To My Family.
Clara and George.
• Chapter 1: I Won't Detain You.
• Chapter 2: Big Harry.
• Chapter 3: Louisa Chapman.
• Chapter 4: Lena.
• Chapter 5: Lena and Harry.
• Chapter 6: Kerang.
• Chapter 7: Clara Jones.
• Chapter 8: West Australia.
• Chapter 9: Annie Davis.
• Chapter 10: George Thomas Fitzgerald.
• Chapter 11: Brookton, Armadale, Clara and George Married.
• Chapter 12: Bunbury, Bassendean, Subiaco, West Australia.
• Chapter 13: S. S. Wanganella, Melbourne and Sydney.
• Chapter 14: Mornington--New Zealand.
• Chapter 15: Invercargill.
• Chapter 16: Nelson.
• Chapter 17: Wellington--S.S. Maheno--Melbourne.
• Chapter 18: Ballarat.
• Chapter 19: Adelaide.
• Family Memories:
  Tribute to G. T.
  Tribute to Clara.
  Captain Manuel Awarded the D.F.C.
  The Fitzgerald-Langley Debate.
  G. T.'s Ministries.
  Holiday Reading.
  Genealogy.
  Those Seven People.

      This is a story. It is not an official family history, and it is certainly not fiction. All the characters you may meet within the following pages were, and are, real people. It is an historical novel.

      A literary critic may comment adversely on a family history which is evidently incorrect in facts and figures quoted. With a novel, however on the same grounds of accuracy, he may not. Because when certain details are not available the writer uses his imagination to successfully continue with his story. This I have done. I trust you find it readable.

      All my family have been totally supportive of me during the years it took to produce this book. Some had more opportunities than others. Gwen did some research in England for me, Barbara and Lin accepted the vital role of providing finance to get the project off the ground. Son, John, and his wife, Judy, took over the binding contract. Son-in-law, Roger Hollard, assisted by his wife Helen, undertook the quite onerous tasks of typing, checking, and giving excellent advice. His contribution was invaluable.

      My wife, Phyllis, was my ever present encourager, and very patient sounding board.

      Without the support of these wonderful people this book would still be a messy heap of papers.

      This is the story of Clara and George Fitzgerald and their family.

      It commences in 1834 when Joseph Davis married in Richmond, England; he and his wife were to become the Grandparents of George Thomas Fitzgerald.

      In 1853 William Jones married in Thornbury, England; he and his wife were to have many grandchildren; one of whom was Clara Blanche Jones.

      It was 9.37 a.m. on Saturday May 25th, 1910 as George Fitzgerald drove his horse and sulky through the dusty main street of Beverley, Western Australia.

      His horse was an ex brumby, Jack by name, and after a long spell on the broad acres of George's 912 acre farm, he was fat and sleek but somewhat slow in his movements, and so George allowed the reins to rest easy and Jack relieved of any restriction took the well known track to the Beverley railway station arriving there at 9.48 a.m., two minutes prior to the arrival of the Perth to Brookton passenger train.

      As the crowded train came noisily to a stop two heads looked enquiringly from a carriage window. George was amazed to hear voices calling him to come over to Brookton and help out. Harry Banks and Harry Manning were ministers of the Churches of Christ in Western Australia and were travelling to Brookton to conduct special services and when they saw George, who was also a member of the Churches of Christ, they grasped the opportunity of involving him in this special effort.

      "I can't", George quickly replied, "I have the horse and sulky."

      The guard was on the Platform ready to give the starting signal when almost miraculously Billy Doohan appeared on the Platform. Billy was a brother-in-law to George and after a quick consultation he agreed to see to the horse and sulky.

      George paid for his ticket and as the train moved out he jumped aboard and was on his way to Brookton.

      At the 11 a.m. service the next day, Harry Banks was the speaker, Harry Manning and George were among the congregation crowded into the small Church building.

      During the course of the service, Harry noticed that George was behaving strangely and while the singing of the great old hymn "Oh for a thousand tongues, to sing my great Redeemer's praise" was in progress he asked; "What on Earth is the matter with you?"

      George said, "That organist, who is she?" Harry said, "Clara Jones and we are going to the Jones' home for lunch." Thereafter George settled and began acting rationally again.

      The service over, the two Harry's and George were transported by sulkies to the Jones' homestead and soon after arrival there, either by design or accident, George and Clara found themselves alone in the drawing room. The silence was very heavy. George could not find words and the delightful Clara, slim, lovely and nineteen

was overcome by shyness and annoyance at the rising colour in her shapely cheeks.

      Finally, George spoke. "Well, Miss Jones," he said, "I won't detain you."

      Miss Jones however had other ideas. She was to be detained for the next fifty-six years.

      Elberton Parish Church in Thornbury, England in the county of Gloucester was filled to overflowing with friends and well-wishers when on March 17th 1853 Mr J. K. Charlton joined in marriage William Jones and Anne White. William was the son Mr and Mrs William Jones of Thornbury. Ann was the daughter of Mr and Mrs James White of Alverston, also in the county of Gloucester.

      Soon after their marriage, they decided to emigrate to Australia and said farewell to their friends and family on October 11 1853, as they boarded the Emerald Isle and commenced the long journey to Australia where they arrived on January 15 1854. The Emerald Isle docked at Port Adelaide and after three months on the high seas William and Ann were very happy to be among the many passengers who had chosen South Australia as their future home and they went ashore full of plans and high expectations.

      Among those who travelled with them from England, was a Mr J. Vaughan who became well known later as one of the joint founders of the East End Market in Adelaide.

      The migrants remained in and around the young and thriving city of Adelaide for two years and then decided to take up land in the Virginia area where with varying degrees of success they farmed for twenty years. William and his wife were baptised, while living at Virginia, by Mr J. Wilcock of the Mallala Church of Christ and they became members and workers in the Bible Christian Church in Virginia.

      In 1876, the family moved to Wild Horse Plains where William had purchased a large tract of scrub land in that area which promised to be an excellent farming proposition and when the heavy work of clearing was over, they farmed very successfully there for fifteen years.

      When William celebrated his sixty-third birthday, and Ann her fifty-seventh, they decided to retire to the city and left the farm in the capable hands of their sons. They purchased a home at 1 Thomas Street, Unley and became respected and much loved citizens in that area. Their witness to Jesus Christ had continued and strengthened throughout the years and they became associated with the Unley Church of Christ where William served as a Deacon and Ann was tireless in the Women's' work. They had a family of ten, the eldest was William Henry, known as Harry, horn in Virginia in 1856. Their second child was also a son, Alfred.

      When the family moved to Wild Horse Plains, Harry who had established a black-smith business in Virginia, remained in that town while Alfred and other members of the family accompanied their parents.

      Alf Jones married in Wild Horse Plains and became one of the district's excellent farmers.

      Harry Jones' blacksmiths shop was something of a meeting place for young and old. The sound of the twelve and six pound hammers was like music in the ears of the youngsters and at any given time Big Harry would have a captive audience and little eyes would widen as Harry took the piece of steel and shaped it to fit the hoof of the horse standing near by. When the shoe was red hot and Harry plunged it in to the tub of water and steam shot up to the low ceiling, there were squeals of delight.

      Big Harry was patient with those whom he described as the 'little ones', and so long as they did not come too close or fiddle with his much loved equipment, they were welcome. Harry listened quietly to their tales of joy and woe, he was mainly a non-communicating man, but loved to tease and each of his hero worshippers would at some time be the butt of his clever but friendly teasing.

      He had rapport with the young members of the Virginia community but this rapport appeared to dissipate as they became teenagers and his complaints against this group may or may not have been true but what is true is that Big Harry and the older children did not get along.

      Harry's Blacksmith shop was not only a hide-out for the very young but it was also a much sought after haven with the male population of Virginia who after a dispute with their spouses, mainly over too much time and money spent at the local hotel would find their way to the Anvil house and pour out their troubles to Big Harry who always listened in silence broken only by a sly dig handed out in the same manner as when teasing the little ones. After a session with Harry, somehow the aggrieved persons always felt

better and usually went home to kiss and make up with their wives and promise with tongue in the cheek to be different in the future.

      Harry lived in one of these homes as a boarder; Alice Gill, a happy, Irish lass with five young children and a quiet withdrawn little husband "did for him" during the period from Monday morning until Saturday afternoon when Harry would harness his little black mare and drive home to spend the Sunday with his family at Wild Horse Plains. The Gill children, three girls and two boys, ranging from eight years to ten months, loved having the big blacksmith in their home and always when Harry had finished the last jobs and closed his little shop there would be at least two children with eager faces, waiting to walk him home and tiny hands would be clasped by hard horny ones and together in the failing light they would walk to the mud brick cottage where Alice would have a hearty meal ready.

      Big Harry Jones was an identity in Virginia, with the young he was a hero, with the teenagers he was a bore and with the adult population he was respected. Big Harry, they said, was not too talkative, but he was honest, never overcharged and always kept a promise.

      In the year 1875, John Alexander Chapman of Gloucestershire, England, suddenly decided to sell out and emigrate to South Australia. Having made the decision he acted quickly and within six months he and his family had landed at Port Adelaide and from there had moved to a temporary residence in Kent Town, a suburb near Adelaide.

      During the brief stay here, Mr Chapman made frequent trips to the country areas in search of suitable land on which to settle his family and finally decided On Wild Horse Plains. The farm was fairly large with a suitable home, so the Chapman's moved their few belongings and commenced their new life full of high hopes. The farm prospered and his family became part of the Australian scene and the elder of his two daughters, Louisa, became one of the sought after girls in Wild Horse Plains and beyond. All proposals of marriage however, were rejected, until one night the good looking young blacksmith, Big Harry Jones, who was a very popular

figure with the female section in that area, asked her to be his wife. She accepted immediately.

      Following her acceptance of Big Harry, she suffered great trauma with her family, particularly her father, who believed she was marrying, as he put it, 'beneath her station'. Louisa, however, would not budge. It was to be Harry Jones or no one.

      The wedding was celebrated on the 7th August 1882, in the drawing room of the Chapman home and as the minister joined the couple in marriage, John Chapman could be seen through the drawing room window following the plough. He would have no part in a marriage he felt was wrong for his daughter. Early in 1883, Harry and Louisa travelled by ship to Kangaroo Island where Harry had obtained a tract of virgin land.

      It was hard pioneering work for the young couple and they received little reward for their labor. Three children were born on the island and the family lived in a small house which Harry had built. When a fourth child was due, Louisa became very ill. The only doctor on the island was delayed and could not reach the Jones' farm for several hours because of a storm lashing the island and Louisa's life ebbed away after giving birth to a baby girl.

      Harry left with four children was desolate.

      The Kangaroo Island farm was sold and Harry, quite useless with children hired a temporary governess and with her expert help took his family back to Wild Horse Plains where the three older children were cared for by Harry's brother, Alf, and his wife. The baby was taken to Adelaide to her grand parents.

      Harry's venture into farming had proved, unsuccessful; however, he planned that at sometime in the future he would take up land in Northern Victoria but as he had now to provide for four children, he reopened the Blacksmiths shop at Virginia. He was welcomed back at the forge by the adult population and now there was a new generation of youngsters to watch approvingly as Harry plied his fascinating trade.

      He boarded with a Mrs Ryan, an elderly widowed lady, who was very happy to have him and could well do with the extra cash his board money brought her. So, he resumed his old life and was again a commuter between Virginia and Wild Horse Plains.

      Helena Lavinia Manuel was no ordinary girl. She was a short trim figure, with dark eyes, suggesting the possibility of Spanish or Portuguese ancestry. One of her eyes, however, had, through an accident turned in slightly, consequently changing just a little, perhaps, her otherwise fine appearance. Her black hair, expressive face and exquisite active hands, her quite unabrasive nature, made her quite an identity in Wild Horse Plains. She was not the outgoing type, but was popular with her peers, admired by the boys and loved by the older members of the township.

      Lena was talented. Her ability as a cook was unchallenged and in fact she excelled at any task related to the home front. The amazing talent, however, which endeared her to all her friends and others, was her ability to handle and understand children. The most difficult child responded to Lena and without any nonsense, coaxing or bribing she would have the rebellious and so called 'naughty' ones virtually eating out of her hand in no time.

      The mothers at Wild Horse Plains, driven to near distraction by their offsprings would frequently

call on Mrs Manuel and ask for Lena's help. This, Lena would happily give, and when the time came for her to depart the little ones would be happy and manageable again. Her inventiveness, ingenuity, patience and love were limitless. The consensus among the mothers of that town was that Lena was not only sweet and gentle, but with children, she was a genius.

      Lena had five brothers and five sisters, so within her own family she had ample opportunity to use her talents but she needed other experiences. So after celebrating her seventeenth birthday she commenced applying for positions with the larger, wealthy type homes in South Australia.

      The first position in service was as a parlor maid to the Lindsay family at Angaston, who owned the famous stud, which still bears that name. She remained here for two years. Her employers were more than satisfied with her work and when she terminated her employment with them, they offered her inducements to remain, but Lena had her sights set on something more rewarding. She had observed the governess at the stud farm caring for the four Lindsay children and she believed she was capable of this quite exacting task of acting as nurse maid, teacher and companion to young children and she knew, that to be fulfilled and happy, her life just had to be spent with children.

      She left the lovely town of Angaston on the 17th November 1885, and returned briefly to Wild Horse Plains where she was received with enthusiasm by her family and friends. Her stay in the home town was however to be very short as she had recently applied for the position of governess to the three children of a Mr and Mrs Fry of North Adelaide and she had been accepted.

      From the moment she took up her duties, Lena became a very important part of the family. She naturally excelled at her work, and her talent with children was quickly noted by her employers, who readily gave her a free hand with the children, and very quickly, because of their mother's preoccupation with charity and other work which took her from the home a great deal, Lena became not only governess, teacher and companion, but virtually their mother. Indeed, they looked upon her as such, and the many night calls were made to Lena, who was always equal to their needs and earned their idolising love.

      During this period, Lena became a member of the Kermode Street Church of Christ, in North Adelaide, where she accepted Jesus Christ as her Saviour and was baptised by Pastor M. Gore.

      Lena's life was to be one of complete devotion to the principles so clearly enunciated by her Lord. She became an active member and a much loved person of that congregation and it was here that she became associated with the Lyle family.

      Thomas Lyle had been one of the pioneers of the Churches of Christ in Australia and he and his son and family were members, workers and leaders at Kermode Street. In the happy years at North Adelaide, Lena accompanied the Fry family on vacations to the North Western town of Pt Germein and also to a farmer friends home at Port Wakefield.

      The place she loved however, was Port Elliot on the beautiful south coast. When it came time for the beach holiday, the large family coach, pulled by two frisky white horses and driven by Mr Fry's footman would take the journey down the

south road and up the torturous Willunga hill and on to the coast.

      On arrival at Port Elliot, they would take up residence at Cliff House, the premier accommodation hotel in that area. Cliff House was ideally situated high above the beauty of Horseshoe Bay and one need only sit on the wide front verandah to have a perfect view of Freemans Knob, the famous Breakwater, Plum Pudding rock, Gull Island and Commodore Point.

      Lena loved every second spent at Port Elliot and being free from her teaching duties she was able to spend the hours with the children walking round the rocks from Knights beach to Horseshoe bay stopping frequently on the way to enjoy the pounding of the sea on the cliff rocks or spending happy hours picnicking at Green Bay or when the weather was right swimming at the delightful ladies bay, so called because it was used exclusively by members of the fair sex and their children. No wandering male eyes were permitted to rest upon the female form, even though it was enclosed in neck to knee bathing costumes. The days for Lena would go all too rapidly and she and her charges would try and fit in as much as possible of the joys they believed were only available at Port Elliot. Frequently, the long walks would extend beyond Knights beach and Commodore Point, the two recognised boundary points of this famous sea side resort and they would finish at places like Middleton, a nearby beach. Here Lena and her little ones would rummage among the abundant deposits of shells and take home the best and proudly display their prizes to their parents and other guests at Cliff House.

      Then, when the holiday was over, Mr Fry's coach would be loaded and the return journey on the narrow, roughly surfaced road would be made and Lena would again take up the many duties as an integral part of the Fry household. Lena was very happy with her position as governess and when in late January 1890 she planned to return briefly to Wild Horse Plains her thoughts for the future centered only around her life at North Adelaide.

      Harry Jones was weekending with his brother Alf and his family at Wild Horse Plains when Lena returned to the town. During the first afternoon, Lena went visiting, and one of her calls was to the Alf Jones home and on arrival there she was greeted enthusiastically by the family and she met Big Harry Jones.

      They had known each other for years, now, however, Lena and Harry saw each other as it were for the first time. The afternoon and the evening were pleasantly spent and when it came time for Lena to return home Big Harry escorted her to the front gate of the Manuel home which stood on the main road to Port Wakefield.

      A sincere friendship was quickly established between the tiny Lena and Big Harry, which, very soon, blossomed into a courtship. Courting however, was a difficult matter, Harry was occupied with his business in Virginia and his family at Wild Horse Plains, and Lena was busy with her demanding governess duties at North Adelaide. Nevertheless, like all people in love they managed extremely well, with Lena's ingenuity, Harry's persistence and the good offices

of Cobb & Co. coaches they saw each other on fairly frequent occasions.

      Big Harry was well known and respected in Virginia, Wild Horse Plains and Kangaroo Island, and now became well known and respected in North Adelaide. He became a popular figure in the servants quarters in Mr Fry's home. They loved his bigness, his teasing, and the fact that their beloved Lena was his girl friend.

      Harry was a believer but had never confessed that Jesus Christ was his Lord, However, whenever possible he accompanied Lena to the Kermode Street Church of Christ and was also well accepted by the folk who made up that quite large congregation.

      On the 12th of June 1890, their engagement was announced and the excitement at the Alf Jones' home at Wild Horse Plains knew no bounds. Harry's three children had quickly responded to Lena's child-loving magic and with this announcement they realised that this wonderful person was to be their own mother. They could scarcely believe their good fortune and as they hugged their big Dad as never before they plied him with urgent questions of how long would they have to wait, where would they live and when could they start calling her mother.

      Lena, always gentle, sweet and loving was also a very practical person and for some months before Harry asked her to be his wife had assessed very thoughtfully and wisely her possible future, and she could see that it could include her becoming a step-mother to Harry's children. With this knowledge, she formulated a plan for herself. She would never be a step-mother, in fact that word would never be uttered in her home. The

children would be hers on exactly the same terms as those who may be born of her marriage. Lena Prayed for strength and wisdom to carry out her plan and the children soon became aware of an extra dimension in her love and long before she became Mrs Harry Jones there was a rapport between herself and the children which many natural mothers could have wished for themselves.

      On Saturday, 1st October 1890 excitement was at fever Pitch in the home of Mr Fry. It was Lena's wedding day and from Mr Fry and his lady right down to the stable boy everyone loved Lena. Mrs Fry was providing the wedding dress and the other members of the staff were all busy getting everything in readiness.

      The large dining room had been decorated and extra tables and other necessary furniture moved in. The large cake had been donated and decorated by the North Adelaide baker who supplied the Fry family.

      Lena was not permitted to carry out any of the many tasks such an occasion bought in its wake. Her friends had surprised her with a breakfast tray in her bed and had brought their wedding gifts to her and wished her well and instructed her to remain upstairs and rest.

      At 1.30 p.m., Mrs Fry came to Lena and with loving hands dressed the tiny bride and when Mr Fry's phaeton pulled up outside the big iron gates, Lena was ready. The day was pleasant, with bursts of sunshine, and as Lena was helped in to her bridal carriage the sun shone brightly and highlighted the quality and love of the young woman who was soon to take her marriage vows.

      Big Harry was nervous as he awaited the arrival of his bride; the ceremony was to take place at the Kermode Street chapel, and he and his best man were early on the scene and now as the appointed time of 3.30 p.m. had come and gone he became fidgety and had to be reassured by the officiating minister Pastor Gore; soon however, the organist commenced Mendelssohn's well known wedding march, and Harry relaxed and then was married to his Lena before a full church of well-wishers. The bride, as usual, was composed and serene; serenity was the key note of Lena's life and now as she took Harry Jones to be her husband she had never been more serene or looked more lovely.

      Among the many friends who witnessed the ceremony were members of the Lyle family, and also others from the family of Dr J C Verco, later to become Sir Joseph Verco, and a very famous surgeon.

      Back at the Fry home there was feverish activity. Some of the staff had been to the church, others had agreed to remain behind and have everything in readiness when Lena and her husband should arrive. And when finally the phaeton stopped at the front gate, and Harry helped his wife to alight, everything indeed was ready. It was a feast to be remembered, and when Mr Fry proposed the toast to the bride and bridegroom, he was joined by all the guests when he said, "Today we are losing a gem, and with all our love we wish her well, and hope that her married life will be filled with the happiness she so much deserves." Then they returned to Wild Horse Plains where Harry had arranged to rent a small cottage from Mrs Worsley, and now Lena's real joy was complete. She could have the family together and the three children who had shared

in the excitement of the wedding, and the credible food and celebrations were of the same mind as their new mother. This was at last home.

      North Western Victoria provided a busy, bustling scene in the year 1891, and the town of Kerang shared in this activity, as new landowners arrived daily to take up their virgin blocks, and commence the long haul of clearing their land and converting the mallee scrub into farm land.

      One such arrival was Harry Jones and his family from Wild Horse Plains, South Australia. They had said farewell to friends and family three weeks before, and with a horse and spring dray had travelled to Adelaide and had spent a night in West's Coffee palace in Hindley Street. Their route took them through Tailem Bend, through the mallee country which at that time was virtually undisturbed, and still had another thirty years to wait for the soldiers/settlers clearing axes and resultant disastrous sand drifts. The track led them through the tiny settlements of Pinnaroo and Ouyen, and when a days driving was over Lena would prepare a bed for her little ones under the shelter of the dray, when the last tired but excited voice was quiet she and Harry would sleep under the stars.

      When the journey was at last over, Lena and the children remained for a period with relatives who had arrived in Kerang twelve months earlier, and Harry built the first home on the shores of Lake Balbal.

      Harry's first building was a temporary corrugated iron structure, and this was later replaced by a two roomed mud brick home. It was from this home, six months after the arrival at Kerang that Harry emerged at 2.00 a.m. one morning, harnessed his horse, and drove to a nearby farm to obtain the help of the farmer's wife. Lena was about to give birth to her first born. It was a daughter, blue eyed and lovely.

      Lena's joy knew no bounds, and she named her Clara Blanche. The date was August 29th 1891.

      On the 20th January 1902, the SS Buninyong quietly rode the slight swell as it lay in its moorings at Port Melbourne. It was due to sail at 9.00 p.m. that night for Western Australia.

      The passenger list of the showed a Mr & Mrs Harry Jones and their seven children, booked from Melbourne to Fremantle. Their 10 hard years at Kerang had ended, and Harry had sold the property to a fancy bidder whose offer could not be resisted, he had become disillusioned with Victoria and had set his sights on a life for himself and his family in Queensland. So after the sale was finalised he entrained for Melbourne to make arrangements for the trip to the sunshine state.

      On arrival in Melbourne however, he purchased a newspaper at Spencer Street railway station, and read on the front page news of great opportunities out West, and immediately changed his plans and booked for Western Australia. He arrived back in Kerang the following day and told his family of the changed plans. Lena, as always, was prepared and happy to do whatever pleased Harry, and quickly made the adjustment. The

children, however, who had heard many tales of Queensland, were disappointed and said so. But Harry did not consult with them. They were there to do as they were told.

      Clara was now ten. She had enjoyed her life on the shores of Lake Balbal, and was sorry it was to end. The three babies born to Lena were a constant source of joy to her, and as Clara shared with her mother the intense love of children, Lena came to depend on her, and each new member of the family quickly learned to love her. She was a gentle soul, quiet, thoughtful and unselfish, and happy to share the many tasks associated with the home, particularly with the children.

      Lena, however, was frequently frustrated with her first-born. She was quite impractical, and an inveterate dreamer. This fault, or perhaps quality, was the cause of some sharp scenes between Clara and her mother, And on occasions, Clara, a lover of solitude, would be found sitting on the shores of her beloved lake staring dreamily into space, her unfinished tasks quite forgotten.

      As Lena had planned, the family was a tightly knit, loving community, although it must be said that little outward show of love came from Harry. He had rapport with the very young but later this disappeared, and a communication problem developed, and Clara and the others had difficulty in understanding his bluff, offhanded way. The family however, was moulded by Lena and love was the keynote of all family operations, and the words 'half brother & half sister' were completely unknown to them; they were truly brothers and sisters.

      Clara had warm friendships within the family and also a close relationship with her cousin Robey Manuel. This friendship commenced at Lake Balbal between them lasted a lifetime. Robey was mad about the new automobile, and he used to tell Clara of these new contraptions travelling at high speeds of thirty miles per hour (48 kmh), and he used to dream about flying in the air, and he believed that one day these cars would actually take to the air and fly. Clara listened to this intense boy with great interest, and at times was almost convinced that he could be right.

      Robey became a very famous Australian. He was a member of the first Australian Flying Corp, and when aviation was in its infancy he was there at the forefront. He flew the first RAF planes to take part in the worlds first aerial warfare. He became Australia's first air ace; he fought many successful sorties against the famous Red Baron troupe, and although he was not accredited with bringing the Baron down, he encountered him on numerous occasions, and was never worsted by him. He was decorated and acclaimed as Australia's greatest war time pilot, and when the second world war cast its shadow he again offered for active flying service. This however, because of his age, was rejected.

      For a period he served in a training capacity, but the inaction irked him, so he sought and gained, his release. He continued to create records and at one time had held an active pilot's license for a longer period than any other Australian, and was still flying his own plane at eighty years of age. When he died in 1976, the nation paid tribute to its first air ace and said of him that he was a great and intrepid Australian.

      His family knew him also as a good man, husband, father and loving grandfather. Clara remembered him always as her happy playmate of Kerang.

      At 9.00 p.m. on the 20th January 1902 the master of the Buninyong received the all clear and set sail for the West. The Harry Jones family were among the passengers who had responded to the call of the Golden West, and Lena left, as she had arrived 10 years earlier, pregnant.

      The Buninyong arrived tired and battered, at 12.20 p.m. on 26th January 1902, and was tied up at the number one wharf at Fremantle. The little ship had encountered storms through the Great Australian Bight, and heavy seas in the Indian ocean, resulting in arrival time eight hours behind schedule.

      Clara discovered two things on this eventful trip, first that she loved the sea, and second, that the sea did not reciprocate her feelings. She was ill before they had reached the open sea and remained confined to her cabin for most of the journey. She had been given a four berth cabin to share with the three little ones and the plan was that she would be in charge of them between Melbourne and Fremantle, and attend to their many needs while Lena and the older sister arranged for the rest of the family.

      However in the event the young children were kept busy looking after their beloved sister. When the family stepped on to West Australian soil a reaction came from Harry. It was strong and harsh. In fact it was instant hate; for as far as he could see it was a sandy waste, and in

direct contrast to the pictures which had been so glowingly painted by the writers who had influenced his decision to settle in the West. He was to live in the west for 26 years, but his first impressions remained with him, and he always disliked the land of his adoption. The other members of the family, however, were pleased that the sea journey was at last over, and Clara was more than thankful when she felt the earth again beneath her feet, and sandy and uninteresting though it was, she was happy.

      Soon after arrival in Fremantle Harry had inspected and purchased seven houses in the eastern part of the city, and in one of these he installed his family, and upon the rental received from the others he hoped to live the life of a retired gentleman. This plan worked reasonably well until the two older boys became sick, and Lena received strong advice from the doctor to make arrangement for their return to the country, and Harry once more set out to find suitable farming land.

      This search took him away from the home frequently, and during these periods it fell to Lena to collect the rent from their tenants. Frequently Clara saw Lena distressed and worried, when her only source of income was denied her because she was unable to collect the rents.

      The highlights for Clara in these Freemantle years were the visits of a Mrs Brown, Lena's midwife, and between 1902 and late 1907 three such visits were made, and a girl and two boys were added to the family. It now numbered ten and Clara loved them all, and they in turn placed her in that special and wonderful category alongside Lena.

      Another event of great importance to Clara, took place in the Fremantle Church of Christ, when she willingly and lovingly gave her young life to the Lord Jesus Christ. She was ten years of age when she pledged her love and loyalty to Him, and she never faltered in her endeavour to follow in His steps, and she became a gracious, thoughtful and unostentatious, concerned Christian woman, and she was loved and admired by all who knew her.

      She was to be a lovely ambassador for her Saviour for seventy three years. Harry, also made the good confession in the church at Fremantle, and this was also a source of joy and happiness to young Clara.

      Towards the end of their six year stay in Freemantle, Clara was saddened by the departure of her older sister, who left the home to travel to Adelaide, where she was occupied for five years in the task of caring for her aged grandparents. Clara loved this sister and the parting was not easy, but made easier by the fact that the Fremantle days were about to end.

      She was involved in the ensuing busy period of preparations. The family planned to move to Clara's next home, Brookton Western Australia.

      Joseph Davis was a tailor who lived and worked in the town of Barnes in the district of Richmond in Surrey, England.

      In the year 1833 he met and fell in love with Mary Ann Carpenter and later they were married.

      Their first child, Charles Henry, was born in 1835, and then between 1837 and 1847 six more children were born, three girls and three boys. On March 20th 1850, their eighth child was born, a girl; she was named Annie. She spent her early years in Barnes and emigrated to Australia with her family in the mid 1850s. Later she displayed a quality voice, and gave promise of becoming a superb singer. Her mother was ambitious and saw for her daughter the possibility of a glittering stage career.

      Annie, however, had other ideas, and at the age of eighteen she married Mr John Kemp of Melbourne. The marriage did not last long and ended in divorce.

      Later she met John Robert Fitzgerald, and they were married in Victoria on 17th March 1874.

      John Fitzgerald was a rugged Irishman. He was born in Queenstown Cork in 1840, and emigrated to Australia in 1860. He was a storekeeper in the northern New South Wales town of Carinda and when the first shearers' strike took place in the 1890s, he showed sympathy with the strikers and gave them goods on credit. This offended the squatters and graziers in the area, who boycotted his business, and finally he was forced to close his doors, and look elsewhere for work. His search for employment took him to Broken Hill, where it is alleged he lost his life in the South Broken Hill mines.

      In 1894 Annie married Robert Sleight, and the following year she accompanied him to Beverley, Western Australia where they settled on virgin land a few miles out of the township. The farm they created they named "Cirencester". Annie had seven children; five girls and two boys, and by the year 1895 four of these had married. So they remained in New South Wales, and the three younger children, one of whom was also married, moved to the West with Annie and Robert. The youngest child was a boy, George Thomas Fitzgerald.

      George Thomas Fitzgerald was born on the 22nd May 1889 at the northern New South Wales town of Carinda. Annie believed that this one, her seventh, and last, could provide her wish to have a child in full time service to the Holy Roman Church. As she watched her son develop into a serious intense boy, interested in life and people, she felt that indeed George would make an ideal priest and shepherd of the flock.

      When George was about four years of age, John Robert, his Dad, decided to quit Carinda still quite unrepentant for lending his support to the shearers in their great effort to establish decent working conditions and suitable rates of pay for an industry upon which the developing young country was so dependent. But, as always, when people use their influence to help the worker in his constant struggle against those who exploit him, he was branded by the graziers and squatters, and therefore could see no future in Carinda and decided to try his luck in the busy New South Wales mining scene at Broken Hill.

      George's first memory in life was of his Dad saddling a big black horse, and mounting it and riding away. Although he used to watch and wait for his return he did not come back and young George had seen the last of his beloved Dad.

      After settling in Beverley, George commenced his school days at the Beverley Primary School. He was a good, but not brilliant student. He loved the farm, the great outdoors, and his family best of all, and at a very young age he became an excellent axeman. He was able to put this ability to good effect as he helped to clear the land for their future property. He was a natural with horses, a lover of hard work and early rising, and, according to the local comments, a brilliant farmer in the making.

      The son of an Irishman, he inherited many of the characteristics which allegedly belong to that justice loving, and compassionate race of people. He was quick tempered, did not bear fools gladly, could see quickly how things should be done, and was at a loss to know why others could not see things as he saw them; was intolerant of injustice; was always for the underdog, and constantly finding himself at loggerheads with the establishment, in much the same way as his Dad had before him. He was an intense boy with high ideals, very loving and forgiving, and his quick temper, although very often on the scene, never lasted and did not become, at any stage, an ill temper. He was respected by his peers, loved by his friends, and they all believed that young George Fitzgerald would become the most successful and wealthy farmer in the area.

      Annie, however, still cherished other ideas. But when she died in Beverley in 1903, at the age of 53, George was fourteen and showed no indication

that he was about to devote his life to the church, and in fact during his early years he had become an avid reader, and quickly devoured all he could find on man's struggle, the Industrial revolution, anti war material and atheism. His favourite atheistic writer was Robert Blatchford. He was almost prepared to admit that the anti-God theories proposed by this clever author could be right. He continued to attend mass with his sisters, but the more he read, the more he became disenchanted with the Roman religion as he saw it, and he believed that there must be something more vital and more important than that which was presented to him by his church.

      So his reading became more intense, and more searching, and the end result appeared that he would renounce the beliefs of his family, and enter an agnostic situation, where he would neither reject nor accept Christianity.

      In George's sixteenth year the West Australian government, anxious to increase the acreage for wheat cultivation in that state, offered virgin land to experienced sons of farmers who had reached the age of sixteen. This was a free offer, and the only condition was that the land must immediately be cleared and cropped at the earliest opportunity. George made application for land and was granted 912 acres of scrub country east of Beverley, and so once again the axeman's art was used to its fullest extent, and in record time George assisted by his family, had his land under cultivation.

      The year 1907 was to be a very decisive one in George's life. He had continued his wide reading and his mind was well conditioned to take the step he often contemplated of announcing his

disbelief in Christian teaching, when, in the midst of all this a new family, the Hendersons, moved into the neighbouring farm.

      Mr & Mrs Henderson, and their son Ray, were farmers, but also they were workers in the Baptist church, and Mr Henderson was a local preacher; but more importantly, they were beautiful people who loved their fellow man, and carried into their lives and actions all the things they taught about their Lord and. Master, Jesus Christ. Through them, George began to see, very slowly, that Blatchford and all the other atheistic writers could have missed the vital factor in their deliberation, and that factor was the love of Jesus, and upon this he began to climb back from a dark, unsatisfactory agnostic situation, to a new look at Jesus, not as a hoax, or merely as a figure of history, or even as transcendent man, but as the Son of God.

      Under the loving influence of the Henderson family, George's reading patterns changed dramatically, and he now read the great Christian authors, was encouraged in Bible study, and for the first time in his life he shared in house prayer meetings. Prayer had been a word to George, but now it became a reality. He shocked his family and friends by attending the local Baptist church and sharing in their activities and fellowship.

      Within weeks of the Hendersons arrival in Beverley, George and Ray had become almost inseparable. They worked together on their farms, they worshipped together, they talked and talked, mainly about the Christian life and its real meaning--the centrality of Jesus, and what a commitment to Him really meant in ones daily life. George's excitement knew no bounds, and

his sisters were amazed at the change in their beloved young brother. They could not believe that the new neighbours could make all that much difference, and they believed George had fallen in love with a local lass who was known to be very fond of the handsome young farmer. They were wrong, of course, because George now saw the end of his searching, and a possible wonderful new beginning, and in August 1908, he accepted that new life and was baptised by Mr Henderson in the dam on his own property.

      The renouncing of his early faith and beliefs was not without trauma, and his family and associates saw it as an act of disloyalty, and for many he was no longer accepted in their homes or lives. George accepted it all, and with the best grace his naturally intolerant spirit could muster, because he now felt alive and at peace and in love with all mankind.

      His influence on the home was dramatic, and his sisters listened to him as he unfolded the story of the cross, of Jesus' love, and his great teaching, and how he associated himself not with the wealthy but with the poor, and how if implemented in peoples lives, His Gospel could revolutionise the world. "There could be"' George used to say, "a world without war where exploitation was unknown and man's love for man would replace man's hate for his fellow creatures." This amazed them all, and one sister, Alice, hung on to every word her young brother uttered. Alice was four years older than George, and despite the little gap in their ages, they had always been very close, and throughout his life George always spoke of her as his favourite sister.

      She was loved by all the Beverley folk, and was indeed quite remarkable, extremely capable, bright, good looking, friendly, and loving, and one whose company was sought after by members of both sexes, the male sex being in the forefront. But the apple of her eye was young George, and from the day he was baptised her mind was constantly on this new life that her special brother talked so confidently and excitedly about.

      Alice knew that this was not just idle talk, because living in the same home as George, she could testify to the fact that a magnificent change had taken place, and indeed her brother was a new person, still vital, intense, mercurial, inclined towards intolerance, and in a mad hurry to get things done. But he was different, and more thoughtful for the needs of others, and to Alice this was dramatic and wonderful, she determined to know more, and if possible to have it for herself. She and George studied the Bible together, and prayed also. For her it was sheer excitement, and it came as no surprise to George when after one of their thrilling sessions Alice made a loving commitment to her Lord, and George baptised her in the dam on his own property.

      His favourite sister had become his very first convert. During her long life she was to be a shining witness for her beloved Saviour.

      Soon after Alice's baptism, George applied to enter The College of The Bible, a theological institution in Melbourne, operated by the Churches of Christ in Australia. He had become exposed to the writings of Thomas Glass, Barton Stone, Thomas Campbell, and his brilliant son Alexander, and he believed that their plea for the unity of all God's people based on New Testament Christianity, was a thrilling concept,

and one to which he could give his life; and the Christian group in Australia continuing the teachings of these great men, was the Churches of Christ. Hence the application to these people.

      The Henderson family, steeped as they were in Baptist teaching, were at first disappointed that George was not to become a minister in their own churches, but they shared his enthusiasm, and reminded themselves that the Church was the Body of Christ on earth, and that denominational boundaries are artificial and man made, and they were so happy that they had been used to bring George face to face with his Saviour.

      George's application to study in Melbourne was accepted, and he commenced his studies in February 1909. George was the seventh student to be enrolled in this new college, the headquarters of which at that time had not been determined. However after a short period of taking lectures in an inner Melbourne suburb, a beautiful old home was purchased in Elm Road, Glen Iris; and this became The College of The Bible, with its first principal, Mr A. R. Main, who was assisted by Mr Randall Pitman, and Mr Taylor, who was in charge of secular subjects.

      It was a thrilling time for George as he studied the exegesis of New & Old Testaments, homiletics, and other theological subjects, and also he was required to gain a working knowledge of Greek, a language which mostly remained a mystery to him. George was a hard working student who achieved excellent results, but he was no linguist. It was observed by teachers and students that in George Fitzgerald the College had a brilliant orator in the making, and great

things were predicted for him, in the area of public speaking and debating, and as the days of 1909 quickly ran their course, this feature of George's work became more and more evident.

      Towards the end of the year George received letters from Beverley indicating a problem for him in relation to his farm, which had been leased to a Mr Whyatt. Mr Whyatt had decided that instead of using the broadacres for wheat crop, he would turn the neat, well maintained farm into a piggery. This he had done, but the farm was, as a result in a run down condition, and as an asset it was fast deteriorating. George decided on a bold plan. He approached Mr Main he asked for leave of absence from his studies for one year, undertaking that he would return in 1911 and complete his studies. The course was, at that time, for three years, George, however, believed that he could, if permitted, complete two years work in one.

      After some delay permission for this unusual course was given, and at the conclusion of 1909 George returned to Western Australia and again became the busy, bustling farmer of Beverley.

      Highlights of George's first year at the College of the Bible were his very satisfactory results in all his examinations, and the emerging evident ability as an orator, and one incident which occurred in his first weekend church.

      At this country location, an elder had had all his own way for years, and had ruled the flock with a rod of iron. George was warned not to offend him, and to accept his outrageous behaviour with good grace. On the first Sunday George stood up to preach, and immediately this elder, who always positioned himself near the front,

noisily took out a copy of the Saturday Age (the Melbourne paper), and proceeded to read it. George stopped dead. And as the seconds ticked by, the elder, against his will, looked up and very deliberately George said, "When you put that paper away sir I'll continue with my sermon." He reluctantly complied but swore that this young upstart would be taught a lesson. However, in the event, George was supported by the membership and his weekend trips were mainly very happy and effective. So 1910 was just around the corner and George happily prepared for it, little knowing what it was to provide.

      The move from Fremantle to Brookton took place in December 1907, and after the family were settled in their new home, Harry, assisted by his two eldest sons, recommenced their farm life.

      Clara, now 16, was adored by all the younger members of the family, and among her many duties was the pleasant one of teaching the little ones about God's love and leading them gently and lovingly through the Bible stories. These sessions had a lasting effect on her brothers and sisters, and 65 years later they were still commenting on these lesson times as a big influence in their lives.

      Clara was also active outside the Brookton Home, and shared in the work and the witness of the Church of Christ where she was a Sunday School teacher and church organist. The minister was Harry Manning, and at that time his wife had presented him with their first child, a son. Clara loved this baby, and whenever possible she would visit the manse hoping for the privilege of spending some time with young Donald.

      In 1939 Donald Manning married Clara's beautiful and much loved sister, Laura, in Adelaide. Don and Laura Manning settled back in their home state of Western Australia, after their marriage and lived for many years at Narrogin, and later moved to Perth. They were very special to Clara, and became special to every member of her family.

      After a few years of successful farming at Brookton, Harry purchased a property in Armadale, and another home was constructed mainly by the two eldest boys assisted by Harry, who was now taking things much easier, as he had received an adverse report on an alleged heart condition.

      Now Clara commenced her Armadale days, and the pattern of her life continued to be in the same unselfish and thoughtful way. Young George Fitzgerald, whom she had met at the Brookton church in 1910, had become a regular visitor to the Jones' home, and she was engaged to be married to him at some time in the then reasonably uncertain future.

      George had completed his year back on the farm at Beverley, then had sold the property and kept his promise made in 1909 to Mr Main to return to the College of The Bible in 1911. At the conclusion of 1911, George was passed by his examiners with high marks, and had accepted an invitation to minister with the church at Bunbury, Western Australia.

      In February 1912 George commenced his work at Bunbury and also helped with a little church at Harvey. During this, his first year as a minister of the Gospel, he became well known in Bunbury as an outspoken, very effective

evangelist, and was loved by his people, and very much admired by the young female group who fell for the good looking, intense and compassionate young man who was the minister. George however never wavered in his love for, and commitment to, the lovely Clara.

      The Brookton and Armadale years had been very happy and eventful; three more children had been added to the home, making a total of 10 births to Lena. One, a boy, had died at a young age, and so with three of the first family, and nine of her own, Lena's prayer for children to love and influence had certainly been answered. These busy days were, for Clara, drawing to a close, as the year 1912 put up the shutters, and gave way to 1913.

      On the 6th February 1913 the Jones' home at Armadale was on the move before the first light of dawn came over the hill. It was Clara's wedding day. The marriage, and the social celebration afterwards, were all to take place within the home. By 1.00 p.m. all was in readiness, and the bride elect who had shared in all the activities, was now dressed lovingly by her tiny Mum, and when George arrived, Harry Manning, who was officially to tie the knot, was ready and waiting. At 3.30 p.m. standing together in the dining room, and witnessed by all the family, and some close friends, George, in his strong, positive voice, pledged his life and love to Clara, and she in her gracious and quiet manner gave George her loving and everlasting pledge.

      Lena and the other girls had excelled themselves in the kitchen, and the wedding feast was something special. When the festivities finally ended, Harry Manning committed the young couple to the care of their Heavenly Father, whom they

both loved, and had promised to serve, and the final goodbyes were said. Some of the younger ones were not at all happy about this dark stranger taking their beloved Clara away, and they shed some not too silent tears, and when Lena hugged and kissed her beautiful first born, she joined them, but silently. Time, work, and lack of money, precluded any thought of a honeymoon, so the newly weds travelled direct to their new home at Samson Street Bunbury.

      George set a pattern at the Bunbury church, which he was to follow during a life time of ministry. He was a gifted speaker and debater, and learned to use these talents to their best effect, and was consequently sought after as a speaker. His pastoral work was also excellent, and he was a welcome visitor in the homes of his church people.

      He was however an intense man, and early in his first ministry this intensity caused a health breakdown and during the period of convalescence he worked on a fruit block at Harvey, and the outdoor work and freedom from the duties he always considered pressing, had their effect and he was soon able to resume the work he loved.

      The whole church membership admired and loved young Clara, who by her unostentatious, quiet and lovely way with people had made a big hit with both young and old. They were all concerned for her, and some of the older ladies quite anxious on her behalf, during her first pregnancy. When on the 27th January 1914 she gave birth to a son, the church claimed this special baby as their own.

      Clara had a very special Uncle, Clarence Manuel, Lena's brother, so the new arrival, born at home in Samson Street, was named after this Uncle, and the second given name was Lindsay.

      So the manse at Bunbury was the first home of Clara's first born, Clarence Lindsay Fitzgerald.

      The ministry at Bunbury concluded at the end of 1914, when George was invited to work with the Bassendean church. The Bunbury members were not happy about the arrangement, but were thankful for the years of sharing with a young minister who they all believed had a great future in the work of convincing others of God's love and the Saviourhood of His Son, Jesus. As Clara packed her meager belongings in preparation for the move to the city, she did so with mixed feelings. Since her birth at Kerang in 1891, she had spent much of her 23 years in the country, and she loved trees, open spaces, the farmer folk, and in fact anything close to nature, and so she wondered about this first appointment of her husband to a city church.

      Clara was pregnant again, and all the breaking of an old home, and the making of a new one, and the settling in to a new church with all its attendant difficulties, were all carried out with her usual serene dignity during the latter stage of this her second pregnancy.

      George's ministry at Bassendean commenced in February 1915, and two months later at 6.20 p.m. on April 3rd, Clara gave birth to her second son. He was given the names Douglas John. I was that baby; and just 70 years later I'm setting down these details. Much of it told to me by my beautiful, unforgettable Mother. Much of it gained by my own research, and some of it, I

hasten to add, is what I believed or imagined could have happened. I state the above merely to explain the change that will now occur. The word "they" will largely be replaced by the word, "we".

      The years of learning at Bunbury had served Dad very well. He moved into the work at Bassendean with greater certainty, and was received lovingly by the church members, and it proved to be one of the very fine ministries of his career, and fifty years later people still mention the years of G.T., as he was known, as some of the best.

      The 1914-1918 Great War was, by 1915, tearing the nations apart, and filling the world with horror, hatred and destruction.

      Dad's part in this great obscenity was to oppose it with all the strength of his mind and body. The church at Bassendean, the wider church brotherhood, and in fact the whole state of Western Australia, became quickly aware that in George Fitzgerald they had a fearless war resister, who did not count the cost to himself in loss of popularity or possible surveillance of his activities by the authorities. He spoke, he wrote, he debated, and soon became one of the outstanding opponents of our involvement in this European war. Because of his stand our home in Bassendean became a centre for counselling, encouragement, and advice for those young men who shared his beliefs and were prepared to suffer the ostracism of their friends, family, and others, and if necessary to go to gaol, rather than swear to kill their fellow men.

      Pacifism was a dirty word in those days, and Dad was a pacifist, and eagerly identified himself

with the movement in Western Australia, and gave support to any who sincerely refused the command to take up arms. His court appearances on behalf of other pacifists were notable because of their integrity and forcefulness, and while many admired him, many others heaped abuse and indignities upon him, and he, and others, were recipients of the traditional white feather. Dad however, took it all in his stride, and as the war progressed he redoubled his efforts on behalf of world peace.

      When the armistice was signed on November 11th 1918, he had grown in stature, his speaking and debating skills had been sharpened, his commitment to his Lord and Master, and the work of His church was at a higher level, and he had received many accolades from the community for his integrity and his many other outstanding talents. Even his enemies had to grudgingly admit that in George Fitzgerald Western Australia had a man who could not be classified as ordinary; he was extra ordinary.

      Another main event in our stay at Bassendean was the arrival of a baby girl, Olive Jeannie. She came to be with us on the 22nd of August 1917, and it was a great event. Dad, already the father of two lively, and sometimes troublesome sons, was, according to Mum's report, quite overcome when he realised that he was actually the father of a member of the fair sex, and he unashamedly shed tears of joy when he held his first born baby girl. He was, as this story will tell, to grow quite used to that experience.

      So now we were five. Jean, as she was called, soon became a welcome part of the busy manse home. I do not remember her triumphal entry into our lives, but I was aware of her presence about September in 1917.

      Soon after the end of the war, Dad's ministry at Bassendean ended. The church at Subiaco had invited him to take their pulpit, and he had agreed.

      At the end of 1918 Clara, again pregnant, had to start breaking another home, and prepare for her third in six years. The ministry in Subiaco was to be a short one, and was in fact over in one year. It was a very happy and effective period, and some of the members became life-time friends of the family's. Dad continued to impress as a fine preacher, dedicated to his calling as a minister, loved by his people, and feared by those who sought to exploit weaker members of the community.

      The important family event of our years' stay at Subiaco, was the presentation by Mum, to her beloved young husband, of a second baby girl. She was given the lovely names of Gwenyth Joy. Gwen, according to her mother, lived up to the name of Joy, and was indeed a joyous baby. She came to us on February 26th 1919, and we welcomed her.

      The reason for the short ministry at Subiaco was the need in New Zealand for trained ministers from Australia to accept full time work in the dominion, and an invitation had been made to Dad to serve with the Mornington church in Dunedin. Dad had accepted, and now Mum had to go through the trauma of leaving loved ones, and being separated from her Mum and Dad, and from all the members of her family. They were all in Western Australia, and this was a heart rending break for her, and once again the home had to packed up, and she had to steel herself to the task of living in another land, building a new set of friends, putting together a home for her

dynamic, vital and ever moving husband and four lively young children.

      The passage was booked for March 4th 1920, on the SS Wanganella.

      I believe it's a sad thing that children do not recall what happens to them from the date of their birth to perhaps year 4 or 5 of their life. And in this regard I would be no exception. However there are some events I do remember in my West Australian years, and they are as follows.

      One day during our Bassendean experience, I was standing on the front gate watching the passing parade, when two soldiers walked past the house. They were unsteady on their feet, and in fact were swaying from side to side, and when they drew level with me they abused me and told me to get off that gate or suffer the consequences. I obeyed very promptly, and ran into Mum and asked her what it was all about. She explained that the two men were drunk, and I think I received my first lesson in total abstinence, and I believe I made a childish pledge to myself that never would that happen to me. That pledge has never been broken. My age at that time would, I believe, be about three years.

      Many years after the Western Australian experience I described an event to my mother, and she said it was an exact record of the actual happening, and that at the time I was two and one half years old. We were at the seaside, the baby, Jean, was protected from the sun by a large black umbrella, and when a gust of wind blew it into the sea, Dad tried to snare it with his fishing line, quite, as it happened, unsuccessfully. But the suddenness of the action and the tragic loss of the umbrella etched it in my memory forever.

      We were on holiday. The house was large and commodious, and every morning a cow would push the gate open, turn on the tap with its horns, drink deeply and go, leaving the tap running. The home was, I was told, at Cottesloe, and was owned by a Mr Albany Bell, a prominent West Australia business man, and a member of the Churches of Christ. My age, between three and tour.

      I recalled a home in the country which we visited occasionally, and also a dark haired attractive young lass who lived there with her parents. I was told that it was my grandparents home at Armadale, where Mum and Dad were married, and the girl was Mums' beloved sister, Laura.

      This story has become part of the Fitzgerald folklore, and may appear to have been embellished a little with the years, and although only four years of age at the time, I can vouch for its accuracy.

      At the rear of our home in Subiaco there was a short lane, and on the back fences of these homes were the toilets, and each toilet had a door opening out onto the lane. This provision made it simple for the night cart man to carry out his unpleasant, but very necessary tasks.

      Lin believed that this arrangement could be improved upon, so he suggested that we open the doors, and put them on the latch, giving us at times a very clear view of several white bottoms. It was great while it lasted. But somehow the residents had no sense of humour, and when they discovered our improvements there was a great deal of yelling and shouting and fist waving, and horrified ladies complaining to Mum about her depraved children. Mum however, loyal

and lovely, said quite positively that her boys would not do such a thing. But to their everlasting shame they both had to plead guilty. I do recall many justified punishments I received, but cannot remember any being meted out for this major crime.

      March 4th 1920 came quickly enough, and at 4.00 p.m. the SS Wanganella departed from the port of Fremantle, and on board, among many other passengers, were Mr & Mrs George Fitzgerald, and their four children. The West Australian years were over. For Dad they had commenced in 1895, and for Mum in 1902. Their paths had crossed in 1910, and since then they have travelled wonderfully together, and the Clara & George dynasty, which commenced with their marriage at Armadale in 1913, had already produced four children, and now as the Wanganella took to the waves in the Indian ocean, they were full of high hopes for their new life in New Zealand. For Mum it was a sad parting from her family, and the days on the high seas were not attractive to her. She was a poor sailor, and she was again pregnant.

      I recall extremely well being a passenger on the Wanganella, and I remember the thrill as we left the quiet waters of the Swan River, and were actually on the ocean waves. From that wonderful moment I remember my life, so to my reader I say that the story of Clara & George no longer depends on historical facts provided by my mother, or on my research, or indeed on my own imagination.

      Moving from one place to another, setting up a new home, can be very exciting for young children, and we were excited. We'd seen pictures of big ships, but to actually be a passenger on a ship we considered to be huge and palatial, was an experience out of this world.

      At the time of boarding the Wanganella, Lin, our eldest, was six, I was nearly five, Jean was two and a half, Gwen, our baby was 12 months old, and for each one of us it was an adventure of our young lives. For Lin and me, being the grown up ones, it was even more special, and the Wanganella was soon to become our oyster. We part of our area, and were on speaking terms with many of the stewards and other

officers. The sea journey for us was made more interesting by the presence of the Edwards family, also travelling steerage. Ray, the son, was about our age, and he shared all our exploits and explorations. His father was a magician, of sorts, and was always finding money in our ears, knees and elbows, and he could join string together simply by putting the two ends in his mouth, and the join could not be seen by human eyes. For us he was a fascinating man. So with all this, and the terrific meals, where we were actually served by stewards in uniform, it was an unforgettable experience.

      The Wanganella was, at that time, a reasonably new ship, and still had thirty years to serve before it was finally scrapped. So she rode the waves well, and when we entered the Great Australian Bight, She was able to cope with the heavy seas, which are normal in those waters.

      Mum was sick, and was not able to share at meal times. Dad, always an excellent sailor, was not confined at any stage to his bunk, and Lin and I were showing signs of following our Dad in this way. Our girls, being younger, also had little or no difficulty.

      We called in at Port Melbourne, and after a brief stay we headed into the Bass Strait, and then turned North and arrived in the beautiful Sydney Harbour six days after leaving Fremantle. We stayed in Sydney for two days, before undertaking the final leg of our sea trip to New Zealand.

      While in Sydney we were in the home of our Auntie Dolly, who was one of Dad's older sisters who had remained in New South Wales when Dad and his family left to make their home in Western

Australia. The presence of Western Australian cousins may, or may not, have been appreciated by Auntie Dolly's sons, but I recall vividly some disagreement, and the upshot was that a sizeable piece of wood, with the business end of a 50 mm nail being hurled in my direction, tearing a piece of flesh from my right knee, and even now I can see Aunt Dolly and Mum rushing to my aid, as the blood spurted. However I was soon patched up, and on speaking terms again with my cousins. But I still carry the scars, to this day.

      The two day break in Sydney must have been a blessing for Mum, travelling with four kids, being pregnant, and sea sick, would be no fun. So she may not have looked forward to the trip across the Tasman sea, (which can be very rough), in the same way as her four children undoubtedly did.

      The Wanganella departed for Port Chalmers in the South Island of New Zealand at 8.00 a.m. on 15th march 1920. The passenger list had changed considerably, and we had lost our playmate Ray, and also our magician. But as our ship went through the famous Sydney Harbour Heads, we were again a very excited family. New Zealand lay directly ahead of us.

      The SS Wanganella arrived at Port Chalmers, the cold, misty harbour which serves the South Island city of Dunedin, at 10.00 a.m. on the 19th March 1920, after a reasonably good passage from Sydney.

      We were met at the harbour by Mr J. Ingles-Wright and transported in his large car to his impressive home in Mornington, a suburb of Dunedin. Mr Ingles-Wright was a prominent businessman in New Zealand, and one who was involved in many activities which, at one time, included the position of British High Commissioner in the dominion of New Zealand. He was also the Elder, and strong leader, in the little Mornington church to which Dad had been invited to serve as evangelist.

      In their home, which was very spacious, provision had been made for our family to spend one week before we moved to our home, which at that time was not quite ready for occupancy. The week in this gracious home in New Zealand whose owners because of their position of power and wealth were able to provide whatever they needed or wanted, was a nightmare for mum and Dad, and

      I'm sure that the end of their first week in New Zealand could not come quickly enough. The son of this home, a young man, perhaps in his late teens, was a dog fancier, and because he was the son of a very wealthy home he was able to obtain the best in New Zealand and beyond, whenever he made purchases to build his kennel numbers.

      There was a small shed on the property, and the interior walls were covered with pretty labels, with certain printing shown on the face of each one. The colors were red, green, purple and blue. Lin and I, with some experience in rearranging things, decided that the walls would look much better if they had the natural timber look, so we gently took each cardboard label down and not so gently tore them up into small pieces and decorated the floor with this confetti like material.

      The young man on a routine check later that day, found that all his hard won certificates of merit, his first, second, third and honorable mention cards awarded him at many locations throughout both the South and North Islands of New Zealand had been systematically and fiendishly, as he believed, destroyed.

      The sedate and lovely Ingles-Wright mansion had never been in such uproar as on this occasion. I was soundly thrashed by Dad, and Lin received the same treatment, and I crawled under the bed being used by Mum and Dad, and nursed my aches and pains for a long time. I was hurt on the outside, but more on the inside, because I didn't know why everybody had gone so mad, I didn't know what I had done, or why the cards were so important. It was some time later I discovered the seriousness of this escapade. It was a bad beginning for us in New Zealand and I'm

sure that the Ingles-Wright family heaved a sigh of relief when the new minister and his family could be moved out.

      This move occurred on March 26th 1920, and on that day we really commenced our life together as a family in New Zealand. The house we lived in was not large but Mum and Dad had by this time acquired a fair bit of knowledge about fitting families into small spaces and making do with very little.

      Our Dad as has previously been mentioned, was a positive, dynamic man, and whilst he was loving and considerate, he was not one to be sat on by any member of his congregation, and this included those with wealth and power, who very often in our churches are fawned upon and looked up to.

      Some of the New Zealand churches had the sad reputation for many years of crucifying their ministers, particularly those who were young; and sometimes it was believed by church boards and others, that recruits from the Australian brotherhood should be shown the correct way in which a preacher should operate; he was in their humble opinion, not there as a leader, a co-elder, or one who was there to guide and plan the church in operation, but as a servant only.

      This then was the situation Dad faced in Mornington. A very wealthy and influential Elder, an official board subservient to him, and willing at all times to do his bidding regardless of what the minister may think. This was not a situation in which our Dad could really operate effectively, and soon after the official welcome period was over, difficulties did occur.

      On April 3rd 1920, there were celebrations in our home. I reached the age of 5, and both Lin and I started school. We were placed in the same grade, but within a short space of time Lin was promoted, and for the remainder of our school days he was away ahead and I brought up the rear as best I could.

      I recall this first day very well, but the second day is more firmly imprinted on my memory. The school lout and bully had been caught on top of the girls lavatories using a peep hole through the roof, and our lady teacher promised him, and the class, a lesson. She took a thin branch from the willow tree, stripped it of its green bark, and thrashed him with it in front of the class, and the bully boy was really hurt and howling, and the class was very subdued. The punishment I believe was fair, but the public display of it seemed cruel and unnecessary.

      In the town of Mornington I had my first brush with death. There was a large family in our street. They had an old type home with a large verandah on all sides. The father of this home was the local milkman, and we used to take the billy and obtain our supplies. The youngest member of the family, a girl, became very ill, and each morning we would enquire about her condition, and on one such occasion the mother replied, very casually, "Oh, she died last night. Would you like to see her?" I was horrified, and I left in a hurry, shocked that I had come so close to this awful thing called death. The mother seemed surprised at my hurried departure.

      In the family next door, there were three boys. They were older than either Lin or I, but they tolerated us. They were interesting and active

lads, and they had dug a large underground room in the front garden, roofed it, and made it quite comfortable with seats and table. The main use of this dugout was as a cinema. They were the proud owners of an early type film projector, and on occasions we were invited to see the movies. In this dugout we were introduced to the stars of the celluloid, and cheered the feats of Tom Mix and his wonder horse, and laughed ourselves silly at the antics of Charlie Chaplin and the Max Sennett comedians. I believe however we did our first film viewing under the lap. Mum and Dad, as I remember, were not really smitten with the movie age just then making its influence felt throughout the world, and in fact our first contact with a picture theatre came some time later and the double bill of films was--"Tom Mix Rides Again" & "The Radio King", and I recall the action and the thrill of them both extremely well.

      One cold morning in Mornington I shall never forget. Dad, who always made his sweetheart a cup of tea in the morning, got up at the normal time, and instead of lighting the little gas ring, came bounding into our room, and invited us, or rather urgently instructed us to get out quickly and come with him. We did this and he opened the back door and the sight and sheer thrill and joy of it has never left me.

      It had snowed all night, and the whole world was covered in a thick white mantle, and it was so quiet and beautiful, that as I write about it now, 65 years later, I am there as a little child, drinking it all in and wondering how anything could look so beautiful. Later that day, Dad made us a big snowman, and finished it with pieces of coal for eyes, mouth and buttons. It was our proud possession for about three

days, and finally, and sadly, it disappeared along with all other traces of our first snow storm.

      In our short stay in Mornington there was another major event. Our third baby girl was born on 7th August 1920. A lady, nurse McCail, had been living with us for a short period and we thought this was beaut, little dreaming that she was there for a very definite and wonderful purpose.

      Dad often shared with us in our bedroom, and he came in on this day, and asked us to guess what we had in our home. There were many guesses, dogs, cats, some special foods, chocolates, and all sorts of childish things, and finally we had to be told that it was a baby.

      Immediately I asked, "Is it a boy?". "No," Dad replied, " a beautiful baby girl." I was very disappointed, I badly needed a baby brother, and had in fact been praying for this, so I said, "I don't want to see her." But when nurse McCail took me to the crib the next day I was hooked. Our new addition was given the quite delightful names of Enid Lavinia. Enid smiled genuinely according to her mum, much earlier than any other baby she had known before or since. And her smiles and happiness soon became part of the Mornington manse. Now we were seven.

      Our lovely mum had been married to her beloved George for seven and a half years, and during that reasonably short period she had lived in four homes and produced five children.

      The situation at the Mornington Church had not improved. Mr Ingles Wright was not able to cope with a young minister, capable though he may be,

who could not believe that he, as the Elder, must always have the final say on all matters, and that his leadership was all important. Dad tried to explain to his Elder what he believed the role of an Elder to be, and also he took him carefully through the New Testament, so that together they could discover what the role of the minister should be. Mr Ingles Wright remained unconvinced and Dad, believing as he always did that the church is greater than the individual, asked to be released, and this was agreed to in September of 1920.

      The minister at the Invercargill Church had at this time just completed his term of three years and had received a call to minister elsewhere and when the Invercargill board heard that young George Fitzgerald was available for appointment, they lost no time in making contact and some of them saw him in Mornington, and offered him a three year term of ministry. Dad accepted, and after six months of unhappiness, he was keen to make the move to Invercargill. Mum had now made and broken three home and now with five children ranging from six and a half years to two and a half months, had to do it all over again, but for this time she carried out these heart breaking tasks free of a pregnancy.

      We moved from the Mornington scene on October 10th, 1920, and again the older manse children were excited and looking forward to new adventures in a new location.

      We travelled by 3'6" gauge train from Dunedin to Invercargill, and were met at the railway station by members of Dad's new church.

      Our first impression of Invercargill was that it was like England and of course at our tender ages we had not seen the British Isles or knew very much about them, but there was a very definite explanation. Dad was always concerned for his family, and hoped that they would from an early age become readers.

      To stimulate our desire for knowledge, he had introduced us to the Children's Newspaper, a publication produced in England and edited by Arthur Mee. We used to wait eagerly for its arrival and absorb all its contents. Although it dealt with many things of supreme interest to young children, its background and flavour was always English. Dad's hope, that as we read and were fascinated by the writings of Arthur Mee, we would reach out and enter the larger world of book reading, worked well in Lin's case and by his seventh year he was already becoming a bookworm.

      The beginning, however, of my life-time adventure in the world of books did not occur until later, perhaps when I was nine years old. But along with the rest of the family I read the Children's Newspaper, and looking back over sixty-five years, I can remember many things that the editor brought to my attention, and I believe they had a lasting effect. So, we arrived at the Invercargill Station, and it was a little bit of England to us. Why? Because lined up row upon row with beautifully groomed horses, were many Hansom cabs, and because of our exposure to all things English, we knew about Hansom cabs.

      We were driven to our new home at Ythan Street, and commenced living in Invercargill. It was to be our home for the next three years and ten months. The ladies of the church had stocked the larder with many attractive goodies and to five eager young people, this put the seal of greatness on the folk who were to he our friends in the years ahead.

      The welcome extended to the new minister and his family set the pattern which was to be followed throughout the entire ministry. It was quiet, thoughtful, loving, and sincere--with caring as its keynote. Invercargill had been settled mainly by Scottish people, and all of the admirable qualities of Scotland the brave were clearly discernible in these folk who made up the membership of our new church.

      After the welcome, Dad's second ministry in New Zealand began on a very high note, and remained there for the whole period as he shared with his people, teaching and instructing them, baptising and marrying them, and becoming an important Part of their lives. The situation here was

quite the opposite to the church at Mornington--domination was replaced by a loving acceptance and a willingness to cooperate, and when necessary to be led by the one whom they had called to be their leader.

      Soon after taking up residence at Ythan Street, Dad took Lin and me to the South School, which was to be our house of learning during the Invercargill experience. It was a good school, and for me it has no unhappy memories. It was Jean's first school, and in the last few months before our departure to another place in New Zealand, Gwen was also enrolled as a pupil.

      Our new city, being the most southerly in the world, was a place of extreme cold, so we became very used to snow storms and heavy frosts, which would freeze our water pipes, causing extreme pressure, and occasionally they would burst, resulting in minor flooding and wetness in all the wrong places. We loved these frosts, and were always fascinated by the delicate shapes on the lawn and fruit trees, and also by the long icicles which formed on any garden tap which happened to be dripping. Whenever a frost was possible, we would place plates of milk on the lawn, get up early the next morning and enjoy a feast of frozen milk.

      The manse was a real home to us--constructed of weatherboards with sufficient room, at a squeeze, for our growing family. The backyard was large with a number of established fruit trees, and also black and red currants and gooseberry bushes. There were lawns back and front, and plenty of room for our many games, or to get away from each other, which at times, was very necessary.

      A main feature of the home was the kitchen and its heating arrangements. It was equipped with a large stove, which gave a warm glow of comfort to the whole area. Alongside the stove, in its own cabinet, was a quite large water tank. With the heat provided from the fire, through an ingenious system of connecting pipes, the cold tank water would be converted into boiling hot water. It was a feature of this lovely family home, and we all recall its friendly operation very clearly. Saturday night baths were always a messy, happy occasion in our home, and they, and many other things, were dependant upon the water heater and its safe and reliable operation. In our four years of close and loving contact with this unique feature, it never failed to deliver the goods.

      The chapel was barely a minutes walk from the manse. It was a well constructed, fairly large wooden building equipped with all of the normal church fittings, and an organ, which sounded quite melodious, but needed the efforts of someone behind the scene, and quite out of sight to constantly continue pumping until the organist no longer required his assistance.

      This used to operate quite well, until one Sunday morning after Dad had completed his sermon he announced the closing hymn, the organist touched all the right notes, but nothing happened. So, she tried again, but with the same result, then looked appealingly at Dad. Dad left the pulpit, and discovered the pumping brother was very sound asleep, he was awakened with some difficulty, and asked gently to get pumping, which he did, and the service finally drew to a close.

      At this time, Dad had been preaching for ten years, and his skill as a teacher and orator made me wonder how anyone could sleep through one of his sermons. He was developing the spell binding qualities which would make him, in later years, the most stimulating speaker in our Australasian churches.

      The Church was alive with throbbing activity, with a large Sunday School and Adult Bible class, which, in addition to producing many fine Christian men and women who made their mark for their Master in Invercargill and elsewhere, it challenged three young men to full time service, namely Albert Ladbrook, George Mathieson and Ray Blampied, who served the Australasian Brotherhood in many areas, and with distinction. Albert Ladbrook also served in South Africa, and each one of them would point to their beloved G.T. as their "father" in the faith.

      This adult Bible class was notable for another reason. It was held on Sunday morning before the 11.00 a.m. service and two of its members were very young, and did not in any way qualify as young adults. Lin and I were those junior members, and we shared with our Dad in this thrilling part of his work. This arrangement was made so that on a busy Sunday morning, Mum's increasing workload would be lightened a little. Lin and I never needed any urging to get going on Sunday morning, because it was really something to us to be sharing with a group of young men and women whom we hero worshipped.

      On two wonderful occasions, Dad took the Bible class to fabulous Stewart Island, and we went along with them. The sea journey across the sometimes very tempestuous Foveau Strait in a large converted tugboat, called the Marie

Theresa, was dream-like for us. The sight of icebergs in the distance and Sperm Whales close at hand were unforgettable memories. Stewart Island is a wonder island, set in the extreme, cold southern seas, it is alive with luxurious tropical growth. The explanation for this phenomenon is a warm stream of water coming from the north east which gives the tiny land mass a higher temperature, and with the ample rainfall, conditions are just right for tropical growth. Our two trips to this magic Isle must remain as highlights in our travel experience, and Thule Bay, Half Moon Bay, the navigable creeks and canals and the whole beautiful scene will remain with us forever.

      On our second trip to the island, Albert Ladbrook took his sister, who bore the delightful name of Tui and also a brother, Ken. They were about our age and so we joined forces to do what we considered to be daring and exciting.

      The campers lived together in a large home overlooking Thule Bay, and it was one of the rules that after the midday meal everyone had a rest period, and that included us.

      One particular sunny day, we waited until all was quiet, then sneaked out one by one and met at the beach. After consultation, we decided to carry out our most ambitious plan. Some unsuspecting fisherman had moored his little dinghy a short distance from the shoreline. We waded out to it, loosed the moorings and scrambled on board. There was an island which appeared to be reasonably close, and this was to be our first ever rowing experience--there and back again before the afternoon siesta was over. We had seen others rowing, and it seemed fairly straight forward, but to keep our dinghy headed

for that elusive Island we found, was not the pushover it had appeared to be. However, we did get the knack, and taking it in turns we eventually reached our destination, but as it had taken an age, we were now a bit concerned about the reaction back at the camp. The siesta we knew would be well and truly over, so we turned our craft with some difficulty, and rowed as hard as our tired arms would permit, and arrived fairly expertly, we believed, to within sight of the haven of Thule Bay, when we became aware of two distraught figures searching the island and finally coming in desperation to the beach, and looking out to sea they spotted our boat. At that moment, Lin and I were in charge of the oars, and we were rowing strongly and really making the little craft move. On seeing and hearing Dad and Albert, our cool deserted us, and for quite some hopeless minutes, our boat stayed stubbornly still, or went round and round in circles. The more we tried, the worse mess we got in to. During the whole period of our immobility Dad and Albert were like two frantic Generals in charge of the beach head, both waving their arms about madly, and issuing opposing instructions and jumping up and down as evidently none of their shouted orders were taken the slightest notice of.

      Finally, we did forget our fright, and steadied our nerves long enough to get moving smoothly again, and when the boat touched the sandy beach we felt like conquering heroes--that feeling, I may add, did not last long.

      The Invercargill years were the commencement point for many things which remained with us for the remainder of our lives. Lin and I were constantly involved with each other. We shared the same bedroom, we went to school together,

played on the common, flew our home made kites; Lin's models always hit the sky quicker, and remained aloft longer than mine, because he was much more careful and meticulous in the construction stages. We kicked footballs, played cricket and did all those things which normal, lively lads tend to do.

      Money, however, was always our problem--there just was not any of it available. The churches may have loved their ministers, but the thought of paying an adequate salary did not occur to them. So such a thing as pocket money was unknown to us, but we did need just a few pence occasionally. To rectify this we collected anything we could find, mainly bottles, and then sold them to the highest bidder. But whilst this was a help, it proved to be a poor return for our labour. So Lin, who usually had the money making ideas, suggested that we go into the business of collecting lead and selling it to a plumber. We found out that the plumbing trade was not interested in our little bits and pieces, until one day in his search for an outlet, Lin found an accommodating member of this trade, quite close to our school, and he put a proposition to us. Collect all your little bits and pieces, and make them into half pound ingots, and I will buy them. So, we built a fire place in the back yard, Lin worked out the container size that would be needed, and the lead pieces were melted, and the ingots formed and at last we had a very small but somewhat more steady form of income. As a boy, Lin was enterprising, and as an adult this admirable quality never deserted him.

      Another important feature in our lives at this time was the introduction into our home of an English publication known as the Ladies Home

Journal, which was a beautifully produced magazine, edited by the very talented and highly respected journalist Flora Klickmann. It was Mum's only extravagance, and it became a very vital part of our education. Through the pages of the journal, we learned of an entirely different way of life as we were introduced to the Royals of England, and the elegant sets surrounding them.

      The magazine would arrive monthly, and the four older members of our family could hardly wait for its appearance. When it was delivered, we would read avidly and hang on to everything that we saw in word and pictures, then Mum would finally have the opportunity to settle down quietly and absorb the news from overseas.

      The journal brought many things of interest to us. We watched the young Duke of York hang his hat up to the lovely Lady Elizabeth Bowes-Lyons, and when they were married, we were agog with excitement and drooled over the pictures of the beautiful bride and the handsome young prince. We were also part of the show when the most unattractive Lord Harewood married the not so bright Princess Royal. We saw their babies, we were introduced to their nannies, and other important members of the Royal Household.

      We became aware of Buckingham Palace and the fascination it and the occupants had for the English People. We saw the picturesque Trooping of the Colors, and the famous changing of the guard. We met some famous people who were at that time ruling England--the incredibly handsome young Ramsay MacDonald, who for a brief period in 1924 was the first Labor Prime Minister in Great Britain. Names like Baldwin, Simon, Churchill, Joseph Chamberlain and his two sons,

Austen and Neville, and many others became known to us. However, their significance in the world of Politics passed us by, as we were mainly interested in Royalty and their activities.

      It was a strange beginning for a family who would later become oriented in a very different way, and come to believe that whilst the constitutional monarchy of England had some things to recommend it, it was largely wrongly based, and that adulation given to a family because of their birth was totally undesirable, and should be reserved for those who, because of their sacrifice, compassion and dedication, have added something to the goodness that is in this world. We also became a family who refused to take up arms, and kill our fellow man, even though we were called upon to do so by that very same Duke of York we admired so much in his courting days. He was at that time the King of England and Emperor of the British Empire. So Mum's Ladies Home Journal had a very definite place in our lives and taught us many things. When Flora Klickmann retired as Editor of the Journal, we each felt a sense of personal loss, and we looked upon her successor, Anne Hepple, as something of an usurper. However, time soon healed our hurt, and we came to believe that Anne was great and nearly as good as our beloved Flora.

      Our literary hero, Arthur Mee, had produced his famous Children's Encyclopedia, and I believe that Dad must have been one of the earliest subscribers. It was issued monthly, and now, in addition to the Children's Newspaper and the Ladies Journal, we had another publication which was destined to play a very important role in our education. These monthly issues were later bound into larger, but manageable volumes, and were our constant companions and remained an

important part of our lives long after we had said goodbye to childhood days.

      Arthur Mee was perhaps fifty years ahead of his time, and he taught us about noise and visual pollution, about the ecology and conservation, matters which, long after his death, and decades after we had entered the adult stages, were to become significant issues.

      He took us on fascinating journeys to all the countries of the world, and introduced us to their people, culture and customs. We accompanied him on almost unbelievably interesting trips to the solar system, to the Arctic, to the Antarctic, and many other regions of this universe.

      He introduced us to the great characters of history, the statesmen, the inventors, the explorers, the men of the church, the presidents of the U.S.A., the Kings and Queens of England and many others.

      He took us back to the beginning of time, and taught us about the earth, and how it was formed.

      He gave us our first look at primitive man, the Java man, the Neanderthal and others.

      He challenged us to think, and not always blindly accept, but to research and discover.

      He encouraged us to love beauty--the beauty of this world.

      He taught us about the horror of violence and destructiveness, and he invited us to consider the uselessness and obscenity of war. Beauty, creativity, the wonders of the universe, honesty

of thought, boldness tempered with wisdom, and love and respect for one's fellow man regardless of creed or color, were always at a premium in his writings. Hate, destruction, war and violence were treated as obscenities.

      Arthur Mee became an authority and guide on all of these matters, and he was one of those who moulded our thinking, and determined many of our conclusions about the world in which we live; it became to us not a place to be exploited for man's profit, but a precious gift to be preserved, loved, maintained and enjoyed. He also, in a very strange way, provided comfort on those occasions when we believed that the world, and particularly our beloved parents, were against us. When we deserved punishment and got it, and were sent to our rooms, one of the consolation prizes was to be able to fall on the bed feeling dreadfully unwanted, but clutching a volume of the encyclopedia, the fascination of which helped us to forget our troubles and 1 believe it speeded up the process of rehabilitation and hastened our return at a non rebellious, cooperative member of the family circle once again.

      We were manse kids, and fairly normal sort of children. We did much of the same things as our peers, but there was a difference. All our entertainment and amusement were church oriented, and soon after our arrival we were introduced to the church social.

      These were happy, noisy and wonderful occasions where young and old joined together in fun, games and other activities, and finished the night with a mouth watering supper.

      Another feature was the yearly sale of work; where in the bazaar atmosphere we joined the

many buyers of the wide range of goods offered for sale. Our purchases, however, were restricted mainly to toffee apples, Turkish delight and other sweets. To us it was a great occasion, and at that time we were blissfully unaware that sales of work were in many of our churches an unmentionable thing and one which had caused a split in some churches. So not having this knowledge, we looked forward to the sales of work, and enjoyed them immensely.

      Another main feature was the Sunday School picnic. It was always held at "Belgravia", a stately home set in large grounds on the outskirts of Invercargill. We travelled from the church to the picnic ground by a large wagon fitted with protective sides, and hauled by two Clydesdale horses.

      The driver was a very handsome young man known to all his admirers as Gar Todd. Garfield Todd was the son of the owners of Belgravia who were prominent and wealthy business people in New Zealand, and he was destined to move a long way from his present task of driving Sunday School children on their big day, or assisting the family brick and tile business. He was to become the Prime Minister of Rhodesia, and he would lose his Prime Ministership and the leadership of his party because of his anti-racist policies.

      Later, during the latter stages of an infamous regime in that country, he would for a period of time be under constant surveillance and house arrest, and would with his daughter Judith, who was a dedicated anti-racist writer and lecturer, become a world figure, and in 1986 would receive a knighthood from the Queen of England.

      As I stand and watch the scene in a modern supermarket, as I sometimes do, and listen to the cacophony of sound, and see the hassled Mums doing their shopping in just the way other people decided they must, and I see them selecting their own goods, loading them into their trolleys which they push from place to place and aisle to aisle, frequently with one or two children adding their little bit of tension, and very often seeking in vain for an employee to assist them with some urgently required information, I know that they have been well and truly conned.

      During our Invercargill years, I don't recall shopping for our supplies at all; there must have been a corner shop somewhere close where we could pick up certain items, but for the rest, it was all done at the back door with Mum giving the orders and later the same day receiving the supplies over the same doorstep.

      She had a variety of tradesmen constantly knocking at the back door, and for the day to day supplies, she had no need to go anywhere near a shop. These back door salesmen were mainly courteous, efficient people very keen to remain as Mum's suppliers. They included a baker, butcher, milkman, grocer, green-grocer, egg man, butter man, laundry man, and haberdasher and in addition, hawkers would call and supply all of the little things a housewife may need.

      Mum, had a pretty tough spin with a large family fairly early in married life, and with a loving, loyal and wonderful husband, who because of his Irish background--his commitment to ideals, his tenseness, his temper which was not always beautifully under control, his inability to totally relax, and the many other features which

are always associated with an intelligent highly strung man going places in the world, her lot was not always easy, in fact, quite often the reverse. But for shopping, she had it made, and her poor sisters who shop today in chromium plated modern shopping complexes have been taken for a ride.

      After one year and eight months of Invercargill life, another event of great interest and importance occurred. Nurse McCail, who had been Mum's nurse at the time of Enid's birth, was again a part of our family life, and we, not yet knowing the facts of life, thought it was pleasant to have her with us.

      It was about 6.00 p.m., May 25th, 1922, and both Dad, Mum and the Nurse were missing from the tea table, and we were left to our own devices. As usual, when this was the case, it was noisy, but through our noise, we heard the sharp, very distinct cry of a new born baby, and we were delighted. But our delight was somewhat dampened when the nurse came into the dining room and announced that we had a baby sister, but she was not smiling, and she asked us to form a single line with Lin in the lead, and the others to follow, and we would be allowed to kiss the new arrival. We did this, and noticed the troubled look on the faces on both Mum and Dad, and then, we were quickly escorted from the room. As we departed, the doctor who was still in attendance bent low over the little one's cot and looked very grave. Later, we all went to bed a little subdued, and wondered what it was all about.

      The next morning, Nurse McCail and Dad were much brighter, and we were again allowed to see Mum and the new baby. Every true mother after the birth of her babe looks heavenly, and Mum had

that look about her. She smiled and welcomed us all and the sadness of the previous night was gone. It was a great occasion.

      It transpired that the Doctor had told Mum and Dad that the beautiful young life was not long for this world, and would not see the light of what would have been her first day. However, he had not reckoned with the strong will to live that this tiny babe had. She lived through the night, watched over prayerfully by Dad and the Nurse, and when the first light of dawn shone through the windows, new hope came with it. The doctor was summoned; he stood by the little one amazed and almost speechless, and finally he gave his verdict. "Your beautiful babe", he said, "has battled for life for every second of the thirteen hours she has been with us. Now I believe that she will live, and not only will she live, but she'll do it with vigour and will."

      How wrong was his first guess, and how true the second! Our new sister soon became a lively and lovely part of our manse life. She was given the lovely name of Nancy, and was the one chosen to proudly wear the name of her Mum as her second given name.

      So, Nancy Clara with great difficulty and almost miraculously moved us on from the blessed figure of seven, and now we were eight.

      On the 6th February, 1923, Mum and Dad celebrated their tenth wedding anniversary. They had served the churches in Australia and New Zealand in five ministries, and their workload had always been onerous, six children had come to share their busy life, but they had never had a holiday.

      The church arranged leave for them, and they planned for the trip they always referred to as their honeymoon. The place selected to spend the days of this long awaited holiday was Queenstown, reputed at that time to be on of the world's beauty spots, located amongst glorious New Zealand scenery, and on the shores of Lake Wakitipu.

      Gwen, Enid and baby Nance accompanied "the honeymooners". Lin, Jean and I were left in the loving care of church members. The holiday worked wonders for them both, and Dad came back re-invigorated and happy to settle into his demanding church work. Mum came back looking so beautiful and young, that as I write, I can see her as she told us about the wonderful gloryland of Queenstown. I believe she looked more lovely than I had ever seen her.

      The fascination of Queenstown caught my imagination, and although I was only eight years of age, I made an undertaking with myself that someday I would see this wonderful place.

      Fifty three years had to pass before I was able to achieve this ambition, and when it did occur, I was able to share it with my own beautiful girl, who by that time had been my wife and companion for thirty nine years, and I found it as entrancing as our wonderful pair of "honeymooners" had back there in the year 1923.

      In the last year of our Invercargill stay, the event of which I had prayed for actually happened. Mum was taken to hospital on February 15th, 1924, and the next day, she gave birth to a boy. This wonderful arrival was the first of the family born in a hospital, so we were robbed this time of the drama which had surrounded the

previous births. He was special--being the first male after four births of the opposite sex, and he was given a royal welcome, when finally, and it seemed to me an eternity, they released our Mum from hospital. Two men were very special to Mum--a young brother Keith, and her beloved George. So this baby was named after them both, and he became Keith George Fitzgerald, and now we were nine.

      As the early months of 1924 disappeared into history, it became clear that our magic days in Invercargill were soon to end. The minister at the Nelson Church had completed his term of ministry, and was returning to Australia, and so, the church board offered Dad an engagement with them. The offer was unexpected, and I believe, unwanted, the years at Invercargill had been golden ones for Dad, and he did not wish to sever his connection with the folk who had become so much part of his life.

      The Invercargill church felt the same way and they did not want to release their beloved minister. However after many meetings, discussions and heart-searching, an agreement was reached and Dad was released. And so the happy and eventful years spent in flat, cold, but very friendly, Invercargill were soon to be over.

      When we arrived from the southern city three years and ten months before, we were a family of seven, now with the addition of Nancy Clara, and Keith George, we were nine.

      Our eldest, Lin, was now ten, and was already showing signs of developing a strong and tall frame. He was the patient type, not easily ruffled, was a great reader, and whilst the other members chose mainly to use precious time in fun

and games, he could be found on his bed reading, eating sultanas or raisins, and absorbing any book which came to hand.

      Jean was nearly seven years old; she was about to enter her third year of primary education; she was showing a little of what was to be her trade mark later in life, gentleness, which should never be mistaken for weakness.

      Gwen was five, and was in her first year of schooling, and the delicious sense of humour, which had the effect in later years of always bowling me over, was appearing. At that time, she was very tubby and round and her loving brothers and sisters had made up a little jingle, and whenever she needed cheering up we would sing it to her; and it went like this,

      "Fatty Fitch fell in a ditch, ate some mud and got a stitch."

      Enid was four and still a preschooler. She was developing as a quick bright lass and showing early signs of the athletic ability which was to make her the top family athlete.

      Nancy was two years and two months, and Keith, our baby, was one year and five months old, and both of these junior members were very important to us, and were developing along very attractive lines.

      I was nine, short for my age, in fact undersize, although not a sickly person I did readily pick up all the childhood complaints, and whenever this happened Lin would be encouraged to get as close to me as he might dare, and hopefully he would catch the same virus--but he never did, so I had to endure the mumps, measles, and

chicken pox on my own. I followed, with eager ness, the writings of the authors and editors mentioned previously but I had not yet read my first book.

      Dad was a virile young man of 35 summers; he did, however, have some health difficulties, mainly brought about, I believe, by nervous tension, and on one occasion he went on a sixteen day fast which may have had some beneficial effect; the visual effects were ghastly, and made our Dad look like a very old, wasted man.

      He was a strict father, one who could be depended on to keep his promise, even if that promise happened to be an unpleasant one flowing on from a possible action of non compliance with his wishes or instructions. He was however, always fair and just, and although the razor strop, which he used on many occasions, was hurtful to one's bottom, the matter was soon forgotten, because we could sense that he was a concerned parent, a strong leader, and we knew that despite everything, he really loved us.

      Mum was 33, her tall, rather stately figure and her good looks belied the fact that she was the mother of seven children. She was a lovely lady, mainly very easy to get along with, difficult to unbalance, not very keen on administering corporal punishment, and if and when she did, it was done without a lot of enthusiasm. She was the very model of a loyal wife, and I cannot recall a time when she in any way opposed Dad's ruling, although I suspect that on occasions that deep down she disagreed rather strongly.

      Despite all her years of travel, exposure to people, home building and breaking, and a lively family, she had not lost, nor did she ever, the

quality which in the far off Kerang days used to annoy her mum; that is the habit of putting off today what could be done tomorrow. She still had the ability to dream while unfinished tasks called for attention. Our home life was, consequently, friendly, and strictly non-clockwork in its operation, and I suppose somewhat hap       hazard. Mum was the perfect foil for her dynamic mate, and together they were a wonderful team who loved each other deeply and showed a constant and loving concern for their children's welfare.

      So the wonderful Invercargill days, which had added so much to us, were over; our furniture was packed and moved out.

      Our last night was spent in the homes of several of our church families. Lin and I were billeted with the Mabellson family. They had two young teenage girls, Jean and Winnie. I was hopelessly in love with Jean. She, perhaps, was nineteen, and I had reached the mature age of nine, but this did not occur to me as a possible barrier; she was my girl. But spending the night in this home brought all my romantic dreams crashing around my head. I was introduced to Jean's young man. I was desolate. My love instantly turned to hate. I would not talk to her, I believe I made our short stay in this hospitable home, a little unpleasant.

      The next day the church met on the Invercargill station to say goodbye to their beloved minister and his family. There were many tearful scenes, and my faithless lover took me in her arms and kissed me goodbye. I returned the kiss, but frigidly and without enthusiasm. Our last look at our beloved city was taken from the railway carriage, and soon we were back in Dunedin where

we were booked as passengers on a coastal vessel which we boarded during the late afternoon, and just before nightfall we departed Pt Chalmers, steamed up the east coast of the South Island, called in at Lyttleton Harbour, then on to Nelson, where we were met at the wharf by an eager group of welcomers from our new church. Our Nelson experience was about to commence.

      The city of Nelson, as can be well imagined, was named after Britain's great naval hero, Lord Horatio Nelson. It was a small, but very interesting place, and one of its neighbouring towns recalled Nelson's famous victory at Blenheim. Set on the shores of Tasman Bay, with the picturesque Maitai River running through it, and with a mysterious looking mountain range close by, it was a very attractive city.

      The mountains, if given their correct Maori name, were the Monga Tapu Ranges. They were sacred to the Maori race and revered by them. But we, in our ignorance of the Maori language, always referred to them as the Mokotaps.

      Nelson's own particular share of the beautiful Tasman Bay, was at Tahunanui, and the beach took that name. It was a fine stretch of golden sand, and the summer playground for the Nelson dwellers and their families. But, again being of European stock, we shortened the lovely name to what we believed was the more manageable, Tahuna.

      Nelson was set in the midst of apple growing country, and the names of Motueka, Stoke, and Richmond, were famous throughout New Zealand, and beyond, for their delicious apple crops. Nelson provided the port facilities for these apple, and other, exports from the outlying districts, and it was consequently a reasonably busy place.

      Nelson was on the famous New Zealand fault line, and earth quakes, or rather earth tremors were not uncommon. They could be heard coming as they rattled the crockery and other effects in the houses in their path, and when our turn came the slight earth movement did the same with our home, and the uncanny noise would continue to be heard in the distance. We did not, however, experience any damaging earthquakes during our two years in the apple headquarters of beautiful New Zealand.

      Nelson had its detractors in New Zealand, and was labelled as "sleepy hollow", and a place famous for only two things, its apples and its old maids. As we knew it in 1924, it was a town of twelve thousand people, perhaps slower than the other larger cities, but a truly beautiful place in which to live. The climate was good, the people friendly, the scenery close by delightful, the town itself neat and well maintained, and plenty of things for kids to do, with beach, hills and river within easy reach; but the old maid story was indeed correct.

      Our first home in our new town was in Van Diemen Street. It was a fairly large weatherboard house, big enough to accommodate our growing family. The Hampden Street Primary School was just around the corner, a couple of minutes walk

away. It was at this school that Lin, Jean and Gwen were enrolled as students. In my class, however, there was no vacancy, so I very reluctantly, and if I remember correctly a little rebelliously, became a part of the Brook Street Boys School.

      It was some distance away from our home, and my first day there I recall as one of the loneliest of my life. I was separated from the other members of my family in an impersonal all male school, and I set myself on the course of implacable hatred of the whole setup. And when the final bell on that first day rang I trudged wearily home, quite believing that at the Brook Street Boys School I would go down in history as their most pathetic failure.

      The distance between the school and our home was perhaps a mile and a half, and it took me a long time to complete, and as I approached Van Diemen Street, two excited young girls dashed up the street to meet me; Jean and Gwen, with the blessed and wonderful news that there was now a vacancy at Hampden Street, and the headmaster, Mr East, was offering me the first option. The deal was sealed on the spot, and the next day I went off happily with the others, to my new school, and remained there with Lin, Jean and Gwen for the whole period of my residence in Nelson.

      We were later to be joined by Enid, who had her first class-room learning experience in this wonderful school.

      Mr East became an important part of our lives. He ran an excellent school where friendly relations were encouraged between pupils, also between pupils and teachers, and in many ways he

was ahead of his time. A vital and intense young man, he was a returned soldier from World War I, suffering physically, and perhaps spiritually from the effects of the holocaust. He was to rapidly climb the promotion ladder in his chosen profession, and later became the senior inspector of schools in the Dominion of New Zealand.

      Opposite our new school was a very fine red brick building, known as the Nelson College. It was a secondary institution, and it boasted of a number of famous previous scholars; the most notable being Lord Rutherford, who demonstrated to the scientific world how the atom could be split, and he predicted that at some time in the future this would be achieved. Twenty five years after his demonstration, which captured world wide attention, the atom was indeed split in just the way he said it would be.

      Very soon after our move to Van Diemen Street, we became very familiar with the area and the people who were our neighbours. Just around the corner on the road which led to the church, and to the business area of Nelson, there was the Wyagang family, and the eldest girl, Faith by name, became one of our mates. There was a family directly behind us, the Baberfields. They were members of the church, and a little further on, the Walkley family, they were also church members. Ken Walkley, the son of this home, was an older teenager. He did all sorts of interesting things, like working in logging camps and operating large circular saws to reduce the huge trees to manageable timber sizes. He was friendly and he tolerated Lin and me, even when our questions became a little tiresome. And right next door was our headmaster, Mr East and his wife.

      In 1911 Dad was in his final year in the College of The Bible. He shared his room with a New Zealand student, a Mr Walter Mansell. They became very firm friends, and when the time for parting came they believed that wherever their church work may take them they would always keep in touch with each other.

      Wally Mansell, on completion of his college course, offered for missionary work in Africa. He and his young wife were stationed at the Bulawayo mission in Rhodesia, which was operated by the New Zealand Churches of Christ. Their work and time in Bulawayo, however, was to be very short, as Wally Mansell became a victim of the fatal sleeping sickness, and after a short illness, died, leaving his wife and their young baby daughter Hazel Ingomai. Mrs Mansell returned to New Zealand, settling in Nelson, where she was an active member of Dad's new church. Hazel was about our age, and although not a close neighbour, she became our closest friend during the New Zealand experience. She was a tomboy, and at times was referred to as Tom Fitzgerald, so closely did she identify with our family.

      Years later she was to return, with her mother, to the Bulawayo mission in Rhodesia, and give her life to the work so dear to her wonderful and saintly father, the man she never knew.

      The Van Diemen home block was not on huge lines, but it was adequate. It had a small creek on the rear boundary, with Hawthorn trees on the banks. The berries of these we used to make into a very unpalatable jam, which to us was great because we had created it. When the berries aged and blackened we used the juice to make ink. It was a very poor imitation of the real thing, but again, we thought it was great.

      The Maitai river was a great drawcard for Nelson youngsters. It was a clear, fresh, slow moving stream, very suitable for punting and other activities. We would watch with a little envy I guess, while the many punts were skilfully operated by their proud owners. As we watched them a desire developed, and grew very strongly, to be punt owners ourselves. We were often given a free ride by our mates, but this only fuelled our desire to be captains of our own ship.

      I was a very slipshod and inefficient builder, but I collected some bits and pieces, shaped them into a small punt of sorts, and fitted it with a mast with the skull and crossbones flag. To launch my craft I dressed as a pirate; but the only waters it ever sailed on were the waters of our local creek. The punt was nearly as wide as the creek itself, and I recall that I launched it on my own without any of my family to cheer me on, and when I stepped from the bank onto the punt, I quickly became aware that as a boat builder I had a lot to learn. Very soon my first attempt at punt building was scrapped.

      The need however, for a good craft that we could sail in the Maitai was pretty urgent. But as always money, or lack of it, was our problem. And so Dad came to our aid. He bought us the two sides, we had to supply the rest of the material and do the whole job ourselves.

      Petrol, in those early days of the automobile was sold in tins, which were contained in strong wooden boxes made of excellent softwood. We were able to scrounge several of these, and after carefully taking them apart, we used the timber to form the flat bottom, and the seats. Every precious piece of our plume Motor spirit cases was used; and when firmly in place, having been nailed in position,(not a correct boat building procedure), we spent some of our cash gained by selling things and running messages for the neighbours, to purchase small quantities of tar and pitch, using these in the accepted way to keep the water out. When finally completed we had a real launching ceremony; the whole family was there, and each member, including Mum and Dad, were given introductory rides.

      Some little water seeped in at times, but it sailed beautifully, and was our pride and joy for the next few months.

      It was moored near the home of one of our mates, who was lucky enough to live right on the river, and whenever we could we would be there amongst the Nelson punting community, and our home built craft was as good as any; we believed so anyway.

      The Maitai was subject to occasional flooding, and after a big storm late in January 1925, it flooded badly, causing considerable damage to bridges and other installations. We went to the mooring spot to see if our punt had survived, but sadly it, and all the others moored in the same spot, and I believe anywhere along the river, had been smashed beyond repair, or swept out to sea. Ours was one that had gone to sea.

      So the joy of punting was over for us, but we had enjoyed every second of the experience. When we see pictures of the back river at Cambridge, with the students operating their punt poles, we have nostalgic thoughts about this delightful pastime.

      The second day of October 1924 provided the family with a very unhappy memory.

      It was a Saturday, and a cold one. Lin, Jean, Gwen, Nance, Keith, and I, were up early, and had a fire burning brightly in the living room. Mum and Dad were in bed; Enid was with them. As we sat by the fire reading our old favourites, The Children's Encyclopedia, we were a very contented and happy group. In the midst of this happy scene, a large spark flew from the fire and landed on Gwen's flannelette nightgown. It immediately caught alight and in a second was flaming. As she ran, screaming, I threw my copy of the encyclopedia at her. My aim was good, but it had no influence on the flames, and so we ran with her, also screaming, heading for the back yard, the worst possible place, when like a thunderbolt, Dad hurled himself at the flames. Right where he and Gwen fell there was a large mat, and he quickly and expertly wrapped the little burnt body in it, and extinguished the flames. Lin and I dashed up the street to Faith Wyagang's home, and used the 'phone to ring the local doctor, and then waited on the corner, equipped with newspapers to flag him down when he should arrive. He was there in a matter of minutes. He flew out of his 1923 Nash sedan, and into the house, where in moments he had the shocking happening under control. He oiled and dressed the burns lightly, and had Gwen in an ambulance, on the way to the hospital, in very

quick time, with Dad, in the doctor's car, following the ambulance to the hospital. We remained at home and awaited Dad's return, and the doctor's verdict.

      When they returned, the outlook for Gwen was not good. She had received third degree burns to more than 30% of her body. Her back was badly burned, but, mercifully, her face, and other visible parts were largely unaffected. Doctor Washburn said it would be touch and go for the first three days, but if she was still with us at the conclusion of that period there would be a reasonable hope that, with the best care that he and the hospital could provide, she may pull through. He said that the burns themselves were enough to cope with, but the whole body was in a state of terrible shock, that all the medical skill that he and others had would be taxed to combat this condition. When he left, however, he did not leave us exactly hopeless. He did believe that Gwen would return to us, but the road ahead would be a very difficult one, and he repeated his statement that the next three days ahead would be very crucial ones, and he advised us to keep hoping. We did that alright, and we added some childish prayers to our hoping.

      In the Monday's issue of the Nelson morning paper there was a full report of the dramatic accident, and the article stated that the five and a half year old young sufferer was showing great courage, and that because of this the doctors attending her believed that she would live, even though normally the odds would be against her.

      Our Gwen in the headlines; and the reporters talking about her courage! She was our heroine,

and I'm sure we all pledged that when she arrived home we would always be her willing slaves, and never, would we quarrel with her again.

      These newspaper reports continued for the next few days, and the final one announced that the patient was out of danger, and had been removed from the seriously ill list, and placed among the group due for recovery, and possible early release from hospital. This was great news for us all, and Mr East, who had been keeping the whole school posted on the latest developments, was very happy to advise his pupils, at general assembly, that Gwen Fitzgerald was out of danger, and would be returning in due course to take her place in class again. There was no cheering as I recall, but there was a joint sigh of relief.

      After three weeks, including many visits from her family, and many others, the great day came, and Gwen was returned to us. She was still heavily bandaged, and for some time the remaining burn sores, which were still pretty extensive, had to be dressed by Mum. She was the queen of Van Diemen Street, and her every wish was our command, and this included, not only her family, but the many mates in the area who had been appalled by the horror of the near fatal burning, and with us had watched Gwen's progress, and who were continually at our back door enquiring the latest news. Full recovery was not rapid, but Doctor Washburn, who still kept in touch, was very proud of his young patient, who refused to give up, but battled bravely, and won against tremendous odds.

      Before the school year of 1924 was over, Gwen had taken her place in the classroom, and was

one of the happy kids playing vigorously in the playground with her many mates. So, the initial horror was over, a remarkable recovery had taken place, but the heavy scarring in both mind and body of the young victim, would take a little longer. The bodily scars would, of course, remain forever.

      The solemn promise we made to ourselves to always treat our sister like a heroine, and never have any disputes with her, did last for some time, but eventually in the rough and tumble of manse life, and with lively brothers and sisters, she was eased off her pedestal, and thankfully, became one of the mob again, She shared in the family fun and fights, and with a return to good health her delightful sense of humour returned. And to all outward appearances the horror of October 2nd 1924 was not forgotten but was behind us.

      Mrs Mansell, and Hazel, continued to be an important part of our lives. Hazel joined us in all of our activities, and was in the forefront of our most daring escapades. Mrs Mansell has a special place with us as a story teller par excellence. Her tales of Africa, the monkeys and other animals, near her Rhodesian home, and also of the many adventures she shared with her husband while in the mission fields, always had us hanging onto every word. In addition to her ability as a raconteur, she was also an excellent cook, and she specialised in those marvellous things which we saw only in shop windows, or perhaps when mum could save a few shillings and give one of us a birthday party. Little cream cakes, cream puffs, cream horns, prettily iced log cakes, and many other tempting delicacies.

      On one occasion the six eldest were invited by Mrs Mansell, to join her, and Hazel, on a picnic at Tahuna beach. The night before this event, we all went to her home, and were shown into a room in which was a large table loaded with delicious cooking, fresh from the Mansell kitchen.

      We returned home and tried, all talking at the same time, to explain to Mum just what a monster feast was in store for us at Tahuna on the next day.

      The day broke fine and clear, just as we had ordered. Mum asked me to go to the shop to make some purchases for her before we departed. When I dressed I pulled on an old pair of trousers, ones which I had not worn for a long time, and I walked off to do mum's bidding. As I hurried past Faith Wyagang's home, I plunged my right hand into the trouser pocket and found a shilling; "Pennies from heaven." I thought. I excitedly completed my message, and spread the word amongst the rest that I had found a shilling. Of course I was the envy of them all, as one penny was wealth to us, but one shilling was rare wealth.

      We prepared to leave, and said goodbye to Mum, and then on to the bedroom to say farewell to Dad. He kissed the others, but refused to accept mine. He just firmly held my hand, and when the others had gone, said, "Where did you get that shilling Doug?" I replied, "I found it just as I was passing Faith Wyagang's place." It may not have been the whole truth, but I felt it was not a lie. But it did not satisfy Dad, and he kept looking at me in the eye, and demanded the whole truth, which under that constant gaze, he very

soon had; The verdict, "You stay at home and miss the picnic." It was the worst sentence of my life to that point, and visions of those glorious sweet things, passed before my eyes. Very soon the visions were blocked out by a flood of tears, which continued for some time. When I could cry no more I went into the little shed where we dumped wood chips and ashes, and literally covered myself with these, and laid on the back lawn, beaten, amazed, and resentful that such a thing could happen to a little boy. Soon I heard a voice, "Look dear," it said, "your clothes are in such a mess, let's clean them up. I have something nice for you in the kitchen." Mum, with love, understanding, and a little tear in her grey eyes, cleaned me up, and fed me a delightful little meal, and did her very best to cheer me up; but that was almost impossible. The great calamity of missing out on all that food was a disaster which I believed would scar me for the rest of my life. Happily, however, I was quite wrong, and when the others returned I was back to normal, and I shared, as well as I might, in the replay of their wonderful day. But every time they mentioned cream-cakes, I winced.

      The few short months we spent at Van Diemen Street were packed with action and drama, and following Gwen's near fatal burning, another shocking accident occurred to one of our near neighbours, and it really gave our young minds a deep concern for the victim and in my case a lasting distrust of certain equipment.

      Ken Walkley, our older mate and church member, from the house just around the corner, was working at a logging camp and operating a very large circular saw. As he approached the cutting bench, he slipped, and fell heavily onto the

spinning blade. The first contact was dead centre across his forehead, and the saw teeth, toughened and sharpened as they were to handle huge logs of hard timber, quickly bit into his skull, and actually tore a piece from the front of the brain. Then the head fell back, and again forward and onto the saw a second time, cutting deeply into the bridge of the nose, leaving, miraculously, the eyes completely untouched. Then again back and forwards, this time lacerating the upper lip and gums. He was rushed from the camp after some delay, to the Nelson Base Hospital, and the doctors, after their first examination, gave him no hope of survival.

      However, as is often true in such cases, they were wrong, and the daily bulletins indicated that perhaps Ken Walkley was about to make medical history and recover from his shocking injuries and brain damage, and hopefully resume a normal happy life again. This he did, to the amazement of the medical profession and many others associated with the case.

      We were relieved and happy, when after many weeks he returned home. Later when he was out and about, he became the hero of all the local lads, including Lin and me. The scars would remain forever, and the severe headaches which he suffered would also be with him during his life time. But he did resume his normal life. I am however, unsure about a resumption of work in a logging camp.

      During Ken's long stay in hospital, we used to call on Mrs Walkley and try, in our best childish, way to console her. On one such occasion, Lin, doing his best as a budding young pastor, asked the troubled lady if she could really see the brains of her injured son through the hole

      in his head. Mrs Walkley was understanding and gentle in her response; but as an attempt at consolation, it left much to be desired.

      As the very eventful year of 1924 drew to a close, it was evident that our stay in Van Diemen Street was to end at some in the near future. Dad's church board was searching for a permanent, larger, and more suitable dwelling to be used as the manse. They were interested in a lovely home situated near the top of quite a steep hill, in a street known, appropriately, as Mount Street.

      This hill rose sharply from the flat terrain at its foot, the road of Macadamised surface taking the user up a very sharp incline, through a hairpin bend, and continuing as a two way street for some distance. Near the top the road divided and it was a one way street for the remainder of its length before ending as a dead end street. The median strip was natural bush and scrub, consisting mainly of a very prickly gorse. There was no roadway on the opposite end of the hill as it was too steep for road traffic, however a long zigzag track had been provided for pedestrians.

      This hill, and Mount Street, were a feature of Nelson, and when we heard that we may be living right up there where we could look down on the town, and out to the sea on the other side, we were excited.

      However, at that time it was only a possibility and not a certainty. Life at Van Diemen Street continued, and our church and many other activities kept us busy.

      Our school days at Hampden Street were very happy. Headmaster East was still our friendly and helpful next door neighbour. Hazel Mansell spent more time in our home than she did in her own. Our mates in the area were a very important part of our lives, and when we thought about leaving, the excitement had a little edge of sadness.

      In February 1925, the church was able to buy the Mount Street home and now we were certain of our move to the very top of Nelson, which occurred about one month later, on the 5th March 1925.

      The seven months we had spent at the Van Diemen Street home were as eventful as any I can remember of a similar period. Jean, Mum, Lin, and Keith had celebrated birthdays there, and we had shared a wonderful Christmas period.

      The festive season in our home was a great occasion. Christmas eve was spent at home, full of anticipation. We would all hang up our stockings, and at the first light of day, around 5.00 am, the place would be alive with activity as we all got together and opened our stockings, proudly and thankfully, displaying what Father Christmas had left for us. Lin and I had discovered in our Invercargill days that the old gentleman did not really exist, but at that time all the others were firm believers. Our Mum and Dad, with so little money, really did us proud, seeing to it that we had a thrilling Christmas morning.

      Chocolates and other sweets, which we were not normally able to afford, were eagerly consumed, and breakfast time, which was usually a great family occasion was bypassed as the day proceeded happily until our Christmas dinner was

announced. We all had some share in the preparation, and when Dad finally carved the chook, and we each had our serve, our joy was complete. Poultry was a great delicacy, associated only with Christmas day; certainly a once a year meal. The real plum pudding which followed was so beautiful that we hated to eat the last mouthful; while the threepenny pieces mum had saved and hidden in each serving, so no one would be disappointed, were the icing on the cake.

      Christmas tea was also, a great family time, where we ate with gusto all the things Mum had provided. We let off steam a little, and carried on in typical, noisy, Fitzgerald fashion.

      Quite early that night a very tired and happy family would gather their little heaps of presents and put them within close reach of the bed, and gratefully go to sleep. That was just about how it was on Christmas day, 1924.

      Before we started to pack up our home in the manse, to move to Mount Street, there was another birthday. Gwen had reached the age of six on 26/2/25. The party was the last big fling at Van Diemen Street. Mum provided all the normal party goodies, bread and butter with hundreds and thousands, little cakes, sweets, cordial, and a birthday cake with six candles. Faith Wyagang, Hazel, several other of Gwen's mates, and the whole family, shared in this party; Gwen's first since her accident. It was also notable for another reason: the mystery banana.

      Mum had read about a trick with bananas, and she tried it out for the first time. It worked, and mystified us all. When the banana was peeled,

instead of one large piece of fruit, there were several pieces which appeared to have been neatly cut with a knife. This, however, was not possible, because the skin itself was untouched. It created great amazement and interest. To all our questions Mum replied that they were just mystery bananas. We did not hear the explanation from her. But Jean, I believe, found some tiny holes in the skin, and finally it was discovered that by the deft use of a needle and thread, this trick could be fairly easily worked. The mystery banana became a part of our lives thereafter.

      After Gwen's great party, we started to prepare for the move to Mount Street. We said goodbye to Faith and her family, to the Baberfields, to Mr & Mrs Walkley, Ken, and our other mates. Mr East was also moving to a larger home in Mount Street, so he was to continue to be our close neighbour and friend throughout the whole Nelson experience.

      Our new home was a large type family house. It was built on a hill, and at that time the thought of cutting in to the hill to provide a flat area around the house, had not, I think, occurred to builders, so wisely they designed the building so that people could walk from the front gate on fairly level ground, and straight onto the verandah, then the main rooms of the house were built on that level and steps were provided to a lower level, where smaller rooms, laundries and other facilities were built. This was our Mount Street home. The block itself was on a very steep slope from front to back, but constructed as it was, the house took care of this and once inside the presence of a slope outside was not important. But in the garden and back yard, however, it was climbing all the way.

      The property from the front fence to the rear boundary, would I believe, be at least half an acre. The paddock, as we called the large area beyond our garden limits, was extremely steep and quite unsuitable for ball games and many other activities. But it did provide a welcome open space.

      When we arrived it was host to many huge pine trees. These were later felled and we had a great time among the pine cones and smaller branches, which we saved for our own beautiful open fire place.

      The home was ideal for a large family. The rooms were adequate in design and size. Fireplaces were in all main rooms, it had a good kitchen, and for 1925, reasonably good facilities. It had a friendly atmosphere which we enjoyed, together with the fact that there was room both inside and out for all our activities, and we did not at any time feel cramped or shut in.

      From the street it looked quite an impressive home, and this appearance was heightened by a large Australian flowering gum tree, which was the joy of all nature lovers, and the cause for many favourable comments.

      Our neighbours were all friendly, but perhaps we did not identify with them in the same way we did with the Wyagangs, Baberfields, Walkleys, and others in and around Van Diemen Street. However they were all good folk willing to assist others when and if necessary.

      One of these was a Mr Chittendon. He was a tall, stately, grey haired gentleman, and totally blind. His daily work was in the town of Nelson, so it was necessary for him to make the journey

down and up the hill each day. This was difficult because of his blindness. But his son drove a panel van and could easily provide transport for his Dad. But whenever Mr Chittendon rode in a motor vehicle he was violently ill. The problem was solved by the provision of a chromium plated bar, fitted at the correct level on the back of the van. Mr Chittendon stood behind the van, took hold of the bar, and when the son drove off, he would do what we called "a whip behind", a thing which we also tried, but were forbidden to do. His heavy footsteps could be heard at 8.15 a.m. and at 5.30 p.m. every day, as he "whipped" behind the panel van.

      We were not street kids, but our steep old Mount Street was fascinating, and we did spend some of our time enjoying it. The median strip was a favourite spot, and many hours were spent forcing our way through the prickly gorse, making secret, and sometimes very public tunnels, and coming through very blood stained and scratched, but quite eager to be the first one to negotiate new passages.

      On one memorable occasion, when the undergrowth was very dry on the median strip, it caught alight, and we witnessed our first bushfire. The gorse burned very fiercely, and we were terrified.

      Dad carried out his church visiting at that time, and for many years after, on a push bike. Using Dad's bike on the steep slopes of Mount Street Lin and I learnt to ride a bicycle. Lin being much taller than I, managed very easily. The only way I could ride was to put my right leg under the top bar, and after gaining balance, in this very unbalanced fashion, and

with Lin's help and encouragement, I was eventually able to move forward slowly and awkwardly, but later gained confidence and could manage down and up the hill quite efficiently.

      The almost crab-like action worked well until I finally grew an extra inch and was able to join the "big ones", and ride normally. Mum was happy when this occurred, as my legs and sometimes sox, would be a mess of grease where my right leg rubbed against the greasy chain.

      Our street led to a dead end, and at the dead end was a large weatherboard home. It was unoccupied, and in the garden was the best ever banana passion fruit vine; its luscious fruit provided us with an extra source of vitamins and energy. We were frequent callers at that lovely rambling old garden, and the passion fruit supply, although severely tested, never seemed to run out.

      We had to pass this way on our school journey, and it was at this spot that the road ran out of suitable terrain for road traffic, and where the long zigzag track commenced. It was easy going in the morning, but tough climbing after our schoolday was over. However, I believe we enjoyed it, and I cannot remember a complaint from anyone of the school goers.

      Enid started her school days during the Mount Street period, and young and small as she was, she had to make the steep trek up the zigzag track with the rest of us. Sometimes our trip down the mountain would be made very pleasant. Mr East would join us; he was excellent company. He had one rule. Discuss anything that was happening in New Zealand, and the world, or anything else, but not a word would he tolerate about school or school work.

      In winter time all school children in Nelson went to school bare footed. No shoes or boots were allowed. The winter months were very wet, and it was believed by the Education Department that wet feet, shoes and sox, would do far more damage than the occasional stubbed toe--hence the instruction barring footwear. It worked well and the incidence of colds, flu, and similar winter ailments was far lower in New Zealand than in other parts of the world, where no such instruction existed. Our bare feet became very familiar with the macadamised surface of our beloved Mount Street, and also with the special non slip surface of the wonderful zigzag track.

      And so our street, and our zigzag track were important to us, and we have many happy memories of them; and one which terrified us.

      Some of our Van Diemen Street activities were lost to us in our lofty Mount Street location. The Maitai River was down the hill, and on the other side of the town. Since the stream had removed our punt, we did not see so much of Nelson's lovely waterway. However there were many other things to do, and one of them was to take long walks to Tahuna Beach.

      The track was down our steep paddock, across a valley, then over another fairly steep line of hills, then flat walking until we reached the sand hills. Below them were the golden sands of lovely Tahuna. The walk seemed like ten miles, but possibly four would be closer to the real figure. Whatever the distance, we were very tired manse kids when we sat on the beach and rested awhile before attempting the return trip. The road back always seemed like twenty miles, but we always made it. That steep climb through our paddock was a severe test to our legs and

back muscles. What a joy it was to get back to the manse kitchen, and eat whatever we were permitted, often brown bread and dripping. We just loved it.

      We also entered the world of show business during our stay on the mountain. We did this to obtain a little money, something of which we were always short. Our plan worked this way. We would advertise by word of mouth amongst all the Mount Street kids, that on a certain date there would be a penny concert at our home. Then we would get busy.

      Lin and I constructed a Punch and Judy show, and made all the puppets and necessary gear. Lin worked on the script, and this was always the star act. The girls would practice singing duets, and also quartets. Lin would polish up on some poor magic tricks, and also practice standing on his head. Together we would make loads of toffee, using Mum's sugar, with other ingredients, and very often mess up her stove as the sugary mixture boiled over. Mum also came to our aid in the matter of drinks, and provided, from her constantly empty housekeeping purse, enough money for one bottle of raspberry cordial. Then when the big day arrived the kids would be there.

      Jean, always with a pleasant smile, would stand at the door of the small room we used in the lower level building, and put out her hand for the pennies. When all moneys had been collected, and everyone was seated, some on the floor, some lucky enough to have a chair, the show would start.

      Jean and Gwen would sing a song sweetly. After this introductory item, the Punch and Judy show would be moved in and Lin would take over, providing the voice and action. This always went over well, and received a few claps. Then Jean, Gwen, Enid, and Nance, would offer a vocal contribution. Then Lin would do his very ordinary magic tricks, another song, and finally Lin would show the audience that he really could stand on his head for quite some time without falling. That would bring the show to a conclusion. It was really not a good penny's worth, but when we brought out the toffee and cordial, the short comings of our acts were soon forgotten, everyone was satisfied and fully prepared to give it another go when the next concert was announced.

      When the pine trees were being felled in our paddock, Dad sharpened his axe, honing it so beautifully that one could almost shave with it. On one occasion, after a session of wood chopping, he inadvertently left the axe alongside the heap of wood, and he asked Lin to go into the paddock and retrieve it, so he could put it in a safe place away from the kids.

      Lin, normally not a disobedient lad, failed to carry out Dad's instructions, and the girls went to play in the paddock, where they found the axe. Jean picked it up and tried a neat swing at a piece of wood. But instead of splitting the wood, the razor like blade sunk deeply into her foot. She and the others returned from the paddock as quickly as possible, with Jean leaving a very real trail of blood on the grass. She was not crying, and her white, set face showed no signs of complaint. She certainly did not blame anyone; in fact in the true manner of the stoic, she was taking it in her stride.

      The message quickly got through to Dad, and he hurled himself down the hill. When he say the gaping wound, and the blood spurting, he said just one word. "Damn." That word, uttered by our father, threatened my whole existence. I could not believe that my ears had received the right message. But it was true. I decided there and then to run away from home. I confided my plan to Lin, who was not as disturbed as I, just a little amazed. Lin had other things to think about. His main concern was what would happen to him after the bleeding in Jean's foot had been stopped, and Dad was again back to normal.

      It took time, but eventually it was achieved and Dad came into the living room where Lin awaited his sentence, while I stood sullenly by, planning my escape. The expected tirade did not come. Lin was reprimanded strongly, but no punishment was meted out, and I was mollified, but still very critical of, and quite unloving towards a Dad, who could so easily say that big "D".

      On one particular cold Wednesday night, Lin, Jean, Gwen, Enid, and Nance, were comfortably seated in front of a huge fire. The heat of the fire reached me as I sat at the living room table, battling with my arithmetic homework. I was really struggling. Dad was in his study, also with a fire in the smaller grate. Keith was in his cot sleeping soundly, while Mum was at a church meeting.

      This was the scene, and apart from the hopeless grappling with a subject that mastered me for many years before I finally became its master, everything was quiet and peaceful. Without a warning, or a hint of its onset, the house appeared to be rocked by a deafening explosion, then a brief space of comparative quiet, then another explosion.

      Dad grabbed Keith from his cot, and we all headed outside in case the house really went up on the third occasion. By the time we reached the front door, the street, and our yard were full of people, all convinced that the explosions would have removed at least half of the house.

      We all hurried to the back yard to see the damage, and were amazed to see everything standing, and apparently in excellent order. It was a mystery only for a few moments. When we locked up at the roof line there was something missing. The big chimney had gone. This was the cause of the explosion. The night was quiet and still, without a breath of wind, but the big chimney decided it could hold together no longer, and just fell in a heap.

      It had been a tall structure, with a very heavy, ornate top, and when the many hundreds of bricks tell, they were caught in the gutter, and for a few brief seconds there was silence, before they fell onto the root of the lower level of the house. Hence the two explosions.

      The neighbours stood around for some time before returning to their homes, and we finally returned to the fire. Keith was allowed to stay with us until Mum returned. Upon her return, she found us excited and somewhat shell shocked family, all speaking at once, and all eager to accompany her to view the damage. Finally we were told to go to bed, which we did a little apprehensively, and somewhat reluctantly.

      The builders were on the job within a day or two, and a new, much smaller chimney was built to replace the one which had really brought the population of Mount Street out, en masse, on a cold night in 1925.

      In 1925 the New Zealand electors went to the polls and re-elected the conservative government, with the Hon. Bill Massey as Prime Minister. The newspaper advertisements, some of them quite scurrilous, depicted members of the opposition Labour Party as near traitors to their country, and as potential destroyers of democracy and the economy. I became very interested in this campaign. Within our home all things relating to New Zealand and Australian politics, and world current affairs' were discussed freely.

      Dad's strong support for the Labour Party was well known to us all. But we were not really au fait with many features of the political scene.

      During the campaign I decided I wanted to know more, and plied Dad with many questions about the two parties, what they stood for, all about the candidates who were trying to woo the Nelson electors. On polling night Dad suggested that we go for a walk down the mountain and into the town itself. I eagerly accepted.

      As we approached the centre of the city, there was a big crowd, with plenty of shouting. As we moved closer I saw for the first time, the huge white boards used to show the progress of the local contest, along with other results as they came to hand, as well as the National figures. I was fascinated, even though the Labour man was doing badly in Nelson, and the Party was faring no better nationally.

      Those big poll result boards at Nelson were the spark that set alight in me a keen and lasting interest in politics in general, and the Labour Party in particular.

      Within a few days Mr Massey was declared the winner, and retained the Prime Minister's job. As I recall, he did one very great thing for the school children of New Zealand. In 1926, he died, and we were all given a full day holiday.

      Spring Grove was a small country town close to Nelson. We had a church there with Mr John Watt as the minister. He was a fiery man, full of zeal, and quite outspoken. He and Dad were great mates and exchanged pulpits often, working together extremely well.

      Mr Watt persuaded his board of officers to have a weeks mission, with G. T. Fitzgerald as the missioner. That part of the plan was excellent, but when he proposed that because it was school holidays the whole family should accompany G.T. Mum was not really so keen on the idea. She knew her tribe of seven, and how active they were, and how troublesome they may be in somebody else's home. It was not her idea of a holiday, hence she demurred, but finally agreed.

      Mr and Mrs Watt had three children, John, Joan, and the youngest member was a girl who answered to the unusual name of Gebbie.

      The mission was great, with some of us accompanying Dad each night, and being thrilled to hear him preach, and to witness some of the crowded audiences making the good confession, committing their lives to Christ.

      The home scene, however, was just ordinary. I remember Mrs Watt's quiet frustration as she attempted to cope with a family of nine in her usually fairly ordered type of home. She was unlike her husband. She was kind, somewhat aloof, tall, stately, and dignified. The manse kids from Nelson were, although she tried hard to hide the fact, a bit of a trial to her.

      It was during this holiday that the story of my life very nearly closed at age ten, and possibly Lin's at age eleven.

      There was a river close to the Watt's home; John, Lin and I were exploring the area near this, normally fairly wide, quick flowing stream, which at that time was flowing fairly strongly through one half of the river bed. The other half we used as a ford. On coming close to the swift waters, I got a little too close, and was quickly in trouble, and in a flash, I was swept away.

      I believed it was the end. The look of fear on Lin's face, which was the last thing I remembered before I was engulfed by the river, convinced me that he thought the same. However, he acted immediately, plunging in after me. But he was in the same difficulty, being swept quickly downstream. My own feeling as the waters grew swifter, sucking at my body, completely submerging it, was that it was curtains. I certainly felt a little sad about that, but helpless to do anything about it.

      Just as I gave up hope, my right arm, which must have been briefly above the water level at that time, brushed against something very prickly. I grabbed and held on tight. Although the water complained at losing it's victim, I was able with a lot of difficulty, to pull myself onto the bank. I lay there exhausted, wondering why I had not drowned. Soon John and Lin came racing along the bank and found me.

      The relief on Lin's face, was as memorable as the fearful look of a few moments before. Lin had saved himself in much the same way as I. He was taller and stronger than I, and so perhaps

was not in as much danger; but he did risk his all to come after his younger brother.

      After resting for some time, we returned home to report the near drowning incident. It created a little spark of interest, but I felt then, and now, that the serious nature of what had occurred, was not fully realised.

      Our week at Spring Grove finally ended, and we noisily packed our bags, said our goodbyes, and all carrying something, we walked along the road to the Spring Grove station, to board the Nelson train. When we were within fifty meters of the station, the train, whistling merrily, set off on its journey. We had missed it by a whisker, but missed it very surely.

      We retraced our steps, and when Mrs Watt saw that straggling family of nine returning, her face registered tragic despair. She made no pretence of welcoming us back. She was too honest for that, but she simply went about grimly remaking the beds, and trying to make the meals she had prepared for five, provide for fourteen. Queen Alexandria of England died that day, and I believe Mrs Watt would have gladly joined her.

      The membership of Dad's church had quickly responded to him and his ministry. All people, young and old, loved Mum. She was the very model of an ideal preachers wife, quiet, unostentatious, never seeking position or the opportunity to organise others, or to be the spokeswoman for the female members of the congregation. She was just there, loyally supporting her husband in everything he said and did. She received the love and admiration of the whole membership.

      Sundays would provide plenty of exercise for all of us. Church in the morning, Sunday School, and a seven p.m. service. That meant quite a bit of mountain climbing in one day, but we did not complain, but rather enjoyed being part of it all.

      The Sunday school was very large, with the anniversaries something to remember. They were too large to be accommodated in any of the church buildings, so the School of Music was booked every year, with the seating arranged for the massed choir.

      The Nelson Church of Christ Sunday School anniversary attracted large crowds. Many of them, having no connection at all with the church, came year after year, because of the quality of the music.

      Usually an anniversary occasion was a Sunday afternoon fixture. But in Nelson, it was so popular that the singers were required to be in attendance on two nights during the week. The rewards, as the crowds showed their appreciation when the final numbers were sung, were great.

      Dad's services as a speaker were still sought after, and on one occasion he travelled to Wellington, in response to a request for a weeks mission effort at the South Wellington church. I accompanied him on this trip. As we boarded the S.S. Ngaio the ship which did the cross channel runs, I felt very much a V.I.P. We stayed in the large home of Mr & Mrs Milton Vickery, who were leaders in the South Wellington church. Being the young son of the missioner, and the guest of some pretty important people, I was very happy with my lot, and I'm afraid I may have felt a little important.

      The meetings were a brilliant success, and when we went up the gangway of the Ngaio it was the end of a great adventure with my Dad. The sea journey was an overnight trip, and when we arrived on time at Nelson, and were met by the family, I knew it was really over; but it was a very precious memory.

      Dad's years at the Nelson church were outstanding, and he was loved and trusted by his board and the many members. He continued to stand up and be counted on all moral issues, and took a lead in the fight against the liquor traffic. When the referendum on the question of prohibition took place, he was a much sought after speaker. In whatever area he operated, he gave an impression of strength and integrity.

      Our postman was a friendly man who handled the hostile dogs on our mountain with a great deal of patience. Rain or shine, our letters would be delivered twice a day. In late February 1926, our letter intake appeared to increase somewhat, and a number of letters arrived which had been posted in a place in Victoria, Australia, called Ballarat. Later the reason for these letters became known. Dad had been invited to return to Australia, and minister at the Dawson Street church in Ballarat.

      The minister of that very large provincial church, Mr A. W. Connor, after a life time of service to his Lord, and the Churches of Christ in Australia, was retiring. The church board, knowing a good deal of G.T.'s work in the West, and in New Zealand, had offered him a three year term as their minister. When the letter of acceptance was finally written and forwarded to Ballarat, we were agog with excitement.

      Nelson had given us so much, and the two years we had spent there were packed with experiences, the memories of which would remain with us for all time. But a sea voyage to Australia; new friends; new places; and the possibility of meeting some real live Aunts, Uncles, and cousins, and perhaps even to meet up with our own grandparents, was a thrilling prospect.

      The month between the date when the final decision to leave had been made, and the departure date, did go a little slower than all the previous ones in Nelson, which had really travelled at a very fast pace. Eventually the time came for us to pack our furniture and attend the farewell function.

      The church hall was packed. The Broughs, the Bulls, the Knapps, the Griffiths, were all there and also Mr Pettit, who ran the little store at the bottom of our hill, and always gave us good weight when we were wealthy enough to purchase one penny's worth of boiled lollies, it appeared that every church family was also well represented.

      The Van Diemen Street crowd, the Baberfields, Mrs Walkley and Ken, the Wyagang family (who were Methodists), were all there to wish us well in Australia.

      All speakers spoke eulogistically of Dad's ministry. Of his courage, his speaking ability, his kindness, and the fearlessness he displayed on many occasions, and also his talent as a gentle understanding pastor.

      Mum was also highly praised for her fine qualities as a ministers wife, a mother and a

friend, and it was also noted by the various speakers that much of G.T.'s success was due to the beautiful partner who shared his life, stood behind him, and supported him at all times.

      And so they expressed their thanks for the two wonderful years of ministry, and wished us God's blessing in our new sphere in Victoria.

      There was a beautiful supper, and some of our friends, who could not be at the wharf to wave us goodbye, said wonderful things about us, some of the ladies bestowed a kiss on our cheeks. I recall not being over keen on that exercise, but it was all part of a great night, and as we climbed our mountain we were a very happy family looking forward with eagerness to the future.

      We had several other farewell parties in the next couple of days, in our home, and the Mansell home. The parting from Hazel was not easy. She had been our constant companion and mate in all our daring exploits. She was, with the possible exception of Enid, the most daring of the whole crew, and we loved her, and her Mum, very much, and we really believed neither time nor distance could disturb such a friendship as ours. But time and distance did just that. After they returned to Rhodesia to resume their missionary work at Bulawayo there were letters flying in both directions for some time, but eventually these ceased, and largely, and sadly, we lost contact. But during those last forty eight hours in Nelson, no such thing could be contemplated, so we happily re-lived some of the best years of our young lives, and recalled some of the many things we had shared together.

      With our Mount Street home looking very forlorn, and the farewell meetings behind us, it was time to look toward Australia.

      The SS Ngaio was undergoing a refit, and we were booked to travel on a small passenger ship which Dad dubbed as "the fishing smack". When all our final goodbyes were said to the crowds and well-wishers on the wharf, we actually had to walk down the gangplank, so small was our craft. The waters of Cook Strait, however, were smooth that night, and we arrived safely, and on time in Wellington, and were met by Mr and Mrs Milton Vickery and a Mr Robert Ladbrook. So the Nelson experience was really over, and we were perhaps a little sad about that, but we believed that what lay ahead was so exciting that it left little room for sadness.

      We had spent almost exactly two years in beautiful Nelson, and we were all grateful for the experience. We loved the place, and ever after, whenever we heard the name mentioned, many happy memories would come flooding back.

      Mr Robert Ladbrook's late model Buick tourer was waiting for us at the Wellington wharf. He drove us to a main street in the city, where he owned a sweets store. Robert Ladbrook, his wife, and daughter, Phyllis, were members of the Invercargill church. They were involved there in the same business of manufacturing sweets and running a retail outlet for their own products. They left Invercargill during Dad's term of ministry there, and set up business in Wellington. Phyllis Ladbrook was a friendly girl, inclined to be large, but she took notice of us kids, and so I thought she was pretty good, and at that time she was one of my pinups.

      The visit to the wonderful sweets store, where we met up again with Phyllis, was a highlight. After we'd been presented with some of the Ladbrook goodies, we left for their suburban home, where we were due to spend two nights prior to our departure for Sydney. As the sleek new Buick sped us from city to the suburbs I took careful note of all the landmarks, where and when we turned, either to right or left, how many centres we drove through, the size and type of buildings, also anything else which may help

me if I should have to find my own way back to Wellington. Mrs Ladbrook was there to welcome us when we arrived at their large, well appointed home.

      The factory, which was in the back yard, was of particular interest to us, and when we were shown through and saw the long tables loaded with freshly made sweets of many varieties, we believed that this was to be a heavenly two days. However, our hopes were dashed a little when Mrs Ladbrook put us on our honour not to touch any of the sweets at all. But she said we were welcome to eat any of those in what she called the reject bins, where misshapen and odd lollies were carelessly tossed. To us, they were a bonanza, and we kept those bins pretty empty during the next two days.

      After lunch on that first day I invited Lin to come for a walk. He refused, believing it was far better to remain close to the reject bins than go walking in a strange city with his brother. Without seeking permission, I set out on my own, hoping to arrive safely at Ladbrook's store in Wellington. This was my plan, to return to see Phyllis, and the reason for taking note of all the landmarks on the outward journey. The five miles distance between our temporary home and the centre of Wellington was covered in excellent time. My memory had served me well as I, arrived at the correct street where I knew I would find Phyllis, and the sweet store.

      I walked up and down that busy street many times, but could not find the shop loaded with chocolates and other sweets. So after a great deal of walking, and not a little worry, I stood still, checked my landmarks, and sure enough I was at the right spot. But someone had moved the Ladbrook store, lock, stock, and barrel.

      When further careful searching failed, I stood on a busy street corner, watching the policeman on point duty. I had by now given up. I knew I was beaten, and for the first time I realised what a foolish thing I had done. As a great deal of time had elapsed, I wondered if I had been missed at home, and what they would be doing about it.

      There was a slight lull in the traffic flow, so I walked to the policeman, who, when he saw a young lad with a very troubled look on his face approaching him, stopped all traffic, then listened to me very politely, although some of the motorists who were held up were not so polite. He took his time, but indicated that he did not know Ladbrook's sweet store. He said however that he would be relieved in a few minutes, and he would help me to find it. He instructed me to wait on a particular corner for him, and not to move until he arrived. My very heavy heart lifted a little, but as I prepared to take up my waiting position, a very angry looking car came toward me, pulled up with a screech of brakes, and two very irate men jumped out. Robert Ladbrook and Dad! I got it from both of them. Like a whipped dog I sat in the back seat of the big Buick wishing I had that wonderful policeman to say a word for me.

      After some time, and more harsh words, we drove to the shop, which was within a half minutes walking distance from the spot where I had finally given up my search. Perhaps I was already developing the habit, which has been the bane of my wife's life, that of standing directly in front of something and not being able to see it.

      Phyllis was told all about my reckless behaviour in a strange city, and when I was asked why I had done it, I replied, "Because I wanted to see Phyllis." She took me into her arms and as I rested briefly on her ample bosom, a few very genuine tears flowed, and she comforted me. But my tears had no effect on my two stern-faced minders in the bowler hats, who were standing close by. They looked as though they would like to do something pretty awful to me, but because of the location, and the presence of ladies, they had to restrain themselves. But they were certainly not going to let me out of their sight.

      After Phyllis had placed a bag of the choicest sweets in my hand, we left for the Ladbrook home. In quick time we were there, and again I had to face more advice from Dad and Robert. This worried me, but the distraught look on Mum's face worried me even more.

      When it was her turn to speak, she told me how foolish I had been, and how unfair it was to our host and hostess. She hoped that I had learned my lesson. I sure had. Then she gently enquired of me how on earth I had done it, and she asked, "How did you get to Wellington, by tram or bus?". When I told her I had walked, she was a little unbelieving, but when I assured her, that it was so, and I told her about my checking of the route, and the landmarks on the trip from Wellington that morning, she was quite amazed, and said in her lovely way, "What you did dear was wrong, but I think you're a very clever boy. "

      At last I felt restored. Even the forbidding looks from the two men, now without their bowler hats, but apparently none the less menacing, could not spoil that moment. I was now free to go with the other kids and raid the reject bins.

      The next day was spent in staying very close to the house, fitting in as many visits as possible to the lolly factory, being fed at Mrs Ladbrook's well supplied table, and a visit to the harbour.

      At the Wellington wharves there were a number of ships tied up that day, and upon Mr Ladbrook's enquiry, we were told the ship at number two wharf would be making the next run from Wellington to Sydney, at 8.00 a.m. on Monday 5th August 1926. The name of this ship, which would take us back to Australia, was the "S.S. Maheno".

      On Thursday 6th July, 1905, there was a fine 5,000 ton ship launched at Glasgow in Scotland. It had been built for the Union Steamship Company, and was intended for service in Australian and New Zealand waters. After the launching and naming ceremony, it was given the final touches, and when the interior fitting was complete, it was subjected to stiff sea trials off the Scottish coast, and in the Irish Sea. It came through these with flying colours, then later set sail for the Antipodes arriving in Perth, Australia, five weeks later.

      Soon after its arrival, the work as a coastal and New Zealand passenger vessel commenced. It continued in this service for the next ten years, then in 1915 it was taken over by the Australian government. It was used for the next four years as a supply and troop ship. After its stint of war service, it was given a refit, then again placed in the Australian/New Zealand service. Its name, "S.S. Maheno".

      As we saw this ship from number two wharf in Wellington, on August 4th 1926, it looked great. It had just completed twenty one years of service, and to mark the occasion the owners had given it a new coat of paint. It was indeed a very spruce vessel.

      We could wait for the time when we should go aboard, only with some difficulty.

      The "S.S. Maheno" was to have a very special place in Australian maritime history.

      Monday 8th August 1926, was a fine day in Wellington. There was considerable excitement in the Robert Ladbrook home, as we prepared for our sea journey.

      When the Buick was ready, we were driven to the harbour, where we found a number of other well wishers, waiting on number two wharf, to wave us goodbye. They all came aboard, and approved of our ship, and the cabins which we would use for the next four and a half days.

      At 7.40 am. an officer gave the familiar instruction when a ship is about to depart, "All those going ashore, go ashore". Our friends left us to wait in a small group on the wharf.

      Right on time, the "Maheno" moved from its moorings. There were streamers and farewell calls. Very soon the harbour, and the city of Wellington, faded from view. We were actually on our way to wonderful Australia.

      We had spent six and a half years in New Zealand. In addition to the short unhappy period in Mornington, Dad had completed two highly successful ministries. He was well regarded in