Tears of joy and hunger at the airport - Kevin Page

The entire Page whānau ended up in tears at the airport. Photo / 123rf

So, after spending more than a year on the other side of the planet, No 1 Son has returned to good old New Zealand.

With him has come the Bride To Be and the Little Tacker, now some nine months old.

To say it was an emotional homecoming is a bit of an understatement.

Mrs P – who could represent the country if airport welcoming was an Olympic sport – was in floods of tears, firstly at the long-awaited arrival of her baby and secondly at the equally long-awaited first meeting with his baby. If that makes sense.

Naturally, I was hovering close by – keeping an eye out in case Mrs P gave the signal and I had to quickly replenish the supply of tissues in her bag - as the family trio ambled through Auckland Airport’s international arrivals, oozing jet lag and bewilderment.

A long-haul journey from London with a baby can do that to you.

The other reason I was hovering was because our two-person welcome home party had swelled to six unexpectedly and I was required to keep an eye on one of the younger members of the squad.

Let me explain.

Right up ‘til the last minute, Mrs P and I had assumed the welcoming party for the 5.15am arrival was just going to be us.

Sadly, the time of the touchdown meant the breakfast I had hoped to sample at the small hotel we booked nearby – the one which was highly recommended in all the reviews and was basically the only reason for us to book there – would have to be missed.

Apparently it wasn’t available ‘til after 7am, something Someone Who Shall Remain Nameless failed to ascertain when she booked the room.

And no, I’m not peeved about it at all. Honest.

But I digress.

So, there we are waiting and who should turn up unexpectedly but No 1 Son’s sister, the Boomerang Child, along with her partner Builder Boy and the little cherubs, Miss Four and Master Two still in their PJs.

They’d made a last-minute decision to get the kids up around 3am and drive to the airport to join us.

So now our happy band of welcomers has swelled to six and three of us – the two littlies and me – are, well, feeling a bit peckish because we haven’t had breakfast.

Newly mature Miss Four says she is happy to wait ‘til after we’ve welcomed the travellers but Master Two has his sights set on the cabinet food in the cafe 50 paces away and the exciting prospect of meeting his new cousin for the first time matters not a jot to him.

He’s a growing lad. He wants sustenance. And he wants it now.

Naturally, because I’m a Grandad, I have to walk three paces behind him at all times and make sure he doesn’t nick any food off the plates of other cafe patrons as he ambles through – or at least make sure he shares the spoils if he does. Ahem.

I never said I was a good Grandad, did I?

So, Master Two is making a beeline for the cafe with me behind him and the rest of the welcoming party is standing at the gate when, typically, the travellers emerge.

As expected, Mrs P immediately sheds a tear or 4 billion and starts making the Replace Tissues sign. So now I’ve got a problem.

I’m heading in one direction to help with an emergency and there’s another one in the complete opposite direction.

Quickly, I scoop up Master Two and head back to where we came.

Unfortunately, as I pick up the little fellow and start running he let’s out a scream.

Naturally, everyone in the airport is now watching this bloke, me, running through the airport carrying a child who sounds like he might be in peril.

Just let me say I’m thankful we don’t carry guns in this country. As it was I think I would have been tackled by at least one or two concerned citizens if the distance I needed to cover had been more than the 50 paces it was.

Anyway, I get back to our gang and it’s well, all starting to unravel a bit, if I’m honest.

Mrs P is hugging No 1 Son and she’s crying, the Boomerang Child is hugging Bride to Be and they are crying.

Master Two is still crying and, maybe bewildered by events, Little Tacker has started to cry too.

Miss Four, lips trembling, is wondering why everyone is crying and Builder Boy is now hovering, arms akimbo and completely confused, wondering which of his brood he needs to comfort first.

As for me, I’m keeping a watchful eye over my whānau, thankful we are all together at last and the travellers have made it home safely in one piece.

I’m also keeping an eye on the stock of sandwiches in the cafe cabinet close by as it rapidly dwindles.

I’m so hungry I could cry. Might as well. Everyone else is.