Work in progress
Previous | Contents | Next As a kid I don’t recall Mum ever losing her aura of motherly capability, even though I did eventually come to suspect that Dad wasn’t quite Superman — when he took off his glasses, for example, and his eyes seemed to shrink into his head. ... 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 | Next In early 1936 Cliff started attending Bible classes, mainly because some of his friends were. Working on farms had meant few opportunities for socialising, and there were boys and girls in Bible class. The fact they were getting home from church as late as 11pm ... Read more
Contents When I visited him and Mum, and saw that he was still doing this I’d repeat my lecture about computer memory, and saving your work, and he’d say, “But surely it must be full up by now.” It reminds me of myself now — not bothering to comprehend or ... 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
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