Apr 11, 2008
Our generation of Dales was almost devoid of females. My cousins were Jack and Jim and Tom, and Terry and Doug, and my brothers were Alan, Barry and Dion. We have done better in the next generation with Adrienne and Judy, Jenny and Christine, Dib, Jo, Anna and Hennie, Viv and Bronwyn, and Jackie in Paris. That's eleven, against only ten blokes: Alan and Geoff, Andrew and Danny, Alan again and Stuart; Mark, Malcolm and Tom; and Murray. Still, we're doing alright.
But Hilary, as the only girl among so many boys, had to set standards for us all. She was fortunate to have inherited from her Irish ancestors, such as Grandma and Ruby and Mignon, a strong sense of purpose and a set of principles that were not to be lightly set aside. From the Irish too, I suppose, came the strong sense of family, _ a sort of clannishness that overlooks minor differences and difficulties, and even major ones. Hils has certainly been put through the wringer on several occasions but has come through with that same practical sense of proportion that Mignon had. Faced with admiration for some praiseworthy action, Mignon would just say, "It was God's will. I was but his instrument." Hils seems to face life's catastrophes with an attitude of "Well, if that's life, we'd better get on with it." And there was always some strength left over to help the helpless.
So when I first left home and found myself in Wellington among a hostelful of clerks, mechanics, mail sorters, drivers and switchboard operators, whose values, though often admirable, had little relation to anything I had been brought up with, it was Hils who wrote to me from Foxton with words of kind encouragement, and who brought me on occasional weekends among her ex Training College friends at Point Howard. There I learnt from Cagey, Mary, Isabelle, Dulcie and Turk and Morrie, that there were mental recreations much more worthwhile than card games and beer and listening to the ZB hit parade.
Later again when I was a student in Christchurch, and Peter and Hils and Dib and Andrew were at Titahi Bay, I could always be sure of a welcome there on my way through Wellington, and a friendly letter when I got back to Christchurch.
And then of course there's this amazing house in Cameron Road, that lifts your spirits whenever you catch sight of it. and where Hils and Peter have raised this great variety of kids, all with the same self reliance and warmth and enthusiasm for life. "Difficulties are easily overcome; impossibilities take a little longer." They organised this party which is no mean feat.
How different our world was in the 1940's. Hilary taught in a District High School at Foxton, - (Do they have district high schools these days?) - and came home to Linton most weekends. That meant getting a bus to Palmerston North after school on Friday. But there wasn't another bus to Linton until after the pictures came out about half past nine. She could hardly carry her suitcase around town for four hours, and although there was a left luggage facility at the railway station, and the railway ran right through the centre of town within twenty yards of the bus terminal, the station was located, for maximum inconvenience to travellers, about half a mile up the line.
So leaving your bag at the station wasn't really an option. On the other hand most shops shut at nine, even on Fridays, (late night), but fruit shops, being purveyors of perishable goods, were allowed to keep longer hours, and the Chinese owners of them, being gracious, would let you leave your bag there by the counter on a "no responsibility" basis. So that was what Hilary usually did. Then after a bit of retail therapy , she would pick it up near the time when the bus was to leave.
However, one Friday when she went to pick up her bag, she was told that someone else had come and taken it, earlier in the evening. So she came on home and spent a sleepless night.
In the morning she took the train into town and went and reported the loss at the police station, where a constable of the traditional sort typed out her statement with one finger on the "hunt and punch" technique. When she mentioned underwear, he simply enquired without looking up from his keyboard, "How many pairs?"
As she walked away from the Police Station she was amazed to see a woman in fancy slippers, walking along the street wearing one of her dresses that had been in the suitcase. People made their own clothes in those days so it was not difficult to identify it. She accosted an old man who was passing to see if he could help, but he evinced no interest at all. She got a better response when she approached a couple of Air Force boys. They could see some adventure in it straight away. One stayed with her to keep the miscreant in sight while the other went off to the Police Station and returned with a constable. He stopped the miscreant as she came out of a shop, and put it to her that she was wearing someone else's dress, which of course she denied. So he asked Hilary if she could identify the dress, and she said that as she had made it herself she knew that the hem had been finished on the inside with yellow ribbon. So the constable turned up the hem, (a thing I suspect he would not have dared do these days), and there was the ribbon for all to see.
So they got a taxi to the place where the thief was living and Hilary got her suitcase and the rest of her belongings back, and the lady got charged with theft.
Things were simpler in those days.