Wanganui life for a kid in the '50s

Guyton St 2019, at Wicksteed St corner. PICTURE / THE AUTHOR

By A FORMER RESIDENT

Weekend or holiday destinations for me could be anywhere in walking range. I would seldom be at home doing ridiculous things like reading a book. With no weekend trading Victoria Ave on a Saturday had an early morning ambience.

One could explore its back alleys, disturbing only the cats. Wander down to the wharf where at the railhead there were shunting yards, goods sheds, a weigh station and, beyond the railway station, a place where old carriages went to die. If I had money I could buy a bread roll at the Fern Lodge, observe Mr Cleeve readying the grey Marton and Vernon buses for the journey, either to Marton or to Raetihi, and then I could return to town as the milk bars and poolrooms (of which there were three) were opening.
Later the pubs would be in business and in the afternoon the opening of the three theatres featured the invasion of the suburban kids — with their bikes. Chainey's Bike Shop used to accommodate them in the shop's back shed, apparently for a fee, and bus services were available for evening theatre goers.

On any Saturday or any day the week, before or after school, my youngest older brother, who was four years my senior, would most likely be found at the wharf. With the demise of coastal shipping in Whanganui a number of privately owned fishing boats assumed berthing rights there. For some reason my brother was fascinated by them. On occasions he would cycle to the base of the Durie Hill steps, abandon the bike and climb to the top of the Memorial Tower to observe which ships were approaching the bar. He had a loose schedule in his mind. Boats like the Elen, Te Kawa and the Panui, operated by the Horsley brothers, Bill Wyeland and Ted Cements respectively, were most likely to leave on Saturday and return some time on Sunday, earlier than the one-day Sunday operators like Alf Byrd, Alf White or Digger Wadsworth. Some, like Mr and Mrs Wyeland sold direct to shops as well as to customers on the wharf. In any event at a certain times in the '50s they would likely be greeted on arrival to port by my brother who they called "The Harbour Master". And sometimes, perhaps as payment for his duties, he would return home with a schnapper.

Whanganui's three major sporting venues were close by and for some reason I had major issues with each of the caretakers — they were so unfriendly. Notwithstanding their belligerence the venues were great playgrounds, especially Cook's Gardens.
The popularity of rugby meant hoards of people would stream past our place on most Saturdays in the season. The annual Taranaki / Whanganui Queen's Birthday fixture that was run in conjunction with the Jockey Club's Whanganui Steeplechase meeting was always the most popular of the non-international games.

On show day at the racecourse the animals were penned in makeshift yards in the centre of the course, sheepdog trials were conducted in the morning and show jumping was the other centre course feature. Elsewhere homecraft and cat, dog and bird shows featured in large tents. The side shows were, for most, the main event and were typically rambunctious. Throughout the day Ray Charles would sing country and Hank Williams sang his songbook to all of us in the neighbourhood.

Cook's Gardens held a variety of events throughout the year. Soccer on Saturdays and cricket on both days of the weekend. Marching girls, brass and Highland bands would generally perform on Sundays. Athletic and cycling events were held every Thursday night in summer and the races were entertaining — but for us they were just an interlude to our night time shenanigans. There were other one-off events as well. My earliest memory of that venue was in 1953. I had just turned 5 and was with my mother waiting for the Queen of England to arrive when it was announced that she had just left Palmerston North. I decided to leave. I must have thought, why wait, who does she think she is?

Those sporting venues in their various incarnations remain but I'm left with the memories of a time and place that no longer exists; of a neighbourhood through which steam trains would transit day and night; where one could view thousands of starlings swarming in crazy erratic patterns across an evening sky; and where once we use to collect tadpoles and spot the occasional eel at Churton's Creek.

Gone too from the street are the people of my parents' generation whose thoughts and actions, be they noble or without honour, were the honest expressions of people who came though the hardships of wars and an economic depression; people who were part of a cohort that developed social systems from the northern hemisphere but didn't completely cede intellectual and economic sovereignty in the process; and whose middle class bureaucracy worked for a relativity modest wage and didn't promulgate laws that stifled workplace efficiency.

Our family left the area in the early '60s and went their various ways as families do. My eldest brother became one of the 2 per cent who went to university and pursued a profession; a decision he later regretted. Two of my four sisters spurned the option of higher education even when it was made available to them. One became a machinist, the other three worked in lawyer, accountant and bureaucratic offices. My youngest brother was a blacksmith who later worked in the Railways Department head office in Wellington. And I proudly became exactly what my teachers might have said I would be; and which my male line ancestry would have indicated: a member of that group of people whose immense contribution to the development of New Zealand's road, rail, building and infrastructure is understated and, as a consequence whose true status is not recognised; a group whose epic endeavours in an earlier time furnished the ambitions of engineers and politicians and, in many cases resulted in early death because of it. I became a labourer.

The grandchildren of our parents have worked in various places around the world: Germany, England, Japan, America, Australia, Switzerland and New Zealand, in the scientific, academic, educational, legal, medical, digital, technological, environmental, meteorological, civil engineering and bureaucratic fields. But lest they forget, they should remember who their parents and grandparents were and where they came from; and be appraised of the Maori proverb: a stream does not rise above its source.