tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73322146852406911002024-03-13T09:18:21.900-07:00Oracle of OkaritoWritings on life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness from Okarito, a small coastal village on the western side of the South Island of New Zealand.Ian Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03854821671216618229noreply@blogger.comBlogger52125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7332214685240691100.post-45104677088733250702014-06-25T01:10:00.000-07:002014-06-25T01:10:13.450-07:00The Recovery of Timber from Storm-damaged Native Forest on the West Coast.<h1 dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 10pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 21px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The Recovery of Timber from Storm-damaged Native Forest on the West Coast</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 21px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">.</span></h1>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">by Ian James, Okarito</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Cyclone Ita caused catastrophic damage to West Coast forests. Plantation radiata forest suffered terribly while native forests withstood the gales much better, however, significant areas of </span><a href="http://www.doc.govt.nz/about-doc/news/issues/recovery-of-west-coast-windfall-timber/" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">rimu and beech forest were flattene</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">d. Given the likelihood of an increased frequency and severity of such climatic events, forest blowdowns may become more frequent. Fortunately our native forests have tremendous regenerative capacity and they will adjust to the changing climate maybe with some structural and species changes.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Windfalls are a completely natural occurrence in native forests but the difference this time is the scale of damage. For those living on the Coast the spectacle of thousands of rimu trees lying on the ground raised the obvious question of why not use some of the heartwood logs on stewardship conservation lands? This is not a debate about logging live trees. Rather it is about recovery of logs using the techniques available that minimise any physical impact. There are two aspects to the answer, one ecological and the other commercial.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Only the heartwood butt of large rimu trees will prove economical to remove. What proportion that constitutes of the total biomass is difficult to estimate as the forest is so variable. But in rimu/kamahi dominant forest it will be way less than 10%. Remember that the blowdowns include the biomass of many other species such as miro, kamahi, rata, quintinia, many small shrubs and ferns. Rimu heartwood contains the least nutrients compared to the rest and is also the slowest to rot and release nutrients. Old rimu butt logs remain for over 100 years on the forest floor. Most nutrients are in the bark, small branches, leaves and fibrous roots. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Realistically, the one-off impact from the heartwood removal to the overall ecosystem will be imperceptible and the forest will easily adjust by regrowing the lost biomass in a few years. Photos of seedlings growing on logs is misleading because few ever reach maturity. However, planting rimu seedlings where the removed log lay is a good idea. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The real ecological impact will be how the trees are removed. If heavy ground based machinery is used the impact will be severe because skidders and bulldozers crush seedlings, damage remaining trees and destroy the natural soil profiles. They also often introduce weeds such as gorse into the forest. They have no place in our native forests. The only acceptable method that should be permitted is logging by heavy-lift helicopters</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then there are the birds, lizards and invertebrates to consider but to say they will suffer harm is nonsense. Sadly, the native fauna in West Coast forests are so depleted by possums, stoats rats and mice that they are not playing their normal function in the ecosystem. Lack of habitat is not the problem, it is the predators. But they will benefit if DOC spends the revenue they gain on additional predator control.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">On the commercial side, there are several issues. Health and safety is a big one and nobody disputes that cutting up windfall logs is skilled work. There are people from the previous era who can train new native loggers. Timberlands had an exemplary safety record with helicopter logging, apart from the tragic crash of the Mil 8 caused by pilot error. Today DOC workers are safely cutting up hundreds of windfalls that fell along roads, tracks and cycleways in the Doc estate.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The resources to transport and process the logs still exist and several local companies have held up their hand for the logs. Given the job losses in the mining industry, locals will welcome new jobs.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The final question is whether there are markets for the wood? First NZder’s should acknowledge that we are using substantial volumes of tropical timbers that come from dubious sources. We should not be contributing to the loss of tropical forests when we have an alternative source of sustainable specialty timber at home.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Comment has been made that the extra timber will the destroy market for private operators. The current dwindling private supply is too small for any viable industry to develop. An increase in supply would revitalise NZ furniture makers, many of whose livelihood disappeared when adequate native timber became unavailable. That should raise prices for all.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Native timber was given such bad press during the 1990’s forest campaigns by activists in F&B. It is time to move on from the past and allow utilisation of a small amount of windfall timber. It is surely sustainable, the revenue is going to DOC, and rural people will benefit both in processing the timber plus the extra jobs in killing predators funded by the revenue. If all NZ got behind this proposal a market would appear overnight.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Background: My 40 year career in science was entirely spent in the study of NZ alpine and lowland native forests. I was fortunate to have spent the majority of those years in the forest on a daily basis rather than desk-bound in a University or Research Institute. My major achievement was working with a Timberlands team to develop world-recognised systems for the sustainable management of podocarp and beech forests. Those systems were rejected when the Labour government ended all native logging 13 years ago but have been the basis for a small ongoing private industry. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #888888; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ian James</span></div>
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<a href="mailto:ian.l.james@gmail.com" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">ian.l.james@gmail.com</span></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #888888; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #888888; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Twitter: @ILJames</span></div>
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Ian Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03854821671216618229noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7332214685240691100.post-42915131963877416222013-05-17T22:29:00.000-07:002013-05-17T22:29:18.542-07:00A few Notes on my Career as a Soldier<h4>
<i><span style="font-size: large;">Chapter 8. The March to the Rhine.<br /></span></i></h4>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">By Horace William (Bill) James</span></i></h4>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1">This little stint started on the 29</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> November 1918. It was a pretty solid little trip but very interesting and I am not sorry it fell to my lot to do it. The first day we were up at 4-am., had breakfast etc., and were on the road by </span>7-am., and kept going until about 12-am when we pulled up at Haussy for the night and were put in an old cellar to sleep. In the afternoon I had a bit of a walk round and had a look at some of the places where a lot of men lost their lives. There were few civvies here and they had a bad time.</span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1">On the 30</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> November, we did four hours and finished up at Wagnes La Grand, a fairly small place well smacked up. Slept in a house, had a fire and were fairly comfortable and also tired. The next day 1</span><span class="s2"><sup>st</sup></span><span class="s1"> December 1918, we got as far as Saint Vaast, only a short march. Our home this time was an open shed, very airy. That afternoon I went into Quievy, three km from our town. This is a fair sized place and very little damaged. There were still a few shops but everything was a big price 1/3 for one candle. We stayed in Saint Vaast all the next day so as to have a rest. I managed to salvage some vegies and beetroot, which were very decent. One of our boys had the bad luck to get killed with a lorry.</span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1">On the 3</span><span class="s2"><sup>rd</sup></span><span class="s1"> December, we got on the road again. The King and Prince passed us just as we were leaving. We had dinner on the road and pulled up at Maubeuge just before dark after a fairly solid march. This was a bit knocked about and all the bridges were blown up. There were a lot of people there and they gave us a good hearing as we came into the town.</span></span></i></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHpFWTlZaP-4kLKJhtusLNA_uSlPG7_YJbdbfJc-5DNfEp8XOFcqJeDvuMloQp9Q7GT8ZB2aQXeRXCwR3xJXW8vkBA10un8tg41B7pLpLdLNK_LH5vpxTIX3tAKwyBXS1tcShfzqOb4KcK/s1600/NZer's+salute+King.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHpFWTlZaP-4kLKJhtusLNA_uSlPG7_YJbdbfJc-5DNfEp8XOFcqJeDvuMloQp9Q7GT8ZB2aQXeRXCwR3xJXW8vkBA10un8tg41B7pLpLdLNK_LH5vpxTIX3tAKwyBXS1tcShfzqOb4KcK/s400/NZer's+salute+King.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">New Zealanders salute the King</span></td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">We slept in an old Chateau and again had a fire going, which was well needed. The next morning I went into the town and had a look around. At 12.30-am we got on the road again and at dark pulled up in Jeumont, another good-sized town on the border. We had a good billet and in the evening I went for a walk around the town.</span></i></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1">On the 5</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> December, 1918, we had a strike in the morning. The boys refused to carry their packs, which resulted in a Battalion parade and the boss explaining the position, and finally they decided to carry on and we got on the road once more crossing into Belgium first thing at a town called Erquelinnes, which was well decked with flags etc., and there was a vast contrast to the country we </span>had already passed through. That night we stopped at Lobbes and had a little cottage to ourselves, so we were set. After tea I walked four km to Thum, a very decent town with good shops and well lit up with electric light. Paid four pence for a slice of bread.</span></i></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The next day we had a spell. I met Harry Ashton and we went for a buckshee train-ride. The people here seemed to be in a much better condition, were well-dressed and looking for souvenirs instead of food, which was just as well as our rations were more than light. One night we had to come at a fruit salad, but I landed a parcel, which eased the situation for that night.</span></i></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1">On the 7</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> December, we left Lobbes after having small pieces of bacon for breakfast. We had a fairly good march and stopped at Marchienne. Got a good posy with some civvies who were very good to us and gave us plenty of buckshee coffee. In the afternoon went into Charleroi, a very fine town well lit up. We had a good look around and a good feed of steak and chips and went to a wax works show and got some very good cakes but they were a bit expensive.</span></span></i></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The next day we did another big march to Tamines. From 7am until 11.40 we were not out of a street, each village running into the next, the district being all big coal mines and very thickly populated. We got a great hearing all along the road. That night I went for a walk round the town, bought a loaf of bread and had a great evening with some Belgium people. There were 500 people murdered in this village in 1914.</span></i></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1">The 9</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> December, we got as far as Tanes a very small place and we had a school to live in. That night I went the 11 km into Namur, a very fine town and we had a good tea after having a very good look around we started for home but missed the train so had to pad the boot which was very hard and needless to say did not want rocking to sleep when we got there. The next day we had the day off so I went back to Namur and had a look around the forts, river, etc., but made sure of a ride home this time.</span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1">On the 11</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> December, 1918, we had a short march to Daussoulx and got a good home for the night. We had a look at some Gestaft sheds here and saw a lot of Fritz planes, including two Folkas. There were 225 machine guns left in these three sheds. The next day we had a very wet trip to Pontillas, rained all the way. Got a crook bivy but an old lady allowed us to dry our clothes. She was very poor and more than pleased when I gave her some white bread.</span></span></i></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The next day was also very wet and we went to Antheit, a very small place. We were put into private houses and had the time of our lives. The people were very good and got a big fire going, gave us dry socks and clogs. Madame then dried all our clothes and even washed our boots and socks. That night she got some mattresses, sheets and quilts and made a real good bed for us and I hardly liked to get into it considering I had not had a decent wash for a fortnight and was more than chatty. </span></i></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The next day we went on to the bank of the Meuse and had a good bath and got some clean clothes. That night we had a lot of fun even though the conversation was not the sweetest. The next day they took me out shooting. I had four men acting as dogs but my luck was out and we came home with an empty bag. We had another good evening. Madame cooked a good supper and also put on a lot of baked potatoes and salad for dinner.</span></i></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1">On the 16</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> December, I went into Huy and had a look around and the rest of the day I spent making some souvenirs for Madame who cooked us a good dish of potatoes and cabbage for dinner. We had another great evening and were again given a big supper, which was the end of three very decent days spell. On the 17</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> we left this village. All hands were out bright and early to see us off and poor old Madame shed a tear when we left.</span></span></i></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">That night we stopped at Jemeppe and my feet were dead sore and blistered, the result of a new set of boots. That evening I went into Liege, which is the best place I have seen so far, a real upto date city wth very fine buildings. I should like to have seen a bit more of it. Prices here were very high, a small apple tart cost me 1/25d. The people we stayed with were very cool to us and did not seem at all pleased to see us. </span></i></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1">The next day we had a big march to Fagnes</span><span class="s3"> </span><span class="s1">and my feet were more than crook. Got pretty wet and was also a cold day. Landed a hay loft that night and as soon as we got tea, got down to sleep. The next day we got to Verviers, another very fine city. After tea we went down the street for a look around but my feet were a bit too sore, as we had done 14 miles that day, so soon got on the way for my bunk. The people gave us a great reception in this town. The streets were packed as we marched through and we got plenty of (Alley Aussie!). </span></span></i></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The next morning I went down the street again for a while. At 12 noon we got on the road again and went to Baelen and got into a schoolroom for the night. Got a fine going – we got no blankets or coats that night and had to get on the road at 3.30-am the next morning so it was a case of lie down and wait. Sleep was out of the question even though I gave it a good go, but at 12.50 decided to shake up the fire again. At 3.30 we had a slice of bread and then got on the road again. </span></i></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1">After about an hours march struck the German border. We marched along this for a while and then crossed into Germany at the town of (maybe Aachen, IJ). Here we got a cup of tea and biscuits and got onto the train at 6-am on 21</span><span class="s2"><sup>st</sup></span><span class="s1"> December. Our journey lasted until 12 o’clock when we pulled up at Schernfeld. Had some more biscuits and chocolate. At 1.30-pm we started on the road again. Marched through Cologne, where the people were very interested but there were not many smiling faces and once a bottle dropped in front of us. </span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1">We crossed the Rhine by the boat bridge playing the Regimental March and through Mulheim. At 7.30-pm we landed at our destination, Leichingen, after doing sixteen miles and needless to say no one was feeling any too happy seeing we had not had a decent feed all day. When the old tea went round, after the bugle had sounded, a few of the mob expressed their feelings very plainly. That night we slept in the concert hall of a hotel. I think I could have slept anywhere and did not get out too early. The next day we shifted to a schoolroom and spent the day cleaning up, writing letters, etc. </span></span></i></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Band playing somewhere in Germany</td></tr>
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<span class="s1">On the 24</span><span class="s2"><sup>th </sup></span><span class="s1"> December, 1918, the town guards were posted up, the people taking a great interest in the proceedings. On the 25</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> we got up at 10-am and went and played for the guards and then waited for dinner. Cold mutton, plum pudding and tea, and for tea had cold bacon and tea, so we did not overeat ourselves but a lot of the boys got parcels which saved the situation and we had a good go in the cakes. Boxing day parade as usual. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">On the 28</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> we got the day off to go into Cologne. We got out at the station, went across the famous bridge and into the Cathedral, which is a very fine building (the bell of which was used up for munitions and weighed 27 tons). We had not been in town very long when I threw-up in a shop and the next I remember was being taken to hospital, where I spent my New Years Day, which passed by the same as any other day except that I went to a picture show. On the 2</span><span class="s2"><sup>nd</sup></span><span class="s1"> I left this institution and after spending a few hours in the town set sail for Leichingen. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">January 4</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1">, 1919, I made a little journey into a town called Solingen, a fair sized town very famous for its steel works and coalmines, but only having a couple of hours I did not see very much of it. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">25</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> January. Went for a trip to Bonn. Not a bad place but am not shook on the town. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">We are now just about at the end of this rotten show. We got orders to be held in readiness to move on the 1</span><span class="s2"><sup>st</sup></span><span class="s1"> March. I refused to believe it thinking it was too good to be true but all the same felt very happy and have been doing some deep thinking the last couple of days and nights. Today we have packed all our gear and are to leave at twelve tomorrow. My stay here has not been a very exciting one. I have spent night after night in my billet feeling very miserable and have developed a good bite and I think I would be fit for the rat house if I had to stay much longer. But thank heavens we are just about to set now. But in this outfit a man is never certain until he is on the road, but tomorrow will settle it and I hope it proves to be the day that I have been hoping for ever since I landed here. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">The great day has arrived. We left Leichingen on the fourth about 1-pm after the usual wait and roll call etc. The first stage was per motor lorry in as far as Cologne where we had another good wait before getting on the train. A nice little snowfall just to keep things cool. By five thirty we were nicely settled into cattle trucks and then moved off. At 5-am the next morning we arrived at Huy once more and were given breakfast (extra light). All that day we travelled very slowly and spent the rest of the day standing still. We passed through Charleroi and reached Mons in the evening when it was snowing good Oh! Here we got a drink of hot coffee and also some rations (biscuits and bully). </span></div>
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<span class="s1">The morning of the 6</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> February 1919, we reached Douai and got some tea cold this time for a change. We also struck a canteen so got in a store of eatables. The snow was still coming down and was getting pretty deep. At midday we reached Arras and had a bit of fun snowballing some Froggies and building a snowman during a halt on the line. Just outside Arras we passed a cemetery, well smacked up with a few trenches running through it. That afternoon we passed some big frozen lakes and came through Albert, which was well smacked up. Just before dark we pulled up for some rations and hot tea. It had now started to freeze and was extra cold. During the evening we arrived at Amiens where we had a good long wait. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">The next morning we were just outside Rouen, where we arrived at the station just before dinner and were very glad to get out of that truck. We were marched to a Y.M. for some food and landed a pretty rough dinner. After a bit of a spell we set off for Camp five miles away. The going was pretty heavy on account of the snow but we had a bit of fun with every one who passed us on the road. In the Camp we were put into tents, got some blankets, had tea and then got to bed. It was now freezing hard so we double bunked with the beds and eleven blankets failed to keep two of us warm. In the morning our boots, socks etc. were all frozen so it was like a contest to get them on. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">At 10-am we left the Camp and went over to a bath where we had all our gear put through a louse machine. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">From there we went into the NZ Base Camp for dinner. Here we got issued with some clothing and in the evening I went into Rouen and went to a theatre after having a bit of a look around and landed home about 11-pm. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">At 3.30-am in the next morning we were pulled out for breakfast. It was more than cold. We were next lined up on the parade ground and then started on the road once more. The march was a very greasy one and I think about half of the boys turned a flip. We had a good long wait at the station but finally got going at 9-am for Le Harve where we arrived at 2-pm after a fairly good run in the train. On arrival there we were marched to a rest Camp after the usual wait about. Here they gave us two meals and then told us we were there for the night. After settling down I went and found my old pal Len K. and spent the night with him. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">At 8.30-am we left Camp, marched a couple of miles and got on the boat by 11.30-am (The Countess of Devonshire). Shortly after this she pulled outside the harbour and anchored. During the early morning we crossed the Channel and then had another wait on the other side after an eight hours run. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">At 12 o’clock on the 11</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> we landed once more in Blighty at the port of Weymouth. Here they gave us a cup of tea and cakes and then got on board the train about 2-pm. We passed through Bristol, Birmingham and a lot of smaller places and finally pulled up at Brocton and marched out to the Camp. Got another meal and into bed by 12-pm. Needless to say was soon asleep and did not get up too early. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">18</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> February 1919. We have now been in this Camp one-week and tomorrow we go on leave. Since we arrived here we have done nothing except sign papers, clothing stats, etc. Today we got fitted up with new clothes. The food here is something exceptional and I have eaten as much for one meal as I would get for a day in France and am already getting fat. I have met a few old friends including Rollie Taylor, Travis Smith, Barry MacDonald. I expected to see Archie Fenton but learnt that he has left for NZ. I went into Stafford one night for a dance with Rollie and had a good time. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">To be continued </span></div>
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Ian Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03854821671216618229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7332214685240691100.post-27366920687949919532013-05-12T19:14:00.000-07:002013-05-12T19:14:36.528-07:00A few Notes on my Career as a Soldier.
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">Chapter 7. Some leave taken and then Germany accepts our terms of Amistice.</span></span></h4>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></h4>
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<span style="font-size: large;">By Horace William (Bill) James</span></h4>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1">On 10</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> August, we shifted back to Marieux once more. This time the stay lasted a month as the big push was now in full swing and the Battalion was well into it and got well cut up, my old platoon coming out with a </span>strength of 3 men, so I reckon I am lucky, several of my mates being killed. </span></i></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I went for a trip up to the dump and had to travel over many miles of the country that had just been captured and was a complete scene of desolation, every village being only a heap of bricks. I went into Bapaume, which was also the same. There were a few little puffs about so did not stay long.</span></i></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5fceJD5YugSQFRMokPnrTMkvsi5eINiROW7_V4oxHiwS7XiDsFrxoW6jTpmOBhj5HVv4KpDiWLtctLyZIuTRVEBGmSAeypyuv8s-1oilrtb1Q__JIXBCbhLhJoadOQhF2C_FZTFTHVkYT/s1600/Bapaume.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5fceJD5YugSQFRMokPnrTMkvsi5eINiROW7_V4oxHiwS7XiDsFrxoW6jTpmOBhj5HVv4KpDiWLtctLyZIuTRVEBGmSAeypyuv8s-1oilrtb1Q__JIXBCbhLhJoadOQhF2C_FZTFTHVkYT/s400/Bapaume.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">German troops in Bapaume</td></tr>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1">September 10</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1">, 1918. We got on the move once more. Starting the day at 4-am we had breakfast and all the Camp struck and ready to move off by daylight. We had a march of about three miles to the old railhead where we had a good long wait for the train and spent some of the time in an orchard close by - nice apples. </span></span></i></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It was about 10-am when our train arrived but we were soon on the road and passed close to the old spot where I learned what war was. We were in the train until four in the afternoon when we found ourselves in Bapaume. That night pitched Camp just behind the town and was rather glad to get down for a sleep even though we did not have feather beds.</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The following day was spent in digging in etc., which was always seems to be our luck. While in this Camp there was nothing to be seen about except rain so I spent most of my time making souvenirs for the boys and getting a few “sometimes” in return. Our “Bill of Fare” took a decided turn for the worse, no gardens up there.</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Four days later we went up as far as Haplincourt to meet the Battalion coming out. A decent little march, stayed there for the night in an old hut and played the Battalion out to Biefvillers, the following day. </span></i></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Old Fritz was over that morning and converted a couple of our balloons into smoke and repeated the dose on two more the same afternoon. But things were levelled up during the night when I had the pleasure of seeing a Hun plane go up in flames, a great sight and he got a good cheer from the boys for his little performance.</span></i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrzYiHH571kU9xbeBI7JBYuwsBmaxZ_91pFOeJSVQ0_gbsslmbFCfM4hFKfnDtnMf-goSCMzHSKVB5QgLsoaGEoEP0uqqaw8wVwPT8_sYc__PQrrF_6rqKMTHdS6Zv1VAvgDBHNDd6EmFu/s1600/Shot+down.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrzYiHH571kU9xbeBI7JBYuwsBmaxZ_91pFOeJSVQ0_gbsslmbFCfM4hFKfnDtnMf-goSCMzHSKVB5QgLsoaGEoEP0uqqaw8wVwPT8_sYc__PQrrF_6rqKMTHdS6Zv1VAvgDBHNDd6EmFu/s400/Shot+down.jpg" width="367" /></a></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">We were living in one of old Fritz’s underground stables and the second night experienced a very severe thunderstorm. Within a few minutes everyone’s gear was doing the submarine act in about nine inches of water. My greatest loss was my little bag of rations although everything present, with the exception of my trow and great coat, got wet through so spent the next three hours under a M.M tent (which was half blown away) waiting for daylight and then went back and started salvaging my goods.</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">All the next day was spent drying, cleaning up and building a new bivvy. While here I found Stirl once more, also Harry A. and we spent several evenings together. I also met my old pal Jack Taylor.</span></i></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1">September 28</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1">, 1918. The Battalion went into the line again and we shifted back to our old Camp once more. Most of the boys expect to get leave from here. Two or three evenings we had a lot of fun getting souvenirs from Fritz prisoners in the compound and on the train up Bapaume. Got so much doings so I got on the trade stakes once more. Two days later they took names for leave, mine being on the list and very much to my surprise I was warned to go on the 5</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1">. I started right away to get ready but strange to say did not get very excited over it. </span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1">I left Camp on the 2</span><span class="s2"><sup>nd</sup></span><span class="s1"> October about 4-pm and had to go up to Iries to the next Camp. Got a ride all the way. We arrived there that night and the next day got fitted out with new uniforms etc. Left there about dinner time for the railhead which was close by. Here we had a good long wait and only got moving by 4-pm. We were in that train until 10 oclock that night when we arrived back at Achel Le Grand, a total distance of eleven miles, some </span>train. We were then just a few minutes walk from where we had started. </span></i></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The next day we went down to the station at 7.30-am after putting the night in an old broken down shed. The train was 3 hours late reaching this spot on account of trying a cross-country run where there were no rails but finally we got on the road once more. We passed through several large places including Arras and Doullens and arrived at Bolongne at 11-pm. Had some tea and then fell over in the tent and had a sleep in full marching order. There was a bit of an air raid on so were unable to light up to fix any sort of bed. The next morning we left this Camp about 9-am for the boat but did not get away for about three hours. After we did get going I had the pleasure of that familiar old sensation of mine once more. </span></i></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Another little wait at Folkestone in the train and then we were on the final lap. A non-stop run to London where we arrived about 4-pm in the afternoon. The first thing was a meal, a good clean up and by then it was fairly late so my friend Jim Flynn and I went out to a bit of a show which I did not think too much of. </span></i></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1">Sunday morning , the 20</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> October, I got up a bit late and met Charlie Griffin and then went round to the Y.M. and found Allen Eyles, Jack Coulter, and Harry Ashton there. We had a bit of a yarn and then all went for a trip down Petticoat Lane. Had lunch down that way and then went out to Hamestead. Had a look round there and drank some wine down at the old Bull and Bush and also found an ex-Digger out there. Had a lot of fun that day and went back to Sling with Allen, Jack and lost Harry in the rush. It was about midnight when we landed there so got some supper and got down on the floor for the rest of the night. The next morning after cadging a breakfast I went down to find my base kit, which I got onto after a while, so I left the boys and started back for Bulford Station, and got just about wet through getting there.</span></span></i></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">On arrival at Salibury I found I had just missed a train so had to spend a couple of hours. Had a bit of a look round the town etc. and arrived up in London about 4-pm. Had tea, good, changed into my flash clothes and then met Binty Eyles, Dave Brynell and Bill McDowell. We all went to see “Chin Chin Show”, not a bad show.</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In the afternoon it was raining so we all went to an Opera “Madame Butterfly”, some lovely music. In the evening went to a vaudeville show. Wednesday morning I went through Beardmores’s Howitzer Factory, some show and was there to see them forging fifteen inch guns, a nice job.</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Saturday morning we left for Edinburgh after spending a few real good days. We arrived there about 10-pm and had a bit of trouble to get a bed but were finally lined up in one of the Club’s houses. After dinner we all went out to see the Forth Bridge, which is some structure. We also had a good look at some of the fleet. It is rather a decent little run out there in a motorbus. I met Bill Cubis that night and we went to a concert. Sunday morning we all went for a walk round the town and the same in the afternoon. In the evening, walking the streets for a while, had some supper, and went to bed early for once.</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Monday morning I went through the Edinburgh Castle, the Fire Station, and the Palace. All very fine places. In the afternoon I went through a newspaper office, The Scotsman, a very fine paper office, which takes eight minutes to publish a paper and have it out on the street.</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In the evening I left for Dundee arriving there about seven-am. I got as far as Newcastle by 1-pm and decided to stay there the night. I found the Y.M., had some dinner, very rough show, after that I went to have a look round the town and through some gardens which were not bad, but I was far from being in love with the town. I found the old castle built on the Tyne. The first stone fort except for England. In the evening we got the news that Turkey had capitulated so everyone was very excited. I went to the theatre which was very good. After it was over caught the train for London, arriving there at 6-am. I made off to the Club and had a good bath and breakfast.</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">After that I went out to Hearne Hill to see Mrs Boak and spent a couple of days there. At 1-pm I landed back in the city again. Had dinner, went for a walk ending up in another theatre with two Aussies. In the evening I did some writing and stayed home.</span></i></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1">Friday the 18</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> October, 1918. I had an appointment with the Dentist and sat for three hours in his chair. It was a very heavy fog that morning and I learned what London fog was like. I went back to the Dentist and spent the afternoon in his chair. In the evening I went to St James theatre with Eady from Auckland, and after getting back packed my gear ready for the following day. My leave was over, very hard to bear. The next morning I lay in bed until the very last minute and finally made a dash for it, got down breakfast, just caught the crowd moving off. Didn’t have time to either shave or wash.</span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1">We got to Folkstone about 10-am and went into the next Camp. I wrote a couple of letters and sent home a parcel and then got a couple of hours leave so we had a look around the town and had a good dinner and left for the</span> boat. It was a good trip over and I managed to hold my own. Got to Bologne just after dark and marched up to one blanket hill. Got some rations and got down to sleep. </span></i></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The next morning we left about 7.30-am, marched to the railway, had a good wait there, also some papers, and got on the move about 10 o’clock. It was a pretty rotten trip and was after 10-pm when we marched Achiet le Grand. Went into a rest Camp there, which had just been pitched so that night slept in mud and got a good cold. </span></i></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1">The next day, 21</span><span class="s2"><sup>st</sup></span><span class="s1"> October, 1918, we left the Camp about 8-am without any rations except tea. Yours truly managed to get a couple of tins of fish. At the station we were told that the train was off the line and had to wait until 1.30-pm before we got away. At eleven o’clock we arrived at Louvencourt after doing a train change act part of the way up the line. Again all the tents were full and nobody knew where to go. In looking round someone found the cookhouse. It got the most of my attention for the next ten minutes. I was only a little bit hungry! I found a corner in it and we soon got down to it once more.</span></span></i></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The next morning I found some more members of the band just going back so after a good breakfast we were issued with rations and set off on a twenty-five kilo march. Needless to say that was no use to me so pulled up at the railway line and jumped a goods train going up to the line. This pulled up for a while at Marais crossing while they fixed up a bridge but finally reached Cambrai about twelve. Two of us were riding on a truck of hay and got pretty wet as it was raining a bit solid. In Cambrai we got into a house and boiled the billy and had some dinner and a bit of a spell. Then got on the road once more and got a bus nearly out to Beauvais where we found the Battalion.</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">After getting some tea I went round to see Stirl and Harry but found Stirl had been wounded and when I got back found there was a letter waiting for me from him. I also got some NZ meals and went off to sleep feeling very happy although sorry to be back in this country. </span></i></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1">November 3</span><span class="s2"><sup>rd</sup></span><span class="s1">, 1918. The battalion went into the line again, the band playing them along the road for a good way. Then we left them and started back. We had to go to Beauvais that night so set out straight away. It was very dark and rained fairly solid for most of the way so we got a bit damp. Felt like pulling off the road but even though the going was not too good, myself and about six others landed back in our old show after three hours fairly solid walk. We had a good tea and got to bed, my pal having looked after my old bed while we were away. The next day we heard about Austria throwing in the towel and everyone is feeling a bit happier.</span></span></i></div>
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<span class="s1">We stayed at this place until the 7</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> November and had a fairly easy time and plenty to eat. From here we marched up to Villereau just beside Le Quesnoy, 25 km,which took seven hours and needless to say were more than tired when we got there. We were put into another loft of a shed, a pretty crook show, but we were soon down on the floor and sound asleep. We stayed here for two days. The boys were out doing a big stint and giving Fritz a good smack up and by the sound of the rumours it will be the last stint.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">On the 10</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> November 1918, we left here with full packs and marched back to Solomes, arriving there about six-pm. Got a hot drink and settled down for the night expecting to hear great news the next day. We were getting ready for the road in the morning when the news came round that Germany had accepted our terms and armistice was to start at 11-am. Everyone took the news very quietly, there was not even a cheer but every man had a very happy smile on his face. Shortly afterwards as the Battalion was marching out of the town, the band playing the Regimental March. Three hours later we pulled up at Beauvais and were put up in the schoolhouse. A real good home and we had good beds to sleep in and that night we went off to sleep knowing that we would not be troubled with either bombs or shells which was a very strange feeling. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Our stay here lasted until the? We had a fairly busy time, plenty of playing and route marches, also parades. On the 18</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> November, we had a Division route march, the column being eight miles long. We also had a couple of Battalion parades. There were plenty of rumours going as to when we were to start for home. We also got the news that we were to go on garrison duty on the Rhine with the result that there was a bit of a riot but it fizzled out without much trouble. The first snow of the year fell on the 18</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> and there has been a fair bit of frost.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">On the 27</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> November, three of our boys left for NZ, which I hope is the start of the demobilisation scheme.</span></div>
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Ian Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03854821671216618229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7332214685240691100.post-70048783861886818972013-05-09T01:50:00.000-07:002013-05-09T01:50:27.996-07:00A few Notes on my Career as a Soldier<h4>
Chapter 6 Saved by joining the Regimental Band.</h4>
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<br />By Horace William (Bill) James</h4>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>Here we got a good meal and got into some blankets on a stretcher and a real good spell and sleep. The next five days I stopped here living on good food and did nothing but a bit of writing and was soon all right again. I met Dr Ward, Hame Clark and Innes Weaver in the hospital, all three being attached to it.</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i><span class="s1">On the 16</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> April, 1918, I got pushed out and after being inspected by Dr Ward were sent to the Division HQ and from there to the Battalion dump where I made myself down for the night. </span></i></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>I met the Band Sargent in the evening and put the hard word on him but did not get much encouragement until later when he met me and said he thought he could get me in temporary to take a sick man’s place. </i></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>The next day I got orders to report to the Band and was not at all pleased over it. I had a good cleanup etc., and in the afternoon shifted to the Band billet and was given a baritone and was told it would take a while and that evening I got away and had a bit of a blow. But I was sadly out of form and my lips soon got sore. My teeth were also broken so the next day I went back to Bertrancourt to see Keane and he soon fixed up my teeth for me and after that I got on a lot better.</i></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>We were in the little town of Acheux for the next couple of days and I thought I was in the sweetest little job on earth; a good bed, good food, not forgetting a few eggs from the farmhouse next door. The only trouble now is whether I can keep this going.</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i><span class="s1">Mon. 22</span><span class="s2"><sup>nd</sup></span><span class="s1"> April, 1918. We left Acheux and went to Louvencourt and Camp in a paddock where four of us built a decent little bivvy sods and sacks and then pinched some straw from the farmhouse next door and were fairly comfortable. The next day we had to leave it and build a fresh one on the other side of the road. Of course it would not do for an officer and men to be together. We remained in this spot for a while where we were doing </span>nothing but practice and play programmes. The solo cornet player (Arthur Turnbull) had been given charge of the Band and is making big improvements in it. We had one day on fatigue, a light job. Also had a bit of drill by the R.S.M who is not too flash on it himself, and a real good bite. I have had a change of instruments and am now on the Tenor. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i><span class="s1">6</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> May 1918. We left this Camp and went up to Rossignol Farm to the Battalion, a decent spot on top of a hill with a good few trees about and rock-hard. We were billeted in the farm church and had a bed to sleep in. We put on some good music for the boys who were out for eight days spell. I went into the village close by (Coigneax) but it is just about deserted. Met Dr Ward and had a chat with him. Also landed a few eggs at 5 each. One day we had the pleasure of a couple of shells close by but no one hurt.</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i><span class="s1">On the 15</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> May, the boys went up to the line and again we went back to our Camp at Louvencourt where we struck a good wash. The next few days we did nothing but the usual practice and polish, including buttons etc. The Heads are going a bit panicky lately. I met Jock Taylor here and we went to spend an evening and met Ben Clark, Crickett and Douby. Had a bit of a reunion. Rather late getting home. I also met Jim Steele who told me the sad news of my old mate Bill Clausen.</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i><span class="s1">On Sat 18</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> May, we went up to play for Div’s HQ in Bus, some show too, a decent Chateau in real good grounds. Would not mind living there.</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i><span class="s1">20</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> May, 1918. The 2</span><span class="s2"><sup>nd</sup></span><span class="s1"> Brigade held their horse show today. I went over in the afternoon, not very interesting. The mule race, ridden without either whip or spurs over hurdles was a good item and all hands had a good laugh.</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i><span class="s1">Sat 25</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> May, we went back to Rossignol Farm once more and got into our former hotel (the Church). Nothing much happened until Tuesday when the 1</span><span class="s2"><sup>st</sup></span><span class="s1"> Brigade show was held. The Battalion left Camp and marched about ten km to the grounds. The first introduction was a few shells on a ridge close by and things looked a bit interesting for a while but old Fritz was good enough to leave us alone for the rest of the day.</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>Our guard won their event, which was about the only item that interested me, besides the mule race, which was more than funny. There were some fair jumping events, which brought back old memories to me and I pictured Lew in all his war paint at the old show.</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i><span class="s1">Most of my time I spent looking for old mates and found a good few, amongst them, Harry Ashton and we had a good yarn over Whangarei etc. Other Whangarei boys were Jim Rough L. Moakes, Dan and Joe Gash, Keane Clark, Alex Jack. After the show we marched back to the Camp and I was only feeling a </span><span class="s3">little</span><span class="s1"> bit tired when at last we climbed the last little hill.</span></i></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHN5MlEM-Gkg4GfpAS0PqeKYNJmkv8pnQbj5zeGBJ6Og9WFnkbNfvQ2OSM4_7IuQY-m-eQD-5ggZ_y2mqfL7FRXDuSHPxx6zl443f4yUo25cN83nrfb3z2gfzknHnlDsNmrtqKJyim4PqS/s1600/Bill+in+France.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHN5MlEM-Gkg4GfpAS0PqeKYNJmkv8pnQbj5zeGBJ6Og9WFnkbNfvQ2OSM4_7IuQY-m-eQD-5ggZ_y2mqfL7FRXDuSHPxx6zl443f4yUo25cN83nrfb3z2gfzknHnlDsNmrtqKJyim4PqS/s400/Bill+in+France.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Somewhere in Belgium</i></span></td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>On Friday old Fritz put a couple of shells into the Camp. Luckily the boys were mostly away on field practice and he only got one man who was killed. The next day the boys went into the line again and we dudes returned to Louvencourt dump and played a programme at Div HQ on the way. On arrival we found our little home occupied and we were put into a sort of hole, which was about half large enough to hold the four of us so we set to work to make improvements. After a bit of solid toil we had a nice little hut built out of sand bags, which were given to us (when the owner was not looking). It was just past twelve when we got to bed that night. We stopped in this spot for four days doing a bit of drill and plenty of practice for the Band Quick Step, which is to come off in the near future.</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i><span class="s1">Thursday 6</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> June,1918. We shifted over to Authie and had the usual digging in stint. This time we got well amongst the sand bags so made a good posy. The next few days were all band drill and practice for the quick step. None of the heads seemed to know much about the game and there were quite a few arguments as to what was the right and wrong way. We had a few more shells here but they all went well overhead. Our Sargent got wounded in the hand while cleaning his rifle, a nice Blighty.</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i><span class="s1">Monday 10</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> June, we shifted a few chains into a wood. This time we landed tents all ready up. The Battalion came out tonight and stayed for three days and then went back to Camp at Henu and again we landed tents. We travelled in a motor lorry this time and played at Div HQ in Pas on the way. </span></i></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Sunday 16</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1">. The Div show was held. The Battalion marched to the grounds again, about 5-km. We played two programmes during the day. There were a big crowd of men there and I found quite a few of my old mates. The rings events were real good this time. Our Guard proved too good for the rest of the crowd and had a good win again. All hands were given a buckshee dinner, a big slice of bread and salmon biscuits, a boiled egg and tea, some feed. A big surprise for the crowd and I think a lot wondered if they would get an entry in their pay books for it. I guess there will be more than three to a loaf after this lot was the usual remark as each man filed out from their tent. However, taking things all round it was a real good days outing.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">While in this Camp I spent the evening in Pas and was lucky enough to meet Stirl down there and needless to say we both had a lot to talk about.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Friday 21</span><span class="s2"><sup>st</sup></span><span class="s1"> June, 1918. Got NZ mail – one letter only. We all shifted to </span><span class="s3">Dauchelles</span><span class="s1"> and this time we are living in huts quite flash, must be winning. We are still on the contest stakes and have less than a week to go now. But we are not marching too badly and I don’t think we will be last. The next day I landed some mail but there were a few letters missing.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Sunday 23</span><span class="s2"><sup>rd</sup></span><span class="s1"> May was the Division Sports. Again the Battalion attended in all its war paint and we all got another buckshee dinner but not quite as good as last week. The sports were on a large scale and there were about 10,000 NZ boys present, practically every unit in the Division being represented so it could be well called a Diggers reunion. I met a lot of old friends, Stirl being the first and we were together for about an hour and then got separated in the crowd and I saw no more of him until we were leaving which will give some idea of the crowd and</span> all being dressed alike did not improve my chances of finding him. Other boys were Ned May, Lou, Morgan, Bill Cowdell, Two Forsythes, Lance Massey and a few others. There were some very interesting events and was easily the best day of the lot we have had. I was a bit sorry when the fall in call went and we were on the road again for home.</div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i><span class="s1">Thursday 27</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> May, 1918, the Band contest was held. This time for some reason unknown to the common diggers, the Battalion did not go which caused no small amount of disappointment amongst the crowd. We were well polished up for the day and most of us had new gear to wear. We were up bright and early and on our way had the final run over the course. On arrival at the grounds we had a final polish up. On drawing for places we came out seventh so were able to watch the first few bands do their turn. At last we were called and on lining up found one of our men missing and of course everyone’s lip dropped. However, we went on the ground and got inspected and were just ready to step off when the missing link arrived and caused a bit of a fuss, but we got through the rest of the course in good style until it came to dismiss when one man must have turned to his left and got a bit of a cheer.</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>As each band came off the course they were taken into a large marque for lunch. Here we were all seated at large tables decorated with a white cloth, flowers and we had cups and saucers, plates etc., and quite flash I thought. I was one of the Heads.</i></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>Then the results were read out:</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i><span class="s1">4</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>(Otago). </span></i></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>The remainder were not mentioned until the remarks cards came out when we were declared 5th very much to everyone’s satisfaction and for a while they all had a large smile on.</i></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>I met Stirl just after dinner and we spent the rest of the day together talking over different people at home etc. During the afternoon the divisional boxing championships were fought and there were some real good bouts and one knockout. Amongst the competition was Sgt. Nicklass, the latest N.Z.V.C. He got the worst of his argument.</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i><span class="s1">There were quite a few Fritz planes over during the afternoon and they evidently must have seen us as he was kind enough to send over a few shells just as the crowd </span>was leaving the ground but he got his range a bit wrong and sent them all over our heads.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i><span class="s1">Sunday 30</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> June, 1918. We had a visit from Bill and Joe. They attended our church parade and after the service inspected the ranks and then had a few words of good cheer for the boys and reminded them of the last shilling. The reception was very mixed and at times a few groans and interjections were going forth, which I don’t think the two little love birds felt any too easy. </span></i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIhqSHNW9EEpmc10PzzGvN5KzFr15RmiuxAfMH5rohP6qOTqnUdNFDbTSz5oNs02bLwNuYfB-Mr-JqS6c1NZL_e4Iw-vjsKiioucbrvkRQdzK5I9mlrkjSbr1DLhdisnTzlNJlKTs1Onvb/s1600/Cutting+Corns.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIhqSHNW9EEpmc10PzzGvN5KzFr15RmiuxAfMH5rohP6qOTqnUdNFDbTSz5oNs02bLwNuYfB-Mr-JqS6c1NZL_e4Iw-vjsKiioucbrvkRQdzK5I9mlrkjSbr1DLhdisnTzlNJlKTs1Onvb/s400/Cutting+Corns.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>The next day we left that Camp and went back to Marieux and pitched up in a wood, a real good spot. During the early hours of the morning Fritz dropped a few cream puffs around our Camp and got a few horses and a couple of Tommies. The next day we had a solid day digging in and in the evening went into the village and had some eggs and chips and went to a picture show, also a bit of a revue a couple of nights later in C Company with Harry Ashton who had just come back from a few days in hospital.</i></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>During our stay at this spot I spent an afternoon in Doullens, a fair sized town about 10 km from our Camp. Got a few little articles and went home well loaded up with parcels etc. I heard a Yankee Band while I was there, which was nothing flash. </i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i><span class="s1">July 10</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1">, 1918. We went to Couin and were put into a billet and a very crook one at that. The first night I slept under a wagon in a broken down shed but as the fowls used it for a shelter before I did, it was a bit too lively for me. So I built a little shack for myself under an apple tree in the yard and was very comfortable. Seeing there were so many fowls about to annoy us I thought I would make use of them. So I built a few nests about the place with some chalk nest eggs. In the result was I had eggs for the next couple of mornings until the Madame found out my little game and it was aipoo nests. While up there I got my NZ mail again, which seems to be getting gradually smaller, a bit hard to bear but suppose it can’t be helped.</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>On the17th July, we left this town and went back to Marieux to our old Camp. During our spell here we had a fairly good time and plenty of good food, thanks to some of the French gardens close by. I went down to Pas a couple of times and spent an afternoon with Sterl at his home down there. Not like the one at Karamea.</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i><span class="s1">August 2</span><span class="s2"><sup>nd</sup></span><span class="s1">, 1918. We went up to the Battalion at Rossignol Farm. Met Harry Ashton again, also Jack Taylor and Don Smedley. Was not feeling too good while up there so led the simple life. Nothing very startling happened.</span></i></span></div>
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(to be continued)</div>
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Ian Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03854821671216618229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7332214685240691100.post-7254892243194973612013-05-03T02:21:00.001-07:002013-05-03T02:21:54.229-07:00A few Notes on my Career as a Soldier.<h3>
Chapter 5. The Somme Battlefield</h3>
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<br />By Horace William (Bill) James</h3>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i><span class="s1">The next day the 29</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> Good Friday, 1918, and many a time my thoughts ran home and to different parts of NZ. What could they be doing out there? We had a very quiet time sitting under a little bit of cover all day with only a few shells flying around and I was not sorry when night came so that we could move around a bit and dig to keep warm, which kept me occupied most of the night.</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>At daylight we got under cover again and all was quiet once more and was so until 1-pm when our Sargent came up the trench and broke the gentle news that Ruahines were going over the top and we were to support them and the barrage would start at 2-pm. My heart began to beat a little faster as I started to wonder what was before me but managed to keep myself amused with putting my gear together, cleaning ammunition and giving the old rifle a final touch. This all finished I asked my mate how the time was going – twenty past one. I thought about four hours had passed by, instead of twenty minutes and was in hope that peace had been declared and our little stint was a washout.</i></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>Finally, we were asked if we were ready and shortly after away went the guns, some sound, and machine guns rattled everywhere. We all got down into the bottom of the trench and waited and strange to say the only thing that troubled me was cramp in the foot. Here we stayed for some hours and nothing turned up. Then the guns seemed to ease off and I had a bit of a look around to see what was going on. A runner went past and told us the boys had got their objective and were digging in and then once more I breathed freely. Soon we saw prisoners of war coming past. I began to think war was not so very bad after all.</i></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>Then we got orders to move up to the next line of trenches and very soon I found myself running across about 100 yards of open ground with a shovel in one hand and my rifle in the other gasping for breath and was not sorry when I saw the others jump into a trench and quickly followed. But somehow that was not the finish as they kept going and this time we had about six inches of mud to contend with and every few yards I managed to get tangled up in some wire in the trench and all the time my mates were getting further ahead. Next we passed a dead German and I gave him a very thoughtful glance as I went by. Close behind him was one of our boys who had been shot in the head. I should think he had had a very close call to leave this world. </i></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>At last I got a chance to catch up with the rest who were all held up at a railway line and had to crawl through a small ditch to get to the other side without being sniped, as there were now plenty of those little bits of lead and shell flying about. My turn came and I managed to get stuck half way and was well smothered in mud by the time I had dragged myself through. On the other side of this we got into a trench with some small bivvies dug in it and after a bit of a look around I planted myself well into one of these to try and keep a bit dry as I then discovered it was raining and I was getting pretty wet.</i></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The NZ Artillery in action at the Somme</span></td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>During my sojourn in this little spot I had plenty of time and my thoughts travelled in all directions, but once again I was not extra frightened perhaps because I did not realise the extent of the danger I was in. Our boys were getting blown out of their bivvies all along the trench yet no one was hit.</i></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>Then came the next little scene in the great play and perhaps the star act. What was happening I did not know but simply sat listening to the shells and bullets flying about. After a while the Sargent came along and told us we had to go up to the line and help the Ruahines and very soon we were filing off down a very muddy SAP. I was near the last with our Corporal just behind me who kept telling me to hurry whenever I got tangled up in some wire and I had a big job to keep going. What with excitement and want of breath I was feeling a bit queer. </i></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>Exactly what I saw during the next half hour is rather hazy to me but I know we had not gone far when I nearly walked on to a dead German lying face up staring at us as we passed. Then the next one was one of our boys and at the sight of him my heart sank. I did not look at the next one who was lying on a stretcher and had evidently been abandoned by his rescuers and from then on things grew worse. Blood was lying in deep pools. In the SAP, men too were lying every few yards and in all positions. Some dead, others just breathing or groaning their last while others were too far-gone even to make a noise and were just quivering as the last of their strength flowed away.</i></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>At last we came to the end of this trench and had to wait to find out where to go next and then I felt very queer, sick at the sights I had seen. We stopped here a few hours and found that our boys had been held up for some two hours on a strong point, but luckily the Huns had given in just before we arrived on the scene. </i></span></span></div>
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<i><span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">All that was left to do now was to dig in so we salvaged some shovels and were ready for the task and our officer (Buckshee) came back to us but knew no more than when he left us, except that he wanted a good man to go back to supports with him. Things did not look too healthy and then a Sargent (Bill Murray) took things in his own hands and the next I heard was “follow me boys” and we got out across a railway line and into no-mans land where </span></span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1">was not long in getting to work on my little piece and can safely say that I worked harder than I ever did before, not even stopping for a drink, although I had a mouth as dry as chips. After a while I was getting well down in the earth and had a nice little bank between Fritz and myself, which made one feel a little safer. </span></span></i></div>
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<span class="s1">The night passed by very quietly, very few shots being fired. At midnight we stopped for a meal, piece of bully, Anzac wafer and some water and then came a spoonful of rum, which nearly got down my throat. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">All this time a wounded Fritz lying out in front of us had been calling for “mercy Comrade” and finally he was taken away to the hospital very much to his relief and mine too. About 2-am we found another wounded Hun in a posy just behind us who had evidently been lying low. He was also sent away on a stretcher but don’t know how far he got.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">By dawn our part of the trench was finished and we had a couple of posy’s dug for ourselves and of course daylight prevented us from doing any more digging as no one was looking for any excitement. Up until dinnertime everything was fairly quiet and each of us made use of our bivvies and we tried to get a little sleep but was not very successful.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">In the afternoon the Heads got the wind up and we were standing too most of the time as some airman reported that he had seen Fritz preparing to counterattack and this even went as far as an order being sent along that he was coming, which I might say put the wind up me. But luckily it was only a false alarm otherwise this may not have been written as our defenses were very poor and I think it was a case going west or Berlin.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Sunday night, my Coy was coming into the front line to relieve the Ruahines and we were told that our section would have to stay on and my hopes went very low as I was expecting to go back with the rest. However, there was still a doubt and when the Heads came in, our Corporal went to find out and I anxiously waited his verdict and was excited as though I was to get a trip home and when he put his head over the top of the trench and said to get out, I nearly jumped up and kissed him.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">We were soon changing over and got up to the top of the trench and were just moving off when a nice little strafe from Fritz. There was very soon a scatter for an old trench in which we had to wait for a while before making a dash for the next trench across the open country which we did without wasting any time. There we landed in a SAP and waded off through the mud and I was only a bit tired when we reached the supports. Here we got into some old bivvies for a sleep but a good heavy frost and no coats soon settled that argument so I again spent most of the night digging to keep warm.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">As soon as it was a bit light I got out looking for some food and water and had a good win. Also found an old dug-out, which we made our home. First thing we made some cocoa on a small fire and it was a real treat as we had not had anything hot for some time and it softened our biscuits. During the day the sun was shining and we got some of the mud off ourselves and fixed up our dug-out for the night. That night we had a good sleep. </span>Many times during the day I was wondering what was going on in NZ and spent a lot of time thinking over my <i></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1">previous Easter Mondays, the last one in particular. In the evening I had to go up to the front line with ammunition but did not get any excitement.</span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1">Tuesday, the next day we slept most of the time and had to go out for water again and very nearly struck a shell, missing it only by a few yards. That night we were being relieved and were all ready to go when we got orders to supply a burying party. The job not being a very pleasant one and rather risky, the Corporal decided to “Sell a horse” instead of detailing two of us and strange to say this is the first time I have ever won a little lottery but I sat low and thought a lot as this was one of the little duties I did not fancy.</span></span></i></div>
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<span class="s1">As soon as it was dusk we moved up to Supports and after a bit of a spell our Sargent asked for the party and with him we crawled over the top and soon found the body, an Auckland Lance Corporal. The Sargent got his discs and papers etc., and then we placed him in a shell hole. F.M.O. started our task and I am sorry to say it was a very rough burial but the fact that old Fritz kept playing his machine gun on us made it impossible to spend too much time over the job and I was not sorry when my mate said “that is good enough, go for your life”. I put the chaps steel hat at the head of his grave and was very soon back in the trench again breathing a little more freely.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">We had to wait in the trench for a good while and then set off back as soon as our relief arrived. A cross-country trip soon brought us into Mailly Mallet and we pulled up at a small wood just behind the village and got into some old bivvies already there. We found a hot meal waiting for us, the first we had had for ten days, and I reckoned that stew was the best food I’d ever had.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Needless to say we slept in the next morning. After a while we got breakfast and then had a good wash up, shave, etc., and spent the rest of the day resting. Towards evening the boys found a cellar of wine and left it severely alone (I don’t think) and were all feeling good enough for anything that came their way. A few shells were the only excitement we had that day and one or two came a bit close but no damage was done.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">April 4</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> we moved off again to a new Camp. This time we were out in the open paddocks under canvas shelters but had plenty of straw, as there were a few haystacks close by.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">The next day there was a bit of a parade. As we were on the side of the hill facing Fritz I guess he must of got his optics on to us, for a few minutes after the parade he winged a couple of shells into our Camp killing one man and wounding three. We were not very long in getting out of that spot. Every man grabbed his gear and made off over the hill but another shell dropped amongst us stopping another man who was only a few yards in front of me, but landed between us and I was luck enough to be b</span>ehind it. We fixed up another Camp that night and dug out an old trench in case he repeated his dose.</div>
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<span class="s1">The next couple of days we were working on the road between Courcelles and Bertrancourt and I landed some mail from home, which was more than decent and we were getting plenty of mud and rain while here and the stay was not too pleasant.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Monday the 8</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> April, 1918. We got orders to go up the line. So we got a bath and clean clothes just to keep the stock down. Just before dark we moved off and had a good way to go and after a while it started to rain just to make things a bit more pleasant. We passed through Mailly, which we hardly knew as the same village. It was now a complete heap of wreckage, hardly a house that had not been hit and there was a lot of our guns firing from there.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Soon after we got through the village we struck some machine-gun fire and from there, until we got to the front trench, were dodging along between the bursts of fire and flares that were going up every few minutes.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">We were put into a very crook trench and in places it was hardly eighteen inches deep. We had a big front and old Fritz was very close to us, a fact that did not please me very much. But the night proved a fairly quiet one as did the next day. The following night we took over some more trench which was even worse than the last one and this time my section was placed at the head of a gap running across no mans land, which old Fritz used to come into during the night so it was not a pleasant spot. In the morning we got a good strafe, which put a few of our boys out, but we had a fairly quiet time, so it was not so bad. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">The next night we fixed up our trench and bivvies. Our guns kept up a solid fire all night. While on sentry just at daylight, I sighted a big Fritz patrol just in front of our trench, which put the wind up me for a while, as I thought he was coming over. I was not long in getting the rest of the boys out and we soon had our Lewis gun talking to them. There was a big scatter and we saw no more of them.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Just after daylight I witnesses my first falling plane. One of our Archies got him but he fell in his own lines. We had another quiet day and also night and the following morning I was a bit crook so came out to see the Quack. I had a pretty crook trip. Had to come up a SAP, which had no small amount of mud in it and was well over my knees in most places and a good few dead Fritz did not make things any more pleasant. However, I got to the end of my journey without any excitement. After I got to a good spot, had a long spell and then went in search of the R.A.Q. where I landed a good cup of cocoa and was sent back to the next post pulling up at the Y.M. on the road. I had some more cocoa and biscuits and a good spell. At the next post we got some more cocoa and cake this time and with a few more chaps we were taken back still further to a dressing station and the cocoa act was repeated. From here we were sent per ambulance to the 3</span><span class="s2"><sup>rd</sup></span><span class="s1"> field ambulance hospital.</span></div>
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Ian Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03854821671216618229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7332214685240691100.post-74202012842423501942013-05-01T02:17:00.000-07:002013-05-01T02:17:05.361-07:00A few Notes on my Career as a Soldier.<br />
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<span class="s1"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: medium;"><i>Chapter 4 Travel across to the battle lines.</i></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: medium;"><i>By Horace William (Bill) James </i></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">About 12-pm we detrained at Hazebrouck and marched a short distance out to temporary billets. The one I struck was very temporary indeed being a small brick building without either doors or windows and in places large pieces of the walls were minus, and the floors covered with little straw. I was not long in looking up something better and got into what was once a hospital but Fritz had given it a bad shaking with a couple of shells. In the building I found a nice little room, which was not very airy, and in there with two of my mates we had a decent little posy. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">The next thing was a bit of a clean up etc. and then we went out to have a look round the town, which is a fair sized place with a couple of fine churches. There are a lot of people here still in business although I believe a great number have made a bit of a move away on account of old Fritz putting over something like 140 shells in two days, a month or two back. Evidently they are looking for a better life. Needless to say I had a good binder tonight.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">The next morning, Sunday the 10</span><span class="s2"><sup>th </sup></span><span class="s1">March, 1918 I lay in bed and had breakfast brought to me. My friend Pat volunteered to get up and get enough for three, which amounted to three dixies of tea. We had scored a bit of Frogy bread the night before. The night before leaving Abele, I received a parcel from home containing a tin of butter, which I had securely placed in my pack. So with the addition of a tin of bully we had a good breakfast and got under the blankets again.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">At 9.30-am we all got up and when we got outside found that the clock had been advanced one hour for the daylight saving scheme making our rising hour 10.30-am, which is some hour for a soldier to rise. What was left of the morning I spent out in the sun writing home and in the afternoon went for another walk round the city arriving back at 8.30-pm. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">On Monday the 11</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> March we were again up rather late and 10-am got ready to move off, having been lined up in a small paddock close by where I might say we waited until 22-pm, when at last came the joyful order “Packs up”. Very soon we were off making for the Battalion. A few enquires on the way as to the how far it was proved to be very far from satisfactory for after walking a few miles we still got the same answer. Just a few miles although we still kept moving along and the old packs grew heavier and my feet more sore.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7SMsFxYms66FkEDIjFXRloAie4O1Mz5N1BxwwPYB-PtqSCry0H3K6nB_kDnenGU_qcDB6Xzp4st2vPXXik1Jdj6m0B9KS9cpVFFF91cnEbCTU4m4vz2hlw0UauAEy9KA_w7aD9te3Jf0c/s1600/Parade+with+packs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7SMsFxYms66FkEDIjFXRloAie4O1Mz5N1BxwwPYB-PtqSCry0H3K6nB_kDnenGU_qcDB6Xzp4st2vPXXik1Jdj6m0B9KS9cpVFFF91cnEbCTU4m4vz2hlw0UauAEy9KA_w7aD9te3Jf0c/s400/Parade+with+packs.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On Parade with full Kits</td></tr>
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<span class="s1">Just before 6-pm we came into a small village known as Bavinchove, which is just outside Cassel. In this village was the Headquarters of the 1</span><span class="s2"><sup>st</sup></span><span class="s1"> Wellington Battalion to which we were to be attached. Another small wait and we were lined up, numbered off, inspected by the R.S.M., roll call, then inspected by the Adjutant and finally drafted into our different Coys. Yours truly getting into the 9</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> Hawke’s Bay Coy. with two of my mates, Patterson and Rossbridge, known as Pat and Rusty.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Then came the runners who were to show us the way to our companies. Ours turned out to be Tom O’Carrol who gave me a little news from NZ and the Thames in particular. Two km back the same road we had just arrived by, brought us to our Coy., feeling only a little bit weary. The first thing was a feed and then we were put into a barn for the night. Rusty and I were soon fast asleep under one blanket. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">The next morning we all went out on Company parade and after the C. O.’s inspection, he kindly asked to see me and two other Buckshee Corps and after a little explanation kindly asked us to return to the ranks so that now I am just one of those common soldiers known as privates or in other words something to hang things on.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSCAh8T1ON1oc1gDOmfT1BvCTq4H2yhYe-2EFZWMHOms5FOBb8oc8-hXTay_zZEVJSTPdvEpqFxgOo6RojwfqlA741YwHEaWjZVOcySAihNpv6JUJqfEa47Uwzo5oOlgIaKN94Xxsq40_p/s1600/In+France.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSCAh8T1ON1oc1gDOmfT1BvCTq4H2yhYe-2EFZWMHOms5FOBb8oc8-hXTay_zZEVJSTPdvEpqFxgOo6RojwfqlA741YwHEaWjZVOcySAihNpv6JUJqfEa47Uwzo5oOlgIaKN94Xxsq40_p/s400/In+France.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On Parade in France</td></tr>
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<span class="s1">Sunday 24</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1">.March, 1918. We have now been here just under a fortnight and have had rather a decent time although we had plenty of drill and have been inspected by the G. O. C. But a nice little shower came on at the right moment and cut things a bit short. I had three days in bombing school learning the art of throwing these little crackers.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">We have had some good games of football and I went fairly close to getting into the Battalion team who won the 1</span><span class="s2"><sup>st</sup></span><span class="s1"> Wellington competition. I have met quite a few Whangare-ites since I came here. Some of them are A. Jack, E Heape, L Gill, J Hinter, H Bechne, F Eceles, R Cadman, W Baker, H Willis, and others.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">On Friday last the Heads all got the wind up a bit and we got packed up in a hurry ready to move off at any moment as old Fritz was supposed to have broken through. We were off to push him back but after waiting about all day the gale went down a bit and we were given orders to make down for the night.</span></div>
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</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Yesterday we were on parade as usual but today we are all packed again and now we are waiting orders to move off but I think it is a dinkum go this time and I guess there will be something doing in a few days now. Our little holiday has come to an end. My pal Rusty had his leave stopped.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Sun night the 24</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> March, 1918 we left Bavinchove moving off at 9-am. I was in a loading party getting our transports on board the train. We had just completed this task and were having a buckshee cup of cream at the G. M. when an old Fritz dropped three bombs close by just to remind us as we were going to war. No damage was done.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">We were soon seated in the usual class carriages and were moving off. By daylight we had reached Bolongne but not the end of our journey for we kept on going passing numerous village towns etc. until 2-pm when we pulled up at Ailley Sur Somme, a small place on the river Somme.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Here we detrained and unloaded all the transports and then got into a small wood. Had a much needed meal and wash and then got orders to get into battle order. Ready to meet Fritz who according to rumours was close at hand and coming strong but we had to a march of 26 miles to do. So we dumped everything to make the old packs as light as possible and then we anxiously waited orders to go, but instead we were told to bunk down for the night. The next task was to get some grass for a bunk.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Midnight we were roused and were soon on the march, which finished at the end of the first mile to wait for the M.F.’s As there was a heavy frost on by now and we had no coats or extra clothing we were beginning to feel a bit cool and very soon small fires were soon blazing up in the street, which grew both in number and size. A few cocoa and coffee drinkers soon had their dixies on the fire. Wood was a bit scarce and I had a little excitement when trying to gather some.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">In the morning we were still on the road so moved back to the wood we had left and made some breakfast as best we had with us. Then rested until 11-am when we got into wagons and were off, passing through the city of Amiens on the route. We travelled for about two hours and were put out to finish the trip per boot. A hurried lunch and we moved, meeting returning soldiers and refugees all along the road. At last we came in sight of our guns and could see the many enemy shells exploding on our side. Then another bomb close to us jogged my memory once more and it took my mind away from Whangarei.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">After driving 10 miles we finished up in an open paddock. Had the usual meal. Found a haystack and were soon down for the night but were only allowed to sleep until 12-pm and were then aroused to move out which proved a wrong order and so had to get under the straw once more. But it was far too cold for sleep and I spent most of the time walking about. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">The next morning we built fresh bivvies but did not have the pleasure of using them as we were again moved up a little closer and after about an hours march found ourselves in Mailly Wood with orders to dig in. A few shells made us work all the faster, one of them giving an officer a nice Blighty. The next day we built a decent posy and were again disappointed we did not use it. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">At 8-pm that night we moved off in single file up through the village of Mailly Mallet and could soon see the first of the flames and lights of the front line and then the whistle of machine-gun bullets over our heads. At last we reached the support trench wet through and after standing on the bank for half an hour we were dumped into an old filled in trench much to my relief. The first thing was dig and that lasted until morning when we had to get well down with a bit of cover over our heads, but it was more than cold. </span></div>
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Ian Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03854821671216618229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7332214685240691100.post-81949157871591548622013-04-28T16:54:00.000-07:002013-04-28T16:54:55.423-07:00A Few Notes on my Career as a Soldier.
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Chapter 3 Life on the move towards towards Fritz</i></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>By Horace William (Bill) James </i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span class="s1">20</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> December 1917. We left for No. 5 Camp Cayeux. It was some trip. That morning was the heaviest frost I have ever seen, a real stunner. To start off with they kept us standing on the parade for half an hour. Then we marched to the Station about one mile. Here we waited another two and half hours and golly was it cold. The F.M.C.A. stall supplied us with hot cocoa and it was a treat. </span></i></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>At half past twelve our train arrived and we got into vans without seats that had as much frost inside as out, also cracks in between the floorboards to prevent overheating. Just on 1-pm, we left and after travelling for three hours including stops we arrived at Cayeux only a little bit cold. We had no dinner but of course being convalescent we did not need any. I had the end of a loaf in my jacket and it served the situation for my pal and I. </i></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>We had a little over a mile to walk to the Camp and soon as we got there. Had some tea after which we were taken to our tents. I got into one with six other diggers, which proved a happy little family. The names are as follows: Tom Roberts, Bill Muller, Gelhuish, Dick Saunders, Bill Dobson, Jack Fay and yours truly. This is a canvas camp and is on the coast and seems as though we are to spend a good time here, as they don’t worry us.</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span class="s1">Sunday 23</span><span class="s2"><sup>rd</sup></span><span class="s1"> December 1917. We went into the village and had a good look round. Got into some of the shops and asked a lot of questions but bought nothing excepting a meal and a good one.</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span class="s1">Monday the 24</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> was a very tame Xmas Eve for me. I spent most of the day sewing up a pair of trow and in the evening went for a walk and had a bottle of wine and finished up writing letters. </span></i></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Christmas Day, 1917. In the morning there were a couple of football matches and a church parade that I missed. Had to go on guard. Dinner of course was the main question and when the bugle sounded everyone lined in great style. The dinning hall and tables were well decorated and just on two thousand men sat down to a real good dinner of roast beef and duff, fruit, sweets, cigarettes and many of Lloyd George’s beers. In the afternoon there was a boxing tournament and pictures and at night a pantomime by the Camp concert company, but as it was on for two nights I waited for the second night and went to church and did some writing the first night. I went to bed feeling that we had been well treated. </i></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Boxing Day there was nothing special except the panto, which was a real good one. </i></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>New Years Day 1918. The usual routine was kept and there were no celebrations. In the evening I went to a “Jack” tea and concert, another real good night.</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span class="s1">January 3</span><span class="s2"><sup>rd</sup></span><span class="s1">. I was put on a job building huts. My work was cutting sheet iron with a cold chisel. </span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span class="s1">January 24</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1">. I am still in No 5 Camp and my piece of string seems to be wearing well, as the job is still going on. My pal Jack has lost his but is still here with me. I have had the good luck to strike a mail 42 letters in eight days, some good. My pals have had some parcels and all the last week we have been trying to find a way to boil water to use up some cocoa etc., that was in them and, overcoming the difficulty after many little experiments, had the lot finished today. I have also had the bad luck to get touched for two razors, one a presentation, worst luck, but it won’t stop me from having a “spruce up”. </span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span class="s1">February 18</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> 1918. I have now been in this Camp just over eight weeks and tonight I have been given my moving card, which came all of a sudden in the end but can’t complain as I have had a real good time here. My pal Jack went out a few days ago so perhaps I shall meet him again soon. I received seven parcels while down here, all in a few days, and what I could not eat I “peddled” away and landed a few francs.</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span class="s1">Feb 26</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1">. I left Cayeux last Tuesday. We were up bright and early that morning, a bit of change to eight-am. The first thing was a good binder and then the usual inspection and by 8.00-am, were on the road. A couple of miles march landed us on board the old puffer and very soon were heading for our base, where we arrived about midday after a nice little run through some good country in one of those nicely cushioned carriages generally known as cattle trucks but seeing that I have lost all my pride now and are not particular what class I travel and nearly always come at the 32</span><span class="s2"><sup>nd</sup></span><span class="s1"> that is if there is no 33</span><span class="s2"><sup>rd</sup></span><span class="s1">.</span></i></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKJs16sG7Di2NFRYhUv9BMElETBfKAux4jvf7Tf6ybujb8AmHxiaK2-XNDEsMPl5TUHGRBCpAexj05AJ1176V0EkXZX8roHxkRVd8DlAjnc1xu_EjDFt_rhzMpr5j8yqsh1ikK_DiMp1LN/s1600/A+war+train.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><img border="0" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKJs16sG7Di2NFRYhUv9BMElETBfKAux4jvf7Tf6ybujb8AmHxiaK2-XNDEsMPl5TUHGRBCpAexj05AJ1176V0EkXZX8roHxkRVd8DlAjnc1xu_EjDFt_rhzMpr5j8yqsh1ikK_DiMp1LN/s320/A+war+train.jpg" width="320" /></i></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Behind the lads a typical carriage on war train (cattle crate).</i></span></td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>On our arrival at the base the first thing was a meal and the rest of the day we had to ourselves and making preparations for the coming nights. I met several of my old friends during the afternoon amongst them were Claude Dando, Hiwi Bedlington, Percy North, Long, and last and nearly least, little Scotty McKay who very soon put a barrage of questions all around me.</i></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>The next morning I was eating my humble meal at 6.15-am, a bit of change, and the first stint was a visit to the Quack who took very little persuasion to discover that I was in good fettle and fit and consequently marked me active so that I now have to declare myself once more hostile. I guess in a few weeks I will be raining some hammer like blows over old Fritz. The next thing was an overhauling by the army Gun Diggers who did not allow me to forget that I had a few nerves left and was kind enough to tell me not to flinch.</i></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>The following day after several different little parades such as to the boot-maker, barber, A.M. Stores, etc. I found myself fitted out in a set of harnesses and one of those toy guns on my shoulder and I began to realise that I was a dinkum soldier once more.</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span class="s1">Then the C.S.M. was kind enough to inform me that we would be marching out to A lines that afternoon, although it was only a matter of fifty yards and in the same Camp. Still it was quite unnecessary that we should move off on full marching order to be inspected by the O.C. and stand about with the old pack up for an hour or so. After the distance was reached we were dismissed for the day. That night Scotty and I spent down in the village of Etaples and of course had a real good parley over the old days spent at home and all the different folks up there.</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="s1">The next day, Friday, I swung the lead on a dentist appointment so did nothing and on Sat. had a little march down to the Bull Ring to try our joints and receive a present from the Heads, a gas mask and was again told the old story and shown how it was worn etc. By the time we made Camp that night was feeling a bit tired and hungry only having a piece of bully and bread all day.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Sunday, 24</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1">. February 1918. Mc. and I went for a walk through the city again and finished up with a good supper. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Tuesday I was warned for draft to go up to the lines, which followed another succession of parades and by 12.30 found myself with a full pack up again waiting for another inspection, which was by the same man but of course that does not matter. This time I had a tailor-made suit on with shiny buttons and was looking quite fit and flash. The next thing we were given our orders for the following day and there was something about 4.30-am which was about the only thing I remembered. A bath, a medical inspection, finished the day. There was a draft going to NZ tomorrow and believe me I know which I’d sooner to be in. None of them seem to be very down in the mouth over it. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">28</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> February, 1918. Yesterday we made a shift of a few miles closer to our friend Fritz. As promised we were pulled out from our blankets at 4.30-am and a few minutes later were parading with those beautiful parcels known as packs. Then a good breakfast and by 5.30 we had gone through all the necessary forms of inspection and we were very soon on the march and just to make things a little more interesting “yours truly” was told off. I was made an example for some poor sod who did not like the game so turned it up and went home.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">A little march of about a mile landed us at the station. Here we were told we could take our packs off as the train was not quite ready. We waited a few minutes but I’m afraid they were not the usual ones as it was just 11-am when our Auto moved out of Etaples siding. As usual we travelled 33</span><span class="s2"><sup>rd</sup></span><span class="s1"> class and the springs took my memory back to the days I used to drive a dray on the farm. However, the trip turned out rather interesting and although a bit rough I quite enjoyed it. We passed through Boulogne, Calais, Saint Omer, Hazebrouck and </span>everal more towns not quite as big. I also had a fairly good look at some of France and, owing to the fact that spring is starting to show itself, I must confess that I rather liked the look of parts of it. Soon after 8-pm we pulled up at Abele Station and I might say I was not sorry when I left that carriage. </div>
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<span class="s1">Another little march and the Camp was reached, and after a few particulars being taken such as name, number, rank, age, unit, service, occupation etc., the kind Q.M. dished us out some tea. We had put the day in on a couple of Anzac wafers so needless to say we did justice to our tea. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">5</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> March, 1918. Once more I have got my marching orders and tomorrow I guess we go up the line for a bit of a change. I have been in this Camp now just nine days and cannot say that I am at all sorry to leave it as I consider it is well on a level with Sling. There are one or two gentlemen in this Camp who like covering themselves in glory and I guess they will get it some of these days. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Our first days work was the review by the ever popular Alex who was kind enough to keep us standing in the mud with packs up for two hours and during that period there was a couple of snow showers just as a reminder that we were not in NZ. But as the said gentlemen was kind enough to congratulate us I guess no one would complain. Some say “Good old Alex”. Since then we have done a fair amount of training such as route marches, firing, bombing squad drill, and standing steady at attention and turning.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I have met a few boys here that I know, amongst them Eric Garrey, Arthur Johnson, Alf Barkle, and a few others. I visited two little villages Abele and Boeschepe, which were both very small. From this Camp we can hear the gunfire from the line and at nights the flashes and lights are visible so even though you wake up from a dream of home you very quickly have something to remind you where you are.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">9</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> March, 1918. The day started at 7.30am when the welcome order “Fall in” came to our ears. The first thing was to load ourselves up with 120 rounds of ammunition. Just for ballast and to improve my already beautiful pack that was starting to bring my knees close together. Then we had a few kindly words from the O. C. who advised us </span>not to eat our rations, as we would be joining our units before midday and then another inspection by the C. O. A few minutes wait until 10.30 when once more came the “packs up” and we were on the march. A mile march landed us on the Abele Station. Soon we were on the train going south and most of the boys looked pleased. </div>
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Ian Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03854821671216618229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7332214685240691100.post-19374430469441725092013-04-25T20:54:00.003-07:002013-04-28T16:58:46.046-07:00A Few Notes on my Career as a Soldier<br />
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<span class="s1">A Few Notes on my Career as a Soldier</span></h2>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Chapter 2 Arrive in England, Training and transfer to Europe</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>By Horace William (Bill) James</i></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="s1">The next day the 25</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> September we were taken off our good ship (which I was sorry to leave) and were landed at Southampton and after the usual delay, a good meal, were put on board the train and started for Sling Camp. The trip through the fresh country was a real treat. That night when I went to bed, after being chased about the Camp, I felt anything but happy and I thought a good deal about old NZ. </span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">The next three weeks I was in another N.C.O. class and got well chased around so was very pleased when it came to the finish. I had lost one of my stripes and had to go through the class to keep the other two, which somehow I managed to do. </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="s1">On October 29</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> 1917, we were granted four days leave, which of course I spent up at the Big Smoke, London. I was rather disappointed with this little village but overall, I had a very enjoyable time there visiting a lot of the most interesting places there including Westminster Abbey, House of Parliament, Whitehall, Buckingham Palace, Royal Stables, Hyde Park, Wax Works, Lloyds, Towers of London Bridge, Central Time Station. I also went to a couple of good operas, which were very enjoyable and visited a suitable restaurant getting a good idea of the nightlife of the city. </span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="s1">From here on I am giving some more detail of my doings in old Blighty, including on the 7</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> July 1917. </span></span></i></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-size: large;">On the third night of our visit old Fritz came over and there I experienced a London Air Raid, which was an eye opener for me, but I cannot say that it caused me any </span></i></span><i><span style="font-size: large;">excitement. Leaving Waterloo Station at 8.30 on the fourth night we arrived back in Camp once more at 1.30 in the morning feeling only a little bit tired and with the thought that Whangarei is not the largest city in the World. </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="s1">November the 3</span><span class="s2"><sup>rd</sup></span><span class="s1"> 1917, I received word that I had passed my exam and my rank of Corporal had been confirmed. The same day I got orders to proceed overseas so that the next two days were taken up with the usual preparations. </span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="s1">On the 5</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> we were to leave and all that day were being inspected by all the “brass hats” and what little time I got to myself I spent on fixing up my own little affairs and writing a few notes etc. At 7-pm the final fall in went and we all lined up without gentle little packs, roll call and, of course, marched on the battalion parade ground. Eight o’clock and we were off. We marched to the Bulford Station headed by the old pipe band and we were put on to the train. </span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">At 4.00-am the next morning we arrived at Folkestone, cold as ice and shivering like little dogs. We were taken to the barracks and after climbing about four flights of stairs landed into a small room, dropped our packs, lay on the floor and soon fast asleep. </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">In the morning we were roused out with a lot ceremony and after having a wash (I don’t think) we were served with breakfast. Yes a real live breakfast including a piece of bacon (cold) and a lump of dry bread. Dinner was if anything a little worse. I wrote several cards etc. from here and a couple of letters and then about 3-pm we embarked once more and were soon heading for sunny France. </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">After a short run we arrived at Boulogne where we stepped on to the Frog Land. A short wait and we were marched off to the famous One Blanket Hill, a rest Camp, and we were soon put into tents. When I say soon I mean it was not more than an hour and that is nothing for a soldier to stand in a freezing wind. Oh no! He never feels it especially if he has his pack on. It keeps him nice and warm. </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">N</span></i><i><span style="font-size: large;">ext item of course was tea. It being then about 8-pm we were beginning to feel a sort of slackness under the ammunition pouches. “Any N.C.O.’s there” came the next order. (Poor devil) One of my comrades, who was rather keen, stepped his frame out and was told to get one man from each tent for rations. Away they went after the usual number, form, forms, etc., we all sat and waited their return. How much longer? At last they arrive with our meal, which was much the same as breakfast only this time we had the bacon raw by way of a change and you had to go to number 16 tent to get it. They had the Company’s issue. Tea and sugar was also served a la Grocer and by going to the cookhouse you could get hot water. I enjoyed my tea that night. After that we got our blanket and very soon made use of it. </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="s1">In the morning it was raining a treat and after a good breakfast of bully and bread we had a bit of an argument over our blankets, which cleared off after being threatened with a trip to the guardroom. I began to realise for the first time that I was a real soldier and was wondering how long it would be before I saw the shores of old NZ again when the whistle sounded for us to fall in. </span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="s1">Another half hours wait in the rain and we marched off once more, to where we did not know. We passed through a sort of little French village. I do not know the name of it or whether it has a name but it gave me a very bad impression of France. All along the road French girls and women of all ages were waiting to give us fruit and chocolates, of course we had to give the money to them first. We did not go very far before we halted and waited for motor vans to complete the journey. </span></span></i></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="s1">hey soon came along and we packed into them like sheep and were soon on our way to Etaples where our base is situated. Along the road I watched the country and all the different ideas to those in old NZ. We passed through a couple of little villages and the conditions of the people, their streets and their habits, made me think they were a very dirty mob and only half civilised. It was after midday when we arrived at our base that day. </span></span></i></span></i></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="s1">November 7</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> 1917 and the first thing was a bit of a feed and then we were allotted to our different tents, inspected by the D.C. and all the usual ceremony over again and the rest of the day we were cleaning ourselves up a bit and making ourselves down for the night and after a good tea I turned onto bed. </span></span></i></span></i></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="s1">The next day 8</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> November I met a couple of boys I knew from Whangarei and of course had a good talk. We also started our training of which I intend to say very little, excepting that it was fairly easy and a good deal changed. The first two or three days we had to take our days ration with us, which consisted of a small piece of bread and cheese. </span></span></i></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="s1">November 10</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> Saturday night. I went in company with two Whangarei-ites, Ponny and Bert Cleary, into the village of Etaples. Had a look around, also a supper, came home not feeling in love with the place. </span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="s1">The next day, the 11</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> I visited another village called Paris Plage. This is rather a decent little place on the Coast and much cleaner then the last. I spent the afternoon there and also had a real good tea. </span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="s1">14</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> November 1917. Was feeling a bit out of sorts so went to see the Dr. who told me I had measles and would have to go to the hospital. What? OK. I went back to my tent to get my belongings and my mates went very crook as it was nearly dark and they had to shift their tent and go into isolation, but that did not trouble me.</span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="s1">I went back to the medical hut with all my earthly belongings and was told to wait there for the ambulance. I began think I must be crook if I was to have a joy ride. However, I sat down and waited and yes for just an hour and the car came, a lady driver, which I have, no doubt explained the delay. I could have walked the distance in a quarter of an hour but of course I was ill. Anyway this lady directed me to get into the ambulance, shut me in and I was off. </span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="s1">On arrival at hospital I was again examined and then put into my ward. Had a wash. Got into a suit of pyjamas, bed socks etc., and then got into bed and had a bowl of hot milk. Then the nurse came in and held my hand and after a few remarks tucked me in for the night. </span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="s1">There was only one other patient in the ward and he seemed to have a stoppage in the speech, so I had plenty of time for thought. In the morning when I woke up I wondered why I could not see the old canvas tent but soon came to my senses and thought I was far better off. </span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="s1">The next three days I went through some new experiences, and not being allowed to either read or write and having no company I felt pretty miserable and passed the time playing with my few personal belongings, but I was having a good spell and was feeling quite well.</span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="s1">After this a few more Diggers came into the ward so I was set, and on Sunday night, 18</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> November 1917, I got three letters from home. They were worth thousands to me. </span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="s1">On the 29</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> they told me I could get up in the afternoon so I fitted myself out in a suit of blues, some flash. I felt a bit groggy when I stood up but soon got over that. After about three hours I was politely told to go back to bed again. The next day I was up again and was told I could get out every morning before breakfast.</span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="s1">22</span><span class="s2"><sup>nd</sup></span><span class="s1"> November 1917. I landed a parcel and after allowing the Sister to examine it I opened it to find a decent cake. That night we had a feast. We also had another supper one night of some potatoes that I fried after the Sister had gone.</span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="s1">I was now feeling fairly well and on 26</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> went before the Colonel In Charge who marked me out. The following day I started to get my things together taking good care to have a “sleep in” that morning. In the afternoon we left for Regimental Company Convalescence Depot, which was only a few minutes walk, so we were soon there and into our Coy’s and also huts. I landed a good bed, a wire mattress. </span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="s1">There was another E. Coy. 38</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> man in the party, J Foy, so of course we kept together. There were nearly all Tommies in the Camp although I think every corner of the British Empire was represented even in our hut. The food was rough and we could not get half enough. One loaf of bread had to be divided between eight - butter was a luxury.</span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="s1">Nearly every night my friend Jack and I would have a tin of fish or something to keep us going or else walk down to our base and have tea. On Dec 14</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> 1917 I was down there and met several of the old boys including Lew Morgan who I spent several nights with afterwards. </span><i><span style="font-size: large;"></span></i></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="s1">On entering this Camp we had to go before the Dr. and he classed us C., which meant that we would be going into another convalescent Camp, which was a bit warmer. We had now been here eight days and several drafts have left the Camp and I was beginning to feel worried.</span></span></i></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="s1">On Dec 8</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> they sent away nearly all the NZr’s and my spirits dropped to zero. Thought I was not going to get a trip at all but my friend Jack cheered me up. The next day we paid another visit to Paris Plage and as usual we had a good meal, which was a welcome change from the dry bread, and bacon and once more I felt my belt tight. A couple of days later I received another cake, which Lou, Jack and I gave a terrible thrashing. The weather was now getting very cold. We had had some very severe frosts, a pond close by being frozen hard.</span></span></i></span></i></span></i></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="s1">On Dec 16</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> it started to snow in the afternoon, which was a great novelty for me and it kept on all night. In the morning everything was well covered and believe me we had some fun, my first experience of snowballing.</span></span></i></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="s1">Dec 19</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> we got orders to parade before the Dr. and having been here for three weeks I thought I was a model for the base. But luck was not by my side and to my surprise he again marked me C. without even asking me how I was feeling.</span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="s1">To Be continued.</span></span></i></div>
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<br />Ian Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03854821671216618229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7332214685240691100.post-42187780658400388782013-04-25T02:05:00.000-07:002013-05-17T22:37:59.124-07:00A few Notes on my Career as a Soldier.<br />
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<i>By Horace William (Bill) James</i></h2>
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<i><span class="s2">1916-19 </span><span class="s2">World War 1</span></i></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Horace William (Bill) James</td></tr>
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<i>Preface</i></div>
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These notes are taken direct from a small diary that was part of Bill James’s personal effects given to me, his grandson, in August 2002 by his daughter, Shirley Richards. The photographs included are from his personal collection. As far as I know Bill never spoke of his wartime experiences to the family. In fact, I am not even sure any family member ever read the diary except perhaps my late Uncle Jack Richards, a WW2 veteran.</div>
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<span class="s1"><b>My grandfather Bill teaching me to drive a the tractor (circa 1948).</b></span></div>
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<span class="s2">Bill James was everything a boy could wish for in a grandfather. He had me out on the farm doing all the dangerous things kids these days can't do; like driving the old Case tractor as a preschooler, while he fed the cattle from the trailer behind. I used to ask endless questions about the farm and how things worked. He had great patience. Perhaps, his greatest gift was to introduce me to sea fishing and walking in kauri forest, activities which have influenced my life ever since .</span></div>
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<span class="s2">This diary is a window on his personality and survival through that terrible war. Although I was only nine years old when he died, I recognise his personality and humour in the notes. The same traits are inherited and expressed in his descendants today.</span></div>
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<span class="s2">I am a humbled by Bill's dedication to public service in throughout his life. He served on a vast array of public bodies and in his final years he became Mayor of Whangarei. It is wonderful to share these notes written by him so long ago.</span></div>
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<span class="s2">Ian James</span></div>
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<span class="s2">Okarito</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b><i>A Few Notes on my Career as a Soldier</i></b></span></h2>
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<i>By Horace William (Bill) James 44936</i></div>
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<i>IX HB COY</i></div>
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<i>Chapter 1 New Zealand to United Kingdom.</i></h4>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1">After a little over two years of careful consideration I decided to become a real soldier and on the 27</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> September 1916 wended my way to the old Drill Hall in Whangarei and signed on.</span></span></i></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">On the Xmas Eve that year I handed over my business to my trusty friend, Edward Whimp who past promised to look after it during my absence.</span></i></span><br />
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The next two weeks I spent as a bit of a holiday, which was very enjoyable and I shall be a long while forgetting it, especially the little trip over to Dargaville and the five pleasant days I spent there. </span></i></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1">January 9</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> 1917 was the day on which my career started. My draft left that day and, after a lot of painful goodbyes and speeches, I was onboard the train for Trentham, which we reached the following night and was soon fitted out as a new recruit.</span></span></i></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tent camp at Trentham</td></tr>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">After three months training as an N.C.O. I was granted leave to go home where I spent a very pleasant ten days and on return back to Camp was posted to my Company with the men. Another three months work and we were granted our final leave, which I nearly missed, but in the finish got fourteen days, which I spent in various ways at home and had a really good time. But as the end drew near and as the last day came for me to leave and say goodbye to all, it knocked the shine off me. I shall never forget that day and hope never to go through another the same. </span></i></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">On my way back I went to the Thames to see my brothers who gave me a good send off and joy ride down to catch the boat. I spent two days there and then left for Camp once more in company with Lew and Pete who came down to Wellington with me.</span></i></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boys relaxing at Hut 152, Trentham</td></tr>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1">The rest of our time in NZ we did very little besides getting ready for our trip across the briny. On Wed 11</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> July 1917 went into Wellington to spend the night with Lew and Pete and to say goodbye. Once more wished I was not a soldier. </span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1">We received orders to embark on the 14</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> July 1917 and little I knew on that sunny morning what was before me. We started off from Camp at 8-am and by 12-noon we were on our ship waiting to sail. For an hour soldiers relatives flocked along the side of our tub and there were some sore hearts when we began to move out.</span></span></i></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the Wellington Wharf before departure.</td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">We had started, but had to wait in the harbour for a while, but then started out of Wellington Heads in the evening and for the next fourteen days very little interested me excepting the land market and I would have bought it at any price during that period. I would have made any agent a very fair offer but no business was done.</span></i></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1">“Land” someone said and in a few minutes I was twice the man. It was Sunday morning 29</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> July and was nice and fine when we sighted the shores of Australia and soon everyone was dressed ready to go on leave (Very Sorry!). By midday we steamed into Albany Harbour and that afternoon all hands went for a march on shore and it was a treat to get on to firm land once again.</span></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="s1"><i><span style="font-size: large;">We left again that night and I took up my old position hanging over the side. But after that I recovered and began to eat a bit. For the next three weeks our old ship, (Waitemata) steamed ahead without seeing anything but water and seabirds.</span></i></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Waitemata in Capetown</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="s1">On Sunday morning the 19</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> August 1917 we again sighted land, the coast of Africa. That afternoon we meet a transport, which may I say caused me no little excitement being the first object we had seen for three weeks. Soon after this we sighted the famous Table Mountain and as we were going into port in the evening a hospital ship passed close by, a grand sight, she was all lit up.</span></span></i></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-size: large;">That night we anchored at Cape Town where we stayed for ten days spending most of the time out in the harbour but got ashore for three days. Had a good look around visiting the most important places and did full justice to the fruit etc. I also secured a few souvenirs.</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-size: large;">At this port our old ship was turned down and very much to all the boys pleasure and we were transported to the Onerahi, which is some ship and we all had a real good time while we were aboard her. </span></i></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="s1">On the 29</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> August 1917, we left Cape Town with another two transports, the Hiboana? and the Zorman?, and we were under escort of an armed liner.</span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="s1">September 11</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1"> we arrived at Sierra Leone where we stayed for three days but did not get ashore and were a bit disappointed, although we had a lot of fun with the natives who came around our ship. We left this port with seven ships and a fresh escort and a few days before our destination we were picked up by an escort of destroyers who guided us safely into port.</span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="s1">Early in the morning on September 24</span><span class="s2"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="s1">, we sighted the shores of old England and then our convoy parted, most of the other boats making for Plymouth. We steamed on up the coast in company with a cargo boat and two little Bulldogs. In the afternoon we passed the famous Isle of Wight and soon afterwards arrived at Portsmouth where we stayed for a few hours and then shifted to Southampton water and dropped anchor for the night.</span></span></i></div>
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<br />Ian Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03854821671216618229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7332214685240691100.post-46234833796848105502013-01-21T17:20:00.000-08:002013-01-21T17:20:22.910-08:00The ethics of eating Wild FoodRachel Stewart's piece "<b>Could you kill the animal for tonight's dinner?"</b> sums up so well what I'd planned to write. So here it is verbatim for those who don't read the Taranaki Daily Times.<br /><br />"Buried deep down in the dark recesses of my psyche is a code. I don't know how it got there but it goes like this: If you eat it you first must be able to kill it.<br /><br />It's enough for some to turn vegetarian - vegan even. Many have turned, and many more will, but where does that leave the rest of us - true carnivores looking for our next iron-boosting chomp of blood-red protein?<br /><br />Just like nearly everybody else in this high-convenience, low- reality world, the majority of my meat comes from supermarkets in a nicely packaged, almost pretty cut of animal flesh. The human disconnect between industrial farming and slaughter processes, and the meat in our shopping trolley, runs deep.<br /><br />This is obviously more of a liberal's dilemma than anybody else's. You love meat but you don't like eating anything with a face, let alone killing it too, right? Then it's way past time to wake up and smell the blood. There's a word for the likes of you; hypocrite.<br /><br />Meat-eaters who judge hunters, and often their guns, need a weekend in the bush. Trust me, take up this one-time offer because the alternative - a tour through the abattoir - will make the bush trip look like a picnic.<br /><br />Regular readers of my columns will know that I own guns for hunting, but I am also a falconer. Falconry is using a bird of prey (such as a hawk) for hunting game - rabbits and hares mainly.<br /><br />I enjoy it for a raft of reasons, but one of them is that the prey has a sporting chance of getting away.<br /><br />However, it provides enough statistical success to keep both me and the bird interested.<br /><br />Many meat-eating dimwits have some rather strange opinions about hunting prey with birds. Here's but one: "Instead of killing those poor, defenceless little bunny rabbits why don't you just feed the hawk some hamburger mince?"<br /><br />Hmmm, well, let me think on that for a nanosecond, dingbat.<br /><br />It is indisputably more honest and ethically sound to kill and eat an animal that was raised in its natural habitat - not put through the industrial agricultural system where its death has simply been contracted out for our convenience.<br /><br />Maybe some people's distaste for hunting is to do with a generalisation that all hunters are gun-toting, redneck conservatives.<br /><br />In the United States the urban population in particular struggles with this caricature.<br /><br />However, while it is true that many hunters err on the side of listening to Garth Brooks and wearing snakeskin boots, more and more urban liberals are looking for a way to reconcile their eating habits with their ethical values.<br /><br />Hunters know in their bones that it is less about the killing, and more about the connection with nature, that keeps them going back out there.<br /><br />I know many a politically conservative hunter who holds a respect for animals and the environment, unmatched by any urban liberal I've ever met.<br /><br />At the conclusion of our annual North American falconry meets, and before we sit down to eat our final meal together, a bell is rung. It's rung for mates who died during the preceding year, and also for the wild game whose lives were taken during the week of hunting. In other words, we honour the dead.<br /><br />I can't begin to tell you how deeply disgusted I was about the dressing up of the dead possums at Uruti school last year. Yeah, I know all the reasons why people thought it was perfectly fine to do such a thing. But you will never convince me that messing with the dead - human or non-human - is acceptable. It is not.<br /><br />I have killed hundreds of rabbits and possums and they are always dispatched as quickly and cleanly as possible. They are used as meat for me, my dog, hawks or eels. No one part is wasted. Pests, or not, I respect their life and their death. Putting them in a tutu and applying lipstick and nail polish to their corpse is about as funny to me as, say, drunk driving.<br /><br />Of course, I'm not suggesting that hunting for your dinner is everyone's cup of tea. Fortunately, in our pre-packaged, artificial world you don't have to. Yet.<br /><br />What I am saying is that as you're tucking into that juicy steak, take a moment to ponder the route the animal took to get to your plate. Is the business of the industrialised meat trade acceptable to you and your morals? Is the reality of slaughterhouses, and the increasingly real prospect of strange substances in your meat, OK with you?<br /><br />If it is then you'll be happy with the status quo. No hunting and gathering for you. But be careful not to judge those who do.<br /><br />If it isn't OK, maybe it's time to remember where your meat actually comes from. Could you look that animal in the eye before you killed it? Could you gut it and butcher it? Could you eat it without any pangs of guilt?<br /><br />If not, then your only honest option is to acquaint yourself with a life overflowing with an abundance of vegetables."<br /><br />Acknowledgements to Fairfax's Taranaki Daily Times.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Ian Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03854821671216618229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7332214685240691100.post-40064690284416503122012-12-31T20:09:00.000-08:002012-12-31T20:37:48.845-08:00Guns and Hollywood<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: '.Helvetica NeueUI'; font-size: 24px;"></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.294118); font-family: '.Helvetica NeueUI';">Cam Slater (aka Whaleoil) struck a raw nerve with his <a href="http://www.whaleoil.co.nz/2013/01/video-mocks-hypocrite-antigun-stars/">post</a> (1 January 2013):</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.294118);"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"A whole bunch of anti-gun celebrities have come out with a video against guns…the problem is the hypocrites have made films, tv shows, made money from the glorification of the gun culture they now stand against…some even use guns themselves as a hobby…and all caught on camera.</span></i></span></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Mike Hunt has taken their video and made a mashup of their utter hypocrisy:"</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: .Helvetica NeueUI;">This video shows the raw truth of what is terribly wrong with the entertainment industry. It is appalling how Hollywood dishes up this violent gun culture totally divorced from reality and worse that we public pay to see it. Both the creators and consumers have blood on their hands when some nutter shoots innocent people.</span></div>
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Hunters know well the damage that high powered rifles do to mammalian flesh and bone and the thought of them causing that to any human-being is unthinkable. Yet it is hunters that suffer the political fallout and public odium to anybody who owns guns. Yes there are tragic hunting accidents, some inexcusable, but fortunately they are rare. Cars, motorbikes, and chainsaws cause tragic accidents too.</div>
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If President Obama really wants to reduce these awful mass shootings, he should tackle mindless gun violence on film and computer. The entertainment industry wont stop it voluntarily. </div>
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</span>Ian Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03854821671216618229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7332214685240691100.post-32603079546736655402012-11-24T18:03:00.001-08:002012-11-24T19:00:53.613-08:00The story of Corporal Harold Smith's action in WW1 at Chunuk Bair, Gallipoli<br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></b><span style="vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I found this story in the personal effects my grandfather (Bill </span><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">James of Whangarei). My grandfather had Harold Smith's letter published in the </span><b id="internal-source-marker_0.1276792751159519" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><a href="http://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/cgi-bin/paperspast?a=q&hs=1&r=1&results=1&t=2&txq=Private+Harold+Smith&x=39&y=6&pbq=NA&dafdq=&dafmq=&dafyq=&datdq=&datmq=&datyq=&tyq=&o=10&sf=&ssnip=&e=-------10-NA-1----0Private+Harold+Smith--"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Northern Advocate</span></a><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> 12th Nov 1915. </span></b></span></span><br />
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<span style="vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">It is a tale of humour made in times of great horror. I'm publishing it again </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">as part of the 100th anniversary of World War One and to</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> ensure he and his mates are not forgotten .</span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnaRwaBrbBB9b1Zn9xFnFaodd_3PgVNgqhJV1rUt7yt-BC6RqZj-sEk2oiGWiLzAI2KDJINShx2cOOjm5sqEB6yXpTFnw6ug9Myl8dtOAy_zEZoa_FY5PuPTmUHrlPPNPnhQNWJvxURbvu/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnaRwaBrbBB9b1Zn9xFnFaodd_3PgVNgqhJV1rUt7yt-BC6RqZj-sEk2oiGWiLzAI2KDJINShx2cOOjm5sqEB6yXpTFnw6ug9Myl8dtOAy_zEZoa_FY5PuPTmUHrlPPNPnhQNWJvxURbvu/s320/photo.JPG" width="239" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Corporal Harold W. Smith</span></td></tr>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.1276792751159519"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /><b id="internal-source-marker_0.1276792751159519"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">FROM THE TRENCHES</span></b><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">WHANGAREI BOY’S EXPERIENCE.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Corporal Harold Smith, writing to his friend, Mr H.W. James, Whangarei from Malta hospital on September 7th says:-</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">"At last I have been able to dig up a piece of paper and pencil to send you a little news. We arrived at Suez after six weeks on the water. Although we had a good trip I was not sorry to set foot on land once again. We came ashore about 4 pm and entrained straight away for Cairo, and then onto Camp at Zeitoun, where we arrived about 3 am the following morning. Our stay here lasted only about a week, when we got order to get to the front as quickly as possible. So we were taken to Alexandria and boarded the transport which took us to Lemnos Island, a large base a few hours steam from the Peninsula.</span><br /><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That was “some trip”. It only took two days, but that was long enough for me. You know what a great sailor I am. That ship was absolutely filthy, the stink was terrible, we were so crowded, well you had to lean over the side to poke your tongue out. All we had to eat was bully beef and biscuits and sleep where you could find room to lie down. I slept in a lifeboat - most remarkable I seem to patronise these safe places. </span><br /><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Well, we arrived without accident, and at sunset were transhipped to small steamers and taken up the Dardanelles. We landed in barges. Everything went lovely. In fact, I might say “all was merry as a marriage bell’ until we came within 500 yards of shore. Then for some unaccountable reason everybody stopped talking and seemed to crouch down behind any cover they could find. I put it down to the pieces of lead that were flying through the air. I didn't know for sure because I’d never been to a war before, but a chap told me after we got ashore that the Turks were most careless with their rifles; that they would fire at anybody. In fact I was sorry to hear this you know, as I thought they might start firing at me. Well my son we were fired at from the time I landed until I was hit. I tell you we had a pretty lively time. </span><br /><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was early on Sunday morning when we landed, and we started off by carrying ammunition up to the reserves. You know how light a case of .303 is to carry, and how fresh and energetic and happy you feel after being in your equipment (which is altogether too light, weighing only 60 lbs.) for 24 hours, with nothing to appease a gnawing hunger, or a well developed thirst. You know, my dear William, how much more pleasant it is to do these things in the dark, with wires lying around just about the level of your neck. Of course there were not many, in fact not nearly enough. I hit every one and from my rough estimation there were about 2000. </span><br /><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">However, we had a bit of a spell when we got under cover, and a feed of bully beef, and those very soft biscuits which they serve out, and then felt ready for any little job they might give us to do. We got it too. In the afternoon, in company with some Tommy’s, we advanced up to what they called Shrapnel Gully, under heavy shrapnel fire. We lost a few men but reached the top and dug ourselves in, and were comparatively safe. We were to hold ourselves here to be ready for a big charge, which was to take place the following day. </span><br /><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I had a good sleep that night being dead tired, and in the morning after making a little tea and scoffing some more bully beef, I was feeling pretty fit. The shrapnel was falling round fairly thickly. One of our fellows got a piece through the jaw and I got out of cover to tie it up for him, when ping! a shell burst right overhead and I got a piece fair in the back, just missed the spine by an inch. As it is I have lost the use of of my legs, Bill, although the doctors say it will come back. The wound is almost healed now, as I have been wounded over five weeks. </span><br /><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I have had no mail since leaving New Zealand and do not suppose I will get any now, as they take such a devil of time to locate us. I suppose I will be sent back to New Zealand when I get a little strength, and my wound is healed. Although my legs are gone, I consider myself lucky compared to some of the poor fellows I saw up there and back here. You cannot imagine it until you see it. It is Hell!"</span><br /><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span>Death Notice:<br /><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Corporal Harold W. Smith</span><br /><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After prolonged suffering, Corporal Harold W. Smith, Auckland Infa</span></span></b><b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">ntry, passed away at Tooting Military Hospital, England. Corporal Smith who was 24 years of age, received a bullet in the back in the big attack on Chunuk Bair early in August, the lower part of his body being paralysed. After treatment at Malta, he was removed to England, and underwent an operation about six weeks ago, for the removal of the bullet. The latter, however, could not be reached, and after a brave struggle he died on December 8th. He was buried with military honours at Wandsworth Cemetery, many Australian and New Zealand soldiers attending.</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b>
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.1276792751159519" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(I am unaware if Harold Smith has any descendants or relatives. </span></b><b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Please feel free to disseminate the above article for public good purposes), IJ</span></span></b>Ian Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03854821671216618229noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7332214685240691100.post-10357826890433852462012-10-20T21:28:00.000-07:002012-10-20T21:28:23.240-07:00Okarito whitebait story<br />
<h4 style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">L</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">a Femme d'Oracle</span></span></h4>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: normal;">I fish too, once a year, for WHITEBAIT. A family delicacy. As the only one of 9 siblings left on the Coast I'm expected to provide. </span></h4>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">The seasons been poor. Two days ago I squeezed into my wetsuit on a rare day with no wind or rain. After 2-hours scooping I had 50 or 60 bait, my first for the season. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">They were still swimming in the one egg I whipped up, but died quickly as they hit the frying pan. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">I ate them all, relieved I was alone, & not expected to share my first taste. Ahhh! So delicious !!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">So to Labour weekend. Lovely visitors. I determine to treat eldest son who shares my love of whitebait. Still raining. COLD. I join 20 other brave souls and trawl the river for 2 more hours. The bait are so scarce, I'm embarrassed to take home just half a dozen. Or is it 8.<br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Add 1 egg?? or 2?? They swim in water in the bucket on the kitchen bench while I thaw out under lashings of hot water (solar remember).<br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">But no. They are admired. And photographed. And then, with umbrella to shelter them from the pouring rain, my city visitors return the luckiest ever 8 whitebait to the wetland under the boardwalk, just over the road from our house.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />Delicacies should always be presented frozen!!</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The 8 lucky whitebait</td></tr>
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Ian Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03854821671216618229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7332214685240691100.post-17899914889647860572012-10-17T16:03:00.003-07:002012-10-17T16:03:45.725-07:00Two West Coast Rain Poems<div style="text-align: center;">
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Bloody Hell its wet!!</h2>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #555555; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">It rained and rained and rained </span></div>
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The average fall was well maintained </div>
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And when the tracks were simple bogs </div>
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It started raining cats and dogs. </div>
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After a drought of half an hour </div>
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We had a most refreshing shower </div>
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And then most curious thing of all </div>
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A gentle rain began to fall. </div>
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Next day but one was fairly dry </div>
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Save for one deluge from the sky </div>
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Which wetted the party to the skin </div>
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And then at last the Rain set in! </div>
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(Anon) </div>
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Rain come down, it all comes down to rain:</div>
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the great rain, the dark rain, the Rain Father</div>
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pissing his worst in the headwaters, Mother-</div>
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of-all-Rains squatting, showering blood, mud</div>
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rain ricochets back off the clay, the heavens</div>
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polluted, the hills collapse, slip rain, sod rain,</div>
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the fat tears of God rain, rain so thick and vast</div>
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it can drown the prayers of believers from</div>
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you back to Jesus! Fear rain, awe rain, rain no</div>
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beggared philosopher washed downstream on a</div>
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trunk of rata could ever explain: dog rain, cat and</div>
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rat rain, the rain that drowns ambition, swallows</div>
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towns and smashes bridges, train-eating, brain-</div>
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beating, roof-drumming over & over & over. Rain.</div>
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Source: Jeffrey Paparoa Holman, The late great Blackball bridge sonnets. Wellington: Steele Roberts, 2004, p. 40</div>
Ian Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03854821671216618229noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7332214685240691100.post-29237432172315157702012-09-09T16:09:00.000-07:002012-09-09T16:09:15.312-07:00Matarangi. An example of how not to build a town.<br />
From the Coromandel highway turn-off, the road to Matarangi winds its way through a wetland on the southern side of the Whagapoua Estuary. After several kms you reach a rather dilapidated concrete monument that marks the entrance to Matarangi. The first sight in the settlement is the town refuse station, followed by the CBD, an enclave of cheaply-built shops dominated by realestate businesses with flags flying.<br />
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Further on, the road leads through large areas of incomplete and unsold sections. A place of unfinished subdivisions, halted because the money ran out. We naturally looked for the beach but were instead led around a spider web of roads to the estuary boat ramp, decaying and silting up. No sign of any effort to maintain or upgrade the facilities. The sea floor was littered with rotting fish-frames, not a good look. Backtracking we at last found the beach, accessible down a few narrow pathways that run between empty holiday houses. The beach itself is quite attractive.<br />
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How was such a soul-less place created? The developers responsible for Matarangi (Hanover Group) should be charged for crimes against the NZ coastline. They have created a settlement that privatises its prime asset, the beach. In place of an accessible foreshore with open space and facilities it is all private holiday homes built along the fore-dune. It is plain to see that the developer's goal was simply to maximise the number of sections for sale. <br />
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Where was the Hauraki District Council planning input? To become viable communities, beach settlements need character and facilities. Roads should lead visitors and residents alike to a generous central public space along the beach front with room for recreation and business growth. Its not all about short-term gain through section sales. The alternative is simply a disorganised cluster of empty holiday homes. <br />
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<br />Ian Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03854821671216618229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7332214685240691100.post-83893106235016743532012-08-24T21:30:00.000-07:002012-08-24T22:51:31.870-07:00Okarito Marine and Mataitai ReservesThis year we've had major change in the legal status of our coastline and lagoon. A new marine reserve is agreed but not yet gazetted to include Three-mile, Five-mile and Waiho beaches. A <a href="http://www.fish.govt.nz/en-nz/Maori/Management/Mataitai/Gazetted+M%C4%81taitai.htm?WBCMODE=Presentation">mataitai reserve</a> covers Okarito lagoon and a short distance of the coastline about the lagoon entrance.<br />
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The process to create a marine reserve was driven by central government although they appointed a West Coast Forum to come up with the detail. The goal was to have 10% of the coastline reserved, ostensibly to fulfill NZ's international responsibilities, but this has not been achieved.<br />
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As is the norm with resource matters these days, the process was an excessively drawn out battle between conservation interests and the fishing industry. Local people's wishes were very much a sideshow; a re-run of what happened in the forest industry battles of last century. Most local people from Okarito, liked the idea of marine reserves but their submissions as to boundaries etc. were largely ignored.<br />
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What really set off our alarm bells was the greenies idea that half of Okarito lagoon should be included in the reserve. That in our view was ridiculous because it would have meant a split management regime for the lagoon and cut our food gathering resources in half. By sheer good luck that idea was canned because the government took the lesser of two strategic options over the total area of reserves. <br />
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The whole process required having to submit on THREE occasions. However, it focussed our attention on fishing activities we had taken for granted. Local wild food is so important to the identity of a place and where people choose to live. At Okarito we have local shellfish and fish resources which broadly come under the challenger fishery zone regulations. They cover a vast area of widely different local habitats. We felt that those global catch guidelines are often inappropriate at a local level and impossible for us to have any influence on.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gathering kaimoana in the Okarito Mataitai.</td></tr>
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This is where the mataitai reserve enters the picture. Our local tangata whenua, Te Runanga o Makaawhio, raised a Mataitai proposal and after a good deal of thought locals liked the idea. The big attraction was the fact that it was locally generated and not imposed from abroad.<br />
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Let me explain briefly for those of you unfamiliar with mataitai reserves. While they exist under the the fisheries act, they are not a marine reserve. Rather their purpose is to recognise traditional Maori fishing grounds and provide for management of the customary food gathering by the local tangata whenua. They generally exclude commercial fishing but allow for recreational fishing without permits by Maori and non-Maori alike. Best of all, from our point of view, they allow for management of seafood by locals.<br />
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Makaawhio now may nominate someone as guardian, tangata tiaki/kaitiaki, for the reserve who can recommend local rules for sustainability. As always, final control rests with the Minister of Fisheries who will undertake an "extensive consultation process" over local rules - God spare us that!<br />
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We hope commonsense will prevail and local Maori and paheka alike can feel they have the major say in the enjoyment and sustainability of their local fishery resources.<br />
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<br />Ian Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03854821671216618229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7332214685240691100.post-5853279917484529942012-05-31T01:24:00.000-07:002012-08-24T16:21:29.708-07:00Coromandel Mining ConundrumThe message is loud and clear. Stark NO MINING signs pop up all along Coromandel's hilly roadsides to warn the Drillers and diggers they are not welcome. The regions rich mining history is celebrated in the quaint museums and tourist sites but today it's a big NO-NO. Not in our back yard, thank you. It is clear the descendants of these early miners have totally lost any empathy with the industry of their forefathers.<br />
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Before making any more comments I should declare that I invest in Australian mining companies that operate in Asia and Africa. In those regions the vast majority of responsible mining projects are very welcome, bringing roads, royalties, jobs, education and health benefits to local people. If you don't believe me read the annual reports of the companies involved. You can see how much local workers appreciate the benefits by the enthusiasm in their faces. As a shareholder, I may benefit too although not in the past year. <br />
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But rest easy Coro protestors! Why? The political risk is too high in your District. The mining industry remembers Helen Clark's unilateral decision to ban mining in Coromandel with no compensation to existing Licence holders. Very few companies, beyond the energy sector, are going to dig holes in your backyard given the political risk, hostile locals and the expensive drawn-out public process needed to get approval even to prospect, let alone mine. The orebody would need to be worth billions to risk the capital and effort. On the other hand, if such an orebody exists, the rest of NZ may say we cannot afford to leave it in the ground?<br />
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Assuming the unfound billions are a myth, where does this leave Coromandel? Does it pay it's way in NZ Inc? I doubt it. Not much sign of revenue here. Farming north of Thames, with a few notable exceptions, looks like it barely earns enough to pay rates. There are good mussel and oyster farms but that industry is also the subject of protest. There is logging but the rate of cut suggests that work will soon be over for a few decades until the next plantation crop is ready. A local sawmill would have generated more sustainable jobs, but that option was protested away. Tourism? Well yes there is obvious potential but the local industry seems to consist mainly of low key, low profit activities.<br />
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The only boom industry evident is building holiday houses for Aucklanders along the sea coast. It is amazing to see the millions, probably billions, of real estate and pleasure boats, that sit unused apart from a few days per year. Can NZ really afford this? But judging by the number of local real estate listings and few sales, its game over since the global financial crisis. The governments budget announcements over the tax treatment of pleasure assets just nails the coffin shut.<br />
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What is poorly recognised is that holiday homes, i.e. urban development, has had far more visual and environmental impact than any potential gold mine. Simply compare New Chums beach with Whangapoua! Brings to mind the truism often quoted overseas "that the total land area disturbed by mining in Australia is less than the area covered by concrete car parks in the cities". <br />
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I have no answers to Coromandel's conundrum. NZ will likely just leave the place to struggle along as Auckland's playground. In winter when there are few people about, it's a nice place to step off the planet and chill out along the beautiful coastline.Ian Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03854821671216618229noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7332214685240691100.post-80465488739887806732012-05-15T03:03:00.000-07:002012-05-15T03:03:01.559-07:00Coromandel for the Winter 2012Last week, Deb and I, like godwits, migrated north to Whangapoua Beach, Coromandel, for the winter. My brother and wife live here but this year they've travelled far further north to Europe. An offer to house mind was too good to miss.
After the West Coast, Coromandel is my favourite district. Both share an extended coastline but "Coro" beaches are definitely more user friendly. Its a chance to relive my Northland childhood catching fish and exploring the bays and headlands.
We've been here a week now, time to settle in and adjust to the new surroundings. It's ironic that there are many similarities between the two localities. Both have large estuaries with ample "wild food"; cockles, pipis, flounder, mullet and kahawai. Okarito has trout and salmon whereas Whangapoua has piper, snapper and kingfish, plus OYSTERS.
Wild food, the gathering of, is a big part of our golden years. Be it wild game, sea food, abandoned fruit trees, you name it, we've got our eyes peeled for anything wild and free. Coro is rich in the stuff. So far we've spotted rabbits, peacocks, quail and pheasants. Wild pigs lurk in the surrounding hills. Shellfish and fish are abundant too. We're sure we won't starve this winter.
Once we've stocked the larder I'll write other impressions of the District of Coromandel.Ian Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03854821671216618229noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7332214685240691100.post-61252514818827942312012-04-24T20:26:00.000-07:002012-04-24T20:26:02.971-07:00Jock Anderson's jibe at Australians pre-Anzac Day.Jock Anderson's controversial comments on Radio-NZ "afternoon panel" labelling Australian WW1 soldiers as "lazy bludgers" are hard to fathom. Did the comments come from other historians re-inventing history or were they a tongue in cheek jibe at the Australians, a trifle overdone? I listened to the playback and Jock delivered them with an authentic tone. I'd say he now regrets them or he ought to.<br />
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The comments defy logic. Anyone who visits the Australian outback is struck by how harsh the environment is, especially without air-conditioning and modern vehicles. Even today Australians from the bush are tougher and more capable in the outdoors than most nationalities.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbTMNiwAom6gashd__mByY2Aw1n3wGIKqm9JWPpq8aBc230nc7nGaAHTZmjS1eNjLtuVZoiOr4mGMpZVLLw6heLQUppfwffsjjqpLMr7Aapn0bJrn6fEsCH2ayVpoHP4rqsYXYgX9SRvWS/s1600/Bill+James2+1918-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbTMNiwAom6gashd__mByY2Aw1n3wGIKqm9JWPpq8aBc230nc7nGaAHTZmjS1eNjLtuVZoiOr4mGMpZVLLw6heLQUppfwffsjjqpLMr7Aapn0bJrn6fEsCH2ayVpoHP4rqsYXYgX9SRvWS/s320/Bill+James2+1918-2.jpg" width="209" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cpl William James 44936</td></tr>
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My grandfather, Bill James, fought in the Somme briefly, before catching measles.. He survived the remainder of the WW1 by joining the regimental band. I have his personal diary and the hardship he suffered is well documented, cushioned by his special humour. I've heard old-timers say the British fed their horses better than the colonial troops. I can't imagine it was any easier at Gallipoli. Bill James mentioned having to steal eggs off Belgium farmhouses, but was also grateful for the food generously provided by local families. He was often half starved on army rations.<br />
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As a child I was particularly interested in WW2 and I read many of the books written by Churchill and NZ soldiers in the late 1940's and 50's. My father was medically unfit for war and served in the home guard but my Uncle Jack Richards of Whangarei served in Egypt and Crete. He was captured in Crete and survived the sinking of the Nino Bixio in 1942 by swimming in the sea for several hours before being rescued (by the wrong side). In my opinion, there is no way he or the fellow Australians in that war could have been described as bludgers.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8ve1jZ9oA3Wp24scIHv0im8yamshG7f5AGnTHA4IeE6k26EIfOWN5-2VF5SZPiOO5E8uSzzHq3on1_3eJ1dp5gBcIAjc_f8DhjJMPtuIhuxfBvgoC53FrOXW88nlRwDo4WL0w1cg3VbSJ/s1600/Uncle+Jack-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8ve1jZ9oA3Wp24scIHv0im8yamshG7f5AGnTHA4IeE6k26EIfOWN5-2VF5SZPiOO5E8uSzzHq3on1_3eJ1dp5gBcIAjc_f8DhjJMPtuIhuxfBvgoC53FrOXW88nlRwDo4WL0w1cg3VbSJ/s320/Uncle+Jack-1.JPG" width="237" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lcpl John Richards 36028</td></tr>
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I've heard ex officers in the 1950's saying that Britain would never have won the war without the troops from her ex-colonies and the USA. The crucial difference in the quality of the colonial troops related to the skills they learned from being mainly farm boys. They were used to fixing machinery and travelling long distances. If the tank or truck broke down they could fix it immediately. In contrast, the British or German troops would wait for the engineers.<br />
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As for the character of modern Australians, the great grandsons/daughters of the diggers, this I can attest personally from clients we had in our kayak business at Okarito. When conditions got tough, that is paddling in the cold and wind and against the tide, young Australians performed as well as any NZlders, and better than other nationalities.<br />
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The whole affair seems like many others these days, reinvent history or make shock horror statements simply to gain notoriety. <br />
Ian Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03854821671216618229noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7332214685240691100.post-29120782821402551952012-03-10T16:07:00.000-08:002012-03-10T16:07:20.466-08:00Wild Foods Festival - Okarito styleBy Debbie<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigzQgR-7ZXUJOFPkCV6wXDq6_ipqHMw2H8X4hPUT0pQzbxkxgWoIjEu54Rb04R9EF_Mx44GIOiv9texwjCkofkN8_V5_7hvN3P-aAK_YrcEy2SlGjy016VmEiTRFqCL3vXP2V6hQZsXoYD/s1600/photo+(3).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigzQgR-7ZXUJOFPkCV6wXDq6_ipqHMw2H8X4hPUT0pQzbxkxgWoIjEu54Rb04R9EF_Mx44GIOiv9texwjCkofkN8_V5_7hvN3P-aAK_YrcEy2SlGjy016VmEiTRFqCL3vXP2V6hQZsXoYD/s320/photo+(3).JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blackberries and Yogurt Mmmm!</td></tr>
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Step outside our house after dinner these evenings and you will feast on a treat remembered from childhood....we are in the midst of one of the best blackberry seasons I can remember. The first crop was light, as always, but the berries were plump and sweet. Now we're into the main crop and bushes are laden.<br />
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Blackberry season co-insides with excursions to favourite and sometimes secret sites!!! Its a family tradition, and as the only remaining family members still permanently "on the Coast" its up to us to fill the freezer with berries for the homecoming visits, and the resulting mouth-watering pies.<br />
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More intensive farming these days has greatly reduced the areas of wild lands. Blackberries are largely confined to roadsides and riverbeds. The best berries are found amoungst the scattered clumps of totara trees at the extremities of the river-flats. Several spots are known to host the so-called "Italian" variety, big juicy berries with bursting flavour. Roaming with your billy, often brings to mind the early pioneers who introduced these plants, what a welcome relief they must have been to fruit staved gold miners.<br />
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As they must have been to our mothers and grandmothers, who made jellies and pies, in an era where frozen supermarket treats were non-existent. Today our grandchildren ask when visiting from the city "do you have any of those black berries in the freezer" and gobble them up frozen - the healthiest fast food ever. <br />
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But back to Okarito - is that a mushroom over there - better stop the black-berrying and take off your hat, there's a feast on the ground, popped up overnight, a legacy from the days of sheep roaming freely.<br />
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And hurry, nearly low tide, time to gather mussels ; time and tide wait for no man!!!<br />
<br />Ian Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03854821671216618229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7332214685240691100.post-76687626591236417442012-02-20T13:01:00.000-08:002012-02-20T13:01:38.267-08:00Fix the Building Act.<br />
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After Bernard Hickeys lamentation, <a href="http://www.nzherald.co.nz/business/news/article.cfm?c_id=3&objectid=10786436">Govt eyes blind to housing crisis</a>, Not PC published a brilliant blog <a href="http://pc.blogspot.co.nz/2012/02/unaffordable-housing-no-wonder.html">Unaffordable housing? No wonder!</a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600; font-family: Georgia, Arial; font-weight: bold; line-height: 25px;"><br /></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Arial; line-height: 20px;"></span><br />
<i>"IN A NUTSHELL, THE big problem is that government has gone beyond right: it has passed laws giving the Reserve Bank the power to print money, bureaucrats the power to prescribe the methods and materials by which houses are built, and planners the power to control and restrict people’s land."</i><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Arial; line-height: 20px;"></span><br />
<i>"Meanwhile, the Department of Building and Housing were given the power to tell builders how to build houses. Rather than deregulation, <a href="http://pc.blogspot.co.nz/2009/11/leaky-homes-part-1-myth-of-deregulated.html" style="color: #5588aa; text-decoration: none;" title="LEAKY HOMES, Part 1: The myth of deregulated building">which never happened here</a>, builders have endured a flood of new regulation: producing pages and pages of gold-plated building regulations and <a href="http://pc.blogspot.co.nz/2007/07/housing-inflation-its-regulation-stupid.html" style="color: #5588aa; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank" title="Housing affordability: It's regulation, stupid - N O T P C , 2 0 0 8">a rise in the cost to build a house</a> that has out-paced even the rate of house price rises"</i><br />
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Everyone has their own horror story of mindless regulation or engineering opinions needed to get compliance for a standard 3 bedroom kiwi house. Pity the building inspectors, who driven by desire to eliminate liability for their Council, have to meticulously enforce every detail. In our district even an 80 year-old hut in the bush cannot be altered unless it conforms with the Act.<br />
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Is there is the way out of this mess? Here's my suggestion: <br />
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Preserve the Building Act but widen the range of quality standards. What I mean is broaden the Act from a singe "gold-plated" standard by creating 4 classes of dwellings as follows:</div>
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1. Class A - fully compliant with the Building Act and guaranteed by Council. </div>
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2. Class B - more than 80% compliant. Any new work must meet Building Act standards. Non compliance issues clearly identified on the LIM. </div>
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3. Class C - less than 80% compliant. Includes most pre-1990 housing. Must have sewage, electrical and fire safety compliance. Owner can make alterations themselves so long as they comply with Council planning standards, height, shade size etc. Bought/sold on caveat emptor basis.</div>
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4. Class D - Non compliant. Includes the typical kiwi bach, huts, temporary accommodation, etc. Can be built by anyone but must have basic sewage, electrical and fire safety. Bought/sold on caveat emptor basis.</div>
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<b>To solve NZ housing needs we must provide more flexibility for people to meet their housing needs according to what they can afford</b>.</div>
</div>Ian Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03854821671216618229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7332214685240691100.post-36536602799137074912012-02-11T18:00:00.000-08:002012-02-11T23:09:15.490-08:00Climate Change: "NZ should drop ETS and adopt a simple carbon tax"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To continue from my earlier <a href="http://okaritolife.blogspot.co.nz/2011/11/wheels-falling-of-ets-wagon.html">blog</a> why NZ should have adopted a carbon tax rather than an ETS scheme.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Whaleoil has <a href="http://www.whaleoil.co.nz/2012/02/ets-bust/">blogged</a> the following excerpt article from the <a href="http://www.ft.com/home/asia">Financial Times</a> (requires registration, then search ETS).</span><br />
<div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: 0% 4px; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 1.2em; text-indent: 25px;"><br />
Europe’s largest employers’ group has warned against meddling in the carbon market to prop up sagging prices, just a day after one of the continent’s top energy executives declared the market “dead” and demanded urgent intervention to save it.</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 1.2em;">In a letter to parliament released on Wednesday, Philippe de Buck, president of BusinessEurope, warned that moves to withdraw carbon permits from the market to bolster prices “would, if implemented, create further uncertainty and price volatility, and establish a risky precedent of rapid political interference in the market”.</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 1.2em;">Mr De Buck, whose constituents have struggled to forge a common position on the issue, said he wanted “an open discussion … about the general climate policy framework and the longer term future” of the carbon market.</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 1.2em;">In December, the European parliament’s environment committee approved a resolution calling for the removal of more than 1bn surplus carbon permits from the market in an effort to shore up prices. The industry committee will vote on a similar measure at the end of this month.</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 1.2em;">Other elements of corporate Europe, particularly heavy industry, argue that such meddling would make a mockery of the market.</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 1.2em;">Johannes Teyssen, chief executive of Germany’s EON, urged policy makers to make fixes. “Let’s talk real: the ETS is bust, it’s dead,” Mr Teyssen said in Brussels this week, adding: “I don’t know a single person in the world that would invest a dime based on ETS signals.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 1.2em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Our scheme is now in serious trouble (or will be shortly). Message to John Key and Nick Smith, "Follow Australia with a carbon tax before the ETS gets even more embarrassing"</span></span></div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 1.2em;"><br />
</div>Ian Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03854821671216618229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7332214685240691100.post-47082632932424796182012-01-25T13:31:00.000-08:002012-01-25T13:31:27.490-08:00Get your kids into agriculture.Professor Jacqueline Rowarth from Massey University highlights the lack of New Zealand students interested in a <a href="http://www.farmersweekly.co.nz/article/9178.html">science career in agriculture</a> She councils against filling the gap with overseas graduates, "<i>some positions could not be filled by migrants as they require a hands on knowledge of NZ's agriculture and it would be smarter for the government to look after its own people</i>". I couldn't agree more.<br />
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All the signs point to agriculture being a smart career choice for young people. With the world's population fast approaching 9 billion, and an even greater growth rate of middle-class, food price rises seem inevitable. Great news for NZ because farm profitability has at long last started to improve. The industry is adopting IT rapidly and this will lead to leaps in productivity and innovation. Agriculture is the exiting place to be.<br />
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Unfortunately, it is an uphill battle to get our kids inspired in NZ's primary industries. It just doesn't compete with the warm fuzzies they see on TV such as conservation, psychology, small animal vets, cooking etc. I often ask students how they rate a forester on a scale from 1 - 10 where doctors and nurses were number 10 and used-car salesmen were say 1. Students from New Zealand, Australia, USA and Canada universally put foresters a 2 - 3, (not respected). A sad reality given that the world desperately needs better forest management and many more trees. Interestingly, students from Europe often rate a forester at 8-9 just below the medics. Agriculturalists have not had such bad press as foresters but I doubt they rate much above 5 on the popularity stakes.<br />
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Poor public perceptions of agriculture is by no means new. Even Massey University, years ago, dropped the good old Ag. Sci degree much to my chagrin at the time. I went to Massey University straight from high school, a decision I have never regretted. The B. Ag. Sci.degree was just what I needed. It produced graduates who were true generalists, understanding a wide range of subjects such as; biochemistry, animal/plant physiology, economics, statistics, management, ecology, mechanics, construction, microbiology, genetics, hydrology, dairy, meat, wool industries. Best of all, Massey taught us to think independently.<br />
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The great advantage of this degree was to open our eyes to possibilities we'd never heard of before. Graduates of my year dispersed into all sorts of careers in the primary industries, in my case, forestry science. Massey taught me so much and shaped my thinking throughout my career. I am always grateful for that.Ian Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03854821671216618229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7332214685240691100.post-55755484868620919812012-01-22T23:59:00.000-08:002012-01-22T23:59:12.744-08:00Flying adventures.A recent article (<a href="http://www.golfhotelwhiskey.com/how-far-behind-me-is-that-737/">How far behind me is that 737</a>) brought back similar memories from my flying career.<br />
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My experience was at the end of a flight from South Westland to Christchurch International Airport. After an awe-inspiring but otherwise uneventful flight over the mountains, I reached Dunsandel checkpoint and was cleared by the Tower to join "long final" for the main runway, 02. Great I thought, feeling chuffed that my dusty old Cessna 172, CKN, was equal with the big boys. The whole city should see I'd arrived.<br />
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Dunsandel is quite some distance from Christchurch so I kept up my speed gradually loosing height and scanning the airspace for other traffic. Over the radio came a call from a 747. He was given permission to join "final", number 2 to the Cessna. <b>Mm mm! that's me</b>! I glanced behind and sure enough I could just make out the outline of the 747 miles away. Apart from a little tension that I didn't have the sky and airport to myself, things went smoothly. <br />
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For a bush pilot landing at an international airport is not all beer and skittles. You need to sharpen up mentally to deal with radio traffic, several other aircraft in the sky, and funnily enough, decide where to land on the enormous expanse of tarmac ahead. I had learnt that if you land too early you end up taxing for miles. <br />
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After a few more minutes the Tower cleared the 747 to land again behind the Cessna. By this stage I was comfortable at 70 knots on "short final", setting up for a landing well down the runway. The next radio call was the Tower clearing me to land and <b>please clear the runway immediately to the left.</b> I glanced behind again - <b>YIKES -</b> the 747 was bloody enormous and was approaching fast.<br />
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<b>Woowee</b>! I immediately selected full flap, cut the power, and pushed down the nose for a short landing. Once stable on the ground, I applied full brakes and charged off to the left across the grass as instructed. Then followed 300 tons of high speed aluminium thundering down the strip, the crew no doubt laughing at my reaction. <br />
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Well so much for my hoped for dignified and notable arrival. I taxied humbly along the access way well back from the 747 and slunk over to the private apron. Back to the bush ASAP.Ian Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03854821671216618229noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7332214685240691100.post-29586872078630995962012-01-01T13:44:00.000-08:002012-01-01T13:44:04.177-08:00The Humble Pipi<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Its Xmas holidays and outdoor blokes find an irrepressible urge to escape and provide food for the extended family. Despite the fact there is enough food around here to feed Africa more food must be gathered.<br />
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An easy way where the whole family can be involved is collecting pipis. Mudflats are a great place for city kids to engage with nature - muddy water that hides crabs to bite small toes, plenty of sharp shells and small wriggly fish. All adds up to lots of squeals, oohs and yuks. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ahjA2FfUA2A/TwDSVNtkQLI/AAAAAAAABXY/znLeWdvxfRQ/s1600/IMG_5747+%25281%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ahjA2FfUA2A/TwDSVNtkQLI/AAAAAAAABXY/znLeWdvxfRQ/s400/IMG_5747+%25281%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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The humble pipi is one of those strange life forms that some of us find a delicacy. But unless exposed to shellfish as a child, most people are turned off by their weird shape and plainly visible intestines. "DISGUSTING" is the classic uninitiated teenager response to watching seafood lovers gorging on a pipi feast. All the more for those who love them, I say.<br />
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Pipis and cockles were standard holiday fare at my grandfather Bill James's bach at Tameterau on the Whangarei harbour. My grandmother, Mary, would boil a great pot full and empty them into a large bowl on the table. Bill would hold a stick and no one dared move until he said "GO" and the feast would begin. We ate them plain with a little vinegar but bread was a compulsory accompaniment to stop us kids eating too many. <br />
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From that childhood grounding, whenever I moved to a new place in later life one of my first tasks was to locate kaimoana. And it was Maori who often led me, either by direct invitation or my surreptitious observation. The West Coast is not notable for extensive shellfish beds, nor do many locals seek them. The pipis in the Okarito lagoon are hard to find because they are surprisingly mobile. They prefer moderately loose fine sand with not too much glacial silt. This habitat moves with every flood and the spring tides, as do the pipis.<br />
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I'm always a bit cautious about gathering after a flood or fresh in the river because of the risk of food poisoning even here at remote Okarito. While we have relatively few farms or septic tanks in the catchment (95% native forest), there are wild animals in the bush so it pays to be cautious. <br />
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<u>Debbie's recipe for pipi patties. </u><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HY8dnbALuVk/TwDPiO7wKmI/AAAAAAAABW4/1i6MPUujGNk/s1600/P1020276.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HY8dnbALuVk/TwDPiO7wKmI/AAAAAAAABW4/1i6MPUujGNk/s320/P1020276.JPG" width="320" /></a>Ingredients: Throw into the blender; two eggs, one chopped onion, cup of herbs to taste e.g. parsley, basil, chives and some coriander (whatever you've got), salt and black pepper to taste, three tablespoons sweet chili sauce, teaspoon of crushed ginger, teaspoon of crushed garlic, two cups of pre-cooked pipis.<br />
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Mix and fold in approximately half a cup of flour until the mixture is firm. If there is not enough flour the patties will not hold together. Fry in olive oil in moderately hot pan being careful not to blacken. Pipis burn easily.<br />
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Enjoy.Ian Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03854821671216618229noreply@blogger.com1