Of pirates and bomber pilots

How wonderful it is to be innocent of modern celebrities. Waiting for friend Ron to appear out of the skies at Nelson airport I notice New Idea magazine’s cover story.  Kate (minus Wills) is to stay with Posh and Becks. Just to pass the time, I ask Dad if he knows these people. He does not, so I give him a thumbnail of the footballer and his fashionista missus’s connection to the English’s throne. He snorts on cue.

Fuzzy full moon from Nelson airport.

The old song “I danced with a man who danced with a girl who danced with the Prince of Wales” is never so true than on Facebook. Now I know somebody who knows somebody who is one of 5000 “friends” with Keith Richards of the Rolling Stones. He, in turn, is “friends” with Paris Hilton. Whoopee. It’s also funny that such a well-known person is on FB. You have to wonder: is it really he? He was a source of wonder in the 70s that he was still alive. If it IS, good on him.

Putting out feelers to get around without having to pay a bucket of money has shown me the Transfercar and Couchsurfing sites. I’m working on my profile for the latter. Later, I’ll add Wwoofing. It’s great to have Dad’s place as a base for South island expeditions and he knows that I’ll come back.


{By the way, the top photo of the two startled baby moreporks that I took years ago in a North Shore bird shelter, has had magnolia seed hold-alls placed on it. These seed containers were left in the sun and to my delight, some red seeds popped out.}

New beginnings - spring flowers in autumn at Riwaka.

The time we’ve been spending together is well worth it. It’s funny being with someone 24/7 whom you don’t know very well, even if he is your Dad. This has been a period of settling in to understanding each other that has been unlike any other visit. Previous times have been rushed and I always ended up leaving with the unsatisfying feeling that there was unfinished business. This “new order” may explain why I haven’t been writing the blog recently. I haven’t felt the need to socialise outside Dad’s circle, just focusing on the experience of being here, not just for him, but for me as well.

It isn’t necessary to unravel every thread in this process, just the ones that stick up. Sometimes they go nowhere. Knowing and not knowing your parents I guess isn’t always restricted to those who have had the physical distance, I mean how well do we know our children? They live in a country to which we don’t have a passport.

Dad still ticks along with the help of two remarkable people, Ron and Murray.  These guys visit so regularly, it’s awesome; they enhance his spiritual and mental wellbeing with unfailing cheerfulness and care.

There were several reasons to drive over the Takaka hill this week. Dad wanted to visit a man in a rest home and I wanted to walk along the beach at Milnthorpe scenic reserve. We both wanted to go to the Mussel Inn.

This man, a widower and a former NZRAF bomber pilot married a German widow called Rosemary with two children directly after the war. Rosemary Rose (for that is his surname) was Dad’s secretary and a source of great strength to him when he found himself alone a new country. She found him a wonderful new wife!

Dad’s tale of Rosemary holding a party for the purpose of introducing him to Pauline is well known on his circuit. He always tells it as if for the first time.

“Rosemary said to me after the party, ‘how did you like Pauline?’”

“I said I didn’t know anyone called Pauline.”

“’You bloody idiot,’ she said. ‘I had the party so you could meet Pauline!’”

And so on. Ron and I tackled him later about this story: we asked how he and Pauline found each other again. Dad wasn’t sure, but they definitely made contact. They were happily married for nearly 50 years before the beloved Pauline slipped away.

The beach at Milnthorpe is unusually situated. You get the strong impression of blue water moving in a variety of directions, the combination of the Tasman, a harbour and streams. The beach itself is not unlike a desert island. There’s a bit of argy-bargy where the sea meets the sandbar. The photos don’t show this environment to any advantage but it is curious and very beautiful.

Met up with the captain of the pirate ship at the Mussel Inn. It’s the old Jacques Cousteau exploration vessel that’s berthed at Pohara – now a rakish coffee bar where my fav female pirate Irena used to work. Ollie is not really a pirate, he’s another art school grad from Dunedin: lord, how many of these amazing people do I now know since Claire started there nearly five years ago? Between sculling back the most delicious cider and scoffing mussels, chatted to Ollie and Bungy Dave who is helping organise the New Year's bash at the top of the Takaka Hill. Here's a small, accidental video of Dad at the Mussel Inn.

Yay - my hard copy of The Art of Non-Conformity finally arrives at the Challenge petrol station in Riwaka (where we collect our mail). Hint, I love emails, cards, letters. You can contact me c/- PDC, Main Rd, Riwaka, Motueka xx

Pirate Irena photographs a weta.