Stories aplenty of politics and the arts

A MAN OF LETTERS. AND NOTES: Gisborne man Harry Smith’s love of politics is quietly eclipsed by his passion for music which he discovered at school as an escape from marching practice, his talent with pastel and pencil, realised at night school while apprenticed as a signwriter and, more recently, writing. Picture by Paul Rickard

After talking with Harry Smith for a couple of hours, the wonder is why he hasn’t written a book before now. As a natural raconteur, one slightly off-the-wall story rolls after another. These are the stories that make up his life.

Now retired, Harry has just published a collection of stories called The Alchey Files. He has another book in production.

The broader story of Harry’s life possibly begins with his father whose own story could sit easily in one of Harry’s tales. His father sailed to New Zealand from Britain, worked on a dairy farm then returned to England in 1914 to serve with the Royal Engineers in World War 1.

In an incident that resonates with Harry’s temperament, the young soldier took exception to the sight of an officer thrashing a fallen horse. The more the officer whipped the horse, the more terrified it became.

Harry’s father asked the lieutenant to stop beating the animal. The officer ignored his pleas so Harry’s father dropped the man with a punch.

He was lucky not to have been executed under martial law, says Harry. He was not court-martialled, but his pay was heavily docked, and he was tied to the wheel of a field gun for several days. The punishment did not end when the war was over. Harry’s father was conscripted to the Occupational Forces for one year and eight months before he was repatriated to Britain.

“He was always gentle,” says Harry.

“He was in all the great battles — the Somme, Ypres. But he was a great old gentleman, my dad. He never laid a hand on me.”

Non-smacking is law these days — but in the post-war years, the laying on of straps and canes was recommended practice for discipline.

New Zealand Army cadetAs a New Zealand Army cadet, Harry had his own brush with military authority in the 1950s. The young cadet could not bear the idea of shooting anyone. He refused to march in parades as well, so he became a cook.

He showed no particular promise with the rifle until the day he proved himself as a marksman during rifle range practice at Sponge Bay.

“They asked me to join the army but I said no, I’m not a soldier. I’m a cook.”

Despite his resistance to recruitment as a fighting man, Harry says he would support compulsory conscription if it was reintroduced. The training offers young people the opportunity to learn a range of skills and to develop a healthy camaraderie.

“It sorts you out,” he says.

Harry was born in Croydon, England, and sailed here with his family on the Rangitikei in 1940. As a Gisborne schoolboy, he despaired at his lack of writing ability. He later developed a career as a signwriter and got involved in politics. In his lifetime he has played in several bands and is an accomplished artist. He has run for parliament nine times; has been deputy leader for the Alliance Party and is now president of the Democrats for Social Credit party.

He has survived personal losses that are painful to recall.

One night in 1983, his 25-year-old son Adrian, widely known as Tex, walked out of the Ormond Tavern and was never seen again.

“That’s all water under the bridge now,” says Harry quietly. But you know it isn’t.

Despite the bad things, Harry says he has had a good life.

A creative lifeIn fact he has had — has still — an extraordinarily, quietly, creative life.

As a student at Gisborne High School, he found the only way to get out of marching practice was to join the high school band and he developed a passion for music. Because the band was made up of Salvation Army and Gisborne Civic Orchestra musicians, the conductor didn’t want Harry, who couldn’t play a note. Harry pestered him and was eventually given a green, leaky tenor horn, and a manuscript with the C scale, to learn from. He applied himself to musicianship and has since played in bands in Gisborne and Auckland.

Harry’s writerly aspirations were not so well met at school though.

“I was jealous of girls because they could write these good essays and I couldn’t do it. The only reading material in our house when I was growing up was Woman’s Weekly and Best Bets. At school, it was frustrating because I always wanted to write well.”

His intelligence did not go unnoticed. One of his teachers strongly recommended he go to university.

Harry’s mother had other plans for her boy.

“She said ‘get that nonsense out of your head. You’re going to work’.”

At 15 years old Harry left school to take up a signwriting apprenticeship.

“I ended up as a man of letters even without any university training,” he says.

His apprenticeship required him to attend night school. He could draw well so when he found war artist Allan Barns-Graham held night classes in art, he signed up for those too.

“I was lucky to have met him,” says Harry.

“He was a wonderful artist. He was great with pastel.”

Harry’s own pastel landscapes and portraits are hung around the house. Writing made its way into into his life when a woman on a TV panel show said she wrote about what life was like now, says Harry.

“I thought ‘what a bloody good idea’. I got a pencil out but ended up with a shopping list. Years later I picked it up again. My character Alchey poked his nose in there and he took over the story. The stories pretty much wrote themselves.”

Harry’s novel-in-progress is based on a real-life incident in which he embarked on a painting expedition to Waitangi Falls in Te Urewera National Park.

“A couple of other guys said they’d like to come. Members from the Canoe and Tramping Club said they would like to come too. Then a scout group and some anglers asked if they could join us.

“So many people had turned up when we got there it was like Christmas Eve in the supermarket carpark.”

Then his own party got lost in the bush.

But that, as they say, is another story.