I’ve been writing, developing and directing new plays in the UK for many years now, so it’s with considerable excitement that I find myself directing a short play in New Zealand for the first time since 1976.
I’d heard of the Short & Sweet Festival and duly did the google thing, sent in a brief list of directing and dramaturgical work and was delighted to be asked to join the festival. The next thing that happened was the arrival of a zip file containing 28 ten minute plays to be read. My task was to choose five plays and list them in order of preference and to my surprise my first choice came back to me.
Judith Cowley
In the Pound by Judith Cowley spoke to me so strongly that whichever way round I arranged my list of five plays, this one always came out at number one. Another google and I found that Judith has just completed the MA in Script Writing from the International Institute of Modern Letters, Victoria University, Wellington. Here’s what she wrote at the beginning of the course.
My family have always been story-tellers. A family motto could be ‘Don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story.’ Although my head was filled with stories, I avoided the call to write for years. The call, like a determined suitor, didn’t give up. I gave him many excuses. I am too busy, too tired. I have to have a real job. It is not my forte. He waited, watching from the other side of the dance floor.
A year ago I fell over a cliff. My injuries were minor, scratches and mild concussion. But the fall woke me up. When the call to write next came, I took his hand and said, ‘Let’s dance.’
In the Pound is indeed a dance. The ties that once held Bevan and June have broken. The characters dance around their emotions which rise and fall as they argue, laugh and cry. Can Bevan charm his way back with memories of the good times or will their failure as parents win out?
It’s a privilege to be directing this first play by a new writer, because I know Judith is going to be an important voice in New Zealand’s cultural future.
Sheena Irving & Mike Howell play June & Bevan
Casting actors is always a tense time. Will I get the right ones? Will they be available? Short & Sweet organised audition sessions according to age so I went to two, Men over 40 and Women over 35. It was slightly strange; directors sitting in a row watching actors come in, introduce themselves and perform a monologue. Ahi, the co-ordinator got them to do the monologue in a different way, to show off versatility and ability to take direction. There weren’t many actors, but amazingly the two I needed turned up. I offered and they accepted. We are now in the rehearsal process, delighting in Judith’s characters and dialogue. Everything we need to know is in the text and we’re all looking forward to the performances.
The way it works is that there are two groups of plays. In the Pound plays in week one and if we get enough votes from the audience, we will join the best of week two on the Gala Night.
Here’s how you can help.
If you are in Auckland, book ticketsfor any date in week one & vote for In the Pound.
If you know anyone in Auckland or nearby, forward and share this post.
Visit the Short & Sweet Facebook Page . In the Pound will soon have it’s own page with info, pix and stuff (if I can manage the technology).
I’m being environmental today, car sharing with my neighbour Sue and I’ve got the job of navigating. She says with an ironical twinkle in her eye that it’s because men are better at map reading, but I think it’s more likely to be that she is driving.
My Entry Badge matches my outfit
We re-pin our hand made tickets to ourselves and set out to find Mary James in Ostend. The wrong address is printed on the brochure but by continuing over the hill, the tell-tall red ball on a stick comes into view. Mary has a brand new portacabin facing the road. There’s a blue planter at the door with a vibrant blue flower itching to be painted. Sure enough, inside is the beginning of such a work. Her Nikau palm in particular caught my eye. In Surfdale we find Miranda Hawthorn and her collection of sea-birds and other animals. I’d seen her work at the Red Shed last year and enjoyed her sense of humour – Gulls fighting over a $100 note or a Faberge Egg. Sue wanted to know about the water-based oil paints she uses and came away with a list of useful colours to start off with. Across the Island is Penny Ericson, looking over Palm Beach from a spectacular house and garden that apparently goes all the way down to the sea. Her speciality is ceramic row-boats with a set of oars and Waiheke on the stern. She also does print on pottery before it is fired. This requires a reverse printed photocopy which is then imprinted on the clay. Best of all are her hanging bird feeders for the garden, featuring brightly coloured glazes. We visit a couple of places which I saw on Saturday before ending up at Jane Zusters’ spectacular open plan house surrounded by Kanuka trees. Jane is an activist and although her colourful abstract work makes a splash on the huge double storied wall, it’s her black and white photos of feminist pro-abortion demonstrations in Christchurch which grab my attention. There is the record here of what the city looked like in the seventies. She’s also made a film protesting about the encroaching dairy industry onto the unique and environmentally sensitive McKenzie Country.
It’s almost time for the wine and cheese soiree at the Community Art Gallery, but we have to hang around until just before 5 when the doors are opened. Many of the artists have contributed work and in particular there is to be an auction of ‘Round tuits’ later. We grab a drink and enjoy sampling the excellent selection of cheeses.
Day 3 Monday
The Plastic Champagne Flute Tree
There are a few artists left on my list so I set out after lunch, starting at Calais Terrace. Ann Skelly’s work is fascinating.
Walking up the drive-way, there are installations in the shrubbery made from recycled plastic, which prepare me somewhat for what is in store. The vibrant red circular paintings of Pohutukawa are completely stunning and seem to have a three dimensional quality. Then there is the wearable art: a gown made from green plastic water bottles, another from polystyrene and a hamburger which might be reclassified as edible art.
Ann Skelly’s Studio
Ann shows me her mermaid tail, made for her by a merman from the US. She’s pretty good at holding her breath and I offer tips on butterfly drills, which might be useful when she’s swimming with it in the sea. Further along the road is Linda Youngwho incorporates movement into her shots so the blurred result is impressionistic.
Linda Young
She prints onto brushed aluminium and corrugated iron. There’s a fantastic shot of a sunken wooden boat where movement of the water is created by the corrugations. Right at the end of the road and down by Anzac Bay is Lois Simpson’s Boatshed Gallery.
Lois Simpson’s Boatshed
We have a great time talking about maps and how she ‘prints’ them onto her paintings, using a similar technique to Penny Ericson. Daisy Solomon is a delightful last visit. She’s also relatively new to Waiheke and has some powerful portraits of women in red portraying different emotions.
Daisy Solomon
It’s her latest idea which really catches my eye. She’s combining paint and collage made from magazine print. She’s feverishly working on a girl paddling in the surf. Daisy tells me she is using The Weekender for this because the blue they use for the ferry timetable is perfect for the sea and the white portrays the surf. Look out for this painting in the next group show at the gallery.
I never really understood why we celebrate QE II’s birthday at this time, when it’s not really her birth date. Probably the actual day is inconvenient for the spread of holidays. The upshot is that we have three days to explore the variety of artists who live and work on this island and there are 40 open studios and galleries to choose from. Its $15 to get the map and entry badge, each one individually made from recycled fabric and beer bottle tops. There’s also a wine and cheese soiree included on the Sunday.
Church Bay Sheep grazing
I study the artists and mark those I’m interested in and set about creating a systematic route. It’s a stunningly clear day as I arrive outside the studio/house of Gabriella Lewenz on the west end of the island, overlooking Church Bay. Sheep (a rare sight now in New Zealand) graze safely on the hillside, back-dropped by the sea. I’ve timed my start for 10am but there’s no one about as I enter the high airy studio.
Gabriella’s Studio
You can’t rush abstract art and Gabriella’s sea inspired work gradually draws me in. My attention turns to a work in earthy tones, standing out from the crowd of blue.
Card by Gabriella Lewenz
These are pictures you can live with, stress busting after a hard day at the office, they demand space to breath. I want to buy a card and fortunately Gabriella arrives. We get into a conversation about the art galleries of Boston, where she studied and I leave just as the next visitors arrive. Barbara Robinson is on the way back to Oneroa. An art teacher from Christchurch, she finds inspiration from the earthquake and Waiheke. She’s brought her father’s South Island landscapes with her to create some remarkable collages by cutting them up and rearranging them to reflect both places. It may sound sacrilegious, but her father’s work has had new life breathed into it.
Barbara Robinson and collages
On the other wall, her mother provides the materials. Barbara has made angels from old table linen, crochet and lace work which would otherwise languish in a forgotten drawer. Found drift-wood make up the arms and legs providing the perfect solution to every Waihekean Christmas Tree, to be brought out each year for generations.
Leslie Baxterhas very recently deserted creative Melbourne for artistic Waiheke. He does dramatic kiln formed glass incorporating metallic oxides to great effect. I wish him well here in his new life. Emma Wrightdoes abstract paining using resins to create three dimensional calming swirls. Peter Rees is demonstrating how to photoshop an image. He opens a very dark picture of sky, land and water on his computer and makes it look fabulous. They are an engaging couple in a dramatic house perched high amongst the Kanuka tree tops.
Kauri couch
John Freeman’s Kauriartis worth a look. He has a stockpile of centuries old swamp kauri waiting to be turned into beautiful things from a huge sofa to small turned bowls.
I make my way over to Palm Beach to call on Alex Stone, another abstract painter and entertaining contributor to the Gulf News. I’m met at the gate by two large black dogs, who gently and silently escort me up the drive. His studio is packed with stuff but his non-abstract painting depicting the legs of First World War soldiers catches my eye. Alex wants to know about my blog and googles me on the spot. My book Twenty-two Eighty-four is on the front page, so he wants to know what that’s about. More people arrive and he demonstrates his technique of line making on the canvas. A great conversation from a well known Waiheke Bloke – you can look at his portrait at the Red Shed – see the blog before this. Further down Tiri View Road is Wendy Grace Allen, newly arrived in Waiheke. She’s spent time in Thailand producing bronze and glass casts of woven rice pots. She’s still finding her feet but her work inspired by Van Gough’s Irises is stunning. She’s painted her version of this very famous painting, photographed it and created an inkjet collage.
I’m starving now so a quick dash back to Rocky Bay for lunch is necessary. This lines me up perfectly to visit Gwen Rutter just along the road where I admire her vibrant flax flowers and pohutukawas for which she is famous. She tells me her husband hates flax and pulls it out at any opportunity. Ceramicist Kiya Nancarrow is also in Rocky Bay. She’s shivering in her south facing garage/workshop even though the sun is shining on the other side of the house. Her large sculptural pieces remind me of giant wood shavings or pasta. One piece is reminiscent of DNA. She tells me that some of her work was in a Christchurch gallery during the earthquake, but when she plucked up courage to call and find out the damage, all of her work survived.
Kim Wesney’s studio
There’s just time to go over to Trig Hill Road, Onetangi where Kim Wesney is showing her dramatic and brightly coloured paintings inspired by grand South Island landscapes. I remember seeing these large works struggling to breath at the community art gallery. Here they make sense, particularly with the option to look at the photographs which inspire the work. Also here is Paula Richa, who combines fabric with paint to good effect.
The Strand Onetangi
It’s coffee time and The Strand at Onetangi is the perfect place to gaze out at sea and sky to reflect on the thirteen artists I’ve visited today.
Waiheke Blokes – part of the Auckland Festival of Photography (Fringe)
I’m always up for an exhibition of black and white photography. Back in the days of film I spent many happy hours in the dark room developing and printing, so I’m off to the Red Shed in Palm Beach for the opening of Waiheke Blokes – Environmental Portraits of local men, many of them local characters and each may be considered a work of art in their own right.
L to R Stephen Burn/Shelley Wood Ernie Ford/Jakob Legge Bob Edward Hiko/Kai Otte
It’s dark when I arrive at five minutes past six on a Friday night, to find there’s a premium on parking. It seems that Waihekeans don’t do ‘fashionably late’ and the shed is packed. The eagle eye of organiser Linda Young spots my solo entrance; welcomes me and points to the ‘man in the green jacket’ who is dispensing drinks. So, clutching my plastic cup of Tui beer, I enter the ‘Man Cave’ where the work of 16 photographers, (two of them are senior art students from the High School) are displayed on recycled wooden pallets. Is there a typical Wahiheke look? I’ve been looking at people to try and work this one out without success. This exhibition has a good selection of the craggy faced and skinny with long hair and flowing white beard type of bloke. You can see younger versions, bare-footed and wearing shorts in the supermarket car-park in the summer getting ready to move into this slot. There are, however plenty of other character types like the bee-keeper, the classical conductor and my favourite, the coffee roaster.
Here is a list of subjects and their photographers:
Rhys Hughes by Gordon Cuthbert : Craig yw fy awyd ers cyn fy magu. Mae’r creigiau a’r yr ynys yn adlewyrchu y pobl, lliwgar, wythienau wahanol a elfenau manwl. Craig imi yw yr ysbryd, y Blwch, raid gwrando gyda dy fysedd. Craig yw’r ceidwad y cof, dwi’n teimlo fel llyfrgellydd!
Stone has been my passion since before childhood. Waiheke stone reflects the people here – colourful, full of elaborate seams and various elements. Stone for me is being the space, being present without thinking, listening to stone with your fingers. Stone is the record keeper, somedays I feel like a librarian!
Graham Hooper by Phillipa Karn: Eco Friendly Music Loving Photographer
Alex Stone by Richard van Kuyk: “The pen is mightier than the sword”
L to R Alex Stone/richard van Kuyk Robert Harris/Polly Nash Bernard Rhodes/Leah Beaumont
Malcolm Philcox by Heather Arthur: “Waiheke has made me the bloke I am!”
Robert Harris by Polly Nash: “Working together for the common good”
Stephen Burn by Shelley Wood: Coffee ……. it’s a love affair!
Ernie Ford by Jakob Legge: Enclosure Bay local Ernie Ford is well at home in the water as his youth was filled with snorkeling and swimming in the Enclosure Bay rock pools. These pictures are taken at Divers Rock which is one of Waiheke’s classic hangout spots for teenagers.
Bob Edward Hiko by Kai Otte: An island resident for over forty years, Bob is always ready to help anyone in the community in need. He worked as a fisherman before he retired. Bob was 73 when I photographed him at the Rocky Bay Store, a place he visited frequently before it burned down.
Trevor Darvill by Carol Pearce: My Man Caves, two sheds on Waiheke Island! It was my romantic idea of living like Robinson Crusoe. Responsible for self-sufficiency. Planting trees, using wood to cook and heat the house. Providing my own water supply, food production, waste disposal, solar panels providing household electricity and charging my electric car.
Paul Stanley-Hunt by Graham Rook: “The Sunshine Man” enjoys the eclectic mix and eccentricity of the island people and their lifestyles. Endeavours to promote colour and wellbeing in people through his music and bring enjoyment and happiness to visitors and children.
Danny Shortland by Jan Robertson: One of the highest ranked honours you can have is to feed people. As you get older you may forget the names and the faces but you never forget the food.
Floris Roggeveen by Anne Robinson: Floris has worked as a chemist, and a potter, and he loves to engage with the elements, physically, mentally and spiritually. He enjoys the uniqueness, solitude and diversity of Waiheke Island. His light-hearted, joyous attitude was easily captured in this portrait.
Richard Melville by Rosemary Adler: Bringing his wealth of knowledge and years of experience, Richard takes a moment to pause and reflect before rehearsing Beethoven’s Mass in C major with the Waiheke Choral Society.
Bernard Rhodes by Leah Beaumont: Busily working I’m reminded of what Ratty said to Mole in “The Wind in the Willows”: “Believe me, my young friend, there is NOTHING – absolutely nothing – half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats” (Kenneth Grahame, 1908), and take time to enjoy the beauty of it all.
Paul Rhind by Linda Young: As individuals we work against the tide of our times, attempting to keep the balance between the hand of man and machines. Striving to maintain mans uniqueness, the individual mark we bring to our surrounds and pass on with our works has, in a small way, a dignity and distinction.
Glenn Fowler by Bob Scott: Visited Waiheke in the early 70’s, starting a love affair with the island, which continues today. Finally moved here in 2006. My dream job, a tour driver, showing our beautiful island to visitors. Each day someone will say ”Do you live here? You’re so lucky!” And yes we are!
This is a new group of people for me, so at first I can’t see anyone I know. Playwright, Colin catches my eye across the room and we talk about writing. He also paints and has sold a piece to a Russian, he tells me but sadly not one of those rich oligarchs. Then I spot Annette, who sells me her fabulous Te Whau olive oil at the Rocky Bay Hall on a Thursday. She is planting lots of native trees on their place, so there’s a possibility of finding homes for some of my seedlings which have germinated in abundance.
By now the crowd has dispersed and there’s room to take a closer look at the exhibition and chat to photographer Richard, who has captured artist and Gulf News contributor Alex Stone.
It’s on until June 21st Sat & Sun 10am – 4pm. Well worth a visit and the prints are on sale.
After the emotionality of the ANZAC service at Ostend, Waiheke Island, then retiring home to listen to the live radio broadcast of the dawn service at Gallipoli, it seems madness to attend ‘War is and Avalanche’ in the evening at the Waiheke High School Hall. I’ve booked a ticket and feel obliged to now turn up and support local composer and lyricist, John Mckay. He has been awarded a grant fro the Waiheke Local Board to compose and perform a contemporary song cycle based on letters from ANZAC soldiers at Gallipoli.
War is an Avalanche
First impressions of the Hall are one of austerity, with very hard seats and no ambience. The Narrator of the piece, Pat Urlich, a well known local vocalist, is sorting out his spotlight with the lighting box when I arrive. There’s a band comprised of: John Mackay on keyboards, supported by guitar, base and drums. As the lights go out, the poor ambience of the hall fades as suddenly we are engaged by the rich tenor voice of young Maori professional singer/actor Rutene Spooner. Pat Urlich isn’t singing tonight (except in some pre-recorded vocals), he’s showing of his deep chocolaty speaking voice to great effect in the telling of the Gallipoli Story. There’s no sentimentality here, he tells it as it is. Rutene is joined by Mezzo, Eve-Marie Hess, who has a most unusual quality to her voice. In some numbers it’s like a choir boy, opening up to a full chest belt (musical theatre style) when required. The cycle is nine songs accompanied with fantastic graphic images, by Bruce Woods, projected onto an up-stage screen. The songs cover a range of themes, beginning with the horror of it all in A Hole in Hell. Sexual tension and frustration between soldiers and nurses is explored in I’ve Got an Itch and party mentality on leave (because tomorrow we may die) gets the treatment in Paint the Moon. The last song tells of a field of ghosts in Here is Tehono-i-wairua. It’s the first time I’ve heard that over eighty thousand Ottoman Turks were killed here, some of them as young as fourteen. In the second half, soprano Rose Myer joins to make up a trio, adding a very high pure layer to the vocal mix. There’s been no schmaltz or emotional manipulation here and the musical styles have ranged from contemporary lieder through the modern musical, jazz and an anachronistic slice of rock and roll. We’ve been transported with delight by professional talent and the audience stands in ovation at the end. The Waiheke Local Board has spent wisely here.
Gentler Than a Rifle Butt by Dean Parker
Gentler Than a Rifle Butt
I know nothing about the play or the playwright, Dean Parker, except that this local production is an adaptation of his radio play. To my embarrassment, I find that Dean’s been around writing since 1974. Playmarket provides me with a list of his titles, some of which I have heard of. Nevertheless, it’s smacked wrists for me.
I’m attending the penultimate performance at the Omiha Hall in Rocky Bay, because I support the Hall and I can be ‘environmental’ and walk. Walking down the hill on a damp, dark Friday evening in May at 6.30 is a challenge. It’s been raining all day and although there is a gap, drops are still dripping from the trees, so that my umbrella is up. Darkness between the sparsely spread street lighting necessitates the use of my wind up torch, requiring two hands. This is particularly important going down ‘Agony Hill’ – a steep walkway with irregular steps.
The adaptation imagines the Narrator from the radio play as an academic lecturer with a slide show of images from Gallipoli and of the Protagonist poet, Rufus Dewar. We are told that while he is not the best New Zealand Poet, he is (arguably) the most important in that he changed the course of poetry in this country. Rufus is an ex Auckland Grammar School boy (part of the establishment) and initially a war enthusiast. Dylan Hinchey is almost perfect for the passionate poet who quickly gets a reality check. Although he’s slightly too old for the part, he’s very sexy and disbelief is willingly suspended. Predictably, he is wounded and ends up in hospital in Alexandra, a very angry man, ranting against the war and it’s waste of life. His nurse, Cissie Kerrisk, intelligently played by Renee Cassely is initially horrified by his unpatriotic behaviour, but is gradually won over and they begin an affair. Rufus posts all his poetry to his Mum and the lovers escape on a ship to America on the same day the ANZACS withdraw from Gallipoli, defeated. Mrs Dewar tries to get the poems published, but they are deemed too unpatriotic and contrary to the war effort. A small left wing printer takes up the task, but the book is immediately banned by the Government. The printer, seeing an opportunity, prints more copies to distribute clandestinely. Rufus and Cissie return to New Zealand to become the darlings of the growing anti war movement. They are pursued around the country by a police officer, Arthur Craven, humorously played by Rocky Bay’s Grant Lilley. There’s a revelation that in retrospect, makes sense. Rufus is having an affair and Cissy finds out. Rufus is bisexual (most gay men in New Zealand before 1986 were) and his lover might be the bachelor leader of the Labour Party, Joseph Savage. Proof is offered in the form of the inscription inside Savage’s copy of Rufus’ war poems. There is a peace rally due at the Auckland Town Hall, but the way is blocked by the police. Rufus appears like a saviour and to the awe of the protesters and police flings open the doors of the hall. The only character not in awe, Arthur Craven, pounces and kills the messianic poet with his kosh. The Narrator tells us that on the 24th April 1916 Savage’s Labour Party swept to power and on the 25th the troops were recalled from the Great War. It is here that knowledge of New Zealand history is needed because Dean Parker is a great story-teller, going to some length to suggest verisimilitude. He relies on the atrocious inattention by the New Zealand curriculum, which left generations ignorant of our heritage, preferring to dwell on British monarchs, European wars, the now discredited hero Edward Gibbon Wakefield of the New Zealand Company and a cute view of pre European Maori.
This is a ‘what if’ story. By basing Rufus on the British War poets Parker has cleverly made them part of us. Having caught us in his hook and reeled us in, he suggests that the reason for celebrating ANZAC day should be the recall of the troops home, not some landing on an isolated coast in a disastrous campaign ending in withdrawal. The ending however, is too prolonged with the Narrator and the now dead Rufus in a duet of If you want to know where the Private is, which clearly is there to make the play the required length for the radio.
Makes you think, this sort of stuff, doesn’t it? This may have been the last year I will attend and ANZAC parade.
It is with some trepidation that I set off, almost reluctantly, to attend the ANZAC service here in Waiheke. Its forty-five years since I last did this, and I want to know what happens here on the Island. Radio New Zealand, has been hard at it with wall to wall stories. One interviewee, who has written a book about Maori Involvement, tells how a troop performed a haka and found they had terrified the Ottoman Turks, who believed that they were being attacked by savages. The Radio succeeds in winding up my emotional vulnerability. Images of my grandfather at Gallipoli keep coming to mind, the terrible waste of life in that place and in Europe.
Field of remembrance
I park in the almost deserted supermarket car park and note the continual stream of cars entering, realizing that the supermarket is closed because it’s ANZAC day, and driving straight out again. Some are so incredulous that they drive right up to the doors to read the opening hours. I walk up the short hill to Belgium Street – the centre of the district known as Ostend – to the RSA Hall, the War Memorial and the Field of Remembrance opposite. This is a grassy slope on which white wooden crosses seem to be set out twice a year. They were in place last November for Armistice day and removed some weeks later. A few Saturdays ago the green space was made available as a car park for the Ostend market. (There’s a new supermarket being built on the waste ground where we normally park)
Peace Rock
I investigate the ‘Peace Rock’ – brought from the local quarry and embellished with two plaques promoting peace in the world. Today, people are inspecting the rows of crosses, reading names and taking photos. The main road to and from the rest of the island is about to be blocked off and a diversion is arranged. The Volunteer Fire Brigade have brought out two engines and the fire-fighters (M&F) are uniformed and meddled. Groups of other uniformed people are gathering.
The Volunteers Fire Brigade
Over a PA system Flower of Scotland and Loch Lomond are playing. There are no bands, but a male voice choir and electric piano are getting ready, testing their equipment. People have come in all sorts of dress as one would expect on Waiheke – not the uncomfortable Sunday Best required in the 50’s and 60’s. It’s still warm so some are in shorts and sandals. Surprisingly, the young man from the Native Plant Nursery is wearing a dark suit with a pounamu (greenstone) where his tie should be. He’s very excited and carries a wreath.
Machine gun & poppy
One man has fished out of his wardrobe a very crumpled blue checked jacket with a stain on the back; his friend wears a navy-blue jacket and black trousers. Dave, from Rocky Bay, by contrast, looks immaculate in perfectly pressed black shirt and trousers. He clutches a black casual zip up jacket. Poppies and medals are pinned to clothes – those wearing their ancestors’ medals have them on the right. One jacket-less man, too young to have fought, wears medals pinned to his shirt.
Outside the RSA Hall is a mounted machine gun with a corrugated iron (iconic here) poppy as an upstaging backdrop.
Teenage Warriors
More people arrive and suddenly a group of teenage Maori warriors emerge from the RSA Hall and take up their position in the road. They are supervised by a woman elder and her taller junior. Both have tattooed chins (moko) now common on the Island.
Marines take their place
The parade of marchers is gathering only fifty metres down the road and once the four marines have marched on and positioned themselves around the memorial, the march can begin. They don’t get very far before being challenged by the korero (challenge/dialogue) of the older woman.
Maori elders
The warriors do a war-like routine (haka) with their Manuka staves, the taller woman performs a waiata (chant/song) then the leader of the warriors, the only one with a taihia (spear/weapon) breaks through to challenge the military leader of the march.
Leading the March
They hongi (press noses) then the rest of the warriors rush forward to escort the marchers the remaining distance to the memorial. Here is an acknowledgement early in the proceedings, of the role Maori played at Gallipoli and it is very moving and appropriate for Waiheke and New Zealand as we are now. There was never a hint of Maori culture back in 50’s Waipawa – before the ‘renaissance’.
Maori challenge
Maori escort
First up is the National Anthem. God Defend New Zealand has been promoted, much to my delight. Not only that, but the first verse is sung in Maori. Thankfully the male voice choir know the words though many around me do not. I make a note to learn these. By the time we get to the English verse, I’m inexplicably too tearful to sing, even though I do remember the words. A Bishop is on hand to say prayers sprinkled with some well pronounced Te Reo Maori. He is speaking of his hopes for peace in the world just as I remember from all those years ago and yet war continues. Perhaps my emotional state is to do with the futility of it all.
Sea Scout marches
The Head Prefects from Waiheke High School address us with well written and delivered speeches. The Head Boy was born in Australia and has a Kiwi dad. He has a long list of ancestors who served, were wounded or killed. He remarks that one hundred years ago, he would most certainly be going off to Gallipoli.
The Red Cross in historic costume
The Head Girl, Maori and beautiful is the only one to greet us with Kia Ora (to life). She also speaks of her hopes for peace in the world and I am thankful for this evidence that the young still believe that we can change.
The format of the service is familiar, but different. We have three hymns to sing and I remember How Great Thou Art but not sung at ANZAC day. There is Amazing Grace, which comes from America and definitely wasn’t sung when I was a boy. By this time, I’ve recovered enough to sing and the RSA have distributed a laminated order of service with the words of the Hymns, so clearly this is the order every year. The Last Post – incredibly sad – is followed by the Ode, which always gets to me.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old;
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
We make an attempt here to take away their suffering, leaving us with the burden of old age and infirmity.
The Navy poses for a picture
Then there is the Reveille, full of hope for a new day. We sing Eternal Father Strong to Save, which seems very similar to O God Our Help in Ages Past, another tear-jerker, followed by the laying of the wreaths, starting with the three branches of the armed forces. There are wreaths laid on behalf of politicians and political parties, all called out in order of importance beginning with the local MP. When the MC calls out New Zealand First, whose leader, Winston Peters, just won a by election in Northland, there is a pause. He corrects himself – it is the Green Party and the young man from the plant nursery steps forward, his blond hair plastered into conventional shape by gel and a tattoo of the sun peeking incongruously above the collar at the back of his neck. The wreath-laying continues through the list until the MC asks for any others whose names he hasn’t called to step forward. A lone woman, dressed smartly in red and black, lays a bunch of flowers. The Marines guarding the memorial retire and the marchers cross twenty five metres to the doors of the RSA and lunch. There is a hiccup as an elderly woman has fallen and has to be helped to her feet.
Knitted Poppies
We crowd around the memorial to look at and photograph the tributes and I notice the crosses made from knitted red poppies. One of the women collecting for the poppy appeal out side the supermarket had been making these the week before.
I return down the hill to the car park, and observe an increasing number of cars entering and leaving, unaware that it’s ANZAC day and a national holiday. Don’t they listen to the radio or read the local papers?
On the eve of ANZAC day it seems that the whole country is obsessed with the centenary of the landings at Gallipoli by the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps. Certainly the news outlets on Waiheke, comprising: Radio New Zealand National Programme, the $2 Gulf News (weekly) and two freebie papers are full of comments, articles and news of commemorative events. The strap-line for the radio is ‘The day that changed New Zealand – forever!’ This, to me sounds overly dramatic. OK, it was New Zealand’s first military action on the world stage in support of an ageing parent that was the British Empire and we’ve continued along these lines in every war since. The latest, only this week, is the deployment, along with Australia, of troops to help with military training in Iraq. (Australia’s Prime Minister today unadvisedly described this as an ANZAC initiative to howls of protest – the politicians in this part of the world have large feet and even larger mouths in which to put them) The other thing is that the whole expedition was a disaster leading to massive loss of life and a humiliating retreat. As my Mother used to say, ‘Only the British (including her colonies) can make a victory out of a defeat.’
The local papers are full of stories about Uncles killed or Fathers wounded. The storytellers are themselves now extremely old and appear in the papers pictured with their ancestors’ medals or pay books which miraculously stopped that shell from killing them. My own grandfather was one of the wounded but never attended a single Anzac Day parade, nor wore a poppy or his medals so, to us, it was no big deal. However, I have to confess to adding to the verbiage by writing a short play called ‘Granddad’s War’. There was a suggestion from the director of the Waiheke short play festival that Gallipoli might be a ‘fundable’ theme for this year. I initially felt uninspired, and then as happens with writers, an ideal crystallises and out came a seven a half minute play.
My grandfather never talked about what really happened in the war, and when I look at the stories being told now, they are either light hearted, neutral or descriptions of military strategy. Some insights are to be had from letters and diaries written on site, but afterwards – nothing. As children we got funny stories about the war – things like the mispronunciation of Ypres, the Belgian battle field, which ended up as ‘wiper’ – not a hint of the horrors encountered there. So the point of my play is that there were no stories which they could bear to tell except the funny ones. I included two of these in the play but had to send Granddad to sleep, to dream of the scene where he got wounded, which I had to invent.
My memory of ANZAC parades as a child and teenager in Waipawa is of Dad getting out his best (only?) suit and polishing his black shoes. There were also the medals – rescued annually from a box hidden in an obscure cupboard. ‘Where are my bloody medals?’ was the cry. They also had to be cleaned, a job my brother eventually took up. We never made it to the dawn parade but would assemble at one end of the main street, Dad up front with the Returned Servicemen, my brother and I with the Scouts or Cubs, shivering in our short pants in the cold autumn mist which rises out of the Waipawa River. The town’s highland pipe band lead, followed by the Returned Servicemen. My father in perfect step with the others, made an impressive sight. This small town of 1700 people also produced a brass band and a team of marching girls who strutted in their white calf-length boots, dazzlingly short skirts and Hollywood – style military hats. The Cubs, Brownies, Girl Guides and Boy Scouts plus the St John’s Ambulance Brigade, slotted in somewhere to make up the parade and marched down the main street of town, which happened to be the main North South highway. Traffic was diverted, not that there was much, as ANZAC day is a national holiday and the railways still carted most of the freight – the heavy duty inter-city trucks were then unimagined. At the other end of the Main Street is the white Memorial Town Clock where the names of the fallen are to be read. Standing guard is an archaic cannon preserved for posterity in multiple layers of grey paint. This iconic image of Waipawa, to be found on a few hopeful tourist souvenirs, was for a few decades in the 70’s and 80’s , unaccountably usurped by a huge yellow duck – the sort you might find in a child’s bath – which stood guard at the entrance to the town. Fortunately this was disposed of by friendly vandals returning us to sobriety at the town clock.
Here we were, assembled for the ANZAC day service – the prayers, the bugle calls – Last post and Revellie and the Hymns; O God Our Help in Ages Past and the National Anthems, which in those days were God Save the Queen and God Save New Zealand. All these played by the brass band.
I saw it then as an annual chore. War was still a mystery at that age, although we all had some expectation of experiencing it as we sweated under the brilliant autumn sunshine which had dispelled the mist and now shone unrelentingly on the servicemen in their dark woollen suits.
I haven’t been to an ANZAC service since then. As a student I demonstrated against our involvement in the Viet Nam war, sang antiwar songs at folk groups in the 70’s and was generally against all war. In London I marched, protesting against the Iraq war – one of 2 million. It was heady stuff, but in the long run, our voices went unheard. It’s great that the young still believe, as I did, that we can change the world. I now know that it’s more complicated and that just maybe, mankind is destined to continually be at war. History tells us so.
It’s my first ‘sanctioned’ swim meet in New Zealand – Katikati and Wellington were for fun, and the experience. This event is over two days and held at the Papatoetoe Centennial Pool, South Auckland. I’ve been topping up my training sessions at the Te Huruhi Primary School pool on Saturday mornings with the occasional Sunday visit to the Tepid Baths in downtown Auckland. As this is a Long Course meet, that means a 50 metre pool, I put in a session at the Newmarket Olympic Pool, which is woefully undersubscribed, so that team mate Clive and I have a lane to ourselves.
Papatoetoe Centennial Pool
I’ve entered two races on the Friday evening session, but this means leaving Rocky Bay after Lunch and catching the 2.30 ferry with my fold up Brompton bike in the back of the Rav4. The Brompton continues to get admiring glances and comments like ‘cool bike’ – it’s a great opener for conversation and people love to watch it being folded and un-folded. At Britomart, I get on a train, but it has broken down and is cancelled. The next train is fairly full, and gets even more crowded picking up the school kids as we go along. By the time we get to Papatoetoe, careful manoeuvring is required to get me and the Brompton out of the train. The cycle ride to the Centennial Pool turns out to be quite short, so I’m in good enough time for the warm-up. It’s a chance to get acquainted with an unfamiliar pool, practice turns and starts.
TAMS Coach Cynthia gets a job judging turns
There are three of us from Team Auckland Masters Swimmers this evening and first up for me is the 100m Backstroke. It really does seem like a long way in a 50 metre pool, but it’s good enough to get a bronze medal. David is doing the 1500m freestyle and in New Zealand, swimmers are able to swim their 800 metres concurrently but I can’t see how that works strategically. The organisers are short on officials so I volunteer to flip the number chart at the end of the pool. In order to save time this event is being done with two swimmers per lane. This means combining two heats so each lane has a faster and slower swimmer. For the first heat, we’ve got enough volunteers for each swimmer. My swimmer is 83 and doing the whole race on his back and so needs to look back at the chart after he’s done his tumble turn.
Over in lane 6 Kath Johnstone, aged 98, is going for a world record. Early on in the race, there’s a collision between her and the other swimmer in her lane. She stops. Long after all the others have finished, Kath is still going. Every now and then she stops at an end for a rest. Officials urge her to keep going and half way up the penultimate lap she hangs on to the lane rope for another rest. I’ve no idea if she got her record or was disqualified. Swimmers discuss the rules and it seems you are allowed to stop or put your feet on the bottom as long as you don’t make progress. Others reckon they’ve seen her take some steps, but It’s impossible to be sure. The rain sets in and I get wet flipping for the next double heat. The volunteers have melted away so I’m looking after two swimmers. Just before that last heat, I discover that because most people are doing the concurrent entry, there is only the one heat of the 800m and I have to abandon the flip charts so I’m ready to swim. I feel that I need another warm-up, but the indoor pool has closed. It’s a bit weird sharing a lane, especially as my younger and faster neighbour has a style which churns up the water with his kick. Once he has finished, I can enjoy the lane to myself. Although my time is quite respectable, I’m knocked into third place by Mark Tibble – last met in Katikati. He has swum faster than me in his first 16 lengths of the 1500. Wow! It’s a race now, to get the 10.15pm ferry home and David kindly drives me, with the Brompton on his back seat. I have 14 minutes to spare and get home in time for 6 hours sleep. I need to get the 7.15 ferry on Saturday morning.
Ed (L) and Clive (Rt) on the starting blocks
All seven of our team report in on Saturday along with Coach Cynthia Borne. Our butterfly swimmers Ron and Jenny win medals in the punishing 100m; I’m surprised to get a bronze medal in the 50 freestyle and Elizabeth, Clive and Ron get silver medals. We’ve put together a men’s relay team with a combined age of 240-279 years. We win both the Medley and freestyle 200m relays. Yay!
TAMS team. Back L to Rt David, Ed, Ron & Elizabeth. Front L to Rt Clive, Chris, Jenny & Cynthia
In the 50m Backstroke Elizabeth and I both get silver medals and in the 50m Breaststroke, there is a thrilling and close called race between our team-mates Ed and Clive, who are in the same age group. They go for Gold and Silver in that order, while David gets a bronze in his age group. It’s back to the Fly swimmers, Ed, Ron, Jenny and David for more medals followed by me winning gold in the 200m Backstroke. I know there are no medals for me in the 100m Freestyle as everyone has entered, but I’m next to speedy Ron, two age groups above me. We chase each other up the pool and back. He beats me by one second. Apparently our team were jumping and down getting very excited. It’s all over now but for the mixed Freestyle and Medley relays where we get second and third. It’s been a fantastic meet and my times are creeping back to where they should be, so I’m well satisfied.
It’s not actually that far from central Auckland to the west coast beaches of Piha, Bethells and Karekare, Aucklanders just think it is. Michael and I are driving from Waiheke which adds a car ferry journey. Even with a morning coffee stop over at Point Chevalier, we are driving down the long steep drive of the Waitakere Estate Boutique Hotel before lunchtime. Unfortunately, something has gone wrong with our booking causing the very nice receptionist to fly into a bit of a panic. It turns out that I’ve only booked for one night – tomorrow night – and there are no spare rooms. As we’re heading for Piha, the nice woman gives us a number to call, but they are full. Helpfully they tell me that Black Sands Lodge has a vacancy and I call them. Yes, proprietor, Bobbie, tells me we can have the Tui suite. It’s more expensive than the hotel, but what can we do? The first view of Piha from the road is dramatic then we wind down the hill, following directions to Black Sands Lodge where we are met by an ‘older’ lesbian couple, Julia and Bobbie. We click instantly and feel at home. Bobbie is a gardener and has created a fabulous secluded place here with trees and grasses, seemingly growing in wild abandon. We are given directions to the café for lunch and to the Returned Servicemen’s Association for dinner. This means that we can cancel the booking we made for dinner at the Hotel. There’s an interesting art gallery/shop around the corner and we mistake the shop for the café, which is next door and set back from the road. We grab some lunch and head to The Kitekite Falls track.
at Kitekite falls
We tramp through the forest to find a very tall waterfall with a large dark and very cold pool at the bottom. Two huge eels are swimming around expecting to be fed. There are several other people here and it is quite clear from the reaction of one young man diving into the pool that it’s freezing. His girlfriend takes our photo.
With the light fading due to dramatic black clouds covering the afternoon sun, we go down to the sea to explore the beach, look at Lion Rock and the flocks of surfers patiently waiting for that one big wave, rushing to catch it and then desperately trying to stay up and ahead.
Late surfer at Piha with Lion Rock
These moments are rare but beautiful when they happen. We take the Tasman look-out track, a short walk south over the cliffs to The Gap. Its low tide now and we can walk back on the sand under the crumbling cliffs.
The Gap Piha
As instructed by Bobbie, we arrive at the RSA for dinner, go straight to the kitchen and ask to be signed in as guests. The beer is good and we order Gurnard (fish) which is also good. There’s still some daylight, allowing us to sit outside on the decking where we fall into conversation with two other couples who are also dining. The chap on my right asks if I’m a member. ‘No’, I say, ‘but my grandfather was at Gallipoli and my father in Egypt and Greece.’ He is a member so I ask him if he was at Vietnam. Oops, he’s too young for that. Turns out he was in the Falklands war and claims to be Scottish. He’s not got any accent and he and his wife live in Dorset. They are enjoying New Zealand for the first time, visiting friends and going to out of the way places. It turns out that he’s a keen sailor, and so has a good conversation with Michael. We reveal that we are swimmers and there is a slight pause in the conversation when we announce that we swim with a gay club, but they quickly recover and continue talking. As there are too few guests, the staff want to close early. We’ve finished anyway and walk back to our Tui suite in anticipation of longer walks tomorrow.
Coman’s Track The Piano Bay
We manage to find the Piha Café, which is excellent for breakfast, erring on the overgenerous. They don’t really do takeaway stuff for lunch, but the shop next door does us some great chicken salad sandwiches to order. It’s a short drive up the hill to begin our walk on the Mercer Bay loop, which takes us along a spectacular cliff walk past the location where the ‘piano on the beach’ scene was shot in the film The Piano. There’s a site of an historic Maori pa at Te Ahua point with great views of the coast-line. We then link up with the Comans track which takes us down to Karekare beach where we eat our chicken sandwiches.
KarekareKarekare beach
I go for a cautious swim in the sea (it’s pretty dangerous here) and Michael has a snooze. It’s time to return, and the Ahu Ahu track completes the Comans track circuit by taking us more or less up a straight wide path at a punishing gradient but Michael behaves like a mountain goat and I have to keep up. We take the return part of the Mercer loop back to the car park. We’ve left a bottle of wine, intended for dinner, at the Black Sands Lodge and have to go back to Bobbie and Julia, who have put it in the fridge. We finally check into the Waitakere Estate Hotel and collapse for a snooze before driving to Bethells Beach for dinner with friend Sue, who was on tour with me to Bali and Morocco. The wine arrives still cold and is opened immediately.
Bethells Beach
It’s our third day in the Waitakere regional park and its back to Bethells Beach. More dramatic black sand and cliffs are to be seen as we tramp up along the coastal path to the North. It’s hard work in the heat and we opt to descend to the beach for the return journey. Each of the three beaches is unique and spectacular, so it’s well worth seeing all three and the full effect is only achieved by climbing up the cliffs for an aerial view.
Bethells from the Cliff walk
School children are on a field trip, checking out the wild life in rock pools then going for carefully supervised swims. There are few tourist buses pulling up and as we return to the Bethells Beach car park there’s an unbelievable sight. A tourist has set up his tripod with screen attached and is launching a drone with camera which he controls from a consol. From here there is no view of the beach or cliffs, but he’s seeing it from the drone’s point of view.
Bethells Beach
I can’t believe that the visual quality of a remote tv screen can compare with a pair of eyes. I’m shocked that someone can make the effort to come all this way and not leave the car-park.
Bethells sand dune
Our last walk is over the dramatic black sand dunes which are such a popular film location that there is permanent sign up warning of possible filming. There aren’t any today as we swelter over the dunes to find a long cool looking lake behind. There’s a walking track around it, but we’ve walked enough and decide to swim up the lake instead. This is just what our muscles need right now and our joints are grateful to be load free. The fresh water is a good temperature and we are refreshed for our walk back along the stream which skirts the dunes.
Dunes and stream
We’ve time for afternoon coffee at Swanson Station Café (recommended) before a quick motorway drive back to the car ferry and home to Rocky Bay.
The festival season continues. Having done the walking and the sculpture (which includes walking) my next feast is Gay Pride, which seems to go on for two weeks. I miss the opening Party in the Park at Point Chevalier due to the aforementioned break in Palmerston North. Apparently I missed the attendance by the Prime Minister, John Key. Damn! The following week, however, offers more important delights in the form of the Pink Arts Festival. There’s a range of disciplines, but I’m focusing on Theatre. First up is Victor Roger’s new play Girl on a Corner as the Basement Theatre. I’m interested for two reasons: I know of the writer, having read an early work and want to see how he has developed; the play promises to explore the Fa’afafine culture of Samoa. The tradition was that if a second child was also a boy, he would be brought up as a girl. Shalimar is such a character; she wins the local beauty contest and travels from American Samoa to Los Angeles. Her hope is to work in the textile industry but the reality is prostitution on the streets to earn money for gender reassignment. Based on a true story, Shalimar recounts her life both real and imaginary to the audience. The climax is her infamous encounter with Eddie Murphy in his car. They are stopped by the cops and it’s all over the media. After a brief period of infamy, she falls to her death from the top of a building. None of my reasons for seeing the play have been really satisfied and there are too many monologues. Shalimar tells her story directly to the audience with the help of a talented cast, playing multiple roles. At the end she is returned to Samoa where her family dress her as a man for burial.
Mika and youth group rehearse their routine
My next outing is Wild Blue Yonder at Garnet Station’s ‘Tiny Theatre’. Obtaining a ticket is a drama in itself. I have to leave a message on an answer-phone and some days later, I get a call to day that Wednesday is full, can I come on Thursday? No, I swim on Thursdays. There may be a seat on Wednesday, they’ll let me know. After several more phone calls, there is a cancellation and I’m in. Garnet Station is actually a Pizza restaurant run by well known Auckland lesbian Lisa Prager. I toured with Lisa in Story Theatre for Theatre Corporate in the late 70’s so am interested to meet up with her again. Co-incidentally my swimming coach, Cynthia is here with her partner and a group of local lesbians celebrating a birthday. It’s their local hang-out. The play, written by Olwyn Stewart and David Lyndon-Brown is set in the late 90’s in suburban Auckland. Martin, a successful artist has a self-loathing boyfriend with a wife and kids up north. Duane just wants to stay in with beer, having sex and watching TV. Ursula, old enough to know better, has fallen for young poet Luke, who professes adoration but doesn’t deliver the sex. As you can imagine it all gets very complicated and ends in tears.
Finally, there’s The Legacy Project, delivering six new short plays by young queer writers. The acting is superb and the writing ranges from good – showing promise to outstanding. It’s heartening to find such great gay writing here in New Zealand. Gay Pride ends with a parade down Ponsonby Road on Saturday. My swimming friend, Michael is visiting from London and we have already been testing the waters in Rocky Bay on Waiheke Island.
Harbour swim Herne Bay
Pride is going to be a long day as we’re staring with a non-gay harbour swim from Herne Bay to Watchman Island. It’s about 8-900 metres each way. Michael and I are both novices at ocean swimming but manage to come in close behind the youngsters. After a fantastic brunch, laid on by my friends and hosts, John and Robyn, we make a hospital visit to one of Michael’s friends then take a leisurely walk along Karangahape Road, stopping for a pint before joining my swimming club, TAMS, for the parade.
Hanging about waiting for the parade to start
There’s lots of hanging about, waiting, but when we get underway I find myself in charge of a dragon’s head. Club member Elizabeth has made it and its fabulous, a crowd-pleaser. My arms, however aren’t up to the whole march, having swum 1800 metres in the morning so one of the youngsters takes over and I’m happy to carry a light-weight polystyrene lane rope and blow bubbles at the crowd. It’s all good fun as so many have made a huge effort with costumes and float decoration. It’s dark by the time we get to the end of Ponsonby Road – time to end up with a party hosted by club member Ed.
Getting ready – with Clive
Onetangi Horse Races
The Onetangi Beach Races are an annual event, I’m keen to witness. In 2011, the last time I was here they were cancelled due to a dramatic storm which threw up thousands of huge horse-muscle shells covering the entire beach. This year, it’s a brilliant day and we arrive in time for the tractor race. The Strand, along the sea-front is full of stalls and people. There are food tents and picnics down on the beach and crowds of people.
Sea-legs drives down the beach
The races themselves are fun, but the most bizarre sight is the amphibious boats – known as sea-legs. They have retractable wheels and drive down the beach into the water. Once afloat the wheels lift up and on the return journey they are lowered to just roll out of the water. Outrageous!
Sea-legs leaves the water
Sea-legs drives up the beach
The main festival is the biennial Auckland Arts Festival. Once again I’ve concentrated mainly on theatre and in particular new New Zealand writing.
Hikoi, written and directed by Nancy Brunning is the story of a dysfunctional Maori family. Charlie is a builder in an unequal partnership with a white man. Nellie is from the Valley, and speaks Maori. It seems an unlikely start to a relationship but they manage, over the years to have five children. Nellie becomes increasingly involved in the Maori land protest movement and eventually is given an ultimatum to leave their home or give up the cause. She leaves and Charlie struggles to bring up the kids. The eldest girl leads her siblings in an unlikely cross country search for their mother. The runaways seem to know little about her as they crash around, lost in the forest. Charlie, who finds he doesn’t have much power in his work partnership takes off to find his kids. He ends up tied to a tree and has to listen to the complaints of each of his children in turn. Nellie arrives, but is also rejected by the kids and the Parents are left together in the wilderness while the kids take off to try and make it as a family on their own. The abrupt ending is a bit of a surprise as if the writer didn’t quite know what to do with her characters having got them into this impossible situation.
Skin of Fire devised and presented by Group F of France is an out-door firework and light extravaganza in the Auckland Domain. Michael and I have been to swimming training and have to catch a bus. We are in good time however and manage to find a space to sit on the grass. The show begins with projections onto the front of the Museum building, white blancmange heaps strategically placed throughout the audience, begin to glow and move. Eventually performers covered in small lights emerge and make their way slowly to the performance bank. Fireworks are let of in impressive sequences and flame throwers are incorporated. It’s all done to a very loud sound-track which is perhaps less memorable than some of the startling and beautiful images created over seventy minutes.
Somehow, in the midst of the Auckland Festival, Waiheke has managed to insert a Shakespeare Festival for the first time. The main event is a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. It’s rumoured that there are some talented youngsters from the local High School in the production, so I’m keen to compare them with East London youth theatres. The show is designed to be performed in the open air in the newly created space between the theatre and the new library. Unfortunately, it’s raining, so the set has to be moved into the theatre. We sit on the stage and the show happens down in the auditorium. It works well, and there is a fine performance from Bottom and a particularly good Lysander. It’s interesting to listen to different accents doing Shakespeare. Quite a few of the cast are ex-pats from the UK but there’s a good sprinkling of Kiwi accents and Demetrious is American. On balance, I think the East London kids have more ‘edge’. Other offerings are free workshops and talks.
Back to the mainland and the eagerly awaited The Mooncake and the Kumara by Mei-Lin Te Puea Hansen. This is the story of a Maori mother and daughter who go to work on the market garden of Chinese father and son in the early 1900’s. Cultural ties which bind the characters to their ancestors and way of living are challenged. The Pakeha (European) landlord is similarly marooned having lost his wife. The youngsters eventually come together and truth is revealed. Told in three languages, Cantonese, Maori and English, there is a realisation that this is just the beginning of the struggle against local prejudice and that modern attitudes have in some places, hardly changed. It’s a beautifully crafted piece and as I’m seeing the play with a well know local actress, get to meet the author and the dramagurg. What a privilege.
I saw this Danish company here in 2011, playing to a small audience at the Bruce Mason Centre at Takapuna on the North Shore. Then it was one man and a sound artist, this time their show BLAM!, has upgraded to the Civic Theatre in the centre of Auckland. This is physical theatre at its most impressive; four office workers keep breaking off their tedious day by acting out scenes from violent action packed movies like Die-Hard. The choreography and timing is precise with near misses and action which builds into a fantasy of destruction. In the midst of this chaos a beautiful romantic ballet emerges involving the manipulation of a desk lamp, but by the end the office is destroyed. It’s great to see grown men playing and these guys are dancers, acrobats and mimes extraordinaire.
Lastly is Ata Reira at the Auckland Town Hall. The combined forces of the National Youth and the National Chamber Choirs perform a programme celebrating light. With ancient and modern work interweaving, this is a sumptuous feast of sound and drama. Beginning with an entrance singing a 7th Centuary Hymn, the choirs take us on a journey which includes Talis, Elgar and contemporary Maori composer, Tuiri Wehi. I was at teachers’ college in 1974 with one of the conductors, Karen Grylls so it was very exciting to see her performing after all these years.
Festivals here continue unabated. I’ve missed the Waiheke Wine Festival, a marketing opportunity for the local vineyards. I’m gearing up for short play events and have trimmed my 2012 play Four Horsemen down to under 10 minutes and written Granddad’s War, which has come in just over 7 minutes. Next up is the Waiheke International Jazz Festival, but I shall be busy writing, swimming and gardening.
