We started building a ferrocement boat with Ken and Dianne Adams in 1972, with romantic dreams of going cruising. Heather and I even lived in the boatyard at Span Farm for a while, and I got involved in a little monthly published by the NZ Ferro Cement Marine Association called at different times a Newsletter, a Bulletin and — finally and fanciest — the Journal. We never went cruising, but in round-about ways the Journal did end up taking us places. ~ Ian

I’ve decided that in future I’ll highlight the latest pages here, but having written a few months ago about my strange adolescence — why the wheels fell off a bright kid, what it took to get me on the road again, and why Heather and I headed off in rather unexpected directions in our twenties — I then found myself on a rather self-indulgent detour, which is only worth reading if you want to watch the wheels fall off in slow motion. I enjoyed writing it but that’s no excuse. ~ Ian

Here I was minding my own business and Adrienne decided to post about my latest on Facebook. Suddenly I have readers! Thanks Adri, the feedback was encouraging. Must try it again some time. Here it is — Heather, handcrafts and Earthworks in the 1970s and early ‘80s

It’s been fourteen months since my last blog post — I just checked. Mind you, I’ve published 20-odd pages since then, with probably as many again that I’m not yet ready to press Go on.

But can I ask a favour? Think of yourself as Reader #2, and help me get a few more! if you come across something you like, please leave a comment and/or share a link with people who might enjoy it. Cheers, and thanks ~ Ian

Last Anzac Day my nephew Peter asked me if there was any way he could access his grandfather’s war stories to read to his kids. I had to disappoint him but said I was working at publishing them online. Well, it took the best part of a year but, finally, you can read them on this site, as well as his stories about the Depression. Please treat it as a work in progress. There are only a few photos, for example. I’d like to add more, and if possible more war stories after Alamein.

Some people find the change in “voice” confusing between Dad’s own writing and mine, normally where I’ve constructed the narrative out of his letters home and the notes that he left. To make it worse, Mum gets a say too. I’ll work on making what I’ve done more consistent, but for now it is what it is.

This website also has my own ramblings, so it’s quite possible to accidentally jump from Alexandria in 1942 to LA or Istanbul in 2001. I’m sorry if that happens! I’ve said here that I’m likely to write about anything that comes to mind, and that I think of the site as “a wall of pigeon holes, organised by date and theme,” into which I can post the results, whatever they are. So far all I’ve posted has been about a couple of trips Heather and I took 20-plus years ago. We had fun so if you do get lost in there I hope you enjoy it. Feedback welcome — and thanks again for coming. ~ Ian

PS — Sorry, you won’t be able to log in yet. I’m working on it 🙁

There’s a scene near the end of Dr Zhivago (the movie) where the sick Zhivago sees Lara, his lost love, walking down the street as the tram he’s on passes her by. He struggles to get off and catch up with her but collapses and dies. She walks on. We’ve spent the entire movie, the entire book, focused on them, and then the story pans out and they become just two among the nameless millions.

Dad was one of 311,000 men who fought at El Alamein. It was a decisive but — based on the people, military and civilian, who fought and died — relatively minor WW2 battle. (There were over six million frontline troops involved in Barbarossa, for example.) Cliff was a working man before the war and remained a Signalman throughout it. Posting his stories here has reminded me how proud I am of him. In my mind he wears his hard work and wounds alongside his medals as badges of honour. One of the ordinary people to whom we owe everything, including our freedom.

I’ve now taken Cliff’s story through to the Battle of Alamein. 1942 started off reasonably well for him in Palestine and Syria, then outside Alexandria with part of 6th Brigade. They were away from the front line until the middle of July. After that, though, they were living in slit trenches for a couple of months, getting shelled and shot at. Imagine life in a hole 50cm wide and 1.4m deep for weeks on end. “Never leave room for a mortar bomb,” Popeye had said about slit trenches.

Then a couple of weeks’ leave in Alex. followed by a real battle. ~ Ian

I’ve now taken Cliff’s story past his convalescence in Alexandria after he was shot up in late 1941 at Sidi Resegh, outside Tobruk. After recuperating he headed to Palestine for more of the same, and rubbed up against the Poms, the Jews, kibbutzes — plus lots of oranges! — before heading to Syria and training manoeuvres in the desert. Next it’ll be back into action before El Alamein, where he’ll be shot up again and find himself in hospital once more.

I’d like to have El Alamein covered before Anzac Day, but it may not happen. So far I’ve made it to the point where he’s about to return “up the Blue” in Egypt. My challenge is that Dad wrote a full account of the Depression years and of his experiences at and following Sidi Resegh, but otherwise I’m left with what feels like hundreds of letters — and thousands of pages — and some fairly disconnected notes from which to compile a narrative. It looks a lot of work, so wish me luck — and let me know what you think of what I’ve done so far. ~ Ian.

Oh, and I’ve done some more work on the navigation. Again, feedback welcome, positive more than negative of course 🙂

The home page and navigation have proved confusing, so the nav. is now Mark 2. I’ve also posted more of Dad’s stories.

Thanks to an assist from Stephen, the menu structure is now working more or less the way I’d like it to. I can relax! Thanks, Stephen.