Work in progress
Previous | Contents | Next The next stop was Ceylon — Sri Lanka — where the Mauritania berthed for over and week and the men had four days shore leave in Colombo. “Sights rarely seen” indeed, and a very different culture. In the Colombo Post Office Cliff added this note to ... Read more
Previous | Contents | Next Ten days later Cliff was back in Camp again. “My dear Dorothy,” he wrote. “Hello my dear, how are you now? To be frank with you, I’m as cheerful as a funeral. I miss you terribly, sweetheart. “Thank God that we can at least write to ... Read more
Previous | Contents | Next Now he was in the Army he was unsure what he’d like to do, assuming he had any choice. It looked like it might be hard to get into Signals — he knew a Postmaster who’d tried and failed. The motor cycle platoon would be interesting ... Read more
Previous | Contents | Next There was little more than a year between Cliff’s leaving Hikurangi and his sailing for the Middle East in 2 NZEF. During that year he’d met, fallen in love with and been engaged to nineteen year-old Dorothy McCarroll. In the following chapters I’ve tried, through ... Read more
Previous | Contents | Next 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. ... Read more
Previous | Contents | Next In September 1939 Hitler invaded Poland. According to Cliff’s diary, by the time he moved to Paparoa in March 1940 6,000 New Zealand men had enlisted for service overseas and wartime rationing had begun. Although he was still working for the Post Office and Telegraph ... Read more
Contents | Next There are large gaps in Cliff’s story between 1936 and 1940, but I’ve done my best to piece together what’s available. Over those four or five years Dad was improving himself. Always energetic, he started Correspondence School, learned Morse Code and finally got a job in the ... Read more
My father Cliff loved an audience, and his grandchildren proved to be better listeners than me. Dad and I certainly enjoyed a good argument — more I’m sure than those around us — but as his son I found sitting and listening to him harder than they did. Fortunately he ... Read more