Work in progress
Previous | Contents | Next Now he was in the Army he was unsure what he’d like to do, assuming he had any choice. It looked like it might be hard to get into Signals — he knew a Postmaster who’d tried and failed. The motor cycle platoon would be interesting ... Read more
Previous | Contents | Next There was little more than a year between Cliff’s leaving Hikurangi and his sailing for the Middle East in 2 NZEF. During that year he’d met, fallen in love with and been engaged to nineteen year-old Dorothy McCarroll. In the following chapters I’ve tried, through ... Read more
Previous | Contents | Next In September 1939 Hitler invaded Poland. According to Cliff’s diary, by the time he moved to Paparoa in March 1940 6,000 New Zealand men had enlisted for service overseas and wartime rationing had begun. Although he was still working for the Post Office and Telegraph ... Read more
Previous | Contents | “I’ve seen Dad working like that, with the suction end of a pump under his feet pumping gallons of water as he used a pneumatic drill on solid lime rock, with water pouring down from above and from the muddy parts of the tunnel between each ... Read more
Previous | Contents | Next From Cliff’s notes ~ Ian. There was a large winch to haul skips of coal up the long underground drive — the tunnel that led to the coal face. A heavy, endless wire rope was used, which at the top and bottom of the drive ... Read more
Previous | Contents | Next My birthplace and residence was 11 Seddon Street, Westhoughton in Lancashire, England, a short street of adjoining houses with two rooms up and two down. Typical “Coronation Street”. From the front door you stepped onto the footpath. From the back door you stepped into an ... Read more
Previous | Contents | Next Cliff was a bit short of seventeen and a half years old when he walked off his last farm job, moved back home and started the second of his two stints in the mine. Since he was working alongside his father, this will be a ... Read more
My father Cliff loved an audience, and his grandchildren proved to be better listeners than me. Dad and I certainly enjoyed a good argument — more I’m sure than those around us — but as his son I found sitting and listening to him harder than they did. Fortunately he ... Read more