My father raised me on boyhood stories of the pugilist legend of Kevin Skinner and the mighty boot of DB Clarke. So when I got to know Robin several years later, it was natural the conversation turned to a test series that took place three years before I was born.
I'll always treasure the memory of spending an evening sitting alongside Robin Archer at a basketball dinner and reliving every moment of a rugby game I've had a life-long fascination for.
His eldest daughter Susan, wrote the following in her obituary:
"Arguably, Robin's finest moments came in the Southland jersey he wore 91 times, including as the captain of the disciplined, tightly knit team that defied all expectations to lift the Ranfurly Shield from Taranaki in 1959.
Robin was named Southland's Sportsman of the Year in 1961, but his first-class rugby career was not yet finished. Five years later, at the age of 35 and after deciding to play on for the sake of his beloved brother Wattie, by then suffering motor neurone disease, Robin was the outstanding general of the Southland side which stunned the touring 1966 British Lions side in their opening match with a 14-8 victory."
If I'm honest I always had a soft spot for Robin Archer because he once selected me to play fullback in the 1984 Southland Country side. And if I'm equally honest, he only picked me because Brent McKenzie, father of current All Blacks whizz kid Damian and himself a Junior All Black, was unavailable for selection.
Speaking of 1984, it was a memorable year. George Orwell definitely got it wrong in his futuristic novel of the same name. Not only did a former All Black and hero of mine pick me in his footy team, I also bought my first farm, at the tender age of just 24 years.
It was a lesson in learning how to grow up quickly, stand on my own two feet, work hard and run a business. It stood me in good stead for later business ventures.
Eight years later in 1992 I sold that farm when the (then) Rural Bank turned me down for a $90,000 loan to buy a neigbouring 40 hectares. They probably did me a favour because I fell into radio, admittedly more by accident than design.
It was bitter-sweet leaving farming behind. My fondest memory was the after-party of the clearing sale. Four great farming mates and neighbours – Billy Mackay, Rohan Horrell, Barney Blakely and Maurice Fisken – were the last men standing.
I write this column on the eve of heading down to Southland for my cousin Billy's clearing sale. He helped me in 1992. Twenty six years later, I'm repaying the favour.
He's the last remaining Mackay farming at Kaweku, sitting between the Hokonui Hills and Riversdale, and his departure to Queenstown closes the chapter on three generations and more than 100 years of our clan farming in the district.
The 1980s were the toughest business years of my life but I look back - probably through rose-tinted glasses - with great fondness at farming alongside Billy, my younger brother Don and older cousin Kev.
Sadly, the latter two are no longer with us. I miss them terribly. Those were our young years. Our wings were flying in the sun [Dragon 1989].
