A taste of childhood

On a hot Canterbury NZ day, after a meeting with my future home builder I took a detour from my route home and drove down streets from my childhood. I expected change after so many decades, I expected changes after the earthquakes of 2010 and 2011.

Much of the suburb was unrecognisable visually, except for the street names which had an odd haunting quality to them. Haunting because they had been such a big part of my growing up as I biked down them when young, yet had been changed so much, There was a disconnection with everything that should have felt nostalgic. The disconnection was enormous. The suburb had radically changed in its street layout, the vegetation was very different, the houses seemed old and often ill-kempt.


Gone of course were the days when school children like me walked a very long circuitous route to get to school; past open ditches where each house had a wooden bridge to access their driveways. Entire blocks of poplars had disappeared.

I remembered watching the steam trains puffing smoke along the line of poplar trees while I stood on the dining room chairs to catch a view. I was probably 5 years old.

I remembered cycling to school on my bike, balancing my violin and trying to rub warm my fingers, chillblained and cracked by Christchurch frosts. Zephyr and Humber cars parked in the driveway.

My parents bought some land in what would become Casebrook but at that stage was still considered Northcote, Christchurch. They capitalised the family benefit and took advantage of 3% State Advance loans. The new subdivision had been a dairy farm and the land was very clayish. My parents got trailer loads of manure each year trying to improve the soil texture. I can remember a visit to the house under construction where I was afraid to walk on the floor beams in case I fell through between them. My mother cautioned me. She cautioned me about everything and the world seemed a dangerous place.

My bedroom was to the right of the angle at the front door between the two wings.


Back in the 50s, 60s and early 70s women often stayed home and amused themselves while the kids were at school. Kids got themselves there and back. They weren't ferried in cars.

After the subdivision was finished some merchants opened a little string of shops nearby, consisting of a grocery store (supermarkets didn't exist), a chemist and a fish and chippie shop. Chinese food and hamburgers had not yet reached New Zealand. I hated fish so sometimes I was allowed to order a meat pattie and chips.

 Every Friday night we ate a mince pie with tomato sauce while watching Clutch Cargo cartoons on TV. On Saturdays we ate fish and chips while watching Yoyage to the Bottom of the Sea or Bonanza or even Laramie, the Virginian, the High Chapperal. Westerns were big then and so was Doctor Who with those pesky, scary Darleks.

I was coming up to that little group of shops where a pie had been 50c and so was a big tablet of chocolate back then. Now there was a doctor's surgery where the dairy used to be, the dairy was in the middle and at the other end was a takeaway run by chinese folks. I parked and went in. On the board I found 'meat pattie' was an option so I ordered it. I popped next door and bought a bottle of BBQ sauce.

Two minutes later I was parked across the road from my childhood home, eating my pattie and chips from the paper, sauce splottered over the food. It was wonderful. The taste of the meat and onion and herbs was exactly as I'd experienced 55 years ago even though those cooking it were newish immigrants. How could that be? No matter. Those moments were sublime as I munched and regarded my old home. Rather changed it was. The garage Dad built had been altered, the front of the house had two new rooms added, the fireplace had gone, the garden was completely different and rather unkempt. The house needed some serious mainenance but I could see the driveway I used to weed, the path I used when I came home from school. The last time I was in that house was 1976, the day of my first wedding. I hadn't seen it since.

 Many of the lives that came and went there had extinguished. What had happened to John Smith, my first boyfriend? The two of us are photographed in front of the garage when we were both 15. I heard Graham Johns who lived down the road and attended Papanui High with me had made it big in music overseas, orchestras etc. I would have liked to catch up with him. Names are fading from my memory.

The Barnes lived across the road on the corner in the partly bricked house (see last photo). I didn't have much to do with them but my mother, who had plenty of time on her hands, used to fraternise.
I still have my old violin and inside the case is this address biroed in my hand, 12 Brockham St, Papanui. The suburb is now known as Casebrook.

This was just one little experience of 'coming back'. Many of the places I worked, had dates, lived ceased to exist after the earthquakes. It's very hard for me to drive around Christchurch and see so, so much loss of heritage, identity, facilities. There's resilience out there because there is no choice but I can see a lot of political incompetence and uncaring too.

It was just an hour, a drop in time but that taste of childhood gave me momentary grounding. I started the car and drove away from Christchurch. Perhaps there will be other personal revisitings.

Photos show: the house under construction in the mid 50s and what it was like in the 60s and 70s, and now; me staring at the Barnes' house on the corner of Cherry Place, my brother and I doing 'carpentry - the only time I was allowed to play with a hammer, just for the photo - because I was only a girl; dressed as Miss Muffit outside the front door 1959 (in those days fancy dress competitions were popular with competitive mothers); standing on the driveway in my Sunday best for church 1969, cooking sausages swimming in dripping, as we did in those days while wearing my obligatory 'pinnie'. Stick on decoration on walls was popular then too. It wasn't wallpaper and we used the same stuff to cover our school books. Here it was bright red lobsters. My mother had a thing about red and green and lilac.

Unsustainable 'sustainability' gives it a bad name

I feel quite passionately about sustainable living. When I worked as Public Affairs Advisor, Environment for Waitakere City Council I learned a lot about water management, waste management and green energy. It has stayed with me ever since and I intend to do more in my private life around those principles. These principles are not difficult to understand and in many sectors are now mainstream. On my way down the North Island I chose an Airbnb that marketed itself as a sustainable business, a farm. The accommodation was in a yurt (a glorified tent) but I felt a little adventure and new experiences would be interesting.

I arrived in Turangi to discover there was no one waiting to check me in. A call to the host had her explaining she had gone to Wellington and left her woofer in charge of the farm and guests. Rather a responsbility for a temporary woofer. I wasted a lot of time driving up and down tryng to find this person so I could unload my stuff. Things did not feel very organised so I got out of the car to find someone to explain to me where to go.

 I met some other guests in an outdoor communal kitchen. It was beyond rustic and cold. It was a jumble of stuff' and I couldn't tell what was clean and what was not. How could it be clean exposed to the open air and dust? I couldn't find a plug for the sink and the tap came off in my hand though the woofer, I was later told, had some plumbing credentials. Another guest , also a blogger, had wanted to boil some water but the dial for a gas element came off  and most of the other gas elements had no dials at all. When the woofer showed up he managed to get one element to work but it all looked rather dangerous. I felt irritated by the lack of amenities and discovered another guest my age was equally irritated and disappointed. We commiserated. Having succeeded in making a cup of tea and sharing our disappointments so far, I headed off to settle in and explore my environs. 

 What an eye-opener. The place looked like a dump. There was rusting equipment everywhere amongst weeds, Broken down stuff piled or spread everywhere. Nothing looked successful, efficient or sustainable. How can piles of metal and plastic tarpaulins lying in grass be sustainable? How can leaking taps and old baths full of stagnant rainwater harbouring mosquito larvae be an example of sustainablilty but I hadn't reckoned on the ablutions. 

In keeping with the'sustainability' idea the management had erected instructions on how to use the composting toilet. I have nothing against composting toilets but this one was too scarey to even lift the lid. The toilet roll was rolling in the dirt and the best equipment consisted of a trowel and spade so you could shovel dirt on your 'business'. As a woman I find it nigh on impossible to control how I pee and poo but the instructions dictated that we must NOT pee while pooing. Ladies, how are your perineum muscles? Sphincters in form?

So where does one do the peeing? On the ground elsewhere as indicated by the sign and damp spot. There I was at night in the dark with my torch trying to spread my knees, jeans around my ankles trying not to splash my legs and shoes in a shared area amongst some trees. Nice. I knew to bring  a torch but didn't know I needed plastic bags or gladwrap for my legs. The vanity was nailed to a tree. Bet the tree didn't find that sustainable either. Though each hut or tent has its own toilet there really isn't privacy as the whole place is pretty communal.

My bed was comfortable but there were four beds in the yurt and I didn't know if other guests would be arriving so I went to bed fully clothed. It rained extremely heavily so I had little sleep worrying about the rain possibly soaking through the canvas roof or flooding in the fields bogging down my car. I could charge my phone but there were no plugs for normal appliances such as laptops or shavers. There wasn't enough light to read by for my eyes It was all too hard. 

The shower was solar but the entry was full of old bikes. The door was makeshift and of limited size and inside? No shower today a couple of us decided. It was not a safe, tidy or clean environment for a female. I understand gardening, permaculture and recycling but all I was seeing was decay, junk, pollution and what seemed to be a misguided hippy idea of what sustainability is all about.  While recycling is good, using old tyres that leach into the gound is not ideal.

It's smoke-free and I'd agree with that but the attitude to smokers (and grammar) seemed a bit brutal.

A phone call to the host had me expressing my disappontment with the facilities but she explained that she'd had a bad season for woofers and couldn't get things done. Where does the farm income come from? A small shadehouse growing veges which the woofers eat and sell and the bnb accommodation. I pointed out that as a business model that is not sustainable and  she needs a better standard with more marketing. I admit, young people with limited experience of life and sustainabiity might think it was just a basic adventure roughing it but we two older ladies saw the glaring problems and darker side of so-called sustainabiliy. To be sustainable a business must be successful and it must demonstrate true sustainability principles. It should be accountable and it should be of a manageable size. This one is out of control. 

Air bnb accommodation is not regulated. You stay at your own risk so at 6.30 am the next day, after only 2 hours sleep with only a short string of fairy lights to illuminate my tent I decided to beat a retreat. I will not be back.

Hobbiton Movie Set Tours

On my way down the country from Auckland to Rolleston I stopped off at Hobbiton. As a tried and true Tolkien fan as well as of Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings movies (The Hobbit ones less so) it seemed too good an opportunity to miss. Located at 501 Buckland Road, Hinuera, Matamata at just 2+ hours from Auckland it is easily accessible. You arrive having sensibly bought your $79 ticket online so as to be sure not to miss out on your guided tour.

It's all very organised with buses arriving and departing from the central point regularly with specific times for each group. You must stay with your appointed group. A bus arrives to take you to the Hobbiton Movie set and as you go the driver gives instructions and shows video  introductions and welcomes from the farm owner and Peter Jackson. It sets the scene nicely and we are shown clips from the movies; a preview of what we will personally experience.

It's a 12 acre set on the 1250 acre Alexander sheep farm, one of the largest in the area. Your group has a guide and you must stay on the path and not get separated. There's a working vege garden where the gardeners get to take produce home, complemented by 39 hobbit holes, all with their own individual construction and external decor.

A lot of attention is required to keep everything looking realistic and livable but NO you can't go inside a hobbit hole; they are just fronts. There's nothing to see inside. You will get some exercise going up and down the hills but it's not difficult. Photo opportunities abound IF you are with a friend, otherwise you'll need to ask your tour guide to take a snap of you.

Down by the Party Tree it's worth reflecting that the enormous tree that features so prominently in the Fellowship of the Ring is artificial for the most part and needs weekly maintenance as the leaves tend to blow off. Clearly a labour of love and attention. There wasn't a lot much else on the party field. The weather was unpleasantly windy so we didn't linger much. Of course the most popular hole to visit is Bag End on Bagshot Row but the set dressing of the other holes is charming, especially Sam Gamgee's one with the yellow door as seen in the  last frames of the Return of the King where he returns home to Rosie and their daughter after seeing off Frodo and Bilbo et al at the Grey Havens.

After that it's on past the mill and then we arrive at the Green Dragon Inn. Here at least we can really go inside and partake of munchies and in my case a cider. You get one free drink. It's dressed nicely and a bit atmospheric. On the way back to the drop-off point we watched concluding videos and could reflect that it's a well organised enterprise. Expensive to run but obviously very successful. New Zealand needs more of these themed activities. For further information go to: www.hobbitontours,com    There's an evening banquet tour if you're up to that. I was seduced by th Shire Shop alongside the Shire's rest cafe. With so many of my LOTR statuettes broken to various degrees by all my moves I just needed a little something that wasn't broken. The statuettes are still very pricey but you can find smaller items to fit your budget. I got a small statuette of Arwen reading, a keyring, a small tray and a Hobbit T-shirt with Smaug on it. Cool!  for more information go to  http://www.hobbitontours.com/en/