My father’s stories and my own
My father Cliff wrote about life as an immigrant Kiwi working man and WW2 soldier.
The lives Heather and I have been leading, the people we’ve met along the way, and me
“I’d rather ask if our forbears would be proud of us than stand in judgment of them.”
Finding your way round
The site consists of several series of linked pages, each with its own table of contents and navigation.
If a cross-link leads you somewhere interesting in a different thread, I hope you enjoy the detour!
If you lose your place, the main site menu appears at the top of every page, so it’s easy to dive back in.
Recent pages by publication date
Browse by year (eg 1931-35),
theme or category
About this site
Latest posts
- The Sharpes v1.0
It’s taken a while, and quite a lot of “research”, but I’m finally done with v1 of Heather’s family. As I said earlier the story is dominated by the Sharpes, and the key figures are Heather’s paternal grandparents. As I warned, far too many of them are called James, and if not, Thomas. So the three key men in the line-up are James, James and James. What a relief that their wives are Harriet, Amelia and Joyce. It’s been fun, but I’m glad it’s over and I can pass it on to the family to pick apart. ~ Ian
- Heather’s family
I had to dip my toe in the water sooner or later, so here goes. I started with a plan of attack. First, write about Heather’s mother’s family — about whom we know very little because Joyce hardly mentioned her parents. We have nothing in writing and very few photos. Next, move on to Amelia Gartmann’s family — Heather’s other maternal grandmother. All I knew about Amelia when I started out was a portrait done by her husband and a strange name floating around, Hartmann Gartmann. Next, having got my strength up and cleared some elbow room for the others, confront the Sharpes. The key figures are James Grossart Sharpe, his wife Maggie Linklater, their son James Thomas and his wife Amelia. Fair warning, far too many of them are called James, and if not, Thomas. Anyway, I’ve made a start — v1.0, and quite a way to go. As many questions as answers. ~ Ian
- Concrete dreams
Concrete Dreams is what I called my third post about the ferro years 1974-8, the first two being about Brian Donovan and NZFCMA. The third was supposed to be about my personal involvement, and so it was, but inevitably it focused just as much on the people I worked with and learned to admire over those years. It was a real pleasure to catch up with them after all these years. ~ Ian
- “Designed & drawn by B.W. Donovan”
I’ve written a brief biography of Brian Donovan, one of several remarkable people who showed up during our “concrete boatbuilding” days from 1972 to 1981. When I say brief, it’s 8000 words with plenty of photos, anecdotes and design drawings. At this stage it’s a first draft, so corrections, comments, additions and amendments are welcome.
I described Brian as “a brilliant, generous man, flawed like the best of them, filled with confidence in both himself and you” — and creative, “attracted by, and to, people with dreams.” Which is exactly how we met him, designer of the boat we’d blithely decided to build and sail around the world.
The world has moved on and they’re disappearing, people like Brian, and so are the interesting times they lived through. They don’t deserve to be forgotten.
- The Journal of Ferrocement
We started building a ferrocement boat with Ken and Dianne Adams in 1972, with romantic dreams of going cruising. Heather and I even lived in the boatyard at Span Farm for a while, and I got involved in a little monthly published by the NZ Ferro Cement Marine Association called at different times a Newsletter, a Bulletin and — finally and fanciest — the Journal. We never went cruising, but in round-about ways the Journal did end up taking us places. ~ Ian
- Just a detour
I’ve decided that in future I’ll highlight the latest pages here, but having written a few months ago about my strange adolescence — why the wheels fell off a bright kid, what it took to get me on the road again, and why Heather and I headed off in rather unexpected directions in our twenties — I then found myself on a rather self-indulgent detour, which is only worth reading if you want to watch the wheels fall off in slow motion. I enjoyed writing it but that’s no excuse. ~ Ian
- Caught out
Here I was minding my own business and Adrienne decided to post about my latest on Facebook. Suddenly I have readers! Thanks Adri, the feedback was encouraging. Must try it again some time. Here it is — Heather, handcrafts and Earthworks in the 1970s and early ‘80s
- Busy
It’s been fourteen months since my last blog post — I just checked. Mind you, I’ve published 20-odd pages since then, with probably as many again that I’m not yet ready to press Go on.
But can I ask a favour? Think of yourself as Reader #2, and help me get a few more! if you come across something you like, please leave a comment and/or share a link with people who might enjoy it. Cheers, and thanks ~ Ian
- Anzac Day
Last Anzac Day my nephew Peter asked me if there was any way he could access his grandfather’s war stories to read to his kids. I had to disappoint him but said I was working at publishing them online. Well, it took the best part of a year but, finally, you can read them on this site, as well as his stories about the Depression. Please treat it as a work in progress. There are only a few photos, for example. I’d like to add more, and if possible more war stories after Alamein.
Some people find the change in “voice” confusing between Dad’s own writing and mine, normally where I’ve constructed the narrative out of his letters home and the notes that he left. To make it worse, Mum gets a say too. I’ll work on making what I’ve done more consistent, but for now it is what it is.
This website also has my own ramblings, so it’s quite possible to accidentally jump from Alexandria in 1942 to LA or Istanbul in 2001. I’m sorry if that happens! I’ve said here that I’m likely to write about anything that comes to mind, and that I think of the site as “a wall of pigeon holes, organised by date and theme,” into which I can post the results, whatever they are. So far all I’ve posted has been about a couple of trips Heather and I took 20-plus years ago. We had fun so if you do get lost in there I hope you enjoy it. Feedback welcome — and thanks again for coming. ~ Ian
PS — Sorry, you won’t be able to log in yet. I’m working on it 🙁 - Zooming out
There’s a scene near the end of Dr Zhivago (the movie) where the sick Zhivago sees Lara, his lost love, walking down the street as the tram he’s on passes her by. He struggles to get off and catch up with her but collapses and dies. She walks on. We’ve spent the entire movie, the entire book, focused on them, and then the story pans out and they become just two among the nameless millions.
Dad was one of 311,000 men who fought at El Alamein. It was a decisive but — based on the people, military and civilian, who fought and died — relatively minor WW2 battle. (There were over six million frontline troops involved in Barbarossa, for example.) Cliff was a working man before the war and remained a Signalman throughout it. Posting his stories here has reminded me how proud I am of him. In my mind he wears his hard work and wounds alongside his medals as badges of honour. One of the ordinary people to whom we owe everything, including our freedom.
I don’t feel qualified in a literary sense to comment but having lived on the fringes of your stories has, for me, been a marvellous journey too. With only instinct as my companion, you are truly a worthy successor to ‘Cliff Baugh.’ I enjoyed many aspects of his writing in particular the way his experiences reinforced those of my father’s childhood. Your writing exceeds Cliff’s in your ability to stand to one side so as to comment on your internal experiences, your thoughts and emotions.
Your instincts appear to be a fertile guide, your writing is entertaining, the pace has a natural flow encourages curiosity and a desire to read on. I crave for considerably more detail where memories enable you to dig deeper. The reason, your thoughts, attitudes and reflections have sense of universality amongst those of us who lived lives in part parallel to yours.
The overall scope of the narrative is remarkable in that it sets out to incorporate more than sixty years. The account is successful in its current form but for me it cries out for more depth here and there as your memory allows or interest kindled.
Post school you begin to delve more deeply into your thoughts and feelings and the complexity of your relationships with others and to the connections with associates. I was more drawn into your world as the writing becomes more personal and opinionated.
Your self deprecating humour is well established and might take a lighter role of the narrative.
I am in no position to comment on the nature and form of this narrative but for my own part I want my work to live within the overall context of the work of those I admire such as McCahon and the photographers: Saul Leiter, Ernst Haas, William Eggleston or Jeff Wall.
At some point, not sure when, you might seek an input from a more knowledgable literary person such as Graeme or Ray to comment on the structure and form of the narrative, that does not mean that you have to take any notice of them.
I am impressed by the successful manner in which you have begun such a demanding task, At times I found myself chocking back my own feelings as I revisited large and small parts of my own life through your words. Predictably this related specifically to shared experience of Northland College.
OTHER POSSIBILITIES
CHILDHOOD
Morning milking – standing in warm cow pats
fog, mist – the vapour from the breath of cows
Cats and rats, working farm dogs
Wet Gum boots
Swimming in a creek
dangerous or humorous incidents
PRIMARY SCHOOL
Getting to school, walk, horse, bus or parents
calf clubs
School routines
incidents in detail
Strapping kids
NORTHLAND COLLEGE
Cadets both at school and in the Papakura camp
The idiosyncrasies, strengths of teachers, Ernie Moss, Rowland Matley, Ken Leigh, Paul Holmes, Sax, Eddie Bergen, Matron Faugie, Matron Lange, Ballantine.
Hostel pranks – dorm raids etc Louis Penny farting, his piano playing and his running style
The Pacific Island Scholarship boys – Julian Dashwood, Tem Vaitaru,
Hi Ken you’re too kind, thank you, in particular for suggesting I have literary pretensions! I’ll be happy if I can write entertainingly about days gone by, which is where ours are headed. Regrettably. I hope to fill in some of the gaps you mention over time.
Hi Ian,
I don’t know if you remember, we met in Birmingham, at an exhibition. My wfe, I think is a cousin of yours, with her family coming from Blackrod, Lancashire.
I could put some details on a spread sheet, and you could enlarge your family knowledge.
Hi Bernard, Heather and I have fond memories of our forays to Birmingham and the NEC for Queensberry. You’ll see that apart from my father’s stories, this site is very much in its early days. I’ve written quite a bit about our travels around the world, not all of it published here yet, but haven’t made it to the British parts yet!
Thanks for making contact on ancestry.com.