Isn’t it nice to go home sometimes? Like home, home. It had been about six years since I had been home to South Canterbury so it was nice to finally get down over the long King’s Birthday weekend.
It was a pretty picturesque time of year to go witha light dusting of snow on top of Mt Hutt and Mt Peel and that’s when the waves of nostalgia started sweeping over me. The pull of a place where you spent the first 20 years of your life is so strong! And this trip was great because my boys were old enough to appreciate Mum yabbering on about her childhood.
We drove past our family farm and slowed right down and parked on the other side of the road and then like stalkers scoping something out we turned around and went up and down the road slowly about five times!
Boys, this is the cattle stop that I was always petrified to walk over, this is the hedge where our cat gave birth to all 40 of her kittens, here’s the petrol bowser that had a seemingly endless supply of fuel that I would use willy nilly, even when I left home!
And then it was off to our local Carew School where the fear of bullrush at lunchtime was a daily anxiety-inducing occurrence. My boys couldn’t believe that the school was still there, as obviously, I am ancient. Then we drove past the church and there in front of us was the Carew Hall.
We’re lucky in Hawke’s Bay to have so many small halls dotted around as I have such fond memories of our hall.
My grandfather helped fundraise and build it, and every single community event was held there. I trod the boards there as part of the drama club, I learned badminton and indoor bowls and every family that ever left the district had their leaving afternoon tea there where they were presented with a cuckoo clock.
This was great fun for us as you could be guaranteed Mrs Henderson would make her Carew famous cinnamon oysters! An absolute treat let me tell you.
In fact, the cinnamon oysters were so good I have considered asking work if I could move back to the South Island and do my daily show from the hall.
Then I remembered while there might be cinnamon oysters aplenty, there were no meatballs or wineries in close proximity to the Rangitata River, so I think I’ll stick with the Tutaekuri!