Good neighbours are rarest of treasures
One of life's richest blessings is to have good neighbours. And, unfortunately, it is a blessing that few of us have these days. Neighbourliness is still a common virtue in some parts of New Zealand, particularly the South Island, but in Auckland is as rare as the proverbial hen's teeth.
By neighbourliness I don't mean a nodding acquaintance with the people next door or over the road, an occasional greeting or brief chat. True neighbourliness goes much further: it is, in fact, a comprehensive relationship between people who live close to one another.
One of the first rules of being a good neighbour is to understand that it is up to the incumbents of the neighbourhood to make the first move, not for the newcomers to go around introducing themselves.
Our latest abode is one of nine houses in a secluded mews-type development off a main road in West Auckland. There are four houses down each side of the drive and ours at the end. We had been here only a matter of hours when the first of our neighbours made themselves known and offered any assistance we might need.
Before a fortnight had passed all the neighbours had introduced themselves and had welcomed us into their midst. They are a rich mix of people: two older retired couples and an elderly widow on her own; a middle-aged divorced man who also lives on his own; and three younger couples with young children.
The children are a real blessing, for the drive echoes most days to the ambient sound of children at play, and in the year or so we've been here they have become, as children will with unthreatening adults, more and more friendly and wander in and out of our lounge as the mood takes them, knowing they can help themselves to a lolly or three without even asking.
Only a couple of weeks after we moved in, the mews held its annual "street party" to which everyone turned up bearing the necessary meats, salads, breads, desserts, drinks and so on for a sumptuous barbecue on the drive.
The party went on well into the night, and by the time it was over our neighbours had shared themselves with us, and we with them, to such an extent that we were no longer strangers and well on the way to becoming friends. Then at Christmas there appeared on our doorstep several small but tasty gifts.
This year's street party was just as much fun, featuring a spit- roasted lamb, paid for by all of us and cooked by one of us, and accompanied by all the trimmings, liquid and solid, supplied by the rest of us.
Throughout the year I have watched one of the younger of us regularly mow the front lawn for his neighbour over the drive, who is 83; the mothers look after one another's children in emergencies; cats get fed, lawns get mown and gardens are watered when folk are away; my automatic garage door has been closed by neighbours who have seen me drive off to work and leave it open; my next-door neighbour's wheelbarrow has contributed much to the redesign of our section in a general sharing of tools and equipment; and our godsons are welcomed to play by other children and they, in turn, invite all into our home.
And, most importantly, we have come to share our lives with these folk, and they with us, in much more personal and private ways.
True neighbourliness is a rare and precious gift. As the new millennium dawns, it is one we could well resolve to offer to those about us.
* garth_george@herald.co.nzd
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