tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-48957467585766426002024-03-09T18:46:20.464-08:00Things I Can Tellseemorerockshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09638172074263860001noreply@blogger.comBlogger11125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4895746758576642600.post-17549344601271697232023-07-12T19:50:00.002-07:002023-07-12T19:50:26.468-07:00"THINGS I CAN TELL"<p><span style="font-size: medium;"> <em><span style="font-family: arial;">Here is my autobiography, <strong>"Things I Can Tell".</strong></span></em></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><img class="wp-image-48972 aligncenter" height="640" src="https://seemorerocks.is/wp-content/uploads/2023/07/TICT-1-223x300.png" width="476" /></span></p><p><em><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">After weeks of tearing my hair out I can now report that I have my final version of my reflective autobiography up on <strong>KIndle</strong>, where it should be available in about 3 days.</span></em></p><p><span style="color: red; font-size: 34px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><strong>You can read the updated PDF version</strong> <span style="color: blue;"><strong><a href="https://seemorerocks.is/wp-content/uploads/2023/07/FINAL-VERSION-THINGS-I-CAN-TELL.pdf" style="color: blue;">HERE</a></strong></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="color: red; font-size: 34px;"><strong>It is also available on the Internet Archive, <span style="color: blue;"><a href="https://archive.org/details/things-i-can-tell-seemorerocks" style="color: blue;">HERE</a></span></strong></span><strong><br /></strong></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The title, “Things I Have Known” is taken from an eponymous book written by a distant ancestor, Lord Rossmore in the 1930’s. My printer found this on the Internet Archive. </span></p><p><span style="color: red; font-size: 24px;"><strong><span style="font-family: arial;">Should you be interested you can find it <span style="color: blue;"><a href="https://archive.org/details/thingsicantell008070mbp/page/n9/mode/2up" style="color: blue;">HERE</a></span></span></strong></span></p>seemorerockshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09638172074263860001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4895746758576642600.post-48005687876923301652018-08-09T20:05:00.000-07:002018-08-09T20:05:22.176-07:00Natasha<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>Natasha</b></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>
</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>
</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">On
returning, I would spend quite a lot of time with my friend and
lecturer Henry Wrassky. One day he said he would like to introduce me
to someone interesting. We met at the home of Marina Page who lived
in Sumner, a short walk from my parents house. Marina had her cousin
Natasha, from Leningrad staying with her for the summer. I remember
Natasha lying with her back to the window pane reading a book and
taking very little interest in the conversation.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
don’t recall any more how things went but have a recollection that
Wrassky said something about us getting together and for whatever
reason that’s what transpired. Natasha (who was, at 34, 12 years
older than me) started seeing quite a bit of each other. That was the
start of a bit of a romance.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Problems
started when went, very reluctantly, to stay with cousin Marina in
her cottage at Hanmer. Natasha arranged for me to pick her up in hand
mark and started a trip together to the West Coast. We stayed in
Greymouth and then travelled down, through Hokitika to Franz Josef
glacier before returning to Christchurch (and trouble).</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
was in love – or it might be more accurate to say I was in lust,
with Natasha who was in deep trouble with her cousin Marina for
betraying her trust and, not least, seducing a young man from an old
Canterbury family – Marina always had a deep appreciation of that.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
Natasha flew out to return to Leningrad I accompanied her to
Melbourne and Sydney. We stayed with old friends of Wrassky whom we
are managed to offend, not least by Natasha leaving blood on the
sheets. We had a fine old time together in Sydney with no one looking
over our shoulders. I remember walking a lot, seeing the Sydney Opera
House, drinking beer. We entered one pub where there were only men
who cleared at Natasha for daring to enter a “men – only”
drinking hole.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Coming
back to New Zealand – I remember it Christchurch airport having to
wait until the last for a Customs search which was extraordinarily
thorough, I presume because I hardly had any luggage and wasn’t
carrying back the obligatory shopping – I settled, more or less
back into the last year at University.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
obstacles made, what would have been unobtainable, not to say
ill-advised for the normal person had they even ended up in this
situation, all the more determined. Wrassky, who by now regretted
having ever brought us to together tried his best to dissuade me from
going further with my odyssey, even saying something about women not
being as fertile as long as men.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My
parents probably knew better than to try and persuade me out of my
delusions and were remarkably long-suffering, even supportive. There
were many difficult, and expensive trunk calls to Leningrad. It was a
real feat getting through to the operator in Moscow and persuading
them to connect me with Leningrad. I remember one time, trying to get
through, asking “is this Moscow?”, “No! This is South Africa”.
All of this would have been quite impossible had I not been able to
practically take over from the New Zealand operator and explain
myself and Russian.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">All
of this was very stimulating.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Next
came the preparations for travelling to Russia and fulfilling the
bureaucratic requirements of the Soviet government. Natasha’s
letters were very matter of fact (I wish I had kept them) and
explained how I needed to have documents, witnessed by a notary
public and by the Soviet Embassy proving who I was, that I had no
criminal record and so forth. The Soviet representative at the
embassy,Nikolai Parshenko, was embarrassed and apologetic about the
red tape. I think he was on our side.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Some
time in our winter I took a trip to Leningrad, met the family, got
the blessing of Natasha’s mother, Nina Petrovna and spent some time
with Natasha. I had to go on a tourist visa which meant having to
stay in a hotel at monopoly Intourist rates. It also meant that
whatever we did during the daytime I was not able to stay with them
and Natasha was not able to sleep in the hotel.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
remember one amusing episode returning back to the hotel in the
evening and the babushka who guarded the floor and gave out the keys
refused and insisted on asking “where is your delegation?” The
officious old woman refused to believe that I was an individual and
staying on my own so I had to go down to the service department and
explain myself before I could get into my hotel room. That was Soviet
reality!</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">On
that trip I flew out of Copenhagen which meant taking the train from
Leningrad through Warsaw, where I spent one night and then on to
Copenhagen.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
remember arriving in Warsaw where after the sparse shelves of shops
in Moscow and Leningrad the Warsaw shops had piles of cabbages. I
remember staying in the Hotel Bristol on Nowy Swiat, which is now one
of the most swish streets in Warsaw but was then pretty dingy and I
remember how they served up the obligatory meal with potatoes, a
small piece of steak and tinned peas. I was also very pleased with
myself that I was able to buy some sweet smelling Polish aftershave
from a kiosk.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Other
memories which come to mind are visiting my Danish friends who I met
a couple of years before in Moscow, drinking Danish beer and then the
trip back, which started with the Lufthansa flight being 10 hours
late, being put up in an expensive hotel, the next flight being also
late as well as the connecting flight from Sydney being late as well
– I arrived approximately 24 hours later than scheduled. Luckily I
was young.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Fast
forward to November and I again, was flying to Europe, this time to
London where my sister Kathy and my cousin Rosie took the train to
Moscow. I remember it as a pleasant trip with guard bringing us free
cups of tea. In Warsaw I was sure that we had plenty of time so the
three of us went for a walk, (minus our passports) and when we
strolled back a very red-faced guard asked where had we been, we had
held up the train.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
arrived in Moscow, met by Natasha and then travelled on to Leningrad
in style, on the “Red Arrow”. I remember Cathy and Rosie meeting
the family going to pick up Jeremy from the railway station, he had
arrived from Helsinki; walks through the frigid streets of Leningrad,
photos on Palace Square and then later on the wedding itself which
was held in the Palace of Weddings, which was a very formal and very
Soviet ceremony.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
remember saying goodbye to my family at the railway station, spending
some more time in Leningrad and then moving on to Moscow. One way to
save money was to travel by train as much as one could because the
train journeys were a lot less expensive than the hotel
accommodation, and also rather pleasant.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">That
winter was one of the coldest they had had in Russia for several
years. I remember being told how water pipes had cracked in the cold
and I have recollections of walking some of the most beautiful parts
of Moscow, such as Kropotkin Street and around the Novodevichii
monastery, which was closed in those days, it incredible cold –
minus 24° C.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">One
of the aspects of visiting Natasha were long shopping lists, bringing
items like sheepskin coats made in Christchurch, or some item of
stereo equipment – all of this could be resold at huge profit and
help to finance the whole endeavour.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">All
of this must’ve placed a tremendous financial burden on my family,
for all know I had learned some of the money and cashed in on some
insurances my father had to subsidise much of this.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
don’t really know what my parents thought about the strange
situation, but they were amazingly supportive, never tried to
dissuade me and greeted the new arrivals with great warmth when
Natasha and her family finally arrived in the country in August the
next year.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Can’t
have given any thought to how I was going to support this new family.
I had started a job at the Department of Trade and Industry as
assistant advisory officer, really a fairly low level clerical job,
deciding whether import licences would be granted, or not. This was
in the days where the policy was still one of import substitution and
fostering local industry, one that would go down the gurgler just a
few short years later in the Rogernomics neoliberal policies.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Natasha
arrived with her full contingent, consisting of her mother, Vera
Petrovna; her aunt, Nina Petrovna in nine-year-old daughter,Zhenya. A
wonderful cottage had been found for us in the middle of Sumner,
ironically just over the fence from Natasha’s cousin Marina. I
think Natasha’s family thought that third arrived in Paradise and
were living in a dacha, as if it were a summer holiday, even though,
to my shock, they were lighting up the fire every day going through
the firewood as if there were no tomorrow. Zhenya started at the
local school and was taken under the wing of my mother, ‘Granny
Moll’.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Natasha
had arrived as a whole lot of books on computer programming – I
took her word that she was experienced in this area but it didn’t
take that long to realise that this is not her area of expertise
there were no prospects of her work in this area. So, for the time we
were together, we will all supported on my very meagre salary.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Unfortunately
Vera Petrovna had a heart condition and after about a month took a
bad turn. She was seen by the doctor and have some ECGs which said
nothing, but was called back from work one morning to be told that
she had died from a heart attack.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Whatever
hard exterior Natasha had, or whatever skills in wheeling and dealing
in the Soviet system, the death of her mother within a short time of
arriving in a new country dealt her a severe blow and I had no skills
to be of much support and it didn’t take long to learn about the
chasm that divided us culturally.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She
was not emotionally invulnerable as I think some others tended to
think that in fact very emotionally vulnerable, which was shown by
the fact and she revealed this to me that at some stage (I can’t
remember what the immediate trigger was) she closed herself off in
the covered and developed a debilitating skin condition, psoriasis.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She
often didn’t speak to people that she wasn’t close to and seemed
haughty and rude. She was, I think, shy amongst people she didn’t
relate to what I know she loved and respected my parents greatly,
even if she was capable of whisking away one of my dads bottles of
gin.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I’m
sure that she had a not so secret inner desire to be accepted and
taken them to what she (and her cousin Marina) saw as one of
Canterbury’s “aristocratic” families.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
relationship was based on open (on my side at least) pure fantasy.
People only saw how I (and my family) we used by Natasha to get out
of Russia and find a better life. This was certainly the position of
her cousin Marina who had taken great offence at Natasha’s
behaviour when she was staying with her and was livid when in her
eyes, she “targeted” “the scion” of the great Westenra
family.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
still, 35 years later, see this as, to put it politely, an
oversimplification. Although there is some truth the whole thing was
not concocted and the truth is a lot more complicated.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Things
started to fall apart when her ex-husband, Misha visited her from
United States. I’m not sure of the ever met (probably not) but I
can’t imagine the vehemently anti-Semitic Marina ever accepting the
Jewish Michael! Following closely on that, Natasha went back to
Leningrad to sort out her affairs and I learnt indirectly that she
had been in contact with other husband… and I’m sure that’s
when the possibility of a move from New Zealand to Europe arose.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">What
transpired in the months following was that… had managed to marry a
Finnish woman, to divorce and turn up in Belgium.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
relationship deteriorated rapidly, there were some unfortunate scenes
between us during which time I took refuge in a vodka bottle and
eventually, I was asked to leave, and went back to live with my
parents.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My
wife was persuaded by her lawyer to take out a non-molestation order
and quickly moved to get a separation agreement, as well as the New
Zealand passport under the name Westenra, (which was very convenient)
and to arrange to leave, with her family for Belgium where her
ex-husband left for her.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
kept in sporadic contact until I left for a trip to Europe. After a
few days in England I was met off the ferry by Natasha and we spent a
day or two together in Brussels.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She
disappeared off the radar completely for some years until I found
her, and she was living in France. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b><br />
</b></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>Visiting
Natasha in France</b></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzqx_i2fBh4II8qKpm3IYYuTiGt7WFFAYE66ZibVYGfXh0z55JygZVIwo0fW6NlAS0TlX-idJxiFBtLAx0ST_-0hPgqSRClY1dpkHTRw0yfALlhp4oAsP7BXAfHbJkRrsPAgjYwytcZCBR/s1600/IMG_1629.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzqx_i2fBh4II8qKpm3IYYuTiGt7WFFAYE66ZibVYGfXh0z55JygZVIwo0fW6NlAS0TlX-idJxiFBtLAx0ST_-0hPgqSRClY1dpkHTRw0yfALlhp4oAsP7BXAfHbJkRrsPAgjYwytcZCBR/s1600/IMG_1629.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
I returned to Moscow with Henry Wrassky in 2007 I saw her in Moscow
and amongst other things was treated to lunch in the opulent Cafe
Pushkin. After some time in Poland and visiting my long-time friend
Gerti in Bamberg, Germany I was treated to a ticket to visit Natasha
on the Cote d’Azur. The meeting was very amicable and felt more
like a family visit them to and an estranged spouse.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
shared many recollections, and even the promenade around the
peninsular of…was somewhat reminiscent of old times in Sumner. I
was met like a long lost friend and treated with characteristic
generosity even if the quid pro quo was to accompany Natasha in her
large Mercedes (playing CDs with old crooners like Dean Martin) on
long shopping trips, or on a wonderful (but over-long and very
tiring) trip along the Cote d’Azur, through… and Menton to Italy
where we had dinner.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
met Zhenya (Eugenie Westenra) who was living in Monaco and working
for the Credit Suisse catering to the needs of Russian millionaires
who needed some place their money. This was in 2007, in the heady
days before the 2008 financial meltdown.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_S1LAvTIBOGecIE3f1DCPHdPAmWZz9Z-2dVUlnj2zCsPEvQTRbnY0B9wxHzPbK_8tD46UKJbNooxhkRCWYnztHMeo6vCT4c9UUbF3ZCoaoY47v6EwFlVewCkNRLk4Xspzx5Xyz3STz1GD/s1600/IMG_1562.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_S1LAvTIBOGecIE3f1DCPHdPAmWZz9Z-2dVUlnj2zCsPEvQTRbnY0B9wxHzPbK_8tD46UKJbNooxhkRCWYnztHMeo6vCT4c9UUbF3ZCoaoY47v6EwFlVewCkNRLk4Xspzx5Xyz3STz1GD/s1600/IMG_1562.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
have often wondered what has happened to them in the days since then,
but apart from one solitary phone call when Pam spoke to her, Natasha
has once again disappeared off the radar.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">That
is so characteristic.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;">………………………<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Here’s
an excerpt from my diary of my last visit to Europe.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>8
August 2008, Provence</i></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="color: black;"> </span>
</i></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>Une
villa au Meditteranee!</i></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh2pt3Hwqdtvmc72RznQn1-1mNeUeT_O49ZKDJjGBYYvkIrUaWOuQBUaxYEHwbD72VGln2IGSgwY1TIKziXidz98Pf3GBwS397V4wJZq6n0b2GvWjF3eil15CQ40lmZe2X3S8na7oSeaV5/s1600/Natasha.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh2pt3Hwqdtvmc72RznQn1-1mNeUeT_O49ZKDJjGBYYvkIrUaWOuQBUaxYEHwbD72VGln2IGSgwY1TIKziXidz98Pf3GBwS397V4wJZq6n0b2GvWjF3eil15CQ40lmZe2X3S8na7oSeaV5/s1600/Natasha.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
think I really have to pinch myself – a completely different world
from Bamberg. 9.30 and already thermometer says 27° C!</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Cypress
trees and tall hills covered with buildings that are as reminiscent
of Italy as a France. Cicadas sing shorter notes here I think.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Was
met at the airport after a bit of a wait by Natasha – and
undersized person in an oversized Mercedes. In the old days she
didn’t/and couldn’t drive. Airport seemed empty and provincial,
but apparently it’s the second biggest in France. I wasn’t that
impressed by what was on offer in Frankfurt and Zurich. Nothing much
to eat – but Swiss chocolate and Moevenpick ice cream on the
Swissair flight.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Can’t
remember much of the drive back – dry, hot, amazing French
buildings – very dense buildings along the seaside and on the steep
hillsides.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Met
by Zhenya and her daughter – nice but slightly awkward (from my
side) conversation – I was tired. Zhenya also suffers seemingly
from some form of chronic fatigue – sleeps a lot, both the office
but doesn’t spend a lot of time there.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">More
later…</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After
a slow start took off with Natasha to Eze, a small village between
here (St Jean Cap Ferra) and Monaco. Situated on steep slopes of 400
m – it has a church with narrow winding paths leading up to a
fortress. The Romans were here but present structures date back to
the 14th century. Belong to Provence, then to Kings of Savoy and then
France. A lot of time in highbrow shops and art galleries. Down below
bicarb Park is a perfume factory and museum. Apparently all French
perfume comes from grasses grow nearby – this is the source.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Shades
of the old Natasha – in and out of shops, looking at all the
beautiful things. In the evening a nice one and a half hour walk
around the peninsular of Cap Ferra. All slightly reminiscent of
Scarborough and Flowers Track etc .</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In
Eze that is an expensive hotel with the customer’s luggage is
carried by donkeys.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
has been an adjustment – from Gerti’s flat in Bamberg to this
amazing fellow on the Cote d’Azur was to Russian women working one,
Raiya- (a Chechen I think) the other looking after the wee
girl,Nastya (Anastasia Charlotte Westenra!!). Zhenya works for a
local branch of credit Suisse and works with the rich Russians who
live here, bringing business to the bank. She obviously earns well
(she has brought some millions of euros to her employer) – this was
the problem with Nastya’s father – in Moscow, who found it hard
to accept that she was earning several times more than what he was.
She studied economics at Brussels University and Russian politics at
the London School of economics. Since I knew them in Brussels, when
they were struggling to keep themselves going, they have lived in
Switzerland, London, Moscow – and now the Cote d’Azur. As I
understand it Natasha is following Zhenya and running her own travel
business from wherever. She has someone, who she describes as being
like a son, running a bureau in St Petersburg – specialises in
Tours from Europe with the cultural (or whatever,) theme. She has her
own guides stop she gets referrals from European travel agencies and
she pays them.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;">…<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg65vcM6TfNoGSTwC50BynLRToNrUCiTZhnCVPS1u3biBFafsKwz4WNvULb1oXOzrAAUXWrCPIXonp1CnNOnOWMTncseedcC4wqz7mVdVsnF7eni15SWrQpwjHfXu432PhjUWBG6q0O5to1/s1600/IMG_1586.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg65vcM6TfNoGSTwC50BynLRToNrUCiTZhnCVPS1u3biBFafsKwz4WNvULb1oXOzrAAUXWrCPIXonp1CnNOnOWMTncseedcC4wqz7mVdVsnF7eni15SWrQpwjHfXu432PhjUWBG6q0O5to1/s1600/IMG_1586.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Feel
exhausted today after a rough day yesterday. Met up with Natasha’s
Georgian friends and drove to Menton and looked around the most
amazing old town – the last town before one hits the Italian
border. Lots of photos, lots of waiting while certain people did the
shops, a good proportion of the day went into shopping stop</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Then
went to a cafe to have tea in the most amazing array of cakes and
sweets et cetera – one piece would have been enough for the sweet
tooth, but had to sample everything. By this time would have been
ready to turn around, but no, onwards to Italy. Stopped in one town
while in its business and then on to San Remo… More shopping, a
little bit of sightseeing – by this time it hardly care less –
and then to cap it off) after all the wonderful eateries on the
street that we bit bypassed] went to some expensive cafe – more tea
with pastries! By this time I felt pretty pest off. Then back to the
car (a huge Mercedes that doesn’t fit the roads here) a’s ships
nd a long trip back, finding the way; yet another stopped walk around
and night Bazaar in Menton. By the time we got back it was 12:30 a.m.
and I was stuffed.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Today
I think I am suffering, primarily from the diet. Tired and a little
depressed – basically need space, simplicity and hanker for home,
or it least Birling Place.…</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This
has been a difficult stay for me. Especially the resins. I have been
ups and 730, ready to go down to the village to look up the Internet
for Z – it is now 8. 30 and nobody has stirred is – so I can see
that Natasha will get up late and normally no time for what seemed
urgent last night.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Similarly,
there would be announcements such as open quote after dinner we will
drive up to the village, – and then nothing would happen. Then
yesterday I was told we were going to the beach only to find we were
going on a shopping expedition instead.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
have spent a lot of time this waiting while Natasha disappears into a
shop to look at shoes, onions, or whatever, I have found it all a bit
claustrophobic, unnerving and frustrating. There is an uncomfortable
feeling of being dependent on someone else, to go somewhere, when and
if they want.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"> </span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This
on the one hand. But on the other, the unbounded generosity of paying
for my ticket, taking me around, offering the most incredible
delicacies – champagne , all sorts of French breads and sweets,
being on the beach with its chaises longues and glasses of wine,
orange juice etc – it cost $40 a day just to sit on the beach.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">All
of this is brought up feelings of rage, in adequacy, frustration –
most of all, not really being my own person. So while I know I should
be grateful and happy I feel in a pressure – let me get out of here
full!</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Apart
from anything else observing the life of the well off is not a
comfortable experience – all the expensive cars, rich food, the
throwaway society, all the talk of who has what, expensive cars,
jobs, helicopters to St Tropez. It is, to put it extremely mildly,
unsustainable. On Saturday, when I went shopping with Natasha in her
huge Mercedes, forgetting to take with her any bags from home – all
the unnecessary expenditure, the use of plastic bags – all produced
a sense of despair.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Natasha
is a powerful woman in people seem to be attracted to her. When
people speak to her on the street and French there is a good
connection. She does seem to be able to help the people around her –
so the money flows in and out. She seems to have a sincere belief in
spirituality (eastern and western); she is impressed by Alexandra
David Neel and a bit borders on; also a fairly innate understanding
of energetic medicine – she latched fairly quickly onto the
principles of NAET. I did some basic muscle testing on them and then
Natasha went down to use the Internet to find some local NAET
practitioners. Zhenya is pretty sick with chronic fatigue and unable
to work at the moment (she sleeps a lot of the time close bracket and
has all the classic symptoms of CFS/candida. I hope someone here is
able to help.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Who
wee daughter, Nastya, is delightful and bright for her age perhaps I
should think of myself as some sort of “would be” Grandad!! All
in all there is some familiarity, but in general a very different
world from what I’m used to!</span></span></span></div>
</div>
seemorerockshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09638172074263860001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4895746758576642600.post-152506165146836722018-08-09T20:02:00.000-07:002018-08-09T20:02:57.761-07:00Travelling in Asia - 1987-8<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>Thailand</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
left in May 1987 for a trip that would take me to Asia for 16 months
and would change my life forever. I live in Singapore and make my way
slowly up through Malaysia, starting with Malacca and continuing
through Kuala Lumpur and Penang before arriving for three months in
Thailand.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
spent some time on the popular resort island of Koh Samui before
joining my first real meditation retreat at Wat Suan Moke.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In
addition to my own mind at Suan Moke I faced the additional problem
of mosquitoes for the first time.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
think day that's one book. Have felt considerably weaker today. Let
it in the sheet. Difficult to move and difficult (mostly) to stay
still because of the mosquitoes /ants / fleas etc.… After having
seen my first snake on Koh Samui I saw my first scorpion right
outside the dormitory. I was quite shocked to learn that in the rainy
season scorpions and snakes like to make the homes inside the kutis
(meditation huts) sometimes.… One learns a lot about oneself and a
situation like this where one is free and has a lot of time. Need a
lot of self-discipline to keep up practice.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">By
the end of June I was in Bangkok and amongst other things I found a
central Monastry, Wat Mahathat, to practice meditation in. I found a
Dutch monk, Fritz, who taught me meditation in the Mahasi Sayadaw
tradition and I started to go between my rest house on Khaosan Rd and
the monastery every day to meditate.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
tickly tort was very stressed and consisted of alternating sitting
meditation with slow walking meditation. The one hour presentation
consisted of following the movement of the breath at the abdomen and
noting whatever came up, whether it was sensations such as itching
("itching, itching") or thoughts ("thinking,
thinking"). The emphasis was on "right effort", which
really meant EFFORT. After the hour there was an hour of intense, and
very slow walking meditation noting the intention to remove As well
as the movement itself, ("lifting, lifting" etc..). And so
it went on, with the exception of short breaks for something to eat,
once a day, throughout all the waking hours.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After
a while Fritz suggested that I had had long enough practising in the
city and suggested a retreat at a monastery called Wat Vivek Asom.
Apart from myself that did not seem to be any other farangs and the
Thai monks seemed to be largely without English, though I was largely
on my own.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
quickly came down with a stomach bug and diarrhoea </span></span></span>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Feeling
weak and my left shoulder blade is giving me hell. It seems no one is
concerned about me and I feel left in the lurch now... Yesterday was
hell! Only went to toilet about three times – diarrhoea, however
the rest of the day felt some stomach pains, very weak and faint and
later on in the day had a fever and more or less unconscious. Did not
eat anything except for a couple of fruit.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
can remember the feeling now . It was as if it was all equanimity and
no compassion - that I could've died here and nobody would have
cared. "conscious of time passing and of freezing pain and left
shoulder blade. Gave way to sorts of giving up, of missing home,
Sammy (will he remember me?)... What's not able to note thoughts
generally feeling rather sorry for myself".</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"I
really do wonder what I'm doing here – easy to keep silence,
because there's nobody to communicate with anyway!.... The ants are
everywhere – probably swimming in my condensed milk by now!</span></span></span></div>
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<i><br />
</i></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Later
on</i></span><span style="font-size: medium;">.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Feel
zonked and negative thoughts of why am I here?? Do not want to
practice any more today – 8–10, 1–7 today (eight hours).
Concentration seemed to be at a low level today and started off with
backache, then stomach discomfort (have constipation!! today).,
laziness – but minds did not seem to wander too much but at end
rebelled. Last sitting saw one mosquito and could not set one minute
more, up to my room and ate a banana!</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Phra Frits turned up and
I was able to have an interview with him. He said he was quite
pleased with my progress and sincerity. Sick negativity can be caused
through boredom caused either by lack of effort all by good practice
– said I was sincerely not sure which was true. It seems that when
I appear to be going backwards I am going forwards - important to
maintain effort! ....</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And
sweat everywhere today – in all the food and now climbing along the
lines across my room so not even the stuff is safe any more! In a
moment of anger I burnt a couple of the buggers!.....</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">when
I do venture out and ponder along towards the gate I have been
approached twice – what IM doing, if I am hungry etc. Do you feel
like a prisoner. Can't I just take a stroll for the few metres that
are? When I go back to Bangkok I will try to floating seafood
restaurant! Do something a little naughty!</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This
is one of the harder periods of my life and I am afraid that my mind
is getting away. It is not always easy to control it. My fullness the
slipping away and sometimes even the desire to be mindful – but I
will not give up. Probably will take a bit longer. I am thinking more
in terms of taking off for Europe – just for a few months through
USSR in September and returning to India after Christmas for yoga
ashram."</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
more I tried to control my mind the more it got away on me and I
started to think of escape.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"You
am feeling like giving up more and more. My mind just not calm and I
cannot find calm. I think that is what I expected from meditation,
that was longer periods of meditation I would find inner peace.
Instead of that I find a world of suffering, of terrible aches and
pains, but the room I am living in is infested with ants crawling
everywhere, so that nothing in this room is safe, it is no longer
quiet with drilling and hammering going on destroying any peace of
mind. Difficult not to judge all this, just be aware and not judge,
observe the breath. It is incredibly boring and mundane – and have
nothing here to occupy the mind with. It is like being in a prison
for one week – no entertainment, nothing to read, no one to talk
to, just the same four walls– just at one with the suffering,
painful mind."</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>Later
on.</i></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"Field
ecstasy and a feeling of joy at being here and being able to
meditate!! I think I am really learning to be with myself – that I
will never be unhappy again to be in solitude. That is an incredible
achievement!</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>A
couple of hours later.</i></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Have
lost some energy and have not felt like like meditating with such a
lot going on.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
was the start of the rain's retreat and I had my first opportunity to
observe Buddhist culture at work and to make some observations.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"The
monks came and assembled on platform with the Abbott at their head.
After some challenging each of the nuns gave a gift (in name was
called out of a hat) to the monks. The months were I'm able to take
directly from a woman who placed a piece of cloth in front of him
gift paste en masse and taken by the month. The woman then bowed.to
the monk. Never any sign of respect in the other direction – really
very sexist! Really, is it a lower form of birth – to be born a
female?! </span></span></span>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After
10 days intensive retreat (and even now looking back at the diaries,
it seems much longer) I left for Bangkok. After a few days back in
Bangkok, trying to meditate in that environment I left for a side
trip to Kantchanaburi, this site of "bridge over the river
Kwai". This trip stays in my memory because of the first evening
here, going to the bathroom I slipped on the slippery concrete in the
rain and landed on my coccyx. It was very painful! I finally found
relief on my return to Bangkok with a herbal massage.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Soon
I was off again by train to Wat Pah Nanachat, the International
Forest monastery near Ubol Ratchathani That was related to the
forest monastery back in Stokes Valley in Wellington. I arrived
during the rain's retreat so it was by no means certain that I could
stay longer for three days – however I was accepted and my head was
shaved. </span></span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
routine was very different from Vivek Asom. There was a lot less
emphasis on formal meditation practice and much more emphasis on
routine tasks and chores such as sweeping leaves or fetching water.
One of the most memorable aspects of being at what another chart was
just the sheer discomfort – of sleeping on beer boards with nothing
but a mat and the discomfort of the meditation hall</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"At
6.30 we were summoned to evening charging at the "boat"which
is a beautifully – instructed new structure with receding lighting,
marble floor and wooden panelled ceiling. Had to set on cold, hard
surface with nothing between me and the floor but my sarong. Felt
very uncomfortable – especially during charging – the pressure on
knees and toes was terrible – plus I felt terribly tired and
hungry. A talk on Vinaya (the monks' Discipline), followed by
meditation, chanting another talk (on the hindrances), meditation,
more chanting!"</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
other scene was constant sleep deprivation and the long days (19
hours long). The day finished at 10 PM at the bell to get up rang at
3 AM again, followed by a cold shower to wake up and then more
charging and an hours "meditation", which meant sleepiness
discomfort and the struggle just to stay awake. While the months went
on their arms round the lead people had chores such a sweeping ou the
hall. The one and only meal was at about 8 AM. When one feel that
one's bowl with as much as one could possibly eat.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"The
meal a protracted affair All the lay people off of food to the
months, the monks serve themselves and the bowls of food are passed
from month to month and then to the laypeople. A long wait, chanting
and then a very large meal open ( many things I would not have eaten
in such quantity) - possibly more than I would have eaten if I'd had
two meals."</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This
will be followed by cleaning up, more chores, walking meditation, at
some stage a period of short rest was about followed by an afternoon
of alternating walking meditation. The major event of the latter part
of the day was when the monks and the laypeople would gather in the
Ajahn's kuti for drinks and coffee that was so sweet you could stand
your teaspoon in it. No wonder diabetes is so common amongst Thai
monks!</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">One
of the many things that hurt to me was that preponderance of things
that were forbidden by Thai etiquette such as, at any stage,
stretching ones feet out in front of one, sitting on the windowsill
all rinsing out o'clock in the water container.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"I
actually feel quite depressed and negative. So many things get on my
nerves. I am tired of the excess of ritual including chanting and
balance. It seems very strange to me. I am for ever afraid of putting
foot wrong and wondering if I am some sort of 'pariah'. I am always
getting critical stares and do not find the monks as helpful and
friendly as they could be. It seems that this is not one of the most
important qualities."</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Well
I was still sleeping in the upstairs above the kitchen one night I
woke from a dream</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"
I work in the middle of the night, about 11.30, in a panic. I was
sitting meditating (I thought) in the boat but had no clothes on.
What was I to do?! The truck a moment or so to realise that I was in
bed! Got up and went to the loo. Heavy night sleep. Did not get up at
the bell but slept right through to 6.30"</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I'm
off the conceits I encountered amongst the monks was that one could
only become "enlightened" if one was ordained as a monk.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"interesting
talk with Israeli monk who is of the opinion that the passenger
meditation is of little gain to lay people. Unless one reaches the
stage of stream entered still condemned to rebirth. Therefore
entering a monastery and giving up one's ego is the sole path."</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Obviously
this month have not given up his ego!</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
had plenty of time to endulge in thought and planning. One major
theme was whether I would go on to Sri Lanka, whether I would travel
on to Europe etc. Also I began to crave sense papers and to dreamed
of eating ice cream.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
left the monastery and returned to Bangkok. Naturally enough the ice
cream was a disappointment.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">For
some reason – and I cannot fathom it looking back today – I made
a return to Wat Vivek Asom where I stayed for about another week. As
usual, in such a situation I was full of conflict and did not have
the energy to practice intensively as I had before. I was confronted
by one of the monks with something that has come up several times in
my life that is to make a firm intention and to follow through with
it. However, looking back I find it hard to understand I I went back
there for a second time. After struggling with the mosquitoes, and
it's, the food, I finally made an escape down to the south coast, to
Koh Samet.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Back
in Bangkok I bought a ticket to Europe via Colombo and finally, after
three months in Thailand, took in the Air Lanka flight to Colombo.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b><span style="color: #990000; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">In Sri Lanka - October - December, 1987</span></b>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Nilambe
retreat centre</b></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>5/10/1987</b></span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
feel a great feeling of peace and also greater awareness. The whole
day has been spent productively. After morning meditation a short
yoga session and then after breakfast spent the whole morning in my
kuti doing both yoga and pranayama exercises and then 40 minutes of
meditation outdoors. </span></span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Feel
much more balanced with this concerted effort and feeling that I
don't need to hurry – too often I am ruled by the clock, and in
meditation am aware of how much time has elapsed and In yoga wish to
get over as soon as possible and lose myself in distractions.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In
the afternoon wrote a letter to Gerti trying to explain to her (and
myself) some of the reasons why I am here. Sometimes I feel inspired
by others, sometimes feel overwhelmed and "belittled" by my
lack of "spiritual experiences" and meditation Really it's
the concentration that is not there and which I wish to develop.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>14/09/1987</b></span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
is damp and cold and so is my mood. Sun and warmth does such a lot to
lighten the soul. When its wet and all your clothes are musty, your
feet are dirty from walking in the mud and the food is insufficient –
the mind is negative. Really it all comes from the mind. it's my
reaction to the outside world. </span></span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My
moods have been very changeable. I have had some good meditations –
seated like a Zen master with perfectly straight spine, and good
concentration, walking mindfully and calm. At other times the body is
listless, heavy, the mind craving after food. </span></span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A
couple of times I've descended to the bottom of the hill to buy
chocolate biscuits to devour them - a craving of the body to
compensate for the lack of good food – fruit,bread etc., that I
feel I need, especially in this colder weather – Or is it just a
distraction, a way out of boredom, just like going to sleep,or
reading a book? </span></span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yesterday
had a good meditation, then back to kuti to do some pranayama on my
bed After breakfast when we were talking about the lack of food
(that we need more). I decided to walk down to the bottom of the hill
to buy some bread – a slow, restful walk in the sun. Bought usual
chocolate and biscuits and devoured them on the way up. </span></span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
need, I think, to accept these weaknesses, just say "OK" to
them - just observe the way the mind works.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">.....</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Old
themes keep coming back, such as:</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"I
get very sentimental about certain things – I miss the comfort of
my relationship with Mum, the little nest of 8 Whitewash Head Road.
It is a life that has just disappeared and I really do feel alone in
the world. I. have tried to reach out to my family, but there's so
little to share. I'll never become like them and they'll never
understand me."</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">...</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
had my first experience at Nilambe teaching yoga. </span></span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>18/10/1987</b></span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Took
a group for a yoga class but this morning and yesterday morning.
Felt quite nervous beforehand, going over to different postures etc.,
in the meditation before the yoga session. When it came to take the
class I found I was quite calm and able to talk about the
exercises,their benefits etc., Although sometimes experience a slight
difficulty in expressing myself (the names of postures, a weak
knowledge of anatomy, necessary for teaching of yoga). This morning
less plan but still worked out. The asana part goes quickly – a
need to plan out sequences, explanations etc., beforehand. But I feel
more confident and relaxed than I thought I would and feel I can do
it – that I have something to offer and the fact that some
questions have been asked afterwards show it..... Excellent practice
for me – taking class – so it is a possibility when I go back to
New Zealand.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">One
the characters that I met who turned up at Nilambe was John from
Oklahoma, whom I had met previously during my time at Wat Pah
Nanachat in Thailand....</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>19/10/1987</b></span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">John
arrived yesterday from Kandy. It was a really nice reunion, but the
relaxation has gone – too much talk, enthusiasm, starry eyes,
dhamma etc. sometimes a little difficult to keep up. By the time I
left to go to Kandy I felt like silence – the need to be with
myself, to unwind – I been on a high the last couple of days. </span></span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">John
sees changes in the way I am acting – obviously radiating more
confidence and calm than in Thailand... It is true I feel very
different here. Wat Pah Nanachat did nothing to enhance my
self-esteem. I felt the pressure to conform – it wasn't just doing
things I didn't want to but probably it wasn't what I needed at that
stage of my development - and hence the conflict. A month at Nanachat
felt like a month. Here time simply loses its meaning. I'm much more
"in the present moment" them there.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This
is a reasonable description of what it felt like to be on a bus in
Sri Lanka or India…</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Arrived
at bus stop about 2.45. Waited perhaps 15–20 mins for bus to
arrive. Then a mad rush for the bus and fighting to get aboard –
total bedlam – needless to say I did not get a seat. Standing
jam-packed like sardines with people pushing and shoving to get in
and out of the bus instead of patiently waiting – airlessness
compounded by cigarette smoke, a feeling of being crushed, and pushed
and shoved, (and being a centre of attention and mirth for school
boys). We stood in the bus for at least 30 minutes, probably longer
before we took off. .... a long bus ride – managed to get out by
sheer luck (or intuition). I thought that signposts which I half-pie
recognised </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">by
colour alone and realised that I was at Nilambe - so had to rush to
the front to get off the bus! Quite extraordinary!</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A
good walk up through the wet and like.... rain (a little bit of
restraint and eating my small bar of chocolate). Came back for a
shower but had to run off to attend to a leech on my foot. By this
time absolutely exhausted, so consumed my bar of chocolate and then
to evening bhavana.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Godwin's
approach to meditation and what I've learnt this weekend has been
incredible. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This
approach is basically a psychological one based on dealing with what
he calls the monsters opening (greed, hatred and delusion) He has a
different and far more relevant words for some of the Buddhist
concepts (like the 5 hindrances) and of coming to terms with one's
wounds (both those inflicted by others as well as feelings of guilt
self-hatred bought out by "wrongdoing" in relationship to
others – the failure to forgive ourselves these "misdeeds".
So a great deal of emphasis on first developing a healthy ego, of
learning to be "friendly to oneself" and to both forgive
others, but most importantly, oneself. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Only
then can emit loving kindness to others and to confront the
"monsters" hit on, so he makes years of various aspects of
psychotherapy and heating – such as rebirth thing, touch therapy,
as well as metta meditation.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Meditation
techniques</b></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Development
of focusing he does not like the word concentration – implies too
much effort. It should happen in the natural way.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Listening
to sounds develops focusing, awareness in a natural way and in a
relaxed manner. He emphasises awareness of sites and sounds of nature
– listening to birds, rain, watching hills, sunsets etc). Through
this one can come in a very relaxed way to anapanasati the
observation of the breath. The right attitude to thoughts, to
daydreams and to the wandering mind is that it is natural and OK. One
should not judge oneself for this, feel guilty, no preconceptions
could be brought into meditation – just come back to the breath,
note thoughts, sensations etc.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"Choiceless
awareness" (a Krishnamurti term) or bare attention, is true
vipassana. Often when one says "let thoughts come freely"
they don't come.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Effort
produces resistance – when one says "I must not think
thoughts" they come thick and fast! Meditation should be fun,
"playing with the mind", Learning how the mind works is the
essence of meditation.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Godwin
talks of problems of meditators who take themselves too seriously,
are unable to laugh at themselves, is who trying to hard open (which
produces tension, and often become aloof from other people,
"superior", and cold, without compassion. Meditation must
be balanced with social action and interaction with people.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">.....</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Godwin
was invariably a kind and attentive teacher. He took time out with
me to discuss my diet – how perhaps I should be using more salad so
I had less gastric problems. He took me through a rebirthing session
and asked me if I thought that perhaps another one would be useful –
and perhaps I would stay little bit longer to get more out of what we
get started. He was gentle consistent and never admonishing, other
than in a very gentle way.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Looking
back at my diary I can see that my mind was ceasing with finding the
right diet, with how I would spend my time, making plans of a trip to
India etc.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Autobiographical
notes </b></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>(from
my diary) - 22/10/1987</b></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
feel like an only child. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My
brother and sister are 8/9 years old respectively. I was spoilt by my
parents and developed a special tender relationship with my mother
who gave, I think, special affection and love, because I was a late
child and perhaps had greater sensitivity. This has caused some
resentment in Jeremy,who thinks that I was "too spoilt by Mum,
who should have been harde</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
was brought up on a farm, so was quite isolated. Just a few friends
from neighboring farms, but no brother /sister contemporaries to play
with, so developed more individualistic pursuits - fantasy -
interesting cowboys and Indians, country and western music (John
Hore), writing fan letters to favourite TV stars like Danny Kaye. I
was interested in other countries and did projects on countries
involved in drawing maps writing out information, mostly about the
USA), writing stories (which I had "published" by Kathy who
typed them at work,at Kodak. I developed an imagination and was
interested in helping animals Dog and Horse Society, imaginary games
with Dinky toys and towns built up from books etc., Playing
"Thunderbirds" in the trees at </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Waihi
school, developing an interest in astronomy etc. </span></span></span>
</b></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Attended
local country school until I was nine, when I was sent off two boys
boarding school, I think it was quite traumatic to be separated from
family, and having difficult time because of a bedwetting problem
which made me an object of teasing and bullying by other boys. I
developed a greater sensitivity and kept more to myself, interested
in reading, doing geography projects etc., Rather than outside
pursuits – could never play team sports like rugby and cricket,
which I always disliked and could not swim until I was about 13 (I am
still a weak swimmer). Waihi days though, we're happy days.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;">
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>13/11/1987</b></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>A
murder at Nilambe</b></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Dr
Fernando has been murdered! </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Early
morning meditation and then yoga. Everything seemed as per normal
until just before breakfast with a van pulled up almost running me
over, and then at breakfast the terrible story came out. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">First
of all that was a petrol bomb attack on Pushpa and Chandra – at
about midnight a petrol bomb was thrown through the back window of
the cottage. They were sleeping together. Shandra was had by glass
fragments – she had burning in the eyes. She saw flames which she.
immediately extinguished with a blanket. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">If
she had not done so the whole building would have gone up in flames!</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Then
at 6 o'clock Christina went over to Dr Fernando to get him but found
his car round the front of the house with headlights on, the engine
running. She thought she saw a body and walked away – " don't
be crazy!" - then finally came to find Dr Fernando's dead body
in the gutter, head totally distorted and disfigured. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
seemed what happened was that there were some things taken and the
was a struggle inside, with pools of blood inside the house and that
the struggle continued outside and his bloody you sweater was found
outside. What a shock! Nilambe seemed such a peaceful place in
comparison with the madness all around, far removed from terrorism
and danger - and now!</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">At
first I saw myself as being quite removed and disinterested but I
really have been shaken by this event. In meditation I could not
really get image of Dr Fernando out of my mind and thoughts connected
with the murder. I am pleased in a way that I have not much longer
here – only another week. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Nilambe
will never be the same!....</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">All
the Sri Lankans here have been down to the bungalow to see the body,
plus Ellie and Faith. I do not wish to go and see the bloody corpse –
I don't think that not wishing to support myself to that site (the
tree going up my way to see it), is running away from anything...</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Strange
that at 4 PM they were still waiting for a doctor to arrive to
certify death etc. The body is still lying where it was,
untouched....</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>16/11/1987</i></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Everyone
is on page this morning. The police were up wanting breakfast.
Nisanka is sick with a fever and kidney pains and so out of action –
so everyone is cooking. I slept down in the men's kuti and had to get
up twice in the night. I felt really quite anxious and scared,
hearing sounds in the night. Thank God I'm a sound sleeper.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
way this country is run this amazing. The police did not chase people
away at all. People could come and go and look at the corpse, hang
about, and discuss what they thought had happened quite openly. They
could not get the papers together to get a doctor, came to take
fingerprints about 18 hours late, after it had been raining, trying
to read them in the dark (!); came with dogs 18 hours late – gave
them broken glass to sniff to get a trail (?!) and found a link with
the bungalow – of course, both Chris and Godwin had gone across!!</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Godwin
was amazing. It seemed as if nothing had happened – still smiling
and apparently unaffected. Chris said he behaved at the bungalow with
all the investigation etc., just the same as if he was at a garden
party. he justjust at serving, not involved in what was happening,
low obviously shaken. He kept repeating "what a way to die!"</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
</div>
seemorerockshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09638172074263860001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4895746758576642600.post-1409201145534627652016-08-22T01:30:00.001-07:002016-08-22T01:30:34.552-07:00A rant<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b style="color: maroon; font-family: georgia, 'times new roman', serif; font-size: 32pt; text-align: left;">My
ongoing saga with quacks</b></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: maroon;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 32pt;"><b><br /></b></span></span>
<span style="color: maroon;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 32pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "\22 arial\22 " , "\22 helvetica\22 " , sans-serif; font-size: large; font-weight: bold;">Seemorerocks</span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbBCSRTNZb6A3ISy5JU2n_yPhrdcdjN4R06s2KNq-3CK8JGlup3NeGamnZeJQz285f73Z4yJ3Gt9YXpwW_Ie79ln0vKcKga2WMiN5syFOcRJFhM2iEXAUMo5gCX-IH7eKBMx4SW787GoU/s1600/meditating.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbBCSRTNZb6A3ISy5JU2n_yPhrdcdjN4R06s2KNq-3CK8JGlup3NeGamnZeJQz285f73Z4yJ3Gt9YXpwW_Ie79ln0vKcKga2WMiN5syFOcRJFhM2iEXAUMo5gCX-IH7eKBMx4SW787GoU/s640/meditating.jpg" width="430" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Seemorerocks in comtemplation, 20 years ago</span></div>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">At
the moment I am going through problems with sleep which I have for
the duration of my illness. I finally took my problem to my good
doctor William. 3</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> <span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Usually
we are agreed on the medical system and most medication so he was
very reluctant to prescribe anything for me out of concern for the
side-effects.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black;">However,
I said "</span><span style="color: black;"><i>if I am to poison myself
with something let it be a sleeping tablet - something that will give
me a good night's sleep</i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">"</span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
walked out of his office with various bits of paper but reallsed that
I he had not given me the prescription for the sleeping tablet.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">"</span></span><span style="color: black;"><i>A
Freudian slip</i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">",
he said and then added "</span></span><span style="color: black;"><i>he
won't like it</i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">".</span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">What
he prescribed was Ativan a medicine that is primarily for anxiety and
stress and only secondarily for sleep problems.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">What
I can tell you is that I have never had a day of anxiety in my whole
life and the considerable stress I feel is NOT mental stress.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
suppose he was trying to prescribe the least damaging medication he
could.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
I looked at the possible side-effects of the medication they were
ones that constitute many of my SYMPTOMS that I already felt without
taking ANY medication.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arialmt" , sans-serif;">Symptoms
such as - dizziness and light-headedness, confusion, </span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arialmt" , sans-serif;">feeling
aggressive or irritated, memory loss, moodyness, itchy skin.</span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
have been given very small numbers of pills and have been unable to
determine up to now to if they were effective. I had several nights
when I was still awake over 2 hours after taking the pill, and this
week had one night that was disastrous and I hardly got any sleep at
all.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
one thing about William is he has ALWAYS been absent every time I
needed him most (when I had my melanoma, when I broke my ankle in the
shower....) and this time was no exception.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">So
I am now thrust back into the past with an appointment tomorrow with
Dr. Julie. She's the import from the British NHS who after carefully
listening decided that I needed to be persuaded that I was </span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><b>depressed</b></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
and sent me away with a link to a link to an online survey.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Then
I have another long-term locum who told me I was obese and if I lost
weight I'd feel much better. And then his other great diagnosis of
</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">sleep
apnoea </span></i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">based
on some flight of fantasy (where 'evidence-based medicine' must
have flown out the window - except when it was needed to counter
Pam's theories).</span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">It
makes me think of my dear old friend Stephen who often says: "</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">Cheer
up. It could be worse. I did and it did (get worse)"</span></i></span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">All
this brings me back to times when I would waking up screaming and
furious at these incompetents who have considerable power to destroy
people's lives.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
might seem immodest of me but if I was to try and think of an ideal
therapist it might be myself. </span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> <span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
spent over ten years treating (or trying to help) people who were at
the end of their tether for reasons similar to myself. I always
took time to listen and my treatments (which defied logical thought)
seemed to help more often than they didn't.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But
I can imagine the retort from the quacks. These treatments
"worked" because my seriously-ill patents never had any
"real" medical problem - it was "all in the head".</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> <span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">If
you think I'm making this up just have a look on Google for </span></span></span></span></span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Somatic_symptom_disorder"><span style="color: #0000e9;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><u><b>somatic
symptom disorder</b></u></span></span></span></span></a><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
to see for yourself.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So
I know that my situation is anything but unique because I have a
whole treasure trove of horror stories from patients I saw over the
years.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">To
give a sense of how insulted I feel every time I'm told I'm not ill,
but depressed, or obese, and all I need to do is to follow some
course of action that someone has worked out for me - none one of
which has ever worked.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">None
- that is, apart from measures to protect my liver with coffee enemas
and hot castor oil or yarrow compresses.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Twenty
five years ago I, although far from well, I was fit and not only a
good practitioner but a pretty good teacher of hatha yoga.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu1TUvGC0r4qOCord7uzU7iq0U5I2NeH1VCjuniR97rLNwqN3462jxXcSOQzNvnhAIuqf5oJVbgbtg7wfh6PY9zNE2Wl60wWQdMV6vZ9XOk6x9qnIfdeXZL7EmyxUpmQIMMd3MbLRc9RM/s1600/trikonasana.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu1TUvGC0r4qOCord7uzU7iq0U5I2NeH1VCjuniR97rLNwqN3462jxXcSOQzNvnhAIuqf5oJVbgbtg7wfh6PY9zNE2Wl60wWQdMV6vZ9XOk6x9qnIfdeXZL7EmyxUpmQIMMd3MbLRc9RM/s640/trikonasana.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Now here's me now on a pretty good day trying to do my best version of the same posture, <i>trikonasana</i></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMBouosW3BWVC29ztlYmiZHa9PCC3i1v5Fr0uflxpmXPoZ7wtFhBf5o6Yx_Rz4mcaech3E5Z2fqlmlaFg8svScl_FsPRSZ_WcH2NoFFPP9A9Na_Kx49ghWRPqN_Cz4nOF5q9lva00ozWM/s1600/trikonasana+-+2016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMBouosW3BWVC29ztlYmiZHa9PCC3i1v5Fr0uflxpmXPoZ7wtFhBf5o6Yx_Rz4mcaech3E5Z2fqlmlaFg8svScl_FsPRSZ_WcH2NoFFPP9A9Na_Kx49ghWRPqN_Cz4nOF5q9lva00ozWM/s640/trikonasana+-+2016.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px; line-height: 16px;">Again, twenty-odd years ago I was able to go up into <i>urdhva danurasana </i>with ease, and meditate in <i>half-lotus</i> with ease.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px; line-height: 16px;">Now, if I was to get down onto the floor I'd have to ask for the assistance of another (or a stout chair) to get back up into standing)</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-4b9zm7BknBqvcNAQjHmQ8CNhA3z4X9OlQLacqNHDX_7hAXypryMBE0gBp-NuJR3wZ-jRKu-u_9OAnoWgmqBYbeKj8K-490ie1L_TkBb8Yj7GjLrDbG3_NAHC_Fu5bFiFH2u1cjZzRjQ/s1600/urdhva+dandasana.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="420" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-4b9zm7BknBqvcNAQjHmQ8CNhA3z4X9OlQLacqNHDX_7hAXypryMBE0gBp-NuJR3wZ-jRKu-u_9OAnoWgmqBYbeKj8K-490ie1L_TkBb8Yj7GjLrDbG3_NAHC_Fu5bFiFH2u1cjZzRjQ/s640/urdhva+dandasana.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 18.6667px; line-height: 16px;">Now ask why I lose my cool when these people suggest to me (or, at least imply - because they're not that plain-speaking) that there's nothing actually wrong with me beause their pathetically- narrow range of blood tests show nothing - it's just the "natural consequences of aging"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 18.6667px; line-height: 16px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 18.6667px; line-height: 16px;">Don't worry I'm just processing the appointment tomorroqw with an incompent quack who possibly stands between me and a tolerable night's sleep.</span><br />
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seemorerockshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09638172074263860001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4895746758576642600.post-26050041249666192112016-07-26T14:58:00.000-07:002016-07-26T18:52:38.912-07:00My favorite childhood music<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><strong><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">Living
on a farm in rural Canterbury I was not exposed very much to the pop
era of the 60's but I grew up on a diet of country music and 1960's
American television. </span></span></i></span></span></span></strong></span></span><strong style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">I
emerged from that in the 1970's, in my teens but continued to buck
the trend.</span></i></span></span></span></strong></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><strong><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></i></span></span></span></strong></span></div>
<span style="color: #870000;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 32pt;"><b>My
road through the 60’s</b></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #666666;"><span style="font-family: "arialmt" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>The
Fab Four, let alone the Stones, eluded me by-and-large</b></span></span></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I remember my first independent music love - John Hore (later, Grenell). This was my first ever 45.</span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></i>
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I remember when the family first got television and can remember us all gathering to watch Winston Churchill's funeral.</span></span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This was one of the first ever programs I watched.</span></span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I loved the Danny Kaye Show so much as a 7-year old that I wrote an advertisement to the Press to set up a Danny Kaye Fan Club</span></span></i> <br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>Another regular was 'the Flintstone' and all the Hannah Barbara cartoons of the time</i></span><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My childhood friend, Stephen (a few months older than me) introduced me to favourites like Captain Pugwash, Barbar the Elephant - and Mr.Magoo.</span></span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A major part of my television diet was American westerns including this theme from 'Bonanza'</span></span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was my sister Kathy who introduced me to the pop music of the time and took me to see the Beatles' Help!</span></span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Another favourite was Trini Lopez</span></span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My brother, Jeremy, lived more on the 'wild side' (sic), with the musical Can Can and early Cliff Richards</span></span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">By the 70's my love affair with the American frontier was over. </span></span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">While my friends at secondary school were following John Lennon I was more into Lenin and adored this rendition of Kalinka.</span></span></i><br />
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seemorerockshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09638172074263860001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4895746758576642600.post-85778378401554909552015-01-01T19:50:00.003-08:002018-08-09T19:57:53.196-07:00The 80's in Wellington<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>Moving
to Wellington</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
remember moving to Wellington from Christchurch. I spent first night
at the Waterloo hotel and then moved to the youth hostel before
finding a basement flat on Glenmore Street. After Sumner it was very
cold and dank, I knew nobody and felt and depressed enough to see the
doctor and to go on dreadful antidepressant pills at the time.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This
was the doctor who stated on inquiry that "there's only
anecdotal evidence that food has anything to do with allergies"
(sic)</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
don't really have a lot to say about work that time.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
was working in the Trade Services section of the Department of Trade
and Industry, something to do with the promotion of New Zealand trade
abroad and I was involved in the Canadian section. I do recall they
were permitting our orange roughy fish to North America as if there
was no tomorrow. Now it's practically extinct.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As
always I gravitated towards the outsiders and befriended a Cambodian
man, Sokha Duong, who drove an old sports car and I remember him
coming through the newly built tunnel on the motorway to come off at
Glenmore Street and drive up to visit me in the evenings. I remember
drinking Steinlager beer (that was not a patch on German beer of
course), in a pub in the popular Oaks complex. Now it's empty and
practically derelict. There was a band that played musi that was like
the original Django Reinhardt and that I enjoyed.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
wonderful thing that I will remain eternal ya grateful to my parents
for, is that they set me up with a home of my own. They found
provided money for a deposit for a home and the best took out the
mortgage (the rates at the time for 18%!) Unfortunately, (in
hindsight), they have their own ideas about where I should live and
unfortunately the flat and Island Bay semidetached that I quite liked
didn't come into their view of what was appropriate,so we ended up
buying a sunless semi-detached flat in Broadmeadows</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
had regular trips back down to Christchurch to see my parents and
they visited me on more than one occasion.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
I went back home to Sumner for Christmas at the end of 1983 the
family was together, as it turned out for the last time.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
recall Kathy's family stayed in the wonderful old stone house down
the bottom of Whitewash Head Rd, ( has subsequently been destroyed ),
while Jeremy and I stayed in the retreat house next door. </span></span></span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This
was the first time that my mother had seen Kathy's third child
Georgie. Mum had spent many hours preparing a dolls house for Georgie
but unfortunately got lost amongst all the other Christmas presents
that year– mum felt quite disappointed.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Just
before I was getting ready to leave to go back to Wellington I went
down into the garden with mum to pick some roses. I didn't know at
the time but she felt quite dizzy and the next day with the hospital
for tests. Tests showed that she had secondary cancer that manifested
as a tumour in her head.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Later
on she revealed to me that at the time when she had the scans she had
an out of body experience. She explained that she been drawn by the
lights but had come back because this saw my father looking so
helpless.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">For
my mother this meant undergoing chemotherapy during which she lost
all here she loved and had to wear a wig. So then later she obviously
tried juicing and alternative therapies, but I can die was cast and
she didn't have long to live.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
went home to Wellington and went through the pretence of working. I
wasn't at all prepared, in any way emotionally to go through this
transition. I'm sure that I felt suitably anaesthetised and
disembodied through much of this time. I do recall, however telephone
conversations with my mother in which she experienced exasperation
with my father and his inability to accept her illness ("you
won't get better unless you exercise") and planned a trip with
me to Australia.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
illness however progressed quickly.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
still treasure Mother's Day card that I have in my position in which
she said in her now shaky handwriting "I like being your
mother".</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Losing
my mother was like losing a confidant, someone was home I could share
what I was going through, I plans, my emotions etc. there was nobody
else in the family with whom I could share anything in anything the
same way.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Remember
that coming home from the hospital at first time, all I wanted to do
was go back to the hospital and set with her. I father, my brother
and my sister to refuge in classes of June well I felt isolated and
very alone. I felt that nobody understood me – a feeling that has
been with me so many times through my life since then.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>My
mother's death</b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Remembering
back to May,1984, when my Mum died Jeremy gave me a ring at work to
say that we been summonsed down to Christchurch. In those days there
were indirect flights from Auckland and Christchurch so that Jeremy
could fly down pick me up in Wellington and then we would fly down
together to Christchurch.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
were, I think picked up at the airport by our father and taken
directly to the hospital.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Our
Mum was in bed and I remember her saying directly that she had
swelling in her ankles and had chosen to die. I can’t really
remember any more of the conversation at the time – it was probably
quite awkward but I do remember that Jeremy and dad left and mum and
I were on our own.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
remember saying to her “I don’t know what to say “to which she
said there is nothing really much to say. We must have spent quite a
lot of time just in silence, perhaps I held her hand – I don’t
really remember clearly. In any case we were both able to say in our
own way that we loved each other. I probably felt quite numb.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
the time came for her to have her last meal I said her and I
distinctly remember her saying “don’t force me” with some
humour.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">At
some stage soon my father came back to the hospital. Mum was
obviously in pain and my father held her while she had an injection
of morphine. I now know that she was given an overdose of morphine
for very soon after that she went into a coma from which he never
awoke. Nothing was ever said to me at the time – there was no
explanation.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
don’t remember the details but Dad must’ve gone home again for I
was left on my own with my mother. I sat with her from many hours –
I must’ve felt quite a lot of anxiety – I just remember that her
breath came infrequently and wondering whether this would be her
last. By this time it was long since dark and I really was on my own
with my mother. I must’ve at some stage other fallen asleep in the
chair alongside her at.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After
a good few hours – it might have been two or 3 o’clock in the
morning I was fetched and taken home. I don’t remember whether
someone stayed with her – perhaps my father – but I had a little
bit of time to rest in bed. God knows if I slept – probably not –
but quite early in the morning I drove in with aunt Barbara driving
her car extremely slowly between red cliffs and the hospital with me
following.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
spent the whole of the next day with mum. Events are a little hazy
now but I remember two things.Firstly I remember Jeremy and my father
at the hospital. My father insisted that Jeremy drive him to see
Archdeacon Pastowe presumably to make some sort of arrangements for
the funeral.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">What
that really meant Jeremy was taken out of the way at the time when my
mum passed away.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
don’t think that my brother has ever quite got over the fact that
he was not there but I think there is a reason for everything and for
some reason he was not meant to be present.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">At
about this time my aunt Pam – mum’ s sister – arrived at the
hospital. She had only recently lost her second husband who had died
in bed alongside her. She was, at the time the best person I could
have had alongside me to help my mother make the transition from her
body.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
remember her talking to my mother, saying it was all right.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
was about four in the afternoon when mum passed away.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It’s
funny what we remember, what stays in in our memories. I remember
Peter, in his eulogy saying that dad</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
remember that assist in the hospital was present – she must have
been used to working in the cancer ward for she was able to talk us
through it. Again all I remember was the infrequent breaths and then
finally the “death rattle” – sister was able to tell us that
mum had passed on.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">What
happened after that is a complete haze.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
remember family being present, feeling very numb and disconnected –
and suddenly, very lonely. I did not feel at all supported,
altogether with the rest of the family, whoever was present and was
just alone with my own feelings, something that I was not very adept
at.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Whatever
happened between Mum's passing and the funeral is a complete blur.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
remember that once she passed on I did not spend any time with the
body – perhaps I was afraid.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
funeral happened at a crematorium on ferry road between Sumner and
the city, again I remember very little – it’s all haze – I
remember people that I knew filing past, I think to shake hands –
people like Mr and Mrs Stace, Mrs Cottrell and others. Even now,
when I look back I am confusing things that were said and done at the
time of my father’s funeral.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After
the funeral and the committal of my mothers body to be cremated
everyone went back for the “after match function” which was as
usual a very boozy function. I don’t think that anyone had much to
say to me, much less take me aside or talk directly to me.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
just remember a terrible feeling of emptiness and being alone in the
world, so much so that I left the house and went for a solitary walk
just to be alone with my feelings. I could not stand to be in the
house with all the boozing, loud conversation and laughter when I was
feeling so destitute alone.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>Life
back in Wellington</b></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
next thing I recall is coming back to work in Wellington at the
Department of trade and industry. I don’t think that I ever got
much work done – I was trapped in my own private world. What I do
recall is that choose one a colleague and a friend Arina Mudryj who
was working alongside me. She was quite open to simply listening to
me as I talked about my mother. That was so therapeutic, just what I
needed at the time, to be listened to without intervention.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
don’t recall was anybody else that I could open my heart to, not
least my own family. I did not feel estranged but simply very alone.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
remember the visit to my Aunt Sylvia not long after mum died. She
looked at me with that intense look that I remember so well and said
“well your mother’s gone now – it’s time for you to grow up
now!”From that time onwards I don’t recall aunt Sylvia even so
much as mentioning my mother’s name even once.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">That
was my family, disconnected from their own feelings, from their own
grief and was little understanding of my sensitivities.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">On
returning to Wellington I had no choice but just to get on with life
without anything really to hold on to, without a real refuge. I was
essentially lonely my new little house in Broadmeadows, just taking
were train in every day to work that I was neither connected to, nor
interested in.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
made a connection with the Cambodian colleague at work who I think,
was just as lonely and disconnected as I was. He invited me back to
his place – I remember he had ancient old sports car which he used
to drive quite fast from the beginning of the newly built motorway,
through the tunnel and off the exit onto Glenmore Street.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
seem to remember he had quite a taste, as I did for beer and we used
to go to pubs – in particular I remember we used to frequent in the
Oaks complex. I remember a local band that played in the style of
Django Reinhardt which I loved, and which reminded me of my time with
my German friends, and my time in Germany.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
other thing I did was to immerse myself in German and went to
advanced conversation classes at the Goethe Institute which I really
enjoyed.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">One
person I remember meeting at the time was Alistair, who apart from
learning German spoke Russian with a strong Glasgow accent. He later
went on to take over capital music and to open his own shop
Alistair’s music in Cuba Street.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I’m
getting a bit ahead of myself but I remember another Scotsman Peter.
I don’t remember how we met – he was another musician and played
on electric guitar and was a friend of someone I didn’t know at the
time, Maurice Tuckwell – who finally who later on became a
flatmate.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Before
that, my Cambodian friend Sokha Duong gave up his flat in Nairn
Street and came to live with me as a flatmate in Broadmeadows.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">At
about this time I started to seek out the company of Russians. That
meant meeting with new arrivals of the fourth wave of emigration from
the Soviet Union, Jewish refugees.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Among
the first that I met were Bella and Leon Nodelman who hailed from
Baku in Azerbaidjan. They met my need for Russian conversation and I
remember them visiting me in teaching me how to cook rice in the
Caucasian fashion. I also remember a trip with them and another very
lively friend whose name I forget up to Napier where I found, in a
secondhand shop very passable balalaika which I bought with their
help.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
know I’m getting ahead of myself because many of these events
happened when I first arrived in Wellington before mum died. I know
this because I remember that my new girlfriend Elena actually met my
mother before she died.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>Elena</b></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
met Elena Shmukler on a blind date recommended by Leon and Bella. I
recall that we might have gone to the movies and had something to
drink afterwards. In any case Elena was quite happy to meet me again
and we quite quickly became good friends.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She
had arrived as an immigrant in 1979 from Kiev with her parents and
younger sister, Svetlana. As a testament to the quality of the Soviet
education system she passed all her subjects in school certificate
with the exception of English. Quite a bright girl! She went on to
university and when I met her was studying for a chemistry major at
Victoria Uni.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">During
the time we knew each other we did lots of fun things together, I met
lots of Russians which I enjoyed, drank lots, shared lots of music
participated in the life that suited me at the time.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">One
thing it stands out in mind is that quite early on in the piece, in
July 1984, just a few short months after mum died Jeremy and his new
fiance June got married in Dunedin.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Elena
came down with me to attend the wedding. We flew first to
Christchurch and then made the long car journey down to Dunedin
(which had never been to before) with Jeremy and Dad. I remember
nothing about the wedding but I remember seeing the wonderful old
buildings of Dunedin for the first time and I remember meeting June’s
mother Florence for the first time and watching the Los Angeles
Olympics on the TV the next morning. I’ve got no idea what a Jewish
girl from Kiev thought about the whole affair.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Which
brings me to the fact that June’s father, Mr Phillips was Jewish so
that Jeremy’s entire family in law was Jewish.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
I look back at this time it seems to me that I was really wedded to
things Russian – it was as if I needed to play out some form of
Karma that was unconscious. I persuaded myself at the time that I was
in love basically because I was lonely and hadn’t yet really found
myself.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
have met Elena again since and found, not only that there was nothing
in common but that I was also horrified. I could not have lived with
those close minded prejudices of the Russian Jewish community for
long.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Early
in 1986 Elena decided that she needed a bigger world than working for
ICA in Wellington so moved to Melbourne to find a bigger world.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>Discovering
yoga and meditation</b></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">That
was really the best thing that could happen for me for I quickly
found my own resources and discovered through reading the novel (in
German) of Herman Hesse’ s Siddhartha discovered the world of yoga.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
was one of those days when I once again through a sicky from work as
I went down to the bookshop in Johnsonville and discovered a book on
yoga from the Sivananda ashram. I devoured the book and was so taken
that I looked up yoga in the Yellow Pages and found the Lotus yoga
centre and made an immediate enquiry about yoga classes. It turned
out that there was a yoga course starting in a week or two.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
was too impatient to wait so started teaching myself from the book.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
course taught by Eric Doornekamp was a revelation. I felt that I had
found my niche at last. After doing Eric’s course I went on to
classes by Tanja Dyett which opened up a whole new world of
fantastical stories told by… And regular yoga classes. After a
while Tanya's classes ceased to give me what I wanted and it was then
that I discovered the Monday classes by Gwendoline Hunt and I became
an instant fan. In the year or so that I attended Gwendoline’s
classes I don’t think that I missed a single time.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">These
were a real revelation! I had never enjoyed myself so much or been so
open to such knowledge and I lapped everything up voraciously.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
was a period when I met new people and had new experiences that took
my life to a whole new level.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
remember the wonderful visits to the Lotus yoga centre in
Paraparaumu, the wonderful people that I’ve met there through the
Wwoof scheme, a trip up to a gathering in the central North Island.
Wow! It was as if I was discovering the alternative movement, the
hippie movement for the first time in my early 30s.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
feeling I had was that my mother was guiding me and I was finally
finding my spiritual self.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
was some time before this, while I was still with Elena that my
wonderful companion, Sammy the dog turned up on the scene. I was in
Karori visiting the home of Elena that we both encountered Sammy on
the road. He refused to leave our company and it was obvious that
he’d been visiting a girlfriend but he seemed to have no home to go
back to and was quite happy in our company. We looked to anyone who
knew who he was and where he lived but could find nobody. After a
while it was obvious that his owners were not going to turn up so
young Samuel became my dog.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Samuel
got me out full wonderful walks and outings – I discovered the
delights of walking Mt Kaukau with him and he became my best and most
wonderful companion. While I went from these wonderful Sunday
afternoon walks Elena chose to stay behind and do the house work or
watch TV – walking was not for her. I quickly discovered that this
was something that we didn’t share in common along with so many
other things.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Perhaps
the fact that I have not mentioned my work indicates the level to
which it played a role in my life. Basically, I tried to be
interested but was essentially completely disinterested in that
realm.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
was through work though that I was introduced to the next new,
important phase in </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A
Sri Lankan colleague at work, Sheila Gunasekera, invited me back home
to sample (very salty) Sri Lankan food. She mentioned that she was
going to a Buddhist ceremony led by the monks of the monastery in
Stokes Valley. Would I like to come along?</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
had studied a little bit of religion at university but knew nothing
about Eastern religions, let alone Buddhism. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So
I accepted the invitation which I seem to remember was Kathina, which
is held at the end of the rains retreat. It was the first time that I
had seen Buddhist monks in their brown robes and heard Pali chanting.
I was able to sample the delectable Asian food that was given to the
monks and then heard the talk given by the senior monk,Ajahn
Viradhammo.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
I heard what he had to say – and I don’t remember exactly what it
was - something about the craving, grasping mind – it felt as if I
had been waiting my whole life long to hear this message.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Very
soon I visited the monastery in Stokes Valley, and started to read
all I could about Buddhism.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
was made very welcome out there and I can remember long talks with
Ajahn Thanavaro, an Italian monk who established the monastery
Bodhinyanarama alongside Ajahn Viradhammo as he pasted wallpaper in
the new meditation hall (called the sala).</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
started to learn to meditate as I was taught, following the breath -
and began to visit the monastery regularly.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">On
the first attendance at the evening puja I took a seat and leant
against the wall. When Ajahn Viradhammo and the monks into the room
they found that I taken up their position. Ajahn quipped that "you'd
better shave your head".</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Work
was actually reasonably interesting, as it coincided with the early
Rogernomics reforms as the government tore apart "Fortress New
Zealand"</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And
any ability of the country to be at all self-sufficient. Working in
the industry section of trade and industry I saw for myself that you
there was no future for me in this environment and I started making
preparations for what was most important for me – the preparation
for the next stage of my life.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
didn't even try to take leave but took the rash step of resigning
from the Department of Trade and Industry, and from the public
service. I never looked back.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
</div>
seemorerockshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09638172074263860001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4895746758576642600.post-84424975214397239092015-01-01T19:29:00.002-08:002018-08-09T19:59:01.034-07:00Early 1980's<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<b style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 32pt;">The
early 1980’s</b><br />
<br />
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After
Natasha left in August 1981 I was able to start
rebuilding my life. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I was living at home in Sumner with my parents.
In some ways this was a happy time of my life; was very settled and I
enjoyed life with Mum and Dad.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Needing something to get absorbed into other than work, which wasn’t very
stimulating or interesting, I started to learn German. I absorbed right into it,
learning some conversational German, absorbing books which I used
to read, lying on my mothers <i>chaise longue</i> in the sunroom, which had
wonderful views out towards Christchurch and the Southern Alps. I
used to read whole books, starting off looking up many words in the
dictionary, and finally getting on better as I went on.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">At
around this time I discovered the Goethe Society and wonderful
Elsie Walker who ran it. There were regular meetings held in the Arts Centre. We used to have singsongs and I met some wonderful
German friends at this time and extended my ability in speaking German. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Joachim was in the country at the time
studying at Lincoln Colleg. Horst was here, working as a
glazier and met Kate from Timaru whom he went on to marry </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">later.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;"> The Giessen brothers - Alexander and Theo - arrived to set up a winery at Burnham, just outside Christchurch, which was something quite new at the time.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguWj5_YtYZgBuhhQWcky9Jxg3a6L3u1G8P2JGLtXzzTIQc_EvAvLQcQJkr8mc3X09LVVlQmuZh_iRIBiXga4lRLMHk98hZPerq-LvxJRK6AQrP5171mVCbJfgEjBJ-L_6WTMzfGRHFUA5A/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguWj5_YtYZgBuhhQWcky9Jxg3a6L3u1G8P2JGLtXzzTIQc_EvAvLQcQJkr8mc3X09LVVlQmuZh_iRIBiXga4lRLMHk98hZPerq-LvxJRK6AQrP5171mVCbJfgEjBJ-L_6WTMzfGRHFUA5A/s1600/2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">With Gerti, Arthurs Pass, witner, 1981</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Not east I met Gerti Bayer and her friend Inge Hoefer, who were both in
New Zealand doing practical work towards their diploma in social work
at Bamberg University. I remember clearly the evening at the Goethe Society when
Gerti and I first met. It was one of those magical moments when
we noticed each other from opposite ends of the small room, through
a crowd of people, and gravitated towards each other.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My
mother at this time had just been diagnosed with breast cancer, had had a
radical mastectomy, and needed help while she recovered. Gerti, who
was staying at the YMCA needed somewhere to live so I mentioned this to her
and she agreed without hesitation and came to live with me and my parents.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My
parents and Gerti hit it off immediately. Gerti, coming from a large
family knew how to fit in and to work. My parents, especially my Mum, loved her and I know the feeling was mutual. Amongst other things she
spent many hours darning my father’s socks and even his underwear.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Gerti
and I developed a close friendship, we did many things together,
including a memorable trip to Arthur’s Pass in my mother's Morris
Minor with her friend Inge. I was also introduced by them to the wonderful Jazz Cellar in Arts Centre in the site of the old University. I remember seeing all the young people dancing, bobbing
up and down, something that reminded me of the Muppets. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Through Gerti I learn the art
of keeping a diary and journaling, recornding thoughts and feelings, rather than
just what I had done that day.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
opened up new horizons, new discoveries that felt much more wholesome
than the very fraught relationship with my ex-wife.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Eventually
Gerti and Inge left to go home to Germany and I started to plot an
overseas trip to Europe. Although many prices were high, including
phone calls and plane trips everything seem possible, and within a few months, even on my meagre salary, I earned
enough for the trip, helped to a great degree by the fact that my
brother Jeremy, through his job at Air New Zealand was able to secure
very cheap trips to Europe, although, as recorded elsewhere there is bit of a back story to this.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>European
travels</b></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
flew to London with my brother Jeremy via a short transit in Singapore
at a brand-new Changi airport had not even yet been officially
opened. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">London was cold and slushy and I was not at all impressed and apart from the initial day or so, I was really anxious to get underway
and to cross to the continent.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It’s
fascinating now look back on my diaries from the period. Throughout there are entries such as: “<i>don’t really feel like the social
contacts like a dinner in London, would rather be on the continent
for a real New Year</i>”… “<i>Didn’t feel, in part festive spirit
and a little out of my element – would rather be with my own people
– nothing quite like a Russian New Year</i>”… “<i>Felt quite
relieved really to get away from Birling – don’t quite fit into
that seemed somehow</i>”. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It was all quite self-absorbed and full of feeling
somehow out of sorts and not fitting in, wherever I was.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
travelled up to London and took the train and ferry to Belgium where
I was met “<i>by a stony faced Natasha</i>”. We spent a day or so
together in Brussels. I stayed in a separate flat that she had
found for me and which I had to myself. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I then hitched ((for the
first time) from Brussels to Paris and spent a couple of days “doing”
Paris, revisiting some of the places that were familiar to me from a
1978 trip.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After
a couple of days it was upwards and onwards, by fast train to
Strasbourg. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">By joining an organisation called SERVUS I was able to be
hosted people in various places and I stayed with a family in
Strasbourg. I found it quite magical, with lots of snow and beautiful
old city. I climbed up the icy steps of the spire of the famous cathedral.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqWc9dpFu3dvmvKrI-HundWz9rPM42Nm3GUtEBjDlTSn_m4v_M2KQlf_9vz4XPzxFu9IhqfYLcYx3r8VIMjiHYaAKliejbatd8y_SCL67SYtIvIIcIazCiesOMtFTugIs2dPmmiMowCHQt/s1600/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="452" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqWc9dpFu3dvmvKrI-HundWz9rPM42Nm3GUtEBjDlTSn_m4v_M2KQlf_9vz4XPzxFu9IhqfYLcYx3r8VIMjiHYaAKliejbatd8y_SCL67SYtIvIIcIazCiesOMtFTugIs2dPmmiMowCHQt/s1600/4.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Strasbourg, January, 1982</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">For
a colonial from Down-Under, it was fascinating to cross the border. I crossed the border by suburban bus (recorded as costing 2F 50 ), to Kehl in Germany,which is 500 m
from Strasbpurg across the Rhine. I changed money and bought a 22 DM ticket to
Neustadt In the Rheinland Pfalz). </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I realised I had forgotten to post a letter home I had written while in France, so crossed back across the Rhine, a 10 minute walk, and posted my letter. It gave me a real buzz to cross a border on foot and hear two totally
different languages like French and German spoken!</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">From
there it was off to visit my friend Joachim, in the Rheinland-Pfalz. He had only just a few days before, arrived back home from New Zealand and was staying with his parents in the small and pictureesque winegrowing village of
St Martin.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">From
there it was off per autostop (hitching) to Bamberg, arriving in the
fabulous mediaeval town in snow beautiful conditions.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
stayed with the three girls – Gerti, Inge and Ute in their
wonderful student flat on the second floor of #3 Fischstrasse, sharing
a room with Gert (“we have one room to ourselves”), which, looking back was a
pretty hard ask. I'm sure that
Gerti quickly got quite irritated by having me in her space.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"> </span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It’s
interesting looking back at my diaries. They are so self obsessed and
I am constantly worried by the relationship in between bottles of
German beer.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"> </span>
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<span style="color: black;">“<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Our
relationship, I find, is not as close as it was – Gerti said that
she felt’getrennt’ – but I find still that we have a good
relationship – quieter and much less tense</i>” On hindsight sounds
like wishful thinking. The other things that obscessed me and which I wrote
about constantly, was the cost of things – how much this cost and
how much that cost. It was all recorded in great detail.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">More…
“Gerti and I are finally able to communicate and the result is that
it turns out that Gerti feels hemmed in by me, by my constant
attention and pressure, that I have a “fixation”” I then thougth about the three possibilities, a) continue the same, b) moved to
Inge’s room (!) or c) move away. I decide that moving away would be
“opting out”.</span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTga1B5nCg-0LQxSRZmwk-ItdbI7hY3p1uZMVCNyOpC5Zld8L3aX9nufD0hkS0rv-7Emr1yLPaFvzj6hvCERS0O6w7PFlOYCYodqXcioXcSMKX99AYFVJJFgXE2fa-9wDOIb_8Pbnpmifv/s1600/BaMBERG.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTga1B5nCg-0LQxSRZmwk-ItdbI7hY3p1uZMVCNyOpC5Zld8L3aX9nufD0hkS0rv-7Emr1yLPaFvzj6hvCERS0O6w7PFlOYCYodqXcioXcSMKX99AYFVJJFgXE2fa-9wDOIb_8Pbnpmifv/s1600/BaMBERG.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In
general, a lot of “analysis”, self obsession and wishful
thinking.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"> </span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Finally
things eased up a little but when I found a little bit of
independence, going out to teach English to a few clients, visiting
my friends in Denmark, visiting my friend Joachim for the Fasching
Festival – and then meeting someone else, Gabi, whom I naturally
fell in love with straight away. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She was more straightforward than
Gerti … “I find it wonderful to have somewhat one who obviously finds something in me, and who trusts me, and finds it
pleasant to be in my company. I find Gabi Gentle, unassuming, quiet
un-nervous but enthusiastic and fully delightful”. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I’m sure a
relationship with some steamy sex helped things and to make me feel
better about myself for a while.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"> </span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Shortly
afterwards as spring was approaching I decided to set off on my own
travel to Munich were found a Russian I could stay with and helped me to buy a beaten old (and rusty) VW, so I was able to drive back to
Bamberg for a visit and to arrange for Gabi to travel down to Munich.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When she arrived I was soon pretty devastated to find that Gabi had called off the
relationship and that, “our relationship brought back memories of
her ex-boyfriend Herbert” with whom she had previously broken up.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>Off
to Greece, and Israel</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After
an interesting time with the German woman Birgit and her Russian- Polish friends, I set off with a friend of Gabi's, Elfi, for Greece on a
memorable trip through Austria to Ljubljana in Slovenia and then
through the heartland of Bosnia, wonderful places which later
were destroyed in the Bosnian war in the 1990s. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yugoslavia, at this
time was still intact. Tito had not died long ago and everything
looked pretty good.</span></span></span><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">The bridge at Mostar, Bosnia-Herzogovina. This was later bombed during the war in the early 90's</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
had great adventures in the VW. I remember us being out of money,
and almost out of petrol in Ivangrad, in the moutains of Montenegro, borrowing money to ill up. ,</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We rushed around Skopje trying to
change money before the banks closed, ended up at a bar where we met some Macedonians were
invited us back to their flat for the night. I rememeber finding our way up the
stairs of the multistoried apartment block in the pitch dark to their flat. Eli was fearful that
something was going to befall us. Nothing did and we got up early the next mornng to get onto the road to Greece. After a while it started to rain heavily and the windscreen wipers seized up from rust. I recall steering the car in driving rain with a rolled up newspaper in the
other and, acting as a wiper, so I could see the road ahead,</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Crossing over to Greece we had the windscreen wipers fixed, the workman burning the rust off. Crossing over the mountains of northern Greece and then down the east coast we crossed over by ferry to the Pelopennese peninsula and arrived in Olympia where Elfi met her friends and we parted company.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I drove on to new adventures, arriving in Athens and staying with a young man and his family. Finally I left by ship for Israel I had prearranged in New Zealand to work
on a kibbutz near Haifa. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I hated the work on the kibbutz and the lifestyle of the volunters and
disliked the Israelis (not without reason) but had a fascinating time
staying in the old city of Jerusalem and meeting with Palestinians in
the hotel where I was staying.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Looking
back on my old diary entries 1982 is instructive for it gives my
first impression of the Israeli state</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"> </span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>Here
is my diary entry:</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Arrival
in Haifa in the evening. As we approach Haifa a patrol boat
approached, and then a second, searchlights. Lights on patrol boat
went off and for approximately 15 minutes circled around and then
Customs came onboard and police landed several plainclothes on the boat. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We were then asked to go below deck for passport control which took place in the
dining room and we waited in the heat for each group of 6 to 7 people
to be let through. A plainclothes policeman was outside in the vestibule and there was one controlling the numbers coming through. Both had pistols. After a
half hour's waiting I finally got through and was seated at a desk with
an immigration officer who asked how much money I had, how long I
intend to stay and then stamped the entry form open (I had asked for passport
not to be stamped). </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I went through with Karsten. Then the problems
began. He said Alphonso was having problems – being a holder of a
Spanish passport he required a visa which he didn’t have. And then
he admitted not having any money to support himself so could not get
a visa. Karsten offered to give his money so were told the
authorities would have to be consulted so we should wait in the
customs area and we would be told of the decisions. We were already
last off the boat and when we came to X stood a policeman collecting
passport receipt forms. I couldn’t find mine I’m sure it was not
given back to me in passport control – I had it before that.
Policeman was rude and would not let me off the boat without it. I went back, the immigration process ahd already finished, given another from by a
ship’s crew member unstamped. This was not accepted. I went back again and had
to wait while immigration man went about getting a new card for me –
strictly responsibility of the policeman.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">By
this time we were the very last off the boat and had to hurry to the customs area and change money and take a taxi to the youth hostel taxi, which cost
100 shekels – there was no meter and drivers set their own price. I was very lucky to be able to get a place on the floor as the hostel
which was very full. Everyone on the ship had got there before us.
Alphonso had been refused permission to remain in Israel and had to
remain on board ship until the Monday sailing and returned to Greece.
Poor naive 18-year-old was not told by anyone that he needed a visa –
and thought that being resident of Switzerland would be taken into
account. Impossible to come to a country without money – especially
if one attacts attention to oneself.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So
this was Israel. I wondered where I had come to. The first impression of
rude, unfriendly Israelis (not altogether without basis), and a
police state obsessed by red tape and with fear of terrorism and security. Jews were making problems for the rest
of the world.</span></span></span></div>
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<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">About
life in the kibbutz I wrote “<i>since being here have withdrawn in
many ways into myself. I do not find that there are many people to
whom I can relate</i>.” Mostly, I remember people there just to have a
good time, working during the morning, swimming etc in the afternoon
and drinking lots of beer.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">One
of the characters was Bob, an English guy from Yorkshire “<i>who is
mostly drinking beer, West chat rooms on his arms and long moustache,
is a Royal Marine and has the political views to go with it.</i>” There
were a couple of New Zealanders, from Wellington – “<i>Tony </i></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><i>Adams,
a little snobbish and about as interesting as most New Zealanders</i>!”</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
daily routine at the kibbutz consisted of being woken up at 4:30 a.m,
dragging myself to the bathroom to splash water over my face and then over
to the dining room for a few bits of bread and coffee - (“<i>thank God
for Turkish coffee</i>!!”) We were then transported down to work,
usually picking oranges or grapefruit, between 5.30 and 8. 00 - and
then back for breakfast of egg and coffee, and then back to picking
until about 11 a.m. it was very hot from about 11. 00 onwards and so
I was very tired at the time I finished. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The rest of the day is free
just to hang about, swim in the swimming pool, visit Haifa etc.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After
about three weeks at the kibbutz I left suddenly and without telling
anybody.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;">“<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I’ve
left the kibbutz! I felt in the end they now had to leave because I
could feel constantly rising feeling of hatred and aggression against
Israel. This comes from various things:</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">a
the way of life of the kibbutz does not appeal to me, or although
perhaps a different cultural setting it would;</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">b)
the heat and climate I find hard to take. By breakfast time I would
be breaking into a sweat and feel the heat terribly I am not cut out
for this type of work;</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">c)
I am an individualist and can get on only with a limited number of
people at any one time I like to be ‘getrennt’ to some extent;</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">d)
and this is the most important. I do not like Israel and I do not
like the Israelis. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Cannot but feel antipathy towards this arrogant
people that, having been oppressed in the past, have now come to
Palestine and themselves become oppressors stop the relationship of
the kibbutzniks to volunteers is unfriendly and arrogant – “do
this, do that”– and some of the faces remind me of military
people. In fact military is everywhere, even on the kibbutz one sees
people with guns. Soldiers are omnipresent. Had the impression from
the start of arriving in a “Fortress State” – I cannot
sympathise with Jewish hegemony”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Inmy diary I
describe people on the kibbutz – such as the unsmiling face of the
foreman, “ <i>the military man in charge of haymaking on my last day,
who rented and raved and dealt with everyone as an army sergeant would with
his private</i>”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
friendly people have all been Arabs – they are the ones who wish to
talk and will approach you on the street and say hello. “The
Israelis are all stony faced people who never smile and dislike having
anything to do with people different from themselves”… “The
‘unfriendly’Germans are much easier to get on with”.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
rationalised that seeing I was working as a volunteer implied that I
was a supporter of the state of Israel and felt that I did not want
to work for nothing, nor to support of militarist state by giving my
labour free.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Also
present was my constant restlessness and desire to “<i>get on the
road</i>” and back to Europe.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
have a memory of the only holiday when I was there – April 28,
Independence Day. Everything reminded me of celebrations like May Day
in the Soviet Union – the only difference was the flags weren’t
white but of a different colour.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
have since learnt that while the Bolsheviks went on to rule Russia
the Mensheviks moved to Palestine and founded the kibbutz movement.
Russian influence is everywhere.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVq98fvl6_ZAOGWGpE6SdAxQCGoHigMXndbpqLB-fbDj8i5zIzzF29Y_9of8BgD2UFeHyl7jiUb6_WXDwypXobBOk0M5rNwtK2al4ebP1ghzPenQt0mNe7QK2NcoxbX-9aFVjZyQ8m8d5Q/s1600/Old_City_(Jerusalem).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVq98fvl6_ZAOGWGpE6SdAxQCGoHigMXndbpqLB-fbDj8i5zIzzF29Y_9of8BgD2UFeHyl7jiUb6_WXDwypXobBOk0M5rNwtK2al4ebP1ghzPenQt0mNe7QK2NcoxbX-9aFVjZyQ8m8d5Q/s1600/Old_City_(Jerusalem).jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Easily
my peak experience in Israel (and possibly on the whole trip) was the
short time that I spent in Jerusalem. I took a room in an Arab hotel
by the Jaffa Gate.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Spent
the whole day exploring the Old City and Gethsemane but felt myself
feeling lonely. In the evening I went looking for somewhere to eat
but it was the start of the Sabbath and eating places were, at least
in theory closed. To eat in the restaurant there was no exchange of
money but one had to buy coupons at the back of the restaurant and
these were exchanged for food and drink – all this to avoid the
rules about not exchanging money on the Sabbath.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
met a couple of friendly Germans who adopted me and we made an
arrangement to meet the next day so I could join them on their drive
out to Bethlehem.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
I got back to my hotel I had a lovely interaction with one of the
young Palestinians there who invited me back for the weekend to visit
his parents on the West Bank. This, no doubt would have been a peak
(and educational) experience but I decided that rather than let my
two tipsy German friends down – I could easily have reneged on the
deal – I would stick to the original plan.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This
is proved to be one of the greatest regrets of my life.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Leaving
Israel proved as difficult as getting in.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"Walk
to the dock where I found a mass of young people waiting and waited
half an hour to have tickets checked, then moved around immigration
which was locked and had to wait again in the sun before being let in
to queue for greater end passport control – sheer bloody mindedness
and quite on purpose. Overall it took 1 1/2 to 2 hours – the whole
operation. Never known a country more difficult to get out of open
(on par with USSR cremation Mark) emigration people checked their
lists of people before stamping passport – to see if I was a
“terrorist”?!</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A
foretaste of the post 911 world.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
instantly founded a relief to be on the boat back to Greece that
record the Greeks, apart from being first-rate people, “very
intense, too much so for me, very loud and rowdy”.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>Balkan
adventures - and back to Germany</b></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">On
returning to Athens I stayed again with my SERVAS host Andonis and
recall him and phone (as well is with his mother close) range from a
quiet whisper one second to a high-pitched scream the next.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
spent some more time in Athens, meeting some new people through and
Andonis, including Kostas with whom I became on friendly terms. I
recall he moved to Los Angeles not long after I got home to New
Zealand.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Looking
back now, I can see that 5 to 6 months into my trip the tide had
changed and I started to feel less well less comfortable within
myself. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
left Athens to go back to a previous New Zealand contact in Evia,
found myself cold shouldered, so my approach was just to drive on
right up the east coast of Greece, until I reached Thessaloniki. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
was offered the chance to visit a special religious festival by
meeting a Greek hitchhiker but left because I was feeling sick, I
thought affected by heat, with a headache and aching limbs. Panicking
over whether I had enough money to get myself back to Germany I
decided to leave, with the local thinking I was mad to leave the
festivities and drove onwards to a Bulgarian border which I crossed
in the dark. I slept in the car somewhere for the night, anxious
about the police turning up, but nothing happened and I drove onto
Sofia the next morning. I always picked up hitchhikers and often
learnt a lot from them.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
found Sofia to be a fascinating city once again I felt headachey and
weak so once again I left and drove across the Yugoslav border to
Belgrade. Finding the youth hostel full I went to a pub across the
road and got drinking with an old guy who said “next time you come
back and stay with me” so I replied I don’t have any with stay
tonight – so for the price of one cognac invited me home- his name
was Mirka - for the night.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He
woke me up at 3.30 and again at 6.00 and after a breakfast of
bread-and-butter “left with the old man driving (heaven help me!) –
Very impulsive driver using one hand, the other to nudge me, squeeze
my size et cetera stopped about three times the cognac’s, something
to drink et cetera”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This
next story is fascinating so I will let my diary tell it in full.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;">“<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Picked
up hitchhiker, Steve, along the way, a young chap from Liverpool, </span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">travelling to Holland from Greece after spending eight months on
Crete. We were to stay together for two days. Then picked up the
Yugoslav man who wanted to travel to Banska Luka, who turned out was
working for passport office of Interior Ministry and was a rather
nasty type stop at her suggestion we stopped for a woman, a Yugoslav
from Belgrade, travelling to Zagreb. She started talking of shortages
of goods, toilet paper, Coffey etc., And said she wanted to leave
Yugoslavia because she had personal difficulties with her parents and
couldn’t travel because the authorities wouldn’t give her a
passport for political reasons.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
man on the back kissed her a few times and through a pass at her –
as it turned out. He said that he would be able to get her a passport
for the cost of 15,000 dinars bribe plus her body. When at last the
man got out she told us the whole story. She was well travelled, had
been to England, America except now, for certain reasons she was
being denied a passport and was desperate to leave the country. She
proposed marriage to Steve – she would pay $200 Canadian and they
could divorce immediately. Poor Steve, I think had never quite come
up against this sort of thing and was embarrassed said he had “no
time” to get married he asked me a little later what he should do!</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
arrived in Zagreb and after having a pork chop with and read went for
a beer and coffee and then into the central square ….which was done
up for a carnival which turned out to be Tito’s birthday. After
watching some of the carnival Steve and I drove onto a village
halfway between Zagreb and Maribor. We found nowhere to stay the
night stopped to watch a rock concert for a while. Being very tired,
both of us, we decided to leave and found a side road where we parked
the car for the night both sleeping inside.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
was awoken in the middle of the night by Steve who said he was sure
there were people outside but went back to sleep, at approximately 5
a.m. awoken again and this time we definitely were disturbed. For
young men in a Zastava Bambina , all very drunk, one, the driver
aggressive – asked for our documents. We refused. I answered in
Russian which may have been a mistake. They answered sometimes on
German or then on Croatian. They said they would call the militia.
When I wouldn’t take the bait they became aggressive and at one
time I thought they would turn the car over, threaten to beta sub,
one struggled with Steve to get side window open, then round the back
with a took sticker off and also (as I discovered later), tampered
with the motor. Demanded documents again so I presented them with my
youth hostel card which seemed to satisfy them for they went back to
the car that quickly returned and demanded Steve’s passport. The
second guy quietened the driver down. We gave them a cigarette and
then after a while I drove off, and so did we. We were chased by them
for several kilometres, tried to overtake us but naturally these
start Zastava was no match for a Beetle, so we lost them.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My
next drama arose from the fact that my car only had temporary
registration for Germany. I had kept up insurance that the
registration had expired. When we got to the Austrian border by
Maribor we were turned back because the car’s papers were not
valid.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After
paying for another temporary Yugoslav visa we decided to have another
go, this time travelling hundred and 80 km to the Italian frontier.
This time the Italian border guards did not like Steve’s long here,
asked where we were going, why we turned back at the other frontier,
how much money we had and finally asked for papers. “Tired and
frustrated, I objected – ‘why?! The answer was a very definitive
one – the border guard showed me his handcuffs and pointed towards
Yugoslavia. So back we headed (that back by Yugoslavs without another
Visa, thank God) to Ljubljana, absolutely exhausted, hungry and
badtempered, frustrated and wondering what to do next, took Steve to
the railway station where he bought a ticket to Villach. I then went
to have a meal of sausage chips and salad – could hardly eat it up.
Said farewell Steve, who was heading towards Amsterdam”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Again
having nowhere to stay I decided to have another attempt at the
Austrian border. “Very tired, frustrated and nervous and the car
going badly to boot, on regular Yugoslav petrol. Hardly made it up
the mountainside… Through Yugoslav control… to the Austrian
frontier. ‘Autopapiere bitte’ (‘ your papers please’). A
desperate feeling of despair as I handed them over but was surprised
as he said ‘bitte’ (‘please’). Could not believe it, could
have cried for joy as I made my way over to bank to change my last
dinars and Austrian schillings. Made my way down to Villach, where I
found a near empty youth hostel and a normal bed at last! A most
frustrating Sunday was last over!”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My
frustrations were not over however, as I found the car wouldn’t
start and so had to get it towed away to be fixed. This used up the
last of my remaining money so I had to ring my sister Kathy in
England who said some money over by telex.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After
leaving Villach and again sleeping in the car for the night I made my
way to Salzburg where I can remember buying tickets for a movie on a
brilliant day – as I was the only person they cancelled the
showing.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
tried crossing over the border into Germany the German border control
would not let me go forward or back so I had to spend the night in my
car again on a busy border crossing and take a taxi to the closest
town to get my papers put in order.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
drove onto Munich and finding nobody at home, drove on to Bamberg,</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">now
essentially doing my journey in reverse. In Bamberg I went straight
to see my friend Gabi we did not look the slightest surprised to see
me.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>Back
to drinking German beer and relationships…</b></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;">“<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After
eating something we went out, up to Spezi keller (and outdoor pub)
for a beer and met up with Elfi (with whom I had travelled down to
Greece) and some of her friends.Gabi somewhat distant and didn’t
want to be too close, difficulty in expressing her feelings, but
deathly felt that our relationship had been on a false footing from
the start – never really got round to discovering how we stand in
relationship to one another”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As
she was off the next morning I went straight to the Fischstrasse to
see Gerti and to spend a few days with her with her parents in a
village nearby.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">From
here it was just like a journey in reverse. With the onset of the hot
weather I started to feel unwell and my last diary entry of my trip
was on 3 June.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Tthe
weather has been very hot for the last few days and seems to have an
effect on my constitution – feel weak, sleepy and generally very
lazy, also depression has come on – feel sad without any basis, is
this anything to do with the weather?”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
basically drove, with a brief stop in Essen to see the two men I had
met in Jerusalem, straight through, without even stopping in Holland,
through Belgium to the ferry to England.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>England
and travels with my parents</b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Travelling with my mother - outside the Sorbonne, Paris - August, 1982</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
think I was relieved to be back in the embrace family again and to
enjoy home comforts with my sister Kathy. I briefly tried a job
picking strawberries in East Malling nearby (I cycled). I could never
take the strawberries quickly enough nor in a way to hide the poorer
fruit underneath the largest and most delectable strawberries (these
were bound for Covent Garden), also it started raining towards
lunchtime so I would go home, by which time it had cleared. So I
didn’t make much money but I did spend a lot of time placing on my
bed reading Herman Hesse and other books.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
did my one and only trip in Britain when I went to pick up my friend
Joachim in Poole, Dorset. Together we travelled in my beaten up old
VW down to Devon. I remember a place called Beer, that ironically had
no beer and only served steak and chips, or steak and Pomme frittes,
or steak and French fries.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My
mum and dad came over for a month or so. The things that stand in my
memory is driving down as a family to see my cousin Rosy (the one
that had travelled with Cathy and I to my wedding in Leningrad).Rosy
had organised for a healer to see my Mum who was obviously anxious
about a return of her breast cancer. I wasn’t privy to the
proceedings but I remember the woman told Mum that if she drank a
glass of vodka a day she would be all right.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My
parents, probably rather inadvisedly, agreed to a trip to Germany and
France with me in my beaten-up old VW - my Mum in the passenger seat
and my Dad on the back. After another drama crossing the border into
Germany we travelled on down the Rhine, staying in the B & B of
my friend Joachim’s parents for a night and then to Heidelberg and
then travelling the beautiful road from there to Würzburg and on to
my beloved Bamberg.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
remember my father looking rather puzzled as he asked where this
place Ausfahrt (‘Exit’) was that he kept on seeing.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Gerti
met my parents with open arms. After a tour of my favourite town in
Europe we travelled up to Kerbfeld to stay with Gerti’s parents.
With one side having no English and the other side (practically) no
German there was never the less a lot of warmth as to old foes met
and compared notes through an interpreter.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">On
returning to Bamberg, the farewell was tearful on Gerti’s the part
(I think you might have felt she would never see them again).</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
set off an update on what was amazing journey home, looking back –
the last trip to do with my mother and father. We travelled up the
Main valley to Heidelberg where we met my friend Joachim. Not sure
what my father thought - he was probably a little lost - my mother
was in her element. She found that the German she'd learnt 20 years
before was not forgotten and thoroughly enjoyed exploring the streets
of Heidelberg. I still have a photograph of her in Heidelberg</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
do not remember what we did next but recall that we must have driven
from there to the French border. I recall have great fun with the
French bodyguard who kept asking "where are your papers"? I
would reply "these are the papers" and he would repeat the
same question, and I would repeat the same answer until, and in his
very Gallic Manner he shrugged his shoulders and waved us through.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
remember entering one or other French town, trying to find our way
north. It was no easy matter getting out of town for all signs
pointed towards Paris.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
remember us are stopping in one particular northern town after
passing through towns whose names recalled battles from World War I. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
were walking through a square in Arras and my father must have felt
insecure for he held my mother's hand. It was an unusual moment of
tenderness; it was the first, and last time I recall my parents
holding hands. It has remained in my memory ever since.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
we arrived </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">in Calais my father was convinced that Kathy was coming
over with the children to collect him. Nothing we can say could
convince him otherwise. We put them on the ferry to England where he
was met by Kathy and joined the family for a holiday to Scotland.</span></div>
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<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My mother in Paris - August, 1982</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My
mother and I started a holiday together in France. I remember I stay
in a hotel room In Calais where I recall nothing the bathroom worked
properly however there was a beautiful statue – so very French?</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
set off together for Paris and I recall we stayed in the same hotel
in St. Georges where we had earlier, in 1978. We spent a pleasant day
wandering around Paris seeing many places that we had four years
earlier. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
most amazing thing was that I drove my beaten -up old green VW
through Paris. We would plot our journey on the map and then find
that we were stuck in the one-way system., I would ask my mother who
was incapable of following any directions or read a map to navigate
in Paris! </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
have recollections of getting a parking ticket in Paris that was a
message from the police saying " you are in violation of the
law. Seeing you are a visitor in our city we will overlook this".</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
could not imagine anything similar in this country!</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
have made plans for a holiday together in the Dordogne. We headed off
together and I recall that we made it at least as far as Orleans. We
stayed someone nearby – I can't remember where it was – in a
small town. I remember it being very noisy – that was always a lot
of traffic, and I compared it unfavourably with Germany which was
always much quieter even in the bigger towns.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Without
explanation I felt symptoms of bearable sadness without explanation
come on and feeling of not being able to cope any more. With a
shoulder to lean on I simply collapsed emotionally and explained that
I simply couldn't go on. My dear mother was amazingly understanding
and gave up on her plans for a holiday in the Dordogne and we started
our trip north to Paris, stopping for a brief halt.in Ramboullet and
returning to Paris.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
went to the Gare de Nord to buy a real ticket for Mum to return to
England. When we returned we found that the car had been broken into
and all my mother's luggage was missing . It was a terrible setback
for her but I remember that the Parisians were very kind to her. She
would always find contact with people through talking to their dogs
and people would usually open up.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
remember being in a pharmacy- when my mother told her story the
shopkeeper explained how she herself had been locked out of her flat
without keys or documents, and she gave my mother free samples of
French perfume, which kept her going until she was able to find
replacements with her insurance. The women of Paris were not going to
let my mother go without her makeup!</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
parted ways in Paris, my mother taking the train north back to
England and me driving east, through Luxenbourg and then to Germany
and Saarburg where my friend Joachim was a thing his first teaching
job.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
stayed a day or so before continuing my journey back to Bamberg where
I finally parted company with my faithful green VW which was sent
"Zum Schrott" - to the wreckers. </span></span></span>
<br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>Homeward
Bound</b></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
bade farewell to my friends there and hitched northwards to Belgium
to catch the ferry. I was unable to get any response from Natasha –
I thought that she had disappeared – it turned out that she and her
family had gone on an extended holiday over the summer period.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
arrived in Dover early in the morning, had to wait quite some time
for a lift but when I did I was picked up by a young man who was
going in the same direction and dropped me off in Birling village and
I was able to walk the short distance in time for breakfast.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
hunkered down at Birling Place once again and flew back home to New
Zealand – 10 months after I had first set off – with my mother. </span></span></span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My
father had already returned home before this. We flew home fire LA –
it was the first and last time I have flown over the USA – I recall
short period of time we had at the LA airport and always being
exported to " have a good day"</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Arriving
back in New Zealand I was, as I recall, very depressed and I am sure
that I would rather have gone back to Europe for all the challenges
that provided. I remember staying with my mother at my brother's
place in Auckland and feeling thoroughly miserable. </span></span></span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
was, as usual, a relief to return to the refuge of my parents home in
Sumner and to reading books once more, on my mother's. chaise longue
in the sunroom.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
had been away from work at the Department of Trade and </span></span></span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Industry
on unpaid leave and eventually I had to return to reality. However,
there it was made clear there was no job in the Christchurch office.
The expectation was that I would take up a position in head office to
further my career in the public service.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Meantime
I had plenty of time to get up to mischief – I was introduced to
another (this time young) Russian girl, Ali. by my friend and Russian
lecturer, </span></span></span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Henry
Wrassky - he was the one who had introduced me to Natasha. What's
again I became obsessed and started a new liaison which followed me
up to Wellington where I moved from my new job in the head office of
trade and industry at the end of 1982.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>Moving to Wellington</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I remember moving to Wellington from Christchurch. I spent first night at the Waterloo hotel and then moved to the youth hostel before finding a basement flat on Glenmore Street. After Sumner it was very cold and dank, I knew nobody and felt and depressed enough to see the doctor and to go on dreadful antidepressant pills at the time.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This was the doctor who stated on inquiry that "there's only anecdotal evidence that food has anything to do with allergies" (sic)</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I don't really have a lot to say about work that time.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I was working in the Trade Services section of the Department of Trade and Industry, something to do with the promotion of New Zealand trade abroad and I was involved in the Canadian section. I do recall they were permitting our orange roughy fish to North America as if there was no tomorrow. Now it's practically extinct.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As always I gravitated towards the outsiders and befriended a Cambodian man, Sokha Duong, who drove an old sports car and I remember him coming through the newly built tunnel on the motorway to come off at Glenmore Street and drive up to visit me in the evenings. I remember drinking Steinlager beer (that was not a patch on German beer of course), in a pub in the popular Oaks complex. Now it's empty and practically derelict. There was a band that played musi that was like the original Django Reinhardt and that I enjoyed.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The wonderful thing that I will remain eternal ya grateful to my parents for, is that they set me up with a home of my own. They found provided money for a deposit for a home and the best took out the mortgage (the rates at the time for 18%!) Unfortunately, (in hindsight), they have their own ideas about where I should live and unfortunately the flat and Island Bay semidetached that I quite liked didn't come into their view of what was appropriate,so we ended up buying a sunless semi-detached flat in Broadmeadows</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I had regular trips back down to Christchurch to see my parents and they visited me on more than one occasion.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When I went back home to Sumner for Christmas at the end of 1983 the family was together, as it turned out for the last time.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I recall Kathy's family stayed in the wonderful old stone house down the bottom of Whitewash Head Rd, ( has subsequently been destroyed ), while Jeremy and I stayed in the retreat house next door. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This was the first time that my mother had seen Kathy's third child Georgie. Mum had spent many hours preparing a dolls house for Georgie but unfortunately got lost amongst all the other Christmas presents that year– mum felt quite disappointed.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My mother with grand-daughters, Georgie and Anna - Christmas, 1983. Within a few days of this photo she had the episode which led to the discovery of metastatic cace</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Just before I was getting ready to leave to go back to Wellington I went down into the garden with mum to pick some roses. I didn't know at the time but she felt quite dizzy and the next day with the hospital for tests. Tests showed that she had secondary cancer that manifested as a tumour in her head.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Later on she revealed to me that at the time when she had the scans she had an out of body experience. She explained that she been drawn by the lights but had come back because this saw my father looking so helpless.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">For my mother this meant undergoing chemotherapy during which she lost all here she loved and had to wear a wig. So then later she obviously tried juicing and alternative therapies, but I can die was cast and she didn't have long to live.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I went home to Wellington and went through the pretence of working. I wasn't at all prepared, in any way emotionally to go through this transition. I'm sure that I felt suitably anaesthetised and disembodied through much of this time. I do recall, however telephone conversations with my mother in which she experienced exasperation with my father and his inability to accept her illness ("you won't get better unless you exercise") and planned a trip with me to Australia.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The illness however progressed quickly.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I still treasure Mother's Day card that I have in my position in which she said in her now shaky handwriting "I like being your mother".</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Losing my mother was like losing a confidant, someone was home I could share what I was going through, I plans, my emotions etc. there was nobody else in the family with whom I could share anything in anything the same way.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Remember that coming home from the hospital at first time, all I wanted to do was go back to the hospital and set with her. I father, my brother and my sister to refuge in classes of June well I felt isolated and very alone. I felt that nobody understood me – a feeling that has been with me so many times through my life since then.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>My mother's death</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The last photograph I have of my mother, taken with June Philips, several weeks before she died</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Remembering back to May,1984, when my Mum died Jeremy gave me a ring at work to say that we been summonsed down to Christchurch. In those days there were indirect flights from Auckland and Christchurch so that Jeremy could fly down pick me up in Wellington and then we would fly down together to Christchurch.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We were, I think picked up at the airport by our father and taken directly to the hospital.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Our Mum was in bed and I remember her saying directly that she had swelling in her ankles and had chosen to die. I can’t really remember any more of the conversation at the time – it was probably quite awkward but I do remember that Jeremy and dad left and mum and I were on our own.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I remember saying to her “I don’t know what to say “to which she said there is nothing really much to say. We must have spent quite a lot of time just in silence, perhaps I held her hand – I don’t really remember clearly. In any case we were both able to say in our own way that we loved each other. I probably felt quite numb.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When the time came for her to have her last meal I said her and I distinctly remember her saying “don’t force me” with some humour.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">At some stage soon my father came back to the hospital. Mum was obviously in pain and my father held her while she had an injection of morphine. I now know that she was given an overdose of morphine for very soon after that she went into a coma from which he never awoke. Nothing was ever said to me at the time – there was no explanation.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I don’t remember the details but Dad must’ve gone home again for I was left on my own with my mother. I sat with her from many hours – I must’ve felt quite a lot of anxiety – I just remember that her breath came infrequently and wondering whether this would be her last. By this time it was long since dark and I really was on my own with my mother. I must’ve at some stage other fallen asleep in the chair alongside her at.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After a good few hours – it might have been two or 3 o’clock in the morning I was fetched and taken home. I don’t remember whether someone stayed with her – perhaps my father – but I had a little bit of time to rest in bed. God knows if I slept – probably not – but quite early in the morning I drove in with aunt Barbara driving her car extremely slowly between red cliffs and the hospital with me following.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I spent the whole of the next day with mum. Events are a little hazy now but I remember two things.Firstly I remember Jeremy and my father at the hospital. My father insisted that Jeremy drive him to see Archdeacon Pastowe presumably to make some sort of arrangements for the funeral.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">What that really meant Jeremy was taken out of the way at the time when my mum passed away.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I don’t think that my brother has ever quite got over the fact that he was not there but I think there is a reason for everything and for some reason he was not meant to be present.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">At about this time my aunt Pam – mum’ s sister – arrived at the hospital. She had only recently lost her second husband who had died in bed alongside her. She was, at the time the best person I could have had alongside me to help my mother make the transition from her body.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I remember her talking to my mother, saying it was all right.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It was about four in the afternoon when mum passed away.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My mother's grave at the Papanui church</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It’s funny what we remember, what stays in in our memories. I remember Peter, in his eulogy saying that dad</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I remember that assist in the hospital was present – she must have been used to working in the cancer ward for she was able to talk us through it. Again all I remember was the infrequent breaths and then finally the “death rattle” – sister was able to tell us that mum had passed on.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">What happened after that is a complete haze.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I remember family being present, feeling very numb and disconnected – and suddenly, very lonely. I did not feel at all supported, altogether with the rest of the family, whoever was present and was just alone with my own feelings, something that I was not very adept at.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Whatever happened between Mum's passing and the funeral is a complete blur.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I remember that once she passed on I did not spend any time with the body – perhaps I was afraid.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The funeral happened at a crematorium on ferry road between Sumner and the city, again I remember very little – it’s all haze – I remember people that I knew filing past, I think to shake hands – people like Mr and Mrs Stace, Mrs Cottrell and others. Even now, when I look back I am confusing things that were said and done at the time of my father’s funeral.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After the funeral and the committal of my mothers body to be cremated everyone went back for the “after match function” which was as usual a very boozy function. I don’t think that anyone had much to say to me, much less take me aside or talk directly to me.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I just remember a terrible feeling of emptiness and being alone in the world, so much so that I left the house and went for a solitary walk just to be alone with my feelings. I could not stand to be in the house with all the boozing, loud conversation and laughter when I was feeling so destitute alone.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The next thing I recall is coming back to work in Wellington at the Department of trade and industry. I don’t think that I ever got much work done – I was trapped in my own private world. What I do recall is that choose one a colleague and a friend Arina Mudryj who was working alongside me. She was quite open to simply listening to me as I talked about my mother. That was so therapeutic, just what I needed at the time, to be listened to without intervention.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I don’t recall was anybody else that I could open my heart to, not least my own family. I did not feel estranged but simply very alone.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I remember the visit to my Aunt Sylvia not long after mum died. She looked at me with that intense look that I remember so well and said “well your mother’s gone now – it’s time for you to grow up now!”From that time onwards I don’t recall aunt Sylvia even so much as mentioning my mother’s name even once.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">That was my family, disconnected from their own feelings, from their own grief and was little understanding of my sensitivities.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">On returning to Wellington I had no choice but just to get on with life without anything really to hold on to, without a real refuge. I was essentially lonely my new little house in Broadmeadows, just taking were train in every day to work that I was neither connected to, nor interested in.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I made a connection with the Cambodian colleague at work who I think, was just as lonely and disconnected as I was. He invited me back to his place – I remember he had ancient old sports car which he used to drive quite fast from the beginning of the newly built motorway, through the tunnel and off the exit onto Glenmore Street.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I seem to remember he had quite a taste, as I did for beer and we used to go to pubs – in particular I remember we used to frequent in the Oaks complex. I remember a local band that played in the style of Django Reinhardt which I loved, and which reminded me of my time with my German friends, and my time in Germany.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The other thing I did was to immerse myself in German and went to advanced conversation classes at the Goethe Institute which I really enjoyed.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">One person I remember meeting at the time was Alistair, who apart from learning German spoke Russian with a strong Glasgow accent. He later went on to take over capital music and to open his own shop Alistair’s music in Cuba Street.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I’m getting a bit ahead of myself but I remember another Scotsman Peter. I don’t remember how we met – he was another musician and played on electric guitar and was a friend of someone I didn’t know at the time, Maurice Tuckwell – who finally who later on became a flatmate.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Before that, my Cambodian friend Sokha Duong gave up his flat in Nairn Street and came to live with me as a flatmate in Broadmeadows.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">At about this time I started to seek out the company of Russians. That meant meeting with new arrivals of the fourth wave of emigration from the Soviet Union, Jewish refugees.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Among the first that I met were Bella and Leon Nodelman who hailed from Baku in Azerbaidjan. They met my need for Russian conversation and I remember them visiting me in teaching me how to cook rice in the Caucasian fashion. I also remember a trip with them and another very lively friend whose name I forget up to Napier where I found, in a secondhand shop very passable balalaika which I bought with their help.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I know I’m getting ahead of myself because many of these events happened when I first arrived in Wellington before mum died. I know this because I remember that my new girlfriend Elena actually met my mother before she died.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I met Elena Shmukler on a blind date recommended by Leon and Bella. I recall that we might have gone to the movies and had something to drink afterwards. In any case Elena was quite happy to meet me again and we quite quickly became good friends.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She had arrived as an immigrant in 1979 from Kiev with her parents and younger sister, Svetlana. As a testament to the quality of the Soviet education system she passed all her subjects in school certificate with the exception of English. Quite a bright girl! She went on to university and when I met her was studying for a chemistry major at Victoria Uni.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">During the time we knew each other we did lots of fun things together, I met lots of Russians which I enjoyed, drank lots, shared lots of music participated in the life that suited me at the time.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">One thing it stands out in mind is that quite early on in the piece, in July 1984, just a few short months after mum died Jeremy and his new fiance June got married in Dunedin.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Elena came down with me to attend the wedding. We flew first to Christchurch and then made the long car journey down to Dunedin (which had never been to before) with Jeremy and Dad. I remember nothing about the wedding but I remember seeing the wonderful old buildings of Dunedin for the first time and I remember meeting June’s mother Florence for the first time and watching the Los Angeles Olympics on the TV the next morning. I’ve got no idea what a Jewish girl from Kiev thought about the whole affair.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Which brings me to the fact that June’s father, Mr Phillips was Jewish so that Jeremy’s entire family in law was Jewish.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When I look back at this time it seems to me that I was really wedded to things Russian – it was as if I needed to play out some form of Karma that was unconscious. I persuaded myself at the time that I was in love basically because I was lonely and hadn’t yet really found myself.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I have met Elena again since and found, not only that there was nothing in common but that I was also horrified. I could not have lived with those close minded prejudices of the Russian Jewish community for long.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Early in 1986 Elena decided that she needed a bigger world than working for ICA in Wellington so moved to Melbourne to find a bigger world.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">That was really the best thing that could happen for me for I quickly found my own resources and discovered through reading the novel (in German) of Herman Hesse’ s Siddhartha discovered the world of yoga.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It was one of those days when I once again through a sicky from work as I went down to the bookshop in Johnsonville and discovered a book on yoga from the Sivananda ashram. I devoured the book and was so taken that I looked up yoga in the Yellow Pages and found the Lotus yoga centre and made an immediate enquiry about yoga classes. It turned out that there was a yoga course starting in a week or two.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I was too impatient to wait so started teaching myself from the book.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The course taught by Eric Doornekamp was a revelation. I felt that I had found my niche at last. After doing Eric’s course I went on to classes by Tanja Dyett which opened up a whole new world of fantastical stories told by… And regular yoga classes. After a while Tanya's classes ceased to give me what I wanted and it was then that I discovered the Monday classes by Gwendoline Hunt and I became an instant fan. In the year or so that I attended Gwendoline’s classes I don’t think that I missed a single time.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">These were a real revelation! I had never enjoyed myself so much or been so open to such knowledge and I lapped everything up voraciously.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It was a period when I met new people and had new experiences that took my life to a whole new level.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I remember the wonderful visits to the Lotus yoga centre in Paraparaumu, the wonderful people that I’ve met there through the Wwoof scheme, a trip up to a gathering in the central North Island. Wow! It was as if I was discovering the alternative movement, the hippie movement for the first time in my early 30s.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The feeling I had was that my mother was guiding me and I was finally finding my spiritual self.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It was some time before this, while I was still with Elena that my wonderful companion, Sammy the dog turned up on the scene. I was in Karori visiting the home of Elena that we both encountered Sammy on the road. He refused to leave our company and it was obvious that he’d been visiting a girlfriend but he seemed to have no home to go back to and was quite happy in our company. We looked to anyone who knew who he was and where he lived but could find nobody. After a while it was obvious that his owners were not going to turn up so young Samuel became my dog.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Samuel got me out full wonderful walks and outings – I discovered the delights of walking Mt Kaukau with him and he became my best and most wonderful companion. While I went from these wonderful Sunday afternoon walks Elena chose to stay behind and do the house work or watch TV – walking was not for her. I quickly discovered that this was something that we didn’t share in common along with so many other things.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Perhaps the fact that I have not mentioned my work indicates the level to which it played a role in my life. Basically, I tried to be interested but was essentially completely disinterested in that realm.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It was through work though that I was introduced to the next new, important phase in </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A Sri Lankan colleague at work, Sheila Gunasekera, invited me back home to sample (very salty) Sri Lankan food. She mentioned that she was going to a Buddhist ceremony led by the monks of the monastery in Stokes Valley. Would I like to come along?</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I had studied a little bit of religion at university but knew nothing about Eastern religions, let alone Buddhism. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So I accepted the invitation which I seem to remember was Kathina, which is held at the end of the rains retreat. It was the first time that I had seen Buddhist monks in their brown robes and heard Pali chanting. I was able to sample the delectable Asian food that was given to the monks and then heard the talk given by the senior monk,Ajahn Viradhammo.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When I heard what he had to say – and I don’t remember exactly what it was - something about the craving, grasping mind – it felt as if I had been waiting my whole life long to hear this message.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Very soon I visited the monastery in Stokes Valley, and started to read all I could about Buddhism.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I was made very welcome out there and I can remember long talks with Ajahn Thanavaro, an Italian monk who established the monastery Bodhinyanarama alongside Ajahn Viradhammo as he pasted wallpaper in the new meditation hall (called the sala).</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I started to learn to meditate as I was taught, following the breath - and began to visit the monastery regularly.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">On the first attendance at the evening puja I took a seat and leant against the wall. When Ajahn Viradhammo and the monks into the room they found that I taken up their position. Ajahn quipped that "you'd better shave your head".</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Work was actually reasonably interesting, as it coincided with the early Rogernomics reforms as the government tore apart "Fortress New Zealand"</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And any ability of the country to be at all self-sufficient. Working in the industry section of trade and industry I saw for myself that you there was no future for me in this environment and I started making preparations for what was most important for me – the preparation for the next stage of my life.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I didn't even try to take leave but took the rash step of resigning from the Department of Trade and Industry, and from the public service. I never looked back.</span></span></span></div>
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seemorerockshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09638172074263860001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4895746758576642600.post-28979544729438331262015-01-01T19:21:00.003-08:002015-01-11T21:56:30.966-08:00Disharmony in the family<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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dysfunction</b></div>
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Always smiling for the camera. But I rarely encountered smiles in real life</div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
first memory that I had that indicated family patterns was when my
beloved grandmother died in 1970. One would have assumed that as a
14-year-old I would attend the funeral that is what I would have
liked to do. When she died I found my parents whispering and keeping
things quiet, and when it came to the funeral a family friend Miss
Bower was brought in to look after me while my parents went the
funeral. This upset me no end and have never forgotten not being able
to attend my grandmother’s funeral.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
have noticed a real inability in the family to deal with difficult
emotions or difficult people. The family just shuts down and nothing
ever gets mentioned or the person who was originally responsible for
making other members of the family aware of some aspect of the shadow
will somehow get blamed. I have noticed this time and time again and
it has been a constant source of pain, especially in relationship to
my brother.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Several
early examples of things that were really painful have stated my
mind. One example was when I was staying in the home of an old
Russian friend who had died in a car accident while I was overseas (I
was renting the house for a period). The whole feel of the place
reminded me of a Russian dacha; there was a large section with an
orchard at the back sorrowful arm.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
invited my mother over to have a look and she brought my brother
Jeremy along whose only comment was that it would be perfect to knock
down the house and subdivide the section.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After
I had broken up with my erstwhile wife Natasha and she was moving to
live in Belgium my brother took her to the airport. She was,
predictably overweight with her luggage and was forced to leave some
things behind, including a stereo set which she left in my brother’s
keeping.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Natasha
asked me if I could bring listeria over to her in Belgium and I was
happy to do this and I mentioned this to my brother. When we were
sitting on the plane together travelling to England I asked him about
this and he said that he had sold the stereo. When I asked what right
he thought he had to sell somebody else’s property he responded
with the now familiar self-righteousness and said, “you don’t owe
anything to Natasha!”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Admittedly
this whole affair had been very stressful for my parents and cost
them some money. It is also true Natasha’s motivations were far
from clear and it seemed at least from the outside, that I had just
been used. Seeing things from the inside, and having some
understanding of the culture, I knew that things were a lot more
complicated than that.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Natasha and Robin - the two newly weds, Leningrad, 1979</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
Natasha and I were married in Leningrad I travelled to Russia with my
sister Kathy and my cousin Rosie. We were joined in Leningrad by
Jeremy. We will all looked after, wined and dined and nobody had just
spend a single penny – so much so that I family, on leaving Russia
got into some difficulties with the Customs explaining how they had
all these gifts with them when their records show that they hadn’t
spent any money.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
Natasha arrived in New Zealand, as a Russian she had some expectation
that her generosity might, in some way, be reciprocated.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My
parents, especially considering all the problems that this had landed
for them with, were incredibly welcoming an open to Natasha and her
accompanying family and had a warm relationship with them.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
can’t remember all the details but Jeremy displayed towards his new
in-laws all the generosity of an accountant.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There
was always self-righteous anger and unspoken resentment behind this.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">On
that 1982 trip to Europe Jeremy arranged, as he did for the whole
family cheap tickets that he was able to get as an employee of the
New Zealand for me to fly to Europe. Although he was perfectly aware
of what my plans were, to stay in Europe, he did not think it was his
responsibility to explain to me that the ticket only had one month
validity. When it came time to return home I realised this and on
raising it with my brother (can’t remember exactly what he said),
all I got in response was self-righteous anger. As I remember it was
only when my mother either pleaded with him or call the riot act, I
don’t know which, that he reluctantly arranged another ticket home.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After
my mother died in 1984 we all inherited some money from her. Both my
brother and I, I think, invested some of this money in the stock
market which was in a bubble at the time. I did the irresponsible
thing and withdrew some of that money to cover the costs of an
overseas trip.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>"Happy
families"</b></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'Happy families' - three generations</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
spent about 16 months away before returning in October, 1988. I knew
that my first stop would be by brother and my sister-in-law’s place
and as a then vegetarian my one nightmare was that the first meal
offered to me would be roast meat.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Well
sometimes nightmares come true, and indeed, the first meal was one of
roast beef. I am sure that they were fully cognisant of the fact that
I was vegetarian and that is why they are cooked the roast beef. When
I showed some reluctance to eat the meat part of the meal that
aroused considerable anger at me. If I showed the intention to grow
and silently meditate then there would be anger at the “fact”that
I wasn’t “pulling my weight”. Not only that while I had spent
my money to travel round the world they had lost their hard earned
income in the stock market collapse. In short, because of this, I was
a "bludger”.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">June
said she wasn’t prepared to cook for me any more so I can bloody
well go and buy us pizzas. I went out with Jeremy to buy pizzas the
dinner and when I got back sister-in-law June completely lost her
self-control and refuse to eat anything bought my by me told me to
leave the house and not come back until I had “change my ways”
and that I would die a lonely old man.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
did in fact get to come back but every interaction with my
sister-in-law was fraught – for example, at a party they were
talking about the difficulty of maintaining sufficiently low weight
on yachting races. I tentatively mentioned that perhaps spirulina
might be an answer. Again June went apoplectic with rage, “how dare
you say this! I am a dietitian!” I remember leaving the better end
dining table and going for a long walk in toning loving kindness
meditation, “May I be well. They June be well.” The fact was, I
was livid.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Fast
forward to my relationship with Pam, the first experience she had of
my brother was when he and June visited Wellington. He rang me to
tell me that he was going to visit us later, so we put off any plans
for the afternoon and waited for him. We waited for several hours and
no Jeremy. In the end, I think I rang, and I think all he said was “I
couldn’t come – I had to play a game of golf”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Jeremy
was always nice to Pam but acted towards me with the contempt that I
could not even begin to understand.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When my sister Kathy and her husband David were coming out to New Zealand from England it was understood that I would stay with them also. Once I had bought tickets and was getting ready to go by brother dropped the bombshell, at the last minute, that I was not welcome to stay and if I want to come I could stay on the other side of Auckland with his mother-in-law, Florence.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"></span></div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Naturally enough I was pretty upset and said so and when he responded with his characteristic self-righteous anger I said this was simply how I thought – hence response was that I was holding on to past experiences and I “shouldn’t think that way”!</span></span></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">A normal family relationship. With my sister Kathy and brother-in-law David</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Kathy
and David kindly spent the money on a ticket so that I could join
them in Christchurch for a few days, a face-saving and compassionate
solution.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In
the early 90s my brother contracted a very serious auto immune
condition that affects the kidneys, Good Pastures Disease. Naturally
we were very concerned about Jeremy’s health and we rang every week
to check on how he was. We usually spoke to June who was very frank
and informative about his condition. We even drove up to Taupo to see
my brother, taking care to stay elsewhere. The meeting was convivial
and warm but Pam took June shopping to get her out of Jeremy and my
hair so we could spend some time together.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
I mentioned this to Jeremy a wee while ago he professed to have no
memory of our having visited or my having rung him regularly. I am
sure, that even if he was so out of it with his condition that his
wife would have mentioned it to him later on. Surely he must’ve
known.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
my partner Pam suffered from melanoma and when it was touch and go
whether she would fully recover or not Jeremy was always kind and
invariably asked, on the phone to help Pam was.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
thing was that never once over the years has he asked after me or my
health, or about my work, or about anything else that was personal to
me.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Striking a pose at a family gathering - my brother is quite the public speaker</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">2003
likely first Centennial of an accident in Rotorua when a tourist
party was caught in the geyser eruption and my grandmother’ s two
sisters were killed. Pam and I travelled up for the reunion and in
the morning of the ceremony I went to visit June and Jeremy in their
motel room. No mention was made of arrangements so I went back to Pam
who wanted to take a walk to the lake front. There we met Robina who
was also there for the reunion and we had a nice chat and continued a
walk.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
came back to find the motel is empty so we drove into Rotorua and
somehow found the group in a restaurant having breakfast. Jeremy was
livid that we hadn’t turned up for breakfast despite the fact that
we knew nothing about it and turned out that everyone was about to
leave the ceremony and we weren’t ready. I can’t remember the
details but somehow, on this occasion June saved the day and we made
it to the reunion.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqc9uh3hHZ00C0yaczbbZ7FbKKMaOgUKuRmkAp09UuNLAc3tZvJftPj5PUzUbJFFBbO2klxUwXvuySdtjrtaDlh7c0IG2xYPTJg5lipK8sTe2H4zmXZSraspvaHP8nCToscY-XaYdtHKU7/s1600/June+and+Jeremy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqc9uh3hHZ00C0yaczbbZ7FbKKMaOgUKuRmkAp09UuNLAc3tZvJftPj5PUzUbJFFBbO2klxUwXvuySdtjrtaDlh7c0IG2xYPTJg5lipK8sTe2H4zmXZSraspvaHP8nCToscY-XaYdtHKU7/s1600/June+and+Jeremy.jpg" height="283" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Straight out of Hollywood - the smiles that belie the reality</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
</div>
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<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">From
that day essentially, my brother has never not spoken to me and I
have on more than one location, written to him saying that I wanted a
friendly relationship with him but that I felt that he would have to
take the first step. </span></span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">That
first step was never taken.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Another
nail in the coffin, it would seem, was when we were invited for the
one and only time to their holiday house in Taupo over Easter.
Unfortunately, Pam’s aunt died and we had to attend her funeral so
had to cancel our trip to Taupo. Needless to say, the invitation has
never been repeated and I feel that we have never been forgiven.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
have seen Jeremy only three times in the intervening years, the first
being at a family reunion in Christchurch when he never came near me
except to suggest that I might want to speak to h his son Richard. A
text I sent suggesting that we meet up went unanswered.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Leaving
for overseas in 2008 I did get a chance to stay the night with them
and as it turned out they were leaving for holiday from Auckland
airport at about the same time so we shared a shuttle. I was waiting
for some chance the whole time to have a chat with them but that was
always some urgency or they were bickering. I did have a photo
opportunity as June photograph Jeremy and I putting on false smiles.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Jeremy
did come down to Wellington and we spent some time together – I
suspect mostly because he needed a lift to our uncle’s funeral in
the Wairarapa. However, this was a reasonably convivial meeting, may
be because we were both free from June’s overpowering presence.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Since
then the most of the period the only contact we had was through
Jeremy sending emails with cute little puppies or giving some
argument for his right wing views or in favour of the State of
Israel. In the case of the latter he managed to provoke the response
but I’m sure that he was looking for and when I destroyed his
arguments, one by one, line by line, he became furious.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
I became seriously ill I sent him emails letting him know but have
never had any response.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuDcLfp87oXXTX3EPgU5KvztORV4xkcMwFgr38JawNaW80LOoFptO5lpFnZnqyVowed91nJoLBajShp5jviYcpp5xyR9QD6ppeL6Zq4fRbtxepHrHjOoWdA1j93uOVJYZ6PMX8RBi5M1Xc/s1600/IMG_0269.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuDcLfp87oXXTX3EPgU5KvztORV4xkcMwFgr38JawNaW80LOoFptO5lpFnZnqyVowed91nJoLBajShp5jviYcpp5xyR9QD6ppeL6Zq4fRbtxepHrHjOoWdA1j93uOVJYZ6PMX8RBi5M1Xc/s1600/IMG_0269.JPG" height="275" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Me in late 2014</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
</div>
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<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
I found out that I had a malignant melanoma I rang him with the
delusional thought that he might perhaps engage. All he said was
“gotta go, gotta go, can’t talk – we’ve got to go out to
dinner”. This was followed, in the weekend, by some texts
explaining he couldn’t ring because he was a guest of my cousin’s.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Needless
to say, that was it – I never heard anything from him.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Just
occasionally he might respond to an email that I send him –
ostensibly friendly – but without ever engaging personally.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This
has always been incredibly hurtful to me and I have always struggled
to understand why my brother has treated me in a way that I would not
treat my worst enemy. I can understand that he might have some
unspoken, maybe unacknowledged grudges, but being a reasonably
empathetic person I find it very hard to understand how someone could
allow their relationship with their sibling to become so poisonous
without any attempt to resolve the situation.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
am left with the feeling that often arises that I might leave this
life without being able to restore a normal, if not friendly
relationship with my elder brother.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
am fairly confident that I am not making this up, or that the
situation is not entirely of my own making, when I hear similar
stories and complaints from others.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">If
I am at fault it is probably not being able to fully let go and still
wishing that I could just pick up the phone and have an opportunity
to “chew the fat” with my elder brother but the sad fact is that
that has never going to happen and it makes me very sad.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As
I have become increasingly unwell but it is not only the situation
that is gnawed at me but generally, as it relates to my larger
family, the phone has been silent, and nobody, has but a single time,
enquired after my health.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
have had cousins that I have always kept in touch with, and tried to
support in times of trouble so it is a matter of sadness that in
terms of my family, I have to bear this alone.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
have made a determination that I am not going to be, as usual, the
only one to get in touch.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
feel blessed that I have a wonderful partner and good friends –
also I have rediscovered a very old, and dear childhood friend and we
are able to share with each other much of our pain.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"> </span>
</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
often feel that it must be a matter of my personal karma that my
condition goes largely unrecognised as well as undiagnosed by the
medical fraternity. If nothing else it is a hard lesson of letting go
of any attachment to the idea that things should be any one
particular way</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>POSTSCRIPT</b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Over the Christmas period, unsolicited by me, I got a Facebook "friendship" request from my brother, which at some urging I accepted. During that time I have not heard a single word from my brother: in fact, a Christmas telephone message from Pam went unanswered.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Today when I checked I found that I have not only been "unfriended" - as well as blocked - by my brother.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I have to conclude that he used his status as "friend" to lurk on my Facebook page and, in the ab sense of any direct communication from me, has risen to a state of righteous anger over criticism of his beloved Israel (when one of it was meant for his e</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">yes in the first place).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">I did get a brief communication letting myself and sister, Kathy, know that his wife June has breast cancer. The whole communication reeked of total denial of the situation and even concluded with the words, "there goes summer!" The inconvenience of his wife having chemotherapy, one presumes, was going to get in the way of summer in the Taupo cottage.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">Being a reasonable empathetic person, I sent a card off with a single line, "my prayers and thoughts will be with you" and communications have been limited by me to one-line acknowledgements. I would never cut anyone off, but in view of past history I am no longer willing to reach out, only to have my and cut off.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">If my brother ever reached out and began with an honest acknowledgement of the roots of his enmity I am sure I would find (as I always have) the ability to respond with love.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">But then again, pigs will fly: I have learnt to recognise that, due to his own disabilities and led by his wife, that this will never happen and I just have to live with the consequences.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
</div>
seemorerockshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09638172074263860001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4895746758576642600.post-44763945390804909632015-01-01T18:56:00.002-08:002015-01-17T17:59:52.822-08:00Through the 70's<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>University
and the ships</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As far as school was concerned, basically
I was out of there as soon as I can and I left school at the end of
the sixth form, not waiting for the seventh form and bursary. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Instead, at the age of 17, I enrolled in university studies at the
University of Canterbury. I took my favourite subjects, Russian and
history as well as in another subject - I’m not sure why - education, which I neither completed nor sat the exam.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">I excelled at my Russian studies, because I took to the language like a duck to the water and was very good at the grammar and translation, far beyond the abilities of my fellow students who would have been hard placed to string a Russian sentence together. I remember a Soviet teacher based at Otago University, Nadezhda Pomorantseva, saying something basic in Russian such as "hello, how are you?". </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">She could have been talking double-Dutch to the Russian class, but I could understand her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhciG1nIpNRTGFbqEEDCutaKungAKLvhqdnuuA4GuwL_sUs8Pk1I2kY59JNh2hFC9RQK-TF7T7VFfpUWK1CEMGwx9e6Qz3O_CBzt1Ctg_yuODS86DuFzyYMzMbcbOUby8EPQXHvZJCAc2l-/s1600/240px-CanterburyCollegeChemistry_gobeirne.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhciG1nIpNRTGFbqEEDCutaKungAKLvhqdnuuA4GuwL_sUs8Pk1I2kY59JNh2hFC9RQK-TF7T7VFfpUWK1CEMGwx9e6Qz3O_CBzt1Ctg_yuODS86DuFzyYMzMbcbOUby8EPQXHvZJCAc2l-/s1600/240px-CanterburyCollegeChemistry_gobeirne.jpg" height="195" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The old university site in central Christchurch - now the Arts Centre</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
University arts faculty was in its final year of being in the
historic city site before moving out to its new, concrete campus out
at Ilam. I loved the the old university with its stone buildings where
generations, including Sir Ernest Rutherford, </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">had studied </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: medium;"> It was a
breath of fresh air after being down the road at Christ’s College which I had nothing to do with.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
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</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This was the year I befriended a Russian seaman from Riga on a ship called the Polina
Osipenko, Arkady Bogdanov. To this day I still have the recordings that he made
for me with a simple microphone of his favourite artist, Polish
singer Anna German. I also took him back home to our house in
Halswell where he met my mother. He was amazed, when I took him to
the centre of the city the next day and who should we meet on the
street but my mother! He couldn’t get over it.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">At
about this time I joined the New Zealand-USSR Society which held
monthly meetings in which films were shown or there were occasional
guests from the Soviet Union.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My Russian lecturers at university were Alex Lojkine, a Frenchman with Russian roots who delighted at showing us students up as complete ignoramuses, John Goodliffe, who taught Russian language with a strong north English accent, and Henry Wrassky, who came to New Zealand from Moscow via WW11, Austria and Melbourne.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Henry and I maintained friendship for many years after I left
university. Many times we solved the problems of the world over a
glass of vodka or his beloved cognac. </span></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNp8tzVN7HBJ6T2qqP-NfL4ioWiSxS46XA28_4yKjA0GPi7sERmsV6Yxw0fPKLs7vkwAGwzZMSn3pdhbuf-OeD10PtP3Ha56B5oNS2U1JOxm0i7qGgNCYGb-Eu5HoAAbEB-dTbwsfOIenO/s1600/IMG_1370.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNp8tzVN7HBJ6T2qqP-NfL4ioWiSxS46XA28_4yKjA0GPi7sERmsV6Yxw0fPKLs7vkwAGwzZMSn3pdhbuf-OeD10PtP3Ha56B5oNS2U1JOxm0i7qGgNCYGb-Eu5HoAAbEB-dTbwsfOIenO/s1600/IMG_1370.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">A contemporary picture of my friend and Russian lecturer, Henry Wrassky, taken in Poland with his Russian wife (L) and Polish cousin (R) in 2007 on a trip when I accompanied him back to Russia. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
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</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
also loved my history studies, especially the first two years which
covered European history right through from medieval times through
the Reformation and Renaissance, the Enlightenment, French
revolution, 19th century and finally the events which so captivated
me in the 20th century.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
can’t have been a very good historian, at least from conventional
point of view because my marks, although enough to carry me through a
major did not single me out as a good student. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Generally speaking
(with the notable exception of Russian) I was a C+ student, partially because I
insisted on marring my progress by parting with the conventional view
of history and writing essays interpreting my subjects from a Marxist point of view. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This obviously didn’t go down very well with the establishment.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The arts faculty moved to Ilam i</span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">n the second year of my studies</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">The new
environment did not suit me in the least and once again I felt lonely
and isolated and I remember walking between the buildings in cold
windy weather not knowing a single soul. I also remember the
sensation of feeling something akin to having a skullcap on. It was
the closest that I felt to real depression.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">I found my social contacts outside the university and </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">took solace by removing myself where I could from the mainstream and
decided, despite the fact that I was ‘bourgeois’, from an
‘aristocratic’family to join the Communist Socialist Unity Party. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">It gave me some sense of belonging within a society from which I felt
estranged. There were still people who had experienced struggles from
the 1930s, the war and whose worldview was created largely by the
1951 lockout dispute.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Even
here I was not really a conformist. I knew enough about history to
know that the official Soviet history was bunk, and consigned important
persoanges to being non-persons. However, I continued with this course
right through the period that coincided with my time at university.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
have to point out that in some way I was acting unconsciously and had
no concept either of what was best to me or how to ‘get on’. I just followed what interested or appealed to me and put the rest aside.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
wasn’t until some years later, in my 30s, that I started to grow up
and become a little bit more mature and considered in my thoughts and
actions.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But
more of that later.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In
my second year at university I moved out of home and for the first
time went flatting, sharing a flat with one other person. I started
making new friends, largely through my extra curricular activities.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">One
was a burly, very friendly fitter-welder by the name Tony Bashford who
I met through the Soviet friendship Society.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
also met my first girlfriend, Lesley Hurrell the same way. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She was
coming along to the New Zealand USSR Society out of cultural
interests. We started to go out together on Saturday nights and I
remember going to some of the wonderful films that came out in the
1970s and then going on to the only cafe that was open after the
movies finished for hot chocolate. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I remember her visiting me at my
flat in Carlton Mill Road and then taking her back home to Shirley on
the back of my Honda-50 scooter on icy, freezing-cold Christchurch nights
– and this was a time when we used to
frequently have pea super fogs that were so thick you couldn't see more than a few
feet in front of you</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-large;"><br /></b></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-large;">Communism</b></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYoiYveGCwQLG09cdGKFhNIiuK4s65GyQqoy6aGSxrXdQhMQ5ZILybKm4O4dNepOATqi-fa_fjrIk494jesOwljSBYIYVklXxLrAoG6mMYEgkyScTa_3T3XIap-xMmrlea657hMFZl2zvJ/s1600/12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYoiYveGCwQLG09cdGKFhNIiuK4s65GyQqoy6aGSxrXdQhMQ5ZILybKm4O4dNepOATqi-fa_fjrIk494jesOwljSBYIYVklXxLrAoG6mMYEgkyScTa_3T3XIap-xMmrlea657hMFZl2zvJ/s1600/12.jpg" height="400" width="331" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Working on the railways, 1987 - my 'proletarian' persona</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
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</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">SUP
meetings, which were held weekly, were a pretty boring affair. Quite
how the government and the security service saw these people as a
threat to national security is quite beyond me. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It is true, I’m
sure that the Soviet government did give money to the party but that
was simply due to inertia and Soviet policy – a sclerotic and aged
Soviet party carrying on an old standing policy of supporting an
organisation that without its assistance would have folded up in five
minutes.</span></span><br />
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
head of the party in Christchurch was Frank McNulty who was the head
of the meat workers union and whose hour of glory was the crushed
1951 waterfront dispute.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
person I had the most to to do with was Mike Creel who had been a
conscientious objector during World War II, not because he was a
pacifist but because at the time he supported the Molotov –
Ribbentrop pact. He was the president of the New Zealand-USSR society
in Christchurch, a rather dour man who remained an unreconstructed
Stalinist.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
people that I immediately was attracted by when I met them were Robyn
Black and Ron O’Brien. They were in their late 20s when I was in my
late teens and they provided perfect role models.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">They
had only comparatively recently returned from a year in Moscow
studying at the Institute of Social Sciences which was a large
institution in the north of Moscow that trained members of Communist
parties from around the world and representatives of the liberation
movement.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">They
were not only enthusiastic Communists but they were also hippies who
practised yoga, smoked pot and sunbathed nude outside their wonderful
ramshackle downstairs flat off Hackthorne Rd.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
think, like me, that they were essentially nonconformists and
certainly didn’t fit in to the very conservative values of the
party – and were no doubt the objects of some suspicion.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">For the young rebel from a traditional family who was still basically wet
between the ears, meeting Robyn and Ron was certainly a revelation and
I spent many happy hours round at their place reading their books,
eating rye bread for the first time in my life, learning how to develop film and
print photos in their wonderful laboratory. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There was an interesting
wall at the back of their house for it not only housed their
photographic laboratory but also a secret entrance to a space where they grew marijuana under artificial lighting.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
it provided a place where I could witоness, I would say, rather than
participate, in the wonderful counterculture of the mid 70s. I
remember some of the wonderful people in their and their circle the
parties, the joints that were passed around and the music which was a
cross-section of some of the best music of the day – much of it
protest music.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Ron
and Robyn cut quite a figure for me – Ron, the seamen, with his
long moustache and leather jacket - Robyn the feminist, in her
dungarees who would try on any job whether it was out as a truck
driver or a masseuse at a sauna bath.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">These
were wonderful people who played an important role in my life at the
time who were also independent thinkers in a conservative and insular
society. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I wonder what happened to them in subsequent years and what
direction life took them. </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
did encounter</span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: medium;"> Ron once briefly at Auckland airport when I was leaving
for overseas. It was an awkward interaction and there was no time for
a catch up.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">I
have memories that have become dulled with time of peace marches and
mass demonstrations on Cathedral Square against policies of the
Muldoon government, of the wonderful Resistance Bookshop, of meetings
of CAFCA (campaign against foreign control in Aotearoa) and of a
night-time raid of Wigram airbase which went completely unnoticed.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I’m
sure that if I was doing this today my activities would not have gone
unnoticed by the security forces, if not of the NSA. I would
probably be on a no-fly list and almost certainly have fallen on the
foul side of the law for something that was harmless, of almost zero threat to
the security of the nation, and was only an act of rebellion and
dissent.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As
a young and active member of the New Zealand-USSR society I came to
meet many interesting people, members of the Soviet elite that visited New Zealand periodically. The would almost always come in delegations that sometimes included luminaries such as the composers Bogoslovsky and Raymond Pauls, but sometimes - like Eduard Nukhovich, Vladimir Trukhanovsky, come on their own, hosted by the local friendship society.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
remember during the New Zealand Games that were being held at the
time being invited to dinner in a restaurant to honour the Soviet
athletes. Apart from meeting such luminaries as a Soviet
heavyweight wrestling champion and the famous gymnast Olga Korbut I remember that seated at another table was Prime
Minister Rob Muldoon and a group of his cronies. Muldoon
turned his char towards our group and glowered at the table of Soviets and
their New Zealand guests.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After
three years at university I was offered personally an opportunity to
study in the USSR by the then Soviet Ambassador, Oleg Selyaninov. He was
the one who was accused by Muldoon of handing over an envelope of
money to the Socialist Unity Party. This was preposterous; the party
never represented even the slightest threat to the security of the
country and was just this old and sclerotic as the country they
admired.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">That
meant I had several months between university and when I left. During
this period I worked on the railways at Waltham Yard which was really
an insight into the old working class before neoliberalism arrived on
the scene. In a way it was a case of “they pretend to pay us and we
pretend to work”. Everybody was ready to leave the moment 4. 35
came and any overtime was paid at time and a half. Quite apart from
that, that was pilfering on the railway that I witnessed.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This
was not quite the end of the world that was destined to end in the
1980s.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
continued to visit Soviet ships in Lyttelton and to improve my spoken
Russian. I have some clear memories of that time – many cups of tea
and discussions with a good-natured first mate on the M/S <i>Anyui</i>, the
(who was always the political commisar). I had the opportunity once
to sit in on one of the obligatory political meetings where the
commisar delivered a boring and not very heartfelt lecture on world
affairs while the crew either knitted or played battleships,
whichever was more appropriate.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In
hindsight it was this cynicism and disdain that help to sink the
Soviet Union just a little more than a decade later.</span></span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
also recall hi-jinks with the couple of seamen (one was the ship’s
doctor) from Leningrad vessel. They had obviously made contact with a
couple of the ladies of the port for I transported them over to
somewhere in Christchurch where we had a party with copious
quantities of vodka. The lads disappeared for some time with their
lady companions. Finally they remembered that they had better put an
appearance on the ship and I drove them back, so drunk that I do not
know to this day how I did it. I drove the ladies home and was given,
gratis, my first experience of sex, which no doubt due to our mutual
intoxication, was not earthshattering.</span></span></div>
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</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>Off
to Russia</b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In
September,1977 I left for Moscow on my first overseas trip for 10
months studying at the Moscow Institute of Social Sciences.</span></span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
think what I learnt most from that trip was the Soviet art of
rendering unto Caesar what was due to Caesar and of not speaking
one’s real mind.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
developed a good friendship with the son of one of the lecturers,
Boris who was the same age as me and studying to become an economist.
We had a good relationship, and he took me to visit some of the more
interesting sites in Moscow such as the Sheremtyevo Palace. Boris was
quiet spoken and diffident (perhaps because of the political
realities) and our relationship was remarkable less for what we said
and </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">more
for what we didn’t say.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Revisiting the Institute in 2007. It is now the Finance Academ7</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I’m
glad to be able to say that we re-established contact when I went
back to Moscow in 2008. Boris is now a professor of international
finance at the University of Finance, which is now, ironically,
situated in the very same building that I studied in in 1977/8.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
was also a regular visitor to Sophia Sergeevna, the elderly mother of
my Russian lecturer back at Canterbury, Henry Wrassky. She lived in
two rooms at the back of someone else’s apartment in a lovely old
wooden building that has now long since given way to ugly apartment
blocks.</span></span></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">A view of surrounding buildings where I was staying</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
was able to explore the city and enjoy access to tickets to the
theatre and ballet -something that was not so easily accessible to
the general population, although the tickets were, by any standard,
cheap.</span></span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">At
the end of this period I took the train to Denmark and then a ferry
to England where I met my family. I remember my mother (who had a
romantic attachment to the “green and pleasant land” of England
(in particular close). I remember, as we drove through the flat
country of Essex are saying “this is not the real England!”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
whole family was together in England, except for my father and after
spending time at the fine house that Cathy and David lived in,Birling
Place we went for a short trip together to Paris. It was wonderful to
do things with my family; eating baguettes with French cheese and
wine; wandering the streets and taking in the atmosphere of the Paris
that was on holiday. For some reason I particularly remember the
Place de Pigalle with all at sex shops. My mother, looking at a sex
toy, exclaimed “how lovely!”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
remember taking the train back to Moscow and the border crossing from
Poland to Russia; we all had to disembark while customs officials
went through our luggage. I remember they took for themselves my biro
with a sexy lady but for some reason allowed me to keep the latest
record, which I bought in Paris, of Vladimir Vysotsky (the Soviet
bard).</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I’m
coming back to New Zealand I had a few months working at Sunnyside,
the local psychiatric hospital as a cleaner, before having a very
memorable summer.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>Natasha</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">On returning, I would spend quite a lot of time with my friend and lecturer Henry Wrassky. One day he said he would like to introduce me to someone interesting. We met at the home of Marina Page who lived in Sumner, a short walk from my parents house. Marina had her cousin Natasha, from Leningrad staying with her for the summer. I remember Natasha lying with her back to the window pane reading a book and taking very little interest in the conversation.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I don’t recall any more how things went but have a recollection that Wrassky said something about us getting together and for whatever reason that’s what transpired. Natasha (who was, at 34, 12 years older than me) started seeing quite a bit of each other. That was the start of a bit of a romance.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Problems started when went, very reluctantly, to stay with cousin Marina in her cottage at Hanmer. Natasha arranged for me to pick her up in hand mark and started a trip together to the West Coast. We stayed in Greymouth and then travelled down, through Hokitika to Franz Josef glacier before returning to Christchurch (and trouble).</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Escaping - on the road, south of Holitika, late 1978</span></span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I was in love – or it might be more accurate to say I was in lust, with Natasha who was in deep trouble with her cousin Marina for betraying her trust and, not least, seducing a young man from an old Canterbury family – Marina always had a deep appreciation of that.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When Natasha flew out to return to Leningrad I accompanied her to Melbourne and Sydney. We stayed with old friends of Wrassky whom we are managed to offend, not least by Natasha leaving blood on the sheets. We had a fine old time together in Sydney with no one looking over our shoulders. I remember walking a lot, seeing the Sydney Opera House, drinking beer. We entered one pub where there were only men who cleared at Natasha for daring to enter a “men – only” drinking hole.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Coming back to New Zealand – I remember it Christchurch airport having to wait until the last for a Customs search which was extraordinarily thorough, I presume because I hardly had any luggage and wasn’t carrying back the obligatory shopping – I settled, more or less back into the last year at University.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The obstacles made, what would have been unobtainable, not to say ill-advised for the normal person had they even ended up in this situation, all the more determined. Wrassky, who by now regretted having ever brought us to together tried his best to dissuade me from going further with my odyssey, even saying something about women not being as fertile as long as men.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My parents probably knew better than to try and persuade me out of my delusions and were remarkably long-suffering, even supportive. There were many difficult, and expensive trunk calls to Leningrad. It was a real feat getting through to the operator in Moscow and persuading them to connect me with Leningrad. I remember one time, trying to get through, asking “is this Moscow?”, “No! This is South Africa”. All of this would have been quite impossible had I not been able to practically take over from the New Zealand operator and explain myself and Russian.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">All of this was very stimulating.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">On Red Square, Moscow, with Natasha, summer, 1979</span></span></div>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Next came the preparations for travelling to Russia and fulfilling the bureaucratic requirements of the Soviet government. Natasha’s letters were very matter of fact (I wish I had kept them) and explained how I needed to have documents, witnessed by a notary public and by the Soviet Embassy proving who I was, that I had no criminal record and so forth. The Soviet representative at the embassy,Nikolai Parshenko, was embarrassed and apologetic about the red tape. I think he was on our side.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Some time in our winter I took a trip to Leningrad, met the family, got the blessing of Natasha’s mother, Nina Petrovna and spent some time with Natasha. I had to go on a tourist visa which meant having to stay in a hotel at monopoly Intourist rates. It also meant that whatever we did during the daytime I was not able to stay with them and Natasha was not able to sleep in the hotel.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I remember one amusing episode returning back to the hotel in the evening and the babushka who guarded the floor and gave out the keys refused and insisted on asking “where is your delegation?” The officious old woman refused to believe that I was an individual and staying on my own so I had to go down to the service department and explain myself before I could get into my hotel room. That was Soviet reality!</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">On that trip I flew out of Copenhagen which meant taking the train from Leningrad through Warsaw, where I spent one night and then on to Copenhagen.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I remember arriving in Warsaw where after the sparse shelves of shops in Moscow and Leningrad the Warsaw shops had piles of cabbages. I remember staying in the Hotel Bristol on Nowy Swiat, which is now one of the most swish streets in Warsaw but was then pretty dingy and I remember how they served up the obligatory meal with potatoes, a small piece of steak and tinned peas. I was also very pleased with myself that I was able to buy some sweet smelling Polish aftershave from a kiosk.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Other memories which come to mind are visiting my Danish friends who I met a couple of years before in Moscow, drinking Danish beer and then the trip back, which started with the Lufthansa flight being 10 hours late, being put up in an expensive hotel, the next flight being also late as well as the connecting flight from Sydney being late as well – I arrived approximately 24 hours later than scheduled. Luckily I was young.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Fast forward to November and I again, was flying to Europe, this time to London where my sister Kathy and my cousin Rosie took the train to Moscow. I remember it as a pleasant trip with guard bringing us free cups of tea. In Warsaw I was sure that we had plenty of time so the three of us went for a walk, (minus our passports) and when we strolled back a very red-faced guard asked where had we been, we had held up the train.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Fantasy marriage - Palce of Marriages, December, 1979</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We arrived in Moscow, met by Natasha and then travelled on to Leningrad in style, on the “Red Arrow”. I remember Cathy and Rosie meeting the family going to pick up Jeremy from the railway station, he had arrived from Helsinki; walks through the frigid streets of Leningrad, photos on Palace Square and then later on the wedding itself which was held in the Palace of Weddings, which was a very formal and very Soviet ceremony.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I remember saying goodbye to my family at the railway station, spending some more time in Leningrad and then moving on to Moscow. One way to save money was to travel by train as much as one could because the train journeys were a lot less expensive than the hotel accommodation, and also rather pleasant.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">That winter was one of the coldest they had had in Russia for several years. I remember being told how water pipes had cracked in the cold and I have recollections of walking some of the most beautiful parts of Moscow, such as Kropotkin Street and around the Novodevichii monastery, which was closed in those days, it incredible cold – minus 24° C.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">One of the aspects of visiting Natasha were long shopping lists, bringing items like sheepskin coats made in Christchurch, or some item of stereo equipment – all of this could be resold at huge profit and help to finance the whole endeavour.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">All of this must’ve placed a tremendous financial burden on my family, for all know I had learned some of the money and cashed in on some insurances my father had to subsidise much of this.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I don’t really know what my parents thought about the strange situation, but they were amazingly supportive, never tried to dissuade me and greeted the new arrivals with great warmth when Natasha and her family finally arrived in the country in August the next year.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Can’t have given any thought to how I was going to support this new family. I had started a job at the Department of Trade and Industry as assistant advisory officer, really a fairly low level clerical job, deciding whether import licences would be granted, or not. This was in the days where the policy was still one of import substitution and fostering local industry, one that would go down the gurgler just a few short years later in the Rogernomics neoliberal policies.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Natasha arrived with her full contingent, consisting of her mother, Vera Petrovna; her aunt, Nina Petrovna in nine-year-old daughter,Zhenya. A wonderful cottage had been found for us in the middle of Sumner, ironically just over the fence from Natasha’s cousin Marina. I think Natasha’s family thought that third arrived in Paradise and were living in a dacha, as if it were a summer holiday, even though, to my shock, they were lighting up the fire every day going through the firewood as if there were no tomorrow. Zhenya started at the local school and was taken under the wing of my mother, ‘Granny Moll’.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Natasha had arrived as a whole lot of books on computer programming – I took her word that she was experienced in this area but it didn’t take that long to realise that this is not her area of expertise there were no prospects of her work in this area. So, for the time we were together, we will all supported on my very meagre salary.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Unfortunately Vera Petrovna had a heart condition and after about a month took a bad turn. She was seen by the doctor and have some ECGs which said nothing, but was called back from work one morning to be told that she had died from a heart attack.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Whatever hard exterior Natasha had, or whatever skills in wheeling and dealing in the Soviet system, the death of her mother within a short time of arriving in a new country dealt her a severe blow and I had no skills to be of much support and it didn’t take long to learn about the chasm that divided us culturally.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She was not emotionally invulnerable as I think some others tended to think that in fact very emotionally vulnerable, which was shown by the fact and she revealed this to me that at some stage (I can’t remember what the immediate trigger was) she closed herself off in the covered and developed a debilitating skin condition, psoriasis.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She often didn’t speak to people that she wasn’t close to and seemed haughty and rude. She was, I think, shy amongst people she didn’t relate to what I know she loved and respected my parents greatly, even if she was capable of whisking away one of my dads bottles of gin.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I’m sure that she had a not so secret inner desire to be accepted and taken them to what she (and her cousin Marina) saw as one of Canterbury’s “aristocratic” families.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The relationship was based on open (on my side at least) pure fantasy. People only saw how I (and my family) we used by Natasha to get out of Russia and find a better life. This was certainly the position of her cousin Marina who had taken great offence at Natasha’s behaviour when she was staying with her and was livid when in her eyes, she “targeted” “the scion” of the great Westenra family.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I still, 35 years later, see this as, to put it politely, an oversimplification. Although there is some truth the whole thing was not concocted and the truth is a lot more complicated.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Things started to fall apart when her ex-husband, Misha visited her from United States. I’m not sure of the ever met (probably not) but I can’t imagine the vehemently anti-Semitic Marina ever accepting the Jewish Michael! Following closely on that, Natasha went back to Leningrad to sort out her affairs and I learnt indirectly that she had been in contact with other husband… and I’m sure that’s when the possibility of a move from New Zealand to Europe arose.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">What transpired in the months following was that… had managed to marry a Finnish woman, to divorce and turn up in Belgium.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The relationship deteriorated rapidly, there were some unfortunate scenes between us during which time I took refuge in a vodka bottle and eventually, I was asked to leave, and went back to live with my parents.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My wife was persuaded by her lawyer to take out a non-molestation order and quickly moved to get a separation agreement, as well as the New Zealand passport under the name Westenra, (which was very convenient) and to arrange to leave, with her family for Belgium where her ex-husband left for her.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We kept in sporadic contact until I left for a trip to Europe. After a few days in England I was met off the ferry by Natasha and we spent a day or two together in Brussels.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She disappeared off the radar completely for some years until I found her, and she was living in France. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When I returned to Moscow with Henry Wrassky in 2007 I saw her in Moscow and amongst other things was treated to lunch in the opulent Cafe Pushkin. After some time in Poland and visiting my long-time friend Gerti in Bamberg, Germany I was treated to a ticket to visit Natasha on the Cote d’Azur. The meeting was very amicable and felt more like a family visit them to and an estranged spouse.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We shared many recollections, and even the promenade around the peninsular of…was somewhat reminiscent of old times in Sumner. I was met like a long lost friend and treated with characteristic generosity even if the quid pro quo was to accompany Natasha in her large Mercedes (playing CDs with old crooners like Dean Martin) on long shopping trips, or on a wonderful (but over-long and very tiring) trip along the Cote d’Azur, through… and Menton to Italy where we had dinner.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I met Zhenya (Eugenie Westenra) who was living in Monaco and working for the Credit Suisse catering to the needs of Russian millionaires who needed some place their money. This was in 2007, in the heady days before the 2008 financial meltdown.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I have often wondered what has happened to them in the days since then, but apart from one solitary phone call when Pam spoke to her, Natasha has once again disappeared off the radar.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">That is so characteristic.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">………………………<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Here’s an excerpt from my diary of my last visit to Europe.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>8 August 2008, Provence</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>Une villa au Meditteranee!</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I think I really have to pinch myself – a completely different world from Bamberg. 9.30 and already thermometer says 27° C!</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Cypress trees and tall hills covered with buildings that are as reminiscent of Italy as a France. Cicadas sing shorter notes here I think.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Was met at the airport after a bit of a wait by Natasha – and undersized person in an oversized Mercedes. In the old days she didn’t/and couldn’t drive. Airport seemed empty and provincial, but apparently it’s the second biggest in France. I wasn’t that impressed by what was on offer in Frankfurt and Zurich. Nothing much to eat – but Swiss chocolate and Moevenpick ice cream on the Swissair flight.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Can’t remember much of the drive back – dry, hot, amazing French buildings – very dense buildings along the seaside and on the steep hillsides.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Met by Zhenya and her daughter – nice but slightly awkward (from my side) conversation – I was tired. Zhenya also suffers seemingly from some form of chronic fatigue – sleeps a lot, both the office but doesn’t spend a lot of time there.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">More later…</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After a slow start took off with Natasha to Eze, a small village between here (St Jean Cap Ferra) and Monaco. Situated on steep slopes of 400 m – it has a church with narrow winding paths leading up to a fortress. The Romans were here but present structures date back to the 14th century. Belong to Provence, then to Kings of Savoy and then France. A lot of time in highbrow shops and art galleries. Down below bicarb Park is a perfume factory and museum. Apparently all French perfume comes from grasses grow nearby – this is the source.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Shades of the old Natasha – in and out of shops, looking at all the beautiful things. In the evening a nice one and a half hour walk around the peninsular of Cap Ferra. All slightly reminiscent of Scarborough and Flowers Track etc .</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In Eze that is an expensive hotel with the customer’s luggage is carried by donkeys.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It has been an adjustment – from Gerti’s flat in Bamberg to this amazing fellow on the Cote d’Azur was to Russian women working one, Raiya- (a Chechen I think) the other looking after the wee girl,Nastya (Anastasia Charlotte Westenra!!). Zhenya works for a local branch of credit Suisse and works with the rich Russians who live here, bringing business to the bank. She obviously earns well (she has brought some millions of euros to her employer) – this was the problem with Nastya’s father – in Moscow, who found it hard to accept that she was earning several times more than what he was. She studied economics at Brussels University and Russian politics at the London School of economics. Since I knew them in Brussels, when they were struggling to keep themselves going, they have lived in Switzerland, London, Moscow – and now the Cote d’Azur. As I understand it Natasha is following Zhenya and running her own travel business from wherever. She has someone, who she describes as being like a son, running a bureau in St Petersburg – specialises in Tours from Europe with the cultural (or whatever,) theme. She has her own guides stop she gets referrals from European travel agencies and she pays them.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Feel exhausted today after a rough day yesterday. Met up with Natasha’s Georgian friends and drove to Menton and looked around the most amazing old town – the last town before one hits the Italian border. Lots of photos, lots of waiting while certain people did the shops, a good proportion of the day went into shopping stop</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Then went to a cafe to have tea in the most amazing array of cakes and sweets et cetera – one piece would have been enough for the sweet tooth, but had to sample everything. By this time would have been ready to turn around, but no, onwards to Italy. Stopped in one town while in its business and then on to San Remo… More shopping, a little bit of sightseeing – by this time it hardly care less – and then to cap it off) after all the wonderful eateries on the street that we bit bypassed] went to some expensive cafe – more tea with pastries! By this time I felt pretty pest off. Then back to the car (a huge Mercedes that doesn’t fit the roads here) a’s ships nd a long trip back, finding the way; yet another stopped walk around and night Bazaar in Menton. By the time we got back it was 12:30 a.m. and I was stuffed.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Today I think I am suffering, primarily from the diet. Tired and a little depressed – basically need space, simplicity and hanker for home, or it least Birling Place.…</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This has been a difficult stay for me. Especially the resins. I have been ups and 730, ready to go down to the village to look up the Internet for Z – it is now 8. 30 and nobody has stirred is – so I can see that Natasha will get up late and normally no time for what seemed urgent last night.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Similarly, there would be announcements such as open quote after dinner we will drive up to the village, – and then nothing would happen. Then yesterday I was told we were going to the beach only to find we were going on a shopping expedition instead.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I have spent a lot of time this waiting while Natasha disappears into a shop to look at shoes, onions, or whatever, I have found it all a bit claustrophobic, unnerving and frustrating. There is an uncomfortable feeling of being dependent on someone else, to go somewhere, when and if they want.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This on the one hand. But on the other, the unbounded generosity of paying for my ticket, taking me around, offering the most incredible delicacies – champagne , all sorts of French breads and sweets, being on the beach with its chaises longues and glasses of wine, orange juice etc – it cost $40 a day just to sit on the beach.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">All of this is brought up feelings of rage, in adequacy, frustration – most of all, not really being my own person. So while I know I should be grateful and happy I feel in a pressure – let me get out of here full!</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Apart from anything else observing the life of the well off is not a comfortable experience – all the expensive cars, rich food, the throwaway society, all the talk of who has what, expensive cars, jobs, helicopters to St Tropez. It is, to put it extremely mildly, unsustainable. On Saturday, when I went shopping with Natasha in her huge Mercedes, forgetting to take with her any bags from home – all the unnecessary expenditure, the use of plastic bags – all produced a sense of despair.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Natasha is a powerful woman in people seem to be attracted to her. When people speak to her on the street and French there is a good connection. She does seem to be able to help the people around her – so the money flows in and out. She seems to have a sincere belief in spirituality (eastern and western); she is impressed by Alexandra David Neel and a bit borders on; also a fairly innate understanding of energetic medicine – she latched fairly quickly onto the principles of NAET. I did some basic muscle testing on them and then Natasha went down to use the Internet to find some local NAET practitioners. Zhenya is pretty sick with chronic fatigue and unable to work at the moment (she sleeps a lot of the time close bracket and has all the classic symptoms of CFS/candida. I hope someone here is able to help.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Who wee daughter, Nastya, is delightful and bright for her age perhaps I should think of myself as some sort of “would be” Grandad!! All in all there is some familiarity, but in general a very different world from what I’m used to!</span></span></span></div>
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seemorerockshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09638172074263860001noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4895746758576642600.post-53227782218569920842015-01-01T18:38:00.002-08:002018-08-09T20:06:07.126-07:00Chapter one - part two<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>Waihi
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
was sent off to boarding school at the tender age of 9, after a
couple of years at the local school in Cust - as was the tradition in
Canterbury farming families. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Waihi
was a small preparatory school with less than 100 pupils and had a tradition
of its pupils running fairly wild, building tree huts, and more
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
was a sensitive child but I suppose boarding school was supposed to
be character building. </span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
I was sent off from home I was still wetting my bed and I have
memories of being teased about this mercilessly, as well as having to
clean my sheets in freezing water on cold South Canterbury frosty
mornings.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">At Waihi school, c. 1967</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">For
all that, life there was reasonably benign, at least in my memory,
although in the first year I was there the dormitories were in the
old wooden building and there were no showers – the boys had to
share a bath with water that was cold and dirty by the time you got
there. I have recollection of being caught talking after lights out
and being taken down to the bathroom to be slippered.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
don’t have a visceral memory of the cold but it must have been
freezing. We all wore shorts all year round, even in the cold
winters. I suppose it was a bit of the old country! </span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There
was a common room which I remember had a painting of Capt Oates from
Scott’s 1912 Antarctic expedition saying “I might be some time”
as he stoically walked out to his death. </span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In
winter there was an open fire and all the boys gathered round to be
as close to the warmth as possible and on these winter evenings large
pots of cocoa were served out.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
was also in the common room where we were given boxing lessons by
someone who came in once a week – I remember hating that. </span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
remember the Mayor of Temuka coming in to give art lessons, and with
my friend Matthew Turnbull painting a mural of the Battle of
Trafalgar or some other sea battle.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
I arrived this coincided with what must have been the first
modernisation in the history of the school with the construction of a
brand-new teaching and dormitory block. The dormitories actually had
proper showers.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">From
an early age I hated sports, except I have a memory of playing French
cricket.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
have memories of tree huts and wonderful times spent outdoors. However,
much of my time was spent in the library where I did various research
projects such as learning the names of all the world's capital cities
or the geography of all the states of the USA.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
was obsessed with knowing everything there was to know about the life
and death of Capt. R.F. Scott's 1912 expedition to the South Pole.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
can still remember, to this day, some of the great events of 1968,
such as the assassinations of Bobby Kennedy and Martin Luther King, as
well as the Wahine disaster - because I kept newspaper cuttings which
I put into a scrapbook.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
lived out my fantasy life as an 11-year-old writing stories about
characters such as Jim Logan, a heroic cowboy. These stories reached
100 pages long, mostly because I wrote in very large handwriting.
Kathy, who had completed a short hand typing course at Pitman’s and
took on a job at Kodak as a secretary to typist must have had time on
her hands for she kindly types my stories for me at work.</span></span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Outings
from school were always a big highlight. This picture of Kathy was
taken with a Kodak Box Brownie in 1966 or 1967</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">At
same time as this I set up the DHS (the Dog and Horse Society), which
as I remember only ever had three members apart from myself – my
mother, my Aunt Barbara and Johnny Rhodes a mentally-challenged
friend and outsider at boarding school.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
remember poor Johnny Rhodes scoring his first rugby try, The only
problem was, he ran in the wrong direction and so had the whole field
to himself everyone laughed at him.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Poor
Johnny. He hated so much the dreadful fish that we were served up
while I was made to stay at the table until I finished my lunch of
luncheon sausage and salad. I also remember the piles of sugar that
went on my porridge (a habit I still haven’t completely thrown
off!) and eating my sausages with butter accompaniment because I
didn’t like tomato sauce.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
remember one year - 1967, when my parents went on a six month overseas
trip I was farmed out to various uncles and aunts during the school
holidays. I didn’t enjoy my time with aunt hand and uncle Dick’s
so much because they made me eat spaghetti bolognase which I didn’t
like and tried to wean me off my 3 teaspoons of sugar in my tea which
I learnt from boarding school.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My
whole childhood was largely a list of things that we did with the
Keddell family – skating at Cave, outings from school to the
Winchester show and to Waihi Gorge where we played murder and caught
and cooked trout. </span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The Keddell boys and friends on holiday at teh tram on Lake Ohau - ealy 60's</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">Steve
Keddell was a great childhood friend, both at home and at school.
Peter, his father was my godfather and his mother Robina was a great
pal of my mother's.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
often used to visit and sometimes stay during the holidays - first at
Chapel Farm near Cust and then the home in Repton Street.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
associate the story of Joseph from the Bible with my godfather Peter
who used to read it to us, and sharing the same bedroom as my friend
Steve who was about 18 months older than me.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I'm
sure I was the butt of pranks played by the older Keddell boys.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
remember my brother Jeremy would always hide his Dinky toys if he
knew the Keddell boys were coming.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>Exposure
to pesticides</b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">They
were largely, carefree happy times.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">They
were also the origin of things that have later come to plague my
life. In particular, I’m sure that I have suffered from the
consequences of being exposed to toxic pesticides – (My godfather, Peter, recalled how they used to mix up the DDT by hand!).</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Pesticides,
as I have later found out tend to have long-term effects for those
who are downwind and absorb into their lungs (and bodies) the smaller
molecules which go on to injure the endocrine and other body systems
in later year</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My
mother, who was already smaller and less robust than her sisters, I
am sure, was exposed to chemicals just like her children. She went
on, in later life to develop and die from breast cancer, while my
elder brother has gone on to suffer from several strange autoimmune
diseases.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">With my mother and father and sister, Kathy, 1970</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Right
from the age of about 12 or 13 I had strange things happen such as the onset of a skin condition, which
has never left me. After exposure to water, such as swimming or taking a shower I would be driven to
distraction by severe itching which would only pass after about half
an hour. I suffered from many many strange and inexplicable symptoms
which caused the doctors and medical specialists to scratch their
heads.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
also experienced symptoms what might be called depression, an
inexplicable sense of sadness or melancholy,</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My
parents, who must have at a total loss as to how to deal with this
got the name of a Dr Ding who tried his best to treat me with group
therapy, Luckily these were in the days before anti depressants like
Prozac became popular. Naturally this didn't work, just like the many
other treatments for my various ailments. </span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
now understand that this was not depression in the commonly-viewed
sense and therefore would not respond to any conventional treatment.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This
was, rather, a manifestation of what is called in homeopathy, a miasm
which is "a general weakness or predisposition to chronic
disease that is transmitted down the generational chain".</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Not
only was I actually exposed to pesticides but I also suffered from
the results of my mother's exposure.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As the years have passed (especially since my late-40's and 50's) symptoms have got only worse. About our years ago, after falling off my horse my health started to take a nosedive and I started to become familiar with the hospital system and have been diagnosed with both malignant melanoma (operated on) as well as sarcoidosis, an autoimmune condition.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Mostly, however my progressively-deteriorating health has been denied by the medical industry - because they have nothing to offer.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>Christ's
College</b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLrkmXFhGayBJy3uX0YQgkb8P7Mx-cyKMW0Fq_pzMuMM3BcqChgejizCoofRX8Rcr3RO9nvcARubfQcsmdoH3Xj-zQCEuoPPpdY26WkfnIlzYdsvufpl8K37Npxchyphenhyphen55ylJZ8RZu5Xof3X/s1600/200px-The_Christ's_College_Quad_and_buildings.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="337" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLrkmXFhGayBJy3uX0YQgkb8P7Mx-cyKMW0Fq_pzMuMM3BcqChgejizCoofRX8Rcr3RO9nvcARubfQcsmdoH3Xj-zQCEuoPPpdY26WkfnIlzYdsvufpl8K37Npxchyphenhyphen55ylJZ8RZu5Xof3X/s1600/200px-The_Christ's_College_Quad_and_buildings.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">At
the age of 13 I was sent to a very traditional school in
Christchurch, Christ’s College that has educated many sons of the
Canterbury ruling class and farmers to become influential, successful - but emotionally- stunted members of New Zealand Society.</span></span></div>
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<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">1970.
Halswell My first year at Christ's College, I am in my school
uniform while my sister Kathy is preparing to leave for her first
overseas trip and has left her job as a secretary-typist with
Shacklocks.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
obviously didn’t do well at the entrance examination for I was
relegated to 3C, a midstream class. Even though, as I realise in
retrospect, I was offered a good education and had several fine teachers
I did not thrive and my more creative and imaginative side was
largely suppressed. Consequently I only studied with due diligence
those things that caught my imagination and I often found myself
punished for minor infractions that I cannot recall any longer. I am
sure that the real reason was that I was “different”.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
was punished, partially for my lack of attention to schoolwork, but
also for my association with a wonderful teacher, Frank Andrews who
did foster my creative side as well is my passion for astronomy. I
think he was hated by my small-minded housemaster, “Potguts”
Barton whose greatest love was for conformity to mainstream values.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">A
contemporary photo of my friend and guiding light through my years at
school. Frank (aka 'Haddock') was never my teacher, but was an
inspiration who my otherwise miserable experience bearable</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Consequently
for some time I was barred from attending evening sessions of the
Canterbury astronomical Society which were held in the Christ’s
College Hall. </span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Obviously
it was more important that I should do my three hours homework!</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
boys were forbidden to walk on the quadrangle at Christ's College</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
have a fairly painful memory of being sent during my lunch hour once
out of the college gates and around the corner to Barton’s house
where I had to ask his wife for the cane which I carried back to the
House so that I could be ritually caned with all the prefects present
and to come down the stairs afterwards where everyone was waiting.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">No
way to treat a sensitive, growing boy. </span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>An
outlet in astronomy</b></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
found my outlet in astronomy and in stargazing. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">At the age of 14 I
gave a talk to all the adults of the astronomical Society on "<i>Stellar evolution and the Hertzsprung- Russell diagram</i>”. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I started
a project, with my friend Greg Welch, to produce a photographic star
atlas. It never came to anything but I spent many happy hours copying
out information from a a star catalogue of the different
constellations, as well as making some wonderful photographs of the
night sky. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Later on I was given the opportunity to give public talks
on astronomy at the planetarium at the Canterbury Museum.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I developed a passion for astronomy when I was still at Waihi and read
and studied as much as I could, including wonderful books by the
likes of the famous Patrick Moore. I shared this interest with another boy, Andrew
Collier who was a little younger, a little more brilliant than I - he got 99% in school certicat mathematics - and was destined to become quite
a genius astronomer. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He was,however, a funny little boy who used to collect insects and
beetles which he kept in matchboxes. </span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Andrew and I used to sneak out during the winter nights to star gaze and to
familiarise ourselves with the constellations. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I don’t think we had
a telescope to look through but I became very familiar with the
sights of the night sky. The skies were dark and very clear and I’m
sure that we were able to see down to the magical sixth magnitude
that are supposed to be the limit to what can be seen by the naked
eye. I remember the brilliance of the Milky Way in the southern skies and seeing meteor stars and satellites crossing
the sky.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0Vjyj6viPoAzVIiMljHEVkbmIGJgQ9msWKEIweJt1VbgC0ubPVv8b-QxTeXUO5S5-SOqEixCT_M1axtwL4LqA2QUW0tHO-joZo1qNgOEhDoEyvRuzGcXtqKNARyPNqUw2wOiomHuQ007J/s1600/West_Melton_general_view_small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0Vjyj6viPoAzVIiMljHEVkbmIGJgQ9msWKEIweJt1VbgC0ubPVv8b-QxTeXUO5S5-SOqEixCT_M1axtwL4LqA2QUW0tHO-joZo1qNgOEhDoEyvRuzGcXtqKNARyPNqUw2wOiomHuQ007J/s1600/West_Melton_general_view_small.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">The
Canterbury Astronomical Society observatory in West Melton looks much
like what it did 40 years ago - although there are way more trees</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
was very beautiful.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Some
memories become distorted by time but I’m sure my recollection is
of many beautiful night skies. Now, at least in the city , it has
become impossible to see more from the brightest of stars. The skies
have become more polluted and affected by light and we need to designate areas "<i>heritage areas", </i> such as Lake Tekapo for their dark skies.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> The clear skies
that I remember from my childhood in Canterbury have gone, and, at
least here in Wellington, are less sharp and more misty than they
were.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
don’t know whether it’s just age but much of the magic I felt
from looking up into the heavens has gone.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Unfortunately,
my ambition to become an astronomer was marred by my dislike of
mathematics (taught by the hated "Potguts" Barton), mediocre marks in school certificate physics and hopeless results in chemistry. </span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
realised in my university entrance year, that I was not cut out to be
an astronomer, so I decided, mid-year, against all advice, to give up
chemistry and to take up history. I was told that it was impossible,
but by the end of the year I not only passed my history examination
but came second in my class.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>"You're
a communist"...</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I was always an outsider while at secondary school but soon found another reason to stand outside the mainstream.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I had a penchant for writing away to foreign embassies for
information about their countries. By far the most generous was the
embassy of the USSR which sent me, not only leaflets about the huge
social achievements of the USSR but also several works by Lenin.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7ZSazGpt2MZVelP4Ja0zuEwm208agtGes4dWPLyqw-JxdpwW00dy23b30mk-J0cBfCBK6N1nPUvcpWhSaXpSl7bUwjb8IicwteMcPITxSL5U5WH9ya-CdvXKjFpe8rPtMk2_YZEhdV_Fy/s1600/search.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7ZSazGpt2MZVelP4Ja0zuEwm208agtGes4dWPLyqw-JxdpwW00dy23b30mk-J0cBfCBK6N1nPUvcpWhSaXpSl7bUwjb8IicwteMcPITxSL5U5WH9ya-CdvXKjFpe8rPtMk2_YZEhdV_Fy/s1600/search.jpg" width="216" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Naturally
I flaunted these books at school and the taunts came back “<i>you’re
a communist!”</i>. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Well, I thought, perhaps I am! And these comments
were enough to stimulate me to find out as much as I could about
Marxism -Leninism, "<i>scientific atheism</i>" - and to start
learning the Russian language, which I immediately excelled at.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This,
naturally, was no recipe for courting popularity at a very
conservative school in a conservative country and every action
produced an equal reaction in me.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In
short it always rankled being a 'blackball' and I started to hate the
milieu that I came out of and identified with the 'people' -
essentially with thee downtrodden and outsiders like myself.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>Early
environmental awareness</b></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">One
of the results of my time at secondary school was that I did was that
I received the basics of understanding of some of the problems we're
facing today - put simply, overpopulation and the limits to growth.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">For
instance I remember quite early on, in social studies classes
learning about population explosion We were taught how 2000 would be
the year in which “<i>the stork would pass the crow”</i>. In other
words,this was when the population, which was projected to reach 6
billion and would exceed the ability to feed them. </span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Does
this sound familiar?</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
was so shaken by this back then that I looked for further information
and found in the school library the first book on the subject by Paul
and Ann Ehrlich.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
also remember we had a wonderful liberal studies teacher, an
American, Mr.Carvil Carpenter. When we did projects on the different
religions - I chose, instead of studying a religion to do an project
on 'atheism'. I remember distinctly reading then that Buddhism was an
'atheistic religion'. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I also recall distinctly Mr. Carpenter quoting
Jacques Cousteau about the deteriorating state of the oceans back
then, in 1973.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
recall a class when one smart arse put up his hand and asked what
Mr. Carpenter thought about (John) Lennon. Poor Mr. Carpenter didn't understand
the question and thought he was being asked what he thought of Lenin.
Naturally this produced great mirth.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Unfortunately,
Mr. Carpenter, who was one of my inspirational teachers, had to leave
the school very suddenly, under mysterious circumstances, which I suspect were connected with sexual misconduct.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My
friend Frank Andrews, who was a biology teacher,I remember, produced
a resource on a cyclostyled sheet providing anecdotes and facts of
all the environmental problems of the time. </span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">One
thing that sticks in my memory from this sheet was about the effect
of DDT on the eggs of baldheaded eagles in the United States. The
shells, it seems, were thinning and being broken. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Now the bald-headed
eagle is under threat again.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There
were I admit, looking back,many positive aspects to an education at
Christ's College. But this should be available to all, not only to
those that have the money to pay for it.</span></span></div>
<br /></div>
seemorerockshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09638172074263860001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4895746758576642600.post-48638453084691020502015-01-01T18:18:00.000-08:002015-01-06T19:48:22.483-08:00Chapter one - part one<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #720002;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: 44pt;"><b>This
I can tell</b></span></span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="p1">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #343434;"><span style="font-family: ArialMT, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>by Robin
Westenra (Seemorerocks)</b></span></span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p2">
<b><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">Early life</span></b></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: ArialMT, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">1956,
the year in which I was born, was a momentous year</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivdr5qMcSRU6aM8Ic25sZlgX_TIpmJil1AeA-GoOO569CxFllYiN4Zu1CprR_ay8xAjF4ivn6QI_s4Z8dNihtnED8VdlpiQziEIcxYpfkI3Jkz_5A0kjTeLG7oM7D_PUFg2Tmwz1n_EZOn/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivdr5qMcSRU6aM8Ic25sZlgX_TIpmJil1AeA-GoOO569CxFllYiN4Zu1CprR_ay8xAjF4ivn6QI_s4Z8dNihtnED8VdlpiQziEIcxYpfkI3Jkz_5A0kjTeLG7oM7D_PUFg2Tmwz1n_EZOn/s1600/1.jpg" height="400" width="373" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: ArialMT, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Quite
apart from my fateful appearance in the world it was the year of the
Hungarian revolution, of the Suez canal invasion, the year in which
Khrushchev revealed the Soviet Communist Party Congress the secrets
of Stalin’s crimes.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: ArialMT, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
was the time of life when my parents were building up a life after
the war.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: ArialMT, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span>
</div>
</div>
<div class="p2">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My mother as a bride</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="p3">
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: ArialMT, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">World
War II had taken out the best years of my father’s life when he was
in his prime, fighting in Crete and North Africa, including at
Alamein.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: ArialMT, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My
father was an introverted man.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: ArialMT, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">His
mother had had three lots of twins and he was unfortunate to be the
oldest twin – hence he was largely unloved by his mother who during
the war reportedly left his letters on the table unopened. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: ArialMT, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He
must’ve carried a lot of pain from that. But for us he showed his
love that the only way he could – that was through hard work to
provide a future for his children.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: ArialMT, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My
mother like many women of that era had had her own dreams – she
wanted to become a doctor, but that was not what her parents had in
mind for her. She was able to live a life of comparative leisure and
to ride horses as well is to compete in showjumping until the man she
was to marry came along. Hence for my mother there was a lot of
unfulfilled potential and longing for something deeper all her life.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: ArialMT, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My
mother had a showjumping accident in her prime and broke her neck,
She recovered but was wracked by pain for the rest of her life.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: ArialMT, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My
parents were married in 1944, towards the end of the war and
commenced farming at te Wai next to the Westenra family farm, Camla.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: ArialMT, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Life
was simple, There was no electricity and my mother churned milk for
butter. The farm was next to the Selwyn river they were flooded out
several times, </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: ArialMT, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My
brother Jeremy was the first to arrive in April 1947 follow shortly
thereafter by my sister Kathy, in 1948.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: ArialMT, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
was the third child and came along as an “afterthought”.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: ArialMT, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
must have rankled with my siblings, as 8 to 9 years olds, to have
their beloved dog Paddy taken away from them in consideration of the
newborn baby.</span></span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="p2">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDGsUQi9JJ-7wluGgoxyh_rv6jRnaugA9GaacKaFLcbm4P158z4NTI7uCmdEF0oVQR8JUr7uvHt_bSwBRXnp_vswNcicj1App3ZHvmaKr9LRs6pGX2C8MoaCWVr3xntRLaRDVYTEqgTUiZ/s1600/Mum+and+Dad++'50's%3F.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDGsUQi9JJ-7wluGgoxyh_rv6jRnaugA9GaacKaFLcbm4P158z4NTI7uCmdEF0oVQR8JUr7uvHt_bSwBRXnp_vswNcicj1App3ZHvmaKr9LRs6pGX2C8MoaCWVr3xntRLaRDVYTEqgTUiZ/s1600/Mum+and+Dad++'50's%3F.jpg" height="400" width="290" /></a></div>
<div class="p2" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My mother with her first two children, Jeremy and Katherine</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p3">
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
story was that when I came along my father asked his best friend,
Peter Keddell to come out because he wanted to show him something on
the farm. He drove Peter out to the far end of the farm and pulled a
bottle of gin out of the boot of the car. After several classes and
'Dutch courage' my father finally got round to asking Peter if he
would be godfather to his baby Robin.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This
was the same man who when the New Zealand troops were being evacuated
from Crete and bombed by the Germans, sat on the deck of the ship and
without any concern of his own safety, maintained his men’s
morale by regaling them with stories about how he and his horse
Burglar had won the Grand National.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="p2">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Family outing: This photo shows my mother with her two eldest, my father's sister, Ann and children and two of the Keddell boys.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My
parents moved from their first farm at te Wai to a second one near
Pleasant Point inland from Timaru. I came along on the 30th July,
1956.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
have few clear memories of my first years on this earth but have
picked up stories from my family. These are intermingled with
isolated and vague memories</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
do recollection going to school in Pleasant Point with a brown
leather satchel and a plastic lunchbox of honey sandwiches, because
that was the only thing that I would eat.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span>
</div>
</div>
<div class="p4">
<span class="s1"><b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Early days at school</span></b></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtXeno_zb5nhI3vNXwIKTsgFn61VDYZ_X0Pc1MuB9HvLt9zM6fDxdutH5qfrb7EI2T5wn9-D7MztrR39GlGUlB6HGR3AavVWR4dhuRsP0EW1h5NXixuSpws4Xmizaq4KsDIkM-qzU_cVka/s1600/Robin+c.+1962.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtXeno_zb5nhI3vNXwIKTsgFn61VDYZ_X0Pc1MuB9HvLt9zM6fDxdutH5qfrb7EI2T5wn9-D7MztrR39GlGUlB6HGR3AavVWR4dhuRsP0EW1h5NXixuSpws4Xmizaq4KsDIkM-qzU_cVka/s1600/Robin+c.+1962.jpg" height="640" width="395" /></a></div>
<div class="p3">
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
was a fussy eater, or it least excessively conservative. I just loved
my weetbix followed by eggs for breakfast and roast lamb with a small
range of vegetables that I would even look at – such as carrots and
peas for dinner.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
think that was about the extent of my diet.</span></span></span></div>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span>
<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">With the Keddell family at Lake Oahu</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="p3">
<br />
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
remember when our whole family was at Omarama while my father went
gliding. On this particular visit he was oblivious to the fact that
his family was flooded out of their tent and had to take refuge in a
local hotel. I don’t remember this myself but it is a story that my
family have often repeated. Apparently I loved to have my eggs and
bacon first because that’s what I enjoyed and would follow that up
with my Weetbix. I wanted to follow this pattern at the breakfast
table in the restaurant but the Australian waitress would have none
of it and said in an imperious voice “Weetbix is first!”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My Mum and Dad with Kathy and yours truly. I presume Jeremy is behind the camera</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
have memories of holidays with my family at Kakanui, near Oamaru. We
must have watched Peter Snell, Murray Halberg running because, the
story goes, I ran about in my underpants emulating Peter Snell.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Peter
Keddell and his family farmed closeby and there were many joint
family outings. The two families would go ice skating at Cave. I
used to push a chair around on skates.</span></span></span></div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">First days at school</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="p3">
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Then
there were holidays at Lake Ohau - there Robina Keddell and her three
children, William, Phillip and Stephen, stayed in an old tram, which
I can remember. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
two men were absent, being at home working the farm.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
must have been a frustrating child for my mother, clinging and needy
– I do remember my common plaintiff was “I don’t know what to
do”as I followed my mother out once you put the washing on the
line.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My
brother Jeremy used to put his building skills to work by building me
tree huts and even a fort that I used to call Fort Buckland. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
have absolutely no memories of the farm where we lived near Timaru
until the age of five but have the most wonderful memories of the
farm at Summerhill in North Canterbury we called Fermoy, situated
between Cust and Oxford.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
lived in a blue bungalow made of cobb that was already then 100 years
old. It had walls with 3 feet thick so that it was cool in summer and
warm in winter. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
was a wonderful farm to grow up on and I loved the outbuildings
including the wool shed where I helped out during the shearing season
and explored the wonderful attic which had many treasures stored in
it, including an old stole made a fox fur, my father’s old military
uniform and many photographs from my mother’s showjumping days.</span></span></span></div>
</div>
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<div class="p5">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The driveway with the old sheds and the sheepdog, Star</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="p2">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
recall a happy and close relationship with my sister Kathy as she
offered me homely advice to her five-year-old brother, such as
“sticks and stones may break your bones but words will never hurt
you” and “you’re not the only pebble on the beach”.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Later
on, perhaps when I was seven or eight, she introduced me to the
Beatles by taking me to a double feature, A Hard Day’s Night and
Help!</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Another
favourite was Trini Lopez while Jeremy preferred Can Can and Cliff
Richard's Summer Holiday.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
remember going places with her and being introduced by her to my
first alcohol which is surreptitiously added something a bit stronger
to my lemonade.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
am jumping ahead of myself but when TV came along in 1965 amongst all
the programs were classics like Fireball XL5 and Robin Hood, I
loved Danny Kaye. Unbeknownst to my parents I placed an article in
the Press for a "Danny Kaye fan club". Several people must
have answered for I wrote away (and received) autographed pictures.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
I entered my cowboy phase I became obsessed with country and western
singer, John Hore (Grennell) and collected all the records I could of
him.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
Cottrells had a son, Michael (or Mickey) who was the same age. We
used to play cowboys and Indians together and hang out in the old
fort that my brother Jeremy built for me, or in a tree hut</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A
lot of my play was solitary and dependent on a good imagination.
Invariably, it revolved around cowboys and Injuns. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
I was lucky I could play with my friends Mickey or Gerard Thomson.
Occasionally my friend Steve Keddell came over to play.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
don't think anyone consented to play the role of an "Injun"
because the cowboys always won!</span></span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span>
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl3IETl4nokP9t0F1Poql9oJwncvReHaFzW_1EgrFc375zYkqnJ0plseopKuobvsgk8Kv9pQigDXa7zmBqdae-A_C9e3moYYt9YZrdTdO1GpL74nXWJ_RKOLv_s11h0sP-izGQlYD4lswz/s1600/9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl3IETl4nokP9t0F1Poql9oJwncvReHaFzW_1EgrFc375zYkqnJ0plseopKuobvsgk8Kv9pQigDXa7zmBqdae-A_C9e3moYYt9YZrdTdO1GpL74nXWJ_RKOLv_s11h0sP-izGQlYD4lswz/s1600/9.jpg" height="320" width="400" /></a>`</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here are the three siblings - Kathy, me, Jeremy</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">These
were the days of a stable climate when we had beautiful summers when
we swam in the pristine waters of the Ashley River or had picnics at
Ashley Gorge. In winter there were plent of clear frosty mornings and
beautiful days, when I remember feeding out to the sheep.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
used to go out with my father in his wonderful old truck, filling it
with hay and driving out to feed out to the sheep. My father was able
to put the truck or the tractor into a low gear, climb onto the back
and feed out the hay. When I was a little older he would drive the
vehicle as I fit out the hay. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
had my first driving lessons with my father sitting on his knee
steering the vehicle as we drove around the paddock. Later on I was
allowed to drive through the paddock with my father sitting
alongside. I’m not sure that at some stage I didn’t drive the
vehicle into something – I was sure to have.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
had an old-fashioned phone and our telephone number was 3K Cust; we
were on a party line and my mother got exasperated because our
neighbour Lois Cottrell would often be listening on the other end of
the phone to Mum’s conversations</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
have a recollection of agreeing with my two friends, Mickey, who
lived in the farm nextdoor, and Neil who lived a couple of miles
along the road in the direction of Cust, to run away from home on
some great adventure. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
it was dark I sneaked out of the house and walk down to the
Cottrells, walked into their house only to find that Michael was in
bed fast asleep. So there was only one thing for it, I would have to
set out on my own and so I started walking towards Niels place (a
funny little pink cottage). </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Something
must have alerted my family to the fact that I had set off and it was
picked up by car before making it to Neils place. That was the end of
my adventure.</span></span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p4">
<span class="s1"><b><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Horses</span></b></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p2">
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</div>
<div class="p5">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My mother riding Ginger with me on Star</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
Cottrells also had an ancient pony,Star who was quite fat and tended
towards founder. However she was able to give me my first riding
experiences. Although he was an expert horseman I don’t recall my
father ever giving me anything much in the way of instruction. A
saddle was put on Star's back over a wheat sack and had bucket
stirrups. Basically I was put on the horse and sent on my way. I do
remember Star bolting through the trees and flicking me off on the
way. I was told that one hadn’t really learn to ride until one was
thrown off 13 times.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
had wonderful rides, both with my mother and with my sister Kathy who
used to borrow a chestnut from down the road, called Ginger. I have
photographs of my mother on the horse with me as well is a scratchy
old photograph somewhere of a friend at a party, Doug Ensor and my
mother was sitting backwards on Star.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Later
on, when I was about 12, I was given my first pony whose name was
Peter. He moved with us to our new home in Halswell, Christchurch
when my father retired to 20 acres on the edge of town. In those days
I was able to ride along the verges of the roads and never be
bothered by much traffic.</span></span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSdBjpAIuEg9i0EQvXKbwXfFEa8vLXfp_uf1WaaXRw1UEFGypiAiiH5I-zsi4H1z_5iUOUUE1fKGzTFH59sI-cmZuHimpGkKRluH29lw8K9i7Q6w50eF5XiJcmRooV9pmwAbRffCNmQF4V/s1600/On+Peter+-+1968-69.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSdBjpAIuEg9i0EQvXKbwXfFEa8vLXfp_uf1WaaXRw1UEFGypiAiiH5I-zsi4H1z_5iUOUUE1fKGzTFH59sI-cmZuHimpGkKRluH29lw8K9i7Q6w50eF5XiJcmRooV9pmwAbRffCNmQF4V/s1600/On+Peter+-+1968-69.jpg" height="355" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Peter and I in the garden. I don't think we ever bothered about helmets</span></div>
</div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So
different to today when you take your life in your hands if you
decide to ride a horse anywhere on the roads. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
old two-storey homestead in Halswell, built 140 years ago, from
pit-sawn timber, is now surrounded by the most ugly new housing
development All the land and the farm buildings are now gone giving
way to (not so) 'little boxes" built since the 2011 earthquake
of 2011 as the city expands to the south, leaving the devastation
wreaked in the centre and east of the city.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Later
on, when I was at boarding school as an 11-year-old, I loved to write
stories about imaginary characters such as cowboy Jim Logan. These
stories reached 100 pages long, mostly because I wrote in very large
handwriting. But Kathy, who had completed a short hand typing course
at Pitman’s and took on a job at Kodak as a secretary typist -
(she was probably underemployed) - kindly spent some of her work time
typing out my stories for me.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">At
same time as this I set up the DHS (the Dog and Horse Society), which
as I remember only ever had four members – my mother, my Aunt
Barbara and Johnny Rhodes a mentally challenged friend and outsider
at boarding school.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
remember one year, 1967, when my parents went on a six month overseas
trip, I was farmed out to various uncles and aunts during the school
holidays. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
didn’t enjoy my time with Aunt Ann and Uncle Dick so much because
they made me eat macaroni cheese which I didn’t like and tried to
wean me off my 3 teaspoons of sugar in my tea which I learnt from
boarding school.</span></span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span>
<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My mother with Aunt Barbara</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="p3">
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Holidays
with Aunt Barbara and Uncle Gerald were a different matter. They
lived in a huge house (as it seemed to me) – the old Westenra
family home, and had a wonderful set of stairs and ample room
underneath where I was able to find objects of play including an old
gramophone. I spent many happy hours under those stairs.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Aunt
Barbara was invariably kind and allowed me to eat as many Weetbix as
I wanted. She was also, of course, a founding member of the dog and
horse Society.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
</div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>Waihi
School</b></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="p1">
<br />
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
was sent off to boarding school at the tender age of 9, after a
couple of years at the local school in Cust - as was the tradition in
Canterbury farming families. </span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Waihi
was a small preparatory school with less than 100 pupils and had a tradition
of its pupils running fairly wild, building tree huts, and more
worryingly, underground tunnels - (A stop was put to that quite
quickly),</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
was a sensitive child but I suppose boarding school was supposed to
be character building. </span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
I was sent off from home I was still wetting my bed and I have
memories of being teased about this mercilessly, as well as having to
clean my sheets in freezing water on cold South Canterbury frosty
mornings.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At Waihi school, c. 1967</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">For
all that, life there was reasonably benign, at least in my memory,
although in the first year I was there the dormitories were in the
old wooden building and there were no showers – the boys had to
share a bath with water that was cold and dirty by the time you got
there. I have recollection of being caught talking after lights out
and being taken down to the bathroom to be slippered.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
don’t have a visceral memory of the cold but it must have been
freezing. We all wore shorts all year round, even in the cold
winters. I suppose it was a bit of the old country! </span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There
was a common room which I remember had a painting of Capt Oates from
Scott’s 1912 Antarctic expedition saying “I might be some time”
as he stoically walked out to his death. </span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In
winter there was an open fire and all the boys gathered round to be
as close to the warmth as possible and on these winter evenings large
pots of cocoa were served out.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
was also in the common room where we were given boxing lessons by
someone who came in once a week – I remember hating that. </span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
remember the Mayor of Temuka coming in to give art lessons, and with
my friend Matthew Turnbull painting a mural of the Battle of
Trafalgar or some other sea battle.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
I arrived this coincided with what must have been the first
modernisation in the history of the school with the construction of a
brand-new teaching and dormitory block. The dormitories actually had
proper showers.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">From
an early age I hated sports, except I have a memory of playing French
cricket.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
have memories of tree huts and wonderful times spent outdoors. However,
much of my time was spent in the library where I did various research
projects such as learning the names of all the world's capital cities
or the geography of all the states of the USA.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
was obsessed with knowing everything there was to know about the life
and death of Capt. R.F. Scott's 1912 expedition to the South Pole.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
can still remember, to this day, some of the great events of 1968,
such as the assassinations of Bobby Kennedy and Martin Luther King, as
well as the Wahine disaster - because I kept newspaper cuttings which
I put into a scrapbook.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
lived out my fantasy life as an 11-year-old writing stories about
characters such as Jim Logan, a heroic cowboy. These stories reached
100 pages long, mostly because I wrote in very large handwriting.
Kathy, who had completed a short hand typing course at Pitman’s and
took on a job at Kodak as a secretary to typist must have had time on
her hands for she kindly types my stories for me at work.</span></span></div>
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</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Outings
from school were always a big highlight. This picture of Kathy was
taken with a Kodak Box Brownie in 1966 or 1967</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">At
same time as this I set up the DHS (the Dog and Horse Society), which
as I remember only ever had three members apart from myself – my
mother, my Aunt Barbara and Johnny Rhodes a mentally-challenged
friend and outsider at boarding school.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
remember poor Johnny Rhodes scoring his first rugby try, The only
problem was, he ran in the wrong direction and so had the whole field
to himself everyone laughed at him.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Poor
Johnny. He hated so much the dreadful fish that we were served up
while I was made to stay at the table until I finished my lunch of
luncheon sausage and salad. I also remember the piles of sugar that
went on my porridge (a habit I still haven’t completely thrown
off!) and eating my sausages with butter accompaniment because I
didn’t like tomato sauce.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
remember one year - 1967, when my parents went on a six month overseas
trip I was farmed out to various uncles and aunts during the school
holidays. I didn’t enjoy my time with aunt hand and uncle Dick’s
so much because they made me eat spaghetti bolognase which I didn’t
like and tried to wean me off my 3 teaspoons of sugar in my tea which
I learnt from boarding school.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My
whole childhood was largely a list of things that we did with the
Keddell family – skating at Cave, outings from school to the
Winchester show and to Waihi Gorge where we played murder and caught
and cooked trout. </span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiCXFbtA1br5BVxrXRoRQgcpt8VkQMOSGC-p44ASrHjY9MfLWF8lrJB-JXWZ8bBrl2mHuNOmIeXg46nZmwJJvglqScg_GNANvxbJZu3uGHm2WkvGjMCQsymUhcOduKCr7CSMFPLT0piIIF/s1600/At+Lake+Ohau.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiCXFbtA1br5BVxrXRoRQgcpt8VkQMOSGC-p44ASrHjY9MfLWF8lrJB-JXWZ8bBrl2mHuNOmIeXg46nZmwJJvglqScg_GNANvxbJZu3uGHm2WkvGjMCQsymUhcOduKCr7CSMFPLT0piIIF/s1600/At+Lake+Ohau.jpg" height="281" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Keddell boys and friends on holiday at teh tram on Lake Ohau - ealy 60's</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">Steve
Keddell was a great childhood friend, both at home and at school.
Peter, his father was my godfather and his mother Robina was a great
pal of my mother's.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
often used to visit and sometimes stay during the holidays - first at
Chapel Farm near Cust and then the home in Repton Street.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
associate the story of Joseph from the Bible with my godfather Peter
who used to read it to us, and sharing the same bedroom as my friend
Steve who was about 18 months older than me.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I'm
sure I was the butt of pranks played by the older Keddell boys.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
remember my brother Jeremy would always hide his Dinky toys if he
knew the Keddell boys were coming.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>Exposure
to pesticides</b></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">They
were largely, carefree happy times.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">They
were also the origin of things that have later come to plague my
life. In particular, I’m sure that I have suffered from the
consequences of being exposed to toxic pesticides – (My godfather, Peter, recalled how they used to mix up the DDT by hand!).</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Pesticides,
as I have later found out tend to have long-term effects for those
who are downwind and absorb into their lungs (and bodies) the smaller
molecules which go on to injure the endocrine and other body systems
in later year</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My
mother, who was already smaller and less robust than her sisters, I
am sure, was exposed to chemicals just like her children. She went
on, in later life to develop and die from breast cancer, while my
elder brother has gone on to suffer from several strange autoimmune
diseases.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWdWbKNRjc_kj41dRGPnH4yNFyAVm6WhWKeHROVsLl189svJ6vkDr3cQ6NEIhMPamg8nzSy9edSPptx0QAZjZAP4Fq_sYtZkNlJvnp47rntArszZpzDa9UWVc8j6DjYWvgF0cHDikWd2oj/s1600/In+rose+garden+-+Halswell.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWdWbKNRjc_kj41dRGPnH4yNFyAVm6WhWKeHROVsLl189svJ6vkDr3cQ6NEIhMPamg8nzSy9edSPptx0QAZjZAP4Fq_sYtZkNlJvnp47rntArszZpzDa9UWVc8j6DjYWvgF0cHDikWd2oj/s1600/In+rose+garden+-+Halswell.jpg" height="348" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">With my mother and father and sister, Kathy, 1970</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Right
from the age of about 12 or 13 I had strange things happen such as the onset of a skin condition, which
has never left me. After exposure to water, such as swimming or taking a shower I would be driven to
distraction by severe itching which would only pass after about half
an hour. I suffered from many many strange and inexplicable symptoms
which caused the doctors and medical specialists to scratch their
heads.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
also experienced symptoms what might be called depression, an
inexplicable sense of sadness or melancholy,</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My
parents, who must have at a total loss as to how to deal with this
got the name of a Dr Ding who tried his best to treat me with group
therapy, Luckily these were in the days before anti depressants like
Prozac became popular. Naturally this didn't work, just like the many
other treatments for my various ailments. </span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
now understand that this was not depression in the commonly-viewed
sense and therefore would not respond to any conventional treatment.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This
was, rather, a manifestation of what is called in homeopathy, a miasm
which is "a general weakness or predisposition to chronic
disease that is transmitted down the generational chain".</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Not
only was I actually exposed to pesticides but I also suffered from
the results of my mother's exposure.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As the years have passed (especially since my late-40's and 50's) symptoms have got only worse. About our years ago, after falling off my horse my health started to take a nosedive and I started to become familiar with the hospital system and have been diagnosed with both malignant melanoma (operated on) as well as sarcoidosis, an autoimmune condition.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Mostly, however my progressively-deteriorating health has been denied by the medical industry - because they have nothing to offer.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>Christ's
College</b></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLrkmXFhGayBJy3uX0YQgkb8P7Mx-cyKMW0Fq_pzMuMM3BcqChgejizCoofRX8Rcr3RO9nvcARubfQcsmdoH3Xj-zQCEuoPPpdY26WkfnIlzYdsvufpl8K37Npxchyphenhyphen55ylJZ8RZu5Xof3X/s1600/200px-The_Christ's_College_Quad_and_buildings.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLrkmXFhGayBJy3uX0YQgkb8P7Mx-cyKMW0Fq_pzMuMM3BcqChgejizCoofRX8Rcr3RO9nvcARubfQcsmdoH3Xj-zQCEuoPPpdY26WkfnIlzYdsvufpl8K37Npxchyphenhyphen55ylJZ8RZu5Xof3X/s1600/200px-The_Christ's_College_Quad_and_buildings.jpg" height="337" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">At
the age of 13 I was sent to a very traditional school in
Christchurch, Christ’s College that has educated many sons of the
Canterbury ruling class and farmers to become influential, successful - but emotionally- stunted members of New Zealand Society.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinFvr-25_DABnHvgDjAPelkRa519aT3jBiobnTZc6_8SLeSFxwcIjimbX8jBNukk-bCqzYbTYYR4ZtYaPb7rXoUQL9ulh9_xC_O3VVGMcb9hJHf1fUP8k9dfThR7_ld_bj31-N2m5bx9Ig/s1600/In+rose+garden+-+Halswell.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinFvr-25_DABnHvgDjAPelkRa519aT3jBiobnTZc6_8SLeSFxwcIjimbX8jBNukk-bCqzYbTYYR4ZtYaPb7rXoUQL9ulh9_xC_O3VVGMcb9hJHf1fUP8k9dfThR7_ld_bj31-N2m5bx9Ig/s1600/In+rose+garden+-+Halswell.jpg" height="348" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">1970.
Halswell My first year at Christ's College, I am in my school
uniform while my sister Kathy is preparing to leave for her first
overseas trip and has left her job as a secretary-typist with
Shacklocks. This is one of the only photos I have as I destroyed any photos connected with the detested Chris's College.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
obviously didn’t do well at the entrance examination for I was
relegated to 3C, a midstream class. Even though, as I realise in
retrospect, I was offered a good education and had several fine teachers
I did not thrive and my more creative and imaginative side was
largely suppressed. Consequently I only studied with due diligence
those things that caught my imagination and I often found myself
punished for minor infractions that I cannot recall any longer. I am
sure that the real reason was that I was “different”.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
was punished, partially for my lack of attention to schoolwork, but
also for my association with a wonderful teacher, Frank Andrews who
did foster my creative side as well is my passion for astronomy. I
think he was hated by my small-minded housemaster, “Potguts”
Barton whose greatest love was for conformity to mainstream values.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6rfOoozArc8F0VgCD7M-GKxMX3Ks5fnD7D3gDVEyDZS4ukTXuwQKCJJ7LeDvFpEf6UkGj34N5aQoWXCxHmZfzojt3OVFkEVnw0yGVvp5Tar62UIzfYWHADbvj_QLiExkTBajILR7kfPhyphenhyphen/s1600/Franl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6rfOoozArc8F0VgCD7M-GKxMX3Ks5fnD7D3gDVEyDZS4ukTXuwQKCJJ7LeDvFpEf6UkGj34N5aQoWXCxHmZfzojt3OVFkEVnw0yGVvp5Tar62UIzfYWHADbvj_QLiExkTBajILR7kfPhyphenhyphen/s1600/Franl.jpg" height="400" width="332" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">A
contemporary photo of my friend and guiding light through my years at
school. Frank (aka 'Haddock') was never my teacher, but was an
inspiration who my otherwise miserable experience bearable</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Consequently
for some time I was barred from attending evening sessions of the
Canterbury astronomical Society which were held in the Christ’s
College Hall. </span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Obviously
it was more important that I should do my three hours homework!</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
boys were forbidden to walk on the quadrangle at Christ's College</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
have a fairly painful memory of being sent during my lunch hour once
out of the college gates and around the corner to Barton’s house
where I had to ask his wife for the cane which I carried back to the
House so that I could be ritually caned with all the prefects present
and to come down the stairs afterwards where everyone was waiting.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">No
way to treat a sensitive, growing boy. </span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>An
outlet in astronomy</b></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
found my outlet in astronomy and in stargazing. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">At the age of 14 I
gave a talk to all the adults of the astronomical Society on "<i>Stellar evolution and the Hertzsprung- Russell diagram</i>”. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I started
a project, with my friend Greg Welch, to produce a photographic star
atlas. It never came to anything but I spent many happy hours copying
out information from a a star catalogue of the different
constellations, as well as making some wonderful photographs of the
night sky. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Later on I was given the opportunity to give public talks
on astronomy at the planetarium at the Canterbury Museum.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I developed a passion for astronomy when I was still at Waihi and read
and studied as much as I could, including wonderful books by the
likes of the famous Patrick Moore. I shared this interest with another boy, Andrew
Collier who was a little younger, a little more brilliant than I - he got 99% in school certicat mathematics - and was destined to become quite
a genius astronomer. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He was,however, a funny little boy who used to collect insects and
beetles which he kept in matchboxes. </span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Andrew and I used to sneak out during the winter nights to star gaze and to
familiarise ourselves with the constellations. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I don’t think we had
a telescope to look through but I became very familiar with the
sights of the night sky. The skies were dark and very clear and I’m
sure that we were able to see down to the magical sixth magnitude
that are supposed to be the limit to what can be seen by the naked
eye. I remember the brilliance of the Milky Way in the southern skies and seeing meteor stars and satellites crossing
the sky.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0Vjyj6viPoAzVIiMljHEVkbmIGJgQ9msWKEIweJt1VbgC0ubPVv8b-QxTeXUO5S5-SOqEixCT_M1axtwL4LqA2QUW0tHO-joZo1qNgOEhDoEyvRuzGcXtqKNARyPNqUw2wOiomHuQ007J/s1600/West_Melton_general_view_small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0Vjyj6viPoAzVIiMljHEVkbmIGJgQ9msWKEIweJt1VbgC0ubPVv8b-QxTeXUO5S5-SOqEixCT_M1axtwL4LqA2QUW0tHO-joZo1qNgOEhDoEyvRuzGcXtqKNARyPNqUw2wOiomHuQ007J/s1600/West_Melton_general_view_small.jpg" height="425" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The
Canterbury Astronomical Society observatory in West Melton looks much
like what it did 40 years ago - although there are way more trees</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
was very beautiful.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Some
memories become distorted by time but I’m sure my recollection is
of many beautiful night skies. Now, at least in the city , it has
become impossible to see more from the brightest of stars. The skies
have become more polluted and affected by light and we need to designate areas "<i>heritage areas", </i> such as Lake Tekapo for their dark skies.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> The clear skies
that I remember from my childhood in Canterbury have gone, and, at
least here in Wellington, are less sharp and more misty than they
were.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
don’t know whether it’s just age but much of the magic I felt
from looking up into the heavens has gone.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Unfortunately,
my ambition to become an astronomer was marred by my dislike of
mathematics (taught by the hated "Potguts" Barton), mediocre marks in school certificate physics and hopeless results in chemistry. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
realised in my university entrance year, that I was not cut out to be
an astronomer, so I decided, mid-year, against all advice, to give up
chemistry and to take up history. I was told that it was impossible,
but by the end of the year I not only passed my history examination
but came second in my class.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>"You're
a communist"...</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I was always an outsider while at secondary school but soon found another reason to stand outside the mainstream.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I had a penchant for writing away to foreign embassies for
information about their countries. By far the most generous was the
embassy of the USSR which sent me, not only leaflets about the huge
social achievements of the USSR but also several works by Lenin.</span></span></div>
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<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7ZSazGpt2MZVelP4Ja0zuEwm208agtGes4dWPLyqw-JxdpwW00dy23b30mk-J0cBfCBK6N1nPUvcpWhSaXpSl7bUwjb8IicwteMcPITxSL5U5WH9ya-CdvXKjFpe8rPtMk2_YZEhdV_Fy/s1600/search.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7ZSazGpt2MZVelP4Ja0zuEwm208agtGes4dWPLyqw-JxdpwW00dy23b30mk-J0cBfCBK6N1nPUvcpWhSaXpSl7bUwjb8IicwteMcPITxSL5U5WH9ya-CdvXKjFpe8rPtMk2_YZEhdV_Fy/s1600/search.jpg" height="320" width="216" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Naturally
I flaunted these books at school and the taunts came back “<i>you’re
a communist!”</i>. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Well, I thought, perhaps I am! And these comments
were enough to stimulate me to find out as much as I could about
Marxism -Leninism, "<i>scientific atheism</i>" - and to start
learning the Russian language, which I immediately excelled at.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This,
naturally, was no recipe for courting popularity at a very
conservative school in a conservative country and every action
produced an equal reaction in me.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In
short it always rankled being a 'blackball' and I started to hate the
milieu that I came out of and identified with the 'people' -
essentially with thee downtrodden and outsiders like myself.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>Early
environmental awareness</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">One
of the results of my time at secondary school was that I did was that
I received the basics of understanding of some of the problems we're
facing today - put simply, overpopulation and the limits to growth.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">For
instance I remember quite early on, in social studies classes
learning about population explosion We were taught how 2000 would be
the year in which “<i>the stork would pass the crow”</i>. In other
words,this was when the population, which was projected to reach 6
billion and would exceed the ability to feed them. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Does
this sound familiar?</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
was so shaken by this back then that I looked for further information
and found in the school library the first book on the subject by Paul
and Ann Ehrlich.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
also remember we had a wonderful liberal studies teacher, an
American, Mr.Carvil Carpenter. When we did projects on the different
religions - I chose, instead of studying a religion to do an project
on 'atheism'. I remember distinctly reading then that Buddhism was an
'atheistic religion'. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I also recall distinctly Mr. Carpenter quoting
Jacques Cousteau about the deteriorating state of the oceans back
then, in 1973.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
recall a class when one smart arse put up his hand and asked what
Mr. Carpenter thought about (John) Lennon. Poor Mr. Carpenter didn't understand
the question and thought he was being asked what he thought of Lenin.
Naturally this produced great mirth.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Unfortunately,
Mr. Carpenter, who was one of my inspirational teachers, had to leave
the school very suddenly, under mysterious circumstances, which I suspect were connected with sexual misconduct.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My
friend Frank Andrews, who was a biology teacher,I remember, produced
a resource on a cyclostyled sheet providing anecdotes and facts of
all the environmental problems of the time. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">One
thing that sticks in my memory from this sheet was about the effect
of DDT on the eggs of baldheaded eagles in the United States. The
shells, it seems, were thinning and being broken. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Now the bald-headed
eagle is under threat again.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There
were I admit, looking back,many positive aspects to an education at
Christ's College. But this should be available to all, not only to
those that have the money to pay for it.</span></span></div>
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