Audrey's childhood in Kerikeri
(Chap.7)

• I. High School in Auckland.
• II. Human Development.
• III. Catechism.
• IV. The Back Pew.
• V.Music Lessons.
• VI. Outings and Sports.
• VII. Writing Home.
• VIII. Problems with my hair.
• IX. Fifty years later.
• X. Bill the Sealyham.

It was decided that because David was starting Mt Albert Grammar school, in Auckland, I should be sent the Marist Convent nearby, in Alberton Avenue, so that David could be near his twin. Dad still thought that David might miss me, but I must say we weren’t close as twins go, because we were not together in a physical sense at Friends, and since 1946, I could say that we grew apart and went our own individual ways. Possibly if we had been sent to local day schools together it may have been different. Who knows? We both developed very differently; he was academically minded whereas I was the practical one so we were complete opposites.

The only time we came together through the term, was on the occasional weekend we would stay with friends of our parents, Mr Victor Macky and Mrs Edna Macky, and Mums dear friend Judith Terry. Judith was quite a well known figure in Auckland and was often on air with the national radio station 1YA. She lived at the end of Patiki Road in Avondale in a lovely old house in an orchard, and she and her son Penrod, were very kind to us.

The Macky’s lived at 144 Mountain Road in Mt Eden. I have never forgotten that address. Victor Macky (b.1887 d.1951) was a Public Accountant and Chairman of the Board of Governors for Mt Albert Grammar School. He played one match for New Zealand as an All Black. Edna was an American from Texas; a fascinating lady, but I embarrassed myself once because they were taking us for a drive around the waterfront, and for some unknown reason; I started speaking like her, with a Texas drawl! She roared with laughter.

They had a daughter called Willow who became well known in N.Z. with her musical compositions. Willow played the guitar very well and was a pretty girl, some twenty years older than us. I always thought she looked a lot like Judy Garland. We loved going to the Macky’s because they always entertained interesting people. Once the harpist, Winfred Harper I think was her name, from the National Orchestra, came to visit with her harps and she entertained us. At the back of their house was a fairytale wishing well and summer house. I wonder if it is still there?

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On my first day at Marist, I was in for a shock. I had not been told a thing about ‘human development’ or the facts of life, and no sooner had Mum left me with the nuns; I got my first period. I didn’t have a clue what was going on and ran to one of the nuns, Sister Loyola, to tell her I was bleeding from the bottom. She looked at me, with sympathy in her eyes I must add, and said, “This is completely normal and you will get that monthly!” She gave me a sanitary pad, and a belt to pin it to, and sent me on my way! That was my total education about anything in that department from any adult. The rest I picked up as the years rolled on. We had no sex instruction at all and it was a taboo subject within our family and I suppose in many other families.

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Before going to the Convent I had never heard of the Catholic religion and apart from seeing some Anglican nuns, during the war, at a service Dad took us to at St Mathews Cathedral in Auckland, I knew nothing about them. I remember those nuns very well because I kept turning around and staring at them. They fascinated me, but Dad was not fascinated with me and got quite angry! That was the only time I remember Dad ever darkening the doorway of a church.

Before going to Marist Dad told me I was not to do ‘bloody’ catechism.

Marist had about 100 children; consisting of primary, intermediate and secondary school children. There were some boys in the primary section but from intermediate upwards it was all girls and most of them boarded at the school. I was put into in Form 1 although it should have been Form 2 but because at Keri Keri I had learnt nothing they decided to keep me in Form 1 for another year. An Irish Sister called Sister Rita; was my form teacher and she wore owl-like glasses half way down her nose. Every morning the first class consisted of half an hour of catechism. On my first day of lessons Sister Rita said, “Please get your catechism books out of your desks”. My hand shot up, and when she asked me why I had my hand up, I answered, “My Daddy said I was not to learn bloody catechism!”

There was a stunned silence and Sister Rita looked more owl-like than ever, as her glasses nearly tumbled off her nose! All my fellow pupils sat and stared; some with grins on their faces, and I was promptly sent out of the room to visit the Mother Superior. Her name was Mother Francesca and a dear lady, however this shocked her and she rang Dad only to be told I was not to have catechism. I am sure if the nuns had known this, before I was enrolled, they would never have taken me in and I would have sadly missed the only two happy years of my entire schooling.

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Thank goodness they kept me at the school and instead of catechism, in the morning, I had music practise, however it was compulsory for everyone to attend daily Mass at 7am. We non-Catholics, about a dozen of us, sat alongside a nun in the back pew and at the end of every service, while the Catholics prayed a while longer; we took it in turns to set up breakfast in the school dining room.

Once one of the day pupils lent us a few ‘penny dreadful’s’ which fitted nicely within our Missals. These were usually romantic stories like Mills and Boon, and forbidden at the convent, along with various other books and newspapers. While the service was on we read them. We got away with it for a few while but my friend, Helen Tricket and I, were caught by Father O’Rielly. We hadn’t realised he had crept up behind our pew and peered over our shoulders!! When it came to the end of the service we left to get breakfast ready only to be confronted by a very angry Father O’Rielly. Our punishment was to write out lots of Shakespearian verses which were often used as a punishment, and to this day I am not too keen on Shakespeare.

Religion was a major part of the school because not only did we have to go to 7 0’clock Mass every morning, we also had prayers before every class; The Angelus was recited at midday, and twice a week; Wednesday evenings and Sunday evenings, we had Benediction. In spite of no catechism, I did learn a lot about the Catholic religion and rather enjoyed it, particularly the Benediction service with the smell of incense; the candles; the fresh flowers flowing from huge vases, and the beautiful embroidered copes the priests wore; all added to a feeling of festivity about the Service. High Mass bored me out of my brain and I won’t go into the chants we had to sing at times. However aside from all the religion, the Nuns were very kind to me and excellent teachers because they always found the time, and patience, to listen to our many queries we may have regarding our lessons.

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I had started learning the piano at the Friends School but it wasn’t until I attended Marist, that I really learned to play properly. The head Music teacher was a marvellous old nun called Mother Ethelbert who took no prisoners if you’d not practised between lessons! One of her star pupils was from Mt Albert Grammar; a lad by the name of Ashley Lawrence (b.1934 d.1990). He did very well in England in later years and the London Times described Lawrence as one of the finest practitioners among ballet conductors.

When you demonstrated to Mother Ethelbert, what you had achieved since her last lesson, she would sit behind you tatting beautiful tablecloths, but if she didn’t have that in her hands it would be a small bamboo cane. She used that on me once. She had a thing about lifting your hands while playing the piano and if you flattened them she would give you a sharp tap up to your palms, thus one soon learned pretty quickly not to be lazy with your hands! Once a year we all sat certificates either through the Royal Schools of Music, or The London Trinity College. I got as far as my senior certificate.

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Every summer, all the boarders had a picnic at Little Oneroa on Waiheke Island. We would travel over on the ferry ‘Baroona’ and walk over to Little Oneroa. No houses there then and, on one trip, someone let us ride his horse on the beach. Another place we used to go to was in Swanson, Henderson, and it was called Knock-na-gree. It was mainly used for a retreat but also catered for other occasions. We would stay there for about five days. Some of our Catholic friends would go into retreat while the rest of us did lessons, and when it was playtime, Knock-na-gree had a couple of canoes and we would muck around with these in the creek that ran through the area. It was like a summer camp and we all enjoyed the break from the Convent.

During the year, we played sports on the Saturday which, in the winter, was mostly basketball with other convent schools throughout Auckland. The main courts were Basketball courts next to the St Peters Boys College, in Khyber Pass. At St Peters, the boys from other Catholic schools played Rugby and we girls, if we weren’t playing, would go up the hill from the courts, to ogle the boys playing football! I do remember one lad from Sacred Heart, Barry Erceg, and he was a good -looker! All the girls were after him and he would often come over and have a chat to me because I knew him through travelling on the train, from the north each term, He boarded the train at Paparoa. I would suddenly have lots of ‘friends’ when they saw him strolling over! I must add he was a very nice polite young lad and quite frankly, at our age, we were all just good friends.

Summer sports were mainly tennis and swimming and I think we had a hockey team but I didn’t play that until I was at Northland College. Sister Xavier, who taught us tennis, was an excellent tennis player and in spite of the long skirted habit (Nuns clothing) she wore, she was a picture to watch when she played a game. How she never tripped up I will never know! On Sundays we’d go for walks all over Auckland. Mt Eden was a favourite and also going over to Ponsonby to the other Marist school. I think it was called Trinity School. We used to walk up the ‘Bullock track” beside the Western Springs stadium, to get there, and on a hot day that could be tough! There was no spreading out and doing your own thing. We had to stay strictly in pairs behind each other in a line known as ‘walking in crocodile’. We were all ranked into classes with the seniors and a nun leading, and another nun at the back, following the juniors.

One day we went to visit the Little Sisters of the Poor. They were a wonderful organisation who looked after the poor and sick old people. They had a small hospital and we were all given a small posy of flowers to give to the old dears, and then we sang some songs. I remember the day vividly because I was the only non-Catholic out of the thirty or so girls .We were forming up into crocodile, before leaving, and 'The Good Mother' as the Mother Superior of this organisation is called, beckoned me over. When I approached her she asked me if I would like to join her organisation when I leave school! I will never forget the absolute astonishment on Sister Xavier’s and Sister Jones’s faces, when they tried to explain to the Good Mother that I wasn’t of their faith! Bless the Good Mother she wasn’t to know. I must have been a very pious looking girl!

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Every weekend, time was allotted to write letters to our parents. One day I mislaid my pen and Sister Damien told me it would be alright to write home in pencil. All our letters were censured going in and out of the school. About a week later I was in class and received a message that I was to go over and see Mother Francesca. When I arrived at her office Sister Damien was also there and in her hand was a letter from Dad. She told me, that although she didn’t want to give it to me she had to, because parent’s letters cannot be held back. I read it and was shocked at the anger and the rudeness in the letter just because I had written to him in pencil. I was also deeply ashamed of my Father for writing such things particularly when I was sure he knew the Sisters read all incoming mail. After I had read it, Sister Damien tore it up and helped me compose a letter the following week, without alluding to that awful one I had received.

Once a term Dad and Mum, and many other parents, would send cases of fruit for us all and this would be dealt out for afternoon tea. The meals were quite good and I think by this time rationing had finished, although, I do remember lots of tripe for the main meal. Many of my friends wouldn’t eat it but I would scoff mine down plus theirs however today I would be quite happy never to see tripe again!

Lots of girls didn’t like Sister Damien but she was my favourite, because after the letter episode, I could approach her if I had any worries, however when it came to going home for the school holidays I was uncontrollable, and to this day, I can still see the nuns forcing me onto the train while I screamed and yelled telling them I didn’t want to go home! I have never been homesick again from the age of twelve.

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In the first term of 1952 one of the girls cut my long hair short. I went home for the May holidays and as soon as Dad saw me he said, “That is the end of the Convent for you!” I was devastated because I hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye to my many friends at Marist. I have seen a couple since but where are Mary and Helen Tricket; Laurel Purden; Lurline Johnson and my very good Tongan friend, Cecelia Faletau? I guess it is far too late to find them now.

I visited the Convent a few times in later years but gradually the Sisters I admired so much , either moved to other Convents or passed on, and hopefully gone to heaven, so eventually there was no-one for me to visit. I believe the school has changed beyond recognition now and there are no more Sisters teaching there.

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I did have an extraordinary thing happen to me, about 50 years later, which I will relate here because it pertains to Marist. I was working in Oxford, England, as the Dining Hall Manager in an Oxford College. It was conference time. Because we were not allowed to smoke indoors I went outside and sat on a chair to have my little ‘puff’. While musing over my smoke, a lady called Louise Gibbs, who was attending a conference, strolled by. She stopped and asked if I was from N.Z. because she also came from there. We got chatting about N.Z. and when she said she used to live in Mt Eden I casually said I knew that area quite well, because we used to walk there, from my old school in Mt Albert.

She asked what school was that. When I told her she was incredulous. Her mother Betty Brown also went there and was a boarder. I asked what year, but I couldn’t remember her. Unfortunately she lost her Mother when she was 16 and wanted to know more about what Marist was like in those days, in order to help her have an idea about her mother’s history. I told her of my own experiences and how I loved the school. Fortunately, over the years, I had kept three of the old school magazines, ‘Marista’, so promised to bring them into College the next day.

I gave them to her at the breakfast table, the following day, and half an hour later she was walking on air. Although I couldn’t remember Betty, there were many photos of her in the Marista’s, picturing her in the basketball team etc. and they were pictures Louise had never seen. We have kept in touch with each other sporadically, and before coming back to New Zealand I gave those magazines to her. I felt she deserved them more than I did and I knew she would treasure them. I am sure those Sisters ‘upstairs’ had something to do with this episode! Isn’t it strange that Louise and I, should meet 50 years later; 12,000 miles away from Marist, at the back of an Oxford college kitchen!

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I must add a few notes on the dog Bill, proper name William we had in Keri Keri. I remember the day in 1949 that Dad, Mum and I went to Otiria to collect him from the train. He was a little furry Sealyham and his ears were supposed to lap over but not him! We maintain they stood erect so that it could listen to the family rows. Dad made him a one man dog to everyones despair. But I do remember some funny moments.

When he bit me was one instance. Julia was getting the cows in for milking and David was home. Dad and Mum were out. I went into the kitchen and bent down to pat Bill. He snarled and took a piece out of my cheek and upper lip. I still bear the scars today. David got a bandage and told me to hold the end on the bitten parts and then told me to turn around, while he let the roll of bandage, unroll. I landed up with bandage from my eyes to my neck!

I left the house to help Julia with the cows and as soon as she saw me she went into cowboys and Indians pose. I don’t think I will ever forget her bending over and whooping like a red Indian while, while what I would call, stomping her legs! (Playing Cowboys and Indians were all the rage. For a time we used Bamboo arrows with rusty nails at the point, however that game was banned after I shot away a good shot over the new power lines and at the same time, Julia got into my arrow landing zone! It landed in her thigh and I guess she still has the scar)

Bill had to go ‘runabouts’ every day and he never wanted to come home so we would be sent out to find him. One day he got under Maraea and Kenny’s house and David just couldn’t get him out. Fortunately David had his B.B. rifle with him and Maraea suggested he should send a pellet into the dratted dog. After some consideration David fired a pellet and the dog shot home like a bullet (Pardon the pun) David was very worried, but after Maraea told him Dad was hardly going to look up the dogs bum to look for the pellet if she and he kept their mouths shut, he then went home! How do I know about it? Maraea told me years later!

Another time it chased a cat into a drain which was under the nearby road. The cat escaped out of the other end but not Bill. Dad had to ask Kenny and his friends, to dig up the whole road to get it out! Don’t get me wrong I love animals but that one was an exception to the rule, and I must admit I had dark thoughts about dog suffocation the day that dog got stuck in the drainpipe! Bill lived until well into his teens and we were glad to see the back of him, particularly Mum who had to deal with it full time!

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