ANZAC DAY, NEW ZEALAND

25 April

Palmerston North

 Hi there

Last Thursday I went to Palmerston North for the night.  It's only a couple of hours up north from Wellington.  I went up there to see the show "Matilda-the Musical".  I love the musicals put on at the Regent Theatre.  The shows are always so vibrant and exciting.  The actors seem to love their roles and their happiness just radiates around the theatre.

"Matilda-the Musical" was wonderful, from start to finish.  I couldnt get over all the people I met who were related to the actors on stage.

Proud grandmothers were everywhere, pointing the fact out to anyone who would listen that their grandchild was, wow, up there on the stage.

This show had two full casts, mostly children, taking turns every other night.  By sheer luck, I was sitting right next to a grandmother who had come all the way from England, just to see her granddaughter playing the part of Matilda.  

Matilda's dad was also there.

"Are you a stage daddy?" I asked.

"Absolutely!" he said.  He then went on to tell me all the roles his offspring had played or had coming up in the future.  "She's signed on to be the young Elsa in "Frozen".

This talented little thing was all of eight or nine years old.

I enjoyed this version of "Matilda-the Musical" better than the version I had seen in Australia a few years' back.

I had travelled to Palmy (as the locals call it) from Wellington by Intercity bus.  It was nice not to worry about traffic jams and road works.  I stayed at Kiwi Suites Motel, a very, very, very tired-looking place but it was only a minute's walk from both the theatre and The Square.

The town's shops border The Square which is a green space, with the Intercity bus stop in it's centre.

If I remember rightly, when a football team were accommodated recently in Palmy for the Women's World Football Cup, the team snuck out of Palmerston North, with the understanding that the town was a dead place, with nothing doing in it.

i went to the mall, on one side of The Square.  I was overjoyed to discover that the place had a - wait for it! - candy floss machine!!!!  I got myself a stick of candy floss, and happily ate it walking around the mall.  Yummmmmmyy....  Of course, I had to find a ladies' room afterwards to wash my hands.   And my face.  What - ?  I pick at candy floss with my fingers;  I'm not a candy floss amateur.  If I buried my head in the stuff I would have to rush to a salon for a hair makeover, just to get all that pink sticky muck out of my not-so-golden locks.

Right across from the candy floss machine was a healthy option.  An orange drink machine that picked out an orange from rows of them, peeled it, poured the juice into a cup, then passed the cup out of the machine to the buyer.

*Candy Floss = cotton candy in USA.

above:  the candy floss machine.  I put in $10 (and worth every cent, both in the watching of the mechanical arm wafting the fresh candy floss into a ball, and in my eating of the stuff).

Note the orange machine opposite.  I can just imagine people standing between the two machines pondering whether to go for the healthy option or the sugar-y one.  No angsty decision-making for me.  Candy floss, of course, won hands down.

above:  Inside The Square.  The Palmerston North i-Site Information Office is also in The Square. When I was a child, living in Palmerston North, the construction in this photo had a big very obvious  cross on the top of it.  Decades ago, I read that non-christian people didn't want the cross there, but the christians won out and the cross was kept.  But, whoops, where's it gone nowadays?  Oh wait - if you look real close there's a sort of image of a cross on the top block.

Old People Movies and Old Dog Movies: a guarantee of a death?

 Hi there

When I was a kid I was horrified over the death of "Old Yeller", the dog in the Disney movie.  It took me right up until "Marley and Me" (2008) to realise that the pet in most movies - usually a dog - died at the end.

What?  Huh?  Oh, no...

I have to be the world's worst howl-iest, sob-iest, cry-iest movie-goer ever.  If there's a sad ending, I exit theatres with red eyes and a runny nose.  If an animal dies, I'm gasping and heart-broken.  The tears are often still flowing when I'm a 100 metres from the theatre.

So ... I gave up animal movies ("Watership Down", anyone?)

And then I discovered that old people in movies were also popping their clogs at a great rate. Any movie aimed at an older audience was guaranteed to have a death just before the end credits.  Poor Graham in "The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel" was an end-of-movie goner.  And not content with just Carter dying in "The Bucket List", we also got Edward thrown in as last-minute bonus.  Cancer, heart attacks, dementia are endings most used for movies centred around The Last Hurrah of old people.

I don't want to reveal a lot of movie plots in this blog so I'll just finish with a request to movie producers:  Hey, Mr Producer ...  how about a happy ending in an old people movie?    Oh, and while you're at it, don't forget about the doggies either....

above: stock photo of poster.

Post Office Closings

 Hi there

Last week it was announced that postal deliveries as we know them are going to be phased out.  No more Post Office posties delivering our mail. Outside couriers will be contracted.  How long will it be, I wonder, before our letter boxes will become surplus and we'll have to trudge to some communal space to pick up our mail?  Or ... more likely, mail deliveries will be stopped completely.

I still have friends who write letters and so I have to write letters in return. I used to love watching Regency dramas where the lady of the house would write a letter to a friend across town and then summon her maid to hand deliver the missive.  Wouldn't this be neat?  Of course, as several of my writing friends are overseas; I dont really think a maid would be happy about delivering my letters, especially as she would have to be back at the mansion before tea to arrange my hair, set out my evening clothes, and darn my stockings.

We all knew the death knell had started when several years back we switched to only getting mail deliveries three days a week, instead of the usual six.  Uh-oh,...

My father worked his entire working life for the General Post Office, here in New Zealand.  Way before I was born he used to sort letters, on the overnight passsenger train heading from Wellington to Auckland.  And back again.

As Dad's evening train pulled out from the station, he was inside the post office carriage frantically sorting letters.  I think mail bags were thrown out and other bags brought in at various stops.  After about four or five hours the steam train reached the halfway stop of the country village of Taihape. Passengers leapt out to buy their cups of tea, buns, sausage rolls and sandwiches. They only had about thirty minutes to complete their buying.  The cups, saucers and plates were expected to be left on the train to be collected and later returned to Taihape.  Many houses around the country ended up with New Zealand Railway crockery in their cupboards.  The same went for the pillows you rented out in Wellington and handed in on arrival in Auckland some 12 hours later.

Dad left the train in Taihape.  He transferred to the train coming from Auckland and went back to sorting letters as this train chugged its way to Wellington.

above: stock photo.  steam train of the time

I so remember travelling in train carriages similar to the above photo.  My family travelled many times to and from Auckland.  I would lower the top narrow window and try to stick my head out.  The sooty steam would get in my eyes.  When the train turned a corner there was always a glorious view of the engine chug-chugging along, steam blowing from its stack.  

Rest Home Assistants- some, all, many, one or two...?

 Hi there

As many of my (four?) readers will be aware, I do enjoy writing about the foibles of shop assistants.  Well, surprise, I've discovered a new sub-category...

Rest Home assistants.

My ex-swimming pal J (hereafter to be named Jay) is now in a rest home. She's bed-ridden after a fall.  I visited her last week.  

As I entered the building, the fire alarm was ringing.  Staff were congregating in the foyer.  There was not a sign of a resident.  It was a surprise drill.

When I was allowed to get to Jay's room, she was extremely anxious over the ringing alarm. No staff member had told her anything before, during or after the alarm.   Half a dozen heavy hallway safety doors had been closed.  No-one had answered when she'd rang her emergency bell.

I spoke to an aide -

 "You could have poked your head into Jay's room and told her what was going on. What if it had been a real fire?" I said.

 " I will tell her after," said the nurse aide.

"But she could be dead by then. "

"Yeah?"

Ahoy, Jellyfish

 Hi there

It's jellyfish time at Hataitai Beach.  Let's hope it's not going to be as bad as one year when the sand was cluttered all over with dozens of dried-up jellyfish.  The water was full of them.

Last week one hit me when I was swimming.  I'm ashamed to admit I shrieked and all the beach-goers looked over to me as I hastily made an exit from the water.

A couple of days later I hit another one.

Yesterday, I hit two.  I shrieked both times.  I hate it when my hand hits a jellyfish.  I must hit its middle because the feel to me is quite hard as it slaps against my hand.  Yesterday, one of the women swimmers told me that a jellyfish had just slapped her in the face..  Yuck....

I know these jellyfish aren't harmful, not even in the slightest.  But they're often as big as saucers.  They have a dark middle and a floppy outside.  I've seen kids scoop them out of the water and toss them around.

I hate the way they spring up on me without warning, like something out of a horror movie.   I hate their slime-like hard feel. I hate them, full-stop.

... and the advance jellyfish are here now.  The armies will probably follow.

TYPIST-IN-CHARGE, Episode 16. Education, Head Office, Wellington, New Zealand

 Hi there

Episode 16, TYPIST-IN-CHARGE

1st Floor and Ground Floor Typing Pools, Education Head Office, Government Buildings, mid 1970s

Being Typist in Charge of seven typists in the ground floor typing room at Government Buildings brought home to me that being in that exalted position was not all a cake-walk.  I realised, even more so than when I was at Health Regional Office, that the typists I was supervisor of could sadly never be my close friends.  I was the boss and there would always be a divide.   I would be partly responsible (with top supervising typist,  Mrs Rowley) for writing up their annual reports, partly responsible (with Mrs Rowley) for working out problems, and wholly responsible for making sure that the work got out on time.  Mrs Rowley did all the interviews for vacant positions and I was glad for this.  I could never ever visualise myself as an interviewer; the thought scared the pants off me.

There was a typist that had joined our little bunch a few months before:  Annette.  She was in her late thirties, dressed gypsy-like, with raven-black curls hanging past her shoulders.  She was a vibrant, smiley, talkative soul, with the kindest of hearts and she loved the world.

On 4th of July morning she came rushing into the typing room screaming at the top of her voice.  "It's Independence day!  Freedom!  Freedom!   I'm free!  Free!"

Annette's divorce had come through.  She had been married to a not-very-nice man.  There was a boyfriend in the wings who, for months had been waiting patiently for Annette's freedom day.  He came rushing into the room behind Annette, and they danced around together.  This young man was in his mid-twenties.  The love and pride for Annette shone from his eyes whenever he looked at her.

We typists crowded around the pair.  We were so happy for them.  "You're invited to our wedding," said Annette.  "You have to come."

And we did go to that wedding.  Annette was in two-toned blue, a beautiful long evening dress with flounces and ribbons, and she wore flowers in her hair.  Flowers were everywhere around The White Heron Lodge in Kilbirnie where the two were married.  Because Annette had been dieting furiously to fit into her dress, the meal at the White Heron was diet-orientated too.

While they were on honeymoon, work carried on in the typing pool.  We closed ranks and took on the extra work that Annette would have done.  And this was the great thing about typing pools:  ranks close when a typist is away.  If a boss's secretary was sick, everything in that area stopped.  Or it was brought to a pool for us to add to our already heavy work-pile.

Whether a typist was in Room 305 or Room 206 pools, or the ground floor pool like I was, it didn't matter when ministerials were given to us; they were top priority.  Any letter signed by the Minister of Education was to be treated as gold.

"So much red tape," sniffed Maureen.

"Nope."  Megan smled wryly.  "It's green tape now, remember?"

 "I can't say 'so much green tape'," Maureen argued.  "It doesn't make sense.  The underlying meaning of Red tape means there's so much piffle to get through.  Green tapes means ....  green tape!"

above: a sheet of A4 ministerial letterhead.  And some green tape.  A4 sheets took the place of the longer foolscap-sized sheets that had previously been used in govt departments.  Not so much was tied up with any tape by this stage, except perhaps big files in Records Division.

After a time, we typists in the ground floor room were shifted to the 1st floor, a back room that looked out upon the annex behind the building.  

One morning, Annette was deep in thought as she looked out the window. "We're in Government Buildings, right-?"

 " -Not to be confused with Government House, " I contributed helpfully.  Government House was where the Governor-General lived.  He ruled New Zealand's dominion as the queen's representative.  

 "Its the largest wooden building in the southern hemisphere, right??'

" So? "

 "So-". She loosely gestured toward the annex.  "the fire escapes are made of wood.  They'll pretty much be the first to burn."

 It was a subject to think about.

Many years back the annex had been erected as a sort of fill-in temporary place, not meant to be a forever structure.  When I had first arrived at Education, way back in the early sixties, there was a canteen on the ground floor of the annex.  It was for the workers of Government Buildings.  Within a very short time, the annex served as the place where the Golden Kiwi Lottery winning numbers were drawn from a large barrel, and with the aid of a long ladle to scoop out numbers.  Mrs Rowley allowed new typists to go and watch.

She also allowed interested typists to race outside to the narrow (land) island in front of our building whenever gardeners were pulling out last season's flower plants - roots and all - and giving them out to passers-by.

Annette, lover and protector of all things earth-grown, would return to the typing pool covered in dirt, and triumphantly clutching three waste-paper bins crammed-full of half-dead blooms. 

 "Do you have a big garden?" asked Helen, our teen newbie.

 Megan laughed. " Annette and her hubby - '. Annette giggled. "They don't have a garden to their flat."

" I give the plants to anyone in my street who wants them, " Annette said.  My last end-of-spring rescues bloomed wonderfully this year. "

After the excitement of Flower Garden Time and other such exciting Education Department activities, we 'girls' would - between the typing of annoying ministerials and all that form-filling for Stores Division -  go back to contemplating the annex, the only view from our windows.  Drat, having to give up our large and sunny ground floor room with a view, just so as one or two higher-up officers could be accommodated in style.

The annex was temporarily used for official enquiries.  Now, my memory isn't that great but I can recall there was an enquiry over several months relating to either the Erebus Air New Zealand flight that downed over the South Pole...or .... the sinking of the Wahine inter-island ferry in Wellington Harbour.  My memory isn't too spectacular in my old(er) age....

There was another annex to the south side of Government Buildings.  It was known far and wide as The Tomato House.  There were lots of windows and in the summer, as you can no doubt figure out by the name Tomato House, the heat was unbelievable.

During my time, both The Tomato House and the back annex were bull-dozed down.  The narrow-ish road between Government Buildings and the law courts was widened.  

In the 1st floor pool we often typed results onto School Certificates.   School Certificates were considered all but essential when a young person left school.  A pupil had to pass in four subjects but was allowed to sit five, just as a sort of security blanket.  In my last school year, there weren't enough teachers in New Zealand.  Our headmistress had asked over assembly if anyone knew a secretary who could take over the shorthand, typing and commercial practice classes which shows how desperate schools were in those days.  Neither could Wellington East Girls College get a geography teacher  So, bingo, there was me not able to sit typing, Geography, or Office Practice. Readers of this blog will know I have a problem with numbers so Maths was out.

"You can sit Art as a fourth subject," said my teacher.

"Huh?'  I could hardly draw a straight line which I proved when I was all but forced to sit that dreaded School Cert Art.  I got something like 17 marks out of a hundred, even though I'd smuggled in a copy of the design on my bedroom mattress of a duck flying through some reeds.  If the design had been good enough for mattress manufacturers it should have been agreeable for the markers of School Cert Art 1960, the pattern challenge.

Anyway...  back to the typing pool, mid nineteen-seventies, and the typing of School Certificates -

We typed results onto the actual certificates if there had been a recount.  Blank School Certificates were given to our pool.

Seeing those certificates was too much not to play around with for our junior typist Helen -

She waved a certificate in the air. "I've made one out for my boyfriend," she said.  "He gets 150% for his rugby knowledge, 100% for kissing, 50% for helping his mum, and 10% for his ability to whisper sweet nothings in my ear..."  *

end

*Singer, Brenda Lee, has a lot to answer for.

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