Growing Up In The Pohonui Valley
My father was a teacher when we were young, and the Education Department liked to keep it's teachers moving.
As a result, I have lived in many places in the North Island of New Zealand.
Out of all those places, my fondest memories are of the Pohonui Valley. There was one school there, and my
father was the one teacher in the school. Our first house in the valley had no power, and I remember my mother
making her own soap. The valley was made up of "settlement blocks" that were allotted to returning soldiers.
Consequently, there were some fairly hard blokes around.
The local children rode their horses to school; their was a hitching rail to aid with the saddling/unsaddling.
The horses roamed free in a plantation during schooltime.
Water came from a rainwater tank, which took water draned from the roof. Occasionally other things found their
way into the tank. I remember my dad fishing a dead possum out of the school rainwater tank with a broomstick.
After school, the whole school played together (about 14 in total for the whole school, I think) mainly down in the
creek. We would split up into two groups. One group would charge down the creek making as much as noise as
possible, to scare all the eels into a pool downstream with an overhanging bank. The other group would be wating
at the pool with spears to get the eels and flick them up onto the bank where we would despatch them by pounding
them with rocks. As we all went barefoot, it was a wonder no-one was speared.
Another favourite activity was sliding down a "waterfall" down a hillside into a bog below. I lost a gumboot in the bog
once, but we never found it.
Groceries came from town, about an hour's drive away over rough shingle roads. Mum would ring the order in to
town over the party line phone and it would be delivered in the mail truck within a day or so. Bread, milk, meat,
groceries, car batteries, car or tractor exhaust systems, they all came on the mail truck.
On Fridays, we would sometimes get permission to stay over with the Leary boys, who were our close friends.
We would climb up onto the horses and ride "double" up to the farm. Their horses were called Brownie and Flicka.
Brownie was wonderful, a slow patient old horse. Flicka could be a bit of a handful particularly when she was excited.
On the Saturday, we would roam all over the farm and have a wonderful time. Breakfast was mutton chops and eggs.
All the farms were running sheep and cattle at that stage; there had beeen a dairy co-operative formed
earlier but the country was just too steep and rugged for dairy cows so the co-operative burned down the
dairy factory and claimed the insurance. When the insurance money came through, there was a community party to
celebrate the success.
The school was the focal point of the community, and many socials were held in the school hall. While they were
shifting the school piano one time the front panel came off, to reveal a half-full bottle of whisky in there. Some
discussion revealed that it was of the brnd that the previous teacher preferred, so the consensus was that it would
go to the current teacher. My dad, always principled, then disposed of it by pouring it all out on the ground, which
was not a popular choice at the time.
One day, bored, we boys decided that we would trick our sister into drnking some of the petro that had spilled on to
the top of the 44 gallon drum we used for refuelling the car. We told her it was rainwater that had collected on the
top of the drum and, trusting us, she drank some. When she began vomiting, we ran whitefaced and confessed to
Mum what we had done. Town was an hour away, and it took the abulance FOREVER to arrive, with us thinking all
the time that we had perhaps killed our sister. The ambulance did finally come; they took her into hospital and
pumped her stomach out. Us boys were severely dealt with...
A couple of years later, we needed some wood for winter. The boys went wih dad to the plantation to get some,
as the local farmers had promised wod for us but but not delivered on it. We stood on the ground and watched as
dad climbed to the top of a really big pine tree. The plan was to trim branches and throw them down to us.
Sudddenly there was a loud "CRACK" as a branch broke; we watched in horror as our father fell, bouncing off the
branches on the way down.
He had fallen into some undergrowth, and we gathered round him, all of us just crazy with fear. was he still alive?
We could hear him groaning, but he was unconscious, so we held a council of war. Would we stay with him, or
would we go and tell our mum back st the house? We decided for some of us to stay, and some to go and tell Mum.
However, part of the way back to the house we got scared, so went back to the plantation again. This time we sent
the other boys home, and the same thing happened to them. the dad regained consciousness. He asked if we had
told Mum. When we said no, his face twisted with pain and he said "Get Mum! NOW!!!" This time we all went, and it
wasn't long before Mum was there. But then, of course, it was the long trek back to the house, the phonecall over the
party line, the LOOONG wait for the ambulance from town. We left dad where he lay, as even we knew that if we
him it could be fatal. Dad broke his back in that fall, and spent weeks in hospital. When he came back, he had a suit of
plaster from his chin to his hips. Mum used to scratch his back with a knitting needle.
We had a relieving teacher while dad was "off'. We were asked, as pupils, what Dad had been like as a teacher.
We must have been really young and innocent - as a school, we all agreed that he ahd been "too soft". The relieving
teacher had this gleam in his eyes as he solemnly told us that he would fix that!!! And he did. My, the work we had to
do!!!
Sadly, all good things come to an end and our country life came to an end when the oldest boy came into the top class.
After that point, all the local kids were sent away to boarding school. This was not practical on a teacher's salary
and so we transferred into a town. On our last ay there, we "doubled" with the Leary kids on horseback to a nice clay
bank where we all cut our names with pocket knives and swore undying friendship. So ended our carefree country life."