Mar 1, 2004
Jack was a Dutch immigrant, short and blond and amazingly fit. Like most of his kind he was prepared to have a go at anything, which I suppose is the reason they have been such successful settlers here. Not only did he work hard on his farm at Ruawai, but he also ran a trucking business, and in any spare time he had he would put into energetic sports like rugby or flounder netting. His English could have used some polish, but he was so good at everything else that it didn’t seem to matter. Once when he caught a sole off Bayley’s Beach he said it was so big “it vouldn’t go in un sugarbag.” “Me and Sarah fed off it for un veek.” , he said.
He was also a very good swimmer. He could swim for a mile with no more effort than if he had been walking on the beach. Once when he was picnicking with his family at Pahi, he decided to swim across the arm of the Kaipara to Whakapiro, about half a mile or so. When he emerged at the jetty there he met a young fellow who had just landed a good catch which included a nice kingfish. The young fellow said he didn’t eat kingfish, but he supposed he would take it home for the cat. To Jack, as to any Dutchman, this seemed like a criminal waste, so he asked if he might not have it.
“Sure”, said the young fellow, “But I don’t know how you’ll get it home.”
“No trouble”, said Jack. “Give me un piece of line and I’ll tow it.”
So Jack threaded the line through the kingfish’s gill and out through its mouth, and tied the other end to his belt, and set off on the long swim back to Pahi. Along the way he was thinking about his farm and his family and quite forgot about the fish. About half way across he happened to glance over his shoulder and saw this great fish following close to his heels with its mouth wide open. “It gave me un hell of un fright.”
Good old Jack. May he rest in peace.