23-12-2018, 05:25 AM
71
Re: Writings from the Antipodes.
CollectionsFrom a very early age I was deluged with things to collect. My father travelled the world in the Royal Navy and in every port he would post a letter home and if there was a first day cover , he would make sure he sent it home to me. As the years past by my collection of stamps increased but only when I was older, perhaps mid teenage years did I instigate my five yearly sort. When I returned from my “OE” in 1967, I took this more seriously. About every five years out would come the albums, cardboard boxes and cigarette tins full of stamps and with the advent of computers and databases and online catalogues, all would be entered and the ability to compile vast amounts of information made use of. Then after a few days the stamps, first day covers and cigarette tins would be returned to their cardboard boxes and restored to the top of wardrobes.
Somewhere about 2010, during one of these five yearly sorts I was looking at the large number of first day covers that I had arranged in an Eastlight file . They were hinged at the top of the page so that each could be lifted to read the one below. As I flicked through them the light behind my desk affected a kind of ‘x-ray’ of the envelope and I noticed something inside that I had not noticed in the previous 5 yearly sorts. I extracted the paper insert to find it was a letter from my father. It was dated the 15th of February 1953, and was written in a quiet evening on board HMNZS Tui.
“Dear Mike,
I don’t know when you will get this, or even if you will get it at all.
Tui is anchored in Port Underwood in the Marlborough Sounds and all hands are stood down except the watch so I thought I would write you a letter while you are tucked up in bed in Auckland.
I hope you have enjoyed your travels with your mother and I. The time in Bermuda where we swam together in the clear waters watching sergeant-major fish swim about and crabs crawling along the sea floor 30 feet below us. We saw and felt the hurricane in 1947 and watched our little boat get turned into kindling wood from the veranda of “Cartref”, our home. Then the year on Bluck’s Island with only two houses , one of which was inhabited by Major and Mrs Kitchener, nephew of Lord Kitchener of Khartoom.
I was so pleased when the grumpy little boy cheered up in New York when we took him to Coney Island and laughed as he slid on a mat down the spiral slide . When we ate a ‘Skyscraper’ soda amongst the friendly New Yorkers who picked our accents and made us one of them and the visit to US Steel’s steel mill in Pittsburg with a friend who was a Vice President of the company.
How your mother worried, as mothers do, when you went to boarding school in Colchester after we returned to England, but how you fitted in played football and cricket and told us stories of Captain Taylor the 70 year old gym teacher who was a whizz on the parallel bars.
I hope the experiences that we had together help you when you grow up and deal with the world as an adult, be confident but kind to others especially the weak. Help those who need it in any way you can .
Your mother and I have enjoyed your company as a child and look forward to seeing you develop as a young man and hopefully achieve your dreams in adulthood.
Lots of love
Dad
As I read this letter from the past my eyes welled up as I thought of my beloved dad who sadly died 44 years ago. It was almost as if he knew I wouldn’t get the letter until he had gone. For 17 years he knew it had been written but I did not, until that fateful day of the 5 year stamp sort.
23-12-2018, 05:19 PM
77
Re: Writings from the Antipodes.
[QUOTE=Ciderman;1599236]Where is Johnston island?My father was no farmer but he loved the farmers life,
And he took along my mother as his devoted wife.
He rented an old homestead on Rangitikie Line
Weeds were up to the windows but he said, ”OK! That’s fine!”
He went off to work in town, while mother rolled up sleeves
Attacked the weeds, the windows and webs under the eves.
Each evening he came home again bringing useful stuff
Like little plants ,some garden gloves and once a box of fluff.
The box of fluff turned out to be fifty day old chicks,
“We’ll be self sufficient ”, he cried delightedly, “For in this mix-
There’s bound to be half hens for laying eggs- the rest we’ll eat“
The thought of roasted chicken drove out thoughts of other meat.
The little fluffy yellow things all ran about in haste
We fed them crumbs and something we made up as a paste.
After 6 weeks no difference between the girls and boys,
After 10 weeks we’re no better - deceived by chicken ploys.
At 14 weeks we realised their sexuality was plain!
Not a damned girl in there, not a single Jane!
Fifty bloody cockerels all cock-a-doodling fit to bust
All fighting fit, all testosterone, all fighting in the dust!
Each Saturday we’d pick the biggest and off would come his head
“X” minus 1, remaining cockerels would cheer that he was dead.
They felt no feathered ‘mateyship’ or camaraderie
They simply cock-a-doodled as loud as it can be.
Forty nine feathered fiends went in the baking dish,
Number fifty thought he’d made it and soon he got his wish.
My father, axe in hand went out the fateful day
To find that number fifty had gone and run away.
http://www.johnstonmemories.com/
a place with glowing tributes! perhaps ya to young to remember it?
24-12-2018, 01:19 AM
79
Re: Writings from the Antipodes.
Originally Posted by Ciderman
->
That was interesting Gummy. I had not heard of it despite my advanced age. Don't think I fancy living there although Pitcairn Island has a certain attraction.
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