towards Rangitoto, the peaked volcanic island opposite Takapuna Beach. My father’s older sister Alice, whom we called Auntie Sally, lived there alone after my paternal grandma (whom I barely remember) passed away. I always got to stay in my father’s old room, which had a lovely framed fretwork rendering of the Lord’s Prayer on the wall, as well as a beautifully illuminated document congratulating my grandfather Octavius on his much-appreciated years of service as the Postmaster in Opotiki. I loved that room. Auntie Sally would always come in and hug me goodnight . . .
You seem happy just now . . .
Mmm . . . Those Takapuna summers, playing on the beach with my cousins, fishing with my uncles and aunts, having afternoon tea with the whole extended family… there was no pressure to do anything or be anything other than simply children having fun. Uncle Bill and Auntie Marjorie lived next door, with my cousins Elizabeth, Brett, Alistair, Margot and Deborah. We picnicked in the orchard under shady trees heavy with ripe peaches, pears, plums, apples and guava. I still salivate when I think of the incredible taste of those naturally grown peaches and plums. I took my children to Italy some years ago in early summer and the taste of those white peaches transported me straight back to Takapuna.
In the New Zealand outdoors there was nothing that could really hurt us – quite a consideration for children raised in Australia within biting distance of several species of indigenous killers. I eventually came to love the harshness of the Australian landscape, but as a youngster in Sydney we were always on the lookout for the savage creatures that lurked in our suburban play areas. Redback spiders were the worst; those things could jump, or so we thought. A female one’s bite could definitely kill, and antivenom was not widely available then. Oh boy, we really had to know our spiders. There were the enormous brown, furry huntsmen spiders that often crept from behind the curtains and scurried across our bedroom walls. We knew they’d bite, but wouldn’t kill us – same for the brown trapdoor spiders with their secret, spring-lidded burrows. But other eight-legged scuttlers were seriously threatening. We especially had to watch out for funnel-web spiders; to show who was boss, those aggressive, shiny brown beasts – purveyors of a lethal neurotoxin-filled bite – would actually stand on their back legs and bare their fangs.
In New Zealand there were no poisonous snakes, unlike the highly venomous black snakes, brown snakes and tiger snakes that sunned themselves on paths we might take to a Sydney suburb bus stop (armed with all the warnings about the dangers of the natural Australian environment, as a child I remember wondering how on earth anyone ever got to reach adulthood). Nor were there any shark nets on New Zealand beaches because, apparently, any passing bitey things were too busy migrating elsewhere to bother with us. Australians were rather shark-phobic in those days. We erroneously believed that all sharks were aggressive and liked the taste of human flesh (it was only after I became an adult scuba diver that I learned that in reality most sharks are harmless unless they’re provoked or mistake you for a seal). But other Australian marine creatures could be lethal, especially salt-water crocodiles and those nasty box jellyfish you get in Queensland. In Takapuna, we suffered only mild jellyfish stings. Oh, the bees could get you, especially while stealing honey from a hive, and prickly burrs we called ‘bindy-eyes’ would imbed themselves in our bare feet. Apart from that, it was a predator-free zone. Even the sun was kinder.
So New Zealand provided a strong sense of safety for you, not only in the physical environment, but emotionally, too, since you were surrounded by accepting relatives . . .
Mmm . . . and there were so many cousins, aunts, uncles. I loved that feeling of being part of a big family – even
You seem happy just now . . .
Mmm . . . Those Takapuna summers, playing on the beach with my cousins, fishing with my uncles and aunts, having afternoon tea with the whole extended family… there was no pressure to do anything or be anything other than simply children having fun. Uncle Bill and Auntie Marjorie lived next door, with my cousins Elizabeth, Brett, Alistair, Margot and Deborah. We picnicked in the orchard under shady trees heavy with ripe peaches, pears, plums, apples and guava. I still salivate when I think of the incredible taste of those naturally grown peaches and plums. I took my children to Italy some years ago in early summer and the taste of those white peaches transported me straight back to Takapuna.
In the New Zealand outdoors there was nothing that could really hurt us – quite a consideration for children raised in Australia within biting distance of several species of indigenous killers. I eventually came to love the harshness of the Australian landscape, but as a youngster in Sydney we were always on the lookout for the savage creatures that lurked in our suburban play areas. Redback spiders were the worst; those things could jump, or so we thought. A female one’s bite could definitely kill, and antivenom was not widely available then. Oh boy, we really had to know our spiders. There were the enormous brown, furry huntsmen spiders that often crept from behind the curtains and scurried across our bedroom walls. We knew they’d bite, but wouldn’t kill us – same for the brown trapdoor spiders with their secret, spring-lidded burrows. But other eight-legged scuttlers were seriously threatening. We especially had to watch out for funnel-web spiders; to show who was boss, those aggressive, shiny brown beasts – purveyors of a lethal neurotoxin-filled bite – would actually stand on their back legs and bare their fangs.
In New Zealand there were no poisonous snakes, unlike the highly venomous black snakes, brown snakes and tiger snakes that sunned themselves on paths we might take to a Sydney suburb bus stop (armed with all the warnings about the dangers of the natural Australian environment, as a child I remember wondering how on earth anyone ever got to reach adulthood). Nor were there any shark nets on New Zealand beaches because, apparently, any passing bitey things were too busy migrating elsewhere to bother with us. Australians were rather shark-phobic in those days. We erroneously believed that all sharks were aggressive and liked the taste of human flesh (it was only after I became an adult scuba diver that I learned that in reality most sharks are harmless unless they’re provoked or mistake you for a seal). But other Australian marine creatures could be lethal, especially salt-water crocodiles and those nasty box jellyfish you get in Queensland. In Takapuna, we suffered only mild jellyfish stings. Oh, the bees could get you, especially while stealing honey from a hive, and prickly burrs we called ‘bindy-eyes’ would imbed themselves in our bare feet. Apart from that, it was a predator-free zone. Even the sun was kinder.
So New Zealand provided a strong sense of safety for you, not only in the physical environment, but emotionally, too, since you were surrounded by accepting relatives . . .
Mmm . . . and there were so many cousins, aunts, uncles. I loved that feeling of being part of a big family – even
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