Otago Born & Bred: April 2015

Monday, April 27, 2015

To the Emerald Isle

Aran Isle Farm-house

Our trip to Ireland in 1984 was more than a tourist choice. It was a real attempt to visit the birthplaces of our ancestors in Cork and Sligo. But little did we realize just how much the whole month in the Republic would endear us to the Irish people, and what great memories we still have of that green and pleasant land.

We had flown from NZ to Greece, where we lived for three weeks on Skiathos before travelling overland via Volos, Trikkala, Meteora and Corfu, where we activated our Eurail passes. These took us to Italy, Switzerland, Austria and France, and so on the last day of the passes we boarded a ship at Le Havre bound for Ireland.

Dolmen at Carlow

When I first met my wife Norah's parents, Charlie and Isa Donald, I imagined that they were both totally Scottish, judging from their accents and the stories of their birth and young life in Glasgow, but little I knew about her mother's interesting history and lineage. Her father was John Orange, probably from Londonderry originally, and her mother Elinor Murphy, the oldest of a Cork family. So to say that Norah was half-Irish and half-Scottish is as correct as you can be, for her whole maternal side is from Cork, and her paternal side Donalds of the Isles.

The Old Cork Asylum

In the early 1890s, Hanora and Timothy Murphy moved to Glasgow, where the youngest of their children were born, and when Elinor was hardly a teenager. But she was to die when only 20, leaving her only child, the 2-year-old Isa, who was then brought up by her grandparents Hanorah (aka Norah) and Tim. Isa was loved and treated by that family as one of their own, as indeed she was, and her uncles, more like brothers in age, would look out for her and protect her no matter what. She always said she felt safe in the Gorbals, and everyone knew her. Her father, John Orange, was a seaman, who in later years took up his mother's maiden name of Laverty, which even appears on his funeral record. Isa often accompanied her grandmother back to Cork on holidays, and Hanora actually died there around 1910.

From Killarney to the Gap of Dunloe

My paternal grandmother Sarah Tooey came from Sligo to NZ around 1880 “into service”, and spent the rest of her life in Dunedin. So though we were bound for Cork and Sligo as essential calling-places, we went north to Dublin to begin our Irish ramble. We may have imagined it, but from that very first day Norah seemed to be accepted and recognized as Irish, people often being surprised to learn that she was a New Zealander. We must have walked miles around Dublin in those first few days, and one of the wonderful days we spent watching the grand final of Gaelic Football at Croke Park. We had invited an Australian girl to join us, and she knew nothing about the game, except that it was something like Australian Rules. Two friendly locals stood right behind us, and focussed their attentions on our attractive companion, explaining in detail every move on the pitch. The ground was sold out, and reminded us of the boisterous Lancaster Park crowds back home.

Our next aim was Waterford, and a possible visit to the crystal factory. We had bought in NZ Irish Rambler tickets, which gave us prepaid travel on any bus or train in the country. We had heard that Carlow, on the way to Waterford, was the locale of an ancient dolmen, and there we alighted, leaving our luggage at the station and walking .. walking .. walking.. the several kilometres to Browne's Dolmen, and it was well worth the effort. On the way back we were treated to a first-hand view of that marvellous Irish contest, where the contestants throw underarm a solid ball from point to point across country, the winner being the thrower who gets there in the smallest number of throws. We had seen a demonstration in our own backyard by an Irish friend a few years before when his underarm throw of an old tennis ball almost caved in the door of our toolshed! It is done with some kind of timing like karate, and it is almost impossible to believe the speed they generate.

We eventually got to Waterford, the home town of one of our best friends, and so enjoyed our factory tour. We bought three beautifully cut decanters, and trusted the factory people to freight them home to our family, which they did without fault.

The Rock of Cashel

And so to Cork, of which we had heard so much from Norah's mother, where we settled in to a B & B on Military Hill, very much in that part of the city known in the 19th century by Norah's Murphy ancestors. Further up the hill we found Gardner's Hill and the Old Youghal Road, even closer to where they all lived. Another happy discovery in Cork was Kelly's Kitchen, in one of the main streets, where we joined masses of the ordinary people at lunch on long tables with white cloths. It was a great working-class restaurant, where you could sit beside anyone, and enjoy not only the wholesome meal, but as well the lively chat and conversation that seems typical of this country. One woman we met more than once had explained that she worked “at the macket”, and hoped that we would visit her there in the street later in the week. That we did, and got two huge red apples for our pains. She was delighted that we had thought her important enough to seek out, and so she was.

Sunday, April 12, 2015

Lloyd Upton: Au Revoir, Mon Ami

Ladies and gentlemen, friends and family of Lloyd, I am proud to have been asked to share with you some of my memories of a cherished friend and colleague. I first met Lloyd at a teachers' refresher course, when he was teaching in Nelson, and I was impressed by the clarity of his perception of the statements of others. As a mutual friend has said, Lloyd could always see the ambiguities before other people had understood the literal meaning.

(Standing at right: Lloyd Upton)

My love for French, born as it was by the great work of a wonderful teacher, was rekindled in my friendship with Lloyd. That teacher's name was Ivan Garden, who taught me French from age 12 to age 16, using the audio-visual approach so dear to Lloyd's heart also. On our first day with Monsieur le jardin, he entered the classroom, saying ,"Bonjour mes élèves." When we didn't understand, he went out, and re-entered with "Bonjour mes élèves ", then wrote it in French on the blackboard. Then he said it again, followed by "Bonjour M. Le Professeur."

He then proceeded to speak to us in French for the next five years. He gave us French names. I was Monsieur la gelee. Trevor Bridges was Monsieur Le Pont Mr Garden was years ahead of his time. Imagine my delight when I came across him again when my own children attended Burnside High School, who had employed him as a relieving teacher when he was about 80 years old.

A lovely memory described by Lloyd involved his older son Marc when he was very young, less than 5. Lloyd was chasing him to get him ready for bed, and Marc cried out as he fled out the front door of 15 Bryndwr Rd, "Au revoir, Papa!" But he immediately spied his little neighbour by the fence, and shouted out," G'day. How are you?"

The children of Cecile and Lloyd were, and no doubt still are, beautifully bilingual, and what a treasure that is. They will never forget their loving parents, nor will they undervalue either of their two languages.

(From left: Melva Doran, Norah Jelley, Cecile Upton)

Another abiding memory of Cecile's family relates to our brief stay in Brive-la-Gaillarde in France. I called Cecile's family in a nearby town, only to discover that a senior member, probably Cecile's father, was at the point of death, or maybe had just died. I believe I spoke to Cecile's brother, who, when I suggested I speak in French, said. "No, you speak in bad French and I will speak in bad English." So you see I am still doing it.

But you have heard enough from me. I know that you all share my sorrow at his passing, and my real pride in knowing and remembering him. Merci, mon ami.

Friday, April 03, 2015

Norah (1925-2015)

Norah and I first met in January 1951, when we were both selected to run for Otago against Canterbury in Christchurch. She wondered who this Jelley guy was, as he had never run for Otago before. In fact Hawkes Bay-Poverty Bay later claimed me to run for them in the NZ Championships 3-mile.   I had been running for Dannevirke Harriers for three years.   We both won our events at Christchurch, and noticed each other for the first time.

That year, 1951, was an exciting one for both of us. Our mutual attraction and friendship blossomed, and our Saturday nights to movies and to dances helped us both to realise that getting married might be the very best idea.   There were times when we danced to tunes like "It's the Loveliest Night of the Year" so happily and so much in love, that we often had to escape the dance hall to enjoy each other's company alone, and usually in the open air.    Norah was club captain of the champion athletic club Otago Ladies, as well as a crucial member of the 4 x 100 yd relay team which set a NZ record in 1948, a time which stood for nearly three seasons.   Again we both travelled in the Otago team, this time to Oamaru, where Norah had run previously, to the North Otago Championships.   On this occasion we knew each other much better than on the previous occasion, and came back to Dunedin by train, as a recognized couple in the eyes of the other team members.

I once asked Norah whether she had ever considered living in the country, and she wanted to know why I would ask such a question.   My thinly disguised purpose was to tell her that some country schools had teacher's residences, and while it wasn't quite a proposal as such, she recognised it as one, and hoped that I would ask her father to approve of the idea.   We didn't consider that her father's approval was required as it might have been in years gone by, but I did tell him one night that we were hoping to marry in December, and what would he think about that.    The Glaswegian was delighted, and he set out to tell the world. Norah really appreciated his being asked.     Norah being a coat machinist and her sister Isobel a trouser machinist, they were looking forward to making their father a new suit for the wedding, and so they did, and superlatively well.

I did a lot of running that year, much of it from the Donalds' house in Corstorphine to the Jelley house in Mornington, and my best performances were recorded on track and cross-country.   Norah's sisters, Isobel and Mary, were self-appointed bridesmaids, my best man was Lloyd Swanson, who had been at Teachers' College with me, during which time we did holiday work in the tobacco fields of Riwaka, and biked home to Dunedin on bikes which had exactly one gear each.   Mine was my brother Charlie's original racing bike, on a fixed gear.   Any track cyclist will know how hard that must have been riding up the Motueka Valley and over Lewis Pass.   The groomsman was a young St Kilda runner whom I had been coaching, Warren Cooper, later to be better known as a Cabinet Minister and Mayor of Queenstown. I had promised him that if he did at least half of the training I was doing, he would make the Otago cross-country team in August. He simply did not believe that, but did the work, made the team, and came 5th in the junior Nationals at Wingatui.

We didn't allow our Motueka honeymoon to interrupt our running training, and a few weeks later I decided to challenge Norah over 100 yards for the family title. We held the event on the Caledonian Ground, with a proper starter, judges and finishing tape. I was so confident of my speed at the end of distance races that I thought I could probably mow her down in time to win. However, she got such a fine start that she had about five yards on me before I was into my stride, and all I saw of her after that was her back. She still held the 5-yard advantage at the tape.

House-hunting had not been at all rewarding, so we settled for my Mum's Ocean View crib, which had no kitchen or laundry as we now know them. Norah did so well at managing that little place, that we stayed there for 17 months, until I scored a country school with a house, at Whitecliffs, Canterbury. Our daughter Denise had been born in December 1952, and we had the doubtful asset of our old Oakland car, which used to boil over on the way to town, before it got to Lookout Point. We travelled to South Malvern (Whitecliffs) in the Oakland, with our lovely little 5-month old daughter. When we arrived, our bedroom furniture and old lounge suite had arrived before us, and the School Committee men had set them all up, and already warmed the house. Our bedroom was the one they chose for us, and it was a good choice. It was a cold old villa with a long linoleum-clad passage, but for us it was our first house, and we made the best of it. Denise learned to slide up and down the passage, as this was more effective than crawling.

South Malvern was a sole-charge school, with up to 34 pupils of all ages. That is the hardest work I have ever done. (See earlier blog on those years)

When Denise was two, our son Kevin made his presence felt, and he arrived in August, with Norah feeling quite glad that she hadn't been pregnant through the hot, dry Whitecliffs summer. We both used our bikes, especially when the Oakland had disappeared, and sometimes went as far as Coalgate 4 miles away, with the kids in little seats on the bikes. On one of these occasions, Denise as a 4-year-old planted a named tree in the Schools Plantation. This is now a forest, with individual trees unrecognizable. The constant stress of a big sole-charge was taking its toll, and led me to apply for 2-teacher schools, the one I secured being Stillwater Junction, on the West Coast. My assistant teacher there was a 22-year-old Rugby winger, tennis player, and fine pianist John Patrick, who has become a lifelong friend. John and I would sometimes meet at the tennis court at 6 am on a summer morning, and play till 8 before school.

Our schoolhouse was a new bungalow, which had been occupied only a year or two by the outgoing teacher, and Norah found it such a lovely, modern, comfortable home.

While we were there we bought a middle-aged Ford Prefect, which we drove to Dunedin one holiday without staying a night anywhere in between. Denise started school at Stillwater, and would say Goodbye to Daddy when he went to school, only to join in with her peers later to say Good Morning Mr Jelley in the typical sing-song fashion. Before Denise turned five, Norah would take both children into Greymouth in the bus, have lunch in town, and return before school was out. She was a great caring mother who thought of nothing but the good and welfare of her family. I will always be grateful to her for that, and feel fortunate to have met her in the first place.

At Stillwater, as well as at Whitecliffs, we played a lot of tennis, and the Blog story entitled Geometry Lesson, is about the Stillwater tennis court. Families we got to know through tennis particularly included the Moffitts, the Fensoms, and the Bankses. Cliff Moffitt was the local storekeeper, who delivered for miles around, including to Moana, Nelson Creek and the Grey Valley, and he and I played quite a bit of tennis ball golf on the schoolhouse lawn. When we eventually moved to Christchurch, mainly to ensure better educational and vocational futures for our kids, Cliff told me I was crazy. I don't believe we were.

I was appointed to Elmwood Normal in May 1959, and when Kevin was old enough to start school, our local Kendal School had not yet opened. So I took him to Elmwood, and Norah would bike or bus there at 2 pm to pick him up. It was a busy time, but again it was Norah's thorough care and attention to her children's welfare which got us through it successfully.

We lived in that Charlcott St house for 30 years, and while I was finishing degree work and working full-time, Norah did absolutely everything in the home and in the garden, and it was a lovely, welcoming place to come to. I repeat that I was fortunate to be sharing life with her at such a crucial time in the lives of Denise and Kevin. When we went to UK on a study tour which I had organized from work, Denise was working and living in Worcester UK, and Kevin came with a friend to see a bit of Europe. We all met together in London, where we secured a flat for Kevin and his mate the day before they arrived. Denise then took him up to Worcester for a weekend. It was a happy occasion.

We then helped to re-draft the plans of a new house in Maidstone Rd behind the Waimairi Rd shops. We made the whole house one metre wider than it was on the plan, transforming it into an excellent roomy retirement home. However, the night-time noise from the service lane, and a loud music problem from next door made us think again, and so we shifted to an even better home here in Parklands. Also, since 1980, we have enjoyed the marriages of Denise and Kevin to fine young people, Ian McGregor and Suzanne O'Brien, with whom we have got on magnificently. For about 30 years they have all gathered at our place for Xmas tea, and they have done the work to free up Norah completely. Each couple produced a son and a daughter, and these four grand-children have been a joy to us. This quite old photo is about the only one which shows Norah with her four grand-children in the 90s.

Norah has always been a family person. She not only loved her own children, their spouses and their children, but also kept up a permanent loving interest in her own brother and sisters and their families. The younger of her two sisters Mary, suffered from the onset of hydatids at a time when it had been almost eradicated in NZ, but was harmed and weakened by it for 38 years before she died in 2005 while still managing Southland Radio. The middle sister Isobel and Norah were extremely close, and in their sporting years in Dunedin, practically inseparable. They have kept their close relationship intact, and on our fridge to this day, there is a magnet message which says, "There's no friend like a sister, and no better sister than you," They would both have agreed with that.

Norah died peacefully in hospital on the day before her 90th birthday in February 2015, and I had been with her just hours before. She had been full of energy then as she berated the nurses for trying to get a line into her arm. But apparently she calmed right down in the early morning, and closed her eyes for the last time. A heart event, probably caused by poor blood flow, was the apparent cause, and did not seem to have awakened her. When we married, we said something like, "Love, honour and cherish, till death us do part."
And for 63 years, that promise has been kept. What a treasured memory!