When my old friend Jack Stafford was living in Rotorua I enjoyed nothing more than popping up to his and Edith's place for tea and biscuits, and if it was late in the day, a few whiskies.
Jack and Edith were two of the nicest people I have met, and it is with much sadness that I write about Jack's death on Saturday in his home city of Auckland.
Our two families have a long history.
Jack and my grandfather Robert (Bob) Martin introduced themselves to each other in early 1951.
Bob was Rotorua County engineer and at the time Jack was in the forestry industry hauling logs from the bush to the Mamaku mills.
Jack was dragging a large rimu log behind his D8 bulldozer down the centre of South Rd in Mamaku. Around the corner came a speeding car which just managed to stop in front of the dozer blade. The driver jumped out in a cloud of dust and yelled out to Jack, "what the hell do you think you are doing?"
Jack's response was, "and who the hell do you think you are?"
My grandfather's reply: "I'm the county engineer."
The details remain sketchy, a story they have each taken to the grave, but they eventually proceeded to talk about the affairs of the day and remained firm friends for many years.
Jack also helped my brothers and I to hone our waterskiing skills when they lived out at Lake Okareka.
What impressed me about Jack was his constant and fearless search for knowledge and the acquisition of new skills. In his early 80s, he completed a creative writing course at Massey University.
I loved listening to his war stories and tales of daring-do, which were delivered in such an animated fashion you could almost feel the hum of the engine of his favourite aircraft, the Tempest V, beneath your feet.
But those stories were often told with a tinge of sadness and the memories of friends he lost during the war. Particularly when he told me about shooting down a German aircraft on Christmas Day 1944. With tears welling up in his eyes, he said "he bailed out, but his parachute never opened".
Rest in peace old friend.