Now I know that Richard of Richard's Bass Bag lives in the now* as does my partner The Old Girl who say's to me "stop living in the past Matey".
I see nothing wrong with nostalgia as it's in the past that we have all of our memories and life changing events.
Today when I was looking for something I searched on one of my blogs** using the useful 'Search this blog' function and quickly found what I was looking for. It's a shame that neither Richard's blog (Richard's Bass Bag) or Robert's blog (Robert's Journey) make use of this useful Google device but in Robert's case he deletes all of his posts and occasionally his entire blog on a regular basis and Richard, in June 2016 deleted all of his earlier posts as he was scared that the Nazgŭls were after him.
Neither Richard's Bass Bag nor Robert's Journey have been updated recently I hope that all is well with the authors as I know that Robert's wife was taken to hospital a few days ago.
My search concluded satisfactorily I got to thinking of the past and my mind drifted to Red Rocks on the Wellington coast back in about 1961.
On Wellington’s rugged south coast, just a 30 to 40 minute walk from Owhiro Bay you’ll discover the Red Rocks (Pari-whero). This is a coastal area of national significance with fascinating geology and Maori history.- From a directory I found on the internet.
The Red Rocks were formed 200 million years ago by undersea volcanic eruptions. Small amounts of iron oxides give the rocks their distinctive colouring.
The easy coastal walk extends to Sinclair Head, where there is a New Zealand fur seal colony. The colony can be seen from May to October.
In 2002 the New Zealand Historic Places Trust registered four baches (simple beach houses) at Red Rocks as historic areas. The baches, built in the early 1900s, have been kept in original form by their proud owners.
The Te Kopahou entranceway and visitor centre at the entry point to the reserve was crowned the supreme winner at the New Zealand Institute of Landscape Architects’ awards in 2015.
A visitors' guide to the south coast, produced by the South Coast Charitable Trust, is available from the Wellington i-SITE.
When we were kids we used to 'tramp' around to Red Rocks and further on to the aptly named 'Devil's Gate'.
This gateway still looks like something out of The lord of The Rings but the roadway makes it a bit less scary than I remember when I was small.
They've tamed the walk a lot over the years with a visitor's centre, improved walkway and road and some statuary although I wish that the road wasn't there and that it was accessible by walking only.
A few of the original baches have been preserved and I remember these as they've hardly changed.
In my nostalgic daydream I remembered when my brother and I and a couple of friends used to camp out in the shelter of a cliff between Red Rocks and Devil's gate. There was a shallow cave there that provided a bit of shelter and we used to clear away the rocks (which of course had fallen down from the cliff but we didn't think about that), make some comfortable sleeping spots and bed down in our kapok-filled sleeping bags.
The first time we did this I must have been about 9 and my brother 11. Dad dropped us off at Owhiro Bay in the afternoon and we walked around the bay to our spot and set about settling in. This involved gathering driftwood for a big fire, building a 'camp kitchen' and arranging the sleeping area. I recall that the night sky was marvellous with a much better view of the stars than at home in suburban Vogeltown. We cooked our meal which consisted of dehydrated sausages smothered in tomato sauce. Yummy. We bought these from Tisdall's camping store in Willis Street. They came in foil packs and were in the shape of fish fingers. You had to soak them in water for a while before pan-frying. It was exciting and I remember that for years no other sausages came close to matching the taste. In reality they were probably disgusting and it was the tomato sauce that was the real treat.
As we were sitting around stoking the fire and swapping stories we heard boot-steps on the beach. They were coming closer and we wondered who it might be. It was dad and my older sister who had walked around to check that we were OK. Nice that. We sat by the fire and drank tea for a while before they headed back home. It was the first time that we'd been away on our own like this and as we demonstrated that we were capable dad didn't need to check up on us on future expeditions. I think he was proud of the way that we'd sorted the sleeping arrangements, the fire and the 'camp kitchen' - things he'd done I guess in the war in the desert and in Crete and Italy.
One of my brother's friends named Richard Pearce (not the aviator), before we went to sleep wondered out loud if any bodgies or widgies would come around and regaled us of his (limited) knowledge of their ways and the dangers that they represented.
From Wikipedia:
Bodgies and widgies refer to a youth subculture that existed in Australia and New Zealand in the 1950s, similar to the rocker culture in the UK or Greaser culture in the United States. Most bodgies rode motorbikes but some had cars, many of which were hotted-up e.g. mag wheels, hot dog muffler, etc.Richard took particular delight (he was 11 after all) in describing how the widgies would attack us, take our clothes off and 'do it' to us. I must admit that this was a bit frightening but it also sent a frisson of excitement through me as I drifted off to sleep. Luckily, or unluckily - no widgies came around that night.
The males were called bodgies and the females were called widgies. Bodgies were often depicted in the media and folk-lore as louts.
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| "Hey! Where are the young guys at?" Widgies |
* A couple of years ago Richard expounded 'Living in the Now' and was promoting the books of Eckhart Tolle or Susan Nolen-Hoeksema or someone.
** The Curmudgeons Inc.ⓒ has a collection of useful and informative blogs to choose from.
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