Dance - Part Four

July 1920.

From left to right: Auntie May, John, Maggie, Auntie Jean, and Uncle George.The women are sisters. The men are brothers. It is the wedding photo of my father’s mother and father.

John and Maggie had four children. My father was the youngest. His closest sibling by age was Isobel. A few years ago Isobel wrote her down her memories of different family members. Her memories of her mother Maggie were slim:

Mum was the eldest of six girls. When she was twelve her mother Rose died of milk fever. Mum was left to cope with the younger children and cook for the men working for Granddad in his blacksmith/wheelwright business.

In time Granddad had housekeepers and one Sarah Pollock became the new stepmother. She produced four children so then Mum was the eldest of ten. Mum was called upon to shoulder many duties and responsibilities with the family.The Mosgiel Woollen Mills was her place of employment, but cows had to be milked before and after work as well.My father and she courted for several years before marrying. Uncle Bill gave a section of land for a wedding present and a new house was constructed costing £350. Living within a stones throw of her family she spent much time helping her stepmother.My mother’s nature was gentle, I was told. She had bluey grey eyes and a sweet smile. Her build was slender. She had strong Christian convictions.

Isobel’s memories of her father were far more detailed although not as flattering.

For many years I was ashamed of my father.On the rare occasions I stayed at the family home at East Tairei I dreaded the greeting from my father when he arrived home from work in the evening. As soon as he saw me his face would light up joyously. He would seize me in a crushing bear-hug, hold me close until the breath was almost squeezed out of my body, and murmur “Toby, Toby”. This was his pet name for me. Then he would kiss me full on the lips with his beery breath enveloping me. All my life I’ve abhorred the smell of beer.Dad was a hardworking and conscientious man. It was his habit to rise at 5.30a.m. to be ready to leave for work with more than ample time, to arrive at the Tairei County Council yards. When questioned about his punctuality fetish he said, “I may have a puncture to mend.” He was not an optimist.Our father had a rugged weather-beaten face and piercing intense blue eyes. His favourite flower was the carnation. In his young days he was good sportsman and was particularly adept at throwing the hammer.In bad weather he wore thigh-high gumboots for work. On arriving home he would sit in a chair and get us children to pull them off – like a tug of war. Dad played the violin by ear and kept us entertained with merry tunes. I think the violin he owned may have been his most valuable possession. His ability to amuse us with silhouettes against the kitchen wall is still remembered. Outlines of animals were preferred.Dad smoked heavily. He used a pipe and also rolled his own cigarettes. It was his practise to join two tissues together. His theory was that he did not have to stop so often to roll one.Like all men of that era he had a gold chain to wear across his waistcoat with a fob of greenstone hanging from it. He looked quite a dandy in his wedding photo. My recollections are of a man with a very wrinkly face, flushed after consuming alcohol, rather large ears, a prominent nose and calloused hands.

My father told us many tales of his early working days up the Cairn with his father. They did fencing work. It was an area beyond Kuriwao Gorge, part of the Clinton area. They lived rough, staying out all week, often sleeping in a tent with bracken for a mattress. Wild pigs disturbed them regularly.Dad was a lean wiry man and very strong. His hand grip was like a vice. The most mind-boggling thing he told us of those days was the fact that he used to carry three coils of fencing wire at a time, each weighing 50kg. One was over each arm and a third around his neck.His descriptions of the bush written to my mother when he was courting were beautiful to read and had a clarity of expression. What impressed me most was his love of the beauty of nature. The picture he painted with words, of the rata in bloom and the bush lives in my mind still.

Stories for my Grandchildren, Isobel Spence

Marshall approached a member of AA to enquire how we could help our father overcome his drinking problem. Mr. Fraser, father of my friend Elsie, who was a ‘dry’ alcoholic went to talk with dad. Dad agreed to try out the plan of recovery.This took a tremendous amount of willpower. My sister Rae rang me often to report progress. Dad was making a stupendous effort but the toll was devastating. He would arrive home from work, having bypassed the hotel, absolutely pouring with perspiration and trembling. This went on for some considerable time. The taunts and persuasive remarks from his workmates finally broke his resolve. He reverted to his old habits much to our disappointment.When Bun wanted to ask my father for my hand in marriage I was rather nervous. Introductions went well. Dad was affable and pleasant. Bun, in his soft voice, told Dad he wished to marry me and would Dad give his permission. Dad’s response was, “If Isobel is happy, then it’s alright with me”.

Stories for my Grandchildren, Isobel Spence