A PERSONAL HISTORY

Ruapehu Bulletin, Volume 12, Issue 583, 25 April 1995, Page 6

A PERSONAL HISTORY

By

Gerry

Cranston

My mother would often pack a picnic lunch and take us to another creek at the back of the farm for a picnic. What simple pleasures of a by-gone era! We played cricket on the banks with home-made wooden bats and wickets, Dad would stop work long enough to have a bite to eat, and a game with us. We paddled, explored up the creek and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves at no cost whatsoever. I still have a photo of my mother sitting with her feet in the creek and a look of sheer happiness on her face. Ducks loose A Chinaman who lived nearby (the Chinese leased the ground from the farmers to grow vegetables) owned quite a few ducks, which would wander over during the night and lay their eggs in or beside the creek. Our own ducks were fed on curds after milking and locked in each night. How clever we became at getting those eggs in the dark before his day began and without a very strictly honest father being too aware of what was going on! It was exciting while milking to watch him come along the creek to find any we had left. He must have often thought he had mostly drakes.

One of our favourite trips was to cross the railway line at the back of our farm and go through a patch of native bush, through what was then a Government block to a mountain stream, a distance of approximately three miles. I think John Greenwood owns some of the property now-a-days. Our fishing rods were made of lancewood or some similar small native tree, with a length of string and one yard of fishing gut and a small hook - no reels or nets or anything fancy! I remember the gut was one penny per yard and hooks four a penny. A penny being equal to one cent today may help you make some sort of comparison and realise we weren't into luxurious over-spending or sinful ways. By catching a grasshopper and attaching it to the hook we were able to catch up to 100 six inch trout in the day. I think my younger brother Tony heldthe record with 165. These fish were taken home to our mother, who cooked them in a frypan, as they were so small we did not gut them - those parts just being left on the plate. Rail kindness Another favourite past-time was to gather lumps of coal from beside the railway line to take home to Mum who used them with glee when baking in the wood-range oven. On looking back, I feel some kind fireman on the train guessing what we were up to, must have chucked some of those lumps out for us boys. All transport was by rail, people as well as freight. A slow train left Ohakune Junction at 7. 15am each morning passing along the back of our farm with the bush in the background. This slow train that left Ohakune Junction at 7.15am ran to Marton Junction; it stopped at every little station to pick up or drop off passengers and freight. First stop was Rangataua, then Karioi, Tangiwai, Waiouru, Hihitahi, Ngaurukehu, Mataroa, Taihape, Winiata, Ohotu, Utiku, Mangaweka, Ohingaiti to name a few - it took time out shunting at the larger of these little stations, so took approximately four hours to reach Marton Junction. My father always tried to let us leave the shed when the train had gone, to go over to the house and get ready for school. We went to the Convent School and were taught by the nuns of St Joseph. The school has long since been closed. School commenced at 9am, but being young and extremely fit, we tried to get there by 8am for an hour's sport. The view from our cowshed was second to none, and sitting there on a three-legged stool looking down at the paddocks, the creek, the steam-driven engines pulling large loads of timber, firewood etc, Goldfinch's Mill, the native bush and in the background rising often through the morning mist, Mt Ruapehu, were scenes I shall never forget.