long-legged sheep “what poor country this is, there’s hardly any growth apart from scarce salt bushes”. His response was “This is prime sheep country here”. I do not recall whether it was 1 sheep to the acre or to 10 acres. I think it was 10. Travelling north from Kalgoorlie we made a very short detour to an historical remnant, “The Broad Arrow Pub”, now in the middle of nowhere, and had a cool drink. Still as originally built and not upgraded. Onwards to Leonora, an oasis in the desert landscape we had and were still going to travel through. We had a swim in a public pool there. Had to keep a move on, so on to Agnew. Short stop and leg stretch. An old aboriginal on the footpath asked “Where you heading for?” We said “Cue”. “No way you’ll get there tonight” he replied after bludging a cigarette.

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He was dead right, and we had the good sense to stop early evening in Sandstone, a pub and a petrol pump, where we were lucky to find a vacancy for the night and a meal. Next day we took off for Cue, and with practically no signposting found we had taken a wrong turn. We were following fence lines, and Doreen remarked that there were no empty drink or beer cans along the roadside. We were obviously on a homestead access road to ?? Turned around and carried on when we hit the “main drag”. And lo and behold, a few kilometres on a dilapidated signpost at a junction said “CUE”, also empty cans along the roadside. We would have got hopelessly lost had we carried on the night before. We spent three days with Claude A and his family, and apart from a tour through the underground mine Claude showed us around the area; the Big Bell Mine (from which staff is regularly flown to the coast for relaxation); visit to a fossicker (using metal detectors to find old relics); visit to a billabong, where Doreen found a big crystal; the golf course –no grass, even on the “greens”; the cricket pavilion. From Cue to Perth we were going to travel over sealed roads, so I gave the rental car a good wash and vacuum. You should have seen the red water coming off the car. Arriving in Perth the evening before our departure, and returning the rental car they still said: “Sorry, we have to charge you for a car clean-up”. I did not argue about it, the red dust was almost impossible to get rid of. Next day we left for Sydney, where we spent four days with Judy and John Gillis at their King’s Cross flat. Next trip was a big one, to the Western USA and Canada, with Doreen. Before starting on this one, just something I forgot to mention about our Western Australia trip: -We were extremely lucky, that in the short time we were there we saw the “wild flowers” colouring the landscape in many places. The tour to the USA was going to be more of a holiday trip and visiting some friends and family. (* Refer large photo album “1990 – 201

Western USA – Vancouver – Victoria – Banff trip”. Photos annotated on back). However, Doreen also had some mining contact references through the American companies involved in the local mines (AMAX and Cyprus), Martha in Waihi and Golden Cross in the Waitekauri Valley. I spent a lot of time sorting out an itinerary, trying to include as much as possible within a time restrained period. Although I being retired had no problem, Doreen could not justify too long a break in her job. We finished up with a 7-week travel plan, arriving in Los Angeles and departing from Vancouver “zigzagging” our way up through the Western USA. We decided that most of our travel should be by train, and acquired AMTRAK rail passes for the Western USA. For stopovers of a few days we had booked rental cars at Albuquerque, Flagstaff and Denver and stopovers in San Francisco with Mike and Crissie (old friends of Helen and Roger), and with my sister Truus on Vancouver Island and the Jacksons (ex Cyprus manager in Waihi) in Vancouver. We “did” Disneyland, made a day trip (bus) to Tijuana and San Diego, visiting the S.D. killer whale display. Our tour guide had stressed to go for the “blue spectator seats”, being the best for watching. Us “suckers” obliged, and I don’t know how I kept my camera dry. As part of the display the orcas made some running jumps, crashing back into the water and engulfing the blue seats!! Should also mention our visit to the Queen Mary (permanently moored in a harbour basin and partly used as an hotel) and the Spruce Goose, the biggest flying boat ever built. It actually flew once just above the bay. On the Queen Mary an “artist” drew a quick caricature of Doreen and me (pinned up on my “office” wall in Te Puke). He reckoned that Doreen looked like Lucille Ball. Off on our first “train leg”, a long one from Los Angeles to El Paso. Here we were told by our hotel manager to walk to a nearby hotel which featured the largest Tiffany lead glass dome in the world. We 202

went there in the evening, and I think we ordered a shrimp cocktail to sit down under it and admire it. Also went across the border (over the Rio Grande bridge) to Ciudad Juarez in Mexico. What contrast! Also, the “river” at the time was just a trickle in a small concrete channel. Our next “leg” we had to fly, from El Paso to Albuquerque, as there are practically no north-south rail routes, apart from along the west and east coasts, and we had to head west again. In Albuquerque we picked up a rental car and took off into the country. The documentation with the car included a clear map to get from the rental yard to the freeway, but not, as we discovered later, how to get from the freeway back to the rental yard. And all the offramps are signposted by number, not street or suburb. Anyway, we found our way back. I think it was on this trip that we visited a small art gallery en route, late in the day and both admired a beautiful sculpture by a wellknown Indian (Native American) sculptor. It was several thousand US $, so we travelled on. Had a meal stop and decided “So what!” Doubled back to the art gallery, to buy the treasure. But it was not to be, it was closed! We managed to find out where the sculptor lived and worked, and on the off chance went off the beaten track into the desert to visit him. And as “luck” (Doreen’s) would have it, he was there, and although not open to the public, he made us most welcome. He showed us all around his display area and workshop. Also a folder of works sold. He was surprised to hear that we had seen one of his works for sale in a gallery. In a roofed-over area at the back of his workshop was a massive work still in progress. Doreen finished up buying a small bear sculpture, which he decorated with some feathers. All his work was in stone, I think it was alabaster. The large crystal Doreen found near a billabong in Western Australia when we stayed with Claude Anaru, she gave to the sculptor, telling him where it came from.

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Our last night on this trip we spent in a motel at Santa Fe. No booking, dark by the time we arrived in the town. Cruising along the main drag I spotted a “Vacancy” sign, as well there was a gap in the traffic, so I swung the wheel around, put my foot down, and “Ka Boom!” There was an almighty noise, the car jumped into the air and entered the entry to the motel yard. I had earlier noticed, but clean forgotten about an almost 30cm high median strip between the carriageways. I thought I had ripped the sump off the car, but no, the speed of hitting the bump had saved me, or rather the car.. Next leg by train from Albuquerque to Flagstaff. I should slip in here the fact that on the USA rail network AMTRAK passenger trains, when they are not running exactly on time, will have to give way to freight trains. The result is, that once a passenger train gets behind schedule, it gets further and further behind as it travels from coast to coast. The longest delay we experienced was 6 hours for a train running 1 hour behind schedule when we arrived at the station. I must mention that this was the only “criticism” of our train travel. The service on board was tops! I don’t recall at which station it was, but on one of our delayed departures the ticket attendant asked us, after we booked the next leg of our journey on the rail pass: ”Are you going any further after this leg?” “Yes” we said. The result was that he made all the bookings for the rest of our rail travel, including sleeper reservations. Apparently all passenger bookings went through a central New York computer. We experienced not a single hitch with this. In Flagstaff we once again had a rental car and accommodation booked. Worth mention here was our visit to the meteor crater (about halfway between Flagstaff and Albuquerque) and after visiting some historical sites a “shortcut” I decided to take on the way home resulting in us reaching the motel late at night in the dark (It’s a big country).

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Our next stop-over was to be Las Vegas, and instead of a transfer from the west going train to the east going one at a station in the middle of the desert, at an ungodly hour, we were advised to go all the way to Los Angeles and take the train to Las Vegas (and beyond) from there. With our rail pass it would not cost us any extra, as well it gave us some time in L.A. to have a walk around and explore the “birthplace of L.A.” just outside the railway station. Our short stop-over in Las Vegas was used to the full. We were booked into one of the casinos on “The Strip”. One day we flew to the Grand Canyon and over the Hoover Dam. Walked along part of the “rim” of the canyon, watched a big screen 3D film on rafting down the canyon, and at night walked the length of “The Strip”, visiting every casino en route, “white” tigers in one, an erupting volcano on the forecourt of another, circus circus with continuous acts going on and a major show in the theatre of our home base. I don’t recall whether we slept at all?? The train station was in a more “seedy” part of the town, and we were glad to be on board the train. We shared our compartment with a well-dressed “elderly” negro woman, and I think her grandson was with her. Doreen soon struck up a conversation with her. She had been on her annual “pilgrimage” to Las Vegas to gamble. She had been going for years, and I think she had won a bit this time. Once again our train “leg” was a long one, via Salt Lake City to Denver, our next stop. Our accommodation here was a central hotel, our room was several floors up, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the town (quite scary standing close to them). Our hotel was across the road from the oldest hotel in Denver. I don’t recall the name of it, I think it had something to do with a mr. Brown). The mining company “Cyprus Minerals” has its headquarters in Denver, and Doreen had an introduction to them. If I recall correctly, the hospitality was not overwhelming, but we got clearance to visit the Henderson Mine out of Denver, which at the time was an “Environmental show case” in the USA. The mine and processing plant were on either side of the continental divide, 205

connected through a tunnel, for environmental reasons. We once again had a rental car. We also visited “The Mint” in Denver, there was a long queue to get in, and close to us a pair of young backpackers we had come across earlier in our travels. (It’s a small world) From Denver we left for Reno by train with a stopover in Winnemucca (Nevada). I had never heard of the place, and I believe not many Americans know where it is. But just out of this place in the middle of the desert is one of the richest gold mines in the USA, “The Sleeper Mine”. We arrived in the early morning hours, no station, but two passengers needed dropping off. Train stops, out you go, baggage and all, train moves off. The mine manager was there to receive us and take us to breakfast, and afterwards we enjoyed an extensive visit to the mine. There was top security to enter and leave the actual mine area. The story goes that if somebody sys that he got a bit of rock from the Sleeper Mine, he is lying. Not even a pebble of waste rock leaves the gates ever! The next morning we sat on the old abandoned freight platform of what had been a railway station. It was cold. Hah, a train, -No, freight train! Finally our train arrived, and a guard with the door open stopped right in front of us. In we got, and off went the train (30 second stop!). Apparently the train driver and the guard are in radio contact with one another for the pick-up! Next stop was Reno, and another rental car, and off to Lake Tahoe. We found a motel of sorts and had a paddle steamer evening cruise on the lake. The township on the lake front straddles two states, in one gambling is legal, in the other not, so suddenly in the main street there is one casino next to the other. Next day we visited the old gold and silver mining district Carson City and Virginia City. The famous “Comstock mine” area. Back to Reno, and here our travel plans unravelled a bit. The train to San Francisco was running 5 hours late to hit Reno. We had 206

been looking forward to the Reno/San Francisco train ride, reputedly a very scenic one. But our travel schedule unfortunately was very tight, and the delay was unacceptable. We were heading for my sister Truus’ on Vancouver Island for a short stay before doubling back to San Francisco. Managed to book a flight from Reno to San Francisco which would connect with our S.F./Seattle flight; and Seattle to Vancouver flight. Ferry to Vancouver Island and a stay with Truus and Jan. A visit to the Butchard Gardens stands out. By air from Vancouver Island to San Francisco in a small plane. USA customs in Port Angelos. Crissie at S. Francisco airport. We stayed with Mike and Crissie, who made us most welcome. At our request they had booked a cabin for us at Yosemite National Park. We thoroughly enjoyed our visit to this most impressive area! Doreen’s regret – we did not see a bear. Roamed far and wide in S.F., through parks and museums, visited Fisherman’s Wharf, Alcatraz, rode the Cable Car. Also while there visited Deborah’s AFS parents, the Dannas, for an overnight stay (Peggy and Jim) in Soquel. There had been a severe earthquake in the area not so long ago, and Jim showed us around Soquel, which had suffered major damage. Peggy made us a monster American “sandwich” in her Deli shop. Often little things like this stand out in your memory, and this is what it is all about; my “memoirs”. Before moving onto our next leg I must mention the “El Capitan” rock face in Yosemite Park. It takes experienced rock climbers several days to conquer this massive vertical face!! Crissie dropped us off at the station for our next train trip: San Francisco to Portland, where Vivianna, (a friend of Doreen’s from N.Z. Nambassa Festival days) was awaiting at the station for us. During our few days in Portland they took us by car to visit the devastated area caused by the Mt. St. Helen’s eruption some years earlier. What total devastation! I also picked up my “Pink Panther” soft toy at a garage sale. My mascot for many of my subsequent overseas travels.

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By tram to Seattle and an overnight stay. Visited the “Seattle Needle” (with glass lift on the outside!), and walking back to our hotel in the evening had some uncomfortable moments, as we had to cross an “unsavoury” neighbourhood, where some shady characters appeared to follow us! From Seattle we travelled by a large, ocean-going ferry to Vancouver Island. Truus at wharf, brief visit to her home, and dropped off for ferry to Vancouver. As the last part of this big overseas trip we had booked a bus trip into the Canadian Rockies. Stayed overnight in an hotel with very poor service, and early the next morning we were “in luck”: we were the first pick-up point for the tour bus, so we had the pick of the seats (near the front). Just a few highlights from this trip: The tour guide/driver took us on a little side trip, which was not on his schedule, to the headwaters of a river, where the salmon were spawning –and dying, as it was the time of the year for the “salmon runs”. What a stroke of luck to have seen this in the few days we were there. We called in at Lake Louise’s “Chateau L.L.”, and while we were there it started snowing! This was nothing special, but Doreen’s eyes opened wide in wonderment, for it was the first time ever that she had seen real snow actually falling out of the sky!! We overnighted in Banff and visited all there was to see during the day, and walked through the town in the evening. There were large Elks everywhere, grazing in parks and gardens!

The next day we travelled by bus to Calgary, and from there we flew back to Vancouver, where Alvin Jackson, the ex. Waihi Cyprus Mine manager, waited for us at the airport. We stayed with the Jacksons for a few days, enjoyed more sightseeing, and were finally dropped off at Vancouver airport for our flight home via Honolulu, to Auckland, where Helen and Mark welcomed us home at the airport.

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18/03/2007 This is getting a bit longwinded, I think. Therefore I will not go into details about all Doreen’s and my trips over the years, but only touch on the odd highlights. I will also “slot in” any major “happenings” during the years to be covered. First of major happenings was the arrival of Anne’s and my second grandchild, Helen’s daughter Sarah, on 11th February 1991 in Auckland. In September 1991 I went over to stay with Judy for a few weeks in Sydney. She lived by now up on the North Shore across the Harbour Bridge in Willoughby. I think that during this visit Judy convinced me that I needed a new wrist watch, and I bought the one I still wear at North bridge with Judy. (Refer photo album Australia visits 1991, 1993, 1997 and 1998). In 1992 Doreen and I made a fairly extensive trip to Australia, part holiday and part mine visits for Doreen (30th September to 1st November). We spent some days with Doreen’s daughter Joan and family in Townsville. Took her husband Nigel on a boat trip to Great Barrier Reef. By train to Mt. Isa (tour through mine); day trip into the desert, we saw aboriginal rock drawings, picnic near and swim in a billabong; visit to some precious stones fossicker camp. Flew to Alice Springs. Here we met Judy, as arranged, and visited Ayers Rock. (Judy did climb it; Doreen and I walked the perimeter). We had booked a hot air balloon trip in Alice Springs, but unsuitable weather caused this to be cancelled. Judy flew back to Sydney, and Doreen and I went on to visit Ballarat and the nearby tourist development of Sovereign Hill (old mining village and displays). A photo of us in period costumes is now with Joan (Doreen’s daughter). We finished our trip with a short stay at Judy’s in Willoughby, Sydney. (Refer to photo album 1992 Australia trip).

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The next overseas trip was once again to “Oz” in 1993, from 17th June to 12th July. Doreen and I flew to Sydney together, where I stayed with Judy, while Doreen flew onto Townsville to spend some time with her daughter Joan and family, coming back to Sydney on 2nd July. While with Judy I made the “milk run” trip up the Hawkesbury River. Many properties only accessible by water! Back together Judy took us up to the Jenolan Caves in the Blue Mountains, where we overnighted in the hotel and visited one of the many amazing caves. As usual we had a busy travel plan scheduled after our leisurely days. On to Tasmania by plane via Melbourne to Burnie. Rental car to Rosebury, where an ex. Waihi mining staff member, Neville Bergin, was manager of a local mine. We visited the nearby Mt. Lyall Mine in the middle of a devastated landscape!! This was a very old mine, and when opened had no conditions imposed on the operation. Consequently the damage done to the environment from toxic discharge had turned the surroundings into a “moon” landscape. We were told that if the mine stopped operating, even for one day, it would be closed down immediately, with little or no chance to reopen. We did some sightseeing and visited a couple of mining museums. In one we struck an extremely unusual display of “decorated hardhats” (Photo in album). We flew out of Burnie to Melbourne on the 9th July. There was a rental waiting for us, and in that we drove to Stawell, where we stayed with the Carltons. Richard Carlton was mine manager in Waihi for a short while, and now manager in a similar situation in Stawell, an underground mine in the middle of a small town. Richard and Maree had a fairly large family, and each one of their children played one or more instruments. Of course we visited Richard’s mine, and on 12th July flew out of Melbourne back to Auckland. Despite the fact that I wrote earlier that I would not elaborate on our travels, I am likely to go into some detail on our trip in 1994, a big one, from the 23rd June to the 3rd September, to Europe.

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What started this one was a week-long international conference in Paris. From memory it dealt with education/industry/community interaction. Somehow or other the Waihi Mining Company was willing to send Doreen over there to participate in the conference, paying for her travel costs, and week accommodation in Paris. This was too good an opportunity not to extend our stay and cover parts of Europe. Doreen was allowed some extended leave, and after studying many options we incorporated two bus travel tours in our itinerary, allowing for some family stop-overs. As well we broke our outgoing flight with a 2-day stop-over in Bangkok, and on our return flight we would stay for 4 days on Bali. Well, here goes. Bangkok: We had booked and prepaid day tours, as well as hotel accommodation. On the first morning, when we were waiting in the hotel lobby, a local “guide” with an official ID pinned to his lapel, called for us to go on tour. Car waiting outside. Visited temples, monastery, carpet dealer, the official Government gem trading shop, and had a good day. The next morning, when we were again waiting in the lobby, the pick-up time came, but there was nobody! When we finally phoned the tour company, we were told that the bus had left some time ago, and “-we did not collect you, because you were not there yesterday, so we thought you had changed your plans”. Apparently yesterday’s “guide” had nothing to do with our pre-booked tour. How he earned his money, we don’t know; we didn’t pay him! Anyway, they sent a taxi to the hotel, and we caught up with the bus and joined the tour. We also made a trip to the bridge over the river Kwai, and part of the Burma railway, where my brother John was involved as a POW during the construction in World War II. Duly arrived in Paris. Apart from the conference and sightseeing two items to put on record were: 1) On the Metro heading back to our hotel I was pickpocketed. My wallet was taken out of my “belly pouch”. All my American dollars and VISA card gone. Back at the hotel I immediately blocked my 211

VISA card, and I had to report to the police. With my school French and the help of a local at the police station, who spoke a bit of English, a statement was arrived at, and signed. Back home my travel insurance covered the American dollar loss. All this took considerable time, and it was pretty late into the evening. To compensate we decided to have a nice Thai dinner at a little place near the hotel, that we had discovered on one of our “strolls” 2) This is the second item to record. We had had dinner in this place before, and had discovered the hot and sour Thai prawn soup there. To our consternation the proprietor was just closing the shop when we arrived this time. After explaining what had happened to us he said that he would serve us if we knew what we wanted. So we had our soup and a main dish to follow. Our next stop was going to be a week stop-over in Holland with brother John and partner Loekie. I was assured by VISA that a replacement card would be ready for me at my brother’s bank in Delft, before we would leave from there for our big bus trip around part of Europe. We spent a pleasant week with John and Loekie, but “of course?” no replacement VISA card for me at John’s bank. Fortunately Doreen had her own VISA card, and we survived on that, until I finally collected my new card in London. The tour we had booked on started in London, but we had decided to join it in Denmark, at the “Ocean Ferries” terminal in Esbjerg. I don’t recall what caused the Delft-Amsterdam train to be delayed. As a result we only just managed to catch the Amsterdam-Esbjerg train. We overnighted in Esbjerg, and it took some time to locate our tour bus in the morning, but we managed. Stop-over in Copenhagen: -Tivoli Gardens! Next day, ferry to Sweden. On the way we passed the “international” bridge under construction between Denmark and Sweden, which is now completed. Stop-over in Stockholm; Visit to the specialist museum, housing an old 16th/17th century sailing boat, recovered and preserved stands out! Then by seagoing ferry to Helsinki. Passage into port through many islands, and tight gaps stand out in my memory. Also the “Rock Church”. 212

Early start, 1st coach out of Helsinki, to the Russian border, and first stop-over in St. Petersburg (Leningrad). Visits to musea and palaces. Some were restored after German looting during World War II. Faberge Eggs and solid golden incense burners were some of the outstanding treasures on display at the Hermitage Museum. Further stop-overs in Novgorod, Moscow and Minsk, where the Russian tour “security” guide was farewelled at hotel dinner with loads of vodka and champagne. I should note here, that early on in the tour we had befriended an American couple, not very old, Sue and Mike, and the four of us became inseparable. One arrangement we made with our bus driver, after finding out that the very drinkable Russian champagne was dirt cheap, was to have a bottle in his drink cooler, so that on arrival at our next destination we had a cold bottle to drink. The bus driver, as a little side line, sold cold soft drinks, kept in the bus cooler. Before crossing into Poland I will just jot down a few memorable impressions about Russia. Landscape: Quite monotonous with a lot of swampy looking countryside. Comfort stops: Public toilets few and far between, and in disgusting condition. The bus stopped in isolated places for nature calls, and “women to the left, men to the right!” There were often mosquitoes galore, ready to feast! Roads in cities: Often more potholes than smooth pavements. Trams: Judging by the noise appeared to run on “square wheels”. I should also mention here, that what made this tour so outstanding, was absolutely due to the actions of our tour leader. She was a lady from Estonia, now living in London. She spoke the languages of the countries we travelled through fluently, and knew exactly “who to bribe with what”, particularly at border crossings. Her organisation at stop-overs and hotels was faultless and super efficient.

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When we arrived in Moscow in the early evening our bus pulled up on the Red Square. It was totally deserted, apart from some soldiers. One promptly came to the bus, and in Russian told the driver, that he could not stop here. So our tour leader gave him a piece of her mind in Russian, and the bus stayed where it was. The soldier retreated. She also went out of her way to organise extra side trips, which were not on the official tour itinerary, whenever there was a “free” evening. One of these was a visit to some of the underground rail stations in Moscow. Everybody was interested, so she split us in two groups of around 20 people in each, and she took one and appointed me to lead the second one. She stressed that going from one station to the next, we should all board quickly with the leader, to avoid the risk of anybody being left behind and getting lost. If so she would be “in deep shit”. We visited at least three stations, and each one was like an art gallery or museum and different in concept. And there was not a sign of graffiti. We didn’t lose anybody, and on our return to the hotel she gave me a bottle of champagne as group leader, which our “foursome” made good use of. The Russian hotel food was not all that exciting, and in Moscow the 4 of us discovered a pizza parlour close to the hotel, where we went for dinner. Before leaving Russia I should mention a few of the many entertainments included in the tour, such as The Nutcracker Ballet in St. Petersburg and the Moscow Circus performance. I must also not fail to record an extra, our tour leader organised in St. Petersburg. “Anybody game for some champagne pre-dinner drinks at the statue of Peter the Great on horseback?” she asked. Of course we were. On arrival she produced a “case of champs” and asked: “Does anybody see anything outstanding on the statue?” Yes, we noticed that the whole bronze statue was covered in patina, but the horse’s balls were polished and shone!

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So, she told us the story. The officers’ academy was nearby, and on graduation it was tradition to try and climb the statue and polish the horse’s balls. Well, on with our trip, crossing into Poland, and once again we somehow or other got to the front of the queue! We spent two nights in Warsaw, where we enjoyed a Chopin piano recital and a folklore show. On to Berlin. The hotel was a hothouse, for there was no air conditioning. In the city people used the many fountains to cool off. We were there during a heat wave, the temperatures climbed into the thirties. We saw the remnants of the old Berlin Wall, and on visiting “Old Checkpoint Charlie” at the Brandenburg gate, the, as always, efficient Germans, in this instance the police, checked the bus driver’s time spent behind the wheel (there is a tamperproof recorder on each tour bus), and it was over the limit. There and then he couldn’t move the bus. Our tour leader lady managed to organise a substitute German driver (from where?). Our driver had to have a 24 hour rest period. But we were off to Holland the next day. So our driver became a passenger, and at the German/Dutch border he once again climbed behind the wheel, although he certainly did not have a 24-hour break. One night stop-over in Holland at Monnikendam, where we enjoyed an Indonesian Rice-table dinner, and then on to London, where we were to rendezvous with Doreen’s brother John at the Merchant Navy Hotel, a good, cheap hotel in central London. John was for many years employed as secretary of the Merchant Navy Union in New Zealand, and as such had access to this hotel, including family. We spent several days with John in London, sightseeing, shopping, evening show, and then joined our next bus tour, England, Wales, Scotland. What a contrast to our European tour this was; the male tour leader did the absolute minimum. At a stop-over in York the bus parked in a small park area. “Be back here in 1 ½ hours”, he said. He gave us no map, or name of the park. So, off everybody went walkabout, but there were no straight streets, they were all winding and often very narrow. We got a bit lost, but were generally heading in the right direction, when I recognised a feature, a stone 215

wall, and soon we were at the bus. So was everybody else, except one lady. So, no way could he leave, and we waited and waited! Eventually a taxi pulled up, and out came a very relieved lady. What happened was, that on her walkabout she had regularly used a video camera, and finally finding herself totally lost she had hailed a taxi and showed the driver her camera shots. From these he found the park, and drove her back to the bus! We still enjoyed the tour, though. Some highlights were Stonehenge, attending the Edinburgh Tattoo, which was a magnificent experience, visiting a small shop/museum in Scotland specialising in crystals, some of unbelievable size and variety, touching on the Isle of Skye, home of Doreen’s forbears, and walking on the St. Andrew’s Golf Course. At the end of this tour we met up again with Doreen’s brother John and his partner, Devon, in London, at the Merchant Navy Hotel. From there we spent a couple of days with the Craddocks family near Heathrow Airport. Roger Craddock was the manager of the Waihi mine when the open pit was started, and during the lead in “hearings” period. Carol Craddock dropped us off at the airport for our flight to Bali, where we had a 4-day stop-over in a hotel on the beach. We finished this tour staying 12 days with Judy in Sydney, and finally landed back home in New Zealand on September 3rd. The furthest thought on my mind was, that I would once again fly half way around the world in just over one month’s time. On the 9th October my sister Truus phoned me up to say that my brother John had died in Holland on October 8th. I do not remember how I managed it, but I flew out of Auckland on October 10th on a direct flight to Amsterdam. My brother Ton and sister Truus also flew over. Truus and her husband, Jan Bakker, stayed in a B+B in Delft, while Ton and I stayed a Loekie’s place (John’s partner). Loekie asked me to do the eulogy at John’s funeral on the 13th October. I appreciated her asking me, and had the text typed up, so that Loekie could approve of it, or ask for alterations. She was happy

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with what I had prepared, so I had a few “practice readings” out loud, which went well. However, at the chapel, when it really mattered, I had great difficulties keeping my emotions under control, and had to stop several times, when they got the better of me. Ton and I sorted out John’s belongings, at Loekie’s request, and on October 22nd I landed back in Auckland with my check-in luggage in a deplorable condition. I had through-booked this luggage in Amsterdam, via Heathrow-London and Los Angeles to Auckland. In Los Angeles there was a 3-hour stop-over. There was no transit lounge, and apparently customs wanted to inspect my two items of luggage. I had one backpack with two pad locks, and one large cloth bag taped up, which was full of John’s clothes. On arrival in Auckland the latter was ripped with the clothes spilling out. Fortunately I had bundled them up with belts around them, and back in Waihi I found that the padlocks had been cut off my backpack. I reported the condition of my luggage at Auckland Airport. They were not surprised. Los Angeles! I also wrote to the USA with photos enclosed, but did not even receive a reply. There would have been plenty of time for the customs in Los Angeles to request me to attend any luggage inspection!! The year 1994 was quite an eventful one in all. Just a little “flash back”. Judy came visiting in January. Helen spent some weeks in Selwyn Hospital early January. In October Judy once again came over from OZ, and in December she visited Greece and Europe on a quick tour. In November Doreen’s daughter Andrea married Grant Abrook in our garden at 61 Consols Street, and in December Doreen and I attended the wedding of one of the Boggiss’es sons, old friends of Doreen’s, in Hawke’s Bay.

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And, talking of weddings, I think I skipped Doreen and I attending Deborah’s 2nd wedding to Raymond Andrews in Auckland in 1992. (Separated 2002 – divorced 2004). Well, what next? Helen and Roger decided to go their separate ways, and in 1995 Helen and the children, Mark and Sarah, moved to Grange Road in Auckland, and from there to Poronui Street, close to Mt Eden village. My first wife Anne, also moved to Auckland, a town house close to Cornwall Park. While on house moving. Michael had left the Forestry Department, when a lot of Government Departments were reorganised and often decimated, and had started a contracting business. He, Marie and family had moved to Te Puke, and over the years made several moves, finishing up in McLaughlin’s Drive. Michael worked extremely hard, and ran an efficient planting, pruning and thinning contracting business, employing several gangs. He always worked as hard, if not harder, than any of his workers, and I am very proud of what he achieved. 05/05/2007 I’d better bring these memories to a close before long, otherwise they will remain uncompleted. And not only that, but my children will probably remember more of the latter years happenings than I do. Deborah, who after graduating as a doctor had gone on to specialise and to further her experience, left for the U.K. for several years. I saw her off at Auckland Airport. Her husband Raymond was going to join her there for a short period, depending on his local work commitments, but in the end he stayed in the U.K. with her and found some work there. Early 1997 Deborah was back in Auckland, and on the 11th February her first daughter Alexandra was born at the North Shore Hospital.

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She started travelling at an early age, because later that year, on 30th August Judy tied the knot with Malcolm Echin in Goulburn, and all the Bange family was there, including Deborah’s newborn. Sarah was a bridesmaid. After the wedding Doreen and I hired a car and visited the Drurys, Bob and Maree, ex Waihi mining contacts. Bob was then involved with the development of a large opencast gold mine as environmental officer. In 1998 Doreen and I once again were over in OZ, this time visiting Doreen’s daughter Joanne’s family. They were then living on the Atherton Tablelands, inland from Cairns. We finally managed to do our hot air balloon trip on this trip. It was a very enjoyable experience which we finished off with a champagne breakfast. The last week of our tour Doreen and I had booked in a small hotel on the coast just north of Cairns to relax and get over Joanne’s hectic household. During this week Doreen went as pillion passenger on a Harley Davidson bike ride up north to Port Douglas and the Daintree rainforest. A heavily tattooed “bikey” turned up at the hotel, who looked after Doreen well for the day. Early 1999 I went over by myself to spend a few weeks with Judy and Malcolm in Goulburn. Later that year my sister Truus from Canada came over, and with my brother Ton the three of us toured the South island, both west and east coasts, and finishing up in Waihi.

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Te Puke It was not the happiest of visits, as in late 1999 Doreen told me to leave her, as a result of inexcusable behaviour by me. Something I will regret to the end of my days. All my and Doreen’s family know what happened, and probably many more people. I voluntarily went for a full year for “one-to-one” counselling, and our split-up resulted in my now living in Te Puke. I would have preferred to have stayed in Waihi, but in hindsight my move was the most sensible thing to do. And why Te Puke? As it so happened my son Michael had a vacant property available in Te Puke, which needed interior redecorating. So I moved there. Doreen and her friend Cathy packed essential household bits and pieces for me. Doreen planned to replace her fridge and washing machine, so she gave me the existing ones. Cathy was in the process of replacing a lot of her furniture, so she offered me several small drawer cupboards. All in all I had sufficient to set myself up. I bought a dining table and chairs at a second hand shop in Te Puke. Doreen agreed to buy out my 1/5th interest in her property over 5 years. Michael and Maree and daughter Vanessa and her husband Jim helped me to move in, and I spent the first year redecorating the inside, and I also did some wall repairs to the garage on the property, and painted it with Michael’s help. Shortly after I moved to Te Puke, on the 17th May 2000, another joyous event occurred. Deborah’s second daughter Helena was born in Tauranga. But for a start it was a worrying time. I don’t know the proper medical condition, but basically Helena had to be urgently delivered by caesarean, as some blood poisoning condition developed in Deborah. I visited the hospital shortly after the birth, and this tiny little baby was lying in an incubator with a multitude of tubes. She was rushed by helicopter to Waikato hospital (Deborah followed by ambulance),

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and fortunately recovered very rapidly, turning into the little bundle of mischief she now is. Judy went through a bit of a rough patch with Malcolm around the millennium change (so I was not on my own!). In October 2001 she briefly visited us in New Zealand, and Christmas/New Year 2001/2002 I went over to OZ for an extended period to support Judy, although things were slowly getting back on an even keel with Malcolm. I think it was during this visit that I made a “sit-on balustrade-cumdrinking glass” resting place around the terrace extension, outside the kitchen/dining area, they had built. Malcolm’s daughter and her husband were over from overseas as well, part of that time. We had a delightful couple of weeks’ holiday on the coast in a place rented by J and M, with direct access to a small beach and bay. The next eventful year was 2004, starting off with my 80th birthday celebrations. Brother Ton had finally managed to sell his shop in Tapawera, and was over winding up his business and looking forward to join his two sons’ families in OZ. Sister Truus came over from Canada, and Peggy Danna and her daughter Janet were over from USA. You may recall that the Dannas were Deborah’s AFS parents in California in her exchange there. I had kept in touch with Peggy and Jim over the years, urging them to come and visit us, and sometime in 2003 Peggy wrote if it was OK to come over to New Zealand for Christmas/new Year 2003/2004. Unfortunately her husband Jim died some years back. She didn’t realise that the 6th January 2004 was going to be my 80th birthday. I met Peggy and daughter Janet at the airport, took them to Helen’s place at Scott’s Landing, and the four of us went in Helen’s car (she insisted on) to Cape Reinga and 90 mile Beach. On the way back we did the boat trip to “The Hole in The Rock” in the Bay of Islands.

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My 80th birthday celebrations lasted several days. We had a family dinner at Somerset Cottage in Bethlehem. Getting there was hilarious. Garry, Deborah’s husband-to-be, had the use of his inlaws’ motor home, and all of us piled in there at Deborah’s house to proceed to dinner, allowing all of us, except Garry, to drink! As well we had a luncheon for my extended family and friends, about 50 people, at Mills Reef Winery in Bethlehem.

A magnificent birthday cake awaited me there, as well the luncheon was my children’s’ birthday present for me. Judy and Malcolm were also over from OZ, and Judy had designed and produced a lovely invitation card for the occasion (see photo album). After the luncheon all the extended family gathered at Deborah’s place, relaxing and playing croquet on the lawn. After the various overseas guests had left, I took brother Tony to Helen for a week, where Tony caught his “first snapper” of his life, fishing from Helen’s dinghy in the Mahurangi River Channel. We also helped tidy up Helen’s septic tank sewage system. Tony and I took the boat trip to Kawau Island and visited the Mansion there.

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Tony left for OZ early February, and the joyous start of the year turned into sadness. Only a week after returning to his family and telling them all about his exciting last few weeks in New Zealand, Tony dropped dead, on 18th February 2004, while filling his vehicle at a petrol station in Ballnarring, where he stayed with his son Ron and family.

His beloved Toyota landcruiser (“going around the clock for the 3rd time”) he had sent back to OZ from New Zealand earlier on to be completely overhauled and repainted. It looked like new! Helen and I went over to Tony’s funeral and stayed with Ron while there. The sons, Ron and John, asked whether I would do the eulogy, and I agreed to cover Tony’s life, except his OZ period, which Ron agreed to cover. I prepared some notes, and Ron and John agreed with them. The funeral was held at a crematorium chapel, and the place was packed with Tony’s friends and acquaintances. As for my brother John it was once again a very emotional experience. But life goes on, and the year finished on a high note with Deborah and Garry’s wedding in the garden on 2nd October 2004. And now we are already well into 2007. Last Christmas 2006/2007 once again my sister Truus came over. The reason being, that

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finally her daughter Marianne decided to come to New Zealand for a visit, and had asked her to accompany her. By now Truus has seen a great deal of new Zealand, but not the East Cape and the Far North. So I planned a couple of 3-4 days trips with breaks in between at home base, and I also booked all accommodation well in advance. My kids felt that I would over extend myself with all the driving, so in the end the East Cape trip was cancelled. That left the “Far North” trip. Our first stop was at Helen’s at Scott’s Landing. Next stop Kaitaia, and from there bus trip to Cape Reinga. Next day via Bay of Islands back to Helen, and from there I dropped Truus and Marianne off at Auckland Airport, before heading back to Te Puke. Although not “one of the locals” yet, by now fairly well settled here. I would still prefer to be together with Doreen, but that is not to be. Doreen had found herself a new partner, an old school friend, some time after we split up, a mutual friend of Doreen’s oldest friend Moira Carter and Doreen. Unfortunately he had cancer and died a couple of years ago. Doreen managed to sell her lovely large property at the bottom end of Walker Street, and moved to a smaller one at No. 3 Walker Street. I am still, although infrequently, in touch with her. Here in Te Puke I joined the local bridge club some 5 years ago after spotting an article in the local weekly paper, about the club running a course for beginners. It taught me the “convention” used in the club “5 card major and weak no trump”. Although I am frequently being asked to play more often, I only play on Thursday nights and thoroughly enjoy the amicable club spirit on that night. One of the older members asked whether I would be interested in joining the local PROBUS club, meeting once a month, and sponsored me a couple of years ago. A “spin off” small group of this club meets once a month for a surprise luncheon, destination only

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known, when we meet on the day at 11:45am. I also needed some exercise, and my doctor, Dr. Almond, each time I visited him, urged me to do daily walking trips. I did try, my longest walks were from my home to the New World Supermarket and back home. But my left knee, which for many years has been a weakness for me, played up more and more. Knowing the general benefit of rowing I bought myself a “rowing machine” and did short daily stints on this, but again my knee did not agree with the action. My weight, which after I stopped smoking, had gone to over 100kg, had stabilised at around 100-104kg, which was still too much for my liking. So, 2 years ago I joined the local Gym (“The Fitness Factory”) which is very well equipped. One of the staff, Brenda, checked me in, and put a programme together for me. This is regularly reviewed, and at present I go most weeks three times for 1 ¼ to 1 ½ hours. So far, I have not lost much weight, but I definitely feel much fitter. As well I have a regular 1 hour full body massage every 2 to 3 weeks. Last week I traded my trusted 1997 Telstar Station Wagon for a 2004 Suzuki 5-door hatchback. I am slowly finding all the right buttons and controls. It is an easy car to get in and out of, and it is very comfortable. So now I have come to the end of my reminiscences. Next week I am going to visit Helen for a few days and will take the last of my scribbles to her for typing. She has rented out her house at Scott’s Landing, and rents a flat in Auckland. I will conclude with a few general remarks: Generally I have had a good life. Maybe some people will say I lacked ambition, but making money has never been a major aim in my personal and professional life. I have tried to do my best, but I have not always succeeded and made mistakes, and at times I must not have been easy to live with.

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I am proud of the two women, Anne and Doreen, I have shared part of my life with. They are both strong, versatile personalities, who have given me a great deal of support. I have been blessed with 4 beautiful children and 4 delightful grandchildren, all with their own and diverse personalities. I’d leave it up to them to judge whether I have been a good father and/or grandfather. Sometimes I wonder why I am still here in my 84th year, while both my brothers, John and Tony, died in their seventies, 74th and 76th respectively. It has taken over 6 years to come to the end of this tale, and I thank my daughter Helen for having done and organised the typing of my often unreadable scribbles. My main reason for having jotted down some of my memoirs, has been so my children will know a bit more about me, and I hope to have succeeded in this. Henk Bange 24th May 2007

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Addendum 2014 Invitation to Henk’s 90th birthday celebration lunch at Mills Reef Winery (put together by daughter, Judy):

Dad’s 90th Birthday 5 January 2014 Mills Reef Winery, Bethlehem Helen Harrison “Thank you to everyone for coming along to celebrate dad’s 90th birthday today. I am Henk’s first born, Helen. Apart from being the RSVP on the invites I have had very little to do with the happening of this party. Thanks for this goes mostly to dad who has thoroughly enjoyed planning his party and to my siblings Deborah, Judy and Michael and their partners. At one stage seating arrangements created bit of a flap but to my mind it is not about where you are seated but about your perspective. My father at 90 finds he is sitting a lot and with this has come a lot of frustration. As dad colourfully puts it:

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“physically you’re bloody well getting limited as to what you can do”. The thing that has really hit my dad is losing his mobility with the latest threat being the possibility of not having his driver’s license renewed. In writing this speech I have had a huge struggle with editing and have been constantly reminded of dad with images of him sitting at his desk surrounded by piles of papers writing in his notoriously difficult to read hand. Over the years dad has written a lot and one of the things that has always been important to him is to stay in touch with family. This Xmas my son Mark received a card from his Opa. Mark then sent me an email with a photo of what dad had written in the card so that I could, as he put it, “translate” dad’s writing. The story of dad’s life is a very interesting one and a part of New Zealand’s heritage. It is all in his memoirs completed when he was 80. I don’t think he ever thought he would live to 90! To anyone who is interested to read dad’s memoirs and know more I can supply a digital file. For now I will just share that as children growing up we knew our dad was special. How exotic it was to share that your dad was born in Indonesia (then the Dutch East Indies). That he was a Civil Engineer and worked on a dam in Iraq. I don’t think any of our childhood friends had a clue what and where we were talking about and neither did we! However they did understand when we proudly shared that our dad was The Borough Engineer of Waihi.

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Being the Borough Engineer of Waihi was dad’s life work and he is deservedly proud of all he did for the town. The poem I am about to read was written for dad and presented by the Deputy Mayor of Waihi, Ken Watters, when he retired in 1987.”

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As a gift from his children, Judy Echin (Bange) put together a large collage canvas print of photographs:

and Deborah McMurtrie (Bange) organised a special cake:

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