tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45285435384694733412024-03-06T02:24:10.754-08:00Pirongia Bells Ringing through the Ages.
David Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01882172661296160645noreply@blogger.comBlogger73125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4528543538469473341.post-37572138305258738552018-06-03T15:29:00.001-07:002018-06-24T16:26:00.503-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">The Old Tulip Tree Falls</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: medium;">By David Bell</span></b><br />
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AN ICONIC piece of our physical connection to our departed ancestors has fallen. The giant tulip tree planted by Jean Aubin on the old homestead has succumbed to time, age, and the chainsaw.<br />
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Jared Bell (Great-great grandson to Jean and Anne Aubin) lives next door to Rozel, the old Aubin homestead, and got a first-hand view of whole procedure which involved a large crane, some aborists unafraid of heights, and a few big chainsaws.<br />
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The felling of the tree was not without some controversy. Firstly, Glenda Bell, great granddaughter to the Aubins, walked down from her house on Franklin Street to view the proceedings. Standing on the road she proceeded to take some photos when the lady of the house ran out to shoo her away, claiming Glenda was invading her privacy. Not being one to back down easily, Glenda flung a few words her way (best not printed on this page) before moving on. While amusing, this incident highlighted the emotion going around the village about the felling of this landmark tree. One would suspect the current owners were feeling the pressure from the many people and organisations pushing to preserve it.<br />
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The local newspaper ran an article which gives a good explanation of the whole saga. The photos were taken by Jared Bell and added to the article by David Bell.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Community outrage as 'iconic' Pirongia tree to be felled</span></h1>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTbEaArD5hbc_bUSQ0NgHrOmXHQ_WYQucWAtflJKvBSokyNFyQDtXOnKOANOBLvCVWZyj6ErephIAjPxDveVlhjvJJCj9F2_cjcILpAaCBO5o-Ai-vJNU8a-yrlXwxYcKvE0k8a3AV4sXT/s1600/Aubin+tree2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1196" data-original-width="884" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTbEaArD5hbc_bUSQ0NgHrOmXHQ_WYQucWAtflJKvBSokyNFyQDtXOnKOANOBLvCVWZyj6ErephIAjPxDveVlhjvJJCj9F2_cjcILpAaCBO5o-Ai-vJNU8a-yrlXwxYcKvE0k8a3AV4sXT/s400/Aubin+tree2.jpg" width="295" /></a><b><span style="font-size: large;">The Waipa Post</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-size: 15.36px;">A tree described as "an icon of Pirongia" is being felled, leaving a trail of outrage from residents and arborists.</span></div>
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The 40-metre American tulip tree on the corner of Franklin and Belcher St is being cut down branch by branch.</div>
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But arborists are up in arms and say the tree could have been saved.</div>
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The tree has been admired by residents and arborists for the last 130 years. It arrived on a ship from America in the late 1800s and was planted at the house of prominent Waipa man Jean (John) Aubin.</div>
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Arborists say the tree is one of the largest of its kind in the Southern Hemisphere.</div>
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The tree had been on council's protected trees list for more than 20 years but was removed in March this year due to safety concerns. Once a tree is removed from the list, property owners have full authority over the tree.</div>
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The owner has contracted tree-removal company Treescape to cut down the tree at a cost of $17,520, which council is paying half of.</div>
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Council says the owner was aware of the tree's protected status before moving onto the property. The property owner declined to comment.</div>
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Waipa District Council community facilities manager Bruce Airey says concerns were raised with the tree's safety last year.</div>
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Council commissioned a report on the tree by independent qualified arborist Paul Kenny in September 2017.</div>
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Paul had been monitoring the tree annually since 2006.</div>
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In his last report he observed the areas of dieback he had been monitoring did not yet have significant impact.</div>
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He also found the decreased annual trunk diameter growth would need to be investigated further if a pattern of reduced growth rates developed.</div>
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Paul recommended pruning work be carried out.</div>
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"None of my recommendations were to remove the tree," he told the Waipa Post.<br />
But in March this year, the property owner commissioned a further report by consultant arborist Geoarb.</div>
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The report showed the tree's health had rapidly declined and it posed "an imminent hazard to life and property".</div>
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It said the vascular system of the tree was diminishing, bacterial/fungal infection was present and the canopy was sparse in areas with chlorotic leaves.</div>
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The report was reviewed and verified by council's arborists and the tree's protection was removed.</div>
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But two independent arboriculture companies are calling nonsense on Geoarb's report and say the tree could have been saved.</div>
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Craig and Talia Wilson, owners of Wilson Trees & Landscaping, say the tree is "outstanding".</div>
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"It's the best form of that species," Craig says.</div>
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"The whole crown looks really healthy and has been reported to be in good health in Paul's annual reports."</div>
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"Why did Waipa District Council not seek a third opinion? Why was Geoarb's report given precedence over Paul's 12 years of reporting on the tree?"</div>
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Craig says the tree is admired by arborists all around the world.</div>
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"As arborists we love trees and do as much as we can to protect them."</div>
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He says alternative options about saving the tree should have been discussed.</div>
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Talia says protection of heritage trees needs to be taken more seriously.</div>
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"What's the point in having a protection order if they're so easy to remove. It's getting to the point of ridiculousness."</div>
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She says the removal of Pirongia's tulip tree highlights a national attitude towards trees.<br />
"We pretend we are a green tree-loving country but that's not the case.</div>
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"Trees don't have voices — we need to be advocates for them."</div>
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Talia says it is now too late to save the tree.</div>
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"Our hope is that this is a turning point in the attitudes of the council and the owner.<br />
"We hope something will be learned from this situation and that more protection is placed on our heritage trees."</div>
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Noel Galloway, owner of arboriculture business Pristine Arb, says he wants peace of mind as to why the tree is coming down.</div>
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"I'm not a tree-hugger or anything, but for some reason this one has really hit home."<br />
Noel says arborists are often trapped in ethical dilemmas when they have to fell a tree they believe could be saved.</div>
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"Apparently some of the guys who are on the job couldn't sleep last night."</div>
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When Waipa Post visited the site of the tree last week it appeared a worker was distressed about removing it.</div>
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"We think it's a pretty nice tree. We're not happy about removing it, but we've got to do our job," one Treescape employee said.</div>
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It is believed a Treescape employee pulled out of the team tasked with the job.</div>
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Treescape refused to comment.</div>
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But a woman who grew up with the tree wasn't fazed about its removal.</div>
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Robin Wood (nee Bell) is the great-granddaughter of John Aubin, who planted the tree.<br />
Robin now lives in Te Awamutu but grew up in the homestead at 661 Franklin St where the tree was planted.</div>
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She said she had no sentimental connection to the tree.</div>
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"Trees don't live forever and are very hard to save. You've got to be a realist about it."</div>
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I'm with Robin. It was a magnificent tree ~ no doubt about that ~ but like all living things, eventually they die. True enough, the tree may have lasted another decade or two, but its sheer size made it problematic. Pirongia is prone to some pretty severe storms at times and just one of those branches falling on the house would do big damage. One can certainly empathize with the cries to save the tree; no-one wants to see something so spectacular in nature that has been around for over 120 years come to an inglorious end. Perhaps if old Jean hadn't planted it so close to the house, but in a park or in a large field, it would have been allowed to see out the full span of its life. </div>
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But, too late now. It's gone. Old Jean Aubin, the planter, has gone too, along with all his generation that lived in the homestead. Reginald Bell, the other long-term resident of Rozel and grandson to Jean has also long departed the scene. The tree has outlasted them all and has now joined them.</div>
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The circle of life, as the song from the Lion King tells us.</div>
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David Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01882172661296160645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4528543538469473341.post-23433731232565488392016-08-05T18:24:00.002-07:002018-06-25T03:06:51.737-07:00The Lighthouse Keeper<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: red; font-size: x-large; text-align: start;">The Deng Ta (Lighthouse) Keeper </span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: large; text-align: start;">by David Bell</span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; text-align: start;">Huang Ching Ying</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; text-align: left;">How about this for something unique on our family tree? We have a man who was</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; text-align: left;"> a lighthouse keeper. His name is Huang Ching Ying, the husband of Ang Hui Ying, eldest daughter of Ang Chiu Shui and Que Him, these being the grandparents of Winnie Ming Ling Bell. Huang Ching Ying is therefore Winnie's uncle by marriage to her Aunt. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The following is a translated article from the Geelong city newspaper, <i>Saigai Yahtbou. S</i>aigai means 'the world' and yahtbou translates as 'daily paper'. In English we would probably call it the <i>Daily World</i>. The article is dated Friday, June 28, 2002.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Huang Ching Ying, over a period of forty seven years, was the keeper in a total of twenty seven lighthouses throughout Taiwan. He has recently retired but he has kept himself in touch with his forty seven year career through his website entitled, <i>King of Lighthouses. </i>It keeps him busy in retirement by writing, recording and researching about his old job.<i> </i>He has also taken up the hobby of building lifelike models of the lighthouses he has served in. He also enjoys creating other ornamental replicas which he gives as gifts to friends and relatives. Each of his children have one of their father's hand-crafted lighthouses to represent his guiding light watching over them.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Huang Ching Ying still enjoys everything about lighthouses and his home resembles a gallery with models of both old and modern Taiwan lighthouses displayed on tables and shelves. Framed pictures adorn the walls. His children have encouraged him to do this as a means to always remember his long and loyal service to his family and country. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red; font-size: x-small;">Huang Ying Ching and wife Hui Ying in their home, </span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: x-small;">2002. Note the lighthouse models and pictures behind</span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: x-small;">them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This year, Huang Ching Ying was invited to participate in the annual Keelung</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">(</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 11pt;"><b>基隆</b>)</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> Provincial Exhibition on his long career in the lighthouse business. His display and presentation was so interesting it even caught the attention of Taiwan's President. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Huang Ying Ching said that the main reason he was able to succeed as a lighthouse keeper was because of his wife, Ang Hui Ying, who took such excellent care of the family's domestic duties. Her sacrifice and dedication made his demanding job so much easier and allowed him to concentrate on his responsibilities until all the children had grown up.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He first became involved with lighthouses as a young man when he responded to a recruitment program from the Department of Customs in Xiamen. As a new recruit his training involved jobs at lighthouses on the islands of Saiyeung and Daidaam. Since then he went on to be a Lighthouse Keeper in different stations all over Taiwan, an occupation that gave him the opportunity to experience living in most parts of the country. Once, because of his experience and knowledge, he was sent on a maintenance tour-of-inspection to all the established lighthouses in Taiwan, giving him the opportunity to visit lighthouses and islands he had never seen before. He took many photographs and probably now has a picture of every lighthouse that existed in Taiwan. These pictures were used to craft his many models.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Huang Ching Ying has served in more lighthouses than any other Keeper in his profession.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This next article is a translation of a more lengthy and detailed essay on Huang Ching Ying's years as a lighthouse keeper entitled, <b>The Man who Has Kept the Most Lighthouses.</b> In some places additional relevant information has been inserted.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>Introduction</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There were thirty four lighthouses under China's jurisdiction along the Xiamen-Taiwan coastlines, thirty of which were operated by lighthouse keepers. Because the function of lighthouses is to assist ships navigate safely along the coasts, they were built along the coastlines on hilltops, promontories or small islands. There were many lighthouses around Xiamen and Taiwan due to the rocky nature of the coasts and dangerous underwater reefs, all of which were hazardous to shipping and the cause of many wrecks over time. Lighthouses, therefore, were invariably isolated with difficult access and being a keeper was a demanding task requiring a special type of person who could cope with living in isolation for anything up to a year or more with a twenty-four hour seven days a week work schedule. Normal men were unlikely to take it on as a career.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>The Light of Hope</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Lighthouses in those times were not automated as today; each one required a human operator. The light was to be punctually illuminated at dusk every day and extinguished after sunrise. If the operator deemed it necessary, he could light it up on days that were particularly gloomy, the light flashing its bright, angular beam across the sea giving any ship in the area hope and security.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Huang Ching Ying was born in the province of Fujian in 1928 at Xiamen. He grew up on Gulangyu - Drum Wave Island, so named because of the drumming sound of the waves along its shore - just outside the city. As a young boy he was fascinated by the sudden appearance every dusk of three lights from different points far out at sea which continued to shine like bright stars into the night. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This fascination excited his curiosity and he determined to learn more about lighthouses. In school he found a book about an old keeper and his granddaughter and their life together in an isolated lighthouse. The story told of their daily routine of inspecting the lighthouse using a lamp to access the darker spots, how they operated the big light, and many more things about life in a lighthouse. The story triggered a strong desire in Huang Ching Ying to learn all he could about lighthouses and one day, should the opportunity arise, make it his profession.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">One of the things that stuck in his mind was the noble purpose of lighthouses; to guide ships safety through all the perils of storms, rough seas, killer reefs, and nights that could be as black as pitch. The lighthouse keeper saved ships, but more importantly, saved lives. He saw it as an honorable service to society and his fellow beings. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In 1946 the main Xiamen newspaper carried an advertisement for trainee lighthouse keepers. The Xiamen Customs Department were in need of sixteen new lighthouse staff and were taking applications. Huang saw this as his big opportunity and notified his parents of his desire. His parents were shocked and voiced their opposition. But he was determined and disregarded their opposition. Huang and over three hundred others applied and he was delighted that he was one of the sixteen to be selected, no doubt due in part to his extensive interest and knowledge of lighthouses accumulated over the years.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>The Thin Line Between Life and Death</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Soon after his successful application the Customs Department began his training and later posted him to five different lighthouses on islands around Xiamen to learn the ropes. These islands were named Dung-gwan, Siyang, Chingyu, Dongxing and Lanpeng. After a year he was granted a four week holiday. Then, in August, 1949, he received his first full-time posting to the remote island of Lanpeng. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The sea around Lanpeng Island was renowned for its abundance of squid and from spring to autumn it was crowded with squid boats. During the quid season there was plenty of human contact and opportunities to supplement the two months supply of food left at the lighthouse when he and fellow worker, Lee Ah-fong, were dropped off, but around October the heavy winter winds from the north-east blew in ending the squid fishing. Overnight all the boats simply disappeared leaving the two men alone and isolated. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">To make matters worse, in 1949 China was embroiled in the civil war between the communists and nationalists and amidst all the turmoil Huang and Lee were either forgotten or couldn't be reached. They found themselves stranded for over four months without food, their situation becoming so dire they were reduced to eating wild grass for greens and subsisting off crabs and shellfish scoured from the rocks whenever the weather allowed it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Huang and his companion became so thin they could place their hands around their waists until their fingers met. These conditions inevitably caused collateral health problems and Huang became seriously ill. Things got so desperate that at one point he believed death was inevitable so he wrote out his last will and testament and prepared a grave-site. Fortunately, a ship from Taiwan finally came to their rescue and dropped off a six month supply of food and goods. However, it was obvious Huang needed some medical care and he requested to go with the ship back to Taiwan for treatment. His request fell on deaf ears and was flatly denied by the Chinese officer. Thankfully, the ship's engineer was more compassionate and took his case to the British Captain who agreed to take Huang back with them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Huang said that even though they were starving and often ill, he and Lee kept the lighthouse operational at all times and punctually did their rounds and maintenance work on the building and its surrounds. It is likely that keeping focused and busy greatly helped them through that life-threatening period. Other men might have deteriorated a lot sooner under such physical and psychological strains. Huang's consuming sense of purpose regarding the responsibilities of the lighthouse keeper would have been an invaluable driving force in maintaining focus and bearing up to the hardships.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Pirates were common around the coasts in those days, preying mostly on shipping but occasionally turning their attentions to the lighthouses. The booty they pirated from the ships was far more profitable than anything a lighthouse could offer as the keepers were a poor lot with no cash or valuables. The only commodity of any value to them was fuel - coal or oil. While there was often violence on the ships they attacked, Huang knew of no harm ever coming to lighthouse keepers, probably because they never resisted.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">They were hard times on Lanpeng Island right from the start. He had, as yet, received no wages or special clothing and equipment for life in such isolation. The food he and Lee Ah-fong were given was basic and enough to last only two months. They were more-or-less just dumped there and when the food ran out and there was no sign of any supply ship they soon became destitute. It was a great relief when the ship from Taiwan arrived to restock their food supply but by then Huang's health had been compromised by four months of starvation. Thankfully, he was taken back on the supply ship to Taiwan for medical attention, but he was penniless and in rags. In desperation he asked the Taiwan Customs officials if he could borrow some emergency money to see him through his recovery in Keelung </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">(</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 11pt;"><b>基隆</b>)</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">. The Customs Department looked at his request then informed him that he was actually an employee of the Xiamen Customs Department and as such not the responsibility of Taiwan. Furthermore, according to the Xiamen Department, he had left his post without official authorization and would be getting no money from them. It was clear to him that he was now cast off and unwanted. It was a severe blow and left him feeling rejected and bitter.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Seeing his career slipping away, he was suddenly thrown a lifeline. A Taiwan Customs official informed him of an opening as a technician in a lighthouse in Keelung</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">. He could take that job and ask the Keelung Lighthouse authorities for his emergency loan. However, he needed to accept the job post-haste and if his recovery was not quick enough the deal would be void. Even though it was a big demotion Huang had no choice but accept and begin work recovered or not. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Before he left the official told him in no uncertain terms words to this effect, "You and I don't know each other. We have had no dealings whatsoever. As far as I'm concerned I am an officer of the government and you are an underling. You are not to bother me again!" Huang was left with mixed feelings; grateful for the official's help but deflated by his unfriendly brushoff. I leave it to the reader to determine the official's motivations. Nevertheless, Huang decided to make the most of this lifeline and saw it as the opportunity to gain further experience and at the same time get to visit lighthouses and places in Taiwan and slowly work his way back up.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>Promotion to Assistant Lighthouse Keeper</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Even though the title of lighthouse technician sounded important, the job consisted mostly of cleaning, maintenance and odd jobs. Nonetheless, Huang faithfully carried out his duties and in the process learned valuable new things and as part of his job occasionally worked at other lighthouses around the area. As a result, instead of diminishing his enthusiasm for his chosen vocation it actually increased, despite his recent experiences. He came to the conclusion that in this world no matter how hard you work no-one will give you a free lunch, but Heaven will always reward your efforts.<i> </i>He<i> </i>also remembered the proverb: 'If you wish to better your worldly wealth and status, observe those above you. But for daily life and survival look to those beneath you'<i>. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In time Huang's skills and efforts were finally recognized and his superiors arranged for him to do bigger and better duties by running lighthouses when other keepers went on leave. This was valuable experience and exposure and in 1954 he was promoted to Assistant Executive at So-O lighthouse. The title was grander than the actual job but he was glad to be back to doing what he loved. As it turned out, the assistant executive had sole charge of two lighthouses along the Keelung </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">coast, the number-one executive sitting in an office somewhere in town. It was a two hour walk between the lighthouses. Each house had two lights, one specifically for fishing boats and the other bigger, brighter beam for larger ocean-going ships. Both lamps required the care of a skilled operator. Huang would have had to illuminate the lights on the home lighthouse then walk for two hours to do the same at the second one, arriving just before dusk. Then he would either walk another two hours home or stay the night there and return in the morning after turning the lights off. This routine would be repeated every day of the week. Along with this he was required to keep the lighthouses in a good state of repair and their surrounds neat and tidy. True to his character, Huang carried out his duties to the letter and kept the lights burning every night without fail.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">One day a keeper and his family from another lighthouse dropped in for a visit. Huang and Hui Ying were delighted to see them and invited them to dinner and stay for the night. They had obviously walked a long way and it would have been unthinkable to let them walk all the way back in the dark. Hui Ying prepared the best dinner she could with what they had and provided comfortable lodging for the night. It was a pleasant and happy visit and everyone parted in good spirits the next morning. However, not long after, Huang received notification that he was to be transferred to another more remote lighthouse and was ordered to start packing. As it turned out, his replacement was the very visitor whom they treated with such hospitality a few weeks before. Suddenly, it was obvious his visit had a hidden agenda; he was scoping the place with the intent to move in. While not known for certain, one might suppose he and someone higher up had contrived to move Huang on so he could take Huang's position. This was a bitter pill for Huang to swallow; he felt used and unfairly treated, especially when Hui Ying had given birth to their first child a week earlier. He learned that for some people friendship, kindness and hospitality account for nothing where self interest is concerned. He knew it was futile to protest, in those days the word of the boss was unquestionable. They packed up and moved on.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">From what we have learned thus far, it should be apparent that the Customs Department in those times was not a very good employer and it seems that lowly lighthouse keepers were treated rather shabbily. Another incident that occurred in 1957 further illustrates this supposition. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">At the time, Huang was working at the Pengjia lighthouse when his second daughter, Lan Li, was born. His wife and first child lived off site so she was born some way from where he was stationed, the Customs office being his only contact when he wanted to inquire after their welfare. One day he received a message from Customs that his wife had given birth to a girl and both mother and child were well. He should have been reassured by the news but for some reason he felt uneasy and suspicious. Perhaps it was something in the message that didn't sound right, or was it that mysterious intuition that loved ones often experience in times of crisis? The feeling was so strong and persistent he couldn't shake it. Fortunately, a supply ship unexpectedly turned up so he went aboard, explained his situation and insisted he return with the ship to see his new baby. The Captain objected but eventually gave in. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When Huang arrived on shore the Customs Office was not pleased with his unauthorized leave, but he didn't care. At this time his family mattered more than their objections. The Customs official demanded he report immediately to another nearby lighthouse called Fugueijia, which he did before hurrying home to check up on his family. Upon arriving his suspicions were confirmed. His wife was struggling to recover from the birth and both his daughters were seriously ill. It appears his employers were more concerned about keeping him at his post than the welfare of his family and in the message either downplayed their situation or outright lied about it. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Right: Fugueijia lighthouse.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He immediately took his little daughters in his arms and began the long walk to seek medical help. He walked along the beach and right through an army barracks to a village called Laomei-chuan where he caught the last bus of the day to a bigger town, Dansheui. At Dansheui he caught the train to the Suanglein station and from there to the hospital. Both girls eventually made a good recovery.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>The Keeper of the Most Lighthouses </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There was no such thing as employee contracts and working conditions were completely determined by the employers. Therefore, when a lighthouse keeper was told to move to a new location it was simply a case of pull up roots and go or lose your job. Consequently, the terms you worked at any particular lighthouse were never certain; some were short and some long. Huang's shortest stretch was a mere five days at Sansaujia (4-8 October 1950) and his longest being eight years at Mudao (1 September 1964 to 11 May 1972). it was also common to receive very short notice to transfer and Huang was called upon to do so more often than most. However, this resulted in him becoming the keeper of more lighthouses than any other. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">His eight year term at Mudao is his most memorable. Mudao is a small island </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">in the Penghu group </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">resembling nothing more than a large rock. Penghu - also known as the Pescadores - is an archipelago of ninety islands and inlets in the Taiwan Strait and about eighty kilometers west of the southern end of Taiwan. Mudao Island sits in the middle of the ocean and has no vegetation of any kind; no trees, no grass. The lighthouse there was built in 1899 and due to the harsh nature of its location is made of cast iron. It stands 39.9 meters high and is the tallest lighthouse in South-east Asia. The island itself is low-lying and thoroughly exposed to the ocean and Huang remembers the typhoon seasons when huge waves hammered the island creating a salty rain that could last for days. He also recalls the winter storms whipping up the sea to create salt-laden haze that settled on everything. As a result, one's hair and clothes were constantly crusted in salt. In those times the keepers could only hunker down and do what was possible to keep the lighthouses operational. On an island like Mudao it was extremely dangerous to be out and about in a raging storm.</span><br />
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Left: Mudao lighthouse, Penghu group.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A lighthouse keeper's life in those days was a hard one. Winnie Bell, Hui-ying's niece, remembers overhearing a conversation that attests to this. She heard her grandmother recounting a visit to her daughter and family at Mudao. She was somewhat shocked at their condition. She said Hui-ying was thin and dark, indicating a life exposed to the elements, poverty and hard work.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Mudao was an important lighthouse. Prior to its construction more than fifty ships had been wrecked on the reefs and rocks. It was a black-spot along the Taiwan coast. But even with a lighthouse the dangers were still very real. On one occasion Huang witnessed just how real they were. From his post at Mudao he watched in horror as a ship was taken by rough seas onto a reef. He quickly raised the big flag to signal for help. A helicopter was rushed to the scene but the weather was so foul it had to turn back. He watched the ship take on water and start going down. As the stern sunk beneath the waves the crew on deck rushed to the bow. Unfortunately, as the bow rose higher into the air, men began to slide off the decks into the roiling sea. Others managed to scramble to the bow only to find they had no room to gain a firm foothold. They, too, began to drop like insects overboard. W</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">ith no-one to rescue them Hua</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">ng could only watch in helpless horror as they sank into a watery grave. His horror was mixed with profound sadness and he wept at the awful loss of life that afternoon. Later, when he was able to reflect, he was struck by how unpredictable life could be and how suddenly death claimed his victims. A lot of men died at sea that day; the lighthouse keepers worst nightmare. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>Things Begin to Look Up: Recognition and Promotion</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was fifteen years from his demotion in 1949 to technician before his service, skill and knowledge was finally recognized and he was promoted to full staff status. This happened during his stay at the Ludao (Green Island) lighthouse as the Assistant Executive when he was sent to the Chilaibei lighthouse to supervise its major renovation. His work there so impressed the head office he was recommended to be elevated to the position of Customs officer, his knowledge of lighthouses had proven to be of immense value. Further positive reports on other projects soon led to more promotions.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Huang Ching Ying, during his long career, served in many lighthouses throughout Taiwan. The following are photographs of several of them. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX-twg1EsGbkjUlmKKLT-kSUDEg3gkzO3RbX5FjnV-tjaPMkBHDl8kzy65CUHJk-3l-dbVKe-Hu_r7CDpAf91S6xcNfpq_hR9tHyAXhyphenhyphenhMexlqiA5dgewq4Xz2mLzXmi31rFruqZ8OZZJn/s1600/Ong...Anping.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX-twg1EsGbkjUlmKKLT-kSUDEg3gkzO3RbX5FjnV-tjaPMkBHDl8kzy65CUHJk-3l-dbVKe-Hu_r7CDpAf91S6xcNfpq_hR9tHyAXhyphenhyphenhMexlqiA5dgewq4Xz2mLzXmi31rFruqZ8OZZJn/s320/Ong...Anping.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Anping</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAAGEOfVTpUQjpGk531Q8aN44zTUDjuTyY2N-dVogNyVxsbZCFbw7eyjucaPgvJOEn1u7Miy_1iStPCzY8hHzZtbz-iOvix5_0_t8gm8bRAa-esbBtn0M6JzbzI0WLJA5zx5PXN0J6Fcam/s1600/Ong...Baisajia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAAGEOfVTpUQjpGk531Q8aN44zTUDjuTyY2N-dVogNyVxsbZCFbw7eyjucaPgvJOEn1u7Miy_1iStPCzY8hHzZtbz-iOvix5_0_t8gm8bRAa-esbBtn0M6JzbzI0WLJA5zx5PXN0J6Fcam/s400/Ong...Baisajia.jpg" width="340" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: small;">Baisajia</span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp8fXXNn6zwPUm01ulwDdPdfhSsgdEdz18UK67BUuBEnaA6JIbcXma6CWCR_gyTiu4iwsY_G7CYgMSjPr-MPKT3ZcgfhdJFmCoXH8ffkdbWE3iiFI1oRVViE2Rca2W57W-eDoS5Axe650A/s1600/Ong...ChiLaiBi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp8fXXNn6zwPUm01ulwDdPdfhSsgdEdz18UK67BUuBEnaA6JIbcXma6CWCR_gyTiu4iwsY_G7CYgMSjPr-MPKT3ZcgfhdJFmCoXH8ffkdbWE3iiFI1oRVViE2Rca2W57W-eDoS5Axe650A/s400/Ong...ChiLaiBi.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Chilaibei</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiPR3sj7_BL-pjhHnrayvuKaCUN-8rNFZE47V0uXYl6vnz0pftP6v45CSXAPzTQnUTA8V7AFEMkXYwumhjAFr6KIMj_oV-y8t4N8U-OhUVbzRnysYStrs6SroMkKIlilOqZNgqsVP3NSjj/s1600/Ong...Dongjiyu.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiPR3sj7_BL-pjhHnrayvuKaCUN-8rNFZE47V0uXYl6vnz0pftP6v45CSXAPzTQnUTA8V7AFEMkXYwumhjAFr6KIMj_oV-y8t4N8U-OhUVbzRnysYStrs6SroMkKIlilOqZNgqsVP3NSjj/s400/Ong...Dongjiyu.gif" width="321" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Dongjijia</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwcnS8Iw28b6IG-jTc-I3hRwd-x5RS5giMYy4XFUTBGJRnmU3vchDM2SASehAQmH24p-Pi6gVt_C4MSlAE0a8N3K3Gk2kr9H99dZGb4MIuOMsh6BsZEdicKL4dJOsaGYk3ylJKp33e2DOT/s1600/Ong...Donguaun.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwcnS8Iw28b6IG-jTc-I3hRwd-x5RS5giMYy4XFUTBGJRnmU3vchDM2SASehAQmH24p-Pi6gVt_C4MSlAE0a8N3K3Gk2kr9H99dZGb4MIuOMsh6BsZEdicKL4dJOsaGYk3ylJKp33e2DOT/s400/Ong...Donguaun.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Donguan</span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-size: small;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1D4YVDXoM4XFEZjC_1xaPZQACfkgT0UwlGJahxttNFHBSwECvNvM-A0b2Wv7pzKvhtk81Hcs17ckjfPSEg6jH1u9unXJI7a2Xr081Y0_cg57q3VT8A7NxQ8SXuHuT7zpe0cEqLNlrJf6y/s1600/Ong..Eluanbi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1D4YVDXoM4XFEZjC_1xaPZQACfkgT0UwlGJahxttNFHBSwECvNvM-A0b2Wv7pzKvhtk81Hcs17ckjfPSEg6jH1u9unXJI7a2Xr081Y0_cg57q3VT8A7NxQ8SXuHuT7zpe0cEqLNlrJf6y/s400/Ong..Eluanbi.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Eulanbi</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglT-m5yPXiVuHFDCbgnxQtnsh6cbUURero3blcEJCYIb1Ggg7v88JRSVdXmOgbjlmRbQOsO7usQkdmS9v3x2dxDLbRYBvoOjWReEnRzBOl7p-WBmVB2RgqoqJ5DEq0CGSShekW7SDkTBFK/s1600/Ong..Keelung.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglT-m5yPXiVuHFDCbgnxQtnsh6cbUURero3blcEJCYIb1Ggg7v88JRSVdXmOgbjlmRbQOsO7usQkdmS9v3x2dxDLbRYBvoOjWReEnRzBOl7p-WBmVB2RgqoqJ5DEq0CGSShekW7SDkTBFK/s400/Ong..Keelung.jpg" width="333" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Keelung</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu0bVNshvfjoIuTaD4ZEFQut1JVGSIeQpssYt4nRU7bAx_A-qjWnhy87UTBfGEmuz8mRRIVpKpGYQqY2rgavAjOPWSAAuNRwJSIPydTPWJnDKn1ul62NzwfV8RokYIIYMFD6T05KwBrsZ7/s1600/Ong..Gaomei.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu0bVNshvfjoIuTaD4ZEFQut1JVGSIeQpssYt4nRU7bAx_A-qjWnhy87UTBfGEmuz8mRRIVpKpGYQqY2rgavAjOPWSAAuNRwJSIPydTPWJnDKn1ul62NzwfV8RokYIIYMFD6T05KwBrsZ7/s400/Ong..Gaomei.jpg" width="331" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Gaomei</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB6mdMxyOjq5ZebMGSKWSPbcobaw7uB16SwzxCLDEo7MAwGew-bxmROfKb6L2JsxeiMY7pN45XmKF8I0E7w5qDGleWuhsneBXim_xxZbKYWzm64YwECxs0XdKmtPD2tmdO0_VSxCpgo9fw/s1600/Ong.LyudaoGreenIs..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB6mdMxyOjq5ZebMGSKWSPbcobaw7uB16SwzxCLDEo7MAwGew-bxmROfKb6L2JsxeiMY7pN45XmKF8I0E7w5qDGleWuhsneBXim_xxZbKYWzm64YwECxs0XdKmtPD2tmdO0_VSxCpgo9fw/s400/Ong.LyudaoGreenIs..jpg" width="347" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Ludao...Green Island</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgusDSV_T166B1TWghHNMu3tASyNJ1ry3c015dggPC2UWGSeJ2etdnIDss3rb11jwHTE4ESHaCfpZ1DQEQZsudkz75w-LtVQnL2yxi4hm351fIoBlSODCLT7om4gvuZfG9SdBf-y-21PHBM/s1600/Ong..Mouduyu.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgusDSV_T166B1TWghHNMu3tASyNJ1ry3c015dggPC2UWGSeJ2etdnIDss3rb11jwHTE4ESHaCfpZ1DQEQZsudkz75w-LtVQnL2yxi4hm351fIoBlSODCLT7om4gvuZfG9SdBf-y-21PHBM/s400/Ong..Mouduyu.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Mudaoyu</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij0gWku7WVK0ND40_xn3BJWkz9NOh0itR6-2ceCxkxi1QFALeVhKAWNvj7h_A8otWQPBu405nxIoP-5hqPYtX_zsUcVq17OJocKaS-F9mEDCB-ZdvMNlXZ_r_xbttXX0XXrC__LpzWXt8-/s1600/Ong..Pengjiayu.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij0gWku7WVK0ND40_xn3BJWkz9NOh0itR6-2ceCxkxi1QFALeVhKAWNvj7h_A8otWQPBu405nxIoP-5hqPYtX_zsUcVq17OJocKaS-F9mEDCB-ZdvMNlXZ_r_xbttXX0XXrC__LpzWXt8-/s400/Ong..Pengjiayu.jpg" width="342" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Pengjia</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm2y8HuhRz4pdetHnsmCAqMC3n8jqMHmBS1ZZxvbguCB9rGdFxq3cyLvDlCE19oMl0aPgGusYDHBiM0v5nlfwVSaVzmEC6pMFz9fh332GhfncsseJjJFJHqYPs_p6fG0xmcyPunmnw2Q-G/s1600/Ong..Sandiaojiao.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm2y8HuhRz4pdetHnsmCAqMC3n8jqMHmBS1ZZxvbguCB9rGdFxq3cyLvDlCE19oMl0aPgGusYDHBiM0v5nlfwVSaVzmEC6pMFz9fh332GhfncsseJjJFJHqYPs_p6fG0xmcyPunmnw2Q-G/s400/Ong..Sandiaojiao.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Sandiaoji...Santiago</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqldm4uhZWvyn9its7owI1GOQbUDBeSKElG2TBeBra_fYh3G21mnQ305aFZGcw7PxNKauusgxZOBpZhzTKUc0ZvLGwY9tNCUAw2pYXI_IlQV9Hl-47yxiLblv2PqAsIhj57CZMkrwu0IPP/s1600/Ong..Tungting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqldm4uhZWvyn9its7owI1GOQbUDBeSKElG2TBeBra_fYh3G21mnQ305aFZGcw7PxNKauusgxZOBpZhzTKUc0ZvLGwY9tNCUAw2pYXI_IlQV9Hl-47yxiLblv2PqAsIhj57CZMkrwu0IPP/s400/Ong..Tungting.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Tungting</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiISEJQ49lPH2HDaY6Z1U9q3BSxwWeCBJEgkiS9BaZgegjplqB6UaAUq8MiOcOAnYudFgg8q3yuUpM0Wt9dgIaXte1Btd0niuLUzyvdUCpgnBzYEZNVojfAW63yp2gm3zz0l08LY3ggrJrw/s1600/Ong...Fugueijiao+Lighthouse.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiISEJQ49lPH2HDaY6Z1U9q3BSxwWeCBJEgkiS9BaZgegjplqB6UaAUq8MiOcOAnYudFgg8q3yuUpM0Wt9dgIaXte1Btd0niuLUzyvdUCpgnBzYEZNVojfAW63yp2gm3zz0l08LY3ggrJrw/s400/Ong...Fugueijiao+Lighthouse.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Fuguiejia</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Many Lights</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Most people think a lighthouse consists of one light set at the top of a tower. However, this is not always the case. A very small light-tower that guards a single rock or small area may have just one lamp, but the bigger, more strategically placed towers can have multiple lights. It all depends on the geography and shipping routes. The tower Huang manned at Sau-O, for instance, had 4 lights that beame</span>d <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">out at different places and times during the night. Also, one lighthouse often managed several nearby towers, such as the main tower in Keelung and its twelve smaller lights around the harbor. The keepers had to be alert one hundred percent of the time because even one inoperative lamp could spell disaster.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Fog was the enemy of both ship's captain and lighthouse keeper. Sometimes it became so thick as to be a complete whiteout and light from a lighthouse, no matter how powerful, was useless in thick fog. In Huang's time the use of a fog cannon became the tool to replace the light neutralized by fog and Huang learned to become a skilled operator. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In 1886 the Osaka Arsenal factory began manufacturing fog cannons and some time later they were placed in several lighthouses throughout Taiwan. When the keeper heard the whistle or horn of a ship approaching in a fog, he would quickly pack the cannon with powder and set off a shot. The ship would hear it and reply with another whistle or toot. This would be repeated until there was no further signals from the ship which indicated it had passed safely. It was not a perfect solution to the fog problem as the sounds from the cannon could sometimes be affected by atmospheric conditions, but it was certainly far better than the old shipboard method of tossing a line with a lead weight over the bow to ascertain the depth of the water under the ship; a slow and unreliable way to navigate in fog around potentially dangerous coastlines. Being a proficient fog-gunner was another of Huang's skills that earned him the title, King of Lighthouses.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Maintenance was also a big part of the lighthouse keeper's job description and it was constant and hard. Lighthouses were exposed to some of natures toughest challenges; pounding seas, salt, wind and sun, sometimes all in one day. The walls had to be kept washed and painted regularly and the glass and reflectors polished and shined daily. Not only that but the living quarters and surrounds were to be well kept and tidy. On top of all this, many keepers had multiple towers and lights to maintain. Life in a lighthouse was far from the romantic image portrayed in popular novels and childrens' school readers. It was a harsh, dangerous existence with poor working conditions. One of the more dangerous maintenance tasks was to climb onto the roof of the tower to clean the lightning rod that poked up into the sky. The rod had to be cleaned of salt and grime regularly to keep it in good order. At times the wind in some locations could blow fiercely for days and it was no fun being perched on a slippery lighthouse roof clinging to a lightning rod with nothing but sure death on the rocks far below. Some lighthouses were even set on the edge of clifftops. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Manning a light tower was a job that carried immense responsibilities for meager financial reward, particularly in the old times. One would suppose that for a person like Huang the only things that kept him going through it all were his dedication to the Lighthouse purpose; to save human lives. Also, it was the career he chose and he was committed; besides, it was not easy to switch jobs in those earlier days. China was at war with itself, poverty was rife, and even when the civil war ended and Taiwan became a nation of its own, the trouble and conflict with the communist mainland did not cease overnight but carried on as a form of cold war. It wasn't until around the sixties things actually started looking better for Huang and his colleagues. He also had his family to consider; it was the only way at that time to put food on the table.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Keeping a lighthouse often took a toll on the health of the keeper and his family. In fact, health was one of the keepers greatest concerns. Even though Huang believed that in the absence of medical facilities fresh air and sunshine were among the lighthouse worker's richest health resources, both of which were in good supply, he was aware that they were not always enough. Small injuries like cuts, scratches and bruises could, with basic care, heal quickly and were of minor concern, and it was things like influenza, malnutrition, broken bones and childbirth that held the potential for life-threatening infections and even death. Possibly because of this the subordinate lighthouse workers were not permitted to live around the lighthouses (although the government's reluctance to spend money on housing for them and its utter lack of concern for their health and safety shouldn't be dismissed) so their families had to live in the nearest place they could find. The workers were given four weeks annual leave to visit their families. Only the Lighthouse Executive (head keeper) had the privilege of living with his family in the basic living quarters near the lighthouse. In the 1950's these restrictions were relaxed and on isolated lighthouses provisions were made for all workers families to reside on-site.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">In 1996 a typhoon struck the island of Mudao where Huang was the Executive. The supply ship from Penghu, their main lifeline, was unable to make its routine delivery run. Unfortunately, the pregnant wife of one of the workers went into the early stages of labor and it became imperative she get to a hospital. The supply ship was her only hope. There were many fishing boats about but they too were sheltering from the storm and besides, they were a very superstitious lot and pregnant women on board were considered fatally bad luck. All requests for help from them were flatly rejected. The worker and his family were on their own.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">At the time, Huang Lung Ya (Huang's oldest daughter) was studying to be a nurse and Huang had, out of necessity, picked up some medical tips from her, among them the basics of childbirth. It therefore became incumbent on him to do what he could for his colleague's</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">wife. With the help of others he delivered her baby alive even though it was a month premature. But there was no professional medical help of any kind on the island let alone any life-saving equipment. The infant became severely jaundiced and died a week later.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">On another occasion he delivered a set of twins but both died ten days later of infections. It should be noted that Huang helped deliver the babies alive and it was not ineptitude on his part that they died, but rather, the poor living conditions and total lack of professional medical after-care in those isolated locations. He applied all the procedures he knew on delivery and hygiene and it was the harsh, primitive conditions that caused their deaths. He sadly lamented that it seemed every life born there relied on fate and the good grace of heaven for survival. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Because the purpose of lighthouses was to guide ships they were, by necessity, built in isolated and ofttimes dangerous marine locations, many on lonely islands. The island lighthouses were particularly cut off and accessible only by boat. Spring and summer brought fishing boats to exploit the rich waters of Penghu, but when they left in late autumn the only human contact the island lighthouse staff had was with the occasional supply ship that stopped by. After weeks or months of no contact with the outside world it was always a moment of great pleasure to talk with other human beings and catch up on any news from across the water; even an excuse for a feast. In some places the lighthouse workers raised a few sheep; hardy animals built to thrive where other beasts would struggle. When a load of fresh supplies landed on the island what better time to kill a sheep and celebrate with a grand dinner! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Food was always a major concern and Huang knew this well, having already experienced the frightening consequences of an empty larder. He learned to always first live off the most perishable items and save the tinned and dry-goods for later. More than once he found himself eating near rotten food rather than waste it. He and other workers also grew their own vegetables where possible (some locations were not suitable due to the terrain and saltiness of soil and air) and even raised animals. Fish, shellfish, seaweed and any other edibles the environment could provide also went into the wok. The advent of refrigeration was a great leap forward but the old principle of<i> eat the perishables first</i> still remained because even in a fridge things wouldn't last until the next ship arrived. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Lighthouse pay was low so the workers were a frugal breed and the poor pay meant a life of sacrifice. For example, they invariably left their families and worked through their terms by themselves, saving every penny to send home and living solely off the land and lighthouse supplies. Huang remembered one man who always took his trousers off whenever he went into the sea to collect seaweed or catch shrimp and shellfish. His philosophy being that when clothing was ripped or torn it cost money to repair or replace, but if the same thing happens to the skin nature repairs and replaces for free. Another very enterprising and self-sufficient gentleman with a big family at home brought only a few basic items with him each time he came back from leave. These were a few bottles of different sauces, a supply of oil and some sugar to flavor the lighthouse food and the food gathered from the sea. He then set about growing, gathering and collecting all his other nutritional requirements. Everything left over he would preserve by salting or drying and take it home for his family on the next furlough. Some even became gifts to friends as lighthouse specialties. When this man died many years later Huang couldn't help but reflect on how fruitful his sacrifices and hard work had become. His children had all grown up well and one son went on to own a famous restaurant chain. Huang imagined him smiling with pleasure from his grave.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The popular view of life in a lighthouse is often an unrealistically romantic one; a life of ocean vistas surrounded by wildlife and carefree days under a balmy sun with a storm or two thrown in to keep life interesting. In reality it was grueling work in a lonely, isolated place cut off for most of the year from family and other human contact. There were sunny days but when the storms came thundering in, a lighthouse could be a dangerous place if you got caught out. Repetition, boredom and monotony were also a part of the keeper's life. Huang said that more often than not it was about doing the same thing every day, looking at the same thing every day, and talking to the same person every day. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The working hours were always long. It was not an eight-hour day. During the day there were a million things to do to ensure the lighthouse was in perfect working order at all times: repairs, cleaning, checking and inspecting, maintenance, and looking after any subsidiary lights. From dusk onward someone had to keep watch all night so that the light was always burning; the earlier lamps being oil fired. By regulation every lighthouse had an annual clean-up where it was painted, thoroughly cleaned and inspected by the authorities. All this work was done by the lighthouse staff; there was no such thing as hiring outside contractors. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Larger lighthouses, like the one on Pengjia, could have up to five men working there and while these men were all colleagues living and working in close proximity, life was by no means communal. No individual was employed or assigned to be the cook, laundryman, cleaner and so on. Each knew his lighthouse duties and lived quite independently of the other. Of course, friendships were forged and sharing occurred, but each person had his own space and provided for himself in all things possible. Rather than live as some kind of communal family they were more like good neighbors. At least that's how Huang described this aspect of lighthouse living. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Whist the lighthouse life could be hard and rigorous, there were the occasional quiet times. When the sun was shining and the workload light, the workers could engage in some rest and recreation. Of course their were no shopping centers, restaurants, bars, movie theaters or parks to visit, so their entertainments consisted of more natural activities such as fishing, fossicking along the shore for shells and rocks, and perhaps a little swimming on a hot summer day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Lighthouses have a distinct shape which sets them apart from all other buildings. This is not by chance but by necessity; their function, the weather they are subjected to, and the geography around them having dictated their design. Most are, therefore, tall and cylindrical in shape, solidly made of brick, concrete or cast iron. Some are square or six-sided structures but all were built to withstand the extremes of wind and water; stout, strong and functional. These days in Taiwan many have become redundant as light towers but live on as popular tourist attractions. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Even after a hundred years most lighthouses in Taiwan are still as solid as the day they were built; standing monuments to the skills of their builders, their fort-like strength and people like Huang Ching Ying who worked in them. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><br /></b></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Huang Ching Ying retired July 1993 after forty seven years service. He worked in more lighthouses than any other in the profession in Taiwan. During his forty seven years as a keeper he experienced every aspect of lighthouse keeping; good to atrocious weather conditions, hardship and danger, starvation, health challenges, isolation and loneliness, long, hard hours of work, and long periods of separation from his family. Yet, despite all the demands of lighthouse keeping, he regrets nothing. He performed all his duties with dedication and loyalty even when he was overworked and underpaid. He suffered his fair share of disappointments when things did not go well for him, but he persevered and in the end came through a winner. He trained and mentored more lighthouse apprentices than anyone else in the business and when he finally retired aged sixty five they dubbed him, <i>King of Lighthouses. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">As he said in his retirement speech, the work of the lighthouse keeper is unseen and seldom acknowledged by those he serves, but it is a job with the responsibility of uncountable tonnes of shipping and thousands of human lives relying on him to faithfully and skilfully carry out his duty. It was this aspect of lighthouse keeping that gave Huang such pleasure in his profession. History can never measure how many ships and human lives were saved from a watery grave because of his forty seven years of keeping the lights beaming across the night sea.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">On February 27 1998, Huang Ching Ying took his precious Lighthouse Operator Identity Card issued by the Xiamen Customs Department way back in 1937, along with photographs and documents of his years as a keeper, and presented them to the Taiwan Maritime Museum. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Perhaps the last word should be something that shows his great love for lighthouses. He said, in reply to being called the Lighthouse King, "I'm just a lonely old lighthouse keeper who wishes that every keeper will look to their lighthouses as their child; love it, protect it, and give all the ships a safe passage home."</span><br />
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David Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01882172661296160645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4528543538469473341.post-66005417028743846642016-06-13T21:26:00.003-07:002016-09-15T14:04:01.428-07:00Ang Chay Ham<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Third Uncle</span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">by David Bell</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: red;">Ang Chay Ham; 1936 ~ 2016</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A much loved and respected member of the Ang family passed away on Monday at 4:39am, 25 April 2016, after a long illness. His name was Ang Chay Ham, also known to most of us as Samsuk, translated into English as Third Uncle (sam meaning third and suk being uncle). The Chinese have an interesting and effective method of identifying the positions of relatives. The title 'Suk' (pronounced sook) denotes an uncle on your father's side. Prefix it with the appropriate number and you have the order of birth. However, the eldest brother has the special title of Ah-baak meaning 'the eldest'. The simple charts below illustrate how it works.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Child ....... 1. My father, Ang Chay Pek </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">(Dad to his children but </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Ah-baak</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"> to others).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"> 2. My father's younger brother, or Yihsuk (second uncle)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"> 3. My father's next brother down, or Samsuk (third uncle).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"> 4 And so on depending on how many brothers are in the family.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The same system applies to the sisters on the father's side but with the title of <b>Gu</b> instead of <b>Suk</b>.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Child ....... 1. Daigu, the eldest sister in my father's family (dai is big, gu means aunt).</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"> 2. Yihgu, the next sister down (second aunt).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"> 4. And so on depending on how many sisters are in the family.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The same applies for family members on one's mother's side but with different titles: </span><b><span style="font-size: small;">Kau</span></b><span style="font-size: small;"> for the brothers and </span><b><span style="font-size: small;">Yi</span></b><span style="font-size: small;"> for the sisters with </span><b><span style="font-size: small;">Kau-fu</span></b><span style="font-size: small;"> as the oldest brother and </span><b><span style="font-size: small;">Dai-yi</span></b><span style="font-size: small;"> the elder sister. It should be noted that some personal variations pop up from time to time, like the many pet names we use for our grandparents and parents in western culture.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Variations aside, this method, once you are familiar with it, is excellent for immediate recognition of who you are referring to when discussing an uncle or aunt because you know exactly which side of the family he or she comes from and his or her position in the family. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Ang Chay Ham, therefore, is the third and youngest brother in a family of three boys and three girls. To my wife, Winnie Ming Ling Hung (or 'Ang' in the Fujian dialect because after the family moved from Fujian to Hong Kong in 1951, some used the Cantonese 'Hung' while others retained</span><b><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></b><span style="font-size: small;">'Ang') he is Samsuk, or Third Uncle.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b>Growing Up in China</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">He was born in Fujian Province, China, 19th December (by the Chinese lunar calendar) 1936 and grew up in the city of Xiamen. There is nothing to suggest that his early childhood was anything but normal for the times, in fact, the signs are that he lived more comfortably than most in China in those days. His father's business in the Philippines was prospering and provided enough wealth for the family to own a house, some property and a stash of gold, the favoured currency of the more affluent Chinese.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">The picture</span><span style="color: red; font-size: small;"> shows from left to right: Ang Chay Ham (about 12 years old), Ang Hui Lan, Ang Hui Ying, Go Lea Hua, Him Que, Ang Chiu Shui. Seated: Ang Hui Kim and Ang Ming Ling.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Xiamen was once commonly known as Amoy,</span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"> the European version of its historical Chinese name E-</span><span style="color: black; font-size: small;">mui</span><span style="color: black; font-size: small;">, meaning Mansion Gate, or more grandiosely, The Gate of the Grand Mansion.</span></span></span><span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">It is actually a large island looking across the Taiwan Strait on the south-eastern coast of China's Fujian Province. There are many other smaller islands surrounding it, Gulangyu being the largest and more populated of them. It is also the island the family lived on for many years. Gulangyu translates as, Drum Wave Island because of the drumming sound of the waves rolling onto its shores. Today, it is one of China's showpiece cities and a popular tourist venue with spectacular parks, hotels and a host of tourist attractions. in 2006 it was designated China's second best place to live and in 2011, its most romantic leisure city. It also boasts a feature that makes Gulangyu unique in China; combustion engines and their polluting smoke and exhaust fumes are banned. Consequently, electric cars and bicycles are the norm there.</span></span><span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="color: #20124d; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The climate is monsoonal and considered sub-tropical with average annual temperatures hovering around 27 degrees Celsius. Winters are short and dry with average temperatures of around 13 degrees Celsius. The days are generally sunny and humid all year round and the place is subject to typhoons in late summer.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Xiamen has always been a prosperous port city which made it attractive to both traders and plunderers alike. It has seen its fair share of boom and bust throughout its history. It was especially prone to attacks from Japanese pirates resulting in the necessity of building a significant fort there in 1387.</span></span><span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">t was also the scene of many periods of political unrest throughout its early years, the most significant being when the Manchurian Qing dynasty overthrew the incumbent Ming. Xiamen was one of the places most contended for.</span></span><span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="color: #20124d; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">It was also a city heavily involved in the opium wars where the Chinese confiscated the British stockpiles of opium and closed the port to further opium shipments. This infuriated the British and the infamous opium wars broke out. The British prevailed (winning the Battle of Amoy) and forced the Chinese to sign the notorious 1842 Treaty of Nanking. Xiamen was quickly taken over by the British and reopened to resume the lucrative drug trade.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The British control of Xiamen opened the city to a new invasion of British settlers and Christian missionaries. As a result Xiamen came under heavy European influence. The British settlers built European-styled mansions for themselves and introduced such English institutions as organized sports and European music, especially the piano. To this day the piano is a traditional part of the city. There are so many pianos in peoples' homes that it is referred to as China's piano town. It even boasts China's largest piano museum.</span></span><span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">European architecture is also evident to this day with the old colonial mansions and public buildings still standing, especially on Gulangyu, the settlers' preferred place of residence. Two such houses were purchased by the Ang family; one on Xiamen and the other on Gulangyu. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Ang Chay Ham spent his childhood in the Gulangyu house.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP9Lj6Z1yC6HCi63wOcqsqXWQenlAd-tMI0mrzxc9mv2F8PxQfvpToiLB_lJsQCYY56Al03iAyvbumRfBIGv0Yr2xdTE-DiwFjqlmC2KqXtJHmL44qGq5pRIXIYlu3RyODCGTJgUE9vwP1/s1600/XiamenFamilyHouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP9Lj6Z1yC6HCi63wOcqsqXWQenlAd-tMI0mrzxc9mv2F8PxQfvpToiLB_lJsQCYY56Al03iAyvbumRfBIGv0Yr2xdTE-DiwFjqlmC2KqXtJHmL44qGq5pRIXIYlu3RyODCGTJgUE9vwP1/s400/XiamenFamilyHouse.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The picture to the right shows the family house in Xiamen. The picture shows Ang Hui Ying (Dai-gu) and her husband, Ong Ching Ying, standing outside on one of their frequent visits to the homeland, a short trip across the Taiwan Strait. Ong was a </span><i><span style="font-size: small;">dang tahp</span></i><span style="font-size: small;">, a lighthouse keeper, in Taiwan.</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">During the 18th and 19th Centuries it was common for men to travel offshore to work, leaving their families for years at a time. I suppose the people of Xiamen, because of their history of European contact along with their business acumen as traders and merchants, had no fears of going abroad in search of better opportunities to improve the living standards of their families; China in those times being plagued by grinding poverty. Chay Ham's father went to the Philippines when he was a boy to work in an uncle's fabric shop.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Others, however, went all over South East Asia and beyond to countries such as Viet Nam, Philippines, Indonesia, Thailand, Taiwan, Malaysia, Singapore, to mention a few. Smaller groups even ended up in the Pacific Islands and other isolated places like New Guinea. With them they spread Hokkein (their language) and Fujian traditions to nearly every place in Asia and the Pacific. It is not surprising just how many overseas Chinese today trace their ancestry back to Xiamen. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The 1940's were bad years for Xiamen with the outbreak of World War Two and the resulting Japanese invasion and occupation. Ang Chay Ham was a young boy during those trying days and can still remember the horrors of the occupation. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The Japanese considered Chinese inferior Asians and treated them with disdain. The result was cruelty and atrocities. He said he still remembers hearing the continuous cries of people being tortured in the Japanese held police station not far from their house. Everyone lived in great fear of the Japanese and if you did not bow whenever a Japanese soldier or official passed by, you would at least be severely beaten or at worst shot on the spot. Women lived in fear of being raped and young men were routinely taken away to prison or executed on the grounds they might join the Chinese army. Chay Ham was too young to be a threat so he was ignored.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Left: Ang Chay Ham as he appeared early 1948 at about 12 years old. He would have been about four when the occupation began and seven when it ended.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Chay Ham remembered the great relief and happiness that swept through Xiamen when the Japanese were defeated and fled. No doubt all the Angs were likewise hugely relieved to have escaped ~ relatively unscathed ~ the four fearful years (1941 - 1945) under brutal Japanese rule. The Japanese actually invaded China in 1938 and occupied much of it. However, Amoy was still under British control and because, unlike Germany, Japan was not yet in conflict with the Western Allies, they kept their distance. That all ended with the Japanese raid on Pearl Harbour which resulted in an all out declaration of war giving them the excuse to forcibly add the city to their list of Chinese conquests.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The relief, however, was to be short-lived. No sooner had the Japanese gone the Communists and Nationalists ~ who had put aside their differences to fight the common foe ~ resumed the war they were waging before the second world war. This civil war for the control of China was to have even more devastating consequences for the family. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The Communists eventually won that bloody struggle and set about confiscating all private ownership of land and property. The Angs soon realized it was only a matter of time before they and their holdings in Xiamen would be targeted. Ang Chiu Shui, Chay Ham's father and family Patriarch, quickly set about laying plans for the family to escape the dark clouds of danger gathering over them, for it was known that the zealous communist cadres were going about beating and abusing land owners, landlords and anyone else they deemed anti-state.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">He was in Hong Kong when alarming news reached him; news that set the family's exodus from China in motion earlier than planned. His son, Ang Chay Ham was the catalyst that set things off. The following is what happened in Chay Ham's own words:</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"When
the communists took over many people were very happy, especially the poor. The
communists promised them land and a better life. The young people were the
easiest to brainwash. The communists told them that they could be part of a new
start for China, that together they would build a new and better world.
Everyone believed it. I was one of them. I was a high school student at the
time and the communist officials came to recruit young men into what they
called their military academy. They made fiery speeches about the good things
we could all accomplish if we were united for the common good. I signed up.
When we got home my sister rushed in and told my mother what I had done. My
mother quickly got word to my father in Hong Kong and he got very angry and
worried. He said, 'Don’t let him join the communists and don't let him go to
that academy. Before you know it he'll be sent to goodness-knows-where and like
so many others already we'll never see him again. The communists will brainwash
him and our other children and turn them against even their own family. You are
to all pack up immediately and come to Hong Kong. I'll organize it and pay for
it from here. You must be ready to leave as soon as I get word to you. Leave
everything behind and carry only what you need for a week on the road. Bring as
much of our gold as you can safely carry and hide the rest; it may be possible
to go back and get it later'. He was very stern about it and he was the head of
the family so we had no choice but to obey him. Also, we were getting reports
about rich people in other provinces being beaten up and publicly shamed by the
communists then having all their money and property taken away. We kind of knew
it was only a matter of time before it was our turn which made it easier to
obey Grandfather's orders. We made preparations straight away."</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ang Chiu Shui ~ whom I shall from here on refer to as Ah-yeh, the favoured family title ~ was the recognised family patriarch and his word being pretty much family law meant that the exodus began post-haste. Chay Ham was fourteen years old at the time.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><b>The Exodus to Hong Kong</b></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The
flight from Fujian began on a September afternoon, 1951. It was, ostensibly, a
holiday trip to Hong Kong; the new communist government had not yet totally
closed its borders and people with a certificate stating they were visiting relatives were still free to travel. Soon, when the communists
shut their doors to the outside world and kept their own people locked up in
China, such 'holiday tours' would be forbidden. Therefore, it was a case of
now-or never.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In
retrospect the family was very fortunate that Ah-yeh had such foresight.
It was also fortuitous that they responded to his charge to leave China without
hesitation. Had it not been so, their family history would have gone down a
completely different road and where that would have taken them is anyone's
guess. One thing, however, is sure; life in Hong Kong offered the kind of
liberty and opportunity that would soon be closed off in Fujian.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The
exodus started with a 10 minute sampan ride from the island of Xiamen (formerly
Amoy) to the mainland. There were no jetties or ferry terminals in those days,
the boatman simply chose the shortest route between the island and mainland and
went for it, the boat powered by a small single-cylinder outboard motor. They
spent one night at Xiamen waiting for others to arrive who were booked on the
same journey. In the morning they boarded a rickety old 'tour bus' with hard
wooden seats and a top speed of about twenty-five miles per hour. As Third
Uncle said, a bicycle was faster. The whole trip was prepaid with the bus fare
and basic accommodation and food stops along the way all included, like a
package tour.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The
family included Que Him (the Matriarch), her two daughters Ang Hui Lan and Ang
Hui Kim, her youngest son Ang Chay Ham, her grandchildren Ang Ming Ling, Ang
Yan San, and Ang Ming Lung. Two daughters-in-law, Tan Shuk Hui and our own Go
Lea Hua were also in the party. There were about twenty others on board all with the same goal; escape
to Hong Kong.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The old
bus bumped and ground its way over rough roads which at times were nothing more
than dusty tracks. The route took them along the coast to a small village
called Yuen Shiao where they gratefully disembarked to refresh themselves.
Being evening they dined on rice, fresh vegetables, roast duck and other foods
prepared by some local villagers glad to make a few dollars, the meal taken in
a small, basic, but adequate dining hall. They spent the night at Yuen Shiao
and continued their journey early the following morning.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was a
long, tortuous drive to a small village called Yun Zhio, then Zhao An and then
on to a bigger town called Shan Tou where they dined and rested for the night
before continuing to Hui Zhou, another small village.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">They
reached Hui Zhou late afternoon on the fourth day since leaving Xiamen. Hui
Zhou was a small, impoverished fishing village on a sluggish river that ambled
lazily into the sea. The river was set between them and the village. An unsafe
looking ferry was waiting to transport them across to the village. The ferry
was nothing more than an old motorized barge with a flat bottom. The passengers
were all ordered off the bus and the ferryman laid down two well-worn planks
from the stern of the ferry onto the greasy river bank. The driver then
proceeded to drive the bus onto the planks and onto the ferry, the planks just
wide enough to take the wheels. Once safely on board the bus was taken across
the river, which was not too wide, and offloaded. The ferry then returned for
the passengers.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Chay Ham's most vivid memory of Hui Zhou was the children; they all swam about in
the river unashamedly naked. Additionally, they were much darker in complexion
than he was accustomed to seeing; their skins toasted from running about naked
all day in the hot sun. He was fourteen at the time and the sight of naked boys
and girls running about so publicly startled him. He thought that the place
must be very primitive and poor.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Poor and
primitive as it appeared; Hui Zhou had one thing that impressed him, a
beautiful lake. Although his stay in Hui Zhou was but an evening and part of
the next day, he took every opportunity to visit the lake and take in the fresh
air coming off its clean, cool waters. At Hui Zhou the driver happily informed
them that they were nearing the end of their journey, much to everyone's
delight.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">They
spent the fifth night at Zhangmutau, a seaside village. From Zhangmutau it was
but a short drive to Shenzhen, the village right on the border.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">About
mid-morning on the sixth day the long awaited moment arrived; the bus was ready
to leave for Hong Kong. The passengers, with more than a little apprehension
mixed with a good dose of heady excitement, clambered aboard and took their
places on the crude wooden seats. Within half an hour they were at the border.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The bus
clattered to a stop at the gates and a big, ferocious looking man with dark
skin and a thick black beard stomped out of the guardhouse and marched up to
the bus, ordered the door opened and clumped up the steps to stand in the aisle
like a giant. He was dressed in a uniform and carried himself with an air of
stern authority. Others like him spilled out of the guardhouse and stood around
the bus appraising the occupants. The passengers had never seen such alien
looking people and were petrified.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Where
are you all from?" the man on the bus shouted menacingly in heavily
accented Cantonese. They were all so afraid of him they were speechless.
He repeated his question, more gruffly this time. "Where are you all
from and where are you going?"</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">More
silence.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">His
already huge black eyes grew even bigger as he began to grow impatient at the
lack of response, and still everyone sat in silence staring wide-eyed with fear
at the huge Indian border guard filling up the bus in front of them. As Third
Uncle explained, 'All of us small Chinese had never seen such people before and
they were so big and ferocious looking. We were very scared and couldn't say
anything.' </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was just before the guard opened his mouth for the third time a
woman cried out in perfect Cantonese, "We are all from Canton and we are
going to Hong Kong for a holiday and to visit relatives." She was a
middle-aged Cantonese woman who had married a man from Fujian and like the rest was leaving to escape living under communism.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The
Indian guard looked hard at her for a moment then said, "OK, you can
go!" and clambered off the bus and ordered the barriers lifted and waved
them through. After a period of stunned silence, and when they realized they
were safely on the other side of the border and away free, they let out a
collective cheer and hailed the Cantonese woman as the hero of the day.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was a
joyous moment when the old bus from the Mainland - battered, dented and covered
in dirt from its long trip across two provinces - rattled onto the streets of
Kowloon. While the bus was a curious sight chugging and smoking among the more
modern vehicles, it was not uncommon and brought only stares of curiosity from
people on the streets. These<i> holiday tours </i>had become a<i> </i>frequent
sight in the city and everyone knew that the holiday-makers on board were
planning a very long vacation indeed.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Hong Kong
was a technological world away from their former home; the streets seemed
crammed with traffic, new buildings were sprouting up everywhere and the whole
city seemed alive and vibrant. The energy of the place was not the energy of
revolution or political change, but the energy of people engaged in what the
Chinese do better than anyone in the world; trade and business.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The great
differences between this place and the war-torn and poverty stricken mainland
still reeling from the aftermath of two decades of war and caught up in the
turmoil of political change, was not lost on the young Ang Chay Ham and he felt
his communist leanings quickly leaking away as he stared, wide-eyed, at the
sights around him. The life and energy about the place was breath-taking. But,
despite all these wonders it was the double-decked buses that astounded his
young mind the most; he had never seen anything like it. 'Why don't they tip
over?' was all he could say.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The old
bus, overheated and coughing smoke, finally reached the end of the road; an old
depot of sorts where it had offloaded 'holiday makers' several times before.
The owner-driver, a Fujian native now resident in Hong Kong, was doing a roaring
trade. But he sensed from the changes taking place in China that his tour
business was doomed. He was, therefore, making-hay-while-the-sun-shined. After
dropping off his passengers he would rest for a day, do two or three days
shopping and load the carefully selected items onto his bus which he would sell
back in Xiamen for a good profit, meet with his contacts about another 'tour'
and then drive all the way back to repeat the journey. If he was lucky he
might pick up a few passengers heading back to Guangdong or Fujian. These he
considered 'lucky money' as the flow of people to the east was not as brisk.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ang Chiu
Shui, or Ah-yeh to his grandchildren, was waiting at the depot. Word had
already got to him of their safe arrival and he was visibly relieved to see
them all in good spirits. Old Ah-ma, keyed up with excitement and bossier than
ever before, barked orders to everyone around her, even the other passengers
who, seeing her bound feet and in respect to her age, submitted to her
commands. As a result her whole family got off the bus first. Others were also
at the depot to meet their families and the din of reunions was deafening. The
Ang family, nine in total, accounted for most of it as they shouted and laughed
with glee.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: small; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNi1mR0_Z7VxbEYI8So5GSy-UP-qp9ZONwd_MpN_jaq6s06Cs0O2IuilVTfH7OEeRFNWgv4Gl3egLfDHddGWonUKyyEJJauwwuU5LBG6rqhYXNqVKe322iFguKh5TdDCfbo9ckceqo25kW/s1600/BusRouteXiamenToHK.jpg"><span style="color: blue; font-size: 12pt; text-decoration: none;"><v:shapetype coordsize="21600,21600" filled="f" id="_x0000_t75" o:preferrelative="t" o:spt="75" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" stroked="f">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The
family lived for three months in a guesthouse above a shop owned by Ah-yeh's
brother. In December, 1951, Ah-yeh leased a large apartment on Kings Road in
Northpoint on Hong Kong Island for $HK300.00 per month. That apartment became
the family home from 1951 into the 1990's when it succumbed to progress and was
demolished. The Northpoint Mass Transit Railway (MTR) station now stands in its
place.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">Below are pictures of today's Kings Road, the location of the family home for over forty years, now an MTR station. These pictures were taken in 2013.</span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<br /><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: medium; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pZ-zAVb2Z6Q/UuWKIqNoE8I/AAAAAAAACXQ/jtgklZVqklEP1W_vAkHO4vGUdmj8ER7ZACKgB/s1600/IMG_1670.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pZ-zAVb2Z6Q/UuWKIqNoE8I/AAAAAAAACXQ/jtgklZVqklEP1W_vAkHO4vGUdmj8ER7ZACKgB/s400/IMG_1670.JPG" width="300" /></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"></span></div>
<div style="font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">The new
apartment had four good sized bedrooms, a kitchen, running water and toilet
facilities; all pretty basic but adequate to the family's needs. The space was
the main factor because it had to immediately house ten people and perhaps more
later on. When they moved in they had no furniture and only a few personal
belongings so the first task was to purchase some cheap beds and drawers and
other essentials like a table and chairs. Bit-by-bit it all came together and
the family settled in. Only then had they the time to start thinking about what
they had left behind in Xiamen.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: small; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The two
apartment blocks they owned on Xiamen and Gulangyu were substantial and
profitable buildings and they hoped that despite the communist threats that the
law would prevail and the ownership would remain in their hands. Before he left
Xiamen Ah-yeh had paid some relatives to oversee the buildings in their absence
and entrusted some of the family valuables, including small gold bars, to those
he had confidence in. And the family, before their exodus, hurriedly concealed
more gold bars and valuables under the floorboards and behind the walls. At a
more opportune time Ah-yeh would make arrangements to return and reclaim them.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There was
to be no opportune time, the communists were true to their policy of total state
ownership of all property and wealth. He lost the houses and all the
valuables and gold secreted in the walls and under the floors. The gold and valuables
he left with relatives also mysteriously vanished. </span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was true, everything in
China was lost. At least the business in the Philippines was still there and
most importantly his family was together and free. Surely, that was what really
counted and worth more than all the gold he had lost. Nevertheless, the Chinese
love of gold and valuable things is strong and the loss of so much was a bitter
pill to swallow. A bad taste has lingered in the family mouth that has never
completely gone away, even long after Ah-yeh and the other old folk had passed on.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">They did
manage to bring some of their gold from Xiamen; the old dowager stuffed her
bags with smaller items and tied a thick, pure gold cord around the waist under
the shirt of the young Chay Ham, thinking that if they were stopped along the
way by robbers or communist officials, they would be less likely to search a
young boy, focusing more on the adults. The cord was worth a small fortune and
Chay Ham was instructed to guard it with his life. Other valuables were
scattered about in the bags and on the persons of the other family members. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">At this point in the narrative I will change direction a little and talk of Third Uncle (Samsuk) on a more personal note. In other words, enough history and more about the person. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I am married to his niece, Winnie Ming Ling Hung and while I have known of Samsuk for many years, I have only had an association with him for the past three years from 2013 to his passing in May 2016. Short as that may be, it nevertheless seems to have been long enough to form a friendship and respect that is intimate and enduring. Somehow, and for some reason that I can't adequately explain, we just 'clicked'. The actual time we had in each other's company was rather minimal but somehow we became as brothers. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 16px;">He has gone now but I think of him often. I will miss his good nature and the talks we had on my recent visits to Hong Kong. It was through these talks I gained so much knowledge of his life in China and Hong Kong. I know I didn't get it all but I'm grateful for what I have and take much pleasure in recording it. I hope it will be of value to my whanau (extended family on all branches) now in in the future.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 16px;">There are many things I remember about my good friend, the main ones being his great intelligence, his immense generosity, his keen business mind, and the quiet love he had for his family.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 16px;">I first became aware of how smart he was in 2013 on a family visit to Hong Kong. In the beginning I spoke in rusty Cantonese and, sensing my struggle, he simply replied in English. I was mildly surprised thinking he knew a smattering of my language. However, mild surprise turned to amazement when it became apparent how fluent he actually was. He perfectly understood everything I said and could reply with a more than adequate English vocabulary. I immediately dropped Cantonese and thereafter we freely conversed in English. Later, I sat with him and interviewed him on his life story, all in English. He replied to every question effortlessly and I came away with enough information to write the portion of his life history as he gave it.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 16px;">He told me he began learning English as a young man from an Australian missionary who became his great friend. The missionary taught him English lessons and in return Samsuk was an enthusiastic and model student. He said, "The missionary wanted me be to believe in the church and I said I did, but actually I didn't, I only wanted to learn English. I really liked that missionary, though. He was my good friend." </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 16px;">While he learned a lot of English, he never did become a committed Christian. This is not to say he didn't have good values and principles. On the contrary, he was, I believe, a man of great honesty and integrity, the only exception being his lie about joining the missionary's church. He said he didn't want to offend his friend and end the relationship and the English lessons. He and the missionary continued their friendship until he finished his service and returned to Australia after which they frequently corresponded.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 16px;">I am left with the opinion that if life had dealt him a different hand, one where he could have gained a more formal education, he would have excelled. This I base on not only that he taught himself to speak very satisfactory English, but on everything else I have observed and learned about him in the few short years I have known him. He had a sharp brain, of this I am quite convinced.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 16px;">While I was never around to see it first hand, I have seen second hand his business acumen. He obviously had a good eye for business and knew how to broker a deal. He must have been fair and honest because he made a good living doing deals for people for a lot of years. It should be noted that making a living in Hong Kong is not for the fainthearted. It's a pretty cut-throat environment and one needs to have their wits about them. Connections and timing are also important in doing business in Hong Kong and Samsuk managed to master them both. He made some good money by brokering deals for clients buying and selling property. This would have required a sound knowledge of the property and market environments. He must have done well because by the end of his life he had accumulated enough wealth to leave his family comfortably situated to survive the rigors of Hong Kong living. There were other smaller business ventures throughout his life but the property one was the most profitable. </span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 16px;">Not a bad effort for someone with no formal education. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 16px;">As mentioned earlier, my first real connection with Samsuk happened in 2013 when Winnie and I took a two week vacation in Hong Kong. Since our retirement we have made an informal commitment to visit with Winnie's sister and relatives as often as possible; hopefully, at least once a year. We have, in these our twilight years, come to realize that God and family are the most important things in life; the only true absolutes. Lots of people have been dying around us in the past few years and it has become clear that when it's time to be called home nothing else matters but family and loved ones. All those things we toil and struggle our whole lives to obtain, be they wealth, social status, worldly honours, properties and so on, account for little as we approach the end of our days and suddenly understand that we can take none of this stuff with us. We come to understand what we knew all along, that it is faith, family and our own characters that endure forever. This is why Winnie and I have determined to spend this season of our lives doing as much as we can building love and unity in our family. We don't want to 'miss-the-bus' and leave here with regrets. Visiting Hong Kong is an integral part of this understanding and the reason for our determination to connect with Winnie's Third Uncle and his family. In doing so I have won a great prize; I have gained an eternal friend and brother and added another branch of loved ones to my family tree. We had some good times in the few short occasions we were together, the most memorable being the 'king crab saga'. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">On one of our visits he strongly insisted he take me to the fishing town of Sai Kong to eat his all-time favourite; Alaskan king crab. I was quite agreeable to this but when we all arrived at Sai Kong and found out how extraordinarily expensive these crabs were, we (meaning Winnie and I) balked at the idea; we just felt too guilty about the cost. Winnie and her sister managed to convince me to inform him that I would be more than happy with a smaller crab and he reluctantly agreed. The meal we had - minus the king crab - was magnificent, but he was far from happy. He must have stewed on it for a long time because when we returned the following year he was adamant that this time nothing would prevent him treating me to a king crab at Sai Kong. He said, "This time we won't listen to those two girls!" That king crab I'm holding, I must admit, was by far the best crab meat I've ever eaten. More importantly, I was happy to see how content and pleased he appeared. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH7k3Eo-h0l9PGMcQIVIY6uoSybPluylKugHB5aWOez7qty6_wwffk-0zhygr5QX5dcKeAaxmh7-T7s07JJL2rA9tPyXmBYnanT4e3N5kBlujFP7l3D_l3jPztBGk2c0ozbIFhewssOwEi/s1600/HK+2014+%25286%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; font-size: small; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH7k3Eo-h0l9PGMcQIVIY6uoSybPluylKugHB5aWOez7qty6_wwffk-0zhygr5QX5dcKeAaxmh7-T7s07JJL2rA9tPyXmBYnanT4e3N5kBlujFP7l3D_l3jPztBGk2c0ozbIFhewssOwEi/s400/HK+2014+%25286%2529.JPG" width="392" /></a><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Samsuk always took great pleasure in dining out with guests. He had several favourite eating establishments and I was the happy recipient of his extraordinary generosity on several occasions. </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I truly love visiting what little remains of Winnie's family in Hong Kong - most having moved abroad or passed on - but it invariably puts kilograms on my waistline. Eating out seems to be Hong Kong's national sport because just about every second shop on any street is a food outlet of some kind and</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">restaurants are always crowded with diners no matter what time of day. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Samsuk opened his wallet for some memorable dinners in the few short years I knew him.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My great friend and brother died in the early hours on Monday, 25 April 2016, in St. Paul's Hospital, Hong Kong. He had been battling cancer for many years, teetering on the brink of death more than once before miraculously pulling out and making some remarkable recoveries, his doctors referring to him as the miracle man. He was a tremendous fighter, but it couldn't last forever.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Winnie and I had hoped to be there before he passed but with these things it's very difficult to time it right. So it was with us; he died before we could get there - it's a long way from New Zealand to Hong Kong. As it happened it was as well we didn't get there earlier because dying is not a straight forward affair in Hong Kong. It can take up to a month before the family can hold their funeral services. So many die each day, you have to wait until a slot at the crematorium is available. Cremation is preferred over burial simply because a plot at a cemetery could cost more than we would pay for a basic three bedroom home in New Zealand. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 16px;">A Hong Kong funeral, I discovered, has a few differences from those I'm more familiar with, the first being the lengthy time lag between the person's passing and the cremation - you can only have the services when the cremation date is fixed. Additionally, the funeral parlour is quite different than in New Zealand. The one we used in Hong Kong was, ironically, the very same that Samsuk's grandfather, Ang Chiu Shui, had his funeral in February, 1967, this being the Hong Kong Funeral Home on Kings Road.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img height="300" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/c/c3/HK_NP_Hong_Kong_Funeral_Home_front_door.JPG" width="400" /></span><span style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 16px;">It has about six floors; the lobby with a couple of big rooms for extra large funerals, three floors housing multiple smaller funeral rooms, one upper floor of offices and the whole top level stacked with empty coffins for sale. The other big difference is in the nature of the funerals themselves. With Hong Kong being such a cosmopolitan place, it's not unusual to see secular, Christian, Buddhist, or any other services being held in their respective rooms simultaneously; especially in the weekends when the whole building can be a great bustle of funerals all happening at once.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">The forecast for the day was for rain but it was wrong; it turned out to be pleasant and sunny. The memorial service was scheduled for 7pm Saturday 14 May. The family expected about 30 people but as the time drew nearer the room began to fill up and more chairs had to be added. At the start the attendance was more like eighty. The following pictures will give a good overview of Samsuk's memorial.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The picture to the right is a hallway view of the third floor where Samsuk's memorial service was held. Notice how several rooms open out into the hallway. Each room holds up to 80 or so people or a few more in a pinch. A reception desk is set up outside the room where programs can be distributed, people welcomed, and 'lucky money' in red envelopes given to the guests. It is also usual for other funerals to be going on in the neighbouring rooms which can be a bit noisy - a Buddhist funeral includes a lot of loud chanting, drum beating, flute blowing and movement. Fortunately, each room has doors thick enough to block the extraneous sounds and allow privacy. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 16px;">To the left is the view from the entrance into the room. Behind the podium is a small sealed stateroom with a large window through which the bereaved can view their loved one. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 16px;">When we looked at the room the day before it seemed worryingly spare and cold but once the podium, screen, flowers and chairs were in place it was much more presentable.</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">The flower arrangements were spectacular and very fragrant with green and white the dominant colours. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsjw5J7lsZm86cVqT-aZ18r7xahLrZENj95iuHk_0DUCkWuTQXaRC87KVfZ3Kzw-A7wGUeOFQKrzGv6dJKviJ4c3bD2SWK6EvjvmB8oivoBm2mntX02JavOO_aHZqtvM0xWQWBUhNnenDW/s1600/IMG_0611.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsjw5J7lsZm86cVqT-aZ18r7xahLrZENj95iuHk_0DUCkWuTQXaRC87KVfZ3Kzw-A7wGUeOFQKrzGv6dJKviJ4c3bD2SWK6EvjvmB8oivoBm2mntX02JavOO_aHZqtvM0xWQWBUhNnenDW/s400/IMG_0611.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I was asked to give the eulogy so the picture to the left shows me rehearsing my speech. I determined to do it in Cantonese in respect to my old friend, his family and the funeral guests. It took a lot of preparation; I wrote it in English, Winnie and Lina helped to translate it into good Cantonese (my own Cantonese being rather rusty after over forty years of minimal use), and then I rewrote it into 'pingyin' or romanisation - Cantonese in English lettering for want of a simple description.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUKqUlV9IKRuGV4HyYB4kZSaUoZAv6nuqaYFcJxPaaR3SUX3ObL4MR_vLGzvAfU3GYAP7A-4kn_hXbsSAvffpyZemLIkl6kpin4E5YVi2FJuTt4viF9w3jR4CcvSmctCxNRFXIwu6Gduq6/s1600/IMG_0627.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUKqUlV9IKRuGV4HyYB4kZSaUoZAv6nuqaYFcJxPaaR3SUX3ObL4MR_vLGzvAfU3GYAP7A-4kn_hXbsSAvffpyZemLIkl6kpin4E5YVi2FJuTt4viF9w3jR4CcvSmctCxNRFXIwu6Gduq6/s400/IMG_0627.JPG" width="400" /></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I was fortunate on two counts: firstly, two years earlier I sat with Samsuk and recorded some of his life story from his own mouth so I had the material and secondly, whilst I lacked the extensive vocabulary needed for such a speech, I nevertheless had a good knowledge of the language. This meant that once Winnie and Lina gave me the words, I soon learned them and fully understood everything I needed to say. However, I still had to rehearse that speech until I practically knew it back to front and inside out. Consequently, by all appearances I did the job satisfactorily and I like to think it pleased my old friend. It was just short of thirty minutes long. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The eulogy was followed by a truly heartfelt and tearful reading by Cynthia, Samsuk's and Samsum's only child. She wrote a letter to her dad and read it to him over the podium. Earlier, she had written a private daughter's letter to him and sealed it in his coffin. The contents of that letter are known only to Cynthia and one might assume, her beloved father.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Cynthia's partner, Lawrence, took the responsibility of Master of Ceremonies and did an exceptional job by keeping the service flowing and smooth. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was a beautiful memorial service, the result of the efforts of several people and a fitting sendoff for someone who has been a big part of many peoples' lives. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinfyicRYejFXZ0duNz8lXU3-MxbBv7X1C4ZV1pYVRbBsoiCFasCualOKjny2BwSZKs3yFNCdjWz8Ql9SP7iDnOLTtYFHP8Lv15rtKVvQXyGF9CCMczTZiHBn_Yu0lHuvWPRNr4Naqc3iJQ/s1600/IMG_0633.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinfyicRYejFXZ0duNz8lXU3-MxbBv7X1C4ZV1pYVRbBsoiCFasCualOKjny2BwSZKs3yFNCdjWz8Ql9SP7iDnOLTtYFHP8Lv15rtKVvQXyGF9CCMczTZiHBn_Yu0lHuvWPRNr4Naqc3iJQ/s400/IMG_0633.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: red;">Right: The memorial service was held on Saturday, 14 May, 2016 and the funeral and cremation on Sunday 15 May.</span> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">This picture shows people waiting for the coffin to be wheeled from the viewing room where it had been formally sealed. Once out, everyone stood and under the direction of an official from the funeral home, bowed three times in unison to farewell the deceased and three times to the family and then the pallbearers came forward and wheeled the coffin along the aisle and to the elevator where it was transported to the hearse outside the </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">funeral home. From there we all bused to the big crematorium.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2fqiyGAxbWl4DXuqtzuy6_NcOS2E_2AJahiajG08TMrA9sxAgZHocsWIHgRe_v_IaMR9yYmsoKVS3OchhpXv0g1yUsi9HHWufjXbCo-xoGKSUrzoLYDgbEUrtMA8727JF7Jja2NKANRH2/s1600/IMG_0672.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2fqiyGAxbWl4DXuqtzuy6_NcOS2E_2AJahiajG08TMrA9sxAgZHocsWIHgRe_v_IaMR9yYmsoKVS3OchhpXv0g1yUsi9HHWufjXbCo-xoGKSUrzoLYDgbEUrtMA8727JF7Jja2NKANRH2/s400/IMG_0672.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVlNOYMuhlsDGofLzAuZNkgk5E7_B8zzsZfzqlriiv45o7eHankBuoBNoUNZJ0_hfX7Qd_AhPuOowCBSuyBR_8__SAAoS13E-rR5J81IFbSJSlAQRuVlP4aBJygjtVGGDwCd7oHoUbOCud/s1600/IMG_0676.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVlNOYMuhlsDGofLzAuZNkgk5E7_B8zzsZfzqlriiv45o7eHankBuoBNoUNZJ0_hfX7Qd_AhPuOowCBSuyBR_8__SAAoS13E-rR5J81IFbSJSlAQRuVlP4aBJygjtVGGDwCd7oHoUbOCud/s400/IMG_0676.JPG" width="400" /></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">From the funeral home everyone proceeded to the crematorium, a large building up in the hills among the trees. It took quite a while to reach it in the buses hired by the family to transport us there. Upon arrival we all filed into the building where the coffin was waiting on a table in front of a small curtained opening. When all those present had assembled the attendants led a short ceremony, and, as is </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">customary, a family member was invited to press the button to start the conveyor belt to take Samsuk on the final part of his earthly journey. This was particularly hard on Samsum who later remarked how hard it was to see her husband reduced to an urn of ashes. After the crematorium we all went to a restaurant for the luncheon.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW7Afi2rKWZTLPl9CTT90QJb1EUVIbXJpLM_NLkuEv8MbLZkEYLtJjKhcOaKq9hpTtebxGJr3_NqlwCGdSYVGSsXnyC6URoVBemfSmZQCK97Qs8sWFbBdaBeedeOAK1HMlgb0XaPXK_uL7/s1600/IMG_0683.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW7Afi2rKWZTLPl9CTT90QJb1EUVIbXJpLM_NLkuEv8MbLZkEYLtJjKhcOaKq9hpTtebxGJr3_NqlwCGdSYVGSsXnyC6URoVBemfSmZQCK97Qs8sWFbBdaBeedeOAK1HMlgb0XaPXK_uL7/s400/IMG_0683.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Left: Cynthia leading the procession from the funeral room on the third floor to the hearse outside the Hong Kong Funeral Home. </span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9lcC0LhYzkJaHeXnIyNas5t1iAoLWoJ5qzjNwG3EhPOGhOsm86Ab4EpMYfhwxFiBrsLwaDyIwEg15rs0qR19Ub08tFn8CR9esTP90IHAJL3c0SaznIIN1GKVPXMZLHp9qDigareBGdipO/s1600/IMG_0691.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9lcC0LhYzkJaHeXnIyNas5t1iAoLWoJ5qzjNwG3EhPOGhOsm86Ab4EpMYfhwxFiBrsLwaDyIwEg15rs0qR19Ub08tFn8CR9esTP90IHAJL3c0SaznIIN1GKVPXMZLHp9qDigareBGdipO/s400/IMG_0691.JPG" width="400" /></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Right: Ang Chay Ham's coffin makes its final journey.</span></div>
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<b style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">His Ashes go to Kai Ming Ji</b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: small;">Other Material</span></b></span><br />
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1. The eulogy</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">2. Cynthia's reading</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">3. The life of Hung Joi Ham: video presentation</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">4. And This is Dying: video clip</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>The Eulogy: </b>by David Bell</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Welcome everyone to Ang ChayHam's memorial service. We are here today to remember and farewell Hung Joi Ham. He is the husband of Lei Sau Gam, father of Cynthia, and a brother to us all.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He is also many other things to those here today: jeifu, samsuk, samsukgunggung, Yijeung, Yijeunggunggung, kaufu, kaufugunggung, Gujeung, Saibaak, and friend. He is indeed our man of many titles.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My name is David Bell - Jung Dai Wai in Cantonese. I am from New Zealand not India (many people in Hong Kong think I look Indian). My wife is Winnie Ming Ling Hung, Ang Chay Ham's niece so I also call him Third Uncle.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I feel very grateful to his wife and daughter for giving me this opportunity to talk today about Third Uncle.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Now, I very much enjoy listening to stories - especially family history stories - and I have always believed that everyone has a great story to tell no matter how long or short their lives. Life is like a novel, every day a new word, every week a new page and every month a new chapter. Our lives are like novels being written and end only when we pass on. Today I want to share Third Uncle's story with you all. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Two years ago when I was in Hong Kong I asked Third Uncle if I might talk with him about his life. He was very agreeable so I took the role of a reporter and interviewed him using my cell phone to record his words. Today I share these words with you all.</span></span></div>
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Third Uncle said he was the youngest in his family. Above him were two brothers and three sisters. He said he seldom saw his father - known to the family as Ah-yeh - because he was always in the Philippines working. He said that to this day he so admires his father's tenacity and determination to support his family. With nothing but his bare hands and years of long hours and hard work he brought financial security and prosperity to our family so that by the time he came along the family situation was very good. In fact, they owned a large house in Amoy city and another on Gulangyu Island, all due to Ah-yeh's 'hakfu loihlou ge singgwo' - long years of hard work.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">When Third Uncle was a young lad, a new person joined the family. It was Ng Lai Wah (Go Lea Wah) my mother-in-law and Third Uncle's daisou (sister-in-law). He said his new sister-in-law really loved him and he remembers to this day three special occasions.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Firstly, when the Japanese occupied China he remembers clearly these troubled times. There was often nothing to eat because the Japanese took everything for their soldiers. Also, if you didn't immediately bow when any Japanese approached you would be beaten or shot. The Japanese were very cruel and night and day you could hear the pitiful cries of people they had captured being tortured in the police station they had commandeered not far from the house. He especially remembered the several times when his daisou threw him onto her back and ran with him to safety when she saw trouble brewing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">His second memory was when, as a boy, he suffered an outbreak of boils on his scalp. Medicines or drugs for such things was non-existent so his daisou took him to the beach each day and washed his head in the sea hoping the salt water would cure the boils. It worked and his head soon cleared up.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The third occasion was when he was about eight years old. One day he went out onto the river near their house in a small rowboat. While he was paddling about a big fish leaped from the water right into the boat. He was so surprised, he wasn't even fishing and one jumped into the boat. He was so excited he quickly rowed to shore and rushed home to show off his prize. Only daisou was at home, everyone else had gone out for the day. His sister-in-law immediately killed the fish and cooked it with a big bowl of noodles. She told him to hurry and eat it all because he was a clever boy to catch such a big fish. He said he now believes she quickly cooked it for him because if she waited until everyone else came back he wouldn't get much of his fish to eat. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">After eight years of war the Japanese finally surrendered. Everyone was overjoyed, especially when the Japanese left China. They all thought there would be peace at last. But it wasn't long before an even greater struggle began; the communists and nationalists resumed the civil war they were fighting before the Japanese occupation. At that time Ah-yeh told the family to prepare to move to Hong Kong. But it was something Samsuk did that hastened those preparations and caused the family to leave sooner than planned. The following is how he told it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">"When the communists were victorious everyone was very happy, especially the poor. The communists proclaimed, "Yatchai gungchaan, yahnyahn pingdahng!" which translates to, "Together as one, peace for all!" We all believed we would now enjoy a good life. The young were the easiest for the communists to brainwash and I was one of them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">One day some communists came to my school to recruit the young people into the communist academy. I immediately signed up. It was this incident that caused my family to bring forward our plans to leave for Hong Kong. By the time I got home from school my two older sisters had told my mother what I had done. She immediately got word to my father who was in Hong Kong at that time. He was very angry and worried and told my mother to prevent me from joining that academy because I would become like so many other youth who are brainwashed to go against their families and leave home never to be seen again. Because of these fears, Ah-yeh told mother to store up their possessions and leave immediately.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The first thing was to get a travel permit to leave China then we were to take only what was necessary for a week of travel. I remember that we hid much of our gold in the walls and floors of our house before we left. We took only small things like jewelry and everyone was responsible for a few valuables. I was given a valuable gold chain wrapped in a cloth belt to tie around my waist. My mother told me to guard it well because sometimes there were robbers on the road. This made me very scared all the way to Hong Kong. But we got there safely and when we finally arrived in Hong Kong Ah-yeh rented a big house in Northpoint where our whole family lived for many years."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Samsuk's nieces and nephews all say that he was an excellent uncle. Every weekend he took his nephews to White Sand Bay or Sai Kong to swim, boat and fish. On each of these outings he would buy some special bread for them to eat. Also, at the end of the day they would stop at a noodle stall and he would buy them a big bowl each. He said it was fun to see those hungry boys wolf down the bread and noodles after a long day at the beach.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">He also loved to find ways to help his nieces and nephews earn a little pocket money. He would pay them a few cents to either putsin (fan) him on a hot day, dahpgwat (thump his bones) or ngau buijek; scratch his back with a backscratcher. Another novel way was to take all the loose change he had accumulated over the week and gather the kids together then throw it all over his back for them to scramble for. A few pennies here now and again could buy a few nice treats in those days.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I would now like to tell you of some of Samsuk's life achievements.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">When he was a young man he spent a few years working in New Guinea. He liked the life there, particularly trading with the locals. After New Guinea he returned to Hong Kong and embarked on a lifetime of interesting and varied business ventures.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I was impressed and astonished at how intelligent he was. When I interviewed him we did the whole thing in English. He fully understood everything I asked and replies fluently. This reminds me of something else. When he was in hospital the doctors often spoke to Lina in English when discussing his condition. The nurses would whisper to the doctors that he can understand everything they are saying. Looking across to his bed they would find him smiling back at them. They didn't think an old Chinese man like him would know English so well.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">And another important thing; not only was he clever but (pointing to his picture on the screen behind) he was also extremely handsome. It's no wonder Samsum quickly snagged him before any other girls could get the chance! But just look at Samsum (pointing to the screen behind showing Samsum as a pretty young woman) and how incredibly beautiful she is. It was definitely love at first sight for both of them. They married in 1967, forty nine years ago. What a pity he couldn't have held on for just one more year to make it fifty, their golden wedding anniversary. But he tried really hard.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">They had a very long and happy marriage but he did tell me that Samsum could be very Ngok (bossy, grumpy). i had to tell him not to feel so bad. He should see Ling (my wife) and Lina, her sister. They are really Ngok!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Actually, Samsum treasures him and has always worried and cared for him, and even though her own health was not good, she caught the bus every day to care for him at the hospital. Even those times when she was exhausted she still cooked different things for him to eat at the hospital to cheer him up.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The most precious and treasured moment in Samsuk's life was the birth of his daughter, Cynthia Sing Pa (Bright Star) Ang. This (pointing to the screen showing a picture of Cynthia as a chubby, funny looking child of about five) is his little treasure and I must tell you it's the face that only a father can love! But love her he did. Samsum said that every time she went to him in the hospital his first words were always, "Ah-pik ne? Ah-pik ne?" or, "Where's Cynthia? Where's Cynthia?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I first met Samsuk many years ago but it was only the past three years I got to see him more often and form a great friendship with him. In fact he is like an older brother to me. And I know he is also fond of me because he likes to be with me and invite me to eat. Actually, I'm like a puppy; give me food and I'm instantly your friend. Samsum said that when he couldn't get up he always said, "If only Jung Dai Wai was here he could easily lift me up." I truly regret that we live so far away because when I finally got here it was too late to 'lift him up'.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Two years ago when we visited Hong Kong he was determined I we all go to Sai Kong to eat his favourite dish, Alaskan king crab. I had never eaten this kind of crab because in New Zealand we cant get them, but I knew it was the best crab in the world. When we went to Sai Kong and found out how expensive it was we became concerned about spending so much of his money on a crab. Winnie and Lina tried to talk him out of it and then made me tell him I didn't like big crabs, I preferred small ones. Actually it was a big lie, I really wanted to eat it. In the end we never ate king crab and settled for a smaller, cheaper one to go with all the other food. Samsuk was not happy with the outcome and stewed on it for a whole year.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">After I returned to New Zealand and phoned him he always mentioned the king crab and said next time we will definitely have one, adding, "And this time we won't listen to those two girls!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">We returned a year later and this time we ate our king crab. It was every bit as delicious as he said it would be. He had spent a lot of money but we could see he was extremely pleased. I was also pleased because a little while before he said to me, "This time we must go because it's likely to be our last opportunity."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I will forever remember Samsuk. I will never forget his love for his family and how he fought so hard to stay with them as long as he could. He 'gwai mun gwaan janjahtjo gamdo chi'...struggled at the very gates of death so many times and came back because he was so reluctant to leave Samsum and Cynthia.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">We all know Samsuk was a kind, generous, hospitable and sharp individual. But in he was also very fortunate to be surrounded by good people who blessed his life. If I were to ask him who to thank I think he would say:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">1. My business partners Isaac and Miss Choi (I acknowledge Miss Choi in the audience. Isaac was in Canada) for all their help and kindness.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">2. My wife, Sau Gam, and my daughter, Cynthia. Thank you both for your unwavering love, support and care over the past few years.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">3. My niece, Lina Li for always being at my bedside and devotedly caring for me. Samsum said, 'if not for Lina I don't know how we would have managed'.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">4. My puiyeh (night nurse) Choi Guleung. I was very blessed to have you accompany me through my final hours. You helped me to peacefully and quietly leave this world.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">5. Lastly, to my little angel Christine, our housemaid. You were my twenty-four-seven private nurse. I truly thank you. (At this point I conclude by speaking to Christine in English)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">To Christine: All through Sir's illness you were constantly by his side. You went above and beyond your duty as his employee. You became his constant companion and nurse. Your devotion and kindness will be forever remembered. We all thank you. Maraming salamat. No wonder Sir called you his little angel.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">One week before Samsuk went he asked Choi Guleung, "After I'm gone will I see my family again?" She replied, "Yes, you will."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I also believe that life and family are eternal and no matter if you believe or not, or worship in this church or that church, one day we will all be together again as a family.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">In conclusion I wish to speak English and say a few personal words to Samsuk.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I miss you, Samsuk. I am both sad and happy. I am sad because you are gone and I won't see you for a long time. But I am happy because I know you still live in spirit and one day I will meet with you again and perhaps we can have two king crabs, one each.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Yes, we should be sad you at losing you but we can be sure it's not forever. You are now with generations of loved ones and you are happy and well. It is us who are grieving. But when our sadness passes, we will celebrate and be happy that we were blessed with your company for eighty years. You have gone away for a little while, but you will still live on in our hearts and minds until we meet again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I ask Heavenly Father to bless and love you and keep you by His side. I ask Heavenly Father to comfort and bless Samsum, Cynthia and all your family. we will always remember how good you were to all of us, Ang Chay Ham.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Dojeh Gwokwai, Dojeh...Thank you everyone, thank you.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b>A Letter to my Dad: </b>read by Cynthia</span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">给爸爸的情書</span>- <span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">世上最爱我的人的情書</span></b><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">星珀這名子很特别</span>, <span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">這是爸爸精雕细琢想出来给我的美麗名字</span>,
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">見証着爸爸您</span>~ <span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">為我開啟了既特别又充滿了愛的人生。</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">在爸爸心中,我的誕生比天上摘星更加不易,所以您待我如珠如寶,在你像掌上明珠般的细心呵護下,我得以健康快樂地成長。</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">不論遇到什麼困難,你都會化身超人,想盡辦法為我解决。不論遇到什麼難题,您就像是百科全書</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">還記得有一次你把我抱起放在你膊頭上,嗰次第一次有被抬得高高的感覺,你可知道倚在你的膊頭上,我真的變得無比強壯,心情非常興奮,亦是第一次感受到男人可給予的保護及浪漫感覺。</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">還記得小時候每年的中秋節,你最愛帶我到天台上賞月,還會買中秋燈籠給我,所以除聖誕節外,每天我都好期待中秋佳節可與爸爸拍施賞月。</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">還記得當我小學二年班時,有一次被同學偷了顏色筆,怕被媽媽發現,我偷偷地告訴了你,你不但沒有責罵我,還帶我去大丸百貨買盒全新的顏色筆好讓我成功地避過被媽媽鬧的一大難關。那一刻你真是我的英雄。</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">在我面對人生第一個大考試</span> - <span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">會考期間,你不但沒有給我壓力,還時常叫我放鬆心情,盡力就可以。但因為我給自己太大壓力,以至造成情绪問題,當時你不知怎樣開解我。</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">前兩年,我在收拾東西時發現社工回覆你的信,信中提到她很欣賞你對女兒的付出和愛</span>…<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">。這才了解當時你有多麼擔心,所以後來找了香港家庭福利會的</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">社工幫忙</span>… <span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">但你一直沒有告訴我這事。</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">爸爸,我相信您還幫我做了很多我不知道的事。但我始終知道,您一直毫無保留的守候著我。</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">當我決定要出國讀書時,你為我準備及打點好一切,到離境那一刻,你還是萬個不願放手及擔心,恨不得與我一起上機,最後都是依依不捨度別了。</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">當我面對人生第一個打擊</span> - <span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">失戀,你心裡清楚知道作為爸爸沒有什麼可以幫到我,你就想盡辨法,還打電話比我一位朋友,拜託她好好開解及照顧我,此事是之後朋友</span>
Man <span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">告訴我的。因為怕我睹物思人,你竟然傾心傾力,傾家盪產換了間新屋,為的是要我可以有個新環境,重新振作。</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">還記得有一年生日,你送了一個音樂盒給我,當時我真的很開心,從那年開始你每年都親自買一張生日咭,然後寫上祝福字句,每張咭我到珍而重之收起來,見字如聽到你的聲音。</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">在我人生所有重要時刻你都與我一起面對,不論你是否可以幫到我,你也會傾出你的所有,做你可以做的。爸爸,我知道,世界上最愛我的男人一定是你!您在我心裡永遠是最高大堅強,您在我心中永遠會以包容,可靠,慈愛,忍耐的態度去面對身邊的人和事。</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">您辛勞了一輩子,現在好好安睡返到天國,那裡沒有憂愁,沒有痛苦,只有平安和喜樂。</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">除了要多謝爸爸,還要多謝一位比自己家姐還要親的人,瓏姐,多謝您對爸爸的付出,這幾年來每逢星期六,你都化身為肥天使,陪爸爸聽歌解悶,帶歡樂及正面信息給爸爸,每次爸爸要覆診,你比我更緊張,還會準備一些問題問到</span>D<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">醫生䕶士口啞啞;這一切都是出自您對爸爸的愛,爸爸常說我脾氣不好要好好向你學習!瓏姐多謝您。</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">最後還要多謝與我們共同生活</span>48<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">年的母親大人,媽媽你亦辛苦了好多年,自己身體不太好,但仍盡心盡力照顧爸爸和我。煮最好的餸給我們,爸爸口味轉了,您仍然想盡辨法創意無限!最愛看您和爸爸鬥咀,當你們鬥咀時兩伙子真是充滿活力。</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">爸爸您放心,您給予我的愛永遠充滿我的內心與腦海</span>, <span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">我會繼續用您照顧我們的溫暖與溫柔無條件地去照顧媽媽愛䕶媽媽。</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">最後爸爸雖然我們暫時分開了,但您的一言一行仍然連繫着我和媽媽。您的愛與微笑永遠在我們心中。</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">愛女</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">by David Bell</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Nana, a Great-great grandmother at 90</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A special whanau occasion occurred on Saturday, 30th January 2010; the celebration of our mother Jean Bell's ninetieth birthday. This should have been written in the blog much earlier but as the old saying goes, better late than never. It is important to record this event because it unexpectedly brought our family together from all over the country and from overseas. Our Australian whanau, particularly, expended great effort and sacrifice to make it to the celebration. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We begin the story at its humble origin; a simple suggestion that the family should do something for Nana on reaching such a grand old age.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It's not remembered who, but someone thought it would be a good idea to do something a little special for Nana on her upcoming ninetieth year.Those present readily agreed and it was decided we would take her somewhere for lunch and then home for a small party. Mac and Pat offered to arrange it and we all thought that was that. We had no idea it was about to take on a life of its own and grow into something we never imagined. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Jess Fealy was the culprit.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In every family there always emerges an organizer; one who instinctively takes the role of pulling everyone together; one full of good ideas and with the drive and energy to make them happen. Jess is one of these. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As it happened, David and Winnie were conversing with her - probably by email or other electronic media - and casually mentioned Nana's small ninetieth birthday celebration. Immediately, Jess seized on it and said, "We'd like to come to that!" and she wasn't thinking small, she was thinking of the rest of the Aussie whanau.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We, (David and Winnie) were impressed by her good intentions but pretty much dismissed it as wishful thinking. It seemed to us an impossible task to get such a big mob across the ditch at such short notice. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But Jess was not deterred and she put the word out to the Australian Bells and it took off from there. Stewart and Myra threw their hat into the ring and sponsored their brood while Colin and Beryl came on board. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This, of course, had a galvanizing effect on those in the homeland. Suddenly, were we looking at a whole different ball game; the goalposts had dramatically changed and we had some work to do. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Thankfully, Mac and Pat's new home at the foot of Pirongia Mountain was the perfect venue and Mac as our family kaumatua, the ideal host. The farm offered plenty of space and the house the ideal gathering place with its large lounge and patio offering the most spectacular view over the whole Waipa valley to Hamilton an beyond. <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr7eXMHtjL-lnLV2qO4amliPtpMBsN0vVFiH4fbfp_nWbeWdFQNNFqO_uP2W12FBUi5ez8XYvE88DaELmDaWiPbBC0iLpUFHPdfiLkcVDksvIHvetM27zgR7iAAY7X_xa8BCQRe5pCUe7k/s1600/DSC_0256.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr7eXMHtjL-lnLV2qO4amliPtpMBsN0vVFiH4fbfp_nWbeWdFQNNFqO_uP2W12FBUi5ez8XYvE88DaELmDaWiPbBC0iLpUFHPdfiLkcVDksvIHvetM27zgR7iAAY7X_xa8BCQRe5pCUe7k/s400/DSC_0256.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: small;">The view of the Waipa valley from the front of Mac </span><span style="font-size: small;">and </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: small;">Pat's</span><span style="font-size: small;"> house, </span><span style="font-size: small;">Waites Road</span></span></div>
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Fortunately, Mac and Pat were both enthusiastic about the expanded plans and took the lion's share of the organizing with the rest of us chipping in where we could; and there was a lot to organize; food and accommodation, entertainment and activities, and a host of other considerations.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was decided that the bulk of the food would be cooked in a hangi and Bully was assigned the job of umu chef. He is an expert at laying hangis so that problem was easily solved. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Accommodation threatened to be a bit more difficult but out of the blue it was discovered that two neighboring farmhouses had vacancies and were for rent at precisely the times we required. One was five minutes down the road and the other was at the end of the driveway up to the house; how do you explain that for a happy coincidence? </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">These two farmhouses were reserved for the Aussies with the South Islanders to set up tents on the flat near the bush behind the house. We dubbed it 'Tent City'. Other smaller groups were spread out between Denise and Barry's place and the spare rooms in Mac and Pat's house. That took care of the accommodation. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-qYQj_CLoHKxEnIPQy6PUvXmqSuuTyrXjPSI1Jj_hn5WBA6vubtF5cxyabdG87iH53vIwqM4pPs_X32xLVkmmMS4m9lZAwAXb-kgG39y92eB3kpqxVuoQNhaPraNJfRkDZ7brGsCrq4Ta/s1600/slippery+slide.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-qYQj_CLoHKxEnIPQy6PUvXmqSuuTyrXjPSI1Jj_hn5WBA6vubtF5cxyabdG87iH53vIwqM4pPs_X32xLVkmmMS4m9lZAwAXb-kgG39y92eB3kpqxVuoQNhaPraNJfRkDZ7brGsCrq4Ta/s400/slippery+slide.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Above and below: fun on the slippery-slide</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Entertainment and activities were the next consideration. The Australians - consisting of Stewart and Myra, Beth and Rob and their kids, and Jess, Matt and children - were scheduled to arrive a few days before the big party and had all planned a visit to the Waitomo caves and Rotorua, so that took care of them for a couple of days. A big whanau trip to Kawhia was also scheduled and other than that all other</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">entertainments were to be more home-based. </span><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HOgh3i7l3_U/Vq3NLf-eKZI/AAAAAAAAH6w/KI_H_G4dRHI/s1600/miriam%2B009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="318" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HOgh3i7l3_U/Vq3NLf-eKZI/AAAAAAAAH6w/KI_H_G4dRHI/s400/miriam%2B009.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bmvrGd4mjck/Vqw7GLPMGNI/AAAAAAAAH5k/tTNgPdZUyOI/s1600/miriam%2B003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bmvrGd4mjck/Vqw7GLPMGNI/AAAAAAAAH5k/tTNgPdZUyOI/s400/miriam%2B003.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The trolley in action</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A big sloping lawn ran from the front of the house to the big shed below offering the perfect location for a slippery-slide which we put down using a roll of thick black polythene from Mac's shed. I also built a wooden trolley from bits and pieces from the shed. Kids and parents had hours of fun skimming down the slippery-slide which ran the length of the slope. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The trolley also proved its worth despite a few spills and bruises. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The Aussies all arrived on schedule and it can't be explained sufficiently in words how thrilling it was to have so much family together. It probably won't happen again in this lifetime so we all made the most of it. The Aussies took off on their sightseeing trips and when that was done we all went to Kawhia for a day. After that it was all about catching up, slippery sliding, trolley rides, a visit to Purekireki Marae, lots of eating, singing and just enjoying being together.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5r65W01PUKY/Vq3MikVrZ9I/AAAAAAAAH6o/UB9SzZ4iRXY/s1600/IMG_3317.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5r65W01PUKY/Vq3MikVrZ9I/AAAAAAAAH6o/UB9SzZ4iRXY/s640/IMG_3317.JPG" width="512" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Denise horsing around. Notice the amazingly similar facial characteristics - especially the teeth. Denise has been too long around horses!</span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-F1en2M1caCU/Vq3KitgbzpI/AAAAAAAAH6U/0_fPwhBD0SU/s1600/IMG_3334.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="363" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-F1en2M1caCU/Vq3KitgbzpI/AAAAAAAAH6U/0_fPwhBD0SU/s640/IMG_3334.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Rub-a-dub-dub ten kids in a tub...and a few more not in yet</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Finally, Saturday rolled around and it was time for the big event for which we had all gathered.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">At this point in the narrative we'll let the pictures do most of the talking.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">A Day at Kawhia</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The day we went to Kawhia was hot and sunny, perfect for what we had planned; sun bathing, swimming and digging holes in the sand to wallow in the warm spring water that percolates up from below ground.</span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WtvgDIypTcI/VrXKeOszt-I/AAAAAAAAH7U/apSohYdL6hw/s1600/KawhiaMatJess.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="339" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WtvgDIypTcI/VrXKeOszt-I/AAAAAAAAH7U/apSohYdL6hw/s640/KawhiaMatJess.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3Yc3z0QymPI/VrXMZlQX5oI/AAAAAAAAH7k/L1SAcT_Vgac/s1600/Kawhia%2BBeth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3Yc3z0QymPI/VrXMZlQX5oI/AAAAAAAAH7k/L1SAcT_Vgac/s320/Kawhia%2BBeth.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="215" /></a><span style="color: red; font-size: small;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Above: Australians Matt and Jess Fealy from Brisbane and Beth Campbell from Townsville, left.</span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">All week the weather forecasts were predicting patches of rain but on the day we went to Kawhia it was hot and sunny. It seems the sky gods were smiling on us. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The drive around the mountain to Kawhia is a particularly scenic one which our Australian families found quite spectacular. Kawhia, itself, is a typical small seaside town, quiet and slow-paced. The beaches are renowned for the iron-rich black sands which, because of the iron content, can get very hot. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">We all went to Ocean Beach about eight to ten minutes out the back of the township where we searched for the famous hot springs where you dig a hole in the sand and create your own small hot tub.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB56e9nUgrvJi7Q649x7WzZ8Ums_ep684mTV-Uc0xfK41BdRgyUrBMIbp1AbG1o2_GPEkyu5uqSVLd3IbmETvzCasCrcTJ7dZr3WJjNsEaTWwhC2VmbsdVUHXeFtlsWEw5s5ctKmJ7v97F/s1600/KawhiaOldgirls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="401" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB56e9nUgrvJi7Q649x7WzZ8Ums_ep684mTV-Uc0xfK41BdRgyUrBMIbp1AbG1o2_GPEkyu5uqSVLd3IbmETvzCasCrcTJ7dZr3WJjNsEaTWwhC2VmbsdVUHXeFtlsWEw5s5ctKmJ7v97F/s640/KawhiaOldgirls.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The Matriarchs </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Saturday,
January 30th dawned bright and sunny. The hour had finally arrived. At this
point let's turn to chapter 29 in Nana's story, <b>Waireti</b>, for a
narration of the beginning of that much anticipated event, written as if Nana
was herself describing it.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">HEAVEN
HAS BLESSED us with the gift of a magnificent January day wrapped in golden
sun. I am seated in a comfortable chair at the front of Mac and Pat's beautiful
home set at the foot of Pirongia Mountain and surrounded on three sides by
verdant native forest. Overhead the patio roof shields me from the hot summer
sun while sweeping down before me is the whole Waipa valley, green and
glorious. This is Mac and Pat's dream home, here on our ancestral land under
the protective Gaze of our loved mountain.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 9.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Smoke
rises from the hangi pit down in the paddock by the tractor shed. Even from
here I catch the occasional whiff of steaming food carried on the light breeze.
Behind the house Mac has arranged to have a large marquee erected for the
birthday feast. In an hour or two the hangi will be opened and the tables will
groan under the weight of its offerings.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 9.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I see
cars everywhere and more still arriving. People are constantly wishing me well,
their arms laden with food. I am almost overwhelmed by all the friends and
relatives who are flowing about me. There are countless children about as well,
their laughter and chatter as they play a delight to behold. I am astonished
and delighted to see all the children from Australia here, some I have never
seen before. My loved ones have come from far and wide to celebrate my
ninetieth birthday with me and my heart is full.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 9.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The hangi
is done and the food is transported to the marquee where it cut up and placed
on a huge buffet table. It seems all my relatives are here along with every
friend we have ever known who is still alive. No formal invitations were ever
sent but when word went out there was no stopping them. They rolled in like the
tide, carrying food and gifts.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 9.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Mac
stands and calls everyone to the festivities and opens with a traditional
welcome. I'm seated with the rest of my generation at the head table and a sea
of faces is spread out before us. My son, David, is the Master of Ceremonies
and he gives time for speeches. I am touched by the words that are spoken.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 9.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">My son,
Colin, offers the grace and the feasting begins. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 9.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zYMQb6-Pd6M/Vs7VU8djOSI/AAAAAAAAH9I/2JH1l6GzAtQ/s1600/_MG_3419.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zYMQb6-Pd6M/Vs7VU8djOSI/AAAAAAAAH9I/2JH1l6GzAtQ/s640/_MG_3419.JPG" width="640" /></a><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Above: The Tautari sisters, Glenda, Mac and Denise sing a welcoming waiata</span> </div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-e1zBA7jV50I/Vs7fk7uUopI/AAAAAAAAH9U/4gq8X5pV7TA/s1600/_MG_3579.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-e1zBA7jV50I/Vs7fk7uUopI/AAAAAAAAH9U/4gq8X5pV7TA/s640/_MG_3579.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Above: Nana and Granddad at the head table </span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">There
was some concern as to how we were going to feed so many people; a shortage of
food seen as a major disaster. We needn’t have worried; everyone arrived with
food aplenty and so many people rolled up their sleeves and without being asked
pitched in and helped wherever they could. The following are pictures of the
hangi and other food preparations on the day.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zbVLVUKJumw/VtAlXtP4L7I/AAAAAAAAH-k/Jn6eddOlfp0/s1600/waitesRdHangi3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zbVLVUKJumw/VtAlXtP4L7I/AAAAAAAAH-k/Jn6eddOlfp0/s640/waitesRdHangi3.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Above: The hangi ready to go: the pit dug, rocks and
firewood prepared, plenty of willing helpers and waiting for Uncle Bully, the
chef, to give the orders. Below: Rocks and wood about to be fired up.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">More hang pictures following</span><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fkDiqVVVLvM/VtAlqPiVBuI/AAAAAAAAH-4/3M1UDi2CoZ8/s1600/waitesRdHangi6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fkDiqVVVLvM/VtAlqPiVBuI/AAAAAAAAH-4/3M1UDi2CoZ8/s640/waitesRdHangi6.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XWqS6b6zeS0/VtAl4-V54fI/AAAAAAAAH_A/MkEuEv0np1o/s1600/waitesRdHangi8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XWqS6b6zeS0/VtAl4-V54fI/AAAAAAAAH_A/MkEuEv0np1o/s640/waitesRdHangi8.jpg" width="488" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEindp8TV4XSRzVvsRf6_fFQJGO30Kxa3qV_hiBUY8_RmFq7Qx_gNK5P27z_iavtKDpbMMHlBRArdl-R89mKdNKPWlkkBLEZKA7DJ1jsK35f6f-dOFyRe5hIkPQcMMA9LWodqJ4ombX-1sqH/s1600/waitesRdHangi9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEindp8TV4XSRzVvsRf6_fFQJGO30Kxa3qV_hiBUY8_RmFq7Qx_gNK5P27z_iavtKDpbMMHlBRArdl-R89mKdNKPWlkkBLEZKA7DJ1jsK35f6f-dOFyRe5hIkPQcMMA9LWodqJ4ombX-1sqH/s640/waitesRdHangi9.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gPHXpb52uVQ/VtAm4g2L_qI/AAAAAAAAH_s/OYfRH80nzXY/s1600/WaitesRdfood4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gPHXpb52uVQ/VtAm4g2L_qI/AAAAAAAAH_s/OYfRH80nzXY/s640/WaitesRdfood4.jpg" width="552" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Above: the hangi on the table and the meat carvers, below</span></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7QbBHjhh8js/VtAmwvNSyPI/AAAAAAAAH_s/XqPqZBCaxuA/s1600/WaitesRdfood3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7QbBHjhh8js/VtAmwvNSyPI/AAAAAAAAH_s/XqPqZBCaxuA/s640/WaitesRdfood3.jpg" width="630" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Above: the diners</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The birthday feast was magnificent thanks to Bully (Mac and Pat's youngest son) and those who assisted in putting down the hangi. This was all greatly added to by the huge amount of food brought in by friends and guests as shown below with Colin and cousins shelling a load of mussels. </span></div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iRg5nB4407Q/VtC8yOM_fHI/AAAAAAAAIAQ/4s915wNUQOY/s1600/waitesRdfood2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="520" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iRg5nB4407Q/VtC8yOM_fHI/AAAAAAAAIAQ/4s915wNUQOY/s640/waitesRdfood2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9bKLwV4TrXA/VtDWcz60yaI/AAAAAAAAIBA/l2hj91a3DFQ/s1600/Nana90BirthdayCake.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="406" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9bKLwV4TrXA/VtDWcz60yaI/AAAAAAAAIBA/l2hj91a3DFQ/s640/Nana90BirthdayCake.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Above: The birthday cake was presented to Nana by a procession of all her children starting with the smallest on up while everyone sang <i>Happy Birthday To You.</i> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Portrait Gallery</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The following is a collection of pictures and portraits taken during the course of the celebrations.</span></div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fqg3l52APt4/VtDY5VPBIJI/AAAAAAAAIBM/8BoUi74kPgQ/s1600/miriam%2B007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fqg3l52APt4/VtDY5VPBIJI/AAAAAAAAIBM/8BoUi74kPgQ/s640/miriam%2B007.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The birthday girl</span></div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-53oEhxg-neM/Vq3J46LOVeI/AAAAAAAAH6I/crANhj8lZDY/s1600/_MG_3565.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-53oEhxg-neM/Vq3J46LOVeI/AAAAAAAAH6I/crANhj8lZDY/s640/_MG_3565.JPG" width="430" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span id="goog_306612782"></span><span id="goog_306612783"></span>"It wasn't the Southern Cross that brought us all home,Mum, it was you." Stewart giving his short speech.</span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8c4uMAd9F4s/Vq3O8wReuHI/AAAAAAAAH7E/UhZq6pOu_uQ/s1600/miriam%2B011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="632" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8c4uMAd9F4s/Vq3O8wReuHI/AAAAAAAAH7E/UhZq6pOu_uQ/s640/miriam%2B011.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Glenda, our family Kuia (boss lady)</span></div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7-6nk3KL8h8/VtAeqrGcKdI/AAAAAAAAH9s/d8Tdg3pOXM4/s1600/miriam%2B018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7-6nk3KL8h8/VtAeqrGcKdI/AAAAAAAAH9s/d8Tdg3pOXM4/s640/miriam%2B018.jpg" width="398" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Mac,out first ball</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl3KXBwM1C9ArzkJH6XPfdHcQMx2n7J2RhI6tcZ-mQT49u91FCKrH_p_AO0MyZYuxg80Byzgmoi95hzPLaELFhxSeTnkA2FnOlesd4Dxx9TGtZzPJ-0FqG1btSM8xDAG0TmqiACbX3Vl6s/s1600/_MG_3652.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl3KXBwM1C9ArzkJH6XPfdHcQMx2n7J2RhI6tcZ-mQT49u91FCKrH_p_AO0MyZYuxg80Byzgmoi95hzPLaELFhxSeTnkA2FnOlesd4Dxx9TGtZzPJ-0FqG1btSM8xDAG0TmqiACbX3Vl6s/s640/_MG_3652.JPG" width="448" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Generation gap</span></div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RBW39M_Mn8M/VtDksdBxamI/AAAAAAAAIDA/gb7qBILne1Y/s1600/_MG_3668.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RBW39M_Mn8M/VtDksdBxamI/AAAAAAAAIDA/gb7qBILne1Y/s640/_MG_3668.JPG" width="542" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">The Family: only Maurice missing and missed.</span></div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Us4r-6SWh9o/VtAf6QGj0SI/AAAAAAAAH98/d1pWQvOlH0k/s1600/IMG_2900.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="626" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Us4r-6SWh9o/VtAf6QGj0SI/AAAAAAAAH98/d1pWQvOlH0k/s640/IMG_2900.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Uncle Bull, the hangi hero</span></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ql2FiVVGU0M/VtAh6gsT2hI/AAAAAAAAH-I/hV-CNCMc9pQ/s1600/WaitesRdRylan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ql2FiVVGU0M/VtAh6gsT2hI/AAAAAAAAH-I/hV-CNCMc9pQ/s640/WaitesRdRylan.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The slippery slide is much more fun when you've got a fat Grand-dad to ride on </span></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oJxuFzac7po/VtAl--kgZuI/AAAAAAAAH_Q/EgT8lPjk3Q4/s1600/WaitesRdBullysboys.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oJxuFzac7po/VtAl--kgZuI/AAAAAAAAH_Q/EgT8lPjk3Q4/s640/WaitesRdBullysboys.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Three cool bros</span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BfxoyNZrD5k/VtAmnKY-rJI/AAAAAAAAH_k/zmHr3VE7Gsc/s1600/WaitesRdOlivia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BfxoyNZrD5k/VtAmnKY-rJI/AAAAAAAAH_k/zmHr3VE7Gsc/s640/WaitesRdOlivia.jpg" width="404" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Olivia</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAhF73LuBQtY9NGFgrE7oXEtleXdKgq5iB2Zv_Leq7EJXNeBaIC7YhyWeBcs411eMfOi2SXWGCe-qhsoU02DWNRi8MhDpSyYXs4Lyjx8vVN3dFCVbQqS6nUIw7vtfxu0-hXBRs7bJdepYW/s1600/KawhiaLittleAussie3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAhF73LuBQtY9NGFgrE7oXEtleXdKgq5iB2Zv_Leq7EJXNeBaIC7YhyWeBcs411eMfOi2SXWGCe-qhsoU02DWNRi8MhDpSyYXs4Lyjx8vVN3dFCVbQqS6nUIw7vtfxu0-hXBRs7bJdepYW/s640/KawhiaLittleAussie3.jpg" width="466" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">A Mossie</span></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RlKNIuogRSM/VtAmg5zX4KI/AAAAAAAAH_Y/0OFuTVmi1qM/s1600/KawhiaLittleAussie4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RlKNIuogRSM/VtAmg5zX4KI/AAAAAAAAH_Y/0OFuTVmi1qM/s640/KawhiaLittleAussie4.jpg" width="516" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Another Mossie that eats sand</span></div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_rlRvILpT94/VtAnJrh-rhI/AAAAAAAAH_w/OhBe3UXP5vI/s1600/KawhiaLittleAussie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_rlRvILpT94/VtAnJrh-rhI/AAAAAAAAH_w/OhBe3UXP5vI/s640/KawhiaLittleAussie.jpg" width="359" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"> A 'Don't mess with me' Mossie</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjojkSyw8Ah_Vdx5Q0LtiDom9TwS5py8jT-Sj-bJRQLPN8PSlerHzrOdU26zGD_wXhjjCb4teB_BOvwJA6qbSo8NAifjMU1sPWVTBpFS9EplEiESWaIRwVpKgX3rxYTYwR19zw9c1nk41za/s1600/KawhiaElla.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjojkSyw8Ah_Vdx5Q0LtiDom9TwS5py8jT-Sj-bJRQLPN8PSlerHzrOdU26zGD_wXhjjCb4teB_BOvwJA6qbSo8NAifjMU1sPWVTBpFS9EplEiESWaIRwVpKgX3rxYTYwR19zw9c1nk41za/s640/KawhiaElla.jpg" width="610" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">A lazy little Kiwi who didn't like the hot sand on her feet</span></div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8g5Z8R8ZNUo/VtC92I4BrDI/AAAAAAAAIAY/qDv_mQZE1Mo/s1600/Heath.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8g5Z8R8ZNUo/VtC92I4BrDI/AAAAAAAAIAY/qDv_mQZE1Mo/s640/Heath.JPG" width="572" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Cool hat + cool shades = cool dude</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Cheeky photo bomber</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The same cheeky photo bomber admiring his big back yard</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Silver clouds over Kawhia</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">A hole in the sky letting out all the rain. We watched the rainstorms from the farm as they swept across the Waipa valley. Our location remained bright and sunny except for one short but spectacular thunder storm.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">A lightning flash lighting up the night sky with the lights of Hamilton in the background. Both photographs were taken by Miriam Esteves</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Miriam digging for pipis</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The cutest little patuapaiarehe came prancing out of the bush</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The mermaid</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">A multi national outfit</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Offspring</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Everyone</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The celebrations concluded with a fireworks show</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">"Goodbye!" Last word to Uncle Colin</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>David Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01882172661296160645noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4528543538469473341.post-70743904364036372222015-11-19T17:54:00.001-08:002016-06-12T18:42:02.055-07:00Jan, Charolais Queen<br />
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<span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b> </b>Charolais Jan</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;"> Written by David Bell</span></div>
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How about that! We have a famous cowgirl in the family; a cattle expert and nationally recognized Charolais breeder. Our own Jan Marie Bell was the cover and main article in the October 2015 Bay of Plenty Coast and Country News. She has come a long way from her early beginnings in the tricky, skillful, and often expensive business of specialized cattle breeding. I remember those first days when her brother Mac and his wife Pat were Charolais breeders in Pirongia and from whom she took her first tentative steps into the trade by buying their cheaper, lower quality stock to begin her own small herd. From these she slowly developed her pedigree through years of learning and selective breeding. For those of us who know little or nothing of breeding Charolais cattle, a little background information might be useful.<br />
<b><br /></b><b>A French Breed</b><br />
As the name suggests, the Charolais is a French breed with its origins in the provinces of Charolles and neighboring Nievre. It's a strong-boned and heavily muscled beast, mild in temperament and generally white in color. And big. A bull can get to 1,100 kilograms or more with the heaviest on record reaching two tons! A cow can weigh in at 900 kilograms. That's a lot of beef.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a class="image" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Vache_de_race_charolaise_avec_son_veau.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Vache de race charolaise avec son veau.jpg" data-file-height="425" data-file-width="640" height="265" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/3/3f/Vache_de_race_charolaise_avec_son_veau.jpg/220px-Vache_de_race_charolaise_avec_son_veau.jpg" srcset="//upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/3/3f/Vache_de_race_charolaise_avec_son_veau.jpg/330px-Vache_de_race_charolaise_avec_son_veau.jpg 1.5x, //upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/3/3f/Vache_de_race_charolaise_avec_son_veau.jpg/440px-Vache_de_race_charolaise_avec_son_veau.jpg 2x" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">The French Charolais - cow and calf.</span></td></tr>
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It's not known which ancient beast it got its genes from but legends tell of the presence of large white cattle in the area as early as 878 A.D. It remained localized in Charolles until 1773 when a local farmer, Claude Matthieu, moved from Charolles to Nievre with his herd. For a long time thereafter they were known as Nievemais cattle. It wasn't until centuries later they took the name Charolais.<br />
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In 1840 Count Charles de Bouille began a program of selective breeding then set up a record book in 1864 at Villars near the village of Magny-Cours. As the breed improved and established, more breeders climbed on the bandwagon and a rival breeders society emerged back in Charolles. Eventually, however, the two merged with headquarters in Nievre.<br />
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As far as cattle were concerned, the French always preferred bulk, bone and muscle to refinement. They needed cattle that could be used to pull carts and plows as well as produce meat and milk. The Charolais was ideally suited to their needs being both powerful draft animals as well as good milkers and meat producers. Charolais' also had big calves that grew fast and had more raw strength than the more refined English cattle.<br />
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<b>Charolais' go Global</b><br />
Soon after World War One a young Mexican industrialist of French ancestry (Jean Pugibet) purchased some of these French cattle and had them shipped to his ranch in Mexico. He had seen them while fighting for France during the war and was greatly impressed by their beauty, size and potential. He survived the war and took possession of two bulls and ten cows in his first shipment. Two later shipments took his total to thirty seven. Unfortunately, he died suddenly in 1936 and the Mexican experiment faltered.<br />
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However, a year before his death the King ranch in Texas purchased two bulls from him. A few other American ranchers followed suit soon after, These Mexican Charolais' spawned the establishment of the breed in the United States. However, an outbreak of the deadly foot-and-mouth disease in Europe halted any further importing of livestock from Europe, Mexico and elsewhere. The Americans then took to cross breeding their Charolais in an 'upgrading' program. As a result the bloodlines were thinned and few American Charolais' could boast pure French pedigree. Later, when the restrictions were lifted, French importing resumed. Now, American Charolais are categorized 'purebred' or 'recorded', depending on the percentage of known blood. Purebred Charolais are those with <b>31/32</b> or more Charolais blood, while those termed 'recorded' have less than <b>31/32 </b>Charolais blood.<b> </b>It is said that no other breed has impacted so significantly on the American beef industry as the Charolais, valued for its size, rapid growth rate, ruggedness and lean meat.<br />
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From the U.S. A. it was just a short hop into Canada. Today, Charolais are found in at least sixty eight countries around the world. In France they are the second most common breed after Holsteins with the largest worldwide populations being in the Czech Republic and Mexico.<br />
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<b>Charolais in New Zealand</b><br />
The first Charolais' to New Zealand arrived not in a pen on a ship but by plane in a frozen container. In other words, as semen sent in 1965 after a Charolais conference in France attended by a handful of New Zealanders who were so impressed by the breed that they determined to introduce it into the New Zealand beef scene. Unable to ship cattle due to the current import restrictions on live animals, they managed to at least have semen samples sent to the Lincoln and Ruakura research centers for trialing. The first private breeder was J. M. Sullivan of Waimate, one of the attendees at the French conference. He managed to acquire some commercial semen in 1966. Then, from 1969 the importation of live animals (predominantly from Great Britain) was allowed and 61 bulls and 302 cows were purchased by interested buyers in New Zealand. By 1981 the breed was firmly established here.<br />
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The majority of the imported English stock had been 'graded up' by using a pure French Charolais sire over a base Angus, Fresian (Holstein) or Hereford cow. Using this method purebred status (31/32) could be achieved. By this method a specific New Zealand Charolais has been developed keeping the typical Charolais growth rate and muscle but better suited to New Zealand beef production systems.<br />
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Over forty years ago on Wednesday, 4th September 1968 in the Oamaru RSA clubrooms, the first New Zealand Charolais Cattle Society (NZCCS) was formed with J. M. Sutherland of Waimate nominated President. Today there are Charolais breeders throughout the country, one of whom is our own Jan Bell. The best way to learn more about Jan's enterprise is from the article in the Coast & Country by Elaine Fisher and transcribed here for reader convenience.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Title: 'Granny farm' realisation of a 20-year dream</b>
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Although she's far too young to retire, Jan Bell enjoys her pure bred Charolais cows, calves and bulls so much she's delighted to have given up full time paid employment to stay on the farm and look after them. "Not that they take a lot of looking after to be honest. After 20 years of owning and working on this property it's finally at the point where I call it my 'granny farm' because it's so easy to run," says Jan.<br />
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The Crawford Road property, home to the well-respected pedigree Wairoa Stud, is 'easy care' because in between full- time employment Jan worked hard to set up the farm including restructuring fencing and water reticulation.<br />
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In 2009 she was joined by Graeme Daniel who added to the mix his knowledge of pasture management and renovation, stock grazing, crops and grasses and "lots of other 'farmie' things like cutting our silage and doing tractor work that I am too scared to handle," says Jan.<br />
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At one time in her working career, and before she owned the farm, Jan was a legal executive, then for a while a stay-at-home mum bringing up three children before she began work in the kiwifruit industry. "I worked mainly in the quality and auditing field and studied for a post graduate diploma in quality systems, going on to be a tutor teaching post-harvest horticulture and quality control at the Bay of Plenty Polytechnic.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VumYXttRA20/Vk58uD4DHrI/AAAAAAAAH3U/_LoNq5hG5Gk/s1600/Jan.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="325" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VumYXttRA20/Vk58uD4DHrI/AAAAAAAAH3U/_LoNq5hG5Gk/s400/Jan.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<b>Vine Disease</b><br />
In 2013, when due to the impacts of the kiwifruit vine disease, Psa-v, student numbers dropped. Jan happily accepted redundancy becoming for the first time a full-time farmer. Her love of Charolais' began when she helped her family show pedigree animals at A and P field days.<br />
<br />
"I enjoyed the shows, still do. It's a lot of hard work getting the animals ready, and it's great to win. Losing is also great - once you get over the impact - because you take a long hard look at the winners and figure out what you can do better next time."<br />
<br />
All of the Wairoa Stud's purebred animals are recorded.Calves are weighed at birth then at 200, 400 and 600 days and each assessed by her expert eye for confirmation.<br />
<br />
The stud's breeding cows are moderately framed with good bone, good muscling and are structurally sound. " All cows must be manageable so good temperament is essential. We use French, Irish and New Zealand genetics in the breeding herd."<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
Jan ranks temperament highly. "Most of the time I'm working with the animals on my own so I want to know I'm safe. I have no problem picking up calves to weigh and ear tag at birth, in fact, the mothers seem to treat me a bit like an auntie and wander off to the next paddock expecting me to bring the calf along."<br />
<br />
<b>Terminal Sires</b><br />
The mothering traits of her cows, their ability to produce plenty of milk for their offspring and their longevity is also important. Jan's bulls are used as terminal sires, crossing with other breeds, predominantly Angus, Hereford cows or dairy beef cows.<br />
<br />
"Recently there's been a demand for polled animals from our buyers so we breed and use sires that will produce polled cattle. We will keep any dam, polled or horned, who proves herself a good breeder and a good mother. Our goal is to ensure that the bulls we sell as terminal sires will be structurally sound and create no calving problems over mixed breed cows. The calves they sire will be early maturing, well-muscled cattle. To achieve this goal we use American or Canadian genetics over our French cows. The resulting calves are often polled and are smoother in the shoulder than the dams."<br />
<br />
Wairoa bulls go to farms all over the North Island and six or seven clients have standing orders for the animals.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-meZRHqdGUoI/Vk5qMJO6FxI/AAAAAAAAH2s/Jy-dyVLLr7Y/s1600/Wairoa%2BBull.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="274" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-meZRHqdGUoI/Vk5qMJO6FxI/AAAAAAAAH2s/Jy-dyVLLr7Y/s320/Wairoa%2BBull.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<b>Field Days Stand</b><br />
The herd of fifty, including thirty<b> </b>breeding cows, is raised on the twenty hectares of home farm and local land which has contours from flat to rolling to steep.<br />
<br />
Jan is on the council of the New Zealand Charolais Cattle Society (NZCCS), established in 1968 and a keen advocate of the breed which she says is known for its quiet temperament, growth rate, muscle and meat quality. Next year Jan is helping to organize a stand for the Society at the Mystery Creek Field Days. "Sadly there are no longer many animals at the field days so we plan to have Charolais' on show."<br />
<br />
Wairoa Charolais are trained for showing at an early age and Jan enjoys attending A&P shows. "I think it's important for the public to be able to see and enjoy the animals. You also learn a lot from the judges who are happy to tell you what's right and what's wrong with your animals," says Jan, who is a judge herself. "Also, it's a good bench-marking tool and a social day out meeting other breeders.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hUWEoyfHGRY/Vk5xzL-pXSI/AAAAAAAAH3E/htBKhuZOKWE/s1600/Wairoa%2Bsign%2B2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="261" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hUWEoyfHGRY/Vk5xzL-pXSI/AAAAAAAAH3E/htBKhuZOKWE/s400/Wairoa%2Bsign%2B2.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<b>Cheese Makers</b><br />
The advent of EBV's (estimated breeding values)has been beneficial but had reduced the number of breeders showing animals now. "That's a pity because you can't judge temperament and overall confirmation from figures on paper and I think it's important especially for young people to learn how to judge by eye."<br />
<br />
As well as rearing purebred calves, Jan uses the old five-aside herringbone dairy on the farm to milk a small herd of dairy cows to provide milk for the calves she buys in to rear. When the calves are gone, Jan and a group of friends milk a few cows and get together to make cheeses from halloumi to feta to mozzarella.<br />
<br />
"We have a lot of fun. Cheese making and gardening are two things I really enjoy now which I didn't have time for when I was working full-time."<br />
<br />
<i>End of the article.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Needless to say we should all be pretty proud of Jan's accomplishments. She has carved out her own little paradise of peace and plenty up Crawford Road, near Tauranga. It's a delightful property; a self-sustaining small farm complete with chickens, ducks and other sundry poultry, cattle (beef and dairy), sheep, pigs and horses. Wildlife abounds in the form of native and exotic birds (complete with flocks of colourful Rosella parrots making the place seem almost tropical) and eels and trout in the river that runs through the farm. The river is also a favourite swimming place during the hot summer months. The rich black soil also produces lush pasture all year round and her gardens burst their bounds with vegetables, melons, and all manner of edibles. She has an orchard that every year provides more pip and stone fruits than she could ever use: apples, nectarines, peaches, plums and avocados, to mention a few.<br />
<br />
Hers is the perfect example of the abundant life and the abundance of life where nature rewards those who roll up their sleeves, put on their gumboots and got to work with joy and respect for the good things right under their feet and all around them. <br />
<br />
I reckon she's in a pretty happy place right now and good for her, she deserves it!<br />
<i style="color: red; font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><br /></i><i style="color: red; font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"> End</i><br />
<i style="color: red; font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><br /></i>
<h1 class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: large;">This is another article in the NZ Farmer May 26 2016.</span></span></h1>
<h1 class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;">Where
performance matches the muscles</span></span></h1>
<h2 class="western" style="border: none; margin-bottom: 0.05in; margin-top: 0.05in; orphans: 2; padding: 0in; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #333333;"> <span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Anne
Boswell visits a small but highly regarded charolais stud with a
two-year waiting list for a bull.</span></span></span></span></h2>
<div style="border: none; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; padding: 0in; widows: 2;">
<br />
</div>
<div dir="LTR" id="Section1">
<div style="border: none; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; padding: 0in; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: silver;"><img align="BOTTOM" border="1" height="349" name="graphics1" src="http://www.stuff.co.nz/content/dam/images/1/b/v/b/j/n/image.related.StuffLandscapeSixteenByNine.620x349.1bvbiq.png/1464208295121.jpg" width="620" /></span>
</div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0.1in; orphans: 2; padding: 0in; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #ff3333;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">Champion
bull Wairoa David demonstrates the charolais' structural soundness.</span></span></span></div>
</div>
<div dir="LTR" id="Section2">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 0.19in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><b>THE
CHAROLAIS BREED</b></span></span><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 0.19in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">
has had its fair share of ups and downs as New Zealand breeders have
worked to establish it as the first choice for use as a terminal
sire, but a Tauranga farmer has shown the utmost faith as she
continues to improve her herd. </span></span><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 0.19in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">Charolais
breeder Jan Bell owns and leases the 36 hectares on which Wairoa
Charolais Stud lies and has great admiration for the animals that
she says are unbeatable as terminal sires. She was brought up on a
dairy farm near Pirongia in the Waikato, but the farm was sold when
her parents retired so she found a new path as a legal executive. </span></span></span><br />
</div>
<div dir="LTR" id="Section3">
<div style="border: none; line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0.1in; orphans: 2; padding: 0in; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #ff3333;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">Below: Charolais breeder Jan Bell developed her stud over several years and
continues to strive for herd improvement.</span></span></span><span dir="LTR" id="Frame1" style="background: #ffffff; border: none; float: left; height: 3.72in; padding: 0in; width: 2.5in;">
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: silver;"><img align="BOTTOM" border="1" height="321" name="graphics2" src="http://www.stuff.co.nz/content/dam/images/1/b/v/b/j/o/image.related.StuffPortrait.238x286.1bvbiq.png/1464208295121.jpg" width="240" /></span>
</span></div>
<div align="RIGHT" style="border: none; orphans: 2; padding: 0in; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #999999;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Anne
Boswell</span></span></span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0.1in; orphans: 2; padding: 0in; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 0.19in;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0.1in; orphans: 2; padding: 0in; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 0.19in;">Later
Bell married and she and her husband moved to Australia, where she
worked in conveyancing in Perth. Bell then became a stay-at-home mum
after her children were born. In 1995 the call of New Zealand and
the desire to have a piece of land became too great and she bought
the 18 hectare block on Crawford Rd. But it was many years before
Bell became a full-time farmer.</span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0.1in; orphans: 2; padding: 0in; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">Upon
her return to New Zealand she began work in the kiwifruit industry,
mainly in the quality and auditing field, and studied for a post
graduate diploma in quality systems. Bell went on to become a tutor,
teaching post-harvest horticulture and quality control at the Bay of
Plenty Polytechnic.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0.1in; orphans: 2; padding: 0in; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">In
2013 student numbers dropped with the advent of Psa-V and Bell
happily accepted redundancy to finally become a full-time farmer.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0.1in; orphans: 2; padding: 0in; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">Even
while working full-time off-farm, she worked hard to set up the
farm, including restructuring fencing and water reticulation, and
built a house in 2000. Said Bell, "I developed the farm and
built up a charolais herd little by little each year. I did what I
could, when I could. It all takes time and money."</span></span></span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0.1in; orphans: 2; padding: 0in; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">Bell
was first introduced to the charolais breed by her brother and
sister-in-law, Mac and Pat Bell, who successfully bred and sold
charolais for many years. Bell joined forces with them and they held
combined bull sales at Pirongia. She was hooked on the breed and
when Mac and Pat retired she carried on breeding charolais. "I
was not ready to give them up," she says.</span></span></span></div>
</div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0.1in; orphans: 2; padding: 0in; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">In
2009 Bell was joined by her partner, Graeme Daniel. Daniel works on
the east coast but lends a regular hand with his knowledge of pasture
management and renovation, stock grazing, crops and grasses, among
other things. These days, she has a small but superb herd of 25-30
registered stud breeding cows plus R1 and R2 heifers and bulls.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0.1in; orphans: 2; padding: 0in; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #333333;"> </span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">"Our
breeding cows are moderately framed with good bone, good muscling,
and are structurally sound," she says. "All the cows must
be manageable so a good temperament is essential. In the last few
years we have been using French, Irish and Canadian genetics in the
breeding herd. They not only look good but they perform well."</span></span></span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0.1in; orphans: 2; padding: 0in; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">Wairoa
charolais cattle are highly sought after and there is a waiting list
of up to two years for bulls. One of Bell's bulls, Wairoa Golan G3,
is a top-ranked animal. Bulls are used as terminal sires, crossing
with other breeds - predominantly angus, hereford or dairy beef cows.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0.1in; orphans: 2; padding: 0in; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">"We
sell bulls as terminal sires to all sorts of farmers all over the
North Island," Bell says. "Our goal is to ensure that the
bulls we sell are structurally sound and create no calving problems
over mixed-breed cows. The calves they sire will be early-maturing,
well-muscled cattle. To achieve this goal we use American or Canadian
genetics over our French cows. The resulting calves are often polled
and are smoother in the shoulder than the dams."</span></span></span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0.1in; orphans: 2; padding: 0in; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">Bell
and Daniel were pleased but not surprised to see charolais weaners
getting top dollar at the recent Beef Expo sales and she is
constantly looking at genetics to see how she can improve her herd.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0.1in; orphans: 2; padding: 0in; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">"I've
been using different genetics for a long time to get it right for our
clients and to also be commercially viable for myself," Bell
says. "All our cattle are performance-recorded using the
Colorado State University EBV analysis. It is a great tool to have as
a breeder. In saying that, I believe the breeders' knowledge of the
family lines and the traits within those lines is also important. A
breeder needs the ability to structurally assess the females they
keep and the bulls they use and to be ruthless in culling
poor-performing animals. You need to keep your breeding objectives in
mind and breed selectively and consistently."</span></span></span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0.1in; orphans: 2; padding: 0in; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">This
is a far cry from the charolais breeding disaster of the 1970s. The
semen of the French breed was imported for trials at Lincoln and
Ruakura in 1965, and by a commercial farmer the following year. New
Zealand beef breeders hoped to use these large animals to improve the
productivity of traditional breeds. However, they had calving
difficulties and high feed requirements and as a result didn't
replace angus or hereford cattle in commercial herds. Instead, they
found their place as a second-to-none terminal sire. Bell says her
overall aim is to breed cattle that perform well as terminal sires.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0.1in; orphans: 2; padding: 0in; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">"I
want to keep providing people with good bulls, increasing meat and
growth without losing temperament," she says. "The feedback
from clients has been positive and helpful in meeting these
objectives."</span></span></span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0.1in; orphans: 2; padding: 0in; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">Charolais
have rarely been used over dairy cattle in New Zealand, but Bell has
been breeding charolais bulls to use over her own dairy cows for many
years. Last year, Imac, a low birth weight charolais bull, was
borrowed by a dairy farmer. The resulting calves were born in the
range of high 30 to mid 40 kilograms to all breeds of dairy cows with
no calving problems. The farmer is extremely pleased with the
results.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0.1in; orphans: 2; padding: 0in; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">"A
four-day-old charolais-dairy cross calf is a commodity rather than a
by-product," Daniel says. "They are fetching $250 a calf
for four-day-old heifers and $300 for bull calves in the paddock."</span></span></span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0.1in; orphans: 2; padding: 0in; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">Bell
will be collecting semen from Imac and if all goes well this will be
available for sale later this year.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0.1in; orphans: 2; padding: 0in; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">Bell
is on the council of the New Zealand Charolais Cattle Society,
established in 1968, and is a keen advocate of the breed. So much so
that she has agreed to fly the charolais flag at this year's National
Agricultural Field-days. It has been a long time since the charolais
breed has been showcased at a national event.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0.1in; orphans: 2; padding: 0in; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">Bell
enjoys showing her animals at A&P shows around the country, where
she can benchmark her cattle against others. She is also a registered
judge.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0.1in; orphans: 2; padding: 0in; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">"I
find it a pleasure to look at my charolais herd, to own them and to
know that I have bred those animals," she says.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; padding: 0in; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="source"></a>
<br />
</span></div>
<i style="color: red; font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span></i><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<i style="color: red; font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><br /></i>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
David Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01882172661296160645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4528543538469473341.post-72805643367239734422015-10-16T23:52:00.001-07:002018-02-07T12:06:13.355-08:00One of Kawhia's Greatest Sons<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;">Tom Frenc</span><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;">h</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">By David Bell</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GuXe2XzfY9M/VgXHYkFkKZI/AAAAAAAAHzg/aqH9xTGbaOI/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GuXe2XzfY9M/VgXHYkFkKZI/AAAAAAAAHzg/aqH9xTGbaOI/s400/photo.JPG" width="287" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It's Friday morning, 15 September 2015. I'm sitting in a chiropractor waiting room thumbing through a magazine called, <i>The Shed</i>. It's about New Zealanders and amazing things they build in their sheds. I'm not at the chiropractor's for myself but for a couple of elderly friends in need of transport to receive a little bone-cracking. Wife Winnie is with me and she too is browsing a magazine. I'm in someone's shed putting together a home-built outrigger canoe when her voice jerks me out just as I'm starting to think I can do this. There's an excitement and urgency in her tone that demands attention.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Who's the French in your family? I remember that name."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Who are you talking about? Aubins and Lemprieres?" I'm thinking she's asking about our French ancestors from Jersey and wondering why.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"No, not those. There's an article about Tom French in this magazine. Don't you have a Tom French somewhere in your family?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Yes, he's my grandfather's half-brother from Kawhia." Now I'm interested. I toss <i>The Shed </i>aside and grab the magazine from her hands. "Holy smoke!" I exclaim. "It's old Uncle Tom!" </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I know I have to read this!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Things had quietened down recently. It seemed there was no more of the old folk to write about. I had plain run out of material. But this, I remembered, had happened before when out of nowhere an ancestor I knew little or nothing about dropped his or her story onto my lap. It was, therefore, no surprise that another one had reached through veil and bid me write. I have actually come to expect this sort of thing. I am sure those gone before desire to be remembered, to have their korero told to their living relatives. I imagine it's not nice to have labored and toiled on earth to carve out a living and raise a family, struggled to have a successful life and make your allotted time as meaningful as possible only to die and be forgotten a mere generation or two later; out of sight out of mind, so to speak. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So I'm glad my wife picked up that magazine among the many on the table and amazed that she opened it at page 76. I'm even more amazed she remembered the name Tom French from the minuscule exposure she has had to my Kawhia whakapapa. Furthermore, if she hadn't the presence of mind to bring it to my attention I would have undoubtedly missed a glorious opportunity to learn about a great ancestor I knew so little about. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The magazine she's holding is one I'm not very familiar with. This is the first time I had seen it in years and possibly wouldn't come across another for goodness knows how long, let alone this specific issue, and it has motivated me to search out more about Uncle Tom and write it into the <i>Pirongia Bells</i> blog<i> </i>so that we all get to know him a little better. His korero and some photos will bring him to life in our minds and hearts. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">At this point I must thank and acknowledge Simon Day, Uncle Tom's great-grandson, who wrote his story in the October 2015 issue of the <i>North and South</i> magazine, pages 76 to 81. Thanks to him much of Uncle Tom's story is told and published; his korero now available for all to hear. It's from this article that I will draw heavily to write about Uncle Tom for our Pirongia whanau.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">TOM FRENCH was born under a tree at Waipapa marae near Kawhia. There is some confusion over the exact date because birth records were not a high priority in isolated Maori communities with the nearest government registration offices being two or more days away on horseback. His marriage certificate states his date of birth as 1890 while his military record says 16 September, 1889. Additionally, the family always celebrated his birthday every February 22nd. For this writing I choose to use the military record of 16 September 1889 on the grounds it is the most complete and most 'official'.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Before going any further it may be useful to tie him into<i> our</i> genealogy so we get a clear picture of our kinship to him. I will use Te Anu as the common ancestor.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: magenta;"><b>Te Anu Pohe Pohe</b></span> + Robert McGruther (1st husband) + Jean Paul French (2nd husband)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> ________________I ___________ ________ I______ </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>John </b> Mutu Sam <b>Tom </b> <span style="color: magenta;">Bessie</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Jock Colin <span style="color: magenta;"> <b>Jean</b></span></span><b> </b> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As can be seen from the chart, Tom and our own John (full name John Honi Ruki Pohe Pohe <b>McGruther</b>) were half-brothers. After Robert McGruther and Te Anu separated Te Anu married Jean (John) Paul French. John Honi Ruki went with his father, Robert McGruther, to live in Pirongia while Sam and Mutu remained with their mother in Kawhia. When she married Jean Paul Sam went with her and took the name French. Te Anu and John Paul had two offspring, Tom and Bessie. Tom had two wives in his lifetime and five children.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Tom's father, John Paul French, was born in India, having been commissioned by Queen Victoria to teach the English troops there to read. He later immigrated to New Zealand and settled in Kawhia where he eventually married Te Anu, the estranged wife of Robert McGruther and daughter of Pohepohe, a prominent Maori chief. There were four children in the family; Sam and Mutu McGruther from her first marriage and Tom and Bessie from her union with John Paul. Sadly, Te Anu died when the children were young and John Paul practically abandoned them, considering them <i>too Maori </i>for his liking. Sam and Bessie were raised by Te Anu's sisters Rangi and Pera while Tom went to stay with relatives on Matakana Island in the Bay of Plenty where he grew up. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Little is known about his adolescent years except that he was quickly distinguishing himself as a skilled rugby player. In fact, rugby became such an integral part of his life that any conversation about Tom French inevitably turns to the sport and his place in it.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In 1910 when he was twenty one years old, he moved to Westport on the western coast of New Zealand's South Island where he joined up with his half-brother Sam who had gone there to work as a fitter in the coal mines. He joined the local rugby team where his rugby skills were swiftly recognized. In 1911 he was selected to play for the Buller province. The following is a brief sketch from the Buller Rugby Union historical records. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img align="texttop" alt="" src="http://rabweb.co.nz/buller/images/ResizedImage7490-French.jpg" style="background: transparent; border: none; font-size: 13px; height: auto; margin: 7px 0px 5px; max-width: 100%; outline: none; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;" /><span style="background: transparent; border: none; color: white; font-size: 13px; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">…</span><strong style="background: transparent; border: none; font-size: 13px; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">T. A. FRENCH</strong></span></div>
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<span style="background: transparent; border: none; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Tom French is a well known name in New Zealand rugby, particularly in Maori rugby. French played his club rugby for the Westport club and in 1911 was selected for the New Zealand Maori rugby team. He played again for New Zealand Maori in 1913 during their tour of Australia. Tom French went on to become a distinguished administrator in Maori rugby and was accorded the honour of having a trophy named after him. This trophy is the Tom French Cup which is awarded anually to the New Zealand Maori player of the year.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Tom was a tall, broad man measuring in at 190 centimeters (just under 6 foot three) and fast on his feet. He was a <i>wing forward ~ </i>which is a loose forward in today's rugby jargon ~ becoming renowned for his fast, running style of rugby, so typical of Maori players back then. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He obviously stood out because in that same year he played for Buller (1911) he made the New Zealand Maori team and two years later toured Australia playing seven games and scoring four tries. His style of play earned him the praise of the Australian spectators, newspapers there giving him the title, <i>Idol of the Crowds.</i> That same year the All Blacks toured California and many</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> rugby followers believed he should also have been included, questioning why a player of such </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">caliber could have been left out. A<i> New Zealand Herald</i> report on a game between Buller and Canterbury stated, "Tom French stood out on his own among the forwards and it is difficult to understand why he is not included in the California team". </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In 1914 he caught the attention of Dave Gallaher, the captain of the famous 1905 All Black 'Originals' and now manager of the Auckland provincial rugby team. Gallaher, a loose forward himself, invited him to join Auckland and the two became great friends. Gallaher was the foreman on the docks in downtown Auckland and also secured Tom a full time job as a wharfie loading frozen meat heading to Britain.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Tom played his first game for Gallaher's Auckland team on 15 August, 1914, against Canterbury. It was the first representative game to be played at the new Eden Park. He played many games at Eden Park after that, many Auckland representative matches and others for his club. Interestingly, he was the first player to be sent off Eden Park for foul play. In a game between his club City Newton and Marist, he became aware that one of the opposition players was paying too much attention to Hannah Courtney, his girlfriend watching in the stand, so he dealt him a right to the nose. The referee had no hesitation in sending him off. Tom lost his place in the team for the rest of that game but not the maiden. She later became Hannah French.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Tom's burgeoning rugby career was curtailed by World War One when he enlisted and was shipped to Egypt with the Maori contingent. While in England he learned that his brother Sam had also enlisted and was due to arrive at Devonport. He hurried to the dock to meet him only to be given the dreadful news that poor Sam had succumbed to meningitis on the trip over and had been buried at sea. It was devastating news and one can only imagine Tom's anguish and heartbreak, especially when the two were so close.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Even in Egypt there was no escape from rugby. It seems that wherever New Zealanders go they take rugby. In 1915 so many of New Zealand's finest rugby players wound up in the deserts of North Africa or the fields and forests of Europe and, of course, rugby instantly became the great distraction from the rigors and horrors of war. In Egypt Tom was appointed captain of the Maori team before his pal Gallaher arranged his transfer to the Auckland Battalion so he could play for the New Zealand Army XV (also known as the <i>Trench Blacks</i>) in France. Below is the article about him from the NZ Rugby Museum exhibition </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">commemorating WWI rugby players.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> <img alt="Tom French" src="http://www.ww1rugby.nz/images/players/French_rugby_1915.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></span><br />
<span style="color: inherit; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> Corporal Tom French </span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">Had Tom French been playing his rugby in Auckland or Wellington, instead of remote Westport, he could well have been an All Black before the war. He was tall, fast, and fit, a tireless loose forward who had made two lengthy tours with the NZ Māori team before playing in a provincial game. His talents were eventually recognised by Auckland and New Zealand selector David Gallaher who enticed the southerner to Auckland, gave him a job, and put him in the Auckland rep team in 1914. It seemed All Black honours would come within a year or two. They didn’t, war came and hopes of an All Black jersey were gone. Three years later, on the fields at Passchendaele, French, the All Black in the making, and Gallaher, the All Black legend, were playing a different game. Both were wounded on the same day and attended to at the same casualty clearing station. French lost an arm, Gallaher lost his life.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: normal;">Tom's rugby playing days came to a tragic end in October 1917. After heavy fighting his New Zealand division overwhelmed the Germans near the Belgian town of Graventafel. Having secured those positions the division trudged on through rain and mud to Passchendaele where they once again engaged with the enemy in what became the Battle of Broodseinde. During a lull in the heavy shelling Tom spotted a sack of bread lying invitingly out in the open. Soldiers were always hungry and on the lookout for extra food and the bag full of bread was too enticing to resist. Tom took the gamble and scurried out to retrieve it. As it turned out the Germans likely placed it there as bait. Unfortunately, Tom took the bait and paid the price. As he went for the bag he was was either shot by a sniper or the bag was booby-trapped and exploded; he never remembered which. As a result a hunk of shrapnel or a bullet hit him in the left arm and rendered it useless. The lower part of the arm was amputated in a field hospital in France but an infection set in and he was shipped to England where an operation took the rest of it off at the shoulder. If that wasn't bad enough, on the same day he was </span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: normal;">wounded his great friend and rugby mentor, Dave Gallaher was fatally hit in the face.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In the space of a few hours Tom had lost both his arm and best friend. It could have been worse, he could easily have been killed as well. At least 2,800 of his fellow Kiwis were wounded or lost their lives at Passchendaele. He</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> spent the rest of 1917 recuperating in England before being invalided back to New Zealand for good. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In the space of a few hours Tom had lost both his arm and best friend. It could have been worse, he could easily have been killed as well. At least 2,800 of his fellow Kiwis were wounded or lost their lives at Passchendaele. He</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> spent the rest of 1917 recuperating in England before being invalided back to New Zealand for good. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Whilst the injury released him from the killing fields in France and Belgium, it also put paid to a promising All Blacks career. But it in no way dimmed his love of rugby and his involvement in the game. He saw it as a great vehicle in which to strengthen Maori pride and help his people rise to their potential. For the rest of his life he worked tirelessly coaching, managing, and officiating in Maori rugby. He was an accomplished referee, an influential selector, and an inaugural member of the Maori Rugby Advisory Board from 1922 to 1962. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He was also a champion of Maori rugby in a time when it was threatened with extinction. Throughout his tenure on the Maori Rugby Advisory Board some powerful rugby people in high places were determined to disestablish Maori rugby so as not to upset South Africa, New Zealand's traditional football foe. There was only one thing our rugby-mad country loved more than competing with the Springboks; beating them. Our national pride (and probably a lot of money for the rugby union) was at stake and because of Apartheid, Maori rugby was problematic; not only were Maoris unwelcome to play against South Africa, they were banned from entering the country. Many rugby and government officials saw Maori rugby as a threat to cordial relations with apartheid South Africa. According to Maori rugby historian, Malcolm Mulholland, whispered threats were made at dinner functions and after- match activities that if Maori didn't keep their heads down and mouths shut about playing South Africa, the Maori would find their team disbanded.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Shortly after the war (WWI) the Springboks first tour of New Zealand in 1921 highlighted the attitudes of the time when a South African journalist on the tour wrote home that the Springboks were disgusted that they had to play a 'colored' team and were astonished that the crowd actually cheered for the Maoris. The telegraph was sent from Napier and the telegraphist, realizing he was the only person in New Zealand to know about it, quickly typed a few extra copies and distributed them to people sure to get the comments into the papers. The actual telegraph read: <i>Most unfortunate match ever played. Bad enough having play a team officially designated New Zealand natives but spectacle thousands of Europeans frantically cheering on band of colored men to defeat members of own race was too much for Springboks, who frankly disgusted.</i> It's debatable who should have been the more disgusted, especially when the Springboks turned their backs on the pre-kickoff poi dance demonstration in their honour, and then refused to shake hands with their Maori opponents. In the end the Springboks only just squeaked home with a victory of nine points to eight. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Seven years later The All Blacks made their first tour to South Africa, minus any Maori players. An agreement was struck between the two rugby unions to exclude whoever the South Africans deemed as non-whites. Tom and many others openly expressed their disgust, anger and indignation at this official kow-towing to apartheid and the New Zealand rugby union's hurtful snub of its Maori players. The great Maori full back, George Nepia wrote that all New Zealand "was indignant at this deference to apartheid". Tom also refused to be silenced and lent his criticism to the situation.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In 1949 the All Blacks again toured South Africa without any Maoris. This time the New Zealand Rugby Union sent the Maori team on a tour of Australia as compensation for their exclusion. Tom was the manager and the team won nine of their eleven games.They played three test matches against Australia which was testament to the skill of the players because they won one test, lost one and drew one. Later that year the All Blacks played the Australians and lost two test matches. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">During this tour Tom's amicable personality, management style and rugby knowledge was much admired by the Australian captain, Johnny Morris who gifted a trophy to the Maori team which became the Tom French Cup. From 1949 on, this cup was awarded by the NZRU to the country's most outstanding Maori rugby player. Maori center, John Burns Smith was its first recipient. Today, the annual winners of the Tom French Cup are selected by a panel of former players, sports writers and rugby administrators. The following is the list </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">of those players of Maori descent who have been awarded the cup.</span> </span><br />
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<b style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Winners of the Tom French Cup 1949 ~ 2014</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Johnny Smith Mike Clamp</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Manahi Paewai Wayne Shelford x 4</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Percy Erceg Frano Botica</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Keith Davis x 3 Steve McDowall</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Pat Walsh x 2 John Timu</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Bill Gray Zinzan Brooke x 2</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Muru Walters Robin Brooke </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Bill Wordley Errol Brain</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Mack Herewini x 2 Mark Mayerhofler</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Vic Yates Tony Brown</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Waka Nathan x 2 Norm Maxwe</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Ron Rangi x 2 Darryl Gibson</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Sid Going x 6 Caleb Ralph</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Tane Norton x 2 Carlos Spencer x 2</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Bill Bush Carl Hayman x 2</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ken Lambert Rico Gear</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Bill Osborne Daniel Braid</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Eddie Dunn Piri Weepu x 2</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Vance Stewart Zac Guilford </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Hika Reid x 2 Hose Gear</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Frank Shelford Liam Messam</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Steven Pokere Aaron Smith</span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">During the 1956 Springbok tour of New Zealand he hit the news again when he expressed his anger at government interference when a highly placed official told the Maori team Tom was coaching to go easy on the Springboks for the sake of future All Black ties with South Africa. It was tantamount to asking the team to throw the game.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">His whole life</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> Tom spoke out against racism in rugby. In the 1960's he took to the media to vent his views and give his support to the 'No Maoris no tour' cry. Despite the opposition that tour went ahead but as history shows, it was the last official All Blacks tour to South Africa without Maori in the team. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It would be safe to say that Tom French was one of the key personalities in the struggle to keep Maori rugby alive. For example, during his days as a rugby selector, manager and coach in the Hawkes Bay he was renowned for turning the Bay into a 'talent nursery' for Maori rugby stars. His Hawkes Bay team successfully repelled 24 assaults for the Ranfurly shield from 1922 to 1926. He cultivated rugby greats like George Nepia, Jimmy Mill (both of whom became part of the famous All Black Invincibles), Sam Gemmell, Tori Reid and Everard Jackson. And, thanks in large part to his work, Maori rugby is alive and well and remains a great pool of talent to this day. Despite comprising about 15 percent of the population, Maori represent about 25 percent of all the professional rugby players in New Zealand's two major competitions. The 2015 Rugby World Cup has eight players of Maori descent in the All Blacks squad.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> <span style="color: red;">Even with only one arm Tom could turn big lumps of soil in his garden</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Uncle tom died on July 15, 1970. In his later years he suffered from emphysema caused by a gas attack in Belgium during the war. Fittingly, his casket was borne by some of the old rugby greats that he knew so well: Waka Nathan, Keith Davis and Albie Pryor. After his death, history neglected him somewhat and his legacy to Maori rugby began to fade. Be that as it may, we should be glad to be part of his whakapapa, and it is pleasing to see that some of his descendants are now researching and writing his story. Perhaps he will yet get the recognition he so rightly deserves; if not by the world then more importantly, by us.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Sources used:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">1. Tom's Dream by Simon Day, <i>North & South </i>magazine<i>, </i>October 2015, pages 76-83.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">2. Wikipedia: Google, Tom French Cup.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">3. Exhibition XVI. Google, New Zealand Rugby Museum.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">4. Beneath the Maori Moon, by Malcolm Mulholland. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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David Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01882172661296160645noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4528543538469473341.post-18483775810564745882015-08-17T17:14:00.000-07:002016-02-23T02:24:20.582-08:00Sir Lambert; Robert Ormsby's Knighted Nephew<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;">Sir Lambert William Hepenstal Ormsby</span></div>
<span style="color: red;"> Written by David Bell</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I can' believe it! I never knew we had such an illustrious Ormsby ancestor. Obviously others in our extended family, especially those on his direct family line, would be familiar with him, but I never heard him mentioned throughout my entire life. I discovered him while reading about his father, George Owen Ormsby.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Lambert William was born in Onehunga, Auckland, to George Owen Ormsby and Selina Hepenstal 19th July 1849 and baptized in St. Peters Anglican Church, 2nd September of the same year. He was only twelve years old when his father died.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">His life story is a great example of someone from a humble colonial settlement making it big in the world through the determination and will to excel and succeed. He also was incredibly intelligent with a most impressive list of accomplishments as can be seen from the following death notice. </span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">SIR LAMBERT HEPENSTAL ORMSBY, M.D., F.R.C.S.I., Senior
Surgeon, Meath Hospital, Dublin. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">WE regret to announce that Sir Lambert Ormsby
died at his residence in Dublin on December 21st. He had been in failing
health for some time, but, notwithstanding this, had been out of doors as
recently as a week before his death. Lambert Hepenstal Ormsby was born at
Onehunga Lodge, Auckland, New Zealand, in 1849, the only son of Mr. George Owen
Ormsby, C.E.; his mother was a daughter of the Rev. Lambert Hepenstal, of
Altadon, Delgany, County Wicklow. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In his boyhood it was his ambition to enter the
Royal Navy. Indeed, after an early education at the Commercial School,
Auckland, the Lyceum, and the Grammar School, he left Auckland for London in
1864 with that end in view, but instead he went to the Royal School,
Dungannon. He studied medicine, was apprenticed to Mr. George Porter, later
Sir George Porter, and at the age of 19 was a surgeon and physician. He
had put in three years as a student at the Royal College and the Meath
Hospital, where he was resident surgical pupil. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He began to read for the Army
Medical Service in 1869, but at this stage an accident determined his career.
In a casual conversation with the late Dr. John Morgan, professor of anatomy in
the Royal College of Surgeons, he was offered the position of Anatomical Demonstrator at that institution, and, accepting it, in two years became a
skilled practical teacher. In 1872 he became surgeon to the Meath Hospital. He
entered Trinity College, Dublin, and graduated in arts in 1875; in the same
year he became a Fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons, and in 1879 took
the degree of M.D. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Especially interested from an early period of his career in orthopedic surgery and in the diseases of children requiring surgical
treatment, he published two important volumes, the result of much study and
practical experience: The Deformities of the Human Body and Diseases Peculiar to Children. In 1876 he founded the National Orthopedic and Children's
Hospital (now the National Children's Hospital), a humane and much needed
enterprise with the energetic promotion of which his memory will always be
associated. This was by no means the only philanthropic movement which Surgeon
Ormsby instituted and in which he took a lifelong interest. He acted as
chairman of the Association for the Housing of the Very Poor in Dublin, and the
occasions were many upon which his broad-minded sympathies found practical
expression. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">From the year 1880 until his death, Sir Lambert Ormsby devoted
himself exclusively to surgical practice. He founded in 1885 the Dublin Red
Cross Nursing Sisters' Home and Training School for Nurses, and watched over
its development with assiduous care. He acted as senior surgeon to the National
Children's Hospital, consulting surgeon to the Drummond Military School,
Chapelizod, and Honorary Consulting Surgeon to the Dublin branch of the Institute of Journalists. He was, besides, a member of the Board of
Superintendence of Dublin Hospitals and Governor of the Lock Government
Hospital. He was a Fellow of the Royal Academy of Medicine, Ireland, and a
Fellow of the Royal Medico-Liturgical Society of London. From 1902 to 1904 he
was President of the Royal College of Surgeons, Ireland, and it was during that
term in 1903 that the honour of knighthood was conferred upon him. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Another announcement gives a few additional bits of information on his many accomplishments:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Following is a list of Sir Lambert's various posts and achievements as mentioned in the above two articles: </span></div>
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<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Educated at the Auckland Commercial School, the Lyceum, Auckland Grammar, Royal School Dungannon (Ireland), Royal College, Meath Hospital and trinity Hospital.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Anatomical Demonstrator, Royal College of Surgeons.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Qualified physician and surgeon at 19 years old.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Surgeon at Meath Hospital.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Appointed as a Fellow on at least three medical institutions.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">M.D. degree 1879.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Published three acclaimed medical books: Deformities of the Human Body, Lectures on the Causes, Symptoms and Treatment of Varicose Veins, and Diseases Peculiar to Children.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Founded a children's hospital in Dublin.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Chairman of a housing organisation for Dublin's poor.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Founded the Dublin Red Cross Nursing Home.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Founded a training school for nurses.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Senior Surgeon at the National Children's Hospital.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Surgeon to the Royal Longford Rifles. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Served on several hospital boards.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">President of the Royal College of Surgeons.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Knighthood, 1903.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">1915 Colonel and honorary surgeon to the New Zealand Expeditionary Force.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Honorary rank of Lieutenant-Colonel.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Invented the Ormsby Ether Inhaler, a pile clamp, aseptic glass, an improved drainage tube and a new type of chest bandage.</span></li>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As can be seen from the above list, Sir Lambert was dedicated to his work and to his fellow humans; especially the poor, the children and the soldiers. I see in him a tireless worker for all who suffer and well deserving of the knighthood bestowed upon him. I for one feel quite proud that such a caring person is part of my family history.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I am not alone in such sentiments. The Evening Post, 22 June 1918, wrote: <i>Returned officers and men who have come in contact with Sir Lambert Ormsby in the Old Country and in Ireland, speak in the highest terms of his hospitality and consideration of each and every case which comes under his notice. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Sir
Lambert Ormsby was twice married, and had four children (two sons and two
daughters) by his first wife. His second wife was Geraldine Matthews, R.R.C. (Royal Red Cross), O.B.E. (Order of the British Empire), whom he married in 1921.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">His first wife was named Anastia Tatto who died 20 January 1911 when Sir Lambert was sixty two and is buried in plot 1601 at the Mount Jerome cemetery in Ireland. At seventy two years old he married Geraldine Matthews in 1921, just two years before he passed away on 21 December 1923 aged seventy four. Geraldine was also a woman of great interest, having both R.R.C. and O.B.E. honours to her name. She died 28 October, 1932, nine years after Sir Lambert.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBZF4mCY9weh4BHBtfVAHviNvhW8WCqJot7vdQ2tbGXvqQj_B1jqEoxcSTbTCIAzQuOKrQAkBZ3wr-YW9oOWTcJRMHFK1c3f2jJPMe_K10Gemb37pcC6Dg8jJVcfv6Cf5oINJ5TsHFTlgo/s1600/GeraldineMathewsWeddingNotice.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBZF4mCY9weh4BHBtfVAHviNvhW8WCqJot7vdQ2tbGXvqQj_B1jqEoxcSTbTCIAzQuOKrQAkBZ3wr-YW9oOWTcJRMHFK1c3f2jJPMe_K10Gemb37pcC6Dg8jJVcfv6Cf5oINJ5TsHFTlgo/s400/GeraldineMathewsWeddingNotice.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">The wedding announcement in the British Journal of Nursing, February 1921</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>Sources used:</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">1. Papers Past: Evening Post Personal Matters vol. xcv, issue 148, 22 June 1918, p.8.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">2. Mount Jerome Cemetery, Dublin (Part XI family plots 1599-1601)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">3. Papers Past: The Dominion, vol 8, issue 2458, 11 May 1915, p.7.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">4. NZ-Auckland-L Archives.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">5. Sydney Morning Herald, Tuesday 25 December 1923, p.7.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">6. British Journal of Nursing, February 12, 1921, volume 66, page 94.</span></div>
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David Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01882172661296160645noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4528543538469473341.post-88595541161741042942015-08-16T18:14:00.001-07:002016-02-25T03:49:18.253-08:00The Brothers of Robert Ormsby<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Robert's Brothers George and Arthur</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">By David Bell</span></div>
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<b><span style="color: blue; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">George Owen Ormsby 1814 ~ 1861</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Whilst Robert, our New Zealand Ormsby ancestor, is familiar to us, not many know he had two remarkable brothers; George Owen and Arthur Sydney. In fact, it is quite possibly because of his older brother George that Robert came to these shores. Let's discuss George first then look at Arthur Sydney.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">George Owen Ormsby was born to Reverend Owen Ormsby (1782-1834) and Ann Phibbs (1800-1852) of County Louth, Ireland. Some New Zealand records give his father the title of Bishop, but this appears to be an error. There is no official record of him being a Bishop, rather, he was known as Reverend Owen Ormsby, Rector of Balymascanlon, County Louth. In the later obituary of his youngest son, Arthur, he is also referred to as <i>Reverend </i>Owen Ormsby, this time of Kilmore and Grange, County Roscommon.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">George Owen had five siblings: Anne, Harry, Isabel, Robert and Arthur. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">George trained as a surveyor and as a young man left Ireland on board HMS Buffalo as an assistant surveyor to one Colonel Light, the Surveyor-General bound for South Australia with the commission to survey land for a settlement town which is today's Adelaide.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Colonel Light, George, and two or three other assistants set to work and surveyed a site carefully chosen by Colonel Light on account of its nearby mountains which he reasoned would encourage greater chances of rainfall than some of the other sites that were recommended. It also had a substantial river (the Torrens) running through it. He was not without his detractors but he persevered with his choice and set George and the other assistants to work.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">George might possibly have set roots in Adelaide if not for a dispute between Colonel Light and his superiors back in the Old Country on account of the bosses deciding to implement some new surveying methods. What these methods involved I can't say but they were so unpopular with the Colonel and his crew that Light resigned his post as Surveyor-General. George, in turn, refused to work under Colonel Light's replacement and also resigned. With the whole project thrown into array the replacement Surveyor-General was compelled to resign and the new methods were dropped. George was asked to take charge until the arrival of Charles Sturt, the new Surveyor-General. One month later George resigned a second time and in May, 1839, went back to Ireland.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Nevertheless, George left his mark in South Australia. In the South Australian Gazette he was complemented as: <i>an active and efficient officer, one of the best, if not the very best, on the staff of Colonel Light. </i>In addition, one of the rivulets that feed into the Torrens bears his name, presumably compliments of Colonel Light as George did much of his surveying in that area.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> About 1842-43 George Left Ireland for Auckland New Zealand where he married Selina Hepenstal in 1843. In Auckland he did contract work surveying Crown land and a big job with the Church Mission Society in relation to its claims before the Land Claims Commission. The land he surveyed later became today's Tauranga. He also held the government post of Marine Supervisor at 200 pounds a year and surveyed and charted the Manukau Harbor. He was later promoted to Assistant Surveyor-General at 300 pounds a year. Other appointments included Commissioner of both the Provincial Wastelands and the Board of Works. he was also appointed the Provincial Road Surveyor. I don't know what these fine-sounding responsibilities involved, but it certainly demonstrates his surveying skills and community spirit.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In 1944, soon after arriving in Auckland, George took advantage of the Government's relaxing of the monopoly it held on purchasing Maori land and obtained some of his own. Up until then only the Crown was allowed to purchase land from the Maoris, a situation that became increasingly annoying to the immigrants and settlers. By 1844 the pressure on the government had become strong enough to force Governor Robert Fitzroy to pass two land acts relinquishing its stranglehold. The following is the document deeding George the land he purchased.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; text-transform: uppercase;">MAORI DEEDS OF OLD PRIVATE LAND PURCHASES IN NEW ZEALAND, FROM THE YEAR
1815 TO 1840, WITH PRE-EMPTIVE AND OTHER CLAIMS</span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; text-transform: uppercase;">DEEDS—NO. 98</span></b></div>
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<b><i><span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 18.0pt;">Deeds—No. 98.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i><span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 18.0pt; font-variant: small-caps;">Te Onepi Block, Onehunga, Manukau District.</span></i></b><b><i><span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">1844. 26 September.<span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Manukau
District.</span><b><span style="text-transform: uppercase;">TE ONEPI. </span></b></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; font-variant: small-caps;">Know</span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> all men by these presents, that we the
undersigned agree to make over, barter, alienate and sell to George Owen
Ormsby, his executors and assigns for ever that spot of land </span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">G. O. Ormsby.</span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">named Onehunga situated on the North side of the
Manukau River. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">We also </span><span lang="EN" style="color: #663333; font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; text-transform: uppercase;"><a href="http://nzetc.victoria.ac.nz/tm/scholarly/tei-TurOldP-t1-g1-g2-g3-g7.html#n516" title="page break">PAGE 503</a> </span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">agree that all tapued places, Woods, Water,
Minerals, Mines, &c. &c., shall be at the disposal of the said George
Owen Ormsby his heirs, executors and assigns, now, henceforth, and for ever. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The said land Onehunga is bounded as follows. On the North by </span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Boundaries. [20 acres.]</span></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Crown land, on the East by land belonging to Forbes
and the road from Epsom to Manukau, on the South the Manukau River, and on the
West by land lately purchased by Mr. Beveridge from the undersigned. We agree
to accept the undermentioned</span> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Articles as payment for the said land Onehunga,
namely Two double-barreled Guns, Two Pounds sterling cash, Seven Blankets, One
Cloak and One Gown piece. We collectively and individually agree to settle said
land Onehunga upon said George Owen Ormsby his heirs, executors and assigns for
ever. The above considerations in token whereof we affix our hands and seals
this 26th day of Septemb</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">er in the year of our Lord One thousand Eight hundred
and forty-four.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; font-variant: small-caps;">Moana.l.s.</span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br />
<span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Thos. Walker</span> his x mark <span style="font-variant: small-caps;">l.s.</span><br />
<span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Reweti</span> his x mark. <span style="font-variant: small-caps;">l.s.</span><br />
<span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Keene</span> x. <span style="font-variant: small-caps;">l.s.</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">C. Davis. J. Dilworth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">[Sketch of the land inserted
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Signed by the undermentioned parties in the
presence of </span><a href="http://nzetc.victoria.ac.nz/tm/scholarly/name-207825.html"><span lang="EN" style="color: #663333; font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">James Dilworth</span></a><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> of Auckland and Charles Davis of same
place this deed having been first read over and explained to the said parties
by the said Charles Davis—<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a href="http://nzetc.victoria.ac.nz/tm/scholarly/name-207825.html"><span lang="EN" style="color: #663333; font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">James Dilworth</span></a><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">, Aut., Auckland.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">C. Davis, Interpreter, Auckland.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Received the articles and
money mentioned in this deed, namely Two double</span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> barreled guns, two pounds sterling cash seven blankets, one gown
piece, and one cloak.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; font-variant: small-caps;">Moana</span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> x.<br />
<span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Reweti</span> his x mark.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">A True Copy of Original Deed.</span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">No. 60.P.C.</span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a href="http://nzetc.victoria.ac.nz/tm/scholarly/name-401540.html"><span lang="EN" style="color: #663333; font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; font-variant: small-caps;">H. Hanson Turton</span></a><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Wellington, 17th July, 1880.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">However, not long after, the Fitzroy government did an about-turn and restored its monopoly and George's ownership was immediately subjected to an investigation by the Land Claims Commission who seized it for a Royal Fencibles Military settlement. By then he had built his Onehunga Lodge on the land. He was offered compensation but he believed it was inadequate and refused to accept. He felt he was being treated unjustly and unfairly by the government and ended up in a long and protracted dispute. His case was by no means unique; many others had lands and properties seized unjustly with poor compensation offers. it appears that the colonial government's land grabbing tendencies were not restricted to Maori only.</span><br />
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Unfortunately, George died in 1861 after succumbing to illness at the relatively young age of forty seven. His battle with the government had lasted until his passing</span></span>; <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">a struggle of seventeen years. It's not clear what happened to his land but it appears that upon his death the government got it.</span><br />
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><b>Sources used:</b></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">1. Pioneer Land Surveyors of New Zealand, part iv, page 444.</span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">2. From Sextants to Satellites: A Cartographic Timeline for New Zealand by Brian Marshall, 2005.</span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">3. New Zealand - Auckland - L Archives.</span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">4. Information given by Debbie Lee Robinson, an Ormsby relative , Adelaide, Australia.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: xx-small; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-NZ;"><b><br /></b></span>
</span><span lang="EN" style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: xx-small; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-NZ;"><b><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Arthur Sydney Ormsby 1825 ~ 1887</span></b> </span></span><br />
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Born in Ireland in February of 1825, Arthur Sydney was another of Reverend Owen Ormsby's sons, He was also the uncle after whom our own Arthur Sydney Ormsby of Puketotara was named.</span><br />
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He trained as a civil engineer specializing in railroads where he did a lot of work throughout Ireland and England. In 1849 he set his sights further abroad and went to America where he worked on various jobs including the Hoosac tunnel which was the longest tunnel in the U.S. at the time.</span><br />
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In 1852 he sailed to Australia in Melbourne for a brief period as Assistant Colonial Engineer before heading for New Zealand where he worked as a civil engineer and surveyor around the Auckland region. He obviously came to New Zealand because of his family connections here, it being the country his brothers Robert and George had chosen to call home. Of course, older brother George had long ago died but his family remained, and Robert, by now, had begun to set himself up permanently in the colony. However, Arthur seemed to possess a more restless spirit and around 1857 he went to Mauritius and India where he rose to the position of executive engineer of the Public Works department for the Indian Government. He held that post from 1858 to 1861 when he was suddenly made redundant. He believed he had been badly treated and disgruntled and bitter, returned to England and worked on other projects including the promotion of a tunnel between Scotland and the North of Ireland. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He never finished that project because he died on the </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">24th of February, 1887 aged sixty-two.</span><br />
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David Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01882172661296160645noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4528543538469473341.post-69371317660271607472015-08-01T04:34:00.001-07:002015-08-03T19:35:27.751-07:00Jersey Island 2015<span style="color: red; font-size: large;">Jersey Island 2015 ~ the Land of our Ancestors Lempriere and Aubin</span><br />
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Written by David Bell<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5j2WVb3hI9Q/VblSVbpEEpI/AAAAAAAAHpU/Tct-_8X6LKY/s1600/IMG_4504.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="130" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5j2WVb3hI9Q/VblSVbpEEpI/AAAAAAAAHpU/Tct-_8X6LKY/s400/IMG_4504.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: red;">The Township of Saint Aubin at dusk.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">During our 2015 May-June trip to Europe to visit Winnie's brother and his family in Holland, we took a two day detour to Jersey Island, the ancestral land on my father's side. And as it turned out we were very glad we did so.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Jersey was not like I imagined; probably because everything I had learned about it was old history. I was not prepared for the bustling, modern Jersey that greeted us. I knew it would not be as primitive as when our ancestors lived there, but I still sort of half imagined it to be a quaint, quiet place; a lot slower than France and Britain, the two mainlands it shares. Instead, we immediately discovered a favorite holiday spot and prosperous business center. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Jersey is not part of the United kingdom, even though closely allied both ideologically and culturally. It is, instead, a Crown dependency which is like having a monarch who reigns but does not rule. Under such a system Jersey is a self-governing possession of the crown with its own parliament and its own laws. Being a Crown dependency excludes it from membership in the Commonwealth but it is part of the European Union with the Euro as currency.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">We also found out that it's some kind of tax haven that attracts a lot of wealthy people from England. An elderly local lady we chatted to on some steps leading down to the pebbly sand of Gorey Bay informed us she was waiting for her son to moor his small yacht; he had a successful business in England and kept a holiday yacht in the bay. He flew over frequently, even if just for the weekend, the flight being a mere 30-40 minutes and cheap. Looking at the hundreds of boats moored in the bay and all the other bays across the island, it appeared there were many others like him. I don't know how but apparently there are some financial benefits to be exploited by having Jersey residency.</span><br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ckEhZ-uJk7M/VboHDsy_wHI/AAAAAAAAHqU/d0CUgDGSWg4/s1600/Plane%2BJersey.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ckEhZ-uJk7M/VboHDsy_wHI/AAAAAAAAHqU/d0CUgDGSWg4/s400/Plane%2BJersey.JPG" width="280" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: red;">Above:Looking out over the wing of our plane to catch our first glimpse of Jersey Island</span><span id="goog_177731628" style="color: red;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: red;">Below: A closer aerial view.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">We stayed in a small hotel in St Heliers, the island's capital. The island is not huge so it was a good base for the couple of days, the bus terminal being within walking distance. The bus system was excellent which was good because it was by bus we planned to do all our sight seeing and family history things. The buses were clean and comfortable and we were struck by how friendly and courteous the drivers were. More than once we found ourselves well short of the bus stop and seeing us hurrying the drivers pulled over and picked us up. I mention all this because Jersey just has the feel of a nice place to live. The climate is mild, the land very fertile, small well kept parks abound, and the houses have that neatly painted look of prosperity and wealth about them. Nearly all the homes are of stone or some permanent material and keep a modern but 'old' look; no doubt a deliberate effort to maintain an historical kind of charm. It worked because we were impressed with how nice everything looked and how well the buildings blended with their surroundings. Also, the streets are immaculate; quite narrow in parts but well maintained, many with trees or stonework walls running alongside. I learned later that Jersey has an abundance of its own unique pinkish rock which has been used since old times for buildings, roads and dry-walls, which explained why, to my eye, everything had a sort of uniform look about it. </span><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HCbeeC7TTc8/Vb2CDOKJLnI/AAAAAAAAHuM/A6m8mugXz28/s1600/Staffordshire%2BHotel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HCbeeC7TTc8/Vb2CDOKJLnI/AAAAAAAAHuM/A6m8mugXz28/s400/Staffordshire%2BHotel.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Our accommodation was the Staffordshire Hotel, three floors and old in style. It was classified two star but clean and comfortable enough and well located for our two day stay. The big bonus was its restaurant which was very reasonably priced with excellent food.</span><br />
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;">The lamb shanks were the best I've ever had. The desserts were good too. We didn't need to look elsewhere for a nice dinner.</span>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Above: Some of the many parks and gardens across the island. Notice the New Zealand cabbage trees which suggests a climate similar to ours. Our cabbage trees were everywhere.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: red;">Above: We saw a lot of small farms and gardens all over Jersey, like this potato field with its neat stone wall.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Castles and big stone forts are common sites; some in better repair than others. Throughout their history the Channel Islands have been regularly fought over by the English and the French, with England finally gaining the upper hand. Consequently, Jersey and the other islands are now British. This old squabbling explains the numerous castle-like forts all around the Jersey coastline; the largest and best preserved being Elizabeth Castle at St Heliers and Mont Orgueil at Gorey Bay. Both are tourist attractions and for a price we could have taken a tour through one of them but we chose instead to be satisfied to walk around the outside. </span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Above: The Elizabeth Castle at St. Heliers has a long path leading to it which is exposed at low tide.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;"> Above: A closer view of Elizabeth Castle.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;"> Above: Gorey Bay and Mont Orgueil Castle.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Above: Gorey Bay is a popular tourist spot boasting a delightful township with cafes, restaurants and other tourist businesses. It also sports a sheltered, scenic bay where boats are moored, and a grand old castle watching over it like a giant stone sentinel.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">One of the family history tasks we set ourselves was to visit at least a couple of cemeteries in search of some old ancestors. I knew the Aubins and Lemprieres were buried in several different cemeteries across Jersey, but from my records the names Grouville, St. Martins and Trinity came up as the parish graveyards where most were laid to rest. We caught buses to St Martins and Grouville to see who we could find. Luckily, the two were not too far apart so we were able to spend a few interesting hours searching out familiar names. It was a buzz each time we discovered an Aubin or Lempriere. </span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;">The old churches on Jersey, like St Martins (above), are over a hundred years old, superbly kept and judging by the notices outside the entrances, still well used for worship services.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small; text-align: left;">The St. Peter La Rocque Church, Grouville parish where we found several Aubins.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;">A cluster of Lemprieres under the shade of an ancient tree.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Reginald Raol Lempriere. Seigneur of Rosel and his wife Clemintine Baroness von ? 1873 - 1935</span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;">William Lempriere, Seigneur of Rosel, died 31 January, 1895 aged 76. And his wife Julia Anne Wayne, died 18 January 1892 aged 72.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Francois Aubin, died 4 February 1892 and his wife Elizabeth De Quetteville, died 27 July 1903 aged 79.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">This is an interesting one. George Aubin, died 20 March 1895 shares this grave with Jane (nee Stone) Aubin, Thomas Letto Le Quesne 1994, Alice Emily Aubin Le Quesne 2003, and Maurice Phillip Boots as recent as 2011. I think the later burials must be cremations. I can't see how so many coffins can fit in one plot.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="text-align: left;">Phillippe Aubin, died 9 March 1861 and his wife Marie Madeleine Caudin, died 13 January aged 69. Also, Elise Esther Aubin and Upton Edward Boots and other family names.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: red;">Josue Aubin, died 21 February 1885 aged 74 and his wife Susanne Queree 1882 aged 68. Also Eugene Aubin, Eugene Perredes, Susanne Aubin died 5 June 1883 aged 25. Other names listed on this head stone are: Eugene Perredes, Susanne Aubin, Josue Aubin, and Ann Queree. It appears that several generations share the same plot - as well as the same names.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Finally, I wish to conclude this article with our search for Rosel the old Lempriere estate which has been discussed in an earlier article.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Winnie and I considered it a 'must-do' while in Jersey. It just wouldn't be right to leave without setting foot on that piece of our family history soil. We had hopes of actually visiting the old Rosel manor which is still Lempriere owned. We had information that being a place of historical significance it was open to the public on certain days. But when we arrived in Jersey we were told that it was now closed to the public. This was confirmed when we struck up a conversation with an elderly lady sitting on the steps going down from the Gorey Bay township to the beach. She was waiting for her son to come in from his small yacht moored in the bay. As it happened she was a friend of the Lemprieres of Rosel. She said we could probably contact the Lemprieres and being relatives they might possibly let us have a look. But it was getting late and we were leaving the next day. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">We had been told that there was a public walking trail that went through the Rosel estate and at one point you could see across the fields and get a good view of the Manor, so we decided to take a bus and see if we could find Rosel before sunset. With the help of the bus driver we disembarked near the walkway. A lady walking her dog knew the trail and took us to where it began and gave instructions on how to find the field to view the Manor. The following pictures tell the rest of the story. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: red;">The start of the walkway to the Rosel estate; It was a very nice track that wound its way past a few country homes that were obviously owned by wealthy locals, through a forest and up a walled country lane.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: red;">The walled lane which was obviously very old. I could easily imagine our old ancestors walking or riding horses along it. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: red;">The end of the lane opened onto green paddocks with Jersey cows grazing in them. I looked across to my right and to my delight spotted the unmistakable outline of Rosel House. There was a small gate opening into the field so I quickly opened it and went into the paddock, just to prove I have trod the soil of our ancestors. We hung about for a little while and Winnie took some more photos of the cows.</span></span></div>
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The next day we left Jersey after a delightful two days in which we enjoyed near perfect weather, some great sightseeing, excellent food, a walk through the War Tunnels with it's fascinating history of Jersey during the German occupation of World War Two, and a bunch of family history. We found Jersey to be one of the nicest places we visited on our trip to Europe. Of course in two days we didn't see or do a tenth of what's there is to see and do. </div>
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We made this visit thinking it to be a once-in-a-lifetime thing, but now I'm not so sure. If we ever again visit Winnie's folk in Holland I would be sorely tempted to go there once more.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> <span style="color: red; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The End</span></span></div>
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David Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01882172661296160645noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4528543538469473341.post-40626236781942332292015-07-20T02:13:00.000-07:002015-08-17T14:35:26.393-07:00Our Windmill Folk<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;">Our Windmill Folk</span></div>
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Written by David Bell</div>
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<img alt="Amazing Windmills" src="http://www.thephotoargus.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/07/WM21.jpg" /><br />
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May, 2015, my wife Winnie and I set of on our much anticipated journey to Holland to visit her Dutch-Chinese relatives, of which there are many. These folk immigrated to Holland over the years from Hong Kong, New Guinea, and China. The first to make the transition was her aunt (her father's younger sister, Ang Hui Kim), who married a Hong Kong businessman, Kho Keng Tiat, and moved with him to Biak Island where they established a very successful trading business, petrol station and a few other side ventures.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ry69RStT-Yk/Va9c6NwlKEI/AAAAAAAAHe0/g12FsjWYEuA/s1600/photo%2B%252855%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ry69RStT-Yk/Va9c6NwlKEI/AAAAAAAAHe0/g12FsjWYEuA/s400/photo%2B%252855%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Kho Keng Tiat and Ang Hui Kim ~ 2015.</span></td></tr>
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When Indonesia took control of the Dutch half of New Guinea the family - now consisting of parents and three children - left and lived in Hong Kong for a while before using their Dutch residency to move to Holland and start again. They took with them a sizable fortune and set up several Indonesian restaurants that prospered and increased their wealth.Winnie's brother, Ang Yan San (Raymond) left Hong Kong in the early nineteen seventies to join his uncle and aunt and work in one in of their restaurants in Amsterdam.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">The Amsterdam restaurant Raymond worked in after arriving in Holland. It has long since changed owners but still serves Indonesian food.</span></td></tr>
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For a long time he worked as a lowly dishwasher and cleaner but through hard work, diligence and a powerful desire to learn and succeed, he earned the respect of his uncle who took him under his wing and helped him towards establishing his own business. His uncle generously gave him a percentage in another Indonesian restaurant on the Dutch-German border and from this humble beginning Raymond eventually became a prosperous restaurateur. However, it came at a cost. The decades of grinding work in the kitchen and the long sixteen to seventeen hour days combined with the stress of running the business caused him to suffer heart problems forcing early retirement. Fortunately, he had amassed enough wealth to allow him to give up the business and enjoy a financially comfortable retirement.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Raymond Ang Yan San ~ 2015. </span></td></tr>
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One is compelled to admire Raymond's great spirit. He came from Hong Kong with a very limited education and only $HK200 in his pocket given by his mother, undoubtedly all she had at the time. He was not the academic type. School to him was a place to avoid and sitting in a classroom doing lessons all day was nothing more than mental torture; he was a hands-on kind of person. So, when the opportunity arrived to go to Holland to learn the restaurant trade he took it.</div>
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Raymond can never be accused of being lazy or lacking ambition because he worked long hours and threw himself into learning to cook. In the end he became an expert chef and and astute businessman. He also fathered three boys all of whom have become skilled in their chosen professions. Holland quickly became the land which he now calls home. </div>
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As the old saying goes, <i>behind every successful man is a great woman.</i> This is certainly true of his wife, Lai Kam, a bubbly, active, humor-loving bundle of drive and energy. She is also hugely supportive of her husband, and a caring and loving mother and grandmother. The years of hard work have also exacted a price as she too battles a health problem. Luckily, both she and her husband are so positive that their health difficulties are no barrier to their enjoyment of life and their devotion to their family. She and Raymond are an example of two people who came though years of tough slog and terrific struggle by working together and sticking together despite their differences.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Lai Kam Chan ~ 2015</span></td></tr>
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Lai Kam's journey from China to Holland is a story with all the elements of fear, sorrow, bravery, hardship and final victory; a story well worth telling.</div>
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She was born in Fujian Province, South China, and like so many from that province, her father lived and worked in the Philippines as a means to support his family back in China. However, when the Communists under Mao Tse Tung defeated Chiang Kai Shek and his Nationalists, they implemented policies which nationalized all lands and properties to the communist government, making private ownership and private business punishable by imprisonment or death. These conditions went completely against the grain for such people as hers who believed in hard work and free enterprise. It soon became imperative to her father that the family (his wife and young daughter) leave China by any means possible. It was also imperative the family get out of China because with China now closed it was impossible for her father to ever return. If he did he would never get out again. Therefore, a hard decision had to be made; should he return to be with his family and thereafter live under communist rule, or do the almost unthinkable; risk the lives of his wife and daughter and spirit them out of the country into Hong Kong. One can only imagine the difficulty of such a decision. He would have been well aware of the dangers of smuggling them out, but he would have also seriously weighed up the prospects of life in China under the oppression of communism. No doubt Lai Kam and her mother would have been well aware of the dangers as well. But, when the final decision to flee was made their determination was resolute.</div>
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As already mentioned, Lai Kam had a father and many uncles who had earlier left China, one of which lived in nearby Hong Kong. It was arranged that he would organize their escape. This would have been in the early nineteen sixties when the borders were closed and guarded by deadly machine gun posts. Communist gunboats also patrolled the rivers and coast around Hong Kong. It has never been recorded exactly how many refugees lost their lives trying to sneak into Hong Kong by land or water. Nevertheless, despite the risk and very real dangers, her father and uncle arranged for them to board a small fishing boat that would hide them in the hold along with other refugees and take them to Hong Kong and freedom.</div>
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When it was time they left under the cover of darkness and boarded a small diesel powered boat and were stuffed like sardines with many others in the small, stuffy hold under the wooden deck. It would be a long, uncomfortable trip along the coast to Hong Kong; just how uncomfortable they were soon to discover.</div>
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It didn't take long before several of the passengers got seasick, probably hastened by the stench of diesel fumes that seeped into the hold from the old engine. There was only a couple of buckets for their toiletry but these were quickly filled with vomit. The stink of other peoples' vomit made Lai Kam even more ill and it is one of the things of the trip she still has vivid memories of. It wasn't possible to empty and clean the buckets regularly so the passengers were forced to endure the stench and foul air for long periods. In addition to the vomit, it wasn't long before they had to deal with the other bodily functions and the disposal of human waste.</div>
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It was a brutally hard week of chugging slowly along the coast travelling at night to avoid the gunboat patrols then hiding up somewhere during daylight hours. Lai Kam remembers the relief of fresh air and the fear of being detected as they hid in some cove or bay. She remembers climbing from the boat and clambering up slippery rocks at some designated safe place, the relief of being out of the stinking hold tempered by the fear of discovery. Everyone was constantly on the lookout for patrol boats.</div>
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Thankfully, there were no patrol boats and they made it to Hong Kong where they were joyously united with their father and other relatives.</div>
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Hong Kong was to be their new home but several years later a sudden tragedy blew that plan to pieces: Lai Kam's father was the victim of a street robbery that went horribly wrong. One day on the streets in the Philippines some muggers attacked him and in the process shot him to death. It was heartbreaking news for Lai Kam and her mother and left them completely without a provider. Again, it was family who came to their rescue, this time in faraway Holland. They were offered the possibility of another start by going to Holland to join other relatives there and work in their restaurant businesses. It sounded like a good option, the only problem being how to get there.</div>
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Having already managed one escape they probably felt they could do one more. However, this time would be vastly different with its own specific problems. Firstly, they were free to travel wherever they pleased so they weren't desperate refugees. The problem this time was that they needed immigration papers and visas and the like, and in their current situation these were impossible to acquire. They would have to do something a little more enterprising - sneaky is probably a better description. They would sneak into Holland and if they could stay there long enough they would then apply for Dutch residency. Holland's immigration laws back then were considerably tolerant and often gave amnesty to long-term overstayers if their behavior and contribution to society was satisfactory. And so begins another good story. This <i>escape</i> was not to be on a rickety old boat but but modern jet liner; this now being the mid nineteen seventies.</div>
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The plan cooked up was to fly by plane to France where they would be met by their uncle who would take them back with him to Holland by car. Simple.</div>
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However, Lai Kam and her mother had never been on an airliner before let alone travel to a strange land so far away. The first big question was what they should wear so as not to draw too much attention to themselves and arouse suspicion among the airline and immigration officials. It was decided they pretend to be tourists and dress accordingly. They had no idea how tourists looked so Lai Kam and other well meaning family members dug up some travel magazines and scoured the advertisements and articles for ideas. The result was a wardrobe of high-heeled shoes, tight nylons, brightly colored skirts and oversize sun glasses. Further, neither of them spoke a word of English so another helpful uncle instructed them it was safest to just smile brightly and say yes to everything. Years later, in hindsight, Lai Kam saw the fatal flaw in this advice. Imagine if a conversation with an immigration officer went:</div>
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"Why are you here?"</div>
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"Yes!"</div>
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"Are you here to seek work?"</div>
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"Yes!"</div>
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"Are you trying to sneak into the country?"</div>
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"Yes!"</div>
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"So you are an illegal immigrant and should be deported?"</div>
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"Yes!"</div>
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Thankfully, there were no such interviews.</div>
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The days leading up to their departure was loaded with a mix of uncertainty, excitement, anxiety and sheer terror, and when the great day finally arrived Lai Kam, and her mother showed up at the airport decked out in flowery long dresses, shiny silk stockings and high-heeled shoes purchased from the street markets. On their arms hung large handbags and their faces were made up to make them look like rich tourists. Best of all, their eyes were covered by the biggest, darkest glasses the street stalls could offer. Ah-dao, Lai Kam's Hong Kong born little brother, was also a member of the traveling party. </div>
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It was a huge occasion and about eighty family friends came to see them off. Apparently no-one told them this was supposed to be a secret operation. Travelling overseas by airliner in those days was a big thing and an event not to be missed if one had friends or relatives flying overseas.</div>
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The Flight to France was uneventful and no-one seemed to pay too much attention to the two bumpkins dressed to the nines and looking utterly ridiculous.</div>
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As the hours passed, Lai Kam and her mother became increasingly uncomfortable in their unfamiliar apparel; the shoes squeezed their feet and sent pains up their legs, the dresses were unbearable and the cheap made-in-Hong Kong sunglasses were so dark they couldn't see past their noses, but they persevered lest they blew their cover. </div>
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Their Holland uncle, to avoid the more officious international airport in Paris, booked them on a plane that landed in some smaller country airport. It took a lot longer to reach and when they finally arrived the two women were exhausted and thoroughly fed up with their tourist roles. As they stumbled through the plane door onto the steps, Lai Kam's mother grabbed her daughter's arm and complained that she couldn't see a thing through her glasses and feared she would fall down the steps. Lai Kam told her to put her hands on her shoulder and follow her down. When they got to the bottom the high-heels were cutting into their feet and were so painful they both decided to discard them and walked barefoot across the rough tarmac. By the time they got to where her uncle was waiting anxiously for them, they looked like anything but rich tourists; their nylons torn to shreds, their shoes hanging from their hands and their splendid dresses ragged and crumpled. They also had a tired, grouchy little boy in tow. It was with great relief they climbed into the car and sped off toward Holland.</div>
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While there were a lot of adjustments to make, life gradually got better and Holland became their permanent home. A few years later she met and married our own Raymond and became his rock and support in their restaurant businesses and on the home front.</div>
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When Winnie and I visited Raymond and Lai Kam, they opened their hearts and home to us without reservation and showed us the best time of our lives by stuffing us with the finest food, hospitality, and an itinerary that took us all to Paris, London, and Berlin.</div>
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<span style="color: red;">Winnie and Raymond had not seen each other for over thirty years so meeting up again was a long overdue and happy reunion ~ 2015.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large; text-align: center;"> Dutch Houses</span><br />
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Raymond and Lai Kam are firmly established in Holland, a country they love and call their permanent home. The following pictures are snapshots of Winnie and my vacation there during May and June, 2015. We were greatly surprised by Holland. We envisioned it to be a small and crowded place with sparse countryside. The reality, we found, was quite the opposite. Yes, geographically it is a relatively small land with a population far exceeding New Zealand, but it has a surprising amount of plains carpeted in green crops such as grain, potato, vegetables and seed plants. The Dutch love their flowers so there are also huge areas of glasshouses growing flowers and fruits. Also, small dairy and sheep farms can be seen from time to time. Following are some captioned photographs taken on our trip which give an idea of what we discovered about Holland.<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: red;">Most people live in flats or apartments. They are generally quite small but there are bigger places for higher rental. Raymond's address is 75 Hamontstraat (Hamont Street). The Government provides much of the housing by building large apartment complexes which are basic but neat and comfortable. Most, however - like Raymond and Lai Kam's here at Sloten near Amsterdam - are privately owned. The more wealthy have larger stand-alone houses many of which front onto one of the thousands of canals that cover Holland. Others live in city houses and flats which can be very costly.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Above: A typical old-style Dutch cottage and it's small front garden. Most Dutch people seem to be very house-proud, their houses tidy and neat. Note the cottages in the background, typical of the more up-market dwelling. Below: Some city apartments along the canal in Amsterdam.</span><br />
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<span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Some folk live in more unusual dwellings, like these innovative buildings in the following photos. The Dutch are renowned for their experimental and innovative architects and engineers as can be seen in these architectural examples. The first picture shows some views of what has been called the world's most innovative building and best example of blending the city with housing. The living apartments are built into the huge hangar-like structure which arches over a large space filled with shops and businesses, creating a covered marketplace. The residents can gaze down through their inside windows onto the busy market below. Also, the outside walls look out over the city and ocean. It is truly a remarkable building but to live in it might take some adjustments to your idea of living space. No doubt the apartments are very well appointed but it almost seems like living in an anthill. The convenience, though, must be spectacular.</span></span></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">The other pictures show a complex of experimental housing designed to maximize space. We went inside the display one and while it probably fulfilled its space saving function it would take a bit of time to get accustomed to the crazy angles and curves throughout the interior. I think younger people would like living in them, but not me. Not many others either because I never saw this kind of housing elsewhere in Holland.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;">A street view showing the apartments on the outside and marketplace underneath on the inside</span>.</div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Interior view showing apartment windows looking down on the marketplace. Note the huge mural covering the entire interior. The flats on the roof have their windows on the floors.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Looking from one end through the interior to <i>The Pencil</i>, another apartment building.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> Looks like something from Alice In Wonderland.</span><span style="color: red;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">Below: Other dwellings included some of what I considered the more ideal kind of home; those set on the canals, their lawns ending at the waters edge with ducks, fish, frogs and other wildlife at their doorsteps. A few lucky folk even live on canal houseboats.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Windmills</span><br />
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Windmills have always fascinated me; my two most enduring images of Holland since childhood being of windmills and the little boy who stuck his finger in a hole in the dyke saving the whole country from disaster. Strangely, when I asked the locals about this old children story (which we all read at primary school) no-one had heard of it and thought it quite amusing. However, they easily related to it because I was quickly informed that water, while great to have in such abundance, was also their biggest enemy, the whole country being part of a massive ancient river plain. The other name for Holland is Nederland, which means flat-land. The old Nederland - or Netherlands as they are also called - included today's Holland, Belgium and part of Germany. But, over the centuries, wars and skirmishes caused it to be divided up into its current borders. </div>
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While it was once a plain with rivers threaded throughout, it had substantial dry places with exceptionally fertile soil in the form of islands and small high patches on which people settled. But it was prone to flooding so over time the inhabitants kept the water at bay as best they could by building dams and canals for drainage. The eventual advent of windmills brought revolutionary change to these lowlands.<br />
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Windmills had been around for a long time; the ancient Egyptians probably being the first to invent some sort of wind powered mechanism. The Arabs and then Romans also made windmills. Later the English built them for various uses but all these were relatively primitive and simple. It was the Dutch who took them to new technological heights and made windmills a common sight all across the land. They were mostly used to pump water away to safety and also to irrigate small farms, but it wasn't long before they were also put to more industrial uses like grinding wheat into flour, crushing colored minerals into powder for paint, sawing logs into lumber, and a host of other things.<br />
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Windmills helped Holland both control the water and become a rich industrial center. At one time there were tens of thousands of windmills of all kinds all over Holland from big industrial ones to midget pump-mills set on the banks of ditches and irrigation channels. For a time they were also handy producers of electricity. Of course windmills would be of no use if there was no wind. Luckily, Holland has never had a shortage of this natural resource. </div>
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Today, few of the tens of thousands of windmills still exist, overtaken by electricity and other forms of modern technology. Those that remain are thanks to private windmill enthusiasts and restorers, tourist operators, and the few farmers who still like to use them. While the old Dutch windmill can still be seen here and there around Holland, its modern counterpart is everywhere; I speak of course of the huge wind-powered turbines that can be seen wherever you go in Holland - and Europe, for that matter.</div>
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<span style="color: red;">Dutch windmills once had a multitude of uses. Nowadays they are mostly kept for historical purposes. The above photographs were taken at a torist attraction featuring the old style windmills.</span></div>
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I paid four euros to go inside a fully restored and working Dutch windmill. It was well worth the money to see the great old technology - simple but ingenious - of cogs, shafts and wheels all made of wood, and the huge crushing wheel carved from stone. Not a piece of metal in sight. I loved the smell and sounds of the old mill grinding away, the wooden mechanisms creaking and groaning, the slow, rhythmic whooshing of the sails outside. It had a real old feel about it. I had always wondered what it was like in an old windmill so this was one of my childhood dreams come true.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Wind turbines are planted everywhere. No doubt the farmers and landowners are well compensated. Who would want such huge monstrosities on their land unless paid handsomely? However, a turbine post doesn't appear to take away too much useful land, being unfenced with grass or crops growing right up to the base. </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Beaches and Seaside Towns</span><br />
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Another surprise about Holland is that it has some good beaches and seaside towns. The capital, <b>The Hague, </b>is situated on one such beach which on sunny summer weekends is packed with swimmers, sun lovers, diners and party-goers. Raymond took us to <i>Den Hague </i>after I expressed my doubts that Holland could have good sandy beaches. What I discovered was a surprisingly nice one with quality sand that stretched for several kilometers along the coast.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">The beachfront boardwalk at The Hague. It was about half a km long with cafes, restaurants and bars the whole length. The weather wasn't too good the day the above photo was taken, but on sunny days and evenings the place is packed. </span> <br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Q3ojDDucZQI/VbcOjlAfCII/AAAAAAAAHlU/xMYAOUcGYaM/s1600/photo%2B%252895%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="font-size: medium; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Q3ojDDucZQI/VbcOjlAfCII/AAAAAAAAHlU/xMYAOUcGYaM/s320/photo%2B%252895%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghzTaNqbROkHwR-oG0OCMnxB8EMzzxx1YWqNNhzVZ8688hTOvEkFrsXUBjm7VxYcCEVxTGCQIii7g2AgY4KgbHiC6OMxjEwDdfQpg7Ul-vuFFIXQc8Qzce2C10ClyPsGqpLpe1TRc_PVCl/s1600/IMG_4313.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="font-size: medium; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghzTaNqbROkHwR-oG0OCMnxB8EMzzxx1YWqNNhzVZ8688hTOvEkFrsXUBjm7VxYcCEVxTGCQIii7g2AgY4KgbHiC6OMxjEwDdfQpg7Ul-vuFFIXQc8Qzce2C10ClyPsGqpLpe1TRc_PVCl/s640/IMG_4313.JPG" width="640" /></a><span style="color: red; font-size: small;"><br /> Above: One of the quaint seaside towns along the coast.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Public Toilets</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">One thing that New Zealanders</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">find hard to get used to are the public toilet facilities in Europe. In our country we enjoy easy and free access to good toilets wherever we are; town, city, and even way out in the countryside. Not so in Europe; public toilets don't seem to be a priority and what few they have can be disgusting. There are some pay toilets which are turnstile operated or have attendants taking money. We balked at this at first but soon were happy to pay a euro or two for a decent, clean loo. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Paris and Rome were bad but Jersey and England were good. Germany was OK because they were mostly pay toilets and clean. Holland had some great public toilets as shown in the pictures below.</span><br />
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;">This one was in a busy square with ladies walking by. I had to wait until they had all left before I dared use it. I didn't want to but when you gotta go you gotta go! The pee goes down a drain by your feet and it stinks but it doesn't seem to bother anyone.</span><br />
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;">This is the ultimate in portable el-fresco toilets. I love its simplicity. It was located at the beach at <i>Den</i> <i>Hague</i> and I just had to try it out. You would have noticed that they are for males only; ladies have to hang on or go into bars or restaurants to answer the call of nature.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>The End</i></span><span style="font-size: small;">...for now. We still have some unfinished family business that we didn't get time for on this trip. More will be added as it comes to hand.</span><br />
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David Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01882172661296160645noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4528543538469473341.post-76264490261339417622015-07-14T19:30:00.004-07:002015-07-23T22:28:42.009-07:00The War Grave Of John Robert McGruther<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: red; font-size: large;">We Visit Uncle Jock in Assisi</span></div>
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Written by David Bell<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">The Commonwealth Memorial Cemetery, Assisi, Italy</span>.</td></tr>
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On Friday, 15 May, Winnie and I set off on our much anticipated holiday to Europe. It was a combination family history campaign and pleasure trip. We first went to Hong Kong to spend a week with Winnie's relations there and then head off to Holland with her sister and brother-in-law to catch up with her Dutch cousins.<br />
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Perhaps I should briefly explain why Winnie has a big group of Chinese relatives in Holland. Many years ago one of Winnie's aunts, Ang Hui Kim, married Kho Keng Tiat, a businessman, and moved from Hong Kong to what was then Dutch New Guinea where they established a very successful enterprise on Biak Island consisting of a trading store, petrol station and a few other things. When Indonesia took over the Dutch half of New Guinea the family, by then with the addition of three children (Frank, Steven and Winnie), left to live in Hong Kong for a short time before moving permanently to Holland where they reestablished themselves and set up prosperous businesses there.<br />
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Then, in the 1960's her brother, Raymond, left Hong Kong for Holland to work in one of Kho Keng Tiat's businesses and made a life for himself there. So it was to Holland we set our our sights to visit and connect with our<i> windmill folk,</i> most of whom we have never known. Also,Winnie had not seen her brother for over 30 years so a reuinion was well over due. Visiting family in Europe caused us to think about a stopover in Italy to accomplish one of my lifelong dreams; to visit the grave of Uncle Jock at Assisi.<br />
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Four of us (Me, Winnie, and her Hong Kong sister and brother-in-law) left Hong Kong and flew to Rome for a week and visited as many of the ancient sights and monuments as time would allow. Then, on Monday, 25 May we traveled to Assisi, about two hours by train out of Rome. Upon arrival we hired a taxi to the Commonwealth Cemetery which was not far from the train station.<br />
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It is at this point in this narrative I hope the reader will forgive me for sharing an experience I should perhaps keep to myself. I have thought a lot about whether or not I should put it in print or keep it private, but in the end decided it no harm to tell and let whoever reads this determine for themselves if they believe as I do.<br />
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I was obviously quite thrilled to finally be at a place I had so long wanted to visit and hurried to the entrance. The entrance consisted of a stone gateway leading onto a paved area that displayed the white cross and bronze sword, the symbol for every Commonwealth cemetery.<br />
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I had no expectations of anything extraordinary happening. I was simply there to fulfill a family history assignment I had given myself; to be one of the few in the family to have the privilege of standing on the ground where Uncle Jock lies buried. I would touch his headstone, take some photos, enjoy the experience and feeling of accomplishment and carry on with our holiday. What happened next was utterly unexpected.<br />
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We walked through the stone entrance and looked across the immaculately trimmed cemetery lawn with its neatly arranged white marble headstones gleaming in the morning sun. I have been to many cemeteries looking up dead relatives and never felt anything more extraordinary than the satisfaction of simply being there. At first it was the same on this occasion, but the moment I walked along the small pathway and stood on the paving in front of the cross I was overwhelmed by the the tingling sensation of Uncle Jock's presence. It was so strong I began to weep; not a blubbering kind of weeping, rather an up-welling from somewhere deep within that couldn't be contained. There was absolutely no sensation of melancholy or sorrow, neither of wild happiness. The best words I can think to describe it are love and joy. Winnie was nearby talking to her sister and I called out to her that something weird was happening. She came over to steady me. Her sister, seeing what was going on said, 'I think your uncle has come to see you'.<br />
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That sensation remained with me for the whole time we were at the cemetery. It is an experience I will treasure for the rest of my life. I have always believed our departed loved ones are never far from us and that the veil that separates us is only as thick or thin as we want to make it. I think, for some reason, it became very thin that day.<br />
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Before leaving New Zealand I laminated three photographs of Uncle Jock's family and took them with me to Assisi. One was of his maternal grandparents Arthur and Matire Ormsby, and the other two were of his parents John and Daisy McGruther and his siblings Colin and Jean. I pressed them into the loose soil at the foot of his headstone, symbolizing bringing his family to be with him. I get the feeling he appreciated the gesture. I always felt it rather sad that he lay in that foreign land where he fell during the the last months of world War Two.<br />
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We stayed at the cemetery for about one hour then said our farewells and headed up the hill to the stunningly beautiful town of Assisi. Winnie remarked, 'If you have to die and be buried in a foreign country, Assisi is a good place for it!'.<br />
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Her observation was a good one, the countryside around Assisi is stunningly beautiful; probably the most beautiful place I have ever seen.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">The cemetery is wonderfully maintained. When we were there the caretaker was busy tidying around some graves. I think he is employed full time judging by the condition of the place</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Uncle Jock's headstone. I placed three photos of his family at the base.</span><br />
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Giving the headstone a clean with a wet-wipe; not that it needed it, all the headstones are shiny white.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">The Saint Francis of Assisi Basilica, a beautiful centuries old stone building built to last.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">The Saint Francis of Assisi Basilica with the valley and fields spread out below</span>.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mWDwFECs4w8/VaeZ-LjxdwI/AAAAAAAAHcg/vgDPj9AeL04/s1600/photo%2B%252845%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mWDwFECs4w8/VaeZ-LjxdwI/AAAAAAAAHcg/vgDPj9AeL04/s400/photo%2B%252845%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Street side Assisi with the valley backdrop. Stunning! And the girl isn't too bad either.</span> </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Winnie and her sister on the wall above the basilica.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxttXzCY9wuYC4nPmVSkB3TLvcQu81j1YUahvKWDfpLMgetqMvmp85k7PfBhIRaXgN-26jibkH5YLlD48qUIwT-1OnposgIAIO8OmOU95lPfE0kBARKmx6PBOjwWJMrwGvPSSQpqVMqcUk/s1600/photo+%252843%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxttXzCY9wuYC4nPmVSkB3TLvcQu81j1YUahvKWDfpLMgetqMvmp85k7PfBhIRaXgN-26jibkH5YLlD48qUIwT-1OnposgIAIO8OmOU95lPfE0kBARKmx6PBOjwWJMrwGvPSSQpqVMqcUk/s400/photo+%252843%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Assisi is set on a promontory overlooking an immense fertile valley filled with farms, orchards, vineyards and villages. The huge Saint Francis of Assisi Basilica dominates the hill. The streets and buildings are all made from local stone so the town kind of blends into the natural surroundings giving the whole place an air of peace, harmony and tranquility. The above picture illustrates how beautifully kept the streets and house fronts are.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-md0bb5WudJw/VaefLjFy_CI/AAAAAAAAHdI/yLQ2s9qY9y4/s1600/photo%2B%252847%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-md0bb5WudJw/VaefLjFy_CI/AAAAAAAAHdI/yLQ2s9qY9y4/s400/photo%2B%252847%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Sampling some of the local cuisine.</span></td></tr>
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We spent one whole glorious day at Assisi where we visited the cemetery, toured the beautiful basilica, drank in the spectacular view of the Assisi countryside, wandered the immaculate streets, and ate some great Italian food and gelato. All this under the warmth of that Mediterranean sun. We went back to Rome on the late afternoon train. Those things travel at high speed and are super quiet and smooth. After riding the trains around Europe I am convinced I would rather travel by fast rail than by plane wherever possible.<br />
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The following day we flew to Amsterdam.<br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"> <span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The End </span></span></div>
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David Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01882172661296160645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4528543538469473341.post-83488035673794509762015-07-13T04:49:00.000-07:002015-07-21T21:19:48.264-07:00Releasing the Ashes<span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;">Mac's and his Mother's Ashes Released into the Upper Mangati River</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Written by David Bell</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Monday, 13 July 2015</b></span><br />
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A marvelous family event took place over the past three days and I must record it before some of the important details begin to fade from my memory. I will start with Friday the tenth and conclude with as full account as I am able of the release of the ashes of my mother and brother two days later.<br />
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<b>Friday, 10 July 2015</b><br />
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For over two years the ashes of my parents, Jean and Peter Bell, remained in their containers closeted away firstly at Mac's house in Pirongia and then in his son Bully's place for a while. When Mac died in September, 2014, his ashes container was placed with the others and eventually taken to Denise's house where all three remained until the day of the release. The reason for the long delay was in part due to some family business that took time to work through.<br />
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Finally, the word went out and the family began to gather, flying in from distant parts of New Zealand and from Australia. Karyn, Kenny, Jaime, Darcey, Wade, and Jaimie's friend Tyler all arrived from Moranbah, Australia. Kelvin, also from Moranbah, arrived on the same flight. Glenda's brood, consisting of her son Kyle and daughter Maxine accompanied by her husband Darren - all from Sydney, made the three hour journey across the Tasman. Other family, cousins and friends from around Aotearoa also gathered: the Aucklanders, the South Islanders, the Taranakians, the Bay of Plenty folk, local Waikato people and so-on.<br />
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Friday the tenth was designated activity day. Miriam and Denise organised two family groups to visit various places and hopefully meet up at Kerosene Creek, a thermally heated river near Rotorua. Denise's group comprising hers and Karyn's family went bungy jumping at Taupo then on to Kerosene Creek for a hot swim. Miriam's group went to Arapuni, Blue Springs near Putaruru and then on to Kerosene Creek. Unfortunately, the schedules didn't match up too well and the Kerosene Creek rendezvous didn't work out, but it didn't matter, we all met up in the evening for the big family dinner at the Alexandra Hotel, organised by Denise.<br />
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As the saying goes, <i>a picture paints a thousand words.</i> The following pictures with captions should give a good description of the activities.<br />
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<b><span style="color: red;">Miriam's Lot:</span> </b> <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">First stop the Arapuni swing bridge; very high and very scary. </span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Second stop Blue springs near Putaruru. The springs and the river they have created are renowned for their cold, crystal clear waters and abundance of big rainbow trout. We spotted several trout in the short time we were there. Above photo taken from a bridge. Apparently, most of the bottled water we buy in the stores is from here.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: small;">Third stop Kerosene Creek near Rotorua, so called because of the distinctive kerosene smell from the thermal activity in the area</span>, </span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">The kids enjoying the hot water under the waterfall. The air temperature outside was very chilly so it was a struggle trying to get them out.</span><br />
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<span style="color: red;"> Basking in the shallows.</span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">Kerosene Creek was the final destination. After that it was home to change and then off to the Bell dinner at the Pirongia hotel. The old Alexandra has been rejuvenated by the new owners and now sports a very good restaurant. Over thirty family turned up and everyone had a great meal and plenty of fun. Credit to Denise for the idea and the organisation.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Saturday, 11 July 2015</b><span style="color: red;"> </span></span><br />
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Saturday morning was spent resting from the rigors of the previous day's activities and preparing for the evening 'River Cottage' dinner at Renee and Bully's house. The idea of a River Cottage theme as part of the ashes festivities was hatched some time earlier by Denise, Miriam and Renee; the idea taken from the popular River Cottage television cooking series where everything cooked is home grown or from the wild. The Saturday dinner was to be likewise. Additionally, Glenda turned seventy and it was the perfect opportunity to celebrate her birthday; when would we ever again have so much family gathered together in one place?<br />
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Bully and Renee generously offered their new home with its large deck, spacious patio, expansive lawn and African brai pit for the occasion. It kicked off at about four thirty in the afternoon with everyone bringing their River Cottage offerings. There was abundant food; Barry and Denise killed and prepared a sheep, Graham and Jan did the same to a pig from their farm, others brought poultry, salads, desserts, drinks (Heath made some fejoa-peach wine that was well received), breads and a host of other delectable goodies. You could almost hear the tables groaning under the weight. Winnie spiced up the menu by bringing her two 'Yangtze River Cottage' dishes; a large bowl of spicy chicken feet and some stir-fried chicken gizzards and hearts, not so heartily received.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">The 'River Cottage' venue:Leslie and Renee Bells' family home, Pirongia.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">The brai pit. Bully worked for a year or so in the mines in South Africa and brought this outdoor cooking idea home and had it put in when his new Pirongia house was being built.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Above and below: The brai also had the secondary benefit of keeping out the bitter chill of the evening air.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Happy seventieth birthday Auntie Glenda.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: red;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Sunday, 12 July 2015</b></span><br />
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At 8:30 am on a frosty Sunday morning we gathered at Bully's house to head for the spot up the Mangati to release the ashes. Both Mac and our mum had stipulated that their ashes be released into the home river. At 9 am a convoy of several cars set out for the place selected some days before by Glenda, Denise and Bully. It was several miles up into the higher reaches of the Mangati stream near the bush-line on the East face of Pirongia Mountain. The spot was on a sharp corner with a sizable concrete slab encasing three large pipes which emptied a generous flow of upstream water into the stream on the other side. The cement culvert proved the ideal surface upon which to congregate.<br />
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The task to lead the ceremony was given to me (David), a task I fretted over for days, preparing a short opening speech, mihi, and prayer. This is something I wished to do in respect to my brother Mac because it was he alone who reawakened in us our Maori whakapapa, or heritage. This reawakening, along with his incredible whakairo (carving) skills, is the great legacy he left our whanau. I, for one, feel greatly indebted to him. He was not perfect by any stretch of the imagination - he had some serious human flaws - but in the final wash he certainly left us something special from what he saw as his life's purpose. I wanted to do a good job with the service by keeping it short and to-the-point (he hated long-winded speeches and endless rituals), hoping it might meet his approval. I was keenly aware he might be watching so I wanted my performance to be as near to perfect as possible. I practiced and committed it to memory for over a week until it was ingrained in my brain.<br />
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When all the cars were parked and everyone who made the journey gathered on the culvert, I got the nod from family kuias Denise and Glenda and stepped up to do my thing. To the best of my memory it went pretty much as follows:<br />
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"Greetings everyone. On behalf of our whole family we thank you for coming to be with us for the release of Mum and Mac's ashes. I wish to do a welcome and mihi in respect to Mac, my older brother, because he brought our Maori heritage to our family remembrance before it died forever. I don't profess to have great te reo skills so please bear with me if I stumble a bit." I may have said one or two other things but you get the gist. Then....<br />
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"Ka tangi te titi<br />
Ka tangi te kaka<br />
Ka tangi hoki ahau!<br />
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Tuatahi, memihiake ki to tatou Kaihanga,<br />
Mo ana, manaakitanga i tau i runga i a tatou.<br />
Memihi ano, ki nga mate hoki,<br />
No reira, haere-haere-haere.<br />
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Te rohe e horohia nei,Puketotara,<br />
Tena koe, tena koe.<br />
E nga tupuna te kaupapa o te ra nei,<br />
Takoto-takoto-takoto.<br />
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"Hear the chirping of the little fantail,<br />
Hear the call of the great red-winged parrot, the kaka.<br />
Hear my return call.<br />
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First let us give thanks and praise to our Creator,<br />
And let his kindness rest upon us.<br />
Also greetings to those gone before,<br />
Be with us today.<br />
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To Puketotara and the land,<br />
Greetings, greetings.<br />
To our ancestors for whom we are here today,<br />
Be at peace-be at peace-be at peace.<br />
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"Waati Arthur Sydney Omipihi and his wife Matire Matilda Wright, my great-grandparents.<br />
Honi Ruki Pohepohe John McGruther and Te Kura Whakairi McGruther, my grandparents.<br />
John Robert McGruther, best known to us as Uncle Jock who gave his life in World war Two and lies where he fell in Italy.<br />
Colin Ormsby McGruther.<br />
Jean Waireti Ormsby Bell and Peter Leslie Absolum Bell, my parents.<br />
And Peter McGruther Bell, also known as Mac, the most recent to leave us.<br />
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"Oh God our eternal Father, we come together as whanau to release the ashes of our brother and mother into the waters of our ancestral land. We pray that this little stream will carry these ashes through its twists and turns into our family river, the Nakuawhia, symbolizing their journey into eternity. We come here today to wish them farewell until we gather once more in our heavenly home. We pray that their spirits may find peace and contentment as they rest in their homeland. We beseech you to take them into your loving care and may this spot be blessed and remembered by our whanau now and forever. In the name of Jesus Christ, amene."<br />
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Time was then given for any who wished to say a few words and three responded. The first being Kereti, Mac's Wananga colleague and great friend. He opened with a mihi in Maori and then related some memories of Mac and some personal reflections. He was followed by Sharon Tautari who spoke about her Auntie Jean and shared some happy memories about her. She said she was intrigued by mum's name, <i><b>Waireti</b></i>. It made her think of <b><i>wai</i></b>, meaning the water into which she was released. The <i><b>wai</b></i> (water) would take her down into the <b><i>Nakuawhia</i></b> and on to <b><i>Te Akarauti,</i></b> the ancestral cemetary known for the cabbage trees that used to grow there. These are called<b> <i>ti</i></b> in te reo. <i><b>Waireti</b></i> is simply<i> </i><i><b>Violet</b> </i>in Maori but Sharon gave it a new meaning on that day; <i style="font-weight: bold;">Wai-rere-ti, (</i><i>waters flowing to the ti...Te Akarauti)</i><i>. </i><br />
<br />
Jan Bell then arose and delivered some beautiful, heartfelt words emphasizing the spiritual aspects of the event. She stressed that without the presence of folk like the Tautaris, and all others present, the great feelings of whanau would not be possible. It was a courageous effort because out of all of us Jan is possibly the most sensitive to losing our brother and parents in such quick succession and I think this has made her more attuned to spiritual things. She hadn't planned on saying anything but as she said later, something made her come forward and it felt like it wasn't her speaking.<br />
<br />
I like to use the word whanau because it means something more than just family; it conveys the feeling of <i>everyone</i> united in kinship, here and beyond the veil. We were all whanau on the river bank that day and we were truly uplifted by the messages of the three speakers. I was especially glad because they filled in all the things I failed to say.<br />
<br />
Then it was time to release the ashes and Sharon and Georgina Tautari offered the karanga as the ashes were released into the water by Mac and Jean's children. The service ended after that and everyone mingled for a while before going back to Bully's house for lunch.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VK6GLmZ2DvY/VaOf187I9CI/AAAAAAAAHaw/_fL4Egu5PAU/s1600/IMG_3087%2B%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VK6GLmZ2DvY/VaOf187I9CI/AAAAAAAAHaw/_fL4Egu5PAU/s400/IMG_3087%2B%25282%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">The culvert, upper Mangati.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8RoqoT1XlfE/VaOhW9217iI/AAAAAAAAHa8/0E1fT91n6Eg/s1600/IMG_3090%2B%25283%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8RoqoT1XlfE/VaOhW9217iI/AAAAAAAAHa8/0E1fT91n6Eg/s400/IMG_3090%2B%25283%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">After the official opening three people gave short speeches.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SkAXtqyKsRM/VaOeXY3uU1I/AAAAAAAAHak/QOCtnbho2Aw/s1600/FullSizeRender%2B%25285%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="271" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SkAXtqyKsRM/VaOeXY3uU1I/AAAAAAAAHak/QOCtnbho2Aw/s400/FullSizeRender%2B%25285%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Mac's friend and colleague, Kereti, sharing his memories.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="Displaying IMG_9102.JPG" height="300" src="https://mail.google.com/mail/u/0/?ui=2&ik=2eff58e5e8&view=fimg&th=14e845a76a22bae1&attid=0.9&disp=inline&safe=1&attbid=ANGjdJ_dRMD-m72EITluqy-UCBZWDmNl9h9GT6qSu2hubVzclrwiWR0x1BdK4SHeEFOLaB_KCwIVqa43qcjm01agzW05K9N78thcfwyS8Yi2HcbrI4mTSdsu9wgBq84&ats=1436918481731&rm=14e845a76a22bae1&zw&sz=w1576-h647" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Releasing the ashes into the stream.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">A POEM FOR MAC</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">by Sharon Tautari</span></div>
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Let the light shine down on me.<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Take me home to my mountain stream where I want to
be -</div>
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To the heart of my ancestry,<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Just as they before me bound themselves to the land<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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I am of them, so take my hand.<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Mangati has my whenua; my destiny decided.<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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My people always knew and watched me as I grew.<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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There were stories to be told,<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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They were numerous and old.<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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The forest became my friend<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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And I saw the stories in the trees.<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Wood was the book that my hands overtook,<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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The words exposed in post and house.</div>
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My teachers never stopped that spiritual flow<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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But allowed me the privilege to stretch and grow.<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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And I longed to be on this, our tupuna land.<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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E-aku tupuna!</div>
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Come, take my hand</div>
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And let my whanau know it is time to go.</div>
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<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span>The swirls and curls of the old Mangati</div>
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Have set my wairua free.<o:p></o:p></div>
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This was our day at Te Wairere Tii<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>The</i></span> <span style="font-size: large;"><i>end</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>David Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01882172661296160645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4528543538469473341.post-37132655390957845402015-07-09T00:44:00.000-07:002017-04-19T14:43:00.085-07:00<span style="font-family: "times" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; text-decoration: none;"><v:shapetype coordsize="21600,21600" filled="f" o:preferrelative="t" o:spt="75" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" stroked="f"><v:stroke joinstyle="miter"><v:formulas><v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0"><v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0"><v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1"><v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2"><v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth"><v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight"><v:f eqn="sum @0 0 1"><v:f eqn="prod @6 1 2"><v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth"><v:f eqn="sum @8 21600 0"><v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight"><span style="font-size: large;"> Written by David Bell</span> </v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:formulas></v:stroke></v:shapetype></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">This is
the story of a truly remarkable little woman. However, it's not just her story.
Throughout this narrative is written as much information I could get at this
time about all the other folk who were part of her life. I use her as the
leading character because she is the mother of my wife and a person of
extraordinary character; just how extraordinary I'll let you, the reader,
discover as you read through this story of Go Lea Hua.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">On December fourteenth, nineteen hundred and twenty-two (Chinese lunar
calendar), a tiny baby girl came into the world in Rangoon, Burma. Her father
was<b> </b>Go Shu Cheung, a well- known doctor of Chinese herbal medicine. Her
mother's name was Tan Ma Yiu. It is useful to note here that women had no
cultural or legal obligation to give up their family name after marriage. It
was therefore common for married women to continue being known by their <i>maiden
</i>names. However, when discussing their marital status they were also
referred to as<i> Go-tai,</i> or Mrs Go as we would in English. In addition,
placing the husband's family name before the wife's name was also used to
designate her marital status. For example, Tan Ma Yiu might be introduced to
another person as<i> Go</i> (Husband's family name)<i> Tan Ma Yiu. </i> Also,
it is important to note that the Chinese naming method always placed the family
name<i> before</i> the given names, so <b>Go</b> Shui Cheung's wife's full
name was <b>Tan</b> Ma Yiu, <b>Tan</b> being her family name and Ma Yiu her
given names. It remains that way today.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="color: red;"> Left to right: Go Shui Cheung, little Ming Ling, Ang Chiu Shui</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Born in the province of Fujian, Southern China, Go Shui Cheung moved to Burma
where he believed he could make a better living plying his trade. However,
after several years in Rangoon he moved his family back to China to his home
village of Hong-jiu in Fujian when Go Lea Hua was still a small girl.
She spent her childhood at Hong-jiu, a few hundred kilometres from
the coast. She had four younger sisters and two brothers. Her sisters' names
were Go Lea Ju (Beautiful Pearl), Go Lea Yuht (Beautiful Moon), Go Lea
Ying, and Go Chai Ha. Interestingly, Go Lea Hua was originally named <i>Lea Yok</i>
(Beautiful Jade) but it was later changed to Lea Hua because the wife of an
older uncle in her husband's family had<i> Yok </i>as one of her given
names. Family hierarchy was a big deal back then so it was decided that the
junior Lea Yok must have her name changed to Lea Hua. One would have to suppose
that it was not the done thing to have a subordinate with the same name. The
name stuck even after the wife died some years later. Little is known of
her two brothers except that in their later years one was called Uncle Lam and<b> </b>the
other Uncle Deung. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">In 1939,
at the tender age of seventeen a couple of match-makers came calling, one from
her village and another from the coast. It was the custom in those days
for parents to choose the husband or wife for their children. They could
arrange it themselves but more often than not they hired professional
match-makers. One can only imagine how this poor little seventeen year old felt
at the prospect of being betrothed to some stranger she had never seen before.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The match
was agreed upon and sometime later it was arranged for the two families to
meet, and as the search for a match would have been initiated by the future
groom's family, they would travel to Lea Hua's home to discuss the arrangement
and seal the deal if all parties were satisfied. It would have been a big
occasion for them, both sides anxious to make a good impression. All things
considered it was a good match; Go Lea Hua was the daughter of a knowledgeable
doctor of traditional medicine and the proposed suitor, a boy named<b> </b>Ang
Chay Pek, was from a village called Lan-an, two years her senior and from a
family of merchants with a successful cloth and fabrics business in the
Philippines. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">After all
the formalities it was time to check the merchandise. Go Lea Hua was a tiny
slip of a girl and at seventeen probably about four foot eight or nine inches
tall. She stopped growing at four foot ten.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">As
mentioned, first impressions were important in such matters so little Lea Hua
was placed at the stove stir frying lunch. This was to show that even at
seventeen she was an accomplished cook and thus a potentially good wife and
mother and, more importantly, a suitable servant to her mother-in-law. Her
height was a concern so she was placed on an unseen box behind the stove to
give the impression she was taller than her diminutive four-foot-something.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The
deception must have worked because the agreement was struck and Go Lea Hua and<b>
</b>Ang Chay Pek were officially matched. However, it appears that taking up the
responsibilities of a married couple would come later because the nineteen year
old Chay Pek left soon after for the Philippines to work in the family
business, returning to China periodically, perhaps once a year, if that. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">This way
of life may seem peculiar to us these days, but it was very common and accepted
in Lea Hua's time. Life was tough in China and thousands of grandfathers,
fathers, brothers and sons went overseas to do business to support their
families back home. Fujian possibly sent more people off-shore than any other
province in China. Men and young boys thought nothing of going to any part of
the world where they smelled a business opportunity. As a result, the Fujian
factor can be found in the Philippines, Vietnam, Malaysia, and Thailand; in
fact all over South-east Asia and further. The Ang family were no exception and
even Ang Hui Gim, Chay Pek's younger sister, journeyed with her husband,<b> </b>Koh
Kiang Dit, to Dutch New Guinea, of all places, where his family had a very
prosperous mercantile and trading store along with the only petrol station and
a few other lucrative enterprises. When the Indonesians later expelled the
Dutch they took their substantial fortune and resettled in Holland where they
remain to this day.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Ang Chay
Pek's family opted for the Philippines where his father, Ang Chiu Shui (Autumn
Waters) had built up a prosperous cloth and fabric outlet after decades of what
we would consider slave labor today. When he was just nine years old some
relatives already in the fabrics business in the Philippines expressed the need
for a boy to assist in their shop. The pay was paltry; about four dollars a
year by our standard. While this was certainly not a get-rich-quick salary, it
was better than anything he could earn in China. He begged and pleaded with his
parents to send him to the Philippines so that he could save money to send home
to the family. They finally relented and he spent the next few decades working
long tortuous hours as a shop boy, and make no mistake, he would have been
worked to the bone for his four bucks a year.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Ang Chiu
Shui was true to his word, keeping next to nothing for himself and sending
every spare cent home to his family in China. He left China with a couple of
shirts and four pairs of pants which lasted for years, altering and mending
them until they could be mended no more. Luckily, the perpetually hot,
tropical, Philippines climate kept his clothing expenses to a minimum.
Moreover, he stoutly denied himself any luxuries, sleeping in a pokey space on
the premises and spending virtually nothing on food by eating at the shop or
gathering from nature. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">One of
his duties was to stand at a long counter-top every day measuring and cutting
orders of cloth for customers. The cloth came in long rolls and he had to haul
them from the shelves, lay them on the counter-top, and then slice them to
measure with a large pair of sharp tailor's scissors. Being a small boy his
ribs were constantly pressing against the wooden counter-top which, over time,
pushed the bones inwards causing a permanent disfigurement in the form of
an indentation on his right side affecting his stance. In later life his tilted
posture became one of his most recognized physical characteristics.
</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Over the
years his meager wages greatly assisted in keeping his family fed and when
he became expert in the field of fabrics he started his own business which grew
and prospered. When he finally had the means he married<b> </b>Que Him, a lady
from his home province. She was unique in that she was one of the few remaining
women born at the end of that era when baby girls had their feet bound; a
peculiar and barbaric practice designed to announce that the child was from a
privileged class. Thankfully, her younger sisters kept their big feet
suggesting that the custom ended with that generation, at least in the Que
family. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Ang Chiu
Shui's efforts eventually bore fruit; the business in the Philippines continued
to provide revenue that not only kept food on the table in China but also
allowed them to purchase two large apartment buildings, one in today's Fujian
port city of Xiamen and the other on the nearby island resort of Gulangyu (Drum
Wave Island, referring to the drumming sound of the waves). They had become
wealthy landlords. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bmUondneGMQ/U0Jh1Rw7OyI/AAAAAAAAF_o/SQJo7E4IXj4/s1600/XiamenFamilyHouse.jpg"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; text-decoration: none;"><v:shape alt="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bmUondneGMQ/U0Jh1Rw7OyI/AAAAAAAAF_o/SQJo7E4IXj4/s1600/XiamenFamilyHouse.jpg" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bmUondneGMQ/U0Jh1Rw7OyI/AAAAAAAAF_o/SQJo7E4IXj4/s1600/XiamenFamilyHouse.jpg" id="Picture_x0020_24" o:button="t" o:spid="_x0000_i1048" style="height: 224.4pt; mso-wrap-style: square; visibility: visible; width: 300pt;" type="#_x0000_t75">
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<v:imagedata o:title="proxy?url=http%3A%2F%2F3.bp.blogspot.com%2F-bmUondneGMQ%2FU0Jh1Rw7OyI%2FAAAAAAAAF_o%2FSQJo7E4IXj4%2Fs1600%2FXiamenFamilyHouse" src="file:///C:\Users\dwbell\AppData\Local\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image003.jpg">
</v:imagedata></v:fill></v:shape></span></a><span style="color: red;">Above: Ang Hui Yang (Ang Chiu Sui's eldest daughter) and husband outside the old family home in Xiamen, Fujian.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"><span style="color: red; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Above: Ang Hui Ying at the old family home on the island of Gulangyu. The old woman on the right is the same neighbour who secretly delivered food to them through a small window from the adjoining apartment during the Japanese occupation. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span> </span></td></tr>
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<o:p><br /><span style="font-family: "times" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Through the efforts of a nine year old boy who gave up his own childhood for his family, he could now stand back and see the results of his long years of hard work and sacrifice. But it came at a cost; he suffered from the disfigurement caused by years of pressing his ribs against the edges of the counter-top, and he got tuberculosis which worsened as he moved into his early forties. In fact, the disease forced him to retire from the business well before the end of his working life, his ravaged lungs making it impossible for him to do even the simplest physical tasks. Additionally, he was constantly plagued by severe coughing fits that caused him to spit up globs of blood. He sought medical help but in those days there was not much to be done; tuberculosis was effectively a painful and lingering death sentence. He discovered, from other sufferers, one thing that helped alleviate the pain; opium. He took to smoking opium and, predictably, became addicted.</span><br /><span style="font-family: "times" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></o:p></span><br />
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<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 1; mso-yfti-lastrow: yes;"><td style="background-color: transparent; border: rgb(0, 0, 0); padding: 0cm;"> <span style="color: red; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: red;">Ang Chiu Shui</span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">In 1949 at forty nine years old and unable to cope with the rigors of the business, he left his sons, Chay Pek and Chay Yen to run the shop and returned to China. Also, in China it was easier to procure opium and the law was more lax. Fujian and Canton were the two provinces most affected by the opium trade. Opium had been known in China since the seventh Century when it was used as a medicine for pain relief. It wasn't until contact with the Europeans that it was mixed with tobacco and smoked; the Chinese prior to this didn't smoke. It wasn't long before a serious addiction problem set in and attempts were made by the rulers to curb it's use. However, trade in opium became increasingly lucrative and difficult to control. The British saw a huge market for it in China and through the British East India Company - the government company that monopolized the trade in its eastern colonies - began sending large quantities of opium from India into China to trade for huge profits. This opium trade began a century of pain and humiliation for China as addiction to the drug exploded. In the 1830's the Chinese officials attempted to halt the trade by seizing all the opium supplies in Canton and destroying them. The British in response sent troops from their colony in India and ravaged the coast of South China forcing the Chinese into negotiations. Holding the upper hand, the British dictated the terms of the negotiations in the Treaty of Nanjing, demanding and getting special rights and privileges, particularly the right to resume and increase the opium trade. This humiliation emboldened other European nations who also clubbed the Chinese with a plethora of such unequal treaties. It wasn't long before the Chinese found these untenable and small wars broke out which became known as The Opium Wars. Unfortunately, addiction had become so rife that the flow of opium into China seemed impossible to stem.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Ang Chiu Shui didn't stay too long in China. With the rise to power of the communists and their policies about state ownership of everything, he sensed bad times ahead and went to the British territory of Hong Kong to set about starting a new life there, probably in late 1949 or 1950. They were wealthy property owners and under the new communist regime all property must be given to the people, which in reality meant the communist government. Furthermore, working for profit was outlawed, something unthinkable to the entrepreneurial Ang Chiu Shui. He viewed it as a violation of human freedom. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">As already mentioned, Ang Chiu Shui's wife was Que Him, a woman with tiny bound feet. A pair of her slippers still exists; they are about a child's size six. The bound feet suggest that she was from a wealthy family but there is no memory of this. It may be that her family was once prominent in the community and still clung to some of the old class traditions like binding the feet of baby girls. However, the fact that Que Him's younger sisters did not have their feet bound shows that she was the last in the family to suffer that form of mutilation. </span></span><br />
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Que Him, it seems, must have considered her condition a sign of special status because she certainly took upon herself the role of Royal Dowager over the family and ruled with an iron glove. All under her roof were considered her servants; especially daughters-in-law. And it was the smallest and humblest who suffered the most, this being Lea Hua. From the moment she entered the house she waited on her mother-in-law hand and foot until her own passing in 1983. Her mother-in-law outlived her by over a decade.</div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">They were tough conditions Go Lea Hua found herself living under when she married - not by choice but by arrangement - into the Ang household. At just seventeen years old she was traded like a chattel to be the wife of a stranger and leave the only family she knew to live under the thumb of a domineering mother-in-law. Also, her husband lived most of his life in the Philippines, returning home once a year if he was lucky. She had no income of her own, relying solely on the good graces of her mother-in-law for sustenance. She owned virtually nothing and had no rights. It must have been an incredibly lonely and miserable existence, yet she suffered through it without complaint. What else could she do? Where could she go? Besides, that was the way it always was, the daughter-in-law traditionally became the property of her husband's family, her prime duty to serve not only her elders and their offspring, but also the babies, children, and any relatives who came to stay. Escape from such servitude came only when she herself became the Matriarch, should she live long enough. She knew this so she simply did what she was supposed to do; she worked out her own way to survive. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">It would appear to a third party that she was brought into the family more as a domestic worker than the wife of the eldest son, for as such one might think she should have had some privileges. But as a lowly daughter-in-law she had none. She was firmly pushed to the bottom of the family hierarchy and became everyone's servant. She did the cooking, cleaning, grocery shopping, washing, and any other household duties lumped upon her. Yet, somehow, she found happiness. Her total acceptance of her position, her humble compliance to everything thrown on her, and her unwavering loyalty and love under such trying conditions made her the heart and soul that held the family together, and in the end it is she who shines through like gold. Her total acceptance of the role tradition forced upon her and the tireless efforts to fulfill it, her submission and obedience to a mother-in-law who could be bad tempered and demanding, her patience and long-suffering towards a lifestyle that separated her from her husband for most of her married life, and her years of unwavering service to the family into which she was thrust, in time left an indelible mark in the hearts of all whom she served. There was not one member of that extended family whose lives were not blessed in some way by her love, loyalty, and unending toil. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">One of Ang Chiu Shui's sons, Ang Chay Hum, the youngest and in his mid-seventies at this writing holds some fond memories of her. One in particular stands out:</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">He was about ten years old and paddling about in a small boat on the river near their home on the island of Amoy (now called Xiamen). To his astonishment a large fish leaped from the river into the boat and flapped about at his feet. Recovering quickly from his shock he grabbed the fish by its tail and struck it against the side of the boat, stunning it. Bursting with excitement he paddled furiously to shore. Taking his fish he rushed into the house to show everyone his catch. Go Lea Hua was the only one home and her excitement at his good fortune almost equaled his. She immediately took the fish; scaled and cleaned it then cooked it with herbs and spices. She then placed it on a large plate of steaming noodles and gave it to him, taking none for herself. It seemed that it was reward enough to watch her little brother-in-law devouring his fish with such relish. Chay Hum is today affectionately known as Third Uncle, or Saam-sook. He said he can never forget how Lea Hua genuinely shared his joy and how she immediately cooked the fish for him. But it is more than that; it is an insight into the personality and character of Go Lea Hua who always put others before herself. At the time of the fish incident Lea Hua would have been a young woman of about eighteen.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">By 1938 Ang Chay Pek and his wife had not yet produced offspring, which is not surprising considering they saw so little of each other. Then, to make it even worse World War Two broke out and the Japanese invaded China and the Philippines occupying both countries. This effectively cut off all communications between Lea Hua and her husband for seven long years. It was only after the unconditional surrender of the Japanese in 1945 that the family was able to be reunited once more.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnW5WGh2r9e9Gtm1eY_L9ce930YGmq3IOHUziCI5CSPJqMUMOLDrNDxACDAKKfe_CRBYukoIsc_bFQRr6DFvnh4Fboj3Hu91AJVAxHkYI8zJXdgbsFyEbnGzyt6xNRIke3axD3_WETXuA3/s1600/photo+%25283%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnW5WGh2r9e9Gtm1eY_L9ce930YGmq3IOHUziCI5CSPJqMUMOLDrNDxACDAKKfe_CRBYukoIsc_bFQRr6DFvnh4Fboj3Hu91AJVAxHkYI8zJXdgbsFyEbnGzyt6xNRIke3axD3_WETXuA3/s400/photo+%25283%2529.JPG" width="300" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: red;">Above: Go Lea Hua and Ang Chay Pek about 1946</span><o:p></o:p></span></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><br />Ang Chiu Shui and his sons found themselves trapped in the Philippines and forced to endure the occupation. They were careful to steer well clear of the Japanese who were renowned for their brutality. A person could be shot or tortured for the most trivial reason. And they took what they wanted, no permission required. As a result Ang Chiu Shui lost his business when the Japanese simply walked in with their guns and cleaned out his store. However, being forewarned he quickly hid a few bolts of cloth which the Japanese never discovered. It was a dangerous risk because had they found his hidden stash he might well have been badly beaten or shot. The cloth became a lifesaver later when food became scarce (the enemy also requisitioned all the food they could get their hands on with no thought for the starving population) by trading it for rice, meat and vegetables with the villagers deep in the jungle where the Japanese never ventured.<o:p></o:p></span><br /><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The people of the Philippines suffered dreadfully under the occupation so it was good news when the Americans arrived to fight the Japanese. The war in the Philippines was long and grueling with some of the bloodiest battles of World War Two taking place in its jungles before the Americans prevailed and the Japanese were forced into an unconditional surrender. Ang Chiu Shui later told his family that it was a great moment of relief and celebration for the people of the Philippines when the Japanese were defeated. The Americans were welcomed as heroes, especially the swaggering, egotistical, and impressive General MacArthur.<o:p></o:p></span><br /><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The Philippines were finally freed of the despised Japanese but Ang Chiu Shui and his sons were penniless, their business being destroyed by the Japanese. He didn't even have any money to get himself and his two boys back home to China. Then, to his great surprise and good fortune, an American businessman approached him about doing business in his old trade of cloth and fabrics. In an interview Third Uncle (Ang Chay Hum), the only one living today, gives an account of what transpired.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">"My father," he said, "was left bankrupt after the war. The Japanese took everything from his shop. They didn't ask, they just took, and if you said anything they would shoot you right away. He had no money at all. Then an American businessman came looking for him and said he knew who my father was; people had told him that my father had a big fabric business before the war. The American said that he was also in the fabric business and that he believed there was now good business to be done in the Philippines. He wanted to sell cloth from America to my father, as much as my father could buy. My father said to the American, 'I can't buy your cloth, I'm bankrupt, the Japanese took everything and I have no money to pay you.' The American businessman told my father that he knew he was an honest man and that he believed in him, so he would send a big shipment of fabrics from America and my father could pay for it after it was sold. My father couldn't believe what he was hearing. If he could do that then he could start up his business again. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">"The American businessman went back to America and sent him a large shipment of fabrics. The Philippines had a shortage of good cloth because of the war and when word got out that the Ang family had a big shipment of top quality American cloth on the way they put in their orders. My father pre-sold all the cloth for a huge profit weeks before it arrived in the Philippines. He was able to pay the American businessman and order more."<o:p></o:p></span><br /><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">"Because of the trust and kindness of the American businessman my father got his business going again. That business continued to support our family for many years after the war and my father was always grateful to that businessman. In fact, everyone in the Philippines liked the Americans for driving out the Japanese. My father said that he celebrated with much happiness when the Japanese were forced into an unconditional surrender; he really liked the<i> unconditional</i> bit."<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">While the war raged in the Philippines, things were worse back in Fujian. Go Lea Hua had no idea how her husband was faring in the Philippines and was learning herself how cruel and brutal the Japanese could be, and they were especially hard on the Chinese whom they regarded as inferior Asians. The Japanese were particularly hard on men and young boys who they saw as potential fighters, rounding them up and imprisoning or executing them for no other reason than they were old enough to use weapons. Women were also in danger if they were not very careful; kidnap and rape were a constant threat. As in the Philippines the Japanese took anything they wanted; they had no sympathy for the suffering of the locals.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><br />Go Lea Hua was careful to keep well away from the Japanese and did much to protect the others in the family, especially the younger ones. The Japanese had commandeered the nearby police station and the pitiful screams of men and women being tortured coming from it were stark reminders to be ever vigilant, along with the constant flow of reports of people being executed on the flimsiest of excuses.<o:p></o:p></span><br /><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">No-one ever spoke to Lea Hua about how she coped through those terrifying years so we can only imagine the stress and fear she had to live with. Many times she was caught out on the streets when some Japanese soldiers showed up. On such occasions it was essential to stop in your tracks and bow as they went by. To fail to do so could mean immediate death. Food and other necessities were in short supply which must have been a further hardship. And, being the lowly daughter-in-law, a lot must have fallen on her shoulders. We will never know the whole story and are left to guess and all those who could take out the guesswork are now gone. But she and the family managed to come through unscathed.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The Japanese lost the war and were cleaned out of Fujian and the Philippines.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><br />If you were to think that this was the end of the story, that the family was reunited and all worked out well, then you would think wrong. More loss, upheaval, and hardship was yet to come.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Since 1927 China was in a state of civil war between the nationalist forces of Chiang Kai Shek and the communist uprising led by Mao Tse Tung. When world War Two broke out and the Japanese attacked China, both sides agreed to a cease-fire to fight the Japanese. When the Japanese were defeated it should have been a good time for the two forces to peacefully work out their differences. But their causes, ideologies, and politics (and the egos of the leaders one would be tempted to add) proved insurmountable and they promptly picked up their weapons and resumed the struggle. After some of the bloodiest battles in history the communists prevailed and took power. Chiang Kai Shek and his vanquished followers fled to the island of Taiwan across the strait from Fujian. It was this communist rise to power that was the catalyst for the family's next great adventure.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><br />For millions of Chinese the communist takeover in 1949 was a cause for great joy; especially the poor and the young. Third Uncle, himself a youth at the time, told about where he and the family fitted into the communist movement.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">"When the communists took over many people were very happy, especially the poor. The communists promised them land and a better life. The young people were the easiest to brainwash. The communists told them that they could be part of a new start for China, that together they would build a new and better world. Everyone believed it. I was one of them. I was a high school student at the time and the communist officials came to recruit young men into what they called their military academy. They made fiery speeches about the good things we could all accomplish if we were united for the common good. I signed up. When we got home my sister rushed in and told my mother what I had done. My mother quickly got word to my father in Hong Kong and he got very angry and worried. He said, 'Don't let him join the communists and don't let him go to that academy. Before you know it he'll be sent to goodness-knows-where and like so many others already we'll never see him again. The communists will brainwash him and our other children and turn them against even their own family. You are to all pack up immediately and come to Hong Kong. I'll organize it and pay for it from here. You must be ready to leave as soon as I get word to you. Leave everything behind and carry only what you need for a week on the road. Bring as much of our gold as you can safely carry and hide the rest; it may be possible to go back and get it later'. He was very stern about it and he was the head of the family so we had no choice but to obey him. Also, we were getting reports about rich people in other provinces being beaten up and publicly shamed by the communists then having all their money and property taken away. We kind of knew it was only a matter of time before it was our turn which made it easier to obey Grandfather's orders. We made preparations straight away."<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">Back row: Ang Chai Hum, Ang Hui Lan, Ang Hui Ying, Go Le Hua, Que Him.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">Front row: Ang Hui Kim, Ang Ming Ling, Ang Chiu Shui. This photo was probably taken early 1948 in Xiamen, Fujian Province, China.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqd_8oxv07iaVVP-p-k4Fwe008Kuel6bRdXAlol0XI0lG3m9o1a8Rr0uGvMssm6-RZEyVQzkA4OaKgHpOCHntoL1k34nbGlYWMNqpzeS925XlYYSJxP5xWzrxaWbhvMQTfTCWOrpWMMro0/s1600/photo+%25283%2529-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqd_8oxv07iaVVP-p-k4Fwe008Kuel6bRdXAlol0XI0lG3m9o1a8Rr0uGvMssm6-RZEyVQzkA4OaKgHpOCHntoL1k34nbGlYWMNqpzeS925XlYYSJxP5xWzrxaWbhvMQTfTCWOrpWMMro0/s400/photo+%25283%2529-001.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: red;">From left to right: Ming Ling (Winnie), Lea Hua (mother), Ming Lung (Lina) and Yan San (Raymond), photographed probably in 1950, Xiamen, China.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The flight from Fujian began on a September afternoon, 1951. It was, ostensibly, a holiday trip to Hong Kong; the new communist government had not yet totally closed its borders, people were still free to travel. Soon, when the communists shut their doors to the outside world and kept their own people locked up in China, such 'holiday tours' would be forbidden. Therefore, it was a case of now-or never.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><br />In retrospect the family was very fortunate that Ang Chiu Shui had such foresight. It was also fortuitous that they responded to his charge to leave China without hesitation. Had it not been so, their family history would have gone down a completely different road and where that would have taken them is anyone's guess. One thing, however, is sure; life in Hong Kong offered the kind of liberty and opportunity that would soon be closed off in Fujian.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The exodus started with a 10 minute sampan ride from the island of Xiamen (formerly Amoy) to the mainland. There were no jetties or ferry terminals in those days, the boatman simply chose the shortest route between the island and mainland and went for it, the boat powered by a small single-cylinder outboard motor. They spent one night at Xiamen waiting for others to arrive who were booked on the same journey. In the morning they boarded a rickety old 'tour bus' with hard wooden seats and a top speed of about twenty-five miles per hour. As Third Uncle said, a bicycle was faster. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The whole trip was prepaid with the bus fare and basic accommodation and food stops along the way all included, like a package tour.</span>The family included Que Him (the Matriarch), her two daughters Ang Hui Lan and Ang Hui Kim, her youngest son Ang Chay Hum, her grandchildren Ang Ming Ling, Ang Yan San, and Ang Ming Lung. Two daughters-in-law, Tan Shuk Hui and our own Go Lea Hua were also in the party. She also brought along her domestic servant, Ah-hou. There were about twenty others on board all with the same goal; escape to Hong Kong.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The old bus bumped and ground its way over rough roads which at times were nothing more than dusty tracks. The route took them along the coast to a small village called Yuen Shiao where they gratefully disembarked to refresh themselves. Being evening they dined on rice, fresh vegetables, roast duck and other foods prepared by some local villagers glad to make a few dollars, the meal taken in a small, basic, but adequate dining hall. They spent the night at Yuen Shiao and continued their journey early the following morning.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><br />It was a long, tortuous drive to a small village called Yun Zhio, then Zhao An and then on to a bigger town called Shan Tou where they dined and rested for the night before continuing to Hui Zhou, another small village.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">They reached Hui Zhou late afternoon on the fourth day since leaving Xiamen. Hui Zhou was a small, impoverished fishing village on a sluggish river that ambled lazily into the sea. The river was set between them and the village. An unsafe looking ferry was waiting to transport them across to the village. The ferry was nothing more than an old motorized barge with a flat bottom. The passengers were all ordered off the bus and the ferryman laid down two well-worn planks from the stern of the ferry onto the greasy river bank. The driver then proceeded to drive the bus onto the planks and onto the ferry, the planks just wide enough to take the wheels. Once safely on board the bus was taken across the river, which was not too wide, and offloaded. The ferry then returned for the passengers.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Third Uncle's most vivid memory of Hui Zhou was the children; they all swam about in the river unashamedly naked. Additionally, they were much darker in complexion than he was accustomed to seeing; their skins toasted from running about naked all day in the hot sun. He was fourteen at the time and the sight of naked boys and girls running about so publicly startled him. He thought that the place must be very primitive and poor.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Poor and primitive as it appeared; Hui Zhou had one thing that impressed him, a beautiful lake. Although his stay in Hui Zhou was but an evening and part of the next day, he took every opportunity to visit the lake and take in the fresh air coming off its clean, cool waters. At Hui Zhou the driver happily informed them that they were nearing the end of their journey, much to everyone's delight.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">They spent the fifth night at Zhangmutau, a seaside village. From Zhangmutau it was but a short drive to Shendzen, the village right on the border.<o:p></o:p></span><br /></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">About mid-morning on the sixth day the long awaited moment arrived; the bus was ready to leave for Hong Kong. The passengers, with more than a little apprehension mixed with a good dose of heady excitement, clambered aboard and took their places on the crude wooden seats. Within half an hour they were at the border.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><br />The bus clattered to a stop at the gates and a big, ferocious looking man with dark skin and a thick black beard stomped out of the guardhouse and marched up to the bus, ordered the door opened and clumped up the steps to stand in the aisle like a giant. He was dressed in a uniform and carried himself with an air of stern authority. Others like him spilled out of the guardhouse and stood around the bus appraising the occupants. The passengers had never seen such alien looking people and were petrified.<o:p></o:p></span><br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">"Where are you all from?" the man on the bus shouted menacingly in heavily accented Cantonese. They were all so afraid of him they were speechless. He repeated his question, more gruffly this time. "Where are you all from and where are you going?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">More silence.<o:p></o:p></span><br /><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: red;"></span><o:p><span style="color: red;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: black;">His already huge black eyes grew even bigger as he began to grow impatient at the lack of response, and still everyone sat in silence staring wide-eyed with fear at the huge Indian border guard filling up the bus in front of them. As Third Uncle explained, 'All of us small Chinese had never seen such people before and they were so big and ferocious looking. We were very scared and couldn't say anything.' It was just before the guard opened his mouth for the third time a woman cried out in perfect Cantonese, "We are all from Canton and we are going to Hong Kong for a holiday and to visit relatives." She was a middle-aged Cantonese woman who had married a man from Fujian and like the rest was leaving to escape living under communism.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: black;"><br />The Indian guard looked hard at her for a moment then said, "OK, you can go!" and clambered off the bus and ordered the barriers lifted and waved them through. After a period of stunned silence, and when they realized they were safely on the other side of the border and away free, they let out a collective cheer and hailed the Cantonese woman as the hero of the day.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br /><span style="color: black;"></span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: black;">It was a joyous moment when the old bus from the Mainland - battered, dented and covered in dirt from its long trip across two provinces - rattled onto the streets of Kowloon. While the bus was a curious sight chugging and smoking among the more modern vehicles, it was not uncommon and brought only stares of curiosity from people on the streets. These<i> holiday tours </i>had become a<i> </i>frequent sight in the city and everyone knew that the holiday-makers on board were planning a very long vacation indeed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: black;"><br />Hong Kong was a technological world away from their former home; the streets seemed crammed with traffic, new buildings were sprouting up everywhere and the whole city seemed alive and vibrant. The energy of the place was not the energy of revolution or political change, but the energy of people engaged in what the Chinese do better than anyone in the world; trade and business.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br /><span style="color: black;"></span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: black;">The great differences between this place and the war-torn and poverty stricken mainland still reeling from the aftermath of two decades of war and caught up in the turmoil of political change, was not lost on the young Ang Chay Hum and he felt his communist leanings quickly leaking away as he stared, wide-eyed, at the sights around him. The life and energy about the place was breath-taking. But, despite all these wonders it was the double-decked buses that astounded his young mind the most; he had never seen anything like it. 'Why don't they tip over?' was all he could say.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: black;"><br />The old bus, overheated and coughing smoke, finally reached the end of the road; an old depot of sorts where it had offloaded 'holiday makers' several times before. The owner-driver, a Fujian native now resident in Hong Kong was doing a roaring trade. But he sensed from the changes taking place in China that his tour business was doomed. He was, therefore, making-hay-while-the-sun-shined. After dropping off his passengers he would rest for a day, do two or three days shopping and load the carefully selected items onto his bus which he would sell back in Xiamen for a good profit, meet with his contacts about another 'tour' and then drive all the way back to repeat the journey. If he was lucky he might pick up a few passengers heading back to Guangdong or Fujian. These he considered 'lucky money' as the flow of people to the east was not as brisk.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br /><span style="color: black;"></span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: black;">Ang Chiu Shui, or Ah-yeh to his grandchildren, was waiting at the depot. Word had already got to him of their safe arrival and he was visibly relieved to see them all in good spirits. Old Ah-ma, keyed up with excitement and bossier than ever before, barked orders to everyone around her, even the other passengers who, seeing her bound feet and in respect to her age, submitted to her commands. As a result her whole family got off the bus first. Others were also at the depot to meet their families and the din of reunions was deafening. The Ang family, nine in total, accounted for most of it as they shouted and laughed with glee.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">The route from Xiamen to Hong Kong</span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: black;">The family lived for three months in a guesthouse above a shop owned by Ah-yeh's brother. In December, 1951, Ah-yeh leased a large apartment on Kings Road in Northpoint on Hong Kong Island for $HK300.00 per month. That apartment became the family home from 1951 into the 1990's when it succumbed to progress and was demolished. The Northpoint Mass Transit Railway (MTR) station now stands in its place.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"></span><span style="color: red;">Above: The location of the old family home, now the Northpoint MTR station. Below: Kings Road.</span><br /><span style="color: black;"></span> </span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The new apartment had four good sized bedrooms, a kitchen, running water and toilet facilities; all pretty basic but adequate to the family's needs. The space was the main factor because it had to immediately house ten people and perhaps more later on. When they moved in they had no furniture and only a few personal belongings so the first task was to purchase some cheap beds and drawers and other essentials like a table and chairs. Bit-by-bit it all came together and the family settled in. Only then had they the time to start thinking about what they had left behind in Xiamen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><br />The two apartment blocks they owned on Xiamen and Gulangyu were substantial and profitable buildings and they hoped that despite the communist threats that the law would prevail and the ownership would remain in their hands. Before he left Xiamen Ah-yeh had paid some relatives to oversee the buildings in their absence and entrusted some of the family valuables, including small gold bars, to those he had confidence in. And the family, before their exodus, hurriedly concealed more gold bars and valuables under the floorboards and behind the walls. At a more opportune time Ah-yeh would make arrangements to return and reclaim them.<o:p></o:p></span><br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">There was to be no opportune time, the communists were true to their policy of state ownership of all property and wealth. He lost the Apartments and all the valuables and gold secreted in its walls and under the floors. It was said that the communists virtually tore the place apart to get it. The gold and valuables he left with relatives also mysteriously vanished. It was true, everything in China was lost. At least the business in the Philippines was still there and most importantly his family was together and free. Surely, that was what really counted and worth more than all the gold he had lost. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Nevertheless, the Chinese love of gold and valuable things is strong and the loss of so much was a bitter pill to swallow. A bad taste has lingered in the family mouth that has never completely gone away, even long after Ah-yeh and the other old folk have departed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Above: Ang Chiu Shui's funeral procession in Northpoint, Hong Kong. Below: His headstone, Hong Kong.</span><br />
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They did manage to bring some of their gold from Xiamen; the old dowager stuffed her bags with smaller items and tied a thick, pure gold cord around the waist under the clothes of the young Chay Hum, thinking that if they were stopped along the way by robbers or communist officials, they would be less likely to search a young boy, focusing more on the adults. The cord was worth a small fortune and Chay Hum was instructed to guard it with his life. Other valuables were scattered about in the bags and on the persons of the other family members. As it turned out there were no robbers or communist officials. The journey was long and uneventful.</div>
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<span style="color: red;">Back row left to right: Lina, Winnie, Go Lea Hua and Ang Chay Pek (parents), Raymond and Henry. Seated are the grandparents Him Que and Ang Chiu Shui.</span><br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The apartment in Northpoint was to be their home for the forty or more years. At this point let us pause for a moment and get back to Go Lea Hua, our main character, and revisit some of the things that were said of her earlier and elaborate on some of them. First of all she was short, standing no more than four feet ten inches. But don't let her size fool you, she was strong and tough for one so small; she could wring the neck of a live chicken and pluck and clean as fast as a professional. Also, when you were with her you didn't notice her stature because she was perfectly proportioned. She was extremely pretty and had a sweet calmness about her that made it feel good to be with her and there was a brightness and intelligence about her that shone through eyes that were always smiling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">She was dedicated to her children. Her first was a girl whom she named Ming Ling, translated as Brightness, implying that she would grow to be very intelligent. Years later in Hong Kong on her first day at school her teacher gave her the English name Winnie, the name she is commonly known by today. The Hong Kong schools required their students to have English Christian names and it fell upon the new entrants’ teacher to choose for those children who had didn't have one. The teacher usually had a book of English names from which he or she randomly selected from. It must have been amusing when the child got home and proudly announced his or her new name.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Winnie was born in Amoy, China in 1947, a couple of years after World War Two and presumably hurriedly conceived on one of Ang Chay Pek's infrequent visits from the Philippines. By then it would have been one of their duties to produce offspring; preferably a boy. To the old Chinese, male births were prized over female babies. Boys carried the next generation whereas girls ended up becoming the property of the families they later married into. As it turned out the first child was a girl and whether or not this was a disappointment has not been said. If so it was only momentary because Ming Ling was taken in by her grandparents as if she was their child. She was virtually raised by them and being the oldest child she was privileged and spoiled.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<br />Their second child was a boy born in 1948 who they named Ang Yan San, later given Raymond as his English name. Boys, by tradition, were more preferred than girls in those days because they carried the family name whereas girls, when they married, left home to become the property of another family. Yan San's arrival was, therefore, particularly auspicious.<br /><div>
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Lea Hua's third child was another girl and received the name Ming Lung, later given the English name, Lina. She was born in 1949, also in Amoy. Her arrival, it seems, <i>was</i> received with a note of disappointment. Noises were even made about giving her away. The source of these noises was an uncle; Ang Chiu Shui's younger brother. Fortunately, little Lina's mother would have none of it so the baby stayed. If ever a child had to live with the <i>middle-child-syndrome</i> it was Lina. Yet, in so many ways she has turned out to be the strongest in the family.</div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <span style="color: red;">Above: </span></span><span style="color: red;">Ming Ling and little sister Ming Lung.</span><br /><br />
It should be noted that all three of these children were born during troubled times in China. Prior to World War Two the communists and nationalists had plunged China into a bloody civil war. Then, when the Japanese occupied China the nationalists and communists suspended the shedding of Chinese blood to fight the occupier, but when the Japanese withdrew after their surrender to the allies the civil war resumed with a vengeance. Ming ling and Yan San were born in the middle of the civil war part two, and Ming Lung at the end, just three months after the communist takeover in 1949.<br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">When Go Lea Hua married into the Ang family she entered at the bottom of the family hierarchy. Her lowly position as a daughter-in-law placed her firmly under the authority of her mother-in-law who saw her as a personal handmaid, house servant and child-bearer. She had no rights to property or person; she was herself a possession. Harsh as this seems it was the family law of the day and she was fully aware of her status and her duty to her husband and his family of which she was now a part of for the rest of her life, and she would have been culturally conditioned to accept her fate and do whatever it took to fulfill her role. By nature she was the archetypal Chinese maiden, submissive, obedient, and self-sacrificing. It was with these traits she worked out her survival and in the end it was these traits that made her the most respected and loved of all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">In Hong Kong she watched her children grow and flourish. Winnie, her eldest, was sharp and intelligent and did well at school and during her high school years became interested in the Mormon faith (the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints) and joined that congregation - her family were traditionally of the Buddhist faith. At twenty two years old Winnie left Hong Kong to attend the church-owned Brigham Young University at Laie, Hawaii, and while there married New Zealander, David Bell, and gave birth to two children, Jared and Miriam. This sojourn in Hawaii was a great time for Winnie, but also Go Lea Hua for one happy year.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">At the birth of Winnie's son Jared in 1974, it was determined that Go Lea Hua go to Hawaii for an undetermined duration to be with her daughter and grandson, the first grandchild in the family and joy-of-joys, a boy! She duly arrived and fulfilled her grandmotherly functions. The following is a description of her stay in Hawaii from information furnished by Winnie.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I had a very hard first pregnancy and an even more traumatic birth. My baby came about three weeks ahead of schedule and my labor was long and painful. Then, when the moment finally arrived I was in excruciating pain and screaming for relief. Our Doctor was a bit old-school and preferred I give birth without any chemical assistance. He said it would be better for the baby. I was thinking it would be better for the baby if I could get through this alive. In the end, I demanded with great force that he provide some medical intervention to take away the torture. He relented and gave me an epidural. The relief was instant. I lost all feeling from the waist down. With the pain gone I regained some composure and very bravely inquired, "Oh, that's better. What do I do now, Doctor?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">"Nothing Winnie," he replied, "it's all up to me now." And with that my baby boy was delivered after the slice of a surgical knife and a pair of horrendous looking forceps.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I was quickly cleaned and stitched up and finally got to hold my wailing baby. Exhausted and traumatized it was still a delight it was all over and my child was well. I instinctively looked him over to make sure he had all his fingers and toes and was relieved he looked normal; until I saw his head. I was shocked to discover it was severely cone-shaped and worriedly asked the doctor what was wrong with his head. I was informed it was the result of pulling him out with the forceps and not to worry, it would naturally regain its proper shape in a week or so. Thankfully that proved to be the case. Also, despite being quite tiny (five pounds) and arriving earlier than expected he was very active and animated, constantly waving his arms about and kicking with his legs. That was comforting; it meant that despite his size he was strong and healthy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">It took time for me to make a full recovery and I was still a student with classes to attend and work to do. With an infant to care for my studies went on hold for a while and I really wanted my mum with me. I needed her expert advice and experienced hand at child raising. We asked if she would come and live with us in Hawaii for a while; at least a year. To our delight she was enthusiastic about the idea and arrived at the Honolulu airport when our son was only a few days old.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Our student flat was small; one bedroom, a combination lounge and dining room, and a tiny kitchen. My husband and I would have the bedroom with the baby and she would have the lounge. We had a fold-out couch that served perfectly as her bed. My mother was well accustomed to cramped conditions so she had no trouble with the arrangement. It was wonderful to have her at my side and I was extremely happy. It's great to have a mum around after the first child; there's so much you need to know.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">My mother loved her grandson, especially as he ballooned into a fat and chubby little boy; Chinese grandmothers traditionally dote over boy babies and the fatter the better. When I went back to studies and work I think she was happy because she had her baby grandson to herself all day. She was unashamedly proud of him. She would wander around the small community during the day with him in her arms or in a pushchair and critically observe all the other babies out and about with their mothers. Often, at the end of the day when we were all home she would tell us that none of those other babies were anywhere near as fat and beautiful as hers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bGaERs8TtpU/UujNCDKp5uI/AAAAAAAACYw/-cO8R0tnM7I/s1600/2013-12-09%2B09.16.38.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bGaERs8TtpU/UujNCDKp5uI/AAAAAAAACYw/-cO8R0tnM7I/s400/2013-12-09%2B09.16.38.jpg" width="300" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG6fmULzZchf5NtvCdh4_WuDekoXyCyq-qDp3jebNH6rZmLye5L2yV3PtAllvrcNZYsh5JtaDdMJRUGtnGpoGiFBPUFl7LxdCm-o8cp7UYIT7VXHyN0S56kIPZ-jsZdXsglaelPqKzcTYg/s1600/2013-12-12+09.30.50.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG6fmULzZchf5NtvCdh4_WuDekoXyCyq-qDp3jebNH6rZmLye5L2yV3PtAllvrcNZYsh5JtaDdMJRUGtnGpoGiFBPUFl7LxdCm-o8cp7UYIT7VXHyN0S56kIPZ-jsZdXsglaelPqKzcTYg/s400/2013-12-12+09.30.50.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Above; Winnie, early twenties. Above right: with her mother, Hong Kong, March, 1952, seven months after leaving China</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">She also took a great liking to David, my husband. I never heard her ever say she didn't like anyone but when she really liked someone she went all out for them. She treated David like a king! That was the way she was, forever giving. It was good to see her and David hitting it off so well (his respect and affection for her being mutual) because I remember my anxiety a year earlier when I went back to Hong Kong to inform her of my plans to marry a 'gwailou' (foreigner). I was afraid she would disapprove. But this is one thing I am always grateful for about my mother, she always trusted me. Even though I was her daughter, she treated me as an adult and respected my judgement. I was twenty-four at the time. Also, she was never concerned or prejudiced about where a person came from. She looked only for goodness of character.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">She stayed with us for almost a year before she decided she had better go home. Selfishly, we tried to convince her to stay longer but we knew we couldn't keep her away from the others back in Hong Kong. We had to settle for being grateful she stayed so long and helped us through a critical period in our studies. It was a hard day when the time came and David was sad to bid her farewell. Her gentle presence had lightened our hearts and her tireless work looking after Jared, tidying the flat and cooking the most fabulous dinners had lightened our load. The only compensation was that Jared and I flew back to Hong Kong with her for a couple of weeks. But most importantly, I know she had a wonderful year in Hawaii with us; she said it herself, it was the happiest time in her life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">In time we graduated and moved to New Zealand. Once again I longed to have my mother with us. We talked about seeing if she could move permanently but unfortunately an old illness began to do bad things to her body and her health began to deteriorate. We did manage to have her and my brother, Henry, come to New Zealand for a holiday in 1982 which she enjoyed. Henry also attended Brigham Young University-Hawaii and had recently graduated and returned to Hong Kong. Unfortunately, the illness had set in and our hopes of having her with us permanently were dashed. The malaria she had since childhood gradually destroyed her liver and she left this life after a long struggle on the thirtieth of October, nineteen eighty three, in Hong Kong.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">My sister Lina once asked why someone who spent her whole life giving to others had to die so painfully and with so much suffering. It just didn't seem right or fair. I must admit I felt the same. She died before she should have, she was just sixty one. I couldn't answer Lina's question except to say we mustn't dwell on the sad things of the past, we should celebrate our mother for all the good things she was to us. All I know is that life and death is different for each of us and we don't have much choice in the matter. We just have to move on.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Go Lea Hua is my mother and I wish I was more like her. Her mortal frame was only four-feet-ten but within that tiny frame was a spirit the size of the universe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Her youngest son, Henry. Photo taken 2013</span></td></tr>
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Her son Ang Yan Kang (Henry) also gave this account of her from his perspective:<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I was born in Hong Kong in nineteen fifty-four. These are some of the things I remember about my mother. I believe I was especially favoured by her, perhaps because I was the youngest and she sensed I would be her last child. Whatever the reason, I know I got a lot more of her attention than my older siblings. I remember how every day without fail she would be waiting for me on the corner when I finished school at midday. Our school, like most in those days, had a morning and an afternoon shift. I went to the morning shift starting at eight a.m. and finishing at twelve p.m. Money was tight but somehow she always had at least $10.00 to buy my favourite honey pork to go with the lunch already cooked for me at home. Like every child, I took her and her kindness too much for granted, not fully realizing until she had gone how much she meant to me. I know I gave her a lot of grief during my school years; I was a very poor student and had a strong dislike of school. As often as I could I would sneak out of school and spend part of the day at a small zoo looking at the animals. With some of the other boys like me we made a small hole in the bottom of the fence through which we made our escape. I didn't skip school all the time because most of the teachers were strict about attendance but there were a few who didn't seem to care that much if I wasn't there. Those were the classes I would cut.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">However, on several occasions my crimes inevitably caught up with me and I was hauled before the Principal. My mother would be summoned to attend with me, which for her was both shameful and embarrassing because not only was she ashamed her son was cutting school but she couldn't speak Cantonese very well and found it difficult to communicate. Sometimes my sisters had to be there to interpret.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Yet, for all the trouble I caused, she never once yelled at me even though she was embarrassed and disappointed. She was like that under any circumstances. No matter what nastiness anyone in the family did to her she bore it with grace and dignity, never responding with hate or anger. I have never heard a foul word come from her mouth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">This may seem ridiculous to some but I slept in the same bed with my mother until my teenage years. The only reason I admit this is because in those days there was nowhere else to sleep. Our house was crammed full with people and every bed slept two. That was how most traditional Chinese lived for generations; the whole family together. In some villages every person was related. We simply took that village tradition and applied it to our four bedroom apartment. It was the way of life that we grew up with and so that's how we lived. I remember her special nightly ritual when I was little was to put the pillow over my head and with much laughter pretend to stifle me before I went to sleep. You will be pleased to know I outgrew that game.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">One of my best memories is going with her to the marketplace. In Hong Kong in those days most people of our economic level did all their food shopping at the local markets, of which there were many. The one she always went to was on Marble Road, not far from our house. That market had everything and it was a place of great fascination to my young mind. There were numerous tanks of live fish of every kind, and crates stuffed with live chickens, ducks, quail, pigeons and other sundry poultry, their heads poking through the slats. I don't know how many hours I must have spent over the years gawking into those fish tanks and studying the poultry. There were also cages of live snakes of all sizes and colors and even bins of edible insects for those with a palate for them. Most fascinating to me was the way the vendors killed and prepared these unfortunate creatures for their customers. They wielded their heavy choppers with great skill; a few deft strokes and a few swift slices and your fish, snake, salamander, bird, or small animal was dead, dressed and neatly tied with string. Preparing a frog was the best to watch. The vendor would spike the poor creature through the head then with a couple of lightning-fast flicks of a small knife somehow have the skin off its body in the blink of an eye. We often ate frog for dinner and the old cliche is true, it tastes like chicken; I suppose that's why the Chinese call edible frogs tin-gai; field chickens.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The butchers were there as well, cutting up pork and buffalo meat. Every part of the animal was for sale, from the nose to the testicles. In the summer the smell of offal and blood could be overpowering and it attracted flies by the millions. No matter, a good roasting soon got rid of any bad germs the flies left behind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The northern Chinese have a saying about their southern relatives: "If it has wings and it's not an aeroplane, they'll eat it, and if it has four legs and it's not a table, they'll eat that too." The typical Hong Kong market in those days gave truth to that saying.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">My mother went to the market every day of the week and more often than not took me with her. I was like her little shadow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">There were several festivals and celebrations throughout the year when I was growing up, and each one required a family banquet. Feasting was very important to us. Our living conditions being so crowded meant we often experienced tension and divisions to one degree or another and family feasts were valuable mechanisms in bringing us all together again. The only trouble was the burden of putting together a festive banquet always fell on my mother. I will always remember this tiny woman going to the market early in the morning and buying baskets of food. Then, while the rest of the house slept, she would carry as much as she could home and return for another load. This could take as many as two to three trips. And, with little help from anyone else, she would spend the rest of the day preparing and cooking. In the evening we all sat down to a feast fit for royalty, laughing and rejoicing without a thought to all the work our little four-foot-ten mother had done that we might celebrate together.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">My mother's kindness was universal and unconditional. I never saw her pass a beggar without dropping a few coins in his or her bowl. She was compassionate also to those with disabilities. I vividly remember a woman relative with mental issues who, knowing my mother's good heart, often came around to visit, always with a sad story. Inevitably, the story ended in a request to borrow some money but not until after some suitable theatrics like running to the window and threatening to throw herself onto the street three stories below. My mother would always give her a sympathetic ear and pretend to be horrified that things were so bad she would jump to her death (she knew the woman had no intention of doing so), then loan her the money. My mother didn't have much money herself and she knew full well that despite the woman's assurances she would never see her loan repaid.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">That was my mother exactly, she gave and gave and never expected anything back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Lina, Ming Lung, Go Lea Hua's second daughter</span></td></tr>
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The following account of Go Lea Hua is taken from information given by her second daughter, Lina Ming Lung, perhaps the most appropriate of her family to have the final word. From childhood to Go Lea Hua's passing no other member of her family has experienced so intimately the sufferings and sorrows of her eventful life. These lifelong experiences have given Lina a rightful and special place in the life of her mother, but it has come at a cost; thirty years on she is still coming to terms with her loss. Nevertheless, while difficult at times, she has given this heartfelt account of her days with Go Lea Hua.<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> </span>My mother left this world thirty years ago and I still grieve. Time passes and they say that time heals, and while my tears are fewer I am yet a slow healer in matters of emotion.<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I miss my mother, dreadfully. Her death was, in my mind and heart, horribly unfair. It has caused me to question how heaven could allow a person with such loveliness of soul to die well before her time and with so much pain and sorrow. Recently when I was particularly down I confided in my sister who told me not to dwell too much in the past, especially on things I could never control, because doing so only fills my heart with negative emotions which unbalance my state of well-being. She said that it is important not to let the negatives overwhelm the positives, that instead of dwelling on all the grief and sorrow we should be relieved that our mother's suffering ended. We should now put it behind us and celebrate the good things about her. When we think of her we should remember the perfection of her nature and how it is impossible to find a single person who can say a bad word about her. Not just us, but everyone who ever knew her testifies to her sweet character. That's the legacy she left us. Hers was a life of devotion to her loved ones and she gave us a mother's love that has bound us together with a bond that crosses the divide between life and death. We are blessed to be born of the finest mother we could ever have wished for; an angel on earth. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I was born in Xiamen (formerly Amoy) in the province of Fujian in China, but I have lived most of my life in Hong Kong, having arrived by bus with the rest of the family when I was a toddler. I believe that form the start I have had a special relationship with my mother because my older sister, Winnie, while living under the same roof was, by-and-large, raised closer to our grandparents. A lot of family lived in our house and I suppose lots of duties were shared, even the child rearing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">These are the things I remember best about my mother:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">My mother was incredibly soft-spoken and had a calmness of spirit under almost all circumstances. There are only four known moments in her life when that calmness was disturbed. The first was in China when she was newly married and living in the Ang house at Gulangyu. She would have been about eighteen at the time. As with tradition the home was multi-generational, accommodating herself and her husband's parents and grandparents. It was also probable that other relatives had space there as well. She got along particularly well with Ang Yuk Lum, her husband's kindly grandfather who treated her with dignity and respect. She always spoke highly of him and told us he taught her how to cook a variety of excellent dishes. I have wondered why my mother remembered this so strongly and can only suppose that when she came into the house as the lowly daughter-in-law she found herself under intense pressure to provide good meals. His kind tutelage would have been of great value to her. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Ang Yuk Lum and his wife, Dhi Biao</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The old man, unfortunately, suffered from a serious illness which by all accounts sounds like tuberculosis and, as with tuberculosis, he had good days and bad days. On his good days he and my mother enjoyed each other's company. On the bad days she nursed and cared for him. This mutual dependence created a bond between them that would have eased much of my mother's loneliness. But as the days wore on the disease took greater hold and he passed away.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Sometime
after the old man's death she took her young niece, Hui Ying, with her to visit
his grave. She hadn't been there since he passed and on approaching the grave
she fell to her knees and cried her heart out. Hui Ying was just a small
girl at the time but the memory of the scene stuck like glue in her
mind. She had never seen Go Lea Hua cry with such grief and anguish. For
my part, I believe her grief was not only about losing her protector and friend,
but also the release of all the emotion bottled up inside her. She was like
that; she kept all her troubles to herself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
second time was many years later in Hong Kong when a letter arrived from China
informing her of her mother's death. The letter would have been days - if
not weeks - old, so not only was it too late to visit her mother, she couldn't
even be at the funeral. I was old enough to witness her sadness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The third
time is a particularly bitter memory, one that gives me grief even to think
about it. My father, Ang Chay Pek, came down with emphysema and was
hospitalized in the Philippines. It came as a shock to all of us because as far
as we knew he was in good health. Now, out of the blue the doctors were telling
us his blood pressure was fatally high and his lungs were wracked with
emphysema. He was a heavy smoker so the disease must have been developing for a
long time. Now we were being told he didn't have long to live. He was put on a
ventilator and as it turned out it kept him alive for over a year. My
mother flew to his side from Hong Kong to give him the care the nurses and
doctors could not. It was expected that it would be a few weeks at most but a
year later she was still there. She remained at his bedside all day and slept
on a couch in his hospital room at night. What breaks she took were brief; a
little exercise on the hospital grounds, a short trip somewhere for
food, or a quick visit to the family house in Manila. Always, she hurried back.
Towards the end of the year the breaks became fewer. Her ailing husband even
tied a string to her hand when she slept to alert her should his ventilator
malfunction.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">By the
time he passed away she was worn out. To make matters worse, the monsoon
brought torrential rain which delayed the funeral for over a week, adding to
the strain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In due
course it was time for the funeral and Chinese funerals can be elaborate
affairs encumbered with a multitude of rituals and cultural traditions. One
important tradition is for a son, preferably the eldest, to lead the procession
carrying a portrait of the deceased. On this occasion, none of Ang Chay Pek's
sons were available. Raymond (Ang Yan San) was in faraway Holland and second
son, Henry, was studying in Hawaii. This created a good deal of consternation
and it was suggested by an aunt that if a son wasn't present a nephew could do
it. But Second Uncle was not agreeable and gave reasons as to why his boys were
also unavailable. Superstition and tradition were raising their ugly heads. The
same aunt then said that with no sons available then let a daughter carry the
portrait. I was the only daughter there so it fell upon me, but because I was
not a son I must carry it on my back instead of in front as was the tradition.
I carried my father's portrait on my back all the way to the cemetery.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It broke
my mother's heart when she saw it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Up until
that point she had been courageous and stoic, holding back her tears and
controlling her emotions. She was being strong for all of us. Then, without
warning, she couldn't hold her grief back any longer. The sight of me with the
portrait on my back was too much for her to bear and she burst into tears and
wailed out her pain. I believe to this day that the sight of me with father's
picture on my back was hurtful, disrespectful and deeply offensive, especially
after all she and I had been through the past year. Not only was it offensive
to us but also to the memory of my dead father. She shed a lot of tears that
day. Perhaps it was a good thing but it would have been nicer if she could have
grieved more privately as was her way. I</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">t was
the saddest day of her life and I still feel her pain.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
fourth ripple on her lake of calmness was caused not by sorrow but anger, an
emotion I never knew existed in her. It was when she was nearing her own death
and I was by her hospital bed scolding Henry about losing a pager I had given
him; I was always scolding him for something or another, most of which was
rightly deserved. However on this occasion it was too much for her and she
turned on me sharply with a scolding of her own. "Lina! I haven't much
time left and when I'm gone you are to stop publicly reprimanding your
brother."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I was
stunned by her outburst; she had never been angry with me before and it was so
alien to her nature it left me speechless. Nevertheless, her admonition has
been burned into my soul and I have endeavored to do as she commanded.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I have
thought deeply about these occasions and have concluded that it is almost
unbelievable that a person can go a lifetime with only four observable
emotional outbursts; three due to sorrow and only one to anger. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I have
spent a lot of time with my mother and my relationship with her is best
described by an old proverb, "<i>Sai seui cheung lau</i>." I use
this proverb because normal words don't seem to adequately express it.
Translated literally it says,<i> "Small waters long flow," </i>with my<i> </i>best
interpretation going something like, <i>A small stream can flow a great
distance. </i>Like a little river my mother and I have always been
together as one. We have wound our way through hills and valleys, forests and
cities. We are an insignificant little trickle in the great scheme of things,
but we are on an epic journey together. I like to think we will flow on
forever.<i> </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><i> </i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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My mother was a wonderful cook and I miss her beautiful food. I used to see her as something of a magician because she only received about ten dollars a day for the purchase of food. With a paltry ten dollars she had to buy enough to feed more than ten people in our dwelling for the whole day. Often, we had relatives drop by and so she had to use all her talents to stretch it even further. Grandfather Ah-yeh held the purse strings and he was tight with money. I know for a fact she often topped up the grocery money from her own funds, meager as they were.<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">My mother was very smart. She could read and write very well and was able to recite long verses of classical poetry by memory. We should not let her humble, submissive nature deceive us into judging her as simple minded. She had a sharp intellect and many times I was surprised at what came out of her head. Besides, one glance into those bright, dark eyes of hers and you could see the spark of intelligence behind them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">My mother was particular about her grooming and personal hygiene. She never went out without powdering her face and neatly arranging her hair. Her standard outfit was a cheongsam, that high-collared, snug-fitting traditional Chinese dress popular in her time. She looked very pretty in them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">She was a splendid housekeeper and in our family arrangement nearly all the domestic tasks fell on her. When I was small I paid no heed to her workload but as I grew older I became aware of how burdensome her household duties were. In fact I would call them horrendous. I tried to help as I grew older but I was only useful as an assistant sweeper or dishwasher. I was never as thorough as she was but something must have rubbed off on me; I became rather fastidious myself about cleanliness. My sister jokingly dubbed me the <i>Health Inspector</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">My mother must have been bitterly disappointed in my brothers during their school years, though she never showed it. Both Raymond and Henry were poor students and found school an unpleasant place to spend their days. Raymond was just plain non-academic and Henry was both non-academic and misbehaved. His truancy and poor performance often saw him in the principal's office. Raymond was no better. On these occasions my mother was called in for teacher-parent conferences. However, her poor Cantonese meant I was taken from my classroom to act as interpreter. It was a frightening experience for me and I can only imagine the shame and embarrassment my mother felt. When Raymond was being hauled over the coals he would cry and howl bitterly. Henry, on the other hand, would hang his head in shame and admit all his deficiencies and promise with all his soul to improve, only to be up to his old tricks a short while later. I think it was a considerable relief to my poor mother when they both quit school, albeit as unqualified as the day they began. Surprisingly, Raymond made a success of himself in the fast food business in Holland, and Henry went on to graduate with a Bachelor’s Degree from University in Hawaii. He now resides in New Zealand. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">My mother's favourite color was purple and her favourite flower was the orchid. This all came about after a special and thrilling occasion in her life; one of her few truly happy moments. In 1971 she went on an airliner for the first time in her life. She and I went to visit Dai-gu (Big Aunt, <i>big</i> denoting oldest), my father's sister. The airline we flew with was Thai International and along the way the stewardesses gave the women passengers a beautifully tied purple orchid to pin to their clothes. She was very taken with the little gift and from that time forth purple was her hue and orchid her bloom. This is why in my weekly visits to her memorial at the temple I always take her a fresh bouquet of purple orchids.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Go Lea Hua (left) in Taiwan on the trip where she fell in love with purple orchids</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">In time we children all grew up and moved away leaving her alone in the big house with Grandmother. Freed from looking after a houseful of people it should have been a time for her to finally relax and enjoy some leisure time, but it wasn't to be. Her husband's hospital care had eaten up all their money and left her destitute. I had moved out of the house to live with my husband and visited her every Sunday. To make ends meet she went to work in a factory until she and Hui Lan, her sister-in-law, opened a small street-side diner. She was high spirited and buoyant about her small enterprise but it pained me to see her working so hard yet again. I truly believe it was the stress of that year in the Philippines coupled with the rigors of life following that caused a sudden and rapid decline in her health.</span><br />
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<span style="color: red;"><span style="color: red; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Above: Taking a break with Jung Jai Lei
(Jared) outside her small eatery. Winnie seated inside.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Then she
lost the rented house she had lived in for over thirty years; it was bought out
and demolished to build a new mass transit railway station. I managed to find
her a nice apartment in a new building in Wanchai and she moved in with Henry
who had returned from Hawaii. Grandmother by then had gone to live with Second
Uncle in the Philippines. Apart from her illness she was happy in that flat; it
was newer, cleaner and much better equipped. During that time Winnie and her
family came to visit and she even went on a trip to New Zealand with Henry
which she thoroughly enjoyed. There was talk about seeing if she could move to
New Zealand and live with Winnie but when she returned the old illness came
back and killed that dream.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">My mother
was courageous in her toil and suffering. I saw first-hand how hard she worked
to support us and many others in our extended family. I also saw how she faced
adversity with unbelievable courage. She was small but she was incredibly
resilient and strong. I have seen her during one of her many attacks of
malaria, a disease she carried in her body since childhood. She would break out
in a terrible cold sweat and shake violently. We would pile several layers of
blankets over her and still she shivered and shook. An attack could last days
but as soon as she was well enough she would be hard at work again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I
witnessed her weaken as the disease gradually destroyed her liver until it
finally took her life. I remember feeling terrible as I watched her writhing in
pain in the hospital bed. But I never heard her bemoan her own plight, instead,
she was more concerned about us, and when she sensed her time was close, she
gave me three final instructions. The first was about her burial clothing and
the second was to look after Henry. The third was to remember to make sure
everyone was well fed after the funeral. She died on the thirtieth of
October, 1983.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I go to
the temple every Saturday to visit my mother. I talk to her and give her
things. I know she is not actually there but I believe she knows the intentions
of my heart and is pleased. I suppose this means I believe she still exists
somewhere and is still watching over us. When I talk to her I tell her I am
doing my best to fulfill the instructions she gave me before she died.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: red;">Purple orchids, her favourite blooms</span>.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I
remember when I went to New Zealand to visit my sister Winnie and her family
and David showed us a home movie of my mother in Hawaii holding her fat
grandson. Her eyes were alive with delight and she had a smile as bright as the
sun. It was the first time I had seen such a smile. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">It made
me realize that she had her good times and precious moments.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> <i> </i><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> End</span></span></div>
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Notice: Raymond's memories of his mother will be added when I get the opportunity to sit with him for a long interview.</div>
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<b><span style="color: red; font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 18pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: red;">Anthony Ormsby, 1858 ~ 1889<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
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Written by David Bell<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FgHj5z2biqg/VR0rSntc9uI/AAAAAAAAHJE/4QALF_1ndNo/s1600/2013-12-09%2B09.36.33.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FgHj5z2biqg/VR0rSntc9uI/AAAAAAAAHJE/4QALF_1ndNo/s1600/2013-12-09%2B09.36.33.jpg" width="313" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "roboto"; mso-fareast-language: EN-NZ; mso-no-proof: yes;"><v:shapetype coordsize="21600,21600" filled="f" id="_x0000_t75" o:preferrelative="t" o:spt="75" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" stroked="f">
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<v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0">
<v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0">
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</v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:formulas></v:stroke></v:shapetype></span></b><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Born near Pirongia (previously Alexandra) 14 October,
1858, Anthony Ormsby, the sixth child of Robert and Pianika, died 16 March,
1889 aged 31 in a shipwreck off the coast of Apia, Western Samoa. At the time
he was a trader stationed at Tutuila, American Samoa. His death certificate
issued by the British Consulate in Western Samoa gives his death date as 16
March, 1889 and lists him as a trader of Tutuila visiting Apia. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">His death came as a great shock to
his family back in New Zealand who would not have learned of it immediately,
communications not being as instant as today. A couple of letters to Apia from
his father Robert give some insights into the situation.<o:p></o:p></span>
<br /><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: purple;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: purple;">Letter 1, dated April 1889:<o:p></o:p></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Sir, <o:p></o:p></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Many thanks for your letter of 20th
March received today informing me of the death of my poor son, Anthony. I was
rather surprised to hear from McArthur an Co. a few days ago that he had been married
for some time, as he never mentioned it to me or his brothers in his letters.
Possibly you would be good enough to let me know if any legal marriage took
place before I take any steps regarding his effects.<o:p></o:p></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">I am, Sir, your obedient servant,<o:p></o:p></span>
<span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Robert Ormsby Senior.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: purple;">Letter 2, dated 9 August, 1889 to
the HBM Consul, Apia, Samoa:<o:p></o:p></span></span> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Sir,<o:p></o:p></span>
</span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">I received your letter of 20th
March last about and replied the same day. Perhaps my answer did not reach you.
Many thanks for your kind letter as it explained my poor son's reason for
staying aboard the Lily. I had a letter from McArthur and Co. on 5 June last in
which they stated that you had got what property he left and eighty or ninety
pound in money. I know no-one in Apia. If you or McArthur's agent would kindly
act as my representative in administering his estate I would feel greatly
obliged. You will do me a great kindness if you will let me know as soon as
possible about this matter.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">I have the honour to be sir, your
obedient servant,</span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"></span><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Robert Ormsby Senior. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">The Consulate obviously got onto it
because an extensive list of all his effects was duly sent to Robert, a copy of
which is included at the end of this article. It gives the impression that
Anthony was doing well prior to his dreadful demise.<o:p></o:p></span>
<br /><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: purple;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: purple;">A brief report (author unknown) of
the situation around Anthony's death:</span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">On the 15th of March 1889 a
hurricane started to gain force around Apia, Samoa. At this time there were
several ships in the harbour: German, English, and American. Besides these were
several smaller vessels which included the schooner , Lily, which belonged to
Wm. McArthur and Co., traders from Tutuila, American Samoa. There were three
Persons aboard the Lily, namely; the captain, the cook and Anthony Ormsby. The
storm had come up very quickly and they stayed with the boat. However,
overnight as the fury of the storm increased, the ships were in serious trouble
and several were damaged and amongst all that chaos the Nispic, a German ship,
lost control and scuttled the Lily with Anthony aboard. He and the cook lost
their lives, the captain was saved.<o:p></o:p></span> </span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">It would have been a sad day for
Anthony's family. A court record for a land claim bought by a member of the
Aumavae family was on behalf of the 'Ormsby heirs' stating that their father died
in 1889 and he had married into the Aumavae family. The marriage took place about 1884 and two children were born of this union; a son who was named Anthony Aumavae and a second child. Anthony's wife was born about 1860 at Leone on Tutuila Island, American Samoa. </span></span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></i><i><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: purple;">End
of report.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">From Robert's letters and this
short report we learn a few interesting facts about Anthony:<o:p></o:p></span><br />
</span><br />
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<br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">1. He must have been a bit more
adventurous than his brothers, having left New<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Zealand and the family lands for the
tropics of Samoa. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: black;">
<span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">2. He was obviously an astute businessman.<o:p></o:p></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">3. He married a Samoan woman and
had two children. Oddly, it came as a shock to his family back home. For some
reason known only to him, he kept it quiet. The report states that there was
'more than one child' in this marriage but his father Robert's letter indicates
shock that the rest of the family knew nothing about them until his death. This
indicates that he had been married at least two or three years without informing
those back home. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">4. The event of his death was an
unlucky accident; during the storm another ship smashed into the Lily and sunk
it, otherwise he and the others on the Lily would have likely ridden out the
storm and survived. Those schooners were sturdy craft designed to take a good
battering at sea.<o:p></o:p></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">5. Judging from the list of all his
effects and chattels, it appears he was doing very well as a trader. Being a
son of Robert, this is not surprising. He would have been very literate and
born with the drive to succeed. He would have had a good nose for business. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span>
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">List of Anthony
Ormsby's Properties and Personal Effects after his Decease, 16 March, 1889 in
Samoa</span></b><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">The list is extensive so I have
included the preamble of R. T. Chatfield, the Administrator in the High
Commissioner's Court of Western Samoa, and an abbreviated version of the list.<o:p></o:p></span>
<br />
<br />
</span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: purple;">1) Chatfield's Preamble:<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">I, Robert Thomas Chatfield, make an
oath and say as follows: </span><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">I will faithfully administer the
personal property of the deceased by paying his just debts and distribute the
residue of his property according to the law. I will accept (or execute) an
inventory and render the account of my administration whenever lawfully
required. <o:p></o:p></span>
</span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">The deceased died at Apia in Samoa
on the 16th day of March, 1889. At the time of his death he had his fixed place
of abode at Tutuila within the district of this court. The whole of his
personal property does not amount in value to the sum of six thousand dollars
to the best of my knowledge, information and belief. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: black;">
<span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Sworn at Malaulu this twenty third
day of April, one thousand eight hundred and eighty nine, before me...H. de
Coelligan.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: purple;">2) The Abbreviated List of Personal
Effects sent to Robert Ormsby Senior on the SS Wainui:<o:p></o:p></span></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">3 gold and silver watches, 1 gold Albert
Guard, gold-faced studs(one set), a magnifying glass, carpenter rulers,
forceps, mathematical instruments, a set of draftsmen, chess set, a revolver
and case, a rife, and a violin. There was probably more but these are the main
items of interest which show that he was a pretty educated fellow. One's
personal effects often indicate one's personality and lifestyle. From this
small list it appears Anthony was prosperous (the expensive watches for
example), educated and with some good skills (the technical instruments and
chess set), a musician (his violin), and perhaps a hunter (the two guns). All
of these would have been valuable items for the time. T</span><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">here was also an extensive and
detailed list of all his clothing. I have also simplified this for the sake of
this article. It is doubtful all these items would have been shipped home on
the Wainui. It's more likely they went to his Samoan family. <o:p></o:p></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Numerous shirts of all kinds, 2
black serge suits, several hats (LDS trim straw, Crimean and Panama), Merino
wool singlets, several quilts, chemises and work boxes, blankets, sheets, tweed
trousers, and 110 Llama, whatever these are. I doubt it would be the South
American animal from the Andes. Also included in the list is the interesting
item of a 'dismantled' cutter (small boat) lying on the beach at Matautu which
was sold to McArthur and Co. for $75 on 2 April 1889.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This craft was obviously previously owned by
Anthony. Other items and possessions sold after his decease were a saddle and
bridle ($11), a thermometer (50 cents), a store with land at Pago Pago, and
land at Leone for $650 and $550 respectively.<o:p></o:p></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">The list of his clothing also gave
the value of each item listed. For the sake of curiosity I have added all these
up - along with those items that were sold - to get an idea of his economic
standing. This total is by no means accurate as I'm sure many things were not
included. For example there is no value put to those items sent home on the
Wainui, so we can only guess at their worth. However, we are certainly indebted
to Mr Chatfield and others for the detailed lists they left us which provide
good insights into what little we know of Anthony's life which by all accounts
was a very interesting one ~ right up to its tragic end.<o:p></o:p></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">His final worth by my best estimation
counting his clothing, properties and the effects shipped home on the SS Wainui
came to around $2047.00 (U.S. dollars being American Samoa) which was a tidy
sum in those days. </span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: red;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: red;"> End<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"></span><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">The following is a further report
from the N.Z. Herald in 1889.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #333331; font-family: "proximanova"; font-size: 12pt;">New Zealand Herald, Volume XXVI, Issue 9344, 22 April 1889, Page 13 </span></b></span></span></span></div>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="color: #333331; font-family: "proximanova"; font-size: 12pt;">TERRIBLE DISASTER AT SAMOA.
ALL THE AMERICAN AND GERMAN VESSELS LOST. An appalling catastrophe has occurred
at Apia, the sorrowful tidings of which were brought by the R.M.S. Mariposa,
which arrived in port at an early hour on the 30th March. We give a complete
and graphic account of the terrible disaster. During a furious gale on the
morning of the 16th March, the American warships Trenton, Vandalia, and Nipsic,
and the German warships, Eber, Adler, and Olga, while lying at anchor at Apia
were driven ashore and wrecked. A large number of small merchant craft was also
lost. The total loss of life is estimated at 150..... THE SCHOONER LILY RUN
DOWN. The schooner Lily, belonging to Messrs; McArthur and Co, was one of those
which was totally lost. She was riding in comparative security at her
anchorage, under the lee side of the eastern reef, when the U.S.S. Nipsic,
drifting helplessly before the hurricane, came into collision with her, cutting
her in two. Captain Douglas, the English and American pilot, was on board at
the time, also Mr. Ormsby, trader for William McArthur and Co., and the
schooner's cook. All were of course hurled into the water when the Nipsic
struck her. Douglas managed to swim to the Olga, which was also close by, and,
after great exertion succeeded in getting on board. Ormsby also reached the
side of the Olga, where a rope was thrown to him, but he seemed too weak to
take advantage of it, and was carried past and soon lost sight of. The cook was
never seen after he was precipitated into the water. AN AUCKLANDER DROWNED. The
trader referred to, Mr. John (sic) Ormsby, (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">this
was Anthony</i> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ormsby</i>) was a native
of this province, being a Maori half-caste, from Alexandra, Waikato. He had
been some four or five years at the Islands, and was in the employ of Messrs.
McArthur and Co., managing a trading station for them at Leone, on the Island
of Tutuila. He was about 30 years of age, and unmarried, and was well known and
esteemed in Apia. He has relations at Alexandra, and a brother of his is at
present resident at Otorohanga, where he keeps a store and public house in
conjunction with a Mr. J. Hettet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
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</span></span></span></span></div>
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</span></span></span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">
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</span>David Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01882172661296160645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4528543538469473341.post-67534924932702945662014-11-13T16:26:00.001-08:002017-04-08T04:50:16.802-07:00The Christchurch-Hamilton Bells Visit Hong Kong (2)<span style="color: red;">Visiting the Hong Kong Branch on the Family Tree: Part Two.</span><br />
<br />
Part Two of our Hong Kong adventure is a look at some of the other things (in no particular order) our Kiwi connection got up to. It is composed of photos with explanations...more pictures and less reading.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: purple;"><strong>The Student Pro-democracy Protests.</strong></span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"></span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><span style="color: black;">Our stay in Hong Kong coincided with the student protest for greater democracy. It was a direct challenge to the communist government in Beijing to allow the people of Hong Kong to vote for their own government. It was triggered when Beijing announced that only three government-approved candidates would be put forward for the election when C.Y. Leung's term as the current Chief Executive of Hong Kong terminates in two years time. The students of Hong Kong saw this as a false democracy and protested on the streets. It was one of those semi-spontaneous movements where a protest was announced and everyone turned up, tens of thousands of them, mostly students but many others who also wanted full democracy. They held mass sit-ins (or occupations as they called them) on the main streets of Hong Kong Island and Kowloon-side. Our apartments were in Mong Kok on Kowloon-side and right next to the protests. In fact, only a few minutes walk away. At first we were worried it was going to be a major disruption to our holiday and we were wondering if it might turn ugly, but, as it turned out, it was a spectacular but pretty peaceful protest. It was quite a sight to see so many thousands of young folk all gathered in one place and determined to fight for a change they believed right for their future and the future of Hong Kong.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8gYbL1DeENBwGhU_P3bnUecXm8OoMZ51spqbutUk6qKzXUgEJ_RWz2VnKv5tG39xLqO62Cc_1aYHEu2QzBEMjMBBgmx1uUduxAARo7hva889FsqXRC-XUVQ8OhJDoEgGLctjKnDnrU-5x/s1600/IMG_2969.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8gYbL1DeENBwGhU_P3bnUecXm8OoMZ51spqbutUk6qKzXUgEJ_RWz2VnKv5tG39xLqO62Cc_1aYHEu2QzBEMjMBBgmx1uUduxAARo7hva889FsqXRC-XUVQ8OhJDoEgGLctjKnDnrU-5x/s1600/IMG_2969.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red;">Student protestors occupying Argyle St. in Mong Kok.</span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-u2D_fbZMd4s/VFwG3NDxrcI/AAAAAAAAG2c/eoWw8CZgtuk/s1600/IMG_3013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-u2D_fbZMd4s/VFwG3NDxrcI/AAAAAAAAG2c/eoWw8CZgtuk/s1600/IMG_3013.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
<span style="color: red;">Candice getting a good look at the protest.</span><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tcAEgF6Jvug/VFwHRWINSrI/AAAAAAAAG2s/Yfqt90bHJFI/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tcAEgF6Jvug/VFwHRWINSrI/AAAAAAAAG2s/Yfqt90bHJFI/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="400" /></a><span style="color: red;"></span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">The police presence was heavy but restrained. In fact, it was a credit to them how restrained they were under some provocation at times. It should also be said that the vast majority of the students were very well behaved. These two factors, I believe, greatly contributed to the protest not turning into a bloodbath; the possibility of which was always there. </span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"><span style="color: black;">Everyone expected the protest to last only a short while, but it was till going strong when we left Hong Kong two weeks later. Of course there are always two sides to every conflict and this protest certainly divided Hong Kong with those firmly in the pro-democracy camp, those in favour of the government position, and those somewhere in the middle. It seemed that the younger generation where in the great majority pro-democracy while the older generation were happy with Hong Kong as it is and did not want to provoke Beijing and ruin the stability and freedoms they already had. To be fair, the communist government have certainly allowed Hong Kong to function pretty much as it did under the British for all those years due to the SAR (Special Autonomous Region) policy. This has allowed plenty of economic freedom but not political freedom. It's this political freedom the students were protesting about. Many others were sympathetic and supportive of the student's cause but felt they were demanding too much too soon and believed that they should take things one-at-a-time and be a bit more patient and know that change takes time. Of course, youth seldom want to wait years for change. The students wanted immediate change because they saw it as their future at stake and demanded a say in that future. The Special Autonomous Region arrangement is due to end in about ten years and the youth fear that with it the end of any hope of universal suffrage.</span></span></div>
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Perhaps an example of how divisive the protest made people is that even among our own Hong Kong whanau opinions differed greatly. The younger relatives were keen participants in the protest much to the disgust of their elders. While everyone was careful not to be too vocal at family gatherings, privately they were not backward in expressing their opinions.</div>
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<span style="color: purple;"><strong>Public Transport in Hong Kong</strong></span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;"> </span><span style="color: purple;"><span style="color: black;">The public transport in Hong Kong is quite remarkable for its accessibility and efficiency. The buses were modern and comfortable and to the kids delight, double-decked. Naturally, whenever we took a bus somewhere everyone shot up to the top deck for a better views of the city. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-P5d5euxpB6M/VGMU3Bo344I/AAAAAAAAG7g/M_gM6hXbi0Y/s1600/_MG_0662.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-P5d5euxpB6M/VGMU3Bo344I/AAAAAAAAG7g/M_gM6hXbi0Y/s400/_MG_0662.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nAm8XyaNyUk/VGMVJ7K16RI/AAAAAAAAG7o/qTpB-nY-LxU/s1600/_MG_0672.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nAm8XyaNyUk/VGMVJ7K16RI/AAAAAAAAG7o/qTpB-nY-LxU/s400/_MG_0672.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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The MTR (Mass Transit Rail) was simply amazing and totally critical to life in Hong Kong. At any given time of the day I would say at least half the population on the move would be somewhere deep underground bustling to the trains or on them speeding somewhere. If the subway for some reason ceased to operate it would be chaos on the surface; the crowds would increase a hundred-fold. The trains are all electric so there is no diesel fumes and they are fast. And, it didn't matter if you missed a train because a couple of minutes later another one whooshed into the station. There must have been an incredibly accurate and efficient computer somewhere controlling all those trains. Also, it didn't take long to learn how to travel anywhere in Hong Kong on the underground; the signage was clear and in English as well as Chinese, and the public announcement system constantly gave instructions and directions. One constant announcement we all learned just by hearing it so much was: <em>Cheng mat kaukei che mun, </em>which means<em>, Please don't stand in the doorway. </em>At peak hours the trains got so full it was like being in a sardine tin, and if you were last on and stuck in the door it wouldn't shut and the train couldn't move. A subway attendant would then shove you in the back with all his or her strength and unceremoniously squash you in. The older girls - Kalei, Chemae and Sarina - after a while became so confident of finding their way around on the subway they began going off shopping together. </div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Y7vpfJmIfHk/VGMa8yKpSgI/AAAAAAAAG9A/z5E5ssJi4k0/s1600/_MG_0267.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="218" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Y7vpfJmIfHk/VGMa8yKpSgI/AAAAAAAAG9A/z5E5ssJi4k0/s400/_MG_0267.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red;">The entrance to the Mong Kok MTR</span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-n-rKmpCC7-s/VGMbV3hwZ-I/AAAAAAAAG9I/wV1m7ilbT8o/s1600/IMG_0289.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-n-rKmpCC7-s/VGMbV3hwZ-I/AAAAAAAAG9I/wV1m7ilbT8o/s400/IMG_0289.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red;">The underground is a busy place</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> While we were there it was Mainland China's National Holiday </span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> and Hong Kong's population suddenly increased by about four</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> million people. It was certainly a lot more crowded but the</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> superb transport system coped easily.</span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6WC9Oxw-Xfc/VGMbxdcfCJI/AAAAAAAAG9Y/n7Q-hJqCrTs/s1600/IMG_0316.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6WC9Oxw-Xfc/VGMbxdcfCJI/AAAAAAAAG9Y/n7Q-hJqCrTs/s400/IMG_0316.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red;">A photo of a rare moment in the subway...the emptiness!</span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;"><strong>Kai, Kai and more Kai...So many things to eat in Hong Kong</strong></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">The streets of Hong Kong are loaded with restaurants, bakeries, fast-food joints, street stalls; you name it they've got it - on every corner a new treat to sample. It's got to be the food capital of the world. This was both a blessing and a curse because one or two of us ate far too much. </span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> We met up with our Hong Kong domiciled cousin, </span><span style="color: red;">Dan Cardon </span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> and fiancée Jocelyn.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCY1gWfiYgW5rCASLLn-lwwuG-vbptDhLuwTPtLgf-bRv1l9xOwiuoSVlHqDibD3tpdYunS-9W_eBHde2GmOouYHci9aNaRUUH4sodc_wm_qcBgYvmPNWRuxBOLeXs75HFXN7KR3z1j1LJ/s1600/IMG_0665.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCY1gWfiYgW5rCASLLn-lwwuG-vbptDhLuwTPtLgf-bRv1l9xOwiuoSVlHqDibD3tpdYunS-9W_eBHde2GmOouYHci9aNaRUUH4sodc_wm_qcBgYvmPNWRuxBOLeXs75HFXN7KR3z1j1LJ/s400/IMG_0665.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red;">Here we are dining on pizza. I don't know what</span><span style="color: red;"> </span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">Jared's problem is...a bad slice of pizza?</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">Breakfast from the Chinese bakery. </span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-N7OVxcPXOCQ/VGRZR70vgdI/AAAAAAAAG-I/LO2JyDGcbAQ/s1600/IMG_0642.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-N7OVxcPXOCQ/VGRZR70vgdI/AAAAAAAAG-I/LO2JyDGcbAQ/s400/IMG_0642.JPG" width="298" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> The Jumbo gateway. Winnie, Lina, Michael, Henry</span></div>
<span style="color: red;"> and I went to the famous Floating Restaurant for </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"> lunch. Winnie and I stayed on a week after the kids </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"> went home and if we ever do this hikoi again we </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"> will definitely bring them here. Not only is the place </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"> incredible but the boat shuttle in itself is a great </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"> free scenic harbour cruise.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkc_7MoU5SG15hkMyPHHOzZn1ij4nIMSUIvT1dztGV9XnBdOzmRTy9XWfOUWu_Bq_bf2oTPgtRASUShVEIg7TT6Xbl5gZxOnAP4ENDRVGxqhccEMnKYC-ZxO301CMgvDXslahSy4a7poXn/s1600/IMG_0647.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkc_7MoU5SG15hkMyPHHOzZn1ij4nIMSUIvT1dztGV9XnBdOzmRTy9XWfOUWu_Bq_bf2oTPgtRASUShVEIg7TT6Xbl5gZxOnAP4ENDRVGxqhccEMnKYC-ZxO301CMgvDXslahSy4a7poXn/s320/IMG_0647.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> A free water shuttle takes you out to Jumbo - the</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> unusual name of the Floating Restaurant.</span></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-edUV7sbJAJI/VGR2g7YbY2I/AAAAAAAAG_k/mB-ofwwkktw/s1600/IMG_0648.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-edUV7sbJAJI/VGR2g7YbY2I/AAAAAAAAG_k/mB-ofwwkktw/s400/IMG_0648.JPG" width="298" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> The restaurant is a huge barge with four floors. It </span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> was</span><span style="color: red;"> midday </span><span style="color: red;">when we went and it was quite </span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> packed. It's a tourist<em> must-do</em> so there were a lot</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> of foreign diners there. We had a great yum-cha </span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> which, considering the venue, was very reasonably </span></div>
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<strong><span style="color: purple;">The Markets</span></strong></div>
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<span style="color: black;">The markets and shopping were everyone's favourite pastimes - and there are plenty of markets and shops with bargains galore. The young boys kitted themselves out with multiple sporting outfits like soccer and basketball clothes with their favourite sporting heroes names on them. The young girls were into clothes and bling, the older three more focused on clothes and shoes, and their parents into food, smoothies, clothes and other things .Joven couldn't resist the delicious mango-coconut-tapioca smooth</span><span style="color: black;">ies and slurped through dozens of them. </span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> The malls and markets of Hong Kong are </span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> spectacular. The enormous human energy is palpable </span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> wherever you go. Everywhere people are on the </span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> move and millions in shops and street stalls selling</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> everything imaginable. </span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-i8tVrBbS7Uo/VGMc1sRgqNI/AAAAAAAAG9o/lMd2xYOWhWU/s1600/_MG_0625.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-i8tVrBbS7Uo/VGMc1sRgqNI/AAAAAAAAG9o/lMd2xYOWhWU/s320/_MG_0625.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<strong><span style="color: purple;">The Heat</span></strong><br />
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<span style="color: purple;"><span style="color: black;">October is still very hot and humid</span> </span><span style="color: black;">in Hong Kong with temperatures soaring to 32 degrees and above at times. Accustomed to a cooler climate, it took us a while to adjust to the heat. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;"> Taking a break on a park bench.</span><br />
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<span style="color: red;"> While at Pok Fu Lam Ava went missing. She had found a shady</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> spot under a trellis.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> Ahhh! Bless the person who invented the air conditioner.</span><br />
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<span style="color: red;"> Grandma nearly died.</span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;"><strong>Feet problems</strong></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">The heat and humidity caused considerable discomfort for the ladies...Winnie in Particular. Also in Hong Kong you do a tremendous amount of walking. Even though the public transport is great and you go everywhere on it, you still have to pound the streets getting to the bus stops, tram stops, and subway trains: not to mention walking around all the malls and markets. It's a fact that we did a hundred times more walking in Hong Kong than we did at home in N.Z. The heat and walking caused the women to suffer swollen feet, but luckily it didn't slow us down too much.</span></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WSyjWrYNyak/VGVCNaR_NCI/AAAAAAAAHAk/-GKwz_Zknu8/s1600/IMG_0689.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WSyjWrYNyak/VGVCNaR_NCI/AAAAAAAAHAk/-GKwz_Zknu8/s400/IMG_0689.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red;">One of</span> <span style="color: red;">Ah-ma's feet.</span></div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5514TENuW_o/VGVBf0xzv8I/AAAAAAAAHAc/Gl9L65swkho/s1600/IMG_0626.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5514TENuW_o/VGVBf0xzv8I/AAAAAAAAHAc/Gl9L65swkho/s320/IMG_0626.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="color: red;"> Miriam's feet.</span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Hi_xTvvMOvA/VGVBWCDaEEI/AAAAAAAAHAU/VSWW-lK4lik/s1600/IMG_0686.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Hi_xTvvMOvA/VGVBWCDaEEI/AAAAAAAAHAU/VSWW-lK4lik/s320/IMG_0686.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<span style="color: red;">I had no feet problems in Hong Kong</span><br />
<span style="color: red;"> but to my surprise my ankles swelled</span><br />
<span style="color: red;"> up on the plane home, something that</span><br />
<span style="color: red;"> had never happened to me before. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;"> </span><span style="color: purple;"><strong>Chinese Zombies</strong></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">It was the Halloween season and the Hong Kongers, always up to make a buck, have commercialised it big time. On a day trip up to Victoria Peak the kids met up with a bunch of zombies. They were advertising a big evening family Halloween show in the big hall there by walking around scaring everyone. The zombies were all young folk; probably students earning some extra money. Our kids loved them, especially Kobe.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuqg13L2XJ4WY78ZpQ4KWeyQQMTGTuUeJK4w17AcSnihMdd67l0nCdK8dwAuGEkqwxVq6WlPbS5HymDuOC2yJ3MzYCBsFSNsdBrS034jHmum8741ZnCY3A5tv1m7gApt6IL0nI_17X5WcW/s1600/_MG_1188.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuqg13L2XJ4WY78ZpQ4KWeyQQMTGTuUeJK4w17AcSnihMdd67l0nCdK8dwAuGEkqwxVq6WlPbS5HymDuOC2yJ3MzYCBsFSNsdBrS034jHmum8741ZnCY3A5tv1m7gApt6IL0nI_17X5WcW/s400/_MG_1188.JPG" width="367" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: purple;"><strong>Happy-faces Gallery</strong></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">Following is a gallery of random photos showing various happy faces which suggests everyone was enjoying themselves.</span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IMh2W1RrHL4/VGRaLXQZ04I/AAAAAAAAG-o/QbQiXKdQppI/s1600/IMG_0667.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IMh2W1RrHL4/VGRaLXQZ04I/AAAAAAAAG-o/QbQiXKdQppI/s400/IMG_0667.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> Notice the odd-one-out?</span></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-a7mIgQGOCwo/VGRZjNi-PoI/AAAAAAAAG-Q/MwlMzDgekQ0/s1600/IMG_0669.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-a7mIgQGOCwo/VGRZjNi-PoI/AAAAAAAAG-Q/MwlMzDgekQ0/s400/IMG_0669.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> Seems like Sarina has only one smiley-face to her repertoire </span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> of smiles.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> No prizes for guessing who's the more intelligent sister.</span></div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NMjiUtYFbcI/VGMX9dscKYI/AAAAAAAAG8U/lcM2fW6CkSk/s1600/IMG_0347.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="316" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NMjiUtYFbcI/VGMX9dscKYI/AAAAAAAAG8U/lcM2fW6CkSk/s400/IMG_0347.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> Emi with a special purchase.</span></div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/--EE6rfSIsoo/VGRaY1W0DmI/AAAAAAAAG-w/l9kUmmU6EPs/s1600/IMG_0664.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/--EE6rfSIsoo/VGRaY1W0DmI/AAAAAAAAG-w/l9kUmmU6EPs/s400/IMG_0664.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> Ella, the beach-babe of Repulse Bay.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> Ahh, that's a nice shot.</span><br />
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<strong><span style="color: purple;">The Selfie Stick</span></strong><br />
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When we first arrived in Hong Kong we noticed the mainland Chinese tourists all had long sticks with their cell phones attached to the ends. We thought they looked daft but soon realised that they were selfie sticks. Miriam was the first to cotton on to the convenience of a selfie stick and bought one that very day, much to everyone's amusement. The others followed soon after.</div>
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<strong><span style="color: purple;">And so it Ends</span></strong></div>
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As the old saying goes: All good things must come to and end; and so it did for us. The holiday ended all too soon and everyone trudged off to the airport to catch their flights home. The whole adventure was to have a family hikoi to show the grandchildren where their grandmother spent her childhood and also to visit the few remaining relatives we have left in Hong Kong, especially Winnie's sister and Brother-in-law and an elderly and seriously ill uncle who was fighting for his life at the time. Happily, he made great progress while we were there and even got well enough to leave hospital and go home. It was a happy and heart-warming occasion when he stepped from the car and walked under his own steam to the comfort of his own home after several months in hospital. His smile told it all. This was Saam-suk (Third Uncle), the same who had left China in 1951 with Winnie's mother Go Lea Hua. </div>
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I believe we accomplished that objective.</div>
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It was also to show the children where I spent over two years of my life from June 1968 to August 1970 on missionary service to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. It was a fantastic two years that influenced my life from then on and still does to this day. Service given freely and wholeheartedly in the service of God and people is always its own reward; the giver getting back far more than he ever gives. I think there's one person in the whanau who would know from experience how it feels to do good when good is needed, and that's Andy Lear who did a wonderful act of service in the Philippines after hurricane Yolanda ripped through where he was working as an engineer for a copper mine. His feat was the subject of an earlier blog and has become a profound part of our family history. If you haven't yet read it, search the Pirongia Bells blog and share Andy's experience. I'm sure we have lots of great things like this in our whanau that need to be recorded for all to see. </div>
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<span style="color: black;">I served as a missionary in Hong Kong over forty six years ago and was amazed at the changes in our church since then. In those days we met in small buildings but now all the chapels are multi-storied where several congregations meet simultaneously. We attended a morning service and I had the opportunity to stand up and give a short introductory talk in Cantonese which both astonished and amused the kids. It was a simple talk but did the job. All seventeen of us walked in like a big gang of bumpkins so the surprised congregation appreciated getting to know who we actually were. Winnie gave a short talk also and filled in everything I left out.</span></div>
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It was a happy-sad moment at the airport when it was time to leave, but the kids all boarded their planes and roared off into the sky for home. It will be a time they will always remember with great fondness. I will remember it as a time where we strengthened our family bonds ten-fold or more. It cost us a lot but it was worth every penny. Strangely, we don't feel the slightest bit poorer; in fact, we feel immensely richer. I think wealth is not just measured in money. Life can be so wonderful when we do things as family. I believe that in life we get what we desire; not always immediately, and not always precisely in ways we expect. But with patience, work, stability, unity, and love for each other, good will always follow and our good desires accomplished. Of course it can also go the other way if we let it but we don't want to go there.</div>
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In closing this blog my advice to the whanau is to do all you can to unite and build family. At my stage in life I see clearly the end of my own mortality and realise that in the end nothing else of this world is of any importance but family. True, when younger, we need to work hard to build a career and a secure future, but we should not lose sight of why we are doing that, which, to my thinking, is solely for the next generation, our children. In the end they are all we ever really exist for. The only legacy I wish to leave behind is a successful whanau. The only thing I want to be remembered for is that I tried hard to be a good person, a good husband, a good father, and a good grandfather and that I did all I could to make my offspring happy, safe, and secure in this tough old world. I hope they will have learned from their experiences to do the same for their kids and so on. </div>
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If that happens I'll be as happy as a sand boy!</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> <span style="color: blue;">End</span></span></div>
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David Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01882172661296160645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4528543538469473341.post-29335264108307126612014-11-07T19:35:00.000-08:002014-11-25T16:34:20.187-08:00The Christchurch-Hamilton Bells Visit Hong Kong (1)<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><strong>Visiting the Hong Kong Branch on the Family Tree:</strong></span><br />
<strong><span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">Part One</span></strong><br />
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<span style="color: blue;">Written by David Bell</span><br />
<span style="color: blue;">Photography mostly by Kalei Esteves with a few from others</span><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nA2F0McAnDg/VB-6CGrAXOI/AAAAAAAAGuQ/WyXTewvYg5A/s1600/HK%2BBanner2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nA2F0McAnDg/VB-6CGrAXOI/AAAAAAAAGuQ/WyXTewvYg5A/s1600/HK%2BBanner2.JPG" height="155" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: purple;"><strong>Old Chinese Proverb: A Journey of a Thousand Miles Begins with the First Step</strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="color: black;">The idea began to incubate just prior to a trip Winnie and I made to Hong Kong in November, 2013, when I was thinking how great it would be if the grandchildren could come with us and experience the Chinese part of their family heritage. The idea must have stuck in my mind because all through that 2013 trip I kept thinking of the kids - like when we went to the Pok Fu Lam Buddhist temple to pay our respects at the memorial of Go Lea Hua, their great-grandmother. I thought about them on the day we walked to Winnie and her siblings' old primary school to find it still standing and much the same as it was fifty years ago. Then there was the old street-market where Go Lea Hua purchased the family meat and vegetables fresh every morning and carried them to the old house where she transformed them into nutritious family meals; the same house where Winnie (affectionately known as Ah-ma to all her grandchildren) was raised throughout her Hong Kong days. The same thoughts must have been playing around in Winnie's mind because when I suggested we should look into the possibility of just such a project, to my surprise she appeared quite warm to the idea. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-T8pAau8ggAM/VB-iIw9sTGI/AAAAAAAAGtY/_G9JkauOh-U/s1600/Costleys.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-T8pAau8ggAM/VB-iIw9sTGI/AAAAAAAAGtY/_G9JkauOh-U/s1600/Costleys.JPG" height="265" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">The night view from the Costley Apartment</span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="color: black;">We were under no illusions, however, about the logistics of such an expedition. It would include a family group of eighteen; Seven adults (counting Henry, Winnie's brother living in Christchurch) and nine grandchildren ranging in age from eight to seventeen. The cost of the plane fares would be substantial and finding accommodation for three families and ourselves seemed an impossible task. But the possibility of a family trip to Winnie's homeland was just too enticing to give up without a fight so as soon as we returned to Christchurch Winnie got to work on the computer and spent countless hours over the next several months researching plane schedules and fares and accommodation options in Hong Kong. I need say nothing more but that Winnie has the tendency to dismiss things that appear at first glance to be too complicated, difficult, and above all, expensive; unless she really wants it and then watch out, she will go after it with a dogged determination. Over the following months she managed to miraculously get us the best fares at the best time (exactly over the October school holidays), and accommodation ideally suited to our needs as family groups; three apartments in Mong Kok within walking distance of each other. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Interior of the TV lounge in the Bell flat, an indication of the</span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;">compact living conditions. Though small, these apartments are much cheaper and</span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;">View from the window of the Esteves Apartment. Jared and Jacinda's</span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;">building is the pink one across the football field peeping between </span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;">the two tall buildings on the left.</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="color: black;">With these in place the trip was on and the word went out to the family to organise their affairs (work leave, passports etc.) and prepare for a once-in-a-lifetime family history experience. I suppose I should mention that Winnie and I heavily subsidised the trip or it would never have eventuated. We have both recently retired after a lifetime of work and saving and decided to use some of the kids 'inheritance' to help fund the trip. It is also a bit of a retirement celebration splurge; or a touch of madness, however you want to see it.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="color: black;">Once the news was out and everyone on board with the plan, the most difficult part was waiting out the following eight months to departure. This was written on Monday the twenty second of September, just five days from boarding the plane to Hong Kong. Needless to say there were nine grandchildren now fizzing with anticipation and excitement. I imagine it was much the same for their parents. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">Top three: Kalei, Chemae and Sarina.</span><br />
<span style="color: red;">Middle three: Ashden, Rylan and Emi.</span><br />
<span style="color: red;">Bottom three: Ella, Ava and Kobe.</span><br />
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<span style="color: purple;"><strong>Is there anything so joyously sweet, </strong></span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><strong>As when kinfolk so long apart do meet?</strong></span></span> </span><span style="color: red;"><span style="color: black;">At last</span> <span style="color: black;">the time passed and we all</span> </span><span style="color: black;">boarded our planes and set off for Hong Kong on Saturday, 27 September. The Esteves and Bell families left from Auckland with a flight change in Brisbane while the Costleys and senior Bells departed from Christchurch with a short stopover in Sydney, both groups scheduled to arrive in Hong Kong about fourteen hours later.</span><br />
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That is precisely what happened. Our plane arrived first and as I was lining up to go through customs I heard a shout and there, striding across the big hall, was the North Island branch of the family all waving and laughing.<br />
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<span style="color: black;">The reunions between the children were especially great to see and I feel immensely proud that they have such a close relationship with each other; more like brothers and sisters than cousins. I realise that as time goes by they will all go in different directions, but I hope the memories they store up in their minds and hearts of their days together as children will forever keep them looking out for each other.</span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">As I was lining up at customs I heard Miriam's familiar voice shout "Pada!" and </span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">looking up I saw the Hamilton mob striding across the hall towards us.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">The kids rushed to greet each other</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">Old buddies meet again</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">Going through customs was quick and uneventful. We were all surprised that unlike New Zealand international airports, in Hong Kong we didn't have to go through any X-ray or security machines; our passports were stamped and we just walked right on out into the arrivals lounge to where Winnie's sister, Lina, and her husband Mike were waiting. Then, after another happy meet-and-greet we walked out of the huge air-conditioned airport into the stifling hot and humid Hong Kong climate. It was about 6pm and close to sunset but still about thirty two degrees Celsius. I'm sure it was a surprise to the children but they were fizzing with excitement and it didn't seem to bother them too much; with the exception of Rylan who immediately began sweating profusely; he sweats easy. </span></div>
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The comfortable air-conditioned bus we boarded provided relief from the heat and being a double-decker the kids rushed up the steps to the top for what proved to be an exhilarating forty-five minute ride to the city. I was seated on the lower deck but I could hear their excited voices as they looked out on a landscape very different from anything they had seen before: tropical vegetation, block-upon-block of multi-storied building complexes perched on hillsides and hilltops or along the shores; wherever there was space there were buildings. There was also a lot of pollution in the air which hazed out the blue sky so that when the sun began to set it appeared as a great orange disc easily looked upon with the naked eye. Their first oriental sunset was quite a marvel to them. </div>
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The Hong Kong airport is built on an outlying island called Lan Tau which is connected to the mainland by a enormous bridge of incredible engineering. I don't know if the kids were impressed but I am, every time I cross it. </div>
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Eventually, we arrived at our destination; the bus stop near the apartments Winnie had booked for us. We were met by the owners who took us to our various homes for the next two weeks. I should mention at this point that there are hundreds of apartments holidaymakers can rent anywhere in the city. They are quasi-legal arrangements where people buy or own apartments and then advertise them for rent. They are located in high-rise blocks amid all the other homes of the residents of the buildings. You can learn all about them on the internet. They may not be strictly legal because you are not really supposed to have professionally rented accommodation right next to private homes; <em>right next</em> <em>to</em> meaning literally next door. Nevertheless, we were duly delivered to our flats to settle in and unpack. These flats, while small and compact, were perfectly adequate for families like ours; I found them more practical and much cheaper than a hotel. </div>
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<span style="color: red;">A family meeting in our flat after arrival to plan the </span><span style="color: red;">next few days. Everyone still quite tired after the long flight.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"><span style="color: black;">After our</span> </span><span style="color: black;">accommodation was sorted we met in the Bell senior and Esteves flat to plan out the next few days. We planned to all go to church the next day but tiredness and jet-lag put paid to that, so Sunday ended up a rest-and-recovery day. Monday saw us hit the markets, bun shops and restaurants. Hong Kong is renowned for its street markets and our flats were right in the middle of the best in the city. It also has restaurants galore; just about every second shop on every street is a restaurant or eatery of some kind. Eating is easily the national sport and pastime of the people of Hong Kong. One of our favourite dives turned out to be what we all called the bun shops - Chinese bakeries that offered the most amazing array of delicious buns, cakes, and breads warm and fresh from the ovens. The closest bun shop became everyone's choice for breakfast and snacks. The kids particularly loved it and quickly established which was their favourite bun. Kobe's choice was a soft bread roll with a sausage stuck through the centre. He must have eaten dozens of the things. There was a multitude of other tasty treats but by far the biggest favourite were the 'daantarts' - small cupcake-sized pastries with egg custard filling. They were just the right size to eat in one delicious bite. The Esteves family proved to be the champion bun-shoppers lightening their holiday budget to the tune of about $HK2,000 by the end of their holiday. Their departure would have seen a spectacular drop in business for the local bun shop.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">Family photo on the boulevard along the water front. Fraser is</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> </span><span style="color: red;">absent because he's taking the picture.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">So much happened that instead of writing a day-by-day commentary, I'll just tell about our main holiday events using brief commentaries and photographs.</span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;"><strong> <span style="font-size: large;"> Event 1: Ocean Park</span></strong></span></div>
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<strong><span style="color: purple;"></span></strong> <span style="color: black;">Hong Kong's Ocean Park is rated the best nature-amusement park in the world and I believe the rating a good one. The kids loved it! It has a panda enclosure which was a hit because it was air conditioned to mimic their mountain habitat which we found a great relief from the heat; the day being a sweltering 32 degrees with humidity hitting the roof. Ah-ma found it especially uncomfortable; her feet swelled up like balloons, her face went bright red and she had to regularly retreat to the panda house for relief. </span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">Entering Ocean park.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> Winnie and Miriam beating the heat by cooling </span><span style="color: red;">off in the panda house.</span> </div>
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<span style="color: black;">It didn't bother the kids too much; they went on every ride on offer (the wicked roller coaster with all its heart-stopping drops, swirls and spirals being the most popular), attended every show, and refreshed themselves with tropical fruit slushies. </span><span style="color: black;">The location of Ocean Park is quite spectacular, set high up on a mountain accessed by cable car that begins at the entrance at the bottom and winds its way high up along the coast to the top. The ride takes about fifteen minutes and the view is breath-taking. On the day we were there thousands of mainland Chinese tourists had rolled up in buses and so the queue for the cable cars was about a mile long. The attendant advised us to take the Captain Nemo train instead which we did. It was good advice. The train, a mimic of Nemo's submarine in the book, Twenty Thousand Leagues Under The Sea, was cable operated and pulled us up through a tunnel all the way to the top of the mountain in about five minutes. We rode the cable car down at the end of the day which was good because we got to do both.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"> </span><span style="color: red;">The Nemo train to the top.</span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">Even the pandas found it hot.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> The wild roller coaster; some of the kids are </span><span style="color: red;">on there somewhere. </span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">Above: the school of milkfish in the huge </span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> aquarium. Below is a close-up of a lion fish in</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> the huge tropical fish tank set up like a coral</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> reef with hundreds of species of reef fish.</span></div>
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There are hundreds more pictures of the day at Ocean Park but it would take albums to include them all. Suffice it to say it was a fantastic day which the kids in particular enjoyed immensely, despite the scorching heat that nearly killed Winnie.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: purple;"><strong>Event 2: Our Family Visit to Pok Fu Lam Buddhist T</strong></span><strong><span style="color: purple;">emple</span></strong></span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> View of Pok Fu Lam temple tucked way in a patch of forest</span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;"><span style="color: black;">Undoubtedly, one of the</span> <span style="color: black;">main reasons for this family holiday was to</span> </span><span style="color: black;">have</span><span style="color: black;"> the grandchildren experience some of their Chinese heritage and see where their old grandma used to hang out when she was their age. The Buddhist temple at Pok Fu Lam was an important part of this cultural experience because it is where Winnie's deceased relatives have their memorials; it's where you go to pay respects to the dead, like we do when we visit a cemetery. Buddhism is also a big part of Chinese culture even though not many people in this modern city really practice it. The bigger more well known temples have pretty much become money spinning tourist attractions, but little Pok Fu Lam has no tourists and is much more the genuine article. The nuns and staff who run it are very devout and more traditional. </span></div>
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We all gathered after breakfast on the appointed day and took the MTR to Hong Kong island then caught the bus to Pok Fu Lam which stopped right outside the temple where we waited for Winnie's sister, Lina, to arrive. When she arrived we went onto the temple grounds and I proceeded to give the children a mini lesson on Buddhism and the temple so as to prepare them for their cultural experience. Then, Lina took them through the temple and assisted them in the protocols which were quite relaxed and uncomplicated.</div>
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Inside the temple you first enter a hall lined with large glass cabinets where plaques with the details of deceased people are displayed. Living family members come regularly to remember their departed loved ones by performing simple rites like reciting short prayers, waving incense, and leaving flowers and food. The idea is that in their spirit state the dead still need to eat and feel remembered and cared for by the living.</div>
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<span style="color: red;">The kids in front of the cabinet containing their Chinese Ancestors' names</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">The New Zealand-Hong Kong generation</span> </div>
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The living can also purchase large sacks of paper money which is taken to an on-site incinerator and burned. The idea being that the spirits also need money for a comfortable afterlife. If you are a real believer you can even buy mansions, cars, planes, jewellery and so on, all made of paper. In one shop I even saw a paper <span style="color: black;">basketball</span>, presumably for people who enjoyed that sport in their earth life. Of course, people don't normally believe the spirits really eat the food or spend the money; it's all symbolic and a demonstration that the children still love and venerate their generations gone ahead. As for all the fruit and other food left in the big hall of remembrance, after an appropriate interval the temple staff take it to the kitchens and put it to good use.</div>
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<span style="color: black;">After we had done all the rituals Winnie wanted to give the kids one more cultural experience; a Buddhist lunch! Buddhism belief in reincarnation suggests you shouldn't eat meat or you may be a reincarnated ancestor. Therefore, people should not eat meat. The temple has its own kitchen and dining hall so Winnie and Lina arranged a genuine vegetarian lunch. It was quite amazing the dishes they produced. Everything was vegetable and it didn't matter at all there was no meat...didn't miss it one bit.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> Above: The kids had their own big table. At first they weren't too </span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> Above: Vegetarian dishes on the adult table.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> Below: Preparing bags of paper money and gold bars to be sent</span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;"> </span><span style="color: red;">Above: Winnie's mother's memorial with her favourite purple </span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> orchids. Lina visits every Saturday to renew the flowers. </span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">Adjacent to the Buddhist temple is a huge Christian cemetery </span><span style="color: red;">which we had a look at. It amazed the kids how typically Hong </span><span style="color: red;">Kong it was...crowded! Also expensive. A single plot could cost </span><span style="color: red;">as much as a three bedroom house in N.Z. Little wonder people </span><span style="color: red;">opt for cremation here.</span></div>
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It was a wonderful morning spent at Pok Fu Lam and a bit of new learning for the children about another world and culture. To their credit they took it all in and really got behind it by following their Aunty Lina's lead as she lead them through the rituals. </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><strong><span style="color: purple;"> Event 3: Swimming to Beat the</span></strong> <strong><span style="color: purple;">Heat</span></strong></span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;"><span style="color: black;">With soaring temperatures reaching</span> </span><span style="color: black;">well into the thirties it became a bit of a mission to find a place for the kids to cool off. Fortunately, Kowloon Park wasn't too far away and it sported a big outdoor swimming pool. We took the kids one especially hot morning and to our amazement discovered there was hardly anyone else there. It became apparent that Hong Kong people are generally not into water activities. We pretty much had the pool to ourselves. It was a great relief from the heat for the kids and we ended up spending more days and more time there than we anticipated. Another day we caught the bus to Repulse Bay and spent the whole afternoon on a very nice beach with shade trees, shops nearby, clean toilets and changing rooms, and groomed sand all once again sparsely populated. We had the beach pretty much to ourselves.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">Above: Kowloon Park swimming pool. We have the whole place to ourselves and</span><span style="color: red;"> it was the same at Repulse Bay and the water was wonderful.</span></div>
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<strong><span style="color: purple;">Event 4: A Visit to Cheung Chau Island</span></strong></div>
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Originally, I had planned to take the family to Sai Kung, a seaside town outside the city famous for its seafood restaurants and seafood shops filled with every kind of fish, shellfish, and crustacean imaginable. However, it was costly to get there and even costlier to eat, Sai Kung being a bit of a tourist trap. Instead, it was suggested we go to Cheung Chau Island, an easy MTR trip to the ferry and then a scenic half hour boat ride to the island. It turned out to be an inspired change because we enjoyed a thoroughly good day on Cheung Chau.</div>
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Cheung Chau has kept its old China fishing village character which was so different from the hustle-bustle of the city across the harbour. There are no cars on Cheung Chau except mini-emergency vehicles (the streets being few and narrow) and motorized contraptions that looked half lawn mower and half small tractor and used for carting goods from place to place. There were bikes by the thousands parked all along the waterfront; the owners either at work in the business centre or across the harbour in the city. It was obvious that the humble bike was the main means of wheeled transport on Cheung Chau. There were even rickshaw bikes for hire so we hired one per family and had a ball pedalling around the town. </div>
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<span style="color: red;">A view of Cheung Chau. The island has kept its old fishing village charm. It felt like being in old China.</span></div>
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There were many delightful eating places all over the island and I quickly found my favourite; a small café type place that was neat and clean and run by a family of young women. Winnie and I had lunch there and sampled their speciality; a chunk of ripe mango wrapped in a strip of glutinous rice cake. It was crazily simple but astonishingly delicious. I ended up eating about ten and noted how I could easily replicate them back home in N.Z.</div>
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<span style="color: red;">Something's wrong with this picture! Shouldn't that Chinese guy be pedalling the rickshaw? Winnie can't ride a bike and Henry has a bad knee (so he said) so I ended up the rickshaw boy. Luckily all the streets were flat. We all hired one of these and it was a lot of fun.</span> </div>
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<span style="color: red;"> Bikes everywhere! There are no cars on the island so bikes are the main form of locomotion.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> What's a fishing village without fish?</span></div>
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It was a bit hard to get on the ferry at the end of the day and head back to the city, we kind of wanted to stay there another day or two. It was all agreed; if we ever had another family trip to Hong Kong, a return visit to Cheung Chau is a must. </div>
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<span style="color: blue;"> End of Part One</span> </div>
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<br />David Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01882172661296160645noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4528543538469473341.post-3397865014835128742014-11-05T00:37:00.000-08:002014-11-18T13:25:52.185-08:00The Karaka Experience by David BellMONDAY, the third of November, was cool and damp in the Waikato. This was a bit of a worry because a special event had been planned, an event that came out of the blue with an email to Denise Blyde about an event at the Waikeria Prison south of Te Awamutu. It was here that Peter McGruther (Mac) Bell worked for many years as a Maori carving teacher, and it seems he left his mark. Some prisoners whom he taught whakairo had spent the whole year after his passing creating a magnificent carving in his honour. This was the day for its unveiling. Denise was invited to attend along with any of Mac's children and close relatives. Being a prison, security was tight so numbers were restricted and a list of guests required.<br />
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The ceremony was scheduled for 11:00am and the guests began turning up about fifteen to twenty minutes early and either waited in their cars in the car park or braved the light drizzle to stand outside the gates of the Karaka unit where the carving was erected. </div>
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When we looked through the heavy mesh fence it became clear that this was going to be quite a big affair; bigger than we expected. A whole troop of about forty or more inmates had assembled with prison staff, uniformed officers and other dignitaries including Maori men with carved walking sticks all sitting very formally under a canvas pavilion set further inside the gates. A special one for the manuhiri (guests) sat empty just inside the entrance facing the hosts' pavilion. One look at all this and my heart began to race. I had been warned a few days before that as the oldest male relative of Mac I would be required to speak on behalf of the family. It was at this moment I asked myself where Colin was when I needed him! He's the new family chief but he was thousands of miles away in Australia. </div>
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The invitation from Waikeria made no mention that a family representative was to talk so I fully expected to be nothing more than a happy spectator. But a friend well versed in tikanga Maori insisted it would be a Maori ceremony and I would be required to speak and I should prepare an appropriate reply, meaning a mihi and a speech. Consequently, I hastily prepared a mihi that I could cope with and set about memorizing it. I next put together a short history of Mac's life (which was easy because, thankfully, I had earlier written a brief history on him) and put the two together. All the way to the prison in the car I revised and committed to memory the mihi and talk, all the while hanging on to the hope I wouldn't have to use them.</div>
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One look through the netting on the gates at the crowd inside, the two warriors ready to challenge the manuhiri as soon as the gates were opened, and those old Maoris with the walking sticks, told me my goose was cooked.</div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;"> As the manuhiri (guests) filed through the gates I tried to be as</span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;"> inconspicuous as possible and slid quietly to the far right. I can</span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;"> be seen hiding at the left of this picture. It didn't work, the </span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;"> warrior came right for me!</span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;"></span> </div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;"> extracted from my hiding place and having never done this before, </span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;"> I was unsure how long to </span><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">hesitate before picking up the fern frond. </span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;"> After the warrior's </span><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">repeated thrusts with his taiaha at the frond, I </span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;"> finally get the message </span><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">and picked it up, the signal for the manuhiri </span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-size: small;"> to move onto the marae. </span><span style="color: red; font-size: small;"> </span></div>
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The gates were duly opened and we walked through. The warrior issued the challenge and put the fern frond at my feet. I don't know how he knew I was the one because I was doing my best to look as inconspicuous as possible. Eventually, I got the hint and bent down and took the token and we all trooped in and took our seats in the munuhiri pavilion. <br />
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;"> The prisoners, many who were Mac's students, performing a </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: red;"> welcome haka.</span> </span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;">The manuhiri taking their seats in the guest pavilion</span></div>
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Once seated the speeches (in Maori) began with a welcome given by the prison officer in charge, followed by a kaumatua. Then, the kaumatua representing us replied. I believe the prison authorities who organised the unveiling realised none of us were very knowledgeable in tikanga so they helped us out by asking an elder to represent us. They didn't know we would have someone of our own prepared to speak for the whanau. I have to say we were very grateful to our representative because he knew the protocols and said and did things in te reo I could not possibly handle; like addressing mac's monument and other matters of protocol.<br />
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<span style="color: red;">Above: the welcome speech from the prison authorities</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">Below: Our manuhiri speaker giving the reply on our behalf</span><br />
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As he spoke I was feeling more and more off the hook, but when he took his seat I felt the strongest urge that I must get up and speak. The heart in me felt Mac telling me to man-up-and-stand-up. The brain in me reminded me that I had prepared well and it would be stupid and bad form to not get up and deliver my speech. With these two voices ringing in my ears I leaned across and asked our elder if I could speak now. He looked a little surprised and glanced across at the other pavilion with a gesture in my direction. I take it he was letting them know I wanted to speak. With a smile he nodded his head and I stood up and walked boldly out to my execution.<br />
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Strangely, once I hit the tarmac I wasn't as scared as I thought I would be. The mihi came out well - by well I mean I remembered all of it - and the speech (in English) also went well enough. The mihi was a simple one and went thus:</div>
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<em>Tihei mauri ora!</em> referring to the sneeze of life. As a new-born baby sneezes to clear its airways to take that first breath, so the speaker cries <em>tihei mauri ora</em> to clear the way to begin his oration.</div>
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<em>E-nga mana, </em></div>
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<em>E-nga reo, </em></div>
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<em>E-nga marae, </em></div>
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<em>E-rau rangatira ma. </em></div>
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<em>Tena koutou, tena koutou, tena koutou katoa.</em> </div>
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This was a simple recognition of the mana (authority, power, dignity) of the occasion, the words spoken, the marae or ground upon which the occasion is set, and the notable folk in attendance. Tena koutou katoa means greeting to all. </div>
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<em>Tihei mauri ora!</em></div>
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<em>Ko waka te Tainui,</em></div>
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<em>Ko Pirongia te maunga,</em></div>
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<em>Ko Nakuawhia to awa,</em></div>
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<em>Ko Ngati Hikairo te iwi,</em></div>
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<em>Ko Pohepohe te Tupuna,</em></div>
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<em>Ko Waipa te whenua,</em></div>
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<em>Ko Mac Pohepohe Bell te tuakana mo kaumatua,</em></div>
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<em>Ko Rawiri Pere David Bell ahau.</em></div>
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It was certainly a basic mihi and I hope it did the job. No-one jumped up in protest so I suspect it was acceptable for a beginner. There's always a first time and now that it is over I think I can learn a lot more and do a better job next time - which I hope is a long time away. </div>
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Upon concluding the mihi I gave a brief history on Mac's life and whakapapa and his work with carving and teaching at Waikeria. I was also sure to express the family's immense appreciation for such a wonderful tribute to Mac, for by this time, I had come to fully realise just what was going on and how influential Mac had been at what he had dedicated himself to for so many years. It was also testament to the love and respect he had earned from some of our society's most unfortunate citizens. </div>
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At the conclusion of the speeches the manuhiri were invited to leave their pavilion and cross the marae to hongi (press noses and share breath) with the hosts, the hongi symbolizing the full acceptance of the manuhiri to the marae and the two parties (hosts and guests) becoming as one.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BrqwuPp4oyA/VFko9WzJgZI/AAAAAAAAG1I/QAWOlqSkNRc/s1600/IMG_1225.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BrqwuPp4oyA/VFko9WzJgZI/AAAAAAAAG1I/QAWOlqSkNRc/s1600/IMG_1225.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red;">Above: The hongi; the mingling of mind and breath symbolizing </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"> acceptance on to the marae.</span><br />
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<span style="color: red;"> Below: Denise, Mac's eldest child and family kuia, thanking the</span><br />
<span style="color: red;"> official responsible for the occasion and who gave the welcome </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"> speech.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUIsZVvKearLST09vhL_WE_T4ZcY_kyuBKe6I0MmFXsAkfPmg6AVVXocrToqwywL_wloUMD3i6yfQrZqmiSpyDMCP8zSmEHdbK9p2CJpg5AeA7tNyuXGpOtyw7qLGSLxAOBvJbSs2EDbZ_/s1600/IMG_1219.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUIsZVvKearLST09vhL_WE_T4ZcY_kyuBKe6I0MmFXsAkfPmg6AVVXocrToqwywL_wloUMD3i6yfQrZqmiSpyDMCP8zSmEHdbK9p2CJpg5AeA7tNyuXGpOtyw7qLGSLxAOBvJbSs2EDbZ_/s1600/IMG_1219.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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After the speeches we had the opportunity to go across and examine the pou which was set up on the west side of the compound inside the main gates. We all saw it there but didn't realise it was actually what we had come to unveil; possibly because it didn't have a veil over it as an <em>unveiling</em> would suggest. While we were looking and talking about the pou the man who carved it, Aaron Forbes (actually a Kawhia relative), came over and gave a detailed explanation of why the men wanted to create a memorial to Mac, how it was carved, and the meaning and symbolism of every image and item on the pou. It was a thoroughly informative and enlightening session that was appreciated by all present. </div>
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The pou is in two parts, one facing the East to greet the rising sun and the other (Mac's), facing the west to farewell the setting sun. The two carved boards are held together in the centre by a pole fixed into a concrete base, the whole presentation being set on a circular pavement with a koru design working its way through the paving stones to the base of the pou. </div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BOviBeL5xRY/VFkpXhImdVI/AAAAAAAAG1Q/IjNDeC2cWZE/s1600/IMG_1233.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BOviBeL5xRY/VFkpXhImdVI/AAAAAAAAG1Q/IjNDeC2cWZE/s1600/IMG_1233.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red;">Above: Denise, David and Barry looking at Mac's memorial.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">Below: Mac's side of the pou facing west.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWrjUNulfMzBX50VBxQoOQnEyaq3v1v4ABlkzUlz0k4xlhMP84soSskFvCLhEZMQi_z_8pkZYs3ZNTh1fCCeotRCKSHnAhDNAqRWZun-Xdc8WnHsZeiG6iUsw69tVoAQ9VbcpYrnOpOsBO/s1600/IMG_1237.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: purple;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWrjUNulfMzBX50VBxQoOQnEyaq3v1v4ABlkzUlz0k4xlhMP84soSskFvCLhEZMQi_z_8pkZYs3ZNTh1fCCeotRCKSHnAhDNAqRWZun-Xdc8WnHsZeiG6iUsw69tVoAQ9VbcpYrnOpOsBO/s1600/IMG_1237.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></span></a></div>
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In a pamphlet provided for the occasion, Aaron Forbes wrote the following about the pou. I have written it in its fullness so you as the reader can better understand the purpose and meaning of it.</div>
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<strong><span style="color: purple;">Te Whitinga ~ The Rising</span></strong></div>
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Facing east, the pou welcomes the rising sun and each new day.</div>
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The Karaka experience begins as we enter through the gate and transition from old ego states into the therapeutic community.<strong> </strong></div>
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The<strong> </strong><em>Special Treatment Unit Rehabilitation Programme</em> and<strong> </strong><em>Dependency Treatment Unit</em><strong> </strong>are represented on the amo as supporting pou of the unit. The roof we live under is the maihi - the welcoming arms adorned by birds. In Karaka we all belong to groups named after native birds like kereru, karearea, tui or korimako. The koruru at the centre depicts </div>
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Mason Drurie's <em>Te Whare Tapa Wha</em> model depicting the balance of tinana, hinengaro, wairua, and whanau (body, mind, spirit, and family).</div>
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The upraised hands of the figure above grasp the hook which is a symbol of knowledge, showing our readiness to and preparation to enter treatment within the community of change.</div>
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Tane-nui-a-rangi climbed the ake vine in search of the three baskets of knowledge, while Tawhaki ascended by way of the spider web on the same quest. The web and vine then combine to become the rope we hold firmly to as we learn and develop future skills.</div>
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Eventually we reach our zenith and the point of clarity, understanding or enlightenment. We call it what we may, but it is this self-awareness and knowledge that we will use beyond the wire and into the future to the benefit of us and our families. </div>
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<em>And so we rise,</em></div>
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<em>Rise to the challenges.</em></div>
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<em>Rise to the opportunities</em></div>
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<em>To make different choices~</em></div>
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<em>To make change.</em></div>
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<strong><span style="color: purple;"> Te Urunga ~ The Resting Place</span></strong></div>
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<span style="color: black;">Facing west the pou farewells the setting sun, honouring those now departed as Hine-nui-a-te-po draws night over us once more.</span></div>
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Tainui te waka</div>
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Pirongia te maunga</div>
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Nakuawhia te awa</div>
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Pohepohe te tupuna</div>
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Ngati Hikairo te iwi</div>
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Purekireki te marae</div>
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The main figure represents Mac Bell, celebrating his life-long work as carver and tutor for many years to the men within these walls; a resting place for our memories, wairua and aroha he had for us. Also the wealth of knowledge he shared. "E-pa, takoto tonu mai koe i-roto, i-nga ringa ringa o-oo tupuna. Takoto mai."</div>
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At his feet are stylized purekireki - the swamp grass his marae is named after. The puhoro on his legs resemble bars and the path he walked through the three wings of the main prison. </div>
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He holds a toki-pou-tangata as a rangatita and a carver, while his moko signifies his Maori whakapapa. Flanking his head are kaitiaki of both Maori and Pakeha heritage. The topknot echoes Mac encouraging us to break from the straight, rigid line and form. The paua third eye denotes knowledge, both worldly and esoteric.</div>
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The taiaha depicts a warrior at rest The tewhatewha is used by rangatira to direct his men, and the crescent moon, known as Whakamarama, is a symbol referring to him being a kaitiaki of Pirongia maunga. </div>
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Uenuku, the rainbow god and Tainui tribal deity, is shown above. The uppermost face pays tribute to the setting sun as the last rays touch it, returning us to the quiet night, a time of learning, a time of rest and repose.</div>
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<em>E-tau ai taku moe,</em></div>
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<em>E-tau ai taku moe.</em></div>
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Aaron Forbes</div>
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Perhaps a little bit about Aaron Forbes would be in order at this point. He was good enough to tell us something of himself, and being the creator-carver of this incredible monument I think we should all hear what he told us - as far as I can remember.</div>
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Speaking to Aaron, a part Maori of about forty or younger, one was struck by his boundless enthusiasm about the Karaka wing and the work involved. The wing is set away from the main prison and is for medium to high risk prisoners; particularly those being prepared for parole or release. The motto is, <em>Karaka Unit, A Community of Change </em>and<em> </em>there are two programs operating; one is called the <em>Special Treatment Unit Rehabilitation</em> <em>Program</em> and the other is the <em>Dependency Treatment Unit</em> for those working on substance abuse issues. Aaron appears to be one of the senior inmates and heavily involved as one of the leaders in the program. He said he would be out in about six months and would not be back because he finally has the attitude and skills to keep his life straight from now on. He attributed much of this to his association with his cousin Mac. He said that in a conversation with Mac on the eve of an earlier release, Mac told him bluntly that he would be back one last time. He gave it no heed but sure enough, a short while after his release, he found himself back behind bars. However, far from this being a setback he viewed it as a positive thing. This time he would get the specialised treatment he needed (the Karaka unit having only evolved over the past year) and begin a special mission; the carving of the pou and its memorial to Mac, his great friend and mentor. </div>
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Aaron was quick to point out that he was not a whakairo tohunga (carving expert) but just a humble worker. But when you see his work on the pou you would tend to disagree. It is mind-boggling in its detail and skill, the symbolism is incredible, and the whole carving is just beautiful. It's plain to see that Aaron is highly pleased with his accomplishment as well he should be. He believes the skills he has learned as a carver will give him an occupation on the outside as well as a purpose. I truly wish him well. He has done a great thing for my brother Mac.</div>
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After Aaron's session at the pou we went to the main dining hall for lunch. It was hangi food, the hangi having been put down by the prisoners earlier in the day. We shared the hall and the hangi with all the other prisoners and prison staff. I was quite impressed by the relaxed atmosphere; it was good that everyone was able to mingle so freely. This was in line with the Karaka unit as a therapeutic-community programme; an intensive long-term course for inmates to learn community skills for reintegration into life outside the prison.</div>
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After the hangi it was time to leave. It had been a long but inspiring and uplifting day. We arrived at 11am and left at about 3pm. My only regret is that more of the family couldn't have witnessed and experienced what we did. </div>
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<strong><span style="color: purple;"></span></strong> <span style="color: red;">Mac's pou facing west to farewell the setting sun.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> Left to right: Jan, David, Glenda, Winnie and Miriam standing with 'Mac'</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-size: large;"> End</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: purple;">Addition</span></span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;">Below: The front page of the Te Awamutu Courier, Tuesday, November 18 issue about the unveiling of the pou at Waikeria Prison. For a clearer reading go to <span style="color: blue;">https:www.teawamutu.nz/courier/archive/2014/2014-11-18pdf</span></span></span><br />
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David Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01882172661296160645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4528543538469473341.post-79246522071230795212014-08-28T18:42:00.001-07:002014-09-06T13:24:36.017-07:00Pirongia Bells in Australia Part Two<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Aussie Bells Part Two</span></span><br />
<span style="color: red;"> By David Bell</span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"> "Sometimes I just want to throttle him!"</span><span style="color: red;"> </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">Fine Dining at the Ravenshoe Pub: <span style="color: black;">We left Colin and Beryl's</span><span style="color: black;"> farm at Topaz to stay a few days with Stewart and Myra at Ravenshoe.</span> <span style="color: black;">They also have a few acres in the rain forest. Both farms have bush creeks running through them. On the Topaz farm Steven has purchased an old monster excavator and scooped out three big ponds that have quickly become home to all kinds of Queensland frogs, water dragons (large lizards that live around water), platypus and birdlife. On the few occasions I went walking around the farm I easily spotted the iconic platypus' swimming about in the ponds. Stewart's place has no ponds but does sport a sizeable stream full of small yabbies at the bottom of the bushy hill. Both places are abundant with colourful parrots and many other beautiful birds of various descriptions. Myra has a collection of bird feeders outside the dining room that she keeps well stocked. Consequently, you get to observe the local birdlife from the breakfast table every morning. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: red;"><span style="color: black;">Colin's farm seems to have an over abundance of kurawongs, magpie-like birds that are constantly cawing and chortling from dawn to dusk. The good old kukaburra is also present in big numbers and Beryl even has a pet one she found injured on the road. Kukaburras tame easily and this one seems quite at home and regards Beryl as his mamma. She also has a pink galah she rescued (it had a broken wing) when they were doing missionary service at Griffiths near Canberra. That bird, too, regards Beryl as his mamma. She also rescued a clutch of water dragon eggs that had been washed onto the farm track in a rainstorm. She brought them home and hatched them in a box then released them near one of the farm ponds when they were big enough. She spots them now and again on her daily walks around the farm. She is becoming the Dr Dolittle of Topaz. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: red;"><span style="color: black;">One night at Stewart and Myra's we felt too lazy to cook so Winnie suggested we go to the Ravenshoe Pub for dinner. Myra and Stewart seemed a bit shocked by the idea and we got the impression they don't eat out very often...after the dinner we left Stewart with the challenge to take his wife out to eat once in a while and get some of the old sparks flying again. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">The Pub at Ravenshoe</span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">A rare glimpse of a romantic moment Bew Ro</span><span style="color: red;">ad style</span><br />
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<span style="color: red;"> Not to be outdone</span><br />
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<span style="color: red;"><span style="color: black;">Winnie, the city girl, wanted to be sure everything went well and insisted on ringing the pub to book a table for four. That done we all tootled off to Ravenshoe and arrived at the pub ten minutes later. As we walked up to the door the pretty little waitress was waiting outside on the steps and greeted us with a chirpy, "Are you the people who booked a </span><span style="color: black;">table for four?"</span> <span style="color: black;">Winnie and I were both surprised and delighted. Then, when we went inside the manageress was there to greet us asking, "Are you the four who booked earlier? Welcome and let me show you to your table." We have never been treated so royally before and we hoped the food would be as grand as the welcome and service. When we later related all this to Jess she laughed and said the pub people were probably shocked that someone actually called up to book a table at Ravenshoe and were keen to see what planet we came from.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: red;"><span style="color: black;">We set our orders and the food arrived in good time. We were not disappointed; it was splendid. All this good service and warm welcoming blended with being with family, put us in high spirits. We joked and laughed and just had a really good relaxing time. To record the event we took a couple of excellent selfies.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: small;">Above: Stewart's selfie; it was supposed to include all four of us</span>.</span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Below: It was up to me to show him how to do it professionally.</span><br />
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The next day Myra flew out to New South Wales to help Kate move to a new job and new town while Stewart went back to work for a few days before having time off to visit Jess and the grandkids in Mareeba. We went back to Colin's for a few days and the weather set in; rain and fog all day every day for four days. During that wet spell we enjoyed ourselves watching old movies on TV and smoking some of the mackerel we caught. We ate smoked mackerel in cheese sauce and I pigged out on pawpaws and watermelon. The rain and fog were actually a blessing; it forced us to sit still and share family time talking about the old days and doing family history stuff. After a few days we escaped the fog when Colin and Beryl drove us down to Mareeba to stay a few days with Jess and her family. <br />
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<span style="color: red;">The Mareeba Mango Farmers: </span><span style="color: black;">The story goes like this: In 2013 Jess and her husband, Matt, took the plunge and decided to pack up and take a gap year touring around Australia. It's an Aussie thing; everyone should take a year off to see the country. I can see why; the size and diversity of the place and the things to see and do are endless. Anyway, Jess and Matt packed their wagon, tossed in the kids, rented the house out and put rubber to the road. They were only part way through their adventure when they got a call from Matt's uncle in Mareeba. He had just purchased an hundred an fifty acre mango farm and desperately needed a good farm manager. He believed that with training Matt would be the man for the job if he wanted it. It was difficult to give up the gap year half way through but the opportunity to begin a new career and live close to both their families was an offer too refreshing and good to refuse. They turned off and pointed their wagon to Mareeba.</span><br />
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Winnie and I were amazed at the size of their mango orchard; it was huge, acres and acres of beautifully pruned mango trees. I was also impressed by the amount of work required to maintain the farm. It was obvious from the hours Matt put in (working non-stop from dawn to dusk) that it was a labour intensive life they had got themselves into. Nevertheless, I have never seen a man so happy in his work as Matt. He is out in the open air working close to nature, soaking up new knowledge almost daily, working with big machinery and managing staff. He's in his seventh heaven at the moment; every day a new accomplishment. However, the fruit business can be a fickle one and we all hope this new venture will prosper. <br />
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<span style="color: red;"> Above: Rows of mango trees</span><br />
<span style="color: red;"> Below: Mango blossom, July-August</span><br />
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It was not mango season when we were there - the trees were just coming into flower - but my mouth was watering just seeing so many trees and visualising huge juicy mangoes drooping from their branches. And while we there the job at hand was to spray the trees. The big farm tractor went through the trees towing a large tank that forced a chemical fog through the branches and leaves.<br />
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It was brought home to me how much work it took to run a big mango orchard. We were there in August which is, effectively, Queensland's late winter and the trees were pretty much dormant, the flowers just beginning to bud. However, it is by no means holiday time as the trees need regular spraying to ward off the myriads of tropical insect pests and fungi that could ruin the whole crop before the season even starts. Also, there are thousands of trees to prune and fertilise, weeds to keep down, new plots to prepare, and trees that have succumbed to a fungus or parasite infection to be cut down and burned. Matt is constantly studying about such things as new hybrid mangoes and new and better ways to control pests. I couldn't help but think how much harder it is in Mareeba to run an orchard than it is here in our cooler climate with fewer of natures little destroyers. But we can't grow mangoes, lychees, custard apples or bananas.<br />
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While I was sitting in the shade of Jess' outdoor dining porch, a flash car rolled up the drive and four well-dressed guys got out and started talking to Matt. After a while they handed him a business card and left. Matt told me later that they were fruit marketers from Sydney hoping to make a deal with him to buy his fruit to sell in Sydney. I thought this was a good thing but Matt was cautious. He said fruit merchants from all over Australia arrive at this time of year and visit all the mango farms, but one has to be careful in dealing with them. They promise a good price for the fruit but when it comes to paying send only half or less, claiming it was damaged on delivery or the market wasn't as good as expected and other sundry scams. A farmer can lose out big-time, especially when he also has to pay for the shipping. Matt was even sent to the city a while ago to see how the fruit markets operated and saw first hand how growers like him often ended up with the short end of the stick. He said you just had to find a dealer you can trust because there were plenty of sharks about who would rip you off in a heartbeat. Those four guys who talked to him on the drive looked a bit suspect to me.<br />
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Then there was harvest time in November and December which was particularly hectic and crucial to the profitability of the business. Mangoes all ripen at the same time which means a very busy two months. It also means that the money that keeps the farm going and the expenses paid all comes in at this one crucial period. Labour to pick and pack the mangoes is also hard to find, most of it coming from backpackers and itinerant workers. <br />
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Matt also told us that at harvest they only sold one third or less of the fruit grown. The rest was dumped as waste, even though it was of high quality and perfect to eat. The cause of this incredible waste was the market; people and shops only wanted perfect looking fruit. Anything with a spot or blemish, even though it was minute, was rejected. Consequently, over two thirds of the annual crop became a heap of compost; and this was just on Matt's farm, it's unimaginable what the waste must be across the whole state of Queensland. I was also left wondering why, with all this bounty only five hours by plane from New Zealand we have to put up with inferior Asian and South American tropical fruit in our shops. Darrell, Colin's son was also a bit perplexed when he visited his brother Steven in Hong Kong; he found Mareeba mangoes in the street stalls selling cheaper than in the shops of Mareeba. The market place is an odd beast indeed.<br />
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<span style="color: black;">We had a great time on the farm and I ate to excess the winter fruits on offer: pawpaws, watermelon, and a couple I had never seen before. Out in the Yard there was a huge tree with round maroon-coloured fruits the size of an average apple. Inside they were pinkish-white in colour and quite creamy in texture. The flavour was sugary sweet. I ate heaps of them. We also bought a couple of custard apples and I soon found the reason for the curious name; the flesh was like lumpy custard in texture. It was not unlike the strange maroon fruit in flavour.</span><br />
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<span style="color: red;"> A delicious custard apple</span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">The rich maroon coloured fruit from the big tree in the yard</span><br />
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<span style="color: red;"> The soft sweet flesh, a bit like the creamy custard apple</span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">Stewy with Kip, the latest addition to his collection </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">At a beautiful waterfall near Tinaroo. Left to Right: Toby, a most thoughtful little boy</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">with a gentle and caring personality. Jack, very intelligent and studious. I think he will </span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">be very academic. A great kid and incredibly mature for his age. Lexi, a little character</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">with a mind of her own but affectionate and a little sweetheart. Uncle David, not much going on there. Aunty Winnie, a smart Chinese cookie. Kip, everybody's favourite. A happy baby who smiles all the time. Grunda Stewart, like his brother, nothing to write home about.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">Swiping sugar cane stalks from the side of the road</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Quad biking up Blue Sky Produce driveway</span><br />
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">We left The Mango orchard and went with Stewart back to Ravenshoe to visit Stewy's old tin mining sites. it would prove to be a delightful meander down memory lane. Myra was still in New South Wales so it was just me, Winnie and Stewart.</span> </span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: red;">Stewy the Tin-scratcher:</span> Another highlight</span> </span><span style="color: black;">on our Aussie hikoi was a day in the hills behind Irvinebank exploring the old tin mines. Stewart took us there to show us some bush country and revisit the old tin mines he and a partner had once worked. It was a most interesting and fascinating insight into not just the life of the old tin miners, but also a small and incredible moment in Stewart and Myra's lives. The following is Stewart's own words about his days as a 'tin scratcher'. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Stewart sitting on a pile of rock he never got</span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-size: small;">around to mining 38 years before.</span> </td></tr>
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A crusty old Irishman, Paddy Kerlin, and I formed a partnership and pegged a claim around an old abandoned tin mine called the <em>Cardigan</em>, this would have been around the end of 1978. Prior to this I had already pegged another abandoned mine called the <em>City of Bagdad</em> and Myra and I had spent some time camping out there trying to put together 100 tons of ore from the old dump piles that had been left behind.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Stewart at Cardigan holding his claim stake </span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-size: small;">planted there 38 years earlier</span></td></tr>
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In the old days everything was done by hand and hauled out by mules or horses. It was excruciatingly hard work. The miners had to hack holes in the solid rock to get the best tin ore, and bear in mind that the climate could be blisteringly hot. After they had lugged all the ore to the surface, bucket-by-bucket, they then selected only the richest rock and left the rest in heaps nearby. They bagged up only the richest ore because it was a long, arduous, and dangerous hike back to the crusher plant and it was better economics to load only the best stuff onto the mules. The price for tin ore back then was high for the time so mining it became a viable occupation. But, eventually, the bottom fell out of the tin market and the miners dropped their picks and shovels and abandoned their mines which have remained as big holes in the ground to this day. When I got there the tin prices had become quite good and these old mines, once considered uneconomic, could now be turned into quite nice pocket money; the trick was to find some that actually contained some tin metal and not just 100 tons of red Queensland dirt. <br />
After Paddy and I staked our claim on the <em>Cardigan,</em> focus centred there; it had more dump and it was a little richer than the <em>City of Bagdad. </em>We were aiming for a 1/2 ton of tin from 100 ton ore crushed. Paddy was an Irishman who worked on shift with me at the tin company. He was a bit older than me but we became quite good friends and being Irish he liked the odd tipple. I also enjoyed a drop or two so we would often spend a little too long at the local watering hole on the way home from work. This frequently happened when I was to take Myra out on some date or other and I would end up arriving at Myra’s door trying really hard to behave in a proper and sober manner and hoping the half tube of tooth paste and the packet of peppermints eaten on the drive over would disguise the beer fumes from Myra’s Mum. They must have been good peppermints because Myra married me anyway. I remember some witty advice old Paddy gave me at one of our boozy after-work stops. I’d just told him for the fifth time to drink up because I gotta go and pick Myra up! Paddy replied, "Just one more while I tell you a little truth lad. Now a young lass when she meets her man, and her good sense now clouded by love and passion, believes, absolutely, that once married she will soon sand those rough edges off him and polish out those annoying little flaws. She believes with all her heart that once under her control he’ll soon change. Of course he never does. The young fellow, like you right now, whenever he meets his <em>breath-of-life, </em>gets swallowed up in her perfume, her soft skin, her tinkling laughter, and can think of nothing but her soft, gentle hands. He loses, for the moment, his stout heart, and his good sense gets swept away. In this moment of enchantment he believes absolutely that she will never, ever change; that she will remain a goddess forever. Believe me, lad, they all change!" This pretty much shows Paddy’s character. He had many pieces of advice for me on all things and after a beer or two we would argue on everything from politics and religion to the beginnings of the universe. After three or four beers we would start singing, or Paddy would start to recite some poetry he had written; he had dozens of them, all, to me, beautiful works of art. One thing though, after that fourth beer you didn’t let Paddy sing for too long; he was bloody terrible so someone would quickly say, "Hey Paddy, give us a poem!" and off he would go. He could hold us all, half drunk, spellbound for an hour or two. I never much liked poetry but I liked his; it spoke to us ordinary folk. <br />
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Paddy found it easier to work really hard at trying to find ways of making hard work easier. This is not necessarily a bad trait but probably wouldn’t make him first choice for a partner in a tin mine where a lot of pick and shovel work could be expected. But he was my good mate and he gave a lot else of value and in those days I had enough muscle for both of us, anyway. It all seemed to work just fine.<br />
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<span style="color: red;">Stewart </span><span style="color: red;">mining tin the old way, 1976</span><br />
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So Paddy and I got ourselves a pretty good tin-scratchers mine and we rolled our sleeves up went to work on the weekends with boundless enthusiasm. I was under no illusions it would be hard work, but I was up for it. I have to say that I didn't jump into it blind; it took me a good year or more to research all the old maps and claims, make applications and learn everything I could about mining tin. I didn't even know what tin ore looked like or where to actually find it. I learned that once you got your material it had to be taken to the crusher to extract the tin, but before that it had to be assayed to determine the quality of the ore. Paddy and I didn't have access to an assay lab or jaw crushers so we had to do it the old fashioned way. I credit another old workmate called Graham Meritt for teaching me how to do this and giving me many other invaluable tips on tin scratching. He was our foreman at the tin company and a cantankerous old bugger if ever their was one. He was also an old miner and prospector so he was a walking library on tin. We became great friends but our<br />
friendship had a peculiar start to it.<br />
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When we worked on the night shift company cars would come into town and pick the workers up at the local car park. One night there was a mix-up and for no other reason but old Graham was a nasty old mongrel, he started in on us; me in particular. I took exception to something he said <span style="color: black;">and decided my honour had to be defended the only way I knew how, which was to smack the living daylights out of the old bugger; old being about forty. So there I was all fired up and dukes up ready to rumble. The old fellow just grinned at me said, "What a silly young bugger you are," and strolled off and got into a car and disappeared into the darkness leaving me standing by myself fuming and sputtering. I don’t know if I’ve ever before or since felt more foolish standing there in the dark ready to beat the crap out of someone and not a bloody soul in sight. I learned that night that fists are not the only way to sting someone, one of the many things old Graham was to teach me over the next two years. After this rocky start we seemed to get on just fine and Graham took me under his wing and shared as much of his vast knowledge if tin as I could take in. </span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span class="aBn" data-term="goog_541739839" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ">Saturday</span></span> mornings would often find me in Janice and Graham Meritt's kitchen sharing a coffee or breakfast and enjoying the Irvinebank sunshine. If it was right after night shift </span>we’d jump in his old Holden ute (four wheel drives almost unheard of out there in those days ) and head into the bush for a days prospecting; the plan usually was to find some old abandoned mine, sample ore dumps, and check old shafts and drives for possible tin shows (seams of tin showing through the walls or floors). It was on these trips that Graham showed me how to methodically sample and prove up an ore dump. The first thing was to take your hammer and shovel - two items we carried with us everywhere - and some water from your water bottle. Then you would grab a handful of small rocks and fines from the ore dump and place them on your shovel keeping everything dry. With a hammer you next ground it all up until it became fine sand, after which you emptied your match box. Everyone smoked back then so matchboxes were always on hand. Next, you filled the empty box with the sand you had just made, making sure that it was level with the top of the little cardboard match box tray. The sand was then tipped onto a clean shovel and washed in a circular motion with a little water using the dip and shape of the shovel much like a gold pan when panning for gold. <br />
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Tin is a very heavy metal so eventually you will wash away all the lighter sands and minerals leaving the heavier tin sitting in the dip of your shovel. Now here’s the neat trick Graham showed me - something any Tin miner worth his salt would know. You take the tin from the shovel and carefully place it on a one cent piece; If the amount of tin from that match box of ore dump neatly covers the one cent piece and builds into a nice little peak then that sample is running at one percent tin metal at around seventy percent purity. If it doesn’t peak up nicely it will have other sands and metals in it and be less than seventy percent pure tin, affecting the final pay out. Many an old prospectors' livelihoods relied on their ability to judge the worth of an ore body accurately and in time, so would Paddy's and mine. Though I didn’t know it then, these forays with Graham would hold me in good stead a bit further down the track. We would quickly do a few of these bush assays around an ore dump until we were confident it was worth further attention, or we were certain it was not an ore dump but just another bloody pile of rubbish. Finding a likely prospect is when the fun stopped and the work began. First the area had to be pegged and a claim filed at the mining warden’s office; again, Graham showing me how to go about all this. After the claim was registered work could progress further out at the mine. I was maybe nineteen or twenty when I registered my first claim and set pegs around an old mine called the City of Bagdad. I had grand dreams that this was the start of me becoming a mining mogul and was certain, as only a twenty year old can be, that I couldn’t miss. <br />
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And speaking of missing, it was around this time that a certain buxom, brown-eyed, brown-haired and utterly gorgeous new lab assistant arrived at work. I would see her about the place when I was on day shift or afternoon shift and if I thought she was looking, I would flex my muscles mightily (blue singlets and tight stubby shorts being the everyday work attire of the time), suck in my guts, puff out my chest, and strut about the place like a rooster outside a chook pen. But that’s about as far as it went. I could clamber around old mine shafts, play a decent game of rugby, stand up and scrap with a man if I had to, but when it came to making a move on a pretty girl I was a proper drongo. Things went on much the same for about six months or more and I had pretty much given up, thinking she probably didn’t even know I existed. Fortunately someone else took up my cause. I was just finishing my day shift on the loader and had handed it over to the afternoon operator. As I was driving out past the office and laboratory one of the married ladies who also worked in the lab waved me down. When I stopped she and the brown-haired beauty came out. The married lady introduced us and the rest is history. She was Myra Morris and ten months later became Mrs Myra Bell and somehow still is.<br />
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<span style="color: red;">The brown-haired beauty, 1977</span></div>
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Back at the mine things were progressing. I had drawn crude maps of all the different areas of the ore paddock and had taken dozens of rock samples from all over the dumps, putting them in numbered bags made by my new wife. The bags were then given a number corresponding to the exact positions on the maps. <br />
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<span style="color: red;">A map showing the location of Cardigan mine</span><br />
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I had welded up a large dolly-pot out of half inch plate and five inch bore casing. I also made a dolly-knocker out off two inch round pipe. The samples were then placed into the dolly-pot one at a time and I pounded away with the dolly-knocker until that rock was dust. It took me weeks every night after work pounding away until dark to grind up all the samples. The sound of that thing must have driven the neighbours nuts; Bong! Bong! Bong! for hours on end. We were living in a house in Atherton at the time and luckily, we had a biggish back yard. One night the old chap who lived in the house behind us came over to the back fence and cooeed out to me. I didn’t mind the interruption, I was getting a bit sick of being a one man stamp battery. He asked me what I was up to and I explained, expecting him to have a whinge about the noise. To my surprise he said, "Hang about, I want to show you something," and disappeared into his shed. He was soon back with a small dolly pot and pestle, a beautiful thing and very old and wonderfully cast. The old chap was about eighty and he told me it belonged to his grandfather who had been a gold miner on the Klondike in Alaska. He also pulled from his pocket a small leather bound diary about the size of a hymn book, opened to a page and said, "Here, have a read," and while I was reading he wandered off, returning a few minutes later with a couple of stubbies. The entry I was reading described the man’s journey to the Klondike. He wrote that it was something like thirty below zero and that there were sixty men all trying to fit around a pot belly stove in a very small hut and hoping they didn’t end up like some of the poor sods they had seen frozen dead in the snow on the trek in. We finished our stubbies and talked a little about other entries in the diary. He insisted I take the dolly-pot as I might be able to put it to good use and I could give it back to him when I finished. It was really too small for what I was doing but I took it to please him and gave it back a few weeks later. Our meeting was a wonderful little interlude that gained me a new friend and insights into the mining adventures of another place and age. <br />
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Back to my donging. Once a sample was pounded into sand I put it on the shovel and worked out what percentage of tin it contained. That done I finally had a complete picture of how much tin there was, where the rich bits were, and where there was nothing but Queensland dirt. All of this came from the knowledge gleaned on my weekend forays with Graham. Months were spent piling up heaps of dump; sometimes with shovel and wheelbarrow, sometimes with a backhoe hired from work. Paddy and I would spend our weekends out at the mine heaping up rock. Sometimes it would be just Myra and me. Eventually, we had 100 tons of rock ready for crushing. This was done at the state battery in Irvinebank where you booked a hopper and given a crushing date; usually a couple of months after the hopper became available. As long as we had the ore in the hopper before the crush day everything would be hunky-dory. There’s not much to tell about this bit but I hired the loader from work and operated it myself. I also hired a truck when needed to cart the ore to the crusher; a good 100 ton or thereabouts. It felt good to see all our hard work sitting safely in the hopper and it should have been a simple matter of just sitting back and waiting a couple of months for them to crush it. But no such luck in the tin-scratching game. After a couple of weeks I started getting phone calls from blokes I knew who lived in Irvinebank. These were tin miners who had pretty much been in the game all their lives and they all had the same story. They had been down at the hoppers and came back with the advice, "Stew, I put a bit of that ore of yours on the shovel and can’t see any tin, mate. I think ya might do ya arse. Better dump her, mate!" We had already spent eight hundred bucks on trucks and loaders and things and it would cost another twelve hundred for the crusher. This was in 1980. While we wouldn’t lose a huge fortune, it was still a fair sum to kiss goodbye, especially for Paddy with seven kids. To give you some idea, I’d just bought a brand new car for six grand and was hoping the money from our tin would help pay it off. For me though, it was more about losing face, about what an idiot I’d been. It got even worse when the manager of the state battery rang and asked me if I was certain I wanted to put that ore through. I was really starting to feel quite sick about it all. By this time I’d left the mining company and taken a job at the Kairi Research Station, milking their cows and intending to tin mine on the weekends and holidays. Now, the mining wasn’t looking too good. I ended up ringing Graham and he simply asked if I’d done everything the way he’d shown me. I told him I had and to the letter. He told me to back myself because those silly buggers wouldn’t know tin if it bit them on the nose and that there hasn’t been any tin come through from out there for forty years so they don’t know what they are looking at. After giving it some thought and talking to Paddy, I rang the manager back and told him to crush it. Our crushing started at <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_612137400" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ"><span style="color: #222222;">midnight</span></span></span> and as Paddy was on night shift I would do the first watch; it was wise to be at the crushing to make sure it was done right. I must admit I was scared stiff. But by <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_612137401" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ"><span style="color: #222222;">1am</span></span></span> there was a nice wide band of beautiful dark brown tin the colour of Myra’s hair coming across all the tables. My heart soared, just like the time I first met my brown-hair beauty. <br />
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"You bewdy!" I hollered for joy and Oh, the relief! My feeling of euphoria went with me when I left to go and milk the cows, and it was still there when Paddy arrived from work. It was still there until the last grain was crushed and washed to tailings ! Oh, so, so good. Such a bloody good feeling! I felt vindicated, relieved, and a little bit richer! Our tin from the Cardigan mine dressed out at point six of a percent, which meant that from the one hundred ton of ore crushed we recovered six hundred kilograms of tin, a bit over half a ton at seventy-four percent purity which is top shelf stuff. My bush assaying with shovel, match box, and a one cent coin indicated it would go about point five of a percent at seventy percent - close enough, I reckon! Paddy and I, after expenses, each pocketed about $3500.</div>
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<span style="color: red;">The old crusher plant at Irvinebank fallen into a state of </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"> disrepair since the crash of the tin market</span><br />
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We sold our tin at $145 per unit, the highest price ever recorded at the time! Tin prices rose to $157 per unit two days later. They fluctuated just below these prices for some months then disaster struck; the bottom fell out of the tin market and prices dropped to below $40 per unit, eventually plummeting to around $20. That spelled the end of tin mining in Australia. Disaster also hit Paddy when his beautiful wife Pat passed away with no warning, leaving us all absolutely bereft and destroying Paddy’s and the children's world. Shortly after, our firstborn arrived bringing happiness and joy to our world at least. <br />
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We never went tin mining again and even if the prices had picked up I don’t think I would have had the heart or the will to do it all again. <br />
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<span style="color: black;">So farming it was for me.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">Stewy's ute that took us over the mountain roads to the mines</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">Above: Stewy standing at the entrance to the old Cardigan mine</span><br />
<span style="color: red;">Below: The old Cardigan mineshaft. The miners hacked through</span><br />
<span style="color: red;">solid rock to get down to the richest tin ore. It must been tough work</span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">Quartz rock on a dump pile left by the miners about 80</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">years ago. The black streaks are tin . This rock is a reasonably </span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">rich sample showing there is still plenty of good ore about.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The Irvinebank Tavern where we stopped for lunch. </span><span style="font-size: x-small;">Stewart and I ate </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: x-small;">a massive hamburger each and Winnie went for the Tin Miners Toasty</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">A couple of the biggest and best burgers we've ever eaten</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">Winnie is at the best of times sceptical about takeout fast</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">foods. On this occasion, however, she was very pleasantly </span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">surprised at the toasted sandwich that came out. It was </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">We ended our</span> <span style="font-size: small;">Aussie visit with a breakfast at a seaside restaurant in the small suburb just outside Cairns where Colin and Beryl's daughters and granddaughters all live. It was a great way to finish up. In the picture from left to right, Elise (granddaughter), Colin, Sarah (granddaughter), Beryl, Renee (daughter) Vicki (Eldest daughter), Emma (granddaughter), and me. Not in the picture are Winnie who is behind the camera, Darrell who is at home on the Tarzali farm, and Julia who is at work in Malanda. After breakfast Colin and Beryl dropped us off at the airport and it was off back home to the cold Christchurch winter and the post holidays blues that would take a few days to get over. Never mind, the great memories will soon cure those.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;"></span> <span style="color: red; font-size: small;">End Part Two</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"></span><span style="color: red;"></span><br />David Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01882172661296160645noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4528543538469473341.post-66404497143787161142014-08-22T02:41:00.000-07:002014-09-02T02:02:30.791-07:00Pirongia Bells in Australia part One <span style="color: red; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-size: large;">David and Winnie's Visit to the Aussie Bells, July, 2014</span><br />
<span style="color: red;"> <span style="font-size: large;">Part One</span></span><br />
<span style="color: red;"> </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"> By David Bell</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Taken at Ravenshoe, Queensland, Australia</span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: red;"><strong>Introduction</strong></span><br />
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Over time our Bell whanau (from Peter and Jean Bell) has been steadily growing across the Tasman in Australia; so much so that the number now living there permanently rivals those resident in our native New Zealand. In July, 2014, Winnie and I spent two incredible weeks with Colin and Stewart and their families. We should all be immensely proud of our Australian connection and the great lives they have carved out for themselves in their adopted land. It's great to have family in such diverse places; it all adds to the richness and culture of our extended family and provides us with stories and adventures galore! This blog article will give the reader a glimpse into the lives of our Queensland Bells.<strong><span style="color: red;"></span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="color: red;">Our Aussie 'Pioneers'</span></strong><br />
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The leaders of the drift west across the Tasman Sea were Colin and Beryl Bell who left New Zealand in 1969 to begin a new life dairy farming on the Atherton Tablelands, North Queensland, giving them their rightful place as the first of our family 'pioneers' to Australia.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sVKihZDl3PQ/U_XgcnxSXlI/AAAAAAAAGUU/nAmzjufdyk4/s1600/ColinBeryl.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sVKihZDl3PQ/U_XgcnxSXlI/AAAAAAAAGUU/nAmzjufdyk4/s1600/ColinBeryl.JPG" height="227" width="320" /></a></div>
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Colin was born in Te Awamutu in 1941, and lived his early years in Pirongia. He was schooled at the Pirongia Primary School and Te Awamutu College. Upon leaving high school he took his first job at a clothing store in Te Awamutu before becoming a linesman with the Power Board constructing power lines to homes and farms in the remote areas around Kawhia and Hauturu. He later worked at the Kawerau pulp and paper mill for a few years before getting into the dairy farming business at Reporoa which lies about half way between Rotorua and Taupo. Upon leaving Reporoa he farmed at Ngarua in the Waikato and answering an add in the newspaper sold up to begin a new life dairy farming on the Atherton Tablelands in Queensland Australia. He was soon joined by his younger brothers Maurice and Stewart. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI7KIs0yPcxUEPjG7gUmdv8ESlYKyzYDnmSKi0_ryzG7ZHhfnPj7VwWgaYUASbOdc6sy2uKVQ3oPEV5KMOs9o5oUIPEvRxBW6YCiVABHi4OIOQzhdq4zihG4ZVP6YbMPWv2DD0PCOCr03o/s1600/Maurice+Bell.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI7KIs0yPcxUEPjG7gUmdv8ESlYKyzYDnmSKi0_ryzG7ZHhfnPj7VwWgaYUASbOdc6sy2uKVQ3oPEV5KMOs9o5oUIPEvRxBW6YCiVABHi4OIOQzhdq4zihG4ZVP6YbMPWv2DD0PCOCr03o/s1600/Maurice+Bell.jpg" height="320" width="270" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">Maurice in Australia with Amanda and Carl (sitting)</span></td></tr>
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Maurice went to work on a dairy farm but returned to New Zealand shortly after. Stewart travelled to Queensland on what was intended to be a short holiday with his brothers but it turned out to be a permanent stay. Both Colin and Stewart have remained permanently in Australia with no intention of returning to Aotearoa. Both have raised their children in Australia and while they recognize their New Zealand ancestry, they are now thoroughly Australian.<br />
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Colin married Beryl Johnson in 1963 in the Methodist church at Pirongia, New Zealand and produced two children, Vicky May and Darrell Graham before emigrating to Australia. Steven Bruce, Renee Jean and Julia Maree were all born in Australia. Their eldest son, Darrell, married Leslie Ann Scott on June 15th, 1989, and have given Colin and Beryl three granddaughters: Emma, Sarah, and Elise. A fuller account of Colin and Beryl's family history will be given sometime in the future.<br />
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Stewart was born at Te Awamutu in1955. Like his brothers, he was raised on the old Parihoro Road family farm and schooled at Pirongia Primary and Te Awamutu College. His first job after leaving high school was as a forester in the Kiangaroa pine plantations and later at Rai Valley near Nelson in the South Island of New Zealand. It was tough work which hardened him up for the adventures that lay ahead in the heat and dust of Australia; adventures he no inkling of at that early age. <br />
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At eighteen years of age he made the trip across the Tasman to visit with his brothers Colin and Maurice and while there took up what he intended to be temporary work as a truck driver at a tin mine near the town of Herberton. It was while he was working here he was introduced to Myra Morris, an attractive lab technician from the nearby town of Malanda. A romance followed culminating in the two being married which in turn put paid to Stewart's plans to return to New Zealand.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">Stewart and Myra during their courtship</span></td></tr>
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It was also while working for the tin mining company Stewart and another workmate secured claims to a couple of old abandoned tin mines which they worked on their days off in the hills behind Irvingbank. While this mining venture turned out to be a one-load endeavour ( his partner had to quit due to a family tragedy), it was, nonetheless, a marvellous experience and adventure from which he learned priceless life lessons as well as gaining a fascinating knowledge about mining tin. Additionally, his one and only load of tin ore paid off handsomely, grossing a pay-out of $10,000 giving him $5,000 in the hand after splitting it equally with his partner. All this while in his nineteenth and twentieth years. <br />
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After his mining career he and Myra took to dairy farming, believing it to be a more permanent and fulfilling career. They milked cows for many years in the Malanda-Topaz area and raised three daughters there: Jessica, Bethany, and Kathryn. Stewart and Myra are the proud grandparents of eight grandchildren. A fuller account of Stewart and Myra will be the subject of a later article in the Bells of Pirongia.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">Jan in Perth</span></td></tr>
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Jan, our baby sister, should also be considered as one of the 'pioneers' as she and her then husband, Mark Lear, made the trip across the Tasman; not to Queensland, but to Perth in Western Australia where they lived for several years. Mark, who took out his engineering degree from Canterbury University in Christchurch, New Zealand, landed a great job with an aluminium company outside Perth. But, unlike Colin and Stewart, Jan and Mark eventually returned permanently to New Zealand. Their three children, Andrew, Steven and Matthew, were all born in Perth. Andrew and Steven have since returned to reside in Australia with Matthew living in Wellington, New Zealand.<br />
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Last but not least are Maxine and Kyle, the children of our older sister Glenda who both live in Sydney. Maxine and her husband Darren reside in Miranda and Kyle in central Sydney.<br />
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<span style="color: red;"><strong>Our 2014 Holiday</strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: red;"><span style="color: black;">Winnie and I</span> </span><span style="color: black;">left Christchurch early on Tuesday July 29th., a cold wintery morning, and arrived in tropical Cairns around 4pm Aussie time where Colin was waiting at the airport to take us to the farm on Old Boongie Road, Topaz. The farm is about two hours by road from Cairns; 130 acres set among the lush rain forest high up on the Atherton Tablelands. The altitude makes it considerably cooler than that of the lower regions around Mareeba and Cairns, both with decidedly tropical temperatures. The Topaz farm belongs to Colin and Beryl's son Steven who is an airline captain flying for Cathay Pacific based in Hong Kong where he has been living for many years. The original family farm is further north at Tarzali, about 300 acres and currently occupied by Darrel and his wife Leslie; their three children all now living and working in Cairns. While the whole area is good for dairying, these two farms are more lifestyle blocks with a few head of cattle on each.</span><br />
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It was wonderful to catch up with Beryl and Colin again; especially under more pleasant circumstances - we were last together in Pirongia watching Mac, our oldest brother, die. This time it was purely holiday and what a holiday it was! Following is an event-by-event account of the highlights of our two week stay.<br />
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<span style="color: red;">Therapy with Dr Phil:</span> First on the bucket list was a long awaited fishing trip on Colin's boat, Dr Phil, so named because whenever they start feeling depressed they consult Dr Phil who, being a big boat, invariably recommends a days fishing out on the ocean. It has never failed, the cure rate is one hundred percent!<br />
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When the weather was right and a good crew arranged, we all headed up to the old Tarzali farm where Darrell had the boat and fishing gear all primed and ready to go. The crew consisted of a few friends to help pay for the gas and other incidentals and someone with a good four-wheel-drive vehicle to tow the boat to the ocean. Thus it was on this day.<br />
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Colin and I set off in his little car behind the 4WD and boat to a small bay not far from Innisfail. It was a beautiful warm day with only a light breeze and a little rain off to the east but no threat to us. We launched Uncle Phil and set off over a lightly choppy sea to the fishing ground about twenty minutes away. I asked Darrell how he knew where the fish would be schooling and he said he did it very scientifically; he watched where the professional fishermen went and followed them. It had the added benefit of not having to buy all the fancy electronic fish-finding gear.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Zr53x04j07g/U_mpdbmvOxI/AAAAAAAAGVY/dFg2bKGVtMo/s1600/Launching%2BPhil%2B2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Zr53x04j07g/U_mpdbmvOxI/AAAAAAAAGVY/dFg2bKGVtMo/s1600/Launching%2BPhil%2B2.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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When we arrived at the spot it was quite crowded with boats of all descriptions from substantial cabins to small dinghies with a single outboard motor. Apparently, the professionals like this arrangement as well because all the recreational boats that soon surround them bring in fish by tossing burley into the water. You could distinguish them from the recreational fishers by their larger boats and superior equipment. They also seemed to have the knack of hauling in more fish than the rest. <br />
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Darrell chose a suitable place to park and we dropped anchor. From then on it was all action to bait our hooks and cast off. I got my line in and within moments had a massive strike. I hauled in a good-sized mackerel and earned the distinction of catching the first fish. This was a good sign because from that point on the mackerel threw themselves onto our hooks and our big ice chest began to fill up quickly. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhboMDBWcD_8q_iJhcyeLMdsotnpOUp5Rz3arNh9HFYfpf8kGKpvkhTa7SUNfSQBS8dGe4Q_1g1vuWKr-ezcFQwwwbxaf1YwKW1wzEZfVfLmfyhYi3x4N3RFwy3nEmrcjMB1iN2RymVSnY4/s1600/baiting+up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhboMDBWcD_8q_iJhcyeLMdsotnpOUp5Rz3arNh9HFYfpf8kGKpvkhTa7SUNfSQBS8dGe4Q_1g1vuWKr-ezcFQwwwbxaf1YwKW1wzEZfVfLmfyhYi3x4N3RFwy3nEmrcjMB1iN2RymVSnY4/s1600/baiting+up.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Colin baiting up</span></td></tr>
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Mackerel are a fast swimming, powerful fish that when in the mood take the bait without messing about. The result is a powerful thump on the rod followed instantly by the line singing as the fish pulls it from the reel. Fortunately, we were using heavy line so the objective was to hook and haul in as fast as possible. As Darrell our skipper said, mackerel was the 'bread-and-butter' fish and the sooner we met the boat bag limit the better. As it turned out we reached our limit in about two and a half hours which was an excellent result because it meant we could haul anchor and head home to clean and fillet the fish, a job that could take a few hours. <br />
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At one point during all the excitement I got a particularly powerful strike and I knew I had a big one on the hook because it took off out to sea and I had a tough job getting it under control. At one point it went around the boat and I had to scramble past everyone to prevent it getting caught on the underside of Dr Phil. Eventually, he tired and I was able to pull him in close enough for the net. I was thrilled to see that it was a biggest fish of the day so I had the double distinction of catching the first and biggest of the day.<br />
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I also had the distinction of being the only one on board to get seasick. Since arriving in Aussie I had developed an ear problem; it felt like there was considerable pressure in my inner right ear which was making me feel a little uncomfortable at times. On the boat out I was fine and for the first couple of hours fishing seasickness was the last thing on my mind. Then, about two hours in I suddenly started vomiting over the side. Thankfully it was near the end of the expedition and I had had plenty of fun and success catching six or seven mackerel. Nevertheless, I was compelled to put my rod up for a while and try to recover a bit so I could start fishing again. My vomiting wasn't helped by the huge bacon and egg pie I had bought on the way over from an early morning bakery in a little town near the bay. Colin and the others pulled in proclaiming it to have the best pies in Queensland. When I saw them I had to agree and bought a large bacon and egg and a bottle of Bunderberg ginger beer, both of which I devoured before we got to the dock. It all came up and went over the side of the boat at about 10am. The worst part was looking at the bacon, egg, peas and corn floating about under the water in a big, milky mass and Tony, Darrell's friend next to me, pulling his fish up right through the vomit.<br />
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We hauled anchor and headed home just as I was thinking of having another go at catching more fish. Thankfully, the sickness happened near the end of our day when I had already caught some good mackerel and it disappeared the moment I set foot on dry land. We got home a couple of hours later and began cleaning and filleting the mackerel at the Tarzali farmhouse. <br />
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Thus ended a fantastic day fishing.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KaYW9X08O3Q/U_nEhW63IeI/AAAAAAAAGWA/9J8y0YoKEAQ/s1600/gearedup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KaYW9X08O3Q/U_nEhW63IeI/AAAAAAAAGWA/9J8y0YoKEAQ/s1600/gearedup.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Checking the gear</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JdYtzp3baK0/U_nEptonebI/AAAAAAAAGWI/AGwNYXrl_eA/s1600/rainbow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JdYtzp3baK0/U_nEptonebI/AAAAAAAAGWI/AGwNYXrl_eA/s1600/rainbow.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Above:Trying to catch the good luck rainbow for good fishing</span><br />
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Below: The ice chest full of mackerel</span><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-W0PlhBefbY0/U_nEzo35BQI/AAAAAAAAGWQ/cD2S8bece7U/s1600/binful.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-W0PlhBefbY0/U_nEzo35BQI/AAAAAAAAGWQ/cD2S8bece7U/s1600/binful.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiyRbt7EyF3vEXNavke5Xt7x9UFBvxjeMaq7xQFE1nMtxzdVrbX561cNpVvYVEA0zObjEh1Rc4BlS07ECtf8EqIgfaIZV3kb1tSVZOovDZaqm7hATdN-3U1ZyWqtNzkFaI3lekWKRwwNEF/s1600/filleting3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiyRbt7EyF3vEXNavke5Xt7x9UFBvxjeMaq7xQFE1nMtxzdVrbX561cNpVvYVEA0zObjEh1Rc4BlS07ECtf8EqIgfaIZV3kb1tSVZOovDZaqm7hATdN-3U1ZyWqtNzkFaI3lekWKRwwNEF/s1600/filleting3.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
<span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Above: Colin showing how to cut a good fillet of mackerel</span><br />
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Below: The other fishermen hard at work</span><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vHbSbCnDZRU/U_nFHmTTH4I/AAAAAAAAGWg/3jVELPIxgbw/s1600/filleting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vHbSbCnDZRU/U_nFHmTTH4I/AAAAAAAAGWg/3jVELPIxgbw/s1600/filleting.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvAADAs6Xxp88kfl88DICPJeXrtALY22p4dXlG5gVb6lgI8jrqQKbMCzN4Wd5UGlEloydVn-urP-NAfhFvSNHLmJ6lBqHFm-XE3MwQgYuI69dfTAdvsEPb6HO9i0Jx_jCbAmjBj61YkWi6/s1600/filleting2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvAADAs6Xxp88kfl88DICPJeXrtALY22p4dXlG5gVb6lgI8jrqQKbMCzN4Wd5UGlEloydVn-urP-NAfhFvSNHLmJ6lBqHFm-XE3MwQgYuI69dfTAdvsEPb6HO9i0Jx_jCbAmjBj61YkWi6/s1600/filleting2.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
<span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Above: a pile of fresh mackerel fillets</span><br />
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Below: Me with my first and biggest catches</span><br />
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: red;"> The Girls Go Walkabout:</span> While the boys were out fishing, the girls decided to have an adventure of their own. Beryl, Winnie, Myra and Jess (with baby Kip) took</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">off to lake Eacham for a girls-day-out. It was sunny and a perfect day for a good walk. They walked and talked around the entire circumference of the lake which </span></span><span style="color: red; font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">was quite a good distance. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;">The Gang of Four</span><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qcFvblNVjXQ/U-0nZjTZkPI/AAAAAAAAGLY/NnnYu_hoqX0/s1600/photo%2B(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qcFvblNVjXQ/U-0nZjTZkPI/AAAAAAAAGLY/NnnYu_hoqX0/s1600/photo%2B%281%29.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-98t0iI0S32g/U_rHS2T6V9I/AAAAAAAAGXU/UuttGI10-l8/s1600/Eacham%2Btrail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-98t0iI0S32g/U_rHS2T6V9I/AAAAAAAAGXU/UuttGI10-l8/s1600/Eacham%2Btrail.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Walking the Eacham Trail</span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MsUCTOtfMnA/U_rHzF0_IiI/AAAAAAAAGXc/yqJ0bkMxtrk/s1600/Julias%2BSection.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MsUCTOtfMnA/U_rHzF0_IiI/AAAAAAAAGXc/yqJ0bkMxtrk/s1600/Julias%2BSection.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
<span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Julia's section in Malanda: In a few months a</span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-size: small;">new house will stand here</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"></span> <span style="font-size: small;">They topped off their day with lunch at the</span> <span style="font-size: small;">Morris (Jess' parents) residence before coming home to check out how many fish the men caught.</span> </div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wJ1O9S6QKIM/U_rHFdEtCnI/AAAAAAAAGXM/YF4C_X8A2uQ/s1600/panorama.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wJ1O9S6QKIM/U_rHFdEtCnI/AAAAAAAAGXM/YF4C_X8A2uQ/s1600/panorama.jpg" height="180" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;">A panoramic shot of the three Belles at Lake Eacham</span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: small;">End Part One</span></div>
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David Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01882172661296160645noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4528543538469473341.post-24396760577917041752014-07-10T00:36:00.002-07:002014-07-10T01:02:11.193-07:00Lempriere part three: Genealogical charts from Ann Elizabeth Lempriere.The Lempriere lines from Ann Elizabeth Lempriere.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: large;">Chart 19<strong>: Father's line</strong></span></span> </span><br />
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<span style="color: magenta;">Ann Lempriere</span>(1840-1933) <strong>+</strong> Jean Aubin(1839 ~ 1889)<br />
I<br />
Thomas Lempriere(1795) <strong>+</strong> <span style="color: magenta;">Ann Dolbel</span>(1799)<br />
I<br />
Amice Lempriere(1764-abt1820) <strong>+ </strong><span style="color: magenta;">Jeanne Dolbel</span>(1768-1841)<br />
I<br />
Amice Lempriere(1723)<strong> +</strong> <span style="color: magenta;">Sara Minson</span><br />
I<br />
Amice Lempriere(1695) <strong>+</strong><span style="color: magenta;"> Catherine Du Frogue</span>(1699)<br />
I<br />
Noe Lempriere(1688-1735) + <span style="color: magenta;">Elizabeth Renouf</span><br />
I<br />
Nicholas Lempriere(1636-1678) + <span style="color: magenta;">Marie Renouf</span><br />
I<br />
Noe Lempriere(1604-1670) + <span style="background-color: white; color: magenta;">Katherine Hammon</span>(1600-abt1646)<br />
I<br />
Thomas Lempriere(abt1575-1615)<strong>+ </strong><span style="color: magenta;">Marie Blampied</span>(1580-1637)<br />
I<br />
Noe Lempriere(abt1550-1604) <strong>+ </strong><span style="color: magenta;">Rauline</span>(abt1554-1595)<br />
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<span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: large;">Chart 20<strong>: Mother's Line</strong></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="color: magenta;">Ann Elizabeth Lempriere</span><span style="color: black;">(</span>1840-1933) + Jean Aubin(1839-1889)</span><br />
I<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Ann Dolbel</span>(1799) + Thomas Lempriere(1795)<br />
I<br />
Jean Dolbel(1765-1831) + <span style="color: magenta;">Ann</span> <span style="color: magenta;">Caillet</span>(1770-1818)<br />
I<br />
David Dolbel(1730-1793) + <span style="color: magenta;">Margueritte</span> Perree(1738-1801)<br />
I <br />
Jean Dolbel(abt 1702) + <span style="color: magenta;">Perrotine Esnouf</span>(abt 1706)<br />
I<br />
Jean Dolbel(1666-1721) + <span style="color: magenta;">Jeanne Crestin</span>(1658-1721)<br />
I<br />
Jean Dolbel(1629) + <span style="color: magenta;">Ester Hamon</span>(abt 1645)<br />
I<br />
Jean Dolbel(1591-1667) + <span style="color: magenta;">Susanne Poigndestre</span>(abt 1597)<br />
I<br />
Guillaum Dolbel(1545) + <span style="color: magenta;">Thomasse Baudains</span>(abt 1549-1593)<br />
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David Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01882172661296160645noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4528543538469473341.post-39234978947698819862014-07-04T00:49:00.005-07:002014-12-23T21:30:20.420-08:00The Lemprieres of Jersey Part Two: Rosel Manor<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">Rosel Manor, Jersey Island</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The Lemprieres Part Two: Rosel Manor</span></div>
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By David Bell</div>
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In our family history discussions much has been said about Rosel (an historical manor house on Jersey Island) and our family connections to it. This article is a summarised history of the place.</div>
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In feudal times (medieval-middle ages) the Channel Islands were owned by the king who</div>
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administered them as fiefdoms; a fief being land, properties and people gifted to someone by the crown. There were several different types of fiefs, Rosel being a <em>Seargenty, </em>a fief granted because of some honourable act or service to the king. The Seargenty fief was under the stewardship of a <em>Seigneur </em>who was essentially the Lord of the Manor with the power and authority to administer his own form of law and justice over his fief. However, whilst they were termed freehold and inheritable, they were still the ultimate property of the king who could reclaim and redistribute them if the current Seigneur fell from favour. There were two fiefs on Jersey; St. Ouen and Rosel.</div>
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Rosel was probably named after the Rosel family who owned a large fief on the west coast of Cotentin in Normandy (France). This same family secured two other fiefs on both Jersey and Guernsey, probably in the early to mid 12th Century (1100's). There is no documentation but it is probable that the Rosel of later times was at first part of their Jersey fiefdom long before the Lemprieres came on the scene. </div>
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<strong>The Fournets and de Barentins</strong><br />
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The first documented owners were the de Fournet family around 1200 AD. When the islands of Jersey and Guernsey were separated from mainland Normandy in 1204, the Seigneurs with fiefs on both the mainland and the islands were compelled to choose between French or English allegiance. The de Fournets chose France and consequently got offside with King John of England who seized their Jersey estates. He then redistributed it to de Fournet's younger brother who was loyal to England ( more about the 1204 situation later). In 1233 King Henry III confiscated it and took ownership, thus ending the de Fournet stewardship. He later granted it to his Jersey Warden (like a Governor), Drogo de Barentin in 1247.</div>
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The de Barentins were a Norman family who had lost all their lands in Pays de Caux because of their fierce loyalty to King John. Rosel was obviously a reward for that loyalty. The Barentins did quite well from their allegiance to England by receiving large tracts of land in Trinity, Jersey, as well as in England. Monseigneur de Barentin was also awarded the important and lucrative post of Seneschal of Gascony<em>. </em>A Seneschal<em> </em>is the overseer of the domestic affairs and administration of servants in the royal household or on any of its numerous estates.</div>
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Rosel had a long and colourful history under the five generations of de Barentin stewardship (1247 to 1354). The first Seigneur, Drogo de Barentin seems to have done well enough but his grandson, Sir Drogo II de Barentin, who succeeded him as Seigneur, was a dreadful person; arrogant, bullying, lecherous, and criminally violent. His behaviour became intolerable even for the long-suffering islanders who lived in poverty and relied on the aristocrats for a livelihood. He was a law unto himself with one of his worst behaviours being the regular seizing of women to be brought to Rosel to satisfy his lusts. Complaints flooded in about his actions but he was notoriously difficult to pin down for punishment. Firstly, he enjoyed the support of the king as long as he paid due homage. Secondly, as Seigneur he had total authority over his fief to administer the laws as he saw fit. The poor had practically no rights at all. Thirdly, when confronted by other authorities he used denials and threats. Furthermore, he had the capability of seeing his threats through and consequently was able to scare accusers and jurors into silence. Lastly, he was so wealthy that if all his other tactics failed he could simply buy his own justice. It must have been a great relief to the islanders when he died and was succeeded by his nephew, Guillaum de Barentin. The last de Barentin Seigneur was Philippe.</div>
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The de Barentin dominance in Jersey came to a sorry end when Philippe's wife became enraged that the Seigneur of Trinity, Jehannet de St Martin, had called her an adulteress. "Avenge this insult to your mother," she raged to her two sons. "Such slanderers should have their tongues torn out!" The sons dutifully carried out her wishes by ambushing Jehannet and ripping out his tongue. It is not known whether Jehannet de St Martin died before or after his tongue was removed, but this atrocity went beyond the pale and even the powerful and wealthy de Barentins couldn't bully or buy their way out of it. The two sons fled to Normandy where the oldest was eventually tracked down, arrested, and hanged. The younger brother must have been deemed less culpable because he was allowed to resettle near the town of Rouen in Normandy. This was the era when the Lempriere family became involved with Rosel.</div>
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In his later years Philippe de Barentin was accused by his cousins of having leprosy. In those days the moment you contracted leprosy you were considered legally dead and all your inheritances were taken off you. In truth, Philippe's relatives were seeking to add Rosel to their lands and Philippe's leprosy would make that all the more possible. Philippe was indeed afflicted, not with leprosy but with a slowly deteriorating mental state.</div>
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However, he was not mad enough yet to be fooled by his cousins' trickery. He decided to sell Rosel to his two attorneys, Guillaum Payne and Rauol Lempriere, perhaps to get a lot of money and at the same time thwart his cousin's plans. The sale went through in 1367 but it was by no means a smooth transaction and ended up costing the purchasers far more than they bargained for. Firstly, they had to pay out all the de Barentin heirs of which there was not a few, the only exemption being Philippe's disgraced son in Normandy who lost all his inheritance rights because of his involvement in the Jehannet de St Martin murder. Secondly, Rosel, being a fief, required the king's permission to change hands. This, Lempriere and Payne failed to do and incurred a stiff fine. Next, Philippe's nephews tried to block the sale causing more expense and delay. This had barely been settled when Walter Huwet, the Royal Warden for Jersey stuck in his oar by falsely advising King Edward III that Rosel legally should revert to the crown in cases such as this. King Edward believed it and confiscated Rosel and put it under Huwet's stewardship. Huwet died about ten years later and the new king, Richard II released it back to Raoul Lempriere's son Drouet and Guillaum Payne. It appears that Raoul had died in the interim. It should be known that Rosel in those days was part of the fief which included another de Barentin estate called Samares, which means the sale also included Samares. Guillaum Payne and Drouet Lempriere divided the two between them; Payne took Samares and Lempriere took Rosel, thus starting the Lempriere occupation of Rosel for the next two and a half centuries.</div>
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The interesting twist to the whole saga is that the de Barentins, Lempriere's and Paynes were all related. Genealogical records show that both the Paynes and Lemprieres descended from the de Barentins. Another possible hint towards this is that Drouet is the 'softened' version of Drogo, suggesting a family connection to the original Drogo de Barentin. The whole business was a family transaction in the end.</div>
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<strong>The Lempriere Seigneurs of Rosel 1382 ~ 1930's </strong></div>
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1. Drouet Lempriere.</div>
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2. Jean Lempriere: died 1648.</div>
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3. Regnaud Lempriere and his English wife, Katherine.</div>
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4. Jean Lempriere: Jean had no issue so his sister Catherine inherited Rosel after his death. Her descendants held it for a further four generations to 1625 when it was sold to Sir Philippe de Carteret, the Seigneur of neighbouring St Ouen Manor.</div>
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5. Philippe Carteret died in 1643 and Rosel passed through other hands until 1733 when heiress Elizabeth Corbet married one Charles Lempriere.</div>
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6. Charles Lempriere (born 1714) and Elizabeth Corbet. Rosel was now back in the Lempriere family after an absence of about ninety years, and 366 years from Raoul Lempriere, the ancestor who set the Lempriere ball rolling in 1367. The new Seigneur, Charles, was unpopular because he was somewhat dictatorial in his zeal to please the king. He was a ruthless pursuer of taxes and set up his Lempriere and Corbet relatives in all the important positions of government over the island. His nepotism became so intolerable the islanders revolted and attacked the Royal Court where Charles and his cohorts ruled and threatened them bodily harm unless a list of demands was met. Charles appealed to the king for help to quell the rebellious citizenry. The English government despatched soldiers to Jersey but the Commander quickly saw the other side to the story and reported it to his superiors. He was subsequently given the duty to clean it all up. Charles remained as Seigneur of Rosel but probably had his legislative wings severely clipped. It seems he must have used the free time to do home improvements because he demolished the original Rosel which was becoming uninhabitable and built a new one. In his later years the opposition became too stressful so he resigned the powerful post as Lieutenant-Bailiff and died in 1806 aged 92.</div>
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7. Philippe Raoul Lempriere, Charles' grandson. With the Lempriere political influence well on the wane, Philippe put his energies into reshaping Rosel House and giving it the castle-like appearance of today. He died in 1859.</div>
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8. The Reverend William Lempriere, Philippe's son.</div>
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9. Reginald Raoul Lempriere (died in the 1930's).</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-klgolXeOtok/U_2QDSftmSI/AAAAAAAAGYc/g17Xev2suuM/s1600/LemprieresRoselManor1865.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-klgolXeOtok/U_2QDSftmSI/AAAAAAAAGYc/g17Xev2suuM/s1600/LemprieresRoselManor1865.jpg" height="290" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red;">The Lempriere family at Rosel around the late 1800's</span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DluLkjgiPt4/U_2QsX_ixAI/AAAAAAAAGYk/F495uigRsMk/s1600/RoselManorShow1905.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DluLkjgiPt4/U_2QsX_ixAI/AAAAAAAAGYk/F495uigRsMk/s1600/RoselManorShow1905.jpg" height="240" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red;">Agricultural show at Rosel 1905</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"><span style="color: black;">I have been researching our Lempriere family genealogical records to see what connection we may have had with Rosel, but have found none. It appears to me that our line thorough Jean Aubin's wife, Ann Elizabeth Lempriere, might have been on a lower branch of the family tree and it was our wealthier cousins that inhabited those hallowed halls. Certainly, we had some association with Rosel because it is remembered in our family history, even to naming the Aubin homestead in Pirongia, <em>Rozel.</em> This homestead was inhabited by Jean and Ann's descendants for generations and while it has passed from the family's hands it still stands in Pirongia as a registered historical building. </span></span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-i-H0hX2DetI/Uq5FXrEsAFI/AAAAAAAAAmM/Ad68XOHxFsQ/s1600/IMG_1350.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-i-H0hX2DetI/Uq5FXrEsAFI/AAAAAAAAAmM/Ad68XOHxFsQ/s1600/IMG_1350.JPG" height="225" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red;">Rozel, Pirongia.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">End part two</span></div>
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David Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01882172661296160645noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4528543538469473341.post-63828412757756876812014-06-30T04:59:00.001-07:002015-07-30T04:29:26.777-07:00The Lemprieres of Jersey: Part One.<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"> By David Bell<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Anne Elizabeth Lemprierre, our first Lemprierre ancestor to New
Zealand. She married Jean Aubin, another of our Jersey forefathers, at
Ngaruawhahia, 28 August 1867</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">I have recently been
researching the Lemprieres, one of our genealogical lines that goes back a very
lo</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">ng way. Because this
family was associated with royalty and became titled gentry with extensive
land holdings, their genealogical records have been exceptionally well
documented. The following two part </span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">article
is a brief history of the Lempriere family of Jersey, an island across the English
Channel off the coast of Normandy, France. To begin, it would be useful to
have some background knowledge of Jersey and our family
history connections to it. The following is a very shortened version of the
history of Jersey. For the more devoted historian you can learn much more
simply by googling History Jersey Island and checking out the wealth
of information and documentation about this historic little place that had an
abnormal influence on our part of the world. For example, New Jersey in
New York was named after the island. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> Above: Jersey Island and its place in the English Channel</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Location: </span></b><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">As can be seen on the above map, the Channel
Islands are a small archipelago of British Crown Dependencies consisting of
Guernsey, Sark and Jersey, with Jersey being the largest of the three measuring
just 8 kilometres long by 14.5 kilometres wide. The southern coast of
England lies to the north with France to the south. It sits in the French end
of the English Channel just 22 kilometres from the Cotentin Peninsula of
Normandy and 161 Kilometres from the southern tip of Great Britain. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Prehistory: </span></b><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">In
prehistoric times when the sea levels were much lower Jersey and its
neighbouring islands were part of mainland France. It became an island about
8,000 years ago and it is not known exactly when humans inhabited Jersey
but the caves at La Cotte de Saint Brelade hold archaeological evidence
that the area was used as a base by nomadic Neolithic (stone-aged) mammoth
hunters. The Neolithic world (4,000 - 2,000 B.C.) had much
of its water was locked up as ice making Jersey part of the general
landscape over which woolly mammoths roamed in great herds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Other discoveries of ancient
artefacts over the years indicate that there was a constant stream of
human activity and habitation from the stone-age to modern times, such as
bronze-age (following the stone-age) implements and weapons, and iron-age
(following the bronze-age) Celtic coins. Even the iron-age Romans visited the
area during their incursions into the land of the Gauls, today's France. Christianity
arrived via missionaries such as Saint Sampson of Dol and Saint Branwalater,
later known as Brelade, but most of the credit ascribed to Saint
Helier from Tongeren (Belgium today) who showed up sometime in the 6th
Century (1500's).</span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JzP8ziVrpsU/Vbi6_thPk9I/AAAAAAAAHms/CgoFesX_CkU/s1600/Jersey%2Barial2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JzP8ziVrpsU/Vbi6_thPk9I/AAAAAAAAHms/CgoFesX_CkU/s400/Jersey%2Barial2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red;">Above: Aerial views
of today’s Jersey Island</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Even the fearsome Vikings
came to the island around 800 A.D. to plunder tombs and burn down
villages. They quietened down when France purchased a peace
settlement with them. When the island no longer held any great attraction
for them they departed. It was the Vikings who gave the island its current
name.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">In 933 A.D. the Duke
of Normandy added the island to his personal domains. Later, in
1066, Duke William II of Normandy (William the Conqueror) defeated
King Harold of England at Hastings and became the King of England. Besides
ruling England, William also continued to administer his Normandy possessions
as separate entities, Jersey being one of these under the administration of the
Duchy of Normandy. Jersey, while very French in all aspects was, nevertheless,
now the possession of William the Conqueror, the Norman-English king and as
thus part of the New England.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Two hundred and seventy-four
years later in 1204, Phillip II Augustus of France reclaimed the Duchy of
Normandy from the English. Jersey and the other islands, however, were the
personal property of King John of England. It was at this time the islands
were given the ultimatum from Phillip to declare their allegiances to either
France or England. This duty was the responsibility of the landed gentry.
The Jersey folk threw in their lot with England while their neighbours on
Guernsey went with France. This is why our Jersey ancestors are all </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">English citizens with very French names and backgrounds.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">The year 1204 ushered in the
feudal period (manor houses and land ownership by aristocrats) of
Jersey's history. During these times jersey became an important strategic
location in the Channel between France and England. It was a period of
much warfare between France and England and the Channel Islands became a
convenient launching pad when attacking each other’s territories. These wars
became known as The Hundred Years War (1337- 1453), and The War of the Roses
(1455). Jersey was retaken by France during the War of the Roses but was
reclaimed by England seven years later.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">There was a long period of
peace for Jersey after the War of the Roses which allowed the islanders to
seek out other ways to better their lives. The discovery of
Newfoundland directly across the Atlantic on the coast of Canada offered
them just such an opportunity. The Italian born John Cabot who moved to
Bristol, England, sailed in the British ship, Matthew, to the coast of
North America and into the waters of a bay that was so choked
with cod it was nearly impossible to row to shore, the oars being
obstructed by the sheer numbers of fish. He called the place Newfoundland and
it soon became an immensely lucrative fishing industry for mother England.
Many of the islanders took advantage of the situation and became
fisherman-farmers by sailing in their fishing boats to Newfoundland in the
early spring for the cod runs and returning early autumn to plow their farms
on the estates. Some of Cabot's relatives must have made their way to Jersey
because the Cabot name shows up on our family tree.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">In 1642 the English became
embroiled in a savage civil war between Cromwell's parliamentarian movement and
the royalists which affected Jersey in the form of unrest among the islanders
who supported the royalists and those in favour of the Parliamentarians. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Around 1680
the port of St Aubin (Aubin being another of our ancestral Jersey names) became
the main township but was overtaken by St. Heliers in 1786. In the
late 1700's Jersey again became the focus of attention when France invaded and
occupied St Heliers. The British responded by sending troops who retook it in
what became known as the Battle of Jersey. With Jersey back under English
control, fresh trading with Newfoundland and Canada opened up new opportunities
for the islanders. This was occasioned by the numerous new
settlements across the Atlantic along the North American coast of
Canada-Newfoundland. The islanders, being seafaring folk began a
flourishing shipbuilding industry that became one of their mainstay
trades. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5zqEjPvAJuc72xXJ3jFRS7ZAHMZI5HcOTF4qRx2o_lx9I1-Y3bKv2BaNyGsxYuxWt0pmenD9pCmcFFJk8JoF82LAdjG5jYLhTIz95JPT1TXs6CoRGjSBrhVZXpuY8UenbqAz5fTLpZaux/s1600/John+Cabot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5zqEjPvAJuc72xXJ3jFRS7ZAHMZI5HcOTF4qRx2o_lx9I1-Y3bKv2BaNyGsxYuxWt0pmenD9pCmcFFJk8JoF82LAdjG5jYLhTIz95JPT1TXs6CoRGjSBrhVZXpuY8UenbqAz5fTLpZaux/s400/John+Cabot.jpg" width="376" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"> <span style="color: red;"> Above: John Cabot
claiming Newfoundland for England, 1497</span></span><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> Above: A replica
of John Cabot's Ship, Matthew. Below: the town of Saint Aubin.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqNoKKW9po6CnsJkwx5PxHWCpzMiSK4bKFHgm62YVTUCiGjwoLW7QNN6RYmhRdG9-INLBwP4mHjIZzW4AqeuS8jzyVLExPW6oMyi1ZYq_CAbEEs5O0xB5mnWZr_EqWuc-57sAFqGXn6Umt/s1600/St+Aubin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqNoKKW9po6CnsJkwx5PxHWCpzMiSK4bKFHgm62YVTUCiGjwoLW7QNN6RYmhRdG9-INLBwP4mHjIZzW4AqeuS8jzyVLExPW6oMyi1ZYq_CAbEEs5O0xB5mnWZr_EqWuc-57sAFqGXn6Umt/s400/St+Aubin.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">In 1833 the
Jersey Agricultural and Horticultural Society was founded and one
of their greatest contributions was the creation of the jersey dairy cow,
famed for its cream-rich milk. It soon became a favourite on English
estates and in the colonies, especially New Zealand where it became the
dominant - if not only - breed on New Zealand dairy farms. I well remember
our own small herd of that beautiful little cow on our family farm up
Parihoro Road.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-n6IReB-P8y4/Vbi84xPgS9I/AAAAAAAAHnQ/nF5kICPTkRE/s1600/Jersey%2Bcow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="260" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-n6IReB-P8y4/Vbi84xPgS9I/AAAAAAAAHnQ/nF5kICPTkRE/s400/Jersey%2Bcow.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Above: The Jersey cow, noted for
her gentle temperament and cream-rich milk</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">During the 1800's many
English people immigrated to Jersey in search of a better life and by
the 1880's it had a predominantly English citizenry of over 5,000. By 1900 it
had exploded to 52,000 and English took over as the predominant language. The
English settlers also introduced many new industries and the traditional
island crafts such as knitting (from whence originated the woolen </span><i style="font-family: inherit;">jersey</i><span style="font-family: inherit;">),
oyster fishing, and cider making dwindled.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">twentieth Century also
saw Jersey suffer from wars in other places such as World War One and World
War Two. During WW I Jersey sent 3,000 men from its small population to fight
in the trenches in France and a POW camp was built on the island to hold
German prisoners. WW II was a different story altogether. When the Germans
occupied France in 1940 the alarmed Lieutenant-Governor of Jersey asked the
British War Office what was going to be done to protect the island from the
Germans. To his dismay he was told that Jersey was to receive no protection
at all and that all British military personnel and equipment would be
removed. The islanders would have to evacuate the island or remain and take
their chances with the German occupiers. British ships would be sent to
evacuate anyone wishing to leave. It was a stressful and chaotic period for
the islanders and 23,000 went to the town hall to register as per the British
request for evacuation. As it turned out, many of them later decided to
remain with their homes and most of the others were turned away from
boarding the evacuation ships. The British obviously didn't bargain on so
many wishing to leave. In the end only 6,500 of the 23,000 applicants
actually evacuated. Understandably, it was a hard decision because they were
allowed to take only what they had on them. They had to be willing to
abandon their homes, pets, properties and animals with no guarantee of ever
getting them back when the war was over. They were pretty much left to their
own devices. Little wonder so many chose to stay and tough it out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">When the Germans arrived
they thought the British were still there (Churchill had decided not to
tell anyone of the British abandonment of Jersey) so they sent
planes and bombed St Helier. When they realised there was no British military
presence there, they promptly secured the island and placed severe
restrictions on the people. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">By 1941 nearly 12,000 German soldiers and
personnel occupied Jersey. The occupiers took over the government and courts
and put everyone under German rule. Any Jewish residents were particularly
singled out for persecution. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">As with all enemy
occupations there was tension on Jersey between those who collaborated in one
way or another with the Germans and those who resisted. Women who fraternised
with the Germans were despised and shunned by the islanders and labelled
Jerry-bags. Others, like plumbers, builders or electricians who were
paid by the Germans in cash, privileges or extra rations, were likewise
unpopular. Some even sought favour from the enemy by writing letters to
the High Command informing on other islanders who were storing food,
assisting escaped forced labourers or sympathising with the local Jews. The
postal staff did their best to intercept these letters by steaming open as
many as they could and destroying the offending ones. But, inevitably, some
got through which very often led to severe punishments and executions.
But, under the circumstances, most of the islanders put up some heroic
resistance. Their actions may seem small but the punishments if caught were
fearful. Acts of resistance were activities such as secretly painting yellow
V-for victory signs on public buildings, teenagers stealing explosives and
weapons from the German barracks, and listening to allied broadcasts on
homemade radios that sprang up all over the place. Some islanders tried to
escape by small boats to England but it was fraught with danger; nine people
drowned, twenty-four were caught and imprisoned, and at least one was
shot dead on the beach.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">By late 1944 the people
were in a state of starvation because the Germans took all the food for
themselves. But by then the tide of war was turning against the Germans and
morale among the troops was sinking lower every day. Nevertheless, they hung
on in the hope that Germany's fortunes might change. They continued to seize
all the food they could get saying it was not their duty to feed the
islanders. Churchill also decided that the best way to rid the islands
of the Germans was to blockade the island and starve them out; the locals
would just have to bear it. In the end the Germans were compelled by the
Geneva Convention to allow a shipment of Red Cross food parcels for
the civilian population. None were given to the Germans who were also
suffering from the lack of food. This caused their morale to crash to new
lows. A few months later in May 1945, they surrendered unconditionally and
the islanders celebrated for days. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">was not such a happy time for the
collaborators who were attacked by the islanders and their houses
painted with swastikas.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">As a point of interest,
Rosel, the manor house owned by our own Lempriere family, was commandeered by
the Germans for one of their headquarters. More will be written
about Rosel in part two of this article.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">The post-war period saw
tremendous progress and growth on Jersey with advances in public works
and civic administration. Today it is a delightful little island with an
idyllic climate and has become something of a tourist mecca. Anyone
in our family travelling to France or England would be well advised
to do a short detour and visit this small plot of land that holds
so much importance in our family history.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"><span style="color: red; font-size: large;"> End of Part One </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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This chart shows our Maniapoto whakapapa with our common grandparent Daisy Mary Te Kurawhakairi as the starting ancestor.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">DAISY MARY TE KURAWHAKAIRI ORMSBY</span> + John Honi Ruki Pohepohe McGruther<br />
I<br />
Arthur (Waati) Sydney Ormsby + <span style="color: magenta;">Matilda (Matire) Wright</span><br />
<span style="color: magenta;"> </span><span style="color: black;"> I</span><br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Rangihurihia Te Raku</span> + Robert Ormsby<br />
I<br />
Te Rakutakiari + <span style="color: magenta;">Matakorama</span><br />
<span style="color: magenta;"> </span><span style="color: black;"> I</span><br />
Te Whakapuharu + <span style="color: magenta;">Iriwhau</span><br />
<span style="color: magenta;"> </span><span style="color: black;"> I</span><br />
<span style="color: black;"> Tuohu + </span><span style="color: magenta;">Te Tuki</span><br />
I<br />
Ruahikihiki + <span style="color: magenta;">Parehuia</span><br />
I<br />
Manaoterangi + <span style="color: magenta;">Waipaia</span><br />
I<br />
<span style="color: magenta;"> Heketerangi II</span> + Ngaere<br />
I<br />
Rangatahi + <span style="color: magenta;">Maniauruahu</span><br />
<span style="color: magenta;"> </span><span style="color: black;"> I</span><br />
Tutakamoana + <span style="color: magenta;">Rangipare</span><br />
<span style="color: magenta;"> </span><span style="color: black;"> I</span><br />
MANIAPOTO + <span style="color: magenta;">Hinewhatihua </span><span style="color: black;">(MANIAPOTO is the eponymous ancestor of Ngati Maniapoto. He had four known wives: Hinemania, Hinewhatihua, Pakurangi, and Paparauwhare. Our line comes through Hinewhatihua).</span><br />
I<br />
Rereahu + <span style="color: magenta;">Hineauponamu</span><br />
I<br />
Raukawa + <span style="color: magenta;">Turongoihi</span><br />
<span style="color: black;"> I</span><br />
Turongo + <span style="color: magenta;">Mahina-a-rangi</span><br />
I<br />
Tawhao + <span style="color: magenta;">Punuiatekore</span><br />
I<br />
Kakati + <span style="color: magenta;">Ururangi</span><br />
I<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">KAHUKUKE</span> + Rakataura (Kahukeke is an important figure in our whakapapa. She is the daughter of Hoturoa and came to Aotearoa on the Tainui with our first Maori ancestors. She married Rakataura the Tainui tohunga and our line comes down through her).<br />
I<br />
HOTUROA + <span style="color: magenta;">Whakaoterangi</span><br />
<span style="color: magenta;"> </span><span style="color: black;"> I</span><br />
Kuotepo + <span style="color: magenta;">Auauterangi </span><span style="color: black;">(both in Hawaiiki)</span><br />
<span style="color: magenta;"> </span><span style="color: black;"> I</span><br />
Subsequent Hawaiiki ancestors include Whaene - Taraao - Muturangi - Ohomairangi - Toi.<br />
<span style="color: magenta;"> </span><span style="color: black;"> </span><br />
<br />
<br />David Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01882172661296160645noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4528543538469473341.post-54626378039067461862014-04-27T15:59:00.000-07:002016-07-04T14:24:31.125-07:00Genealogical Chart 17: The Ngati Hikairo line from John Honi Ruki McGruther. <br />
This chart uses our common grandparent Honi Ruki Pohepohe McGruther as the starting point to our Hikairo whakapapa.<br />
<br />
<br />
JOHN HONI RUKI POHEPOHE McGRUTHER + Daisy Mary Kura Te Whakairi Ormsby<br />
I<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Te Anu Amokawhia Pohepohe</span> + Robert McGruther<br />
I<br />
Pohepohe + <span style="color: magenta;">Karopeneti Tamihana</span><br />
I<br />
Te Akerautangi +<span style="color: magenta;"> Takepititi</span><br />
I<br />
Whakamarurangi + <span style="color: magenta;">Te Rarangi</span><br />
I<br />
HIKAIRO II + <span style="color: magenta;">Rangikopi </span><span style="color: black;">(HIKAIRO II is the eponymous ancestor of Ngati Hikairo)</span><br />
I<br />
Puku + <span style="color: magenta;">Te Mihinga </span><br />
I <br />
Hikairo I + <span style="color: magenta;">Ngahautaua</span> <br />
I<br />
Tamatea + <span style="color: magenta;">Tumarouru II</span> <br />
I <br />
Whakatau + <span style="color: magenta;">Kiotaota </span> <br />
I <br />
Tamataitai + <span style="color: magenta;">Mahuripounamu</span><br />
I<br />
Tuawhio + <span style="color: magenta;">?</span><br />
I<br />
Tuheretaniwha +<span style="color: magenta;"> ?</span><br />
I<br />
Tutegangana + <span style="color: magenta;">Waikauhoe</span><br />
I<br />
Pikirangi + <span style="color: magenta;">Waitawake</span><br />
I<br />
Marumahanga + <span style="color: magenta;">Tuimete</span><br />
I<br />
Whatihua + <span style="color: magenta;">Apakura</span><br />
I<br />
Tawhao + <span style="color: magenta;">Marutehiakina</span><br />
I<br />
Kakati +<span style="color: magenta;"> Ururangi</span><br />
I<br />
<span style="color: magenta;"> KAHUKEKE</span> + RAKATAURA <br />
Kahukeke is an important ancestor because she was the daughter of Hoturoa, the<br />
captain of the Tainui that brought our first ancestors from Hawaiiki to Aotearoa. <br />
Rakataura was the Tainui tohunga whom she married. Our line comes down through her.<br />
I<br />
HOTUROA + <span style="color: magenta;">Whakaoterangi</span><br />
I<br />
Kuotepo + <span style="color: magenta;">Auauterangi</span> (both in Hawaiiki)<br />
I<br />
Subsequent Hawaiiki ancestors are as follows: Whaene-Taraao-Muturangi-Ohomairangi and Toi.<br />
<br />
<br />David Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01882172661296160645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4528543538469473341.post-53733480249005969742014-03-24T21:37:00.001-07:002014-08-27T23:50:35.508-07:00Andy and Yolanda<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;">Andy and Yolanda</span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-size: large;">By Andrew Lear</span><br />
<br />
On November the 8th, 2013, a record-breaking typhoon lashed parts of the Philippines causing tremendous damage, not to mention the suffering of the people in her path who lost loved ones and possessions. As luck would have it one of our whanau happened to be working in the Philippines, right where Yolanda decided to let her fury loose.<br />
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When she had dispensed her punishment and moved on, Andy came out to find a landscape torn apart and the people in dire straits. For days he waited and saw no response from the Philippine authorities. When he realised that help was still a long time coming he decided to do something himself and began collecting what meagre aid he could to give to the people he knew from work who had lost their homes. Then, from this small gesture something incredible happened; others got behind him and within days a major aid mission exploded into action. He had unwittingly started what was to become a human miracle as the good things in peoples' souls came to the fore as Filipinnos and foreigners alike joined together and instigated a relief campaign that was nothing short of wonderful. Andy spearheaded this drive, not afraid to ask family, friends, and the companies he worked for to contribute. And the contributions poured in.<br />
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One contributor was our own Emi Esteves who took his plea to her school which got wholeheartedly behind it, raising a significant amount of money. Andy wrote a lengthy report to the Rukuhia school about what their contribution did for the people hit by the storm. <br />
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We should all be pretty proud of Andy. He did a great thing for his fellow beings. As the proverb states: 'When you are in the service of your fellow beings you are in the service of your God'. <br />
Yolanda gave him an opportunity to show his real stuff and an adventure to tell his grandchildren. <br />
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The letter he wrote to the children at Rukuhia school graphically tells that story. <br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;">Andrew C. Lear</span><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qFoDxGhlrG4/UzHgshzDwjI/AAAAAAAAF-M/iuYs0QIDwgw/s1600/_MG_3652+%25281%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qFoDxGhlrG4/UzHgshzDwjI/AAAAAAAAF-M/iuYs0QIDwgw/s1600/_MG_3652+%25281%2529.JPG" height="385" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hi Rukuhia School,</span></span></b></div>
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My name is Andy Lear. I'm a cousin of the Esteves kids and I've been working here in the Philippines for nearly a year now, getting to know the place and the people.
I’ve been all over the Visayas. I have seen whale sharks in Oslob, white sand
beaches in Bohol, mountains in Negros and cave shrines in the Comotes Islands.
But I think the best bit has been making some really great new friends. These
people are some of the nicest you will ever meet. If you get a chance, it’s a
place well worth visiting. I’m an engineer for an Australian company called
Outotec, and we are upgrading a copper mine for a Filipino company called
Carmen Copper. I work in the mine in Lutopan, near Toledo City, in the
mountains in the middle of the island of Cebu. There are half a dozen of us
here from New Zealand, Australia and the UK.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As you know, the Philippines were hit by
Typhoon Yolanda on Friday 8<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> of November. Yolanda was the strongest
storm in the last 30 years. It has hit the Philippines very hard, possibly
killing as many as 10,000 people.</span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7n9MOSv1BLVDFXnhgAoFHxwvljJFcR146_RbyZU_Y02jzAh48vcZ_IgzybCGFDH1axFh1bo4uLLmenPKL53Vc9Wi1QWIAHd-bXTOPqpwEZ7ck0tTQt9LBVPqQ5FRUNdECWtNrVFrlH94o/s1600/Andy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7n9MOSv1BLVDFXnhgAoFHxwvljJFcR146_RbyZU_Y02jzAh48vcZ_IgzybCGFDH1axFh1bo4uLLmenPKL53Vc9Wi1QWIAHd-bXTOPqpwEZ7ck0tTQt9LBVPqQ5FRUNdECWtNrVFrlH94o/s1600/Andy.jpg" height="400" width="305" /></a></div>
<span style="color: red;"></span><br />
<span style="color: red;"> A satellite view of Typhoon Yolanda approaching the Philippines</span><br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-fareast-language: EN-NZ; mso-no-proof: yes;"></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Where we are in Toledo was not too badly
affected, we had a few trees down and a few houses flattened, but we escaped
with little injury and no deaths. My friends and I hunkered down in our house
with a huge pile of food and water and a bottle of rum. We had axes and
crowbars handy as well, in case the roof came down and we had to dig ourselves
out. Our neighbours were very lucky, two huge trees fell down, both landing
within 2 feet of their house, but no one was injured thank goodness. It was
very scary to see the trees coming down over our friend’s house. We ran out
through the storm to check they were OK, I was so glad to see they were not
hurt! The winds were just wild, and there was branches and stuff flying
everywhere. Every minute or two you would hear the CRACK of a tree coming down.
I’d hate to think what it was like closer to the eye of the typhoon, or on the coast when the
storm surge came rushing up and swamped whole towns.</span></span></div>
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqADTAI5Br2Y0PNW8TZiu5GbNYGBZ1zc3yMyTbdJ2mbZFBbCdWOwwk9g7hdSO-tH_ALG2j02KIpr_MQjCrOQGYNwAqAFQhnUrhXEaGzKG49GlFn5DkaaxoJ9bAOOnmYBaVJcDwQj-OsxYr/s1600/TyphoonWindsIn+Toledo.jpg" height="300" width="400" /><span style="background-color: white; color: red;"></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: red;">Typhoon winds in Toledo</span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wJgxKzU0reA/U_3Dwc-UQkI/AAAAAAAAGZk/ethIbMF4-EY/s1600/StormSurge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wJgxKzU0reA/U_3Dwc-UQkI/AAAAAAAAGZk/ethIbMF4-EY/s1600/StormSurge.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a><span style="color: red;"></span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">The storm surge in Tacloban</span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IeSBQYFlMG4/U_3EbA6WdWI/AAAAAAAAGZs/7YJR-T7uU8o/s1600/TreeOnHouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IeSBQYFlMG4/U_3EbA6WdWI/AAAAAAAAGZs/7YJR-T7uU8o/s1600/TreeOnHouse.jpg" height="400" width="298" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: small;"> A tree narrowly missing our neighbour's house</span></span></span></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In the North of Cebu, towns like
Daanbantayan, Bogo, Medellin, Tabogon, San Remigio and islands like Malapascua
and Bantayan have been terribly affected by the storm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many people were killed; many are still
buried in the rubble of their houses. Some towns lost up to 90% of their
houses; people lost all their crops, their seed stock for next year, their
workplaces, their animals. In some areas the ground has been salted by storm
surges and it will need 6 months of rain to wash the salt away before the
fields can be used again. Banana and coconut trees take years to grow big
enough to fruit, so these folks will be a long time without food or income. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Many of the folks outside of the cities
here live in Nipa huts. These are small huts; maybe 4m x 3m and they are made
of a bamboo or wood frame with Nipa leaf walls and thatched or steel roofs.
They don’t stand up to super typhoon! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1x6bR3u5vGU/U_3E-0Pvi1I/AAAAAAAAGZ0/tgThmVI5ERw/s1600/NipaHut2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1x6bR3u5vGU/U_3E-0Pvi1I/AAAAAAAAGZ0/tgThmVI5ERw/s1600/NipaHut2.jpg" height="223" width="320" /></a><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: small;">A typical nipa hut</span></span></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Philippines government is not like the
government in New Zealand. Their response to the storm was very slow. When we
sent out our first relief convoy, nearly a week after the storm, it was the
first relief those towns had had! Nothing had come from the government at all,
and the capital of the island is only 3 hours south. The big charities (Red
Cross, Unicef etc) were working hard to set up their distribution lines but were
too stretched working in Samar and Leyte to attend to Cebu right away.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mUnDgsuLZaY/U_3F6fpuwsI/AAAAAAAAGaI/VH4Zm2dE3Xc/s1600/centralVisayas.jpg" height="252" width="400" /><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: small;">The Central Visayas, which bore the brunt of the storm</span></span></span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBfxmW_-LdHCPDxjhpMEfdR1awz7y7ZU1cZRxbhdJjXWPVZ77VVmoAkhZ1cFEot4VlOpCLLDWT1roEkJZzS3tUIPlCv5mB0E5H6OtxkQu-mIjWz0SfSBgjeS7uVtiWhnCpkjj4yPpMFOKT/s1600/cebu.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBfxmW_-LdHCPDxjhpMEfdR1awz7y7ZU1cZRxbhdJjXWPVZ77VVmoAkhZ1cFEot4VlOpCLLDWT1roEkJZzS3tUIPlCv5mB0E5H6OtxkQu-mIjWz0SfSBgjeS7uVtiWhnCpkjj4yPpMFOKT/s1600/cebu.jpg" height="262" width="400" /></a><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: red;">Cebu - We work near Toledo City on the west coast.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When the storm hit on Friday, all our
power, phones and TV were cut off, so we had no idea what was happening in the
rest of the country. By Sunday evening the TV had come back, and we were
starting to realise just how bad the storm was.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We asked the local councillors if they
needed help with relief, but they said that they weren’t doing any. We knew
that things had to be bad up north of Cebu, it was right in the centre of the
typhoon, where the winds are up to 300km/h! If you think about how hard the
wind is when you stick your head out the window at 100km/h, then 300km/h is
pretty bad!<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The First run:<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Jayson and I started by calling the Red
Cross, to see if they needed help, but they had no one on the ground in Cebu.
After trying a few more charities with no luck, we finally got in touch with
GMA who had a man in Tagoban that could receive and distribute supplies. On
Tuesday Jayson, Diane and I collected money from our crew on site, borrowed a
truck from Carmen Copper and went to the Toledo Market to buy food and water.
Diane is from Toledo so she knows where to get everything we need for a good
price, a big help since otherwise I would get charged a fortune because I’m
foreign! While there we met up with some of the folks from Carmen Copper who
were doing the same thing, they suggested we pack our goods in their trucks, which
was a good thing as we had no idea how we were going to get our goods north, we
were flying by the seat of our pants as usual!<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The market in Toledo is a huge building
filled will all sorts, toys, clothes, rice, veggies, but the most interesting
part is the 200m long stretch of dried fish shops. They love dried fish here
and I had to walk through 200m of shops, I don’t think I will ever be able to
get the fish smell off!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></o:p></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5tgy7sqkoAA/U_3Gs9IXNpI/AAAAAAAAGaY/FFgVY5OgL64/s1600/BuyingRice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5tgy7sqkoAA/U_3Gs9IXNpI/AAAAAAAAGaY/FFgVY5OgL64/s1600/BuyingRice.jpg" height="298" width="400" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: red;">Buying rice from Diane’s cousins, Bambi & Co in Toledo</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></o:p></span></div>
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip7kDohGJz5tqxcNXy7UBGWo5Ae_zRuPJP8rsXAS1IZyuYY_Ia_aldqgjKN-I5Xg_D0vR7xJwdgssszS1zYlnNbstTt85TkRLSaWIOSC7c9MtKnepL5WSpRB7cjj5w3TfEsT0R5QRqpi0U/s1600/Trucks.jpg" height="300" width="400" /><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"></span></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><o:p><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;">These kids work in the market, they hurl 15kg boxes of sardines around like basketballs!</span><o:p></o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zIDYh_lIiK0/U_3Hl7953QI/AAAAAAAAGaw/Htn4SkLyZOY/s1600/truck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zIDYh_lIiK0/U_3Hl7953QI/AAAAAAAAGaw/Htn4SkLyZOY/s1600/truck.jpg" height="298" width="400" /></a><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red;"></span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red;">The truck we borrowed from Carmen Copper, filling up with supplies.</span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span> </div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We buy the supplies in bulk from the
market, and then we have to spend a few hours repacking </span></span><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">them into family sized
bags. Each bag should last a family for 1 day. We do this so that we can
distribute the goods fairly. If we give out a whole 50kg sack of rice, then it
gets taken by the strongest folks and the weakest get nothing. If we give out
one bag to each family, they all get enough to survive the day. It’s sad but
that’s how things are. When people are desperate and starving the weakest will
always miss out. We even have to take armed guards on the convoys because they
get robbed otherwise.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">For 1 day, each family gets:<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">2kg of uncooked rice<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">2 cans of beef loaf (Horrible Spam-like
stuff, but hey its cheap protein. Personally I wouldn’t feed it to the dog)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">2 cans of sardines<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">3 packets of instant noodles<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">1 packet of biscuits<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">1 litre of filtered water<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When we have some spare cash we throw in
some lollies for the kid</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_mak2xeE83Zd-JwuBPAY7qhEOKuJzXgXwLgjNR88L4ikHvCbqJ-2Jruewhl2cNSrs-9yzaWEv2gwx900ywmbJ0tOYFLSrGxg52dqkZNFgU6Nv6NpWQ6OUDOVDQqNs1eW5zScp1mK7MjqT/s1600/supplies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_mak2xeE83Zd-JwuBPAY7qhEOKuJzXgXwLgjNR88L4ikHvCbqJ-2Jruewhl2cNSrs-9yzaWEv2gwx900ywmbJ0tOYFLSrGxg52dqkZNFgU6Nv6NpWQ6OUDOVDQqNs1eW5zScp1mK7MjqT/s1600/supplies.jpg" height="298" width="400" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN-AU"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: x-small;"> <span style="color: red; font-size: small;">A family pack</span></span><o:p></o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">On that first run our site team brought 170
families worth of supplies which we had packed up in our house. Carmen Copper had
taken over the badminton courts so we helped them pack all their supplies also.
Its hard work doing a 12 hour shift in a mine, packing goods half the night,
then getting up and doing it all again! We were all exhausted after a couple of
weeks of this! But it was good that something was finally happening to get help
to the folks who needed it.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-W8Fg3RTFD20/U_3I4z52gfI/AAAAAAAAGbE/mdSfYOEUkuw/s1600/bagging2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-W8Fg3RTFD20/U_3I4z52gfI/AAAAAAAAGbE/mdSfYOEUkuw/s1600/bagging2.jpg" height="298" width="400" /></a><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: x-small;"></span></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: x-small;"> <span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: small;">Packing the first run of goods in our guesthouse</span></span></span></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eFX31Ksz8Uw/U_3JNnrI3kI/AAAAAAAAGbM/wGkYITykQf4/s1600/Dianne.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eFX31Ksz8Uw/U_3JNnrI3kI/AAAAAAAAGbM/wGkYITykQf4/s1600/Dianne.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a><span style="color: red;"></span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">Dianne hauling rice</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiyAgDjXY5geZw_aF2VXr1yb2MsePnPsZJYr1e0tNBA36Iz2iCj2TvaSzdl5e4EUA1W7RNBrkpERs4mFcuMAnYwJWibrFacKN5byytLJppng6aXTBuYPw0sTWAznxtBSoMjLE2y9Jq9oDW/s1600/crew.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiyAgDjXY5geZw_aF2VXr1yb2MsePnPsZJYr1e0tNBA36Iz2iCj2TvaSzdl5e4EUA1W7RNBrkpERs4mFcuMAnYwJWibrFacKN5byytLJppng6aXTBuYPw0sTWAznxtBSoMjLE2y9Jq9oDW/s1600/crew.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;"> Our site crew – Mitch, Allan, Conrado, Dax, Jayson, Gilbert, Diane, Darren and myself</span>.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv5awrPKeOtWw9KlJxl_LU0RxtqqpQKKP4DVzxKIf9RKQJ3vnQl8Q5bYTCvA3reZfB6cHa34uPM9mR-t1MpP9E3NUWKSnWPAvg_UEalM461gNFA6u6PG2rYtDAUPwR1w9-A9-9flZhkbMi/s1600/Derek.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv5awrPKeOtWw9KlJxl_LU0RxtqqpQKKP4DVzxKIf9RKQJ3vnQl8Q5bYTCvA3reZfB6cHa34uPM9mR-t1MpP9E3NUWKSnWPAvg_UEalM461gNFA6u6PG2rYtDAUPwR1w9-A9-9flZhkbMi/s1600/Derek.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red;"> Derek and myself hauling supplies. Each of those sacks weigh</span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red;"> about 35 kg and we each must have carried at least 100 each a night!<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_Dh7zyLUJl8/U_3Krwj2lDI/AAAAAAAAGbk/abGPua26FkA/s1600/badcourt.jpg" height="300" width="400" /><span lang="EN-AU"><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red;"></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red;">Packing supplies in the badminton courts, it’s a big job</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our first convoy headed north on Thursday,
6 days after the storm, for Daanbantayan, San Remigio, Medellin and Bogo. They
distributed 3500 family packs as well as basic medical supplies. Carmen Copper
supplied armed guards (and in the Philippines, that means armed to the teeth,
these blokes have guns bigger than them!) because there were reports of looting
and bandit attacks, as people were getting desperate for food. Luckily however
the handing out was very orderly. They had no problems with the people who came
to receive food, no bandits on the roads, and rebels didn’t bother us (there is
an ongoing Maoist rebellion here but they have declared a ceasefire for the
typhoon, and in any case, if you pay your revolutionary tax they don’t bother
you).</span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVYigN8BMioXMUNg53y7EchH64P1WMpO6UK2mOkGV0dxF6ZswveGeWdRQs7x8YQ6s9XD0Y6nF4Gq8-IX8zOddPT3l4rnV1VufE7rVooQ9v2hgdwyGgcucuaDPAfL7AGSm81PjhjA-ysWIA/s1600/foodline2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVYigN8BMioXMUNg53y7EchH64P1WMpO6UK2mOkGV0dxF6ZswveGeWdRQs7x8YQ6s9XD0Y6nF4Gq8-IX8zOddPT3l4rnV1VufE7rVooQ9v2hgdwyGgcucuaDPAfL7AGSm81PjhjA-ysWIA/s1600/foodline2.jpg" height="297" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><o:p><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;">The line up for food in Daanbantayan.</span><o:p></o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi28Z3HSgIXlCUwptIrzu0AJt-afNaaswMs8rQbLnA4aIi0FH6qJJP9lAkorkgaZehyDlQnoXWWvVRDmTqkcrKibMPsIgKMtGE_7jlUkyu_g1trn_s1sYKs0nPxzF4Xlly5aKISKKdejKmZ/s1600/lineup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi28Z3HSgIXlCUwptIrzu0AJt-afNaaswMs8rQbLnA4aIi0FH6qJJP9lAkorkgaZehyDlQnoXWWvVRDmTqkcrKibMPsIgKMtGE_7jlUkyu_g1trn_s1sYKs0nPxzF4Xlly5aKISKKdejKmZ/s1600/lineup.jpg" height="153" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;">Distribution in San Remigio</span></div>
<br />
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Carmen Copper was going to continue running
convoys as long as they had donations, so that’s when I put out the call on
Facebook for donations from home, and you guys have answered!<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">At the same time, my other friends here had
been busy:<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Mark and Nelly:<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My friend Mark is an Australian who has
been living in the Philippines for a long time now, and his girlfriend Nelly is
from Leyte, one of the islands to the east of Cebu. Her island was very hard
hit by the storm, so Mark and Nelly left on Monday night with a tricycle full
of supplies to try and find her family. They were on the first boat over since
the storm. The boat companies doubled the ticket prices and charged them an
extra ticket for their food, not cool eh. There was no phone signal, she
couldn’t contact them to find out if they were alive or not. They arrived on
Leyte Tuesday morning at Ormoc. The devastation was terrible. Leaving the ferry
port they were climbing over power lines and broken glass, downed trees and
sheets of roofing iron.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Getting to her
village was even worse, what was normally a 20min drive took 3 hours. They had
to carry the trike over fallen power poles and trees. Eventually they had to
switch to a scooter as they couldn’t get the trike any further. They walked the
last 3km carrying their supplies as even the scooter couldn’t get through. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Normally in this section of road there are
Nipa huts on both sides of the road until just before her village. Not one was
left standing. The road was strewn with men, women and children. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Her village is called Green Valley and it
has a population of around 400, all of whom survived without injury.
Unfortunately all of these people have lost their crops, incomes, power, water,
food supplies and 50-60% of their homes have been damaged or destroyed.</span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--8Oon45_QyE/U_3MDkiGR6I/AAAAAAAAGcE/DHar29zNPYQ/s1600/Damage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--8Oon45_QyE/U_3MDkiGR6I/AAAAAAAAGcE/DHar29zNPYQ/s1600/Damage.jpg" height="263" width="400" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Storm
damage on Leyte</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span></span></span> </div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dw3t_Jy-8e0/U_3Me39ORcI/AAAAAAAAGcM/7Uzsf3HZntQ/s1600/Damage2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dw3t_Jy-8e0/U_3Me39ORcI/AAAAAAAAGcM/7Uzsf3HZntQ/s1600/Damage2.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a><span style="color: red;"></span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">More storm damage</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikjkecRPzleefCt14NlcXgxVuC7M4i43agMAwB-AvgjY_kKb_-t166c6RVxJ8of_JrN3QuXTpPyfXhUEzdbQeZascpP1iSOeTBN53RPlBa4tTCwzDV1omPtJlNRRrLpf7ArhtwYVBNDeJj/s1600/Nellie2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikjkecRPzleefCt14NlcXgxVuC7M4i43agMAwB-AvgjY_kKb_-t166c6RVxJ8of_JrN3QuXTpPyfXhUEzdbQeZascpP1iSOeTBN53RPlBa4tTCwzDV1omPtJlNRRrLpf7ArhtwYVBNDeJj/s1600/Nellie2.jpg" height="214" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red;">With the food Mark and Nelly brought, her
family and friends sat at the family home and packed food bags to provide to
the locals. They gave out over 400 bags.<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></i></span></span></span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Bs6VgmOrIJA/U_3MyfYFOCI/AAAAAAAAGcU/inGF6N2qLJY/s1600/Nellie1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Bs6VgmOrIJA/U_3MyfYFOCI/AAAAAAAAGcU/inGF6N2qLJY/s1600/Nellie1.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"></span></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><o:p><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;">Nelly and her family packing boxes</span></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHzNCoqxfoDiF641CGd3CGBxUoKFBmuQcFfxraC8b24gV6MOTBnTvwgZMUnPhtp0cTXjCbf48PaBQyk9c_k3LqjV_mVKlKsNYs-8LPVoA5HAzAHjG4C7EM2OOQco2zVuJKQlmUUbU2FC8T/s1600/Nellie3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHzNCoqxfoDiF641CGd3CGBxUoKFBmuQcFfxraC8b24gV6MOTBnTvwgZMUnPhtp0cTXjCbf48PaBQyk9c_k3LqjV_mVKlKsNYs-8LPVoA5HAzAHjG4C7EM2OOQco2zVuJKQlmUUbU2FC8T/s1600/Nellie3.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a><span style="color: red;"></span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">Nelly handing out goods</span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"></span> </div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pkWmMxdCaVA/U_3OMHZeBEI/AAAAAAAAGcs/PmXGVAt6yiM/s1600/happykids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pkWmMxdCaVA/U_3OMHZeBEI/AAAAAAAAGcs/PmXGVAt6yiM/s1600/happykids.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: red;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="color: red;"><o:p>A happy kid</o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span> </div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Mark and Nelly made a second trip back to
Leyte, they have brought a diesel generator so that the village can have power.
They have phone signal back but won’t get power for some months, and a lot of
folks there still haven’t been able to tell their family on other islands that
they are OK. They also took back a bunch of food that was donated by you guys,
and also some cash that we gave them to help buy the generator, big help to the
folks over there!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OaHAxlqbHYY/U_3OiBFbBQI/AAAAAAAAGc0/p_mdskKn8Wg/s1600/NellieFamily.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OaHAxlqbHYY/U_3OiBFbBQI/AAAAAAAAGc0/p_mdskKn8Wg/s1600/NellieFamily.jpg" height="400" width="265" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red;">Nelly and her whanau</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqPHaARDQpDx2x3eYd9yAFo4jSJkfVCT4XNK7X5horQ8OFLfpKB2EtHot4Xn9P66nEs4CX20brmLxZQP_hl1d2ThUunnYad9F-3PNRvNOL65xXlB2HmlI34OkusUNeaxMyasfciTJhP3m8/s1600/fixinghouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqPHaARDQpDx2x3eYd9yAFo4jSJkfVCT4XNK7X5horQ8OFLfpKB2EtHot4Xn9P66nEs4CX20brmLxZQP_hl1d2ThUunnYad9F-3PNRvNOL65xXlB2HmlI34OkusUNeaxMyasfciTJhP3m8/s1600/fixinghouse.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red;">Fixing a nipa hut</span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CqUfX2Om-xU/U_3PJGZnHEI/AAAAAAAAGdE/06sZHduOmNg/s1600/cutekids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CqUfX2Om-xU/U_3PJGZnHEI/AAAAAAAAGdE/06sZHduOmNg/s1600/cutekids.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a><span style="color: red;"></span></div>
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<span style="color: red;">The kids, they are super cute</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxsDN6ZLVXLBxF92g9tsfUQqyj6NCZGVaCbqMt9VFA2pnjdPRK7pYNKMNlcJMfPo6EFtK_W2B7nwUdZOCiQFAkuS4yjj7jNWGmlEgCkv56yBWgScGHq2AQvd51Z5yb5x6NoCVte6w9SFm5/s1600/pig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxsDN6ZLVXLBxF92g9tsfUQqyj6NCZGVaCbqMt9VFA2pnjdPRK7pYNKMNlcJMfPo6EFtK_W2B7nwUdZOCiQFAkuS4yjj7jNWGmlEgCkv56yBWgScGHq2AQvd51Z5yb5x6NoCVte6w9SFm5/s1600/pig.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="color: red;"> Lechon baboy</span><br />
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Mark and Nelly recently returned to Green
Valley, and 2 months after Yolanda life in the village is getting back to
normal. Everyone has enough to eat now, most folks have fixed their houses, but
they still don’t have power and are relying on the generator you helped buy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">With some more of your donations they
brought schoolbooks for the local school, their roof had blown off and all
their things were ruined. The Red Cross sent a couple of guys to fix the roof. They
also brought a big bag of lollies for the kiddies, which they were stoked to
see.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">With their own cash they brought 3 pigs for
the adults, for their saint’s fiesta. They love pork here!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Philippinos are very religious and
celebrate many fiestas for the local saints and always they have a pig and make
lechon baboy or roast pork. Then they have Karaoke which they also love, it was
actually invented by a Filipino. They all gather around and sing sad love
songs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As well as the 400 folks in their
village, over 300 more came down from the surrounding area to share their
lechon and their joy in such a hard time. No matter how bad things are
Filippinos are always ready to laugh and chat and sing, they are great people
to be around.</span></span><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XKUlSP50SRM/U_61Fly5KQI/AAAAAAAAGds/jPKHbGme_q0/s1600/mobilephones.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XKUlSP50SRM/U_61Fly5KQI/AAAAAAAAGds/jPKHbGme_q0/s1600/mobilephones.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red;">Mobile phones being charged at the generator. They LOVE</span></div>
<span style="color: red;"> f</span><span style="color: red;">acebook here</span><br />
<span style="color: red;"></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5m6V5tZL4QpO7xt5ozdXDe3BvEVA695RkwMl-M-HyzRsdmFLBCBVKo2T_KLvjtruCS9Bqx3YRv0BOZ1wR3_WrRQnUiLI1_PQOfec5-OUGu30PT8pCfMMPbyjOqjKvQla0VCxqtyo4Km-G/s1600/cooking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5m6V5tZL4QpO7xt5ozdXDe3BvEVA695RkwMl-M-HyzRsdmFLBCBVKo2T_KLvjtruCS9Bqx3YRv0BOZ1wR3_WrRQnUiLI1_PQOfec5-OUGu30PT8pCfMMPbyjOqjKvQla0VCxqtyo4Km-G/s1600/cooking.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red;"></span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red;">Lunch for the school being cooked. Many folks here have an </span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red;"> oven but electricity and gas are expensive so most times they </span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red;"> still cook over a fire.</span></span></span><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vtK2VVxItDE/U_62YjdYs9I/AAAAAAAAGd8/VBmvMcXfUR0/s1600/Hungrykids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vtK2VVxItDE/U_62YjdYs9I/AAAAAAAAGd8/VBmvMcXfUR0/s1600/Hungrykids.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red;"><o:p><span style="color: black; font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Lunchtime lineup at the canteen</span>.</span></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-l2f3Z1r1vtA/U_626WMJD1I/AAAAAAAAGeE/aCNH13zamT0/s1600/Schoolfixed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-l2f3Z1r1vtA/U_626WMJD1I/AAAAAAAAGeE/aCNH13zamT0/s1600/Schoolfixed.jpg" height="298" width="400" /></a><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p><o:p><span style="color: red;"></span></o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p><o:p><span style="color: red;">The school, all fixed up and new gear and roof. Pretty basic</span></o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p><o:p><span style="color: red;"> compared to what we are used to but it does the job</span></o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p><o:p></o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p><o:p></o:p></o:p></span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Serge:<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Serge is a Russian metallurgist that has
been living here for years. </span></span><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">His friend, Rhoda, is from Leyte. </span></span><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">She is the only one from her
family with work (it can be very hard to find a job here, and the work is often
long, difficult and dangerous. If you don’t have a good education here life can
be tough). She has pawned or sold all her possessions and borrowed money to help
her family. </span></span><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Her immediate family lost 4
members, happily 14 survived. Their dead family were just thrown into a
communal grave, which was heart wrenching because they could not say goodbye
properly. Even if they were given a chance to do this they just couldn’t, they
don’t have the means. It was essential to get bodies buried quickly to prevent
disease, but it is very sad. They couldn’t even give them a service as their
priest had died.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So Serge put out the call for
donations to help this family and their village. We gave him 50 family bags
from your donations to take with him. He also took cooking materials, a
generator and second hand clothes. His driver volunteered his time and they
used Serge's jeepny to transport the goods.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nwK4TiHTwNs/U_63VbDDrNI/AAAAAAAAGeM/-tAjPCsJRtc/s1600/jeepney1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nwK4TiHTwNs/U_63VbDDrNI/AAAAAAAAGeM/-tAjPCsJRtc/s1600/jeepney1.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbLPS_ANPoGhpkTC3f5VVlxkq3Y0MxcZ6tvbB3ohgVgVnoJt9HNWqW43bV8E3xYYhLKpVyeQEAk7Vl28mGjwO0YiAKhsxCwkRp4oOX23VoN9OqwJ0YfoNi9xmWqjVPNJwTP2X3WSFauGf9/s1600/jeepney2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbLPS_ANPoGhpkTC3f5VVlxkq3Y0MxcZ6tvbB3ohgVgVnoJt9HNWqW43bV8E3xYYhLKpVyeQEAk7Vl28mGjwO0YiAKhsxCwkRp4oOX23VoN9OqwJ0YfoNi9xmWqjVPNJwTP2X3WSFauGf9/s1600/jeepney2.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="color: red;"><o:p> FYI...These are jeepneys, a sort of small bus, lots of these here. </o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="color: red;"><o:p> The drivers are hugely proud of their rides and decorate them </o:p></span><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: red;"><o:p>beautifully.</o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="color: red;"><o:p></o:p></span><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: red;"><o:p>Filippinos are masters of stacking stuff on scooters and jeepneys. </o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The
relief run went very well, and in the end helped over 100 families in their village.
</span></span><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Serge
said that they either laughed or cried from joy, they thanked him continuously,
and asked him to thank you all on their behalf.</span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-O2-aEgIUSJE/U_64HOM3bzI/AAAAAAAAGec/OuAegwOFOIo/s1600/Rhoda%2Band%2BRicky.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-O2-aEgIUSJE/U_64HOM3bzI/AAAAAAAAGec/OuAegwOFOIo/s1600/Rhoda%2Band%2BRicky.jpg" height="297" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red;">Rhoda and Ricky</span></div>
<span style="color: red;"></span><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EhD3NNA7Brs/U_64dQE1ewI/AAAAAAAAGek/CJztoxDYoD4/s1600/isabella%2Bvillage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EhD3NNA7Brs/U_64dQE1ewI/AAAAAAAAGek/CJztoxDYoD4/s1600/isabella%2Bvillage.jpg" height="297" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red;"> Rhoda's village of Isabella</span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">The kids keep playing away, no worries</span></span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5DRDMTf9hTw/U_65aVH0o7I/AAAAAAAAGe0/IwxAGs0PsNg/s1600/kidsisa2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5DRDMTf9hTw/U_65aVH0o7I/AAAAAAAAGe0/IwxAGs0PsNg/s1600/kidsisa2.jpg" height="297" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Boys from Isabella</span></span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ih_Zql6Ksgk/U_66DL7eUoI/AAAAAAAAGe8/jvfJKK7q5Uo/s1600/Liningupforfood.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ih_Zql6Ksgk/U_66DL7eUoI/AAAAAAAAGe8/jvfJKK7q5Uo/s1600/Liningupforfood.jpg" height="297" width="400" /></a><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Lining up for food at Isabella</span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidmOm096XH14ZcDFj-GzuDaflYtNZYMZKNLxivfVdvgVhz2p9rWuu-6wTuJcIdwPWRpllK6pEaJj_6oNcRYd_qOS_nSrbXmlBpoCUgA-M3zvf_pf91Lx5buNu9MS9VMDr6Za9d2xAkF7ys/s1600/happyfaces2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidmOm096XH14ZcDFj-GzuDaflYtNZYMZKNLxivfVdvgVhz2p9rWuu-6wTuJcIdwPWRpllK6pEaJj_6oNcRYd_qOS_nSrbXmlBpoCUgA-M3zvf_pf91Lx5buNu9MS9VMDr6Za9d2xAkF7ys/s1600/happyfaces2.jpg" height="297" width="400" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red;"> Happy faces</span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcB6l-xQGJCPG4owaaSP5aQP6y_yVeb2qs6VoyvuW1G52gKwRTGfKmONxZJH8qHjyKXxdokbJrGy8bp7TYrJilNq4opgKYOnkQOlVUvkyQDDNpnXzw2dJj4Bai6pjcOMf_UVClJLL0DnSv/s1600/RodhasSisters.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcB6l-xQGJCPG4owaaSP5aQP6y_yVeb2qs6VoyvuW1G52gKwRTGfKmONxZJH8qHjyKXxdokbJrGy8bp7TYrJilNq4opgKYOnkQOlVUvkyQDDNpnXzw2dJj4Bai6pjcOMf_UVClJLL0DnSv/s1600/RodhasSisters.jpg" height="297" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red;">Rhoda's sisters</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0cMBHaRUsxmLVLLfwKIonA1j4sWx6z5RIx2TtRzR5k1W8Mgzb86eiaYtty4QuD0w2UOjtArrzBD-MiSrfx6CETI2ZM_9Zp34L7MTeOZKecmvV_G4f0vpU3W1DTkKP1Np24Gu0Kczzo_sV/s1600/Rhodasvillage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0cMBHaRUsxmLVLLfwKIonA1j4sWx6z5RIx2TtRzR5k1W8Mgzb86eiaYtty4QuD0w2UOjtArrzBD-MiSrfx6CETI2ZM_9Zp34L7MTeOZKecmvV_G4f0vpU3W1DTkKP1Np24Gu0Kczzo_sV/s1600/Rhodasvillage.jpg" height="297" width="400" /></a><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;">Rhodas village of Isabella, it’s a small village centred around the port.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0cMBHaRUsxmLVLLfwKIonA1j4sWx6z5RIx2TtRzR5k1W8Mgzb86eiaYtty4QuD0w2UOjtArrzBD-MiSrfx6CETI2ZM_9Zp34L7MTeOZKecmvV_G4f0vpU3W1DTkKP1Np24Gu0Kczzo_sV/s1600/Rhodasvillage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0cMBHaRUsxmLVLLfwKIonA1j4sWx6z5RIx2TtRzR5k1W8Mgzb86eiaYtty4QuD0w2UOjtArrzBD-MiSrfx6CETI2ZM_9Zp34L7MTeOZKecmvV_G4f0vpU3W1DTkKP1Np24Gu0Kczzo_sV/s1600/Rhodasvillage.jpg" height="297" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: small;">They had a lot of damage here.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></span></span><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: black;">Shimo:<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b><br />
</span></span></span></span><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri;"></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri;">Shimo is an electrical engineer from Leyte, his young wife and 2 children were caught in the typhoon, he went home on Tuesday to search for them. It took him 2 days before he found them, alive and well! He returned to work on Friday and went back to Leyte on Saturday so we gave him 50 family bags to take with him, which will keep his family going for a while.</span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wW3FirXh7wM/U_695vYQs4I/AAAAAAAAGfo/Gc01igl3AWM/s1600/Shimo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wW3FirXh7wM/U_695vYQs4I/AAAAAAAAGfo/Gc01igl3AWM/s1600/Shimo.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: red;"> This is Shimo, he rocks supercool cowboy boots on site</span><o:p></o:p></span><span style="color: black;"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"></span></span></o:p></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: black;">Allan and Conrado:<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: black;">Allan and Conrado are two brothers from Manila, their friend Rommel had his wife and 1 month old son in Bogo in northern Cebu. The town was almost wiped out by the typhoon, and the phones were out so he could not get in touch with anyone to find out if they were OK. Luckily Allan and Conrado were working with us in Toledo, they were helping pack supplies so they got a place on the first convoy up north. They stayed overnight in Bogo, and managed to find Rommel’s wife and child alive and well. They left them with some supplies and made their way back to Toledo to phone Rommel to give him the good news. They are riding the convoys when they can to deliver her more supplies.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3uYTwyNTKkA/U_6-d9hWUrI/AAAAAAAAGfw/5zQKXEd_hkA/s1600/allan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3uYTwyNTKkA/U_6-d9hWUrI/AAAAAAAAGfw/5zQKXEd_hkA/s1600/allan.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;">Allan in the white shirt, Conrado in the red, helping us pack supplies.</span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Meanwhile, run 2:<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">While all this was going on, we were still
collecting cash from home. I had been facebooking and emailing like mad and so
my Aussie friends gave us a bunch of money. By Friday we had enough cash to
borrow another truck and go shopping again! This time we managed to get over
300 families worth of supplies!</span></span><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SglkK_rVHeg/U_7BAxfjzbI/AAAAAAAAGf8/rSLMjkPudRU/s1600/ccc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SglkK_rVHeg/U_7BAxfjzbI/AAAAAAAAGf8/rSLMjkPudRU/s1600/ccc.jpg" height="298" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;">The CCC supplies, we added ours and helped bag them up again. So many people pulled together to get this done, it’s amazing. Even the prisoners in the jail voted to skip their lunches so that the food could go to typhoon victims.</span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IzVU_pO5Zvk/U_7BkddQfoI/AAAAAAAAGgE/OpTgCQVLNSg/s1600/bagging.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IzVU_pO5Zvk/U_7BkddQfoI/AAAAAAAAGgE/OpTgCQVLNSg/s1600/bagging.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red;">It’s not all hard work, myself and one of the pretty Carmen </span></span></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red;">Copper ladies bagging supplies.</span></span></span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-W8Fg3RTFD20/U_3I4z52gfI/AAAAAAAAGbE/mdSfYOEUkuw/s1600/bagging2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-W8Fg3RTFD20/U_3I4z52gfI/AAAAAAAAGbE/mdSfYOEUkuw/s1600/bagging2.jpg" height="298" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red;"><o:p><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"><o:p><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s not always pretty either... Mitch, Darren and Mark packing in the </span></span><br />
</o:p></span></span></o:p></span></span></span><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red;"><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">badminton courts. </span></span><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Philippines is very hot!</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red;"><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red;"><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: black;">Those supplies (5000 families worth in total!) went on two Carmen Copper trucks to Bantayan Island, off the northern tip of Cebu. My colleague Rene is from there, he was running the convoy to get some relief to the two main towns on the island, and also to his home village. Bantayan island was right in the eye of the storm and was really hammered. The boats started to run again Friday so we were focused on getting supplies in ASAP.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AXkOY7refrM/U_68EzP7z8I/AAAAAAAAGfg/R_tx6j4gJSA/s1600/BantayanIs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AXkOY7refrM/U_68EzP7z8I/AAAAAAAAGfg/R_tx6j4gJSA/s1600/BantayanIs.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"> A</span><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"><o:p>bove: a big nipa hut torn apart on Bantayan Island and below, </o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"><o:p>concrete houses fare better but still a lot of damage.</o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-P0O3EhRsi5Q/U_7DgDddJ0I/AAAAAAAAGgQ/FEmKW9N4fms/s1600/concretehouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-P0O3EhRsi5Q/U_7DgDddJ0I/AAAAAAAAGgQ/FEmKW9N4fms/s1600/concretehouse.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhih2DWIU9Hp-myE1zVxRNhzGmG1tiAoijAABPtxUOI92NpqrvvZoCYuCHWJw1TFc-GbnBYKAZtRD2jdZyFk9ckwXoVfKKnrLEE3nOYAL2AbmN0A3IPzKdKZ5_zOoksvMg-AYiffDv2H58f/s1600/fixinghouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhih2DWIU9Hp-myE1zVxRNhzGmG1tiAoijAABPtxUOI92NpqrvvZoCYuCHWJw1TFc-GbnBYKAZtRD2jdZyFk9ckwXoVfKKnrLEE3nOYAL2AbmN0A3IPzKdKZ5_zOoksvMg-AYiffDv2H58f/s1600/fixinghouse.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red;">Fixing someone's nipa house</span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VgBvuI1EVWo/U_7DzprVK3I/AAAAAAAAGgY/G8WXqGO9uKQ/s1600/home.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VgBvuI1EVWo/U_7DzprVK3I/AAAAAAAAGgY/G8WXqGO9uKQ/s1600/home.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red;"><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red;"><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Home sweet home for now</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3SocVL7Lyeg/U_7Gq7u7SXI/AAAAAAAAGgk/rzPTb0nYlK4/s1600/no%2Broof.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3SocVL7Lyeg/U_7Gq7u7SXI/AAAAAAAAGgk/rzPTb0nYlK4/s1600/no%2Broof.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red;"><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">These poor folk don't even have a roof and it's the </span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red;"><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">season for another two months!</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red;"><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FrfjpHsvOK8/U_7HRHXlWKI/AAAAAAAAGgs/lRkD_Y8ZCHA/s1600/Suppliesbantayan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FrfjpHsvOK8/U_7HRHXlWKI/AAAAAAAAGgs/lRkD_Y8ZCHA/s1600/Suppliesbantayan.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red;"><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red;"><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Handing out supplies</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red;"><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-loSvYowvOcA/U_7H0IkxNAI/AAAAAAAAGg0/jRuhd8yQMvg/s1600/firstaid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-loSvYowvOcA/U_7H0IkxNAI/AAAAAAAAGg0/jRuhd8yQMvg/s1600/firstaid.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red;"><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
</span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red;"><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p>This was the first aid these folks had seen since the </o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red;"><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
</span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red;"><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p>storm </o:p><o:p>8 days ago. they were really suffering.</o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red;"><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Xc2CZ_pePao/U_7Ie-U105I/AAAAAAAAGg8/gXNg5uaI8gI/s1600/Hungrykids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Xc2CZ_pePao/U_7Ie-U105I/AAAAAAAAGg8/gXNg5uaI8gI/s1600/Hungrykids.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<o:p>Hungry Island kids</o:p></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: black;">A final run:<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black;">I work 4 week shifts, and my time on this shift was drawing to a close, and I was set to return to Australia for a break. But, I still had time for one more truck load of food. This was where the Rukuhia School community really came through, as with the money that you and my NZ family and friends donated we managed to buy over 370 families’ worth of goods! This was our biggest shopping trip so far! We even had some change to give to my friends Mark and Nelly to help their village in Leyte. Big thanks to the Esteves family for all their help, and also to the Rukuhia school children who came up with fundraising ideas like the cake stall, toy sale, mufti day, and of course everyone who offered support and donated so generously to people who you’ve never met. I heard that Emi sold a chicken on Trademe and donated the money, and other children donated their pocket money…you guys have been so great. </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPp-g7xe-uiZa4VLhQjBEqC2UCq4D93xTKIe6QNxTL5YqIW8zj8lCeVJuA8LvajAMyQsWTGXkiD5-KMKbCdHwhNSekh9GDU-Ekl6sdEWST69Oq3RsgDgK003mmp94ph-THlatJHmQhmMEZ/s1600/cash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPp-g7xe-uiZa4VLhQjBEqC2UCq4D93xTKIe6QNxTL5YqIW8zj8lCeVJuA8LvajAMyQsWTGXkiD5-KMKbCdHwhNSekh9GDU-Ekl6sdEWST69Oq3RsgDgK003mmp94ph-THlatJHmQhmMEZ/s1600/cash.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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All your cash!</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--m4V0InWHFA/U_7MiRUcWXI/AAAAAAAAGhY/wDKEzN-iwjw/s1600/haulingrice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--m4V0InWHFA/U_7MiRUcWXI/AAAAAAAAGhY/wDKEzN-iwjw/s1600/haulingrice.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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Jayson hauling rice. Each sack is 50kgs</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-erhTkKBnkMs/U_7NOtjrBXI/AAAAAAAAGhk/s1rMJRJoX3s/s1600/carmencopper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-erhTkKBnkMs/U_7NOtjrBXI/AAAAAAAAGhk/s1rMJRJoX3s/s1600/carmencopper.jpg" height="298" width="400" /></a></div>
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Thank you so much! Your contributions helped a of of people</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UKPXpiBezJA/U_7N0IczKpI/AAAAAAAAGhs/VvknnthBKmc/s1600/Darren.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UKPXpiBezJA/U_7N0IczKpI/AAAAAAAAGhs/VvknnthBKmc/s1600/Darren.jpg" height="298" width="400" /></a></div>
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Chief rice-scooper Darren</div>
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Emma, Jayson and Pedra packing your goods</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Z7zLxqGdJU0/U_7Ojo74CcI/AAAAAAAAGh4/8A8fQMfWGFE/s1600/jobdone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Z7zLxqGdJU0/U_7Ojo74CcI/AAAAAAAAGh4/8A8fQMfWGFE/s1600/jobdone.jpg" height="298" width="400" /></a></div>
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Job done! Myself, Gilbert, Darren, Dianne, Ema, Pedra and Jayson</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--EVEcQbDteM/U_7PKGuKM9I/AAAAAAAAGiA/UhhUAdf8DOs/s1600/truck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--EVEcQbDteM/U_7PKGuKM9I/AAAAAAAAGiA/UhhUAdf8DOs/s1600/truck.jpg" height="298" width="400" /></a></div>
We packed all your goods up in our guesthouse, and then took them down to the Badminton courts to be loaded onto the Carmen Copper trucks.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uq56LLL1RT0/U_7PlP3HnhI/AAAAAAAAGiI/P0WXVhjS9x0/s1600/badcourt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uq56LLL1RT0/U_7PlP3HnhI/AAAAAAAAGiI/P0WXVhjS9x0/s1600/badcourt.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
The badminton courts in full swing<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--EVEcQbDteM/U_7PKGuKM9I/AAAAAAAAGiA/UhhUAdf8DOs/s1600/truck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--EVEcQbDteM/U_7PKGuKM9I/AAAAAAAAGiA/UhhUAdf8DOs/s1600/truck.jpg" height="298" width="400" /></a></div>
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The Carmen Copper truck loaded with supplies; yours included.</div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: black;">The run went great; they visited the northern Cebuano towns again and had no problems, everyone was so happy to see another convoy!<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: black;">Later, some good news from Australia:<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b><br />
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: black;">My boss asked me to write a report on the relief work we had been doing, so that he could talk to the company director about helping and b</span></span></span><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: black;">ecause of the generosity of my workmates, friends, family, and the Rukuhia School community, my company Outotec has matched all the donations that you have made, plus the donations folks in our company have made.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All up they gave $30,000, or about 5800 families worth of food. This is really great and has allowed us to help even more folks!<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: black;">So:<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></span></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: black;">So now I have almost finished my job here, I will soon be leaving for good. </span></span></span><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: black;">Its two months after Yolanda, and things are starting to look better. The big charities are well established in the area, aid from other countries and the Philippine government is now getting through. The roads are mostly cleared and life is getting better. Carmen Copper ran several more convoys sending family packs of rope, nails, cooking equipment, clothes and footwear so that people can start rebuilding their homes and their lives. Hundreds of thousands of people are still living in town halls and school gyms. Large parts of the country still have no power and no running water. There is still a long way to go! But the worst is over and things are looking up.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">All up, my friends, family, the site crew and the Rukuhia School community have raised enough cash to feed nearly 2000 families!<o:p></o:p></span></span> With your donations combined with Carmen Copper we have sent out 5 convoys of emergency food to various parts of the local area, with 12,000 family packs of food! Carmen Copper also sent out more convoys of building supplies in the following weeks. Outotec has given 5800 families a good meal. We’ve rebuilt and restocked the school in Nelly’s village, helped buy them a generator, and put some smiles on the kids faces. We’ve fed the families of Shimo and Rhoda.<o:p></o:p></span>
</span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="color: black;"></span></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="color: black;"></span></a><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: black;">What you guys have done has been an immense help to the people here, it’s hard to describe how much you’ve done. You’ve kept thousands of folks from starvation and disease in one of the worst disasters the world has ever seen. When the storm hit, and there was no food or water or support from the government, when these folks were at their most desperate, you guys stepped up and kept them going. You came through when they really needed it. Thank you all from myself and all my friends here, and also from all the folks you’ll never meet but who you have helped so much.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Andy</span> </div>
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David Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01882172661296160645noreply@blogger.com1