As a kid I don’t recall Mum ever losing her aura of motherly capability, even though I did eventually come to suspect that Dad wasn’t quite Superman — when he took off his glasses, for example, and his eyes seemed to shrink into his head. Mum I remember as a tall, strong-jawed, smiling, red-headed woman with a rather lilting tone of voice. She was all business in the kitchen, the garden, the chook-run and out in the paddock. Typical 1950s hats and coats when they went out.
Dorothy spent far more time typing out her husband’s efforts than writing her own, but there are a few perfect pieces that, for me, give a very clear idea of her, her family and her upbringing. Here she is, writing about her childhood some time after she and Cliff retired. ~ Ian
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I’m told I entered this world in the usual way — protesting loudly — on a warm autumn afternoon in Auckland in 1921. The 7th March to be exact.
I was to complete our family of two boys and one red haired, freckled faced girl. My eldest brother, Don, was nine years my senior and of course at an age where my arrival took some importance away from him. Perhaps that’s an explanation of his general treatment of so many people, and his belittling manner to most things that other people hold dear. I am afraid we never had much in common and his condescending and scornful treatment never encouraged much affection from me. Rather sad really.
My other brother, Ian, was a happier sort. Five years older than me and a freckle faced scamp from all reports. He “booked” me into his school the day after my arrival (to ensure I was properly educated?) and was evidently rather pleased with his small sister.
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As you can see, Dorothy’s attitudes towards her two brothers were quite adamant. I’ve written about this here — the little that I know, and my own experience. ~ Ian
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Naturally I have no memories of those early days, and we moved from Auckland when I was about three years old.
I’ve never known why we were living there, or why we then went on to manage a farm at Woodhill, near Helensville. My father owned land at Taipuha, in the North, along with his six brothers. The whole McCarroll family owned a large area, which was divided up amongst the brothers and known as McCarroll’s Gap, extending from Mareretu through to Taipuha.
Some of the brothers opted for other careers and left the area, others decided to farm elsewhere, and eventually most of the land passed from the family. Two blocks still remain in McCarroll hands. Don farms Dad’s land along with two of his sons, and a block in Mareretu is owned by another grandson.
Education in the country in those early years was very different and the desire to educate their family may have been the reason for living in Auckland. Whatever the reasons, Dad, Mum, Don and Ian had lived in the city for some time before my arrival. We went from there to Woodhill where dad managed a stud Jersey farm for a Doctor Casement Aiken for approximately three years. Then, I understand there was trouble with the manager on the farm at Taipuha and we returned North to live permanently.
I have few memories of Woodhill days. A large old-fashioned home, well kept and gracious, the gardens and lawns established and a mass of colour, and plenty of bush behind the house making an attractive setting and a great place to play.
A very large guava tree grew outside the lounge windows and I can remember sitting on the sill and picking the ripe berries. Stockyards where the boys and their friends used to yard one or two calves and endeavour to ride them. A large orchard and plenty of fruit (surely the reason for my passion for fruit — almost any fruit).
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There was an elderly part-draft horse that I was allowed to “ride”. It was a very one-sided business as he moved if he wished to, and otherwise a small frustrated girl screamed blue murder. Don had left school by the time I reach the important age of five. As we lived about three miles from the school, Ian rode his pony, as did most of the other pupils. To his disgust he had to “double” me each day. As I was a solidly built child and he was fairly small it wasn’t a good combination. If I overbalanced and fell so did he, as I naturally held on grimly.
Very often, it seemed to me, the gate of the horse paddock was left open and all the ponies would head off home. Those times I dreaded, as we then took a shortcut home — across the river and over an old rickety swing bridge. Some of the older children used to run across first and then shake the bridge as we small ones crept across, screaming in terror. To this day I am terrified of spring bridges. Ian’s part in this was never told to Dad or Mum as I was threatened with a hiding if they found out.
I remember a fancy dress party we had at the school. I was an Indian maid and Ian an Indian warrior. Mum went to a lot of trouble making the costumes out of sugar bags, carefully washed, stitched and fringed to resemble “Indian” clothing, and decorated with embroidery and beading. Our fowls parted with plenty of feathers over a longish period, and Mum made beautiful head dresses with beautifully dyed feathers. Dad made us moccasins — more embroidery and bead work — and very real looking bows and arrows complete with quivers. Ian had several “scalps” on his belt, made partly from Mum and Aunt Addie’s hair, and a beautifully carved wooden tomahawk. Dad was an excellent carver and made us many things out of wood over the years.
The fancy dress party was a great success and we both won first prize. I have no idea what Ian won, but I received a dolls house, which I treasured and played with for many years. In fact it survived long enough for my own daughters to remember playing with it. Many hours of fun were had in our Indian costumes of course. The bush around the house was a wonderful area for stalking the enemy.
My grandmother still had a house in Auckland, and Ian and I went to stay with her on numerous occasions. While she was always very fussy, those visits were a thrill and very “special”, the same as visits to grandparents are the world over, I suppose. The only thing I can really remember was that she always bought us John Dory fish because it had no bones in it. I don’t suppose she fancied the idea of retrieving an errant bone from down our throats!
Suddenly, it appeared to me, we were packed up and leaving Woodhill to return to the farm at Taipuha. I don’t suppose anyone considered it necessary to consult a five or six-year-old, so I know nothing of the reasons for the return north. It never occurred to me in later years to ask why either. At the time it was “the great adventure”.
How Dad, Mum and Don travelled, with all our possessions, I have no idea, but Ian and I were to go on the Express with Gran. That was very exciting — my first trip on the train — but as it lasted nearly four hours I think the novelty wore off fairly fast.
Over the years Ian had been collecting birds eggs, and he had a very good collection. All carefully labelled, in their own little compartments, in a big box. Needless to say he was very proud of this and took great care of it always. During the train journey he nursed the box in case jolting caused it to fall onto the floor. When we finally arrived at the Taipuha Station we travelled up to the farm on the back of a truck. We reached the house, and Ian put his precious box down while he jumped off the truck — and I promptly put my foot right in the middle of it. Not what would you would call a fantastic arrival!
I thought the “new” house exciting and different, which it certainly was. As I said earlier, the home at Woodhill had been a large, gracious, comfortable place with nice gardens and plenty of bush. Well, our new home was a square, ugly, bare box sitting in the middle of an empty paddock, with grass as high as the verandah, hens pecking around the door and perching on the verandah, and also sheep or cattle if they were in that particular paddock.
I think Mum hated it (and I certainly couldn’t blame her) but she never complained and as far as we children were concerned she was always cheerful. The inside was decidedly bleak — two bedrooms, a sitting room with a big open fire, a large kitchen dining room, and verandahs back and front.
There was an outside loo that used to scare me witless, because after dark the walls and seat would have lots of shiny black bugs crawling on them, and if you touched one, they gave off a most fearsome smell.
Dad had got an old shed, which he’d dragged alongside the house so that the door opened off the end of the front verandah. It had two rooms and Don and Ian slept in it. It certainly was no work of art but served its purpose. Mum decided at one stage to try and improve its appearance, inside at least, and paper the walls — but the draft was too much and blew all the paper to shreds.
The kitchen-dining room was not convenient. There was one window, and under it the bench and sink. The only tap — a cold one — was at the opposite end of the room, just protruding in a lonely fashion from the wall. The wood range was in the middle of one of the side walls. There were no cupboards except under the sink bench. We had no bathroom and no wash house at that stage, and I have no idea how we got around that problem, or exactly whether they were overcome. I can remember a copper on the ground outside, and Mum boiling it for the washing, but whether we were popped in it as well I don’t remember.
To me it was all an adventure. I was washed (somehow), clothed, fed and loved, and that’s all that was necessary.
My immediate worry was being told that school was to start again. I didn’t feel it to be of any importance and I was managing fine without it. There was no actual school building so lessons were conducted in the local hall, which was almost opposite our house. It was a big, cold, draughty, unlined building with a stove of some sort in one corner, which gave us a little warmth in in winter, and on which we heated water for cups of cocoa, which were a regular drink and very much enjoyed. I was seated with Ian in a large desk, where my feet couldn’t even touch the floor, and we swelled the role to seven children.
Mrs Fraser was our teacher. I can’t remember anything much of my early school days except that I ran into the usual strife and upsets while endeavouring to acquire knowledge. Mrs Fraser and her husband Syd lived on a farm about two miles away, and had a small daughter who was four years younger than me.
Shirley was small and cute with straight black hair and grey eyes. To me she was like a big, live, baby doll and I soon adored her. She evidently returned the affection and we soon were real pals, and I a regular visitor to their home. I was allowed to ride my old pony up and stay overnight, which made me feel very grown-up.
I remember running into trouble at school on one occasion over some misdemeanour, and learning the important lesson that being a personal friend of my teacher did not exclude me from punishment if I had deserved it.
It was a big disappointment to me that, living so near the school, I always had to go home for lunch. I really envied the children who came with a packed lunch, and it was a tremendous treat for me to be given some sandwiches and, on rare occasions, be able to sit and eat with them. School went along reasonably smoothly. Reading was always my favourite subject, but arithmetic was generally a disaster. 3.30 couldn’t come fast enough, for I was then free to pursue my own activities.
Pets always filled a large part of my life. Cats were always numerous and the earliest one I can remember was Felix, a large black fellow with a white nose and four white feet. Horace was another, a huge tabby. Then Don was given a beautiful little bluey-grey female Persian kitten. We called her Mischief, and she kept us supplied with lovely kittens for many years. I actually had the last kitten from one of Mischief’s daughters when I married some 15 or 16 years later.
We had hens and ducks, and it was my job to feed these morning and night and collect the eggs. I had one special hen called Biddy, who was very quiet, and would, whenever possible, sit tightly on any eggs in the henhouse. She was always clucky and tried to hatch anything that faintly resembled an egg. Motherhood was very important to Biddy, and I remember once sitting her on some duck eggs. When they eventually hatched and the ducklings later waddled off to the river, Biddy was almost hysterical, rushing madly up and down the river bank trying to call them back to her side. That episode must’ve aged her considerably but it didn’t cure her desire for motherhood. She was always ready to “sit” and must’ve hatched and cared for dozens of chicks in her long life.
Three episodes connected with Mum’s hens come to mind. The first was that I decided that the fowl house needed cleaning out. I set to work with shovel and rake to remove all the droppings. In a matter of minutes I began to itch and feel things crawling on my skin. To my horror I was literally covered with lice. I dropped my tools and raced for home shedding clothes as I ran. A bath cleaned me, hair and all, and Mum washed and disinfected my clothes. I’m afraid the fowl house had to wait for one of the men to finish the job of cleaning. The interior was sprayed, perches and all, and we had no more trouble.
Another time I thought I would help by cutting the fowls’ wings, as one or two were flying over the high wire fence. This I very carefully did, to my own satisfaction — only to to find that by cutting both wings I had balanced them again, and they could fly just as well as before.
We had a young Maori boy working for us at one time and one day he was asked to kill a young rooster. He thought to have a joke at my expense, so he called me over just as he chopped off its head. I will never forget seeing that rooster leap to its feet and rush off down the paddock leaving its head on the chopping block. I didn’t think it amusing.
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Dorothy wrote the sections above — longhand, in the first person, in a wire-bound pad — but she wrote much more extensively in the third person as “Beth”. Why she wrote “Beth did” instead of “I did” I don’t know, but there’s no doubt in my mind that Beth is Dorothy. All that she relates above is repeated in the Beth stories, the names of several people are the same in both places, and the whole is absolutely expressive of my mother. She had a charmed childhood and she tells it beautifully.
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Dorothy went to boarding school in Whangarei, which I’m sure she didn’t enjoy as much. It interrupted her happy life at home and nursed along some of her insecurities, especially her fear of exams. She was terrified of them and they made her feel “dumb”. I haven’t found anything she’s written about that time, but I imagine her back home working with her mother and father as soon as she reached age 15. Four years before she met Cliff face-to-face in June 1940.
After I wrote that brother Ian added another perspective. Apparently Dorothy enjoyed playing hockey at school, and once she left she was engaged in the butcher shop and droving cattle for her Dad
Next: The coming war — Matakana
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