FEATURE: Tasting nectar from the vine

COLIN OEMCKE
I was put into the children's home, with my two older brothers, when I was four. I can clearly remember the day I went in and can recall having to have a wash at what looked like oversized round hand basins. My first home was called Gordon House, and was up off Priestley Terrace.
When I started school, we used to walk from the home to Central School. On the way we used to suck the nectar from flowers on a vine that is still growing up Coote Road.
On the way home from school, some of us would stop at Goldings shoemakers on the top of Shakespeare Road. I was fascinated by his work and can well remember the pleasant smell of the leather he used.
Every Sunday we would dress up and march to Sunday School at St Paul's Church. (This was probably the only day of the week we wore shoes). After Sunday School we would then march to church. We used to go to a different church each Sunday and had a circuit of about six churches.
Sunday afternoon was spent playing with Hornby trains or Meccano sets. Each Christmas we would go camping at Te Pohue School. This was always exciting, as we had plenty of fun times swimming, eeling, treasure hunts and walking around the lake and up to the tops of the surrounding hills. The bus drivers that took us to and from camp used to enjoy our singing along the way.
In the late 1940s, we shifted to Randell House, which was next to Central School in Napier Terrace. This was quite a pleasant home and was a mixture of boys and girls.
When we moved to this home our Christmas camp was at Lake Tutira. This was as enjoyable as our Te Pohue camp and we had similar things to do. We had huts and also split into groups and grew vege gardens. I can remember playing the wag from school and hiding in the huts.
Surprisingly none of the kids potted me and I got away with it for four or five days.
Once a month we had visiting days when our parents were meant to pick us up and take us home for the day. We would dress up and wait for them. Quite often they would not come. This was a big let down and while my father was alive, I never forgave him for this.
At the age of 11 or 12 we moved out to France House, at Eskdale. This was a boy's home by the railway station and is now occupied by Hukarere girls. We had a terrific time here and there was always heaps to do. There was an orchard and workshops.
In the autumn, we would rake up leaves to form a racing track. We had trolleys and would push each other around having races.
We would also swim in the Esk River. We would carry buckets of water up the hills and make mudslides down into the river. We would also cut branches off cabbage trees and climb the hills and slide down. Quite often you would go over a rock. This would be quite painful, but soon forgotten.
We had huts on the river bank and on the weekends we would be given a handful of flour and some spuds and meat etc and would cook up beside the river.
While in this home, we were taught at Eskdale School. The older boys caught the bus into Napier Boys' High.
All in all, life in the home was great with the good times being remembered and the bad times being pushed to the back of the brain.