Halloween--do we want or need it in New Zealand?

New Zealand is a relatively open society and people are free to practise their religious and cultural beliefs. Halloween falls somewhere in the middle of this spectrum and it evokes a certain amount of 'discussion' as to its origins and 'belongingness' to NZ. For me it is a no goer. I don;t like it or want to play any part of it. With other issues, like religion or various festivals, I can choose and no one would know what my stance was unless they entered into a discussion with me. With halloween, unless I lock the gate, leave the dog out or ut up a sign, I have little choise as to who comes down my drive and lelevers some sort of challenge for me to give them a 'gict.' Call me Scrooge or some other name, but my choice whould be repsetced wotuout me having to 'turn away, justify my position or be made to feel 'less than' as a person. Perhaps ther eis a compronise. Maybe people should 'flag' their willingness to take part in the inport fomr God knows where! A simple flag or sign---but even that gets me going--why should I or anyone wishing to not take part have to go to any lenghts at all re this madness. I wont even go inot the dnagers that lurk for young kids and for people who are elderly and living alonr being confronted with sometimes rather large 'kids' being dressed up and demanding a 'treat.' Forget the 'treats' because I have never seen an appropriate trick--the norm is something mumbled and a quick snatch and off they go. Don't try putting out a box of goodies, because some little or not so little sod will swipe the lot! OK, grumpiness over---I just make a plea to those 'playing' --to do their part. Do it properly and if there is a sign respectfully asking to be left alone---read it! For my part, I would far rather celebrate Matariki or any other real NZ festival. I do of course enjoy Diwali and other colouful and tasty festivals.

Sons of Orpheus--Chapter 2----free download.

CHAPTER 2 FREE DOWNLOAD FOR SONS OF ORPHEUS BY NEIL COLEMAN www.authorneilcoleman.com 2 Sunda Straits, October 15, 1862 The village appeared deserted at first. Adi thought that the earthquake’s effects had reached even this far from his own village, but he could not see any damage. Indeed the village seemed surprisingly prosperous; drying racks laden with a bountiful supply of fish and well built, large dwellings. One in particular stood out, possibly the home of the village chief. Adi observed a scattering of people going about their daily business. On closer inspection however, he noticed a general movement towards the waterfront. Adi joined them, apparently unnoticed or causing any concern amongst the villages. There was an air of excitement mixed with darker expressions, but the overall mood was certainly one of curiosity. He heard smatterings of conversation (although the dialect was a little different to that of his home village) centring on the ‘foreign’ ship. When he finally reached the shoreline he stopped in his tracks. A vessel, about one hundred foot long and quite wide at the stern lay anchored in the bay. It had the appearance of a ship that had been through a great deal of misadventure; scrappy sails, damaged timbers and a missing mast. Even from the shore, a thick oily smell wafted to those watching. Adi overheard snippets of excited conversation. A fisherman ventured his opinion, ‘It’s a whaler. What’s it doing here?’ Another added fearfully, ‘Seems to have sickness aboard—looks like it’s been through a storm.’ A growing sense of unease began to ripple through the villagers, as those bravest amongst them who had taken it on themselves to investigate the ship began to return with rumours of ‘terrible events’. At the same time Adi noticed a sleek looking vessel leaving the ship’s side. It was one of the four whaling boats that were used to chase the mighty beasts once they were sighted. As is came closer to shore, Adi could see that the men aboard were unkempt and appeared to be very weak. The villagers let out a collective gasp as the boat nudged its way onto the golden sands. ‘Stay away!’ ordered the chief. ‘They are devils and bring trouble.’ His words had an immediate effect and most of the crowd fled from the shoreline and peered out through the nearby undergrowth and palms. A look of concern swept over his face as he noticed Adi standing alone on the shore. ‘Who is this boy?’ he asked, before hiding himself with his subjects. Adi was not so constrained. His curiosity overcame any fears he had about the appearance of the men on the boat, or the chief’s question. His own village was well inland and he had seen few white men apart from visiting officials, who had demanded taxes and gave little in return. He himself had never ventured more than two days walk from the village. ‘Don’t go near them boy!’ shouted one of the villagers. Adi ignored him. He timidly approached the beached boat. The sailors appeared to have used the last of their energy to make the shore and were now close to collapse. Adi did not need to understand their language in order to appreciate their dire need. One of the sailors had a similar skin colour to Adi and he managed to make himself understood, albeit with a slightly different dialect from the one Adi spoke. ‘We need help,’ he stammered, ‘the storm, many days at sea---water all gone and food made bad by sea water.’ Gradually the situation became clear. The chief summoned up enough courage to join the group, wanting to avoid his people’s scorn if he didn’t show some leadership. He did not want to be shown up by a mere boy, especially one from elsewhere. He ordered water and food to be taken to the ship and over the next few hours Adi gradually gained a level of acceptance from the villages. People began to ask questions about him. He had appeared from nowhere, yet fitted in as if he was one of them. Apart from a few minor differences in language and clothing (although Adi’s travels had left him with only vestiges of his clothing) Adi could well have been one of them. He was accepted by the ship’s crew as well, and his sense of humour helped to lift the mood of those he helped. When the chief heard that Adi had arrived from a distant village, he decided to wait until the ship left before he made any moves to enquire further into his sudden appearance in his village. Adi enjoyed his interactions with the crew and very quickly began to pick up rudimentary phrases of English. The crew of the Plymouth were delighted at his efforts and he had them just about falling overboard with laughter when he misused a phrase or repeated some of their more robust language. ‘Hey, boy. Come and ’elp with this. Those other useless twats are only good for sitting on their arses.’ Adi looked at the crew member, who was missing a few teeth, giving him a piratical appearance, before sitting on a barrel. The crewman laughed uproariously before indicating with his hand his intention. Adi moved towards him. ‘Don’t worry boy, you’ll get the hang of it. You’re a good lad.’ Adi’s good humour and cheerful disposition also endeared him to Captain Tobias Smith, an amiable resident of Philadelphia. He noticed how the crew had gradually accepted Adi as one of them. It had become obvious to them that Adi did not belong to the village; thus a gradual adoption had occurred and by the end of the second day since the whaler’s arrival, Adi was staying aboard with the crew. Whilst not rich, the village had access to an abundance of fresh vegetables and many different kinds of tropical fruit, along with a huge variety of seafood. In just a few days there was a noticeable improvement in the health of the crew. The warm climate and exotic environs worked wonders on the storm-ravaged men. Spirits rose considerably and although the Captain was restless about getting back to sea, he allowed his men a certain amount of latitude, quite unlike the usual regime he insisted upon while chasing the whales. Repairs were made where necessary, however the missing mast remained a problem; one that necessitated a visit to a much more substantial port. The Captain knew that the port was a few days sailing away at Batavia, but that presented a problem he preferred to avoid. If the Plymouth called in at Batavia, he needed to stay well clear of a minor colonial official, who had a major score to settle. It was all about money, a gambling debt that the persistent official was determined to collect. He had avoided this problem for the last three years, and had no intention of using his depleted profits from the recent failed whaling expedition to pay this dubious debt. ‘I’m not paying that greedy bastard. I reckon he swindled me anyway,’ he mumbled to his First Mate. The First Mate was more than happy, as he too had good reason to stay well clear of the port. He had run afoul of a ‘Madame’ in one of the local brothels on the previous voyage. She did not take kindly to patrons who had absconded without paying their debts. When he considered his options, the Captain decided to make the much longer journey to Sydney, where he would find the necessary facilities to make the repairs. The Captain surveyed the scene before him. The villagers had come out in a profusion of gaudily festooned canoes and fishing boats to farewell the Plymouth. His ship was now well provisioned and the villagers had been paid for their services in money and goods. The chief had been particularly pleased when presented with one of the new rifles that had recently become popular. Adi made sure he was out of sight from the shore. He had heard from one of the villagers that the chief had some questions for him. He blended in with full knowledge and acceptance of the captain. Adi’s skills and adeptness at rapidly climbing the riggings and his ability to learn other ship-board duties had persuaded the Captain that when the ship left, Adi’s inclusion was a foregone conclusion. Now as Adi watched the bay recede into the distance, his thoughts turned to the future; to the far off Sydney in Australia. He had been told that Australia was a huge and almost empty land, full of unusual animals and people who looked very different to himself. Indonesian Sea, South East of Bali. Even in pristine condition the Plymouth was not a particularly fast ship. She had been built for her capacity to serve the needs of processing the huge whales and to store the end product for delivery to her home port. Now, minus a mast she was even slower and less manoeuvrable. The Captain was pleased to see that the Plymouth was making good progress and after a week’s solid sailing with favourable winds, he calculated that they were just south of Bali. He would have loved to have made port at the exotic Island but he was determined to forge ahead, knowing that conditions could change incredibly quickly, putting the lumbering vessel at risk. As the days passed, Adi settled into life aboard the ship with relative ease. He loved to listen to the crew boasting of past deeds and the crude banter between the men. His English improved enough for him to constantly badger the First Mate to include him in a whale chase. Captain Smith’s main concern was to deliver his ship to Sydney without any untoward incidents that could lessen or slow his journey, but if any opportunities presented themselves in the form of a few sperm whales, then that was even better. Several hundred miles southeast of Bali, the Captain decided to launch two of the whale boats to exercise the crew and to introduce Adi to some of the challenges of the chase. When the whale boat was launched, Adi almost jumped in, bringing further bantering from the crew. He refused to let the men’s teasing get the better of him. His natural stubbornness carried him through the four hours of torturous, back-breaking rowing. The oars were very different to the paddles he had used in the canoes back in the village and the muscles used were quite different, leaving his back and upper shoulders feeling like they had been beaten by an angry assailant. The next day Adi was perched serenely in his favourite place, high above the gently swaying deck. The Plymouth was well to the southeast of Bali and the horizon was clear of land except for a few small islands; some of the thousands that make up the scattered archipelago. Adi was aching from the experience of the day before, but that did not lessen his yearning drive to push himself even more strenuously. His attention was momentarily drawn to a spout about five hundred yards to the east of the Plymouth. Adi knew immediately that this was his first sight of a whale breaking the surface and expelling the spent air from its lungs. Adi lost no more time in wasted thoughts and yelled out for the first time in his life, ‘Thar she blows!’ He watched impatiently as the deck below became the scene of furious activity and descended as fast as he could because he was also going to experience his very first chase. When he reached the deck, Adi searched for his crew and once located, he joined the whale boat as it was lowered over the side. He put his pains from the day before behind him as he joined the men for the chase. The whale was one of three that had surfaced. The boat sped through the water as the lead hand encouraged the rowers to extend themselves, using language that Adi was rapidly becoming used to and indeed quite adept at using himself. ‘Come on ya bastards. Put ya backs into it. My sisters could do better!’ ‘Oh yeah?!’ the burly crewman next to Adi shouted. ‘I reckon you’re right there mate. She gave me a real good time last time we were back home eh.’ Adi wondered what his family would think about his new skills. For now, he pushed these thoughts aside and concentrated on his new adventure. The huge beast was just ahead; close enough for Adi to smell the foul odour. Adi was amazed at its size and pure raw power as it surged through the waves, still managing to avoid giving the harpooner the chance to thrust his cruel barbed weapon into its massive body. Who would tire first: the crew or the beast? South Pacific ‘Come on. Don’t let that Froggy bastard beat us!’ Alex shouted to the men in the rigging. They were sailing parallel to a French frigate, about a mile to the west. It was a rare chance for the crew to escape from the boredom of the long voyage to Sydney. Alex’s words were more than matched by the insults from the sailors. The last thing they wanted was to be out-paced by the French ship. Alex chose to ignore their colourful language. When the Captain ordered the engine room to engage the steam engines, the Orpheus increased her speed and gradually pulled ahead of the other ship, eliciting even more lively insults from the crew. Alex stood next to the captain, satisfied that the Orpheus could have easily extended her lead, given that they had barley used half power from the engines. ‘There, that should show them that they needn’t tangle with us and expect to win,’ the captain stated smugly. Alex decided not to point out that there was a world of difference between the two ships; not the least being that the French ship was without steam and was at least thirty years older. As the captain wandered off to his cabin, Alex thought about the stories he had heard about Sydney, especially the area near where they intended to dock. The taverns were reputed to be lively and well used to providing for sailors too long from shore. He did not intend to disgrace himself but a few quiet ales in good company would not go amiss. Indian Ocean, November 1862 Captain Pickering sat in his comfortable chair, one of the few luxuries he allowed in his sparsely furnished cabin. It included his well-stocked wine cabinet. He didn’t trust his cook to store his cases of wine with the rest of the Emerald’s stores. On the odd occasion, he shared his stock with a lucky guest, but tonight he was alone. The captain cast his thoughts to the voyage since leaving the Canaries. They had made good time and the brief call at Cape Town had passed relatively unscathed. Two of his crew had managed to over-indulge in some cheap local spirits and then challenge some American sailors, equally inflated with alcohol-induced courage, to a bit of rough-and-tumble. He smiled, remembering his own youthful adventures in the same port many years ago. The men had upset the tavern owner and the local constabulary with their mostly harmless attempts to rekindle the War of Independence. A subtle handover of a handful of coins had been enough to soothe the feelings of those most offended. The benign weather had continued since leaving the Cape and with a replenished larder and the ship in good repair, the Captain had every reason to believe that the Emerald could well make Sydney in almost record time for a clipper. He emerged from his cabin to stretch his legs, surveying the build-up of clouds on the southern horizon. ‘Mmmm, looks like we’re in for a bit of a breeze.’ One of the crew scurried past, choosing to ignore the Captain’s ramblings.

Syria--a complicated mess with no winners!

Syria is an example of a 'failed state, one in which its leader makes war on his own people, in an attempt to stay in power, to keep the 'baubles' that he inherited from his father, to keep those who he sees as opposition in a permanent state of hopelessness. Then---throw in the various groups who aspire to take his position; some just as brutal as him and others far worse. A group espousing religion as their driving force but delivers brutality to anyone standing in their way, not only in Syria but the region as a whole, with an avowed aim of establishing an Islamic Caliphate, whatever that means in this day and age. Now bring in the influence of other major powers, both from within the region and from past colonial and post colonial times and the picture becomes even more fraught with 'impossibilities!' Some lay the blame for the current mess on past colonial machi8nations, but that is simplicity in itself. One only needs to go further back in history to see a picture of eternal struggle as various ethnic groups, often using religion as the 'flag bearer,' and more often exhibiting naked power to pursue their aims---that of unbridled power. In the middle, as always, it is the people who suffer. Now we have a region aflame as the 'players' enter and exit the stage, acting their part then pulling back as yet another 'character' seeks alliances with past 'performers.'On the edges of the 'main stage,' other 'actors' make a play, reluctantly at times, with other concerns driving their decision as to whether they should let their light shine. On a world stage, the question of who controls the resources of the region is an ever present but not always acknowledged force. It is extremely powerful, usually superseding any wishes of the people who inhabit the region. Is it any wonder therefore, when we have such forces colliding, those of the regions and its wannabe rulers and the desperate manoeuvrings of politicians and industrial/military complexes making their plans from afar, that the Middle East and Syria in particular are a cauldron of indifference to suffering and the failure of nation states to provide for their citizens?

Sons Of Orpheus is online now, chapter by chapter---free for a while.

Sons of Orpheus, by Neil Coleman, (ME!) will be online, chapter by chapter for a short time and then for a small payment you will be able to download it (maybe NZ$1 for two chapters). Sons of Orpheus is a massive novel set in the 1860s going through to the late 1880s. Whilst there historical events that are true, it is a novel that takes the reader to a time in NZ history that many would rather forget. SOO has in a rich tapestry of characters; one from Ireland, another from Indonesia. At times the storyline is ahead of its time and covers issues that were 'not talked about' in the 19th century. For then first instalment, go to my blog for the 24th Oct ,2014. I shall post the next chapter in few days, one the first one has more than 25 hits. I contemplated going through the process that costs so much re Roskill, but that is way too much, hence going down this pathway. If it takes off, I may consider releasing the whole book on Kindle and hard cop, but that depends on YOU! Enjoy the first instalment. www.authorneilcoleman.com

Sons of Orpheus---the book I have not published.

Quite a few people have asked me to put online, my book, Sons of Orpheus. I have been reluctant to do this because I am not that happy with it. HoOwever if it gets enough'attention,' I shall spend the next holidays getting it up to pre-editting standard. Here goes---the Prologue and first chapter. It will need a lot of hits before I put the next one up. Comments please. Sons of Orpheus is a fictional historical novel, based on real events in NZ history. Yes, I know there are many mistakes!Print it out and read it at your pace, somewhere nice. SONS OF ORPHEUS: By Neil Coleman www.authorneilcoleman.com PROLOGUE Manukau Bar, New Zealand, 12.30, February 1863. Jack strained to see the entrance to the Manukau Harbour. A wispy mist partly concealed the entrance; but knowing it was there, just beyond the waves breaking on the bar, added to the sense of danger. He had taken a break from his duties, and along with his friend Adi, was fascinated by the looming vista of the Manukau Heads. Jack and Adi were totally different in appearance; Jack, skinny, red-headed, blue eyes and pale skinned, while Adi was brown and swarthy with black hair and round brown eyes. The crew had long accepted the unusual pair, giving up on the jibes that they had directed at the two boys when they had first boarded the Orpheus. They were about five miles from the narrow entrance to the Manukau Harbour, but first the Orpheus had to navigate the treacherous channels and sand-banks that many sailors feared and captains dreamed about. Even the storms and maelstroms of the Tasman Ocean were quickly forgotten as the unforgiving gap revealed itself. For Jack, Ireland and its sadness lay behind and a new land beckoned, with the promise of a new beginning. He longed to make a fresh start in New Zealand with his new friends. He would not miss ship board life, particularly the harsh rules, boring food and overzealous officers, but all this paled into insignificance compared to the life he had left behind months ago in Ireland. A few yards away, Adi was deep in thought. He missed the village and his family, especially the love of his mother. His father was a distant memory; a mixture of kind words and times spent hunting in the lush jungle surrounding the village. But so much was missing; a void that seemed near, but unconnected with his present. Adi’s plans coincided with Jack’s. They had hatched a plan to begin a new life in Onehunga, just beyond the Heads, leaving behind the memories from the past. From two lands, thousands of miles apart, their paths had crossed, bringing them to New Zealand. The two friends were aboard the Orpheus, a British Navy vessel, out of Sydney. Adi and Jack had boarded the Orpheus a week before; Adi as assistant to the ship’s surgeon and Jack as the cook’s helper. Jack and Adi moved closer together so no one would hear their conversation. They confirmed their plan to leave the ship, before she sailed back to Sydney after completing her New Zealand mission. Nearby, Lieutenant Alex Coleman was also looking towards berthing at Onehunga. He was pleased to see the boys taking a keen interest in the distant shore. The past month had been a tough time for the boys and he had played an important part in their joining the ship’s crew. He smiled, thinking about how he intended to take them to one of the taverns in Onehunga. His plans for the immediate future were as yet unclear, but he too felt the stirrings of discontent with his present position; a feeling that he could not quite put his finger on. Part One 1 Western Sumatra, September 1862. Adi reeled as another aftershock wreaked havoc in his village. What was once a prosperous and happy village had been reduced to ruin in a matter of seconds, taking everything Adi had known in a cruel and savage manner. He was surrounded by death and the cries of the few near him who had survived. The smell of cooking fires mixed with the dust in a deadly pungent wave. His mother, father, grandparents and siblings were gone, disappearing in a river of mud and rocks as the hillside behind the village collapsed, engulfing the village. He had survived, but he wished that he had not. ‘What is left for me!?’ he yelled. ‘Why am I the only one? Just take me too!’ The choking dust obliterated the ghastly results of what had happened from him. As Adi stumbled towards the encircling jungle, he cried out for help, but those near him faced their own battles. A small child collided with him, before disappearing into the swirling dust and debris. When Adi reached the jungle, he continued along a pathway, and the screams gradually decreased as he ventured further. His clothes were ripped, giving him the appearance of a beggar. In his confused state, he did not stop to take stock of where he was heading. He left his ruined village behind and wandered from village to village in a daze for several weeks, eventually stumbling into a fishing village near the Sunda Straits. County Cork, Ireland, same time. Jack O’Connell yearned for a new life. In his seventeen years of life in Ireland he had seen much. Ireland had not recovered from the devastating potato famine. When the crop failed, Jack became part of a human flood, escaping from the hunger, unemployment and tyranny of the English overlords. Many of his friends and relations had fallen foul of the authorities and had earned either a quick death at the hands of the hangman, or been transported to the colonies in Australia. Jack was cast from his family through economic necessity. He remembered the nights when he had battled against the cold in the tiny rundown cottage. Hunger was a constant companion that his parents could do little to alleviate, driving him to risk severe punishment by poaching from the landlord’s farm. It had all become too much for his drunkard father, who finally disappeared, some said to America. Jack had seen three of his siblings succumb to disease and starvation, accompanied by his sense of helplessness to stop their suffering. His mother relied on him more and more, further increasing his frustration with his lot in life. Finally on a freezing morning in January he had awakened from a fitful sleep to find even his mother had left, taking the two younger children with her. That same morning the landlord had brutally thrown Jack out of the dilapidated cottage, leaving him with few choices. He had no one to turn to; no family, only a will to look for something better. Jack left his native Ireland behind and joined a crew of an English fishing trawler that delivered him to Liverpool. He was taken on board by a sympathetic captain who allowed him to work for his passage. Pacific Ocean, October, 1862. Alex loved the early morning shift; a time when the ship slowly came to life. The night watch had retired to their sleeping quarters below deck to be replaced by the first shift of the day. Alex smiled as he listened to the grumbling men. They weren’t particularly serious in their complaints; it was merely a fact of life as a sailor on the Orpheus. He was also on deck for another reason. Alex enjoyed an early morning walk around the deck, while it was relatively quiet. It may not have been on par with the long strolls he took back in England, but it was enough to set him up for the day. His athletic figure was yet to fall prey to the overindulgence of many of his fellow officers. He shifted his attention to the school of flying fish, skipping the gentle waves; disappearing for a moment, then reappearing in another graceful swoop before repeating the pattern. The ship was sailing under wind power, saving her coal for times when the wind was less kind. She still managed a good fourteen knots. Alex had been lucky to secure a position on the relatively new ship. Many others had applied and failed. He had joined her in Canada, while she was on convoy duty. England was another world away, with its grimy and overcrowded cities. He was determined to prolong his time on the Orpheus until another opportunity came his way. He did not have a plan as such, but the idea of serving in the Colonies was a growing possibility; it was in what capacity that was unclear. The voyage to Sydney had been uneventful, almost to the point of boredom. One benefit for Alex was that he had gotten to know the Orpheus. He had come to appreciate her as a ship, well ahead of most of the vessels in Her Majesty’s Navy. The ship’s bell rang, intruding on his thoughts. Breakfast was being served in the officer’s mess. Liverpool, October 1862. In Liverpool Jack joined the thousands of fellow Irish already living in the squalor and lawlessness of dock area. He managed to find casual work on the docks for a few hours at a time, thereby just succeeding in to keeping the hunger pangs away. If he wanted more than a basic subsistence, he was going to have to make some alternate plans or enter the dangerous underworld of petty crime. Jack was fast coming to the conclusion that he had to make some choices if he was to avoid a life of permanent poverty and hunger. The dark filthy alleyways near the port provided many opportunities if one was so inclined, but Jack intuitively shied away from that way of life. Liverpool was a busy port; ships regularly had to wait offshore before mooring at the docks. Jack loved to watch the ships as they emptied their cargoes of exotic wares: including tea from the East Indies and cotton from the Americas. Those ships quickly re-provisioned with cargoes and passengers, destined for a myriad of destinations. He heard passengers and crews talking with a mixture of fear and awe about savages in the Pacific Ocean on palm-lined shores and vast deserts in far off colonies at the bottom of the world. On one occasion a barrel broke open after a sailor tripped on the gang-plank, spilling the contents onto the dock below. Jack’s nostrils were immediately assailed by the sharp aroma of the red powdery substance. When he knelt to examine the mess, he transferred the powder to his mouth, and then endured the raucous laughter from nearby sailors who knew about the burning taste of chilli powder from past voyages to India. For Jack, it was lesson well learned, but at the same time, awaking his curiosity further about what lay beyond England. Great Britain was a nation with colonies and territories around the globe. Jack became aware of some of these distant places, including India, New South Wales, Canada and New Zealand. The stories intrigued him and gradually led him to new conclusions about his future possibilities. He often picked up enough casual work, thereby t extending his meagre coin purse so that he could eat for a few more days and pay for somewhere to sleep, albeit in rather foul lodgings. His efforts did not go unnoticed. Captain Louis Pickering was leaning on the railings one day, thinking about the voyage ahead to Sydney Town via the perils of the Cape of Good Hope with its treacherous winds and currents. His present ship, the Emerald, was a fast clipper, renowned for its speed and ability to take many days off the long voyage to Sydney. As well as his cargo of mixed merchandise for the growing colony, he also had a small number of passengers who paid extra for the privilege of enjoying a fast passage. The time of steam had arrived but Captain Pickering still preferred the trusty sailing ships to the noisy and smoky steam ships. Deep down he knew that the time was fast approaching when he would either have to learn new skills or become used to the idea of a life without his beloved sailing ships. His past voyages had not been without incident; especially the last one the year before when he had lost several men overboard to a huge rogue wave that had swept over the decks. The ship had survived relatively unharmed but the loss of his men hung heavily on his thoughts. His attention was abruptly drawn to a disturbance on the dock. One of his sailors had fallen whilst trying to manoeuvre a large water barrel. ‘Oh my God!’ the Captain bellowed. ‘This is all I need.’ He rushed down the gang plank so he could better assess the seriousness of the accident, leaving the gaudily dressed lady he was chatting to alone on the deck. ‘Don’t be too long dearest. You promised me a good time luv,’ she crowed, much to the amusement of the crew. Jack was also on the scene and was doing what he could to alleviate the man’s suffering. He was well used to assisting in such situations; for farm animals, his family and fellow farm workers back in Ireland. Jack had managed to remove the sailor from under the barrel. ‘Mmmm—not a pretty sight,’ muttered the Captain. ‘Someone get a doctor, and hurry about it.’ Fortunately, a doctor of sorts was in the nearby tavern, enjoying an ale or two. He joined the scene, escorted from the tavern by Jack. The doctor staggered to the dock, his face flushed from the booze he had enjoyed. The Captain grimaced as he observed the corpulent and inebriated doctor; however, he was the only option available in the short time before the ship left port. ‘Take im to the tavern so I kin get a better look at ‘im,’ the doctor slurred, ‘and give ‘im a shot of brandy to shut the bugger up. Gord he’s makin’ enough bloody noise to wake the devil hiself.’ The Captain was in two minds. Should he let this butcher attend to his injured sailor and possibly make an already bad injury worse? Maybe the better option would be to bring the sailor aboard and let the ship’s surgeon attend to him, but he quickly dismissed that option when he remembered that that gentleman was not due back until just before this evening’s planned sailing. The Emerald was almost ready for departure on the evening tide. Her crew was all but complete, but there was a worrying situation in that several of the crew members were rumoured to have joined another ship, after been lured by the promise of a better offer. This was a common occurrence; one that the Captain was prepared to use when he needed to. The Captain contemplated these problems as he watched the sailor being taken to the tavern. The Emerald was due to leave in a few hours or face the wrath of the port authorities and extra charges. He thought that the crew numbers were sufficient; more so if he picked up extra members at The Canary Islands where he was intending to put in as usual to replenish his wine supplies. A thought suddenly occurred to him. Maybe the helpful young man who had proven himself so useful over the last few days could be persuaded to join his crew. The days of press gangs had long since disappeared, meaning that less persuasive methods could be employed. The young man appeared amiable enough; keen to learn and had the whiplash build of a sailor, and probably more than able to flit about the mainsails when required. No time like the present. He called to the young man. ‘Boy, come here, quickly will you. I have a proposal’ Curious, Jack approached the captain, who was once again leaning over the railings. ‘I see you have made yourself useful again,’ the Captain pronounced. ‘We are about to ship out of here on the next tide. ‘Get yourself aboard.’ Everything came back to Jack in a rush. As far as he was concerned he couldn’t get far enough away from Ireland and now having experienced a life truly on the edge in Liverpool, he came to a decision quickly. ‘But I don’t know nothing about the sea Sir,’ he replied. ‘What use would I be?’ ‘From what I’ve seen young man, I am sure you will catch on pretty fast.’ ‘What’s in it for me then?’ Jack replied cheekily. ‘True, it isn’t much in the way of wages for a young lad like you, but I am sure the adventures will more than make up for that. There are always opportunities if you keep your eyes open.’ Jack knew that there was little in Liverpool and from what he had heard on the docks, many thousands of his compatriots felt the same. He came to a decision in a flash. ‘Sir, get me out of here,’ Jack implored. ‘There ain’t nothin’ here for me as you say.’ ‘Then come aboard sailor and stow your gear,’ the Captain replied. ‘What you see is what you get,’ Jack laughed. ‘Cheeky bugger.’ Next Day the Emerald slipped anchor and a day later she was plying the Northern Atlantic with a very sea sick young Jack having finally said goodbye to his past life. North Atlantic. Jack adapted quickly to life aboard the Emerald and it wasn’t long before he left the sea sickness behind him. He also had the good fortune to have embarked with a reasonably mild mannered Captain. Captain Louis Pickering was quite unlike some of his notorious fellow captains. He was not a Captain Bligh, but he insisted on a high standard and did not suffer laziness or dishonesty. Clapping in Irons was a very rare event and flogging was not part of his disciplinary ideology. Jack loved to scamper up the riggings to the highest part of the ship, where he could observe the goings on from a bird’s-eye view. His hands had become used to the rough feel of the ropes, to the point where he was able to boast about the newly formed callouses on his hands and fingers. The air was fresh, totally different to the cloyingly thick odours of below deck. It was a relief to steal a few minutes in his special world. He was happy for the first time in many years. He could not remember a time when he felt happier. Now from the crow’s nest he observed a purple hazed mountain on the horizon. ‘Land ahoy!’ he shouted excitedly. ‘Ah, The Canary Islands,’ the Captain murmured contentedly as he imagined the stores this short break in routine would deliver. His crew would also benefit from the short stay in port, but knew from past experiences that ‘short’ was non-negotiable, considering the nature of the visit and the discretion required. The passengers would also enjoy a few hours ashore, knowing that the next port was Cape Town. The brief stop in Tenerife was enough for the captain to procure his needs and it gave Jack a welcome break from ship life. His ship-mates barely had time to take advantage of the delights of the town’s offerings before they grudgingly returned aboard. A few of the passengers copied the Captain and came back with a supply of wine to carry them through for the much longer and more stressful portion of the journey to Cape Town. The Captain took the opportunity to top up his fresh water supply and to fill the ship’s store room with fresh meat, vegetables and fruit. Only small amounts of this would come the way of the crew, who would have to settle into a far less varied diet. For Jack this hardly mattered, given the deprivation from his recent past. Two rather seedy looking sailors who claimed they had missed the sailing of their previous ship were reluctantly taken aboard. Time did not allow for a more judicious search. A week of advantageous winds soon had the Emerald approaching the equator. For Jack this was a new experience as he became the unwilling victim of the crew’s attentions for those who were making their first equator crossing. Jack quickly realised that the best way to get through this was to just go along with it and after a good dunking and a bit of exaggerated spluttering, accompanied by raucous ribbing from his crew mates, he emerged unharmed and having satisfied King Neptune, he felt he was now truly part of the Emerald’s crew.

Spur Winged Plover is the name of the Jack Russell scarer!

Perdy is a lucky Jack Russell who gets lots of walks down at the Onehunga Bay. She delights in cavorting in the mud, the water and amongst the long grass; especially that which has taken over the area beyond the fence line. She loves to jump about as she explores the possibility of other ‘life forms,’ namely rats, mice and God knows what. She shoots off under the fence and no matter what I say, she does not willingly come back until she has had her fill. OK, if I get really annoyed and go back to the car and start the engine, she skulks back to me. I haven’t been too worried by this as I am not often in a hurry. When I am---well the blood pressure probably goes up! It seems that a solution to her escaping and not coming back has arisen in the form of some new inhabitants of the ‘grasslands.’ A few weeks ago I noticed that there were some new birds down at the Bay. They were not like the Pukekos that Perdy loves to chase and be chased by. They were not like the gulls that take wing as soon as Perdy is unleashed. NO---these ones set up a guttural screeching and rose above us, then dive bombed an unsuspecting Perdy. Perfect, I thought—Perdy had finally met her match---and then some. There must be some sort of primeval instinct that takes hold and Perdy hates it. She does not like being attacked from above. Back she came, scuttling under the fence, with her tail well and truly clamped between her legs. ‘Let’s go Dad, ‘she implores while I laugh at her. Thanks, Spur Winged Plovers. You have put my monster in her place! www.authorneilcoleman.com

New Zealand's Prime Minister speaks in Tongues---Parliament amazed by this incredilbe 'gift!'

Prime Minister Key of New Zealand has a remarkable gift. He apparently regularly speaks in ‘Tongues’ in the NZ Parliament. He has shown this capacity, this gift on many occasions, causing a great deal of admiration to be directed at him from the NZ public, namely the ’voting’ public, although of course a great many NZers did not bother to vote in the past election, further exposing NZers to yet many more months of listening to Key as he repeats his aforementioned ‘skill.’ An example is the incredible ‘gift’ could have been observed by anyone present, either in person or electronically, as he admitted yesterday that he did not speak to his ‘friend’, Cameron Slater, the man who gave ‘Dirty Politics’ a whole new goal post to aim at in future, as the PM but in some other capacity. One wonders what other ‘registers’ the PM may use in the coming months as he unloads his policies on a NZ that generally did not vote for him! Perhaps he may slip into one in which he takes away the rights of NZ workers for a tea break---oops, they did that last night, so the ‘tongue will switch’ to yet another focus of his ‘plan for NZ.’ Watch out for the ‘Charter schools, Tongue,’ as he pays back his little friend, ‘David Seymour Charter Schools,’ thereby cementing his alliance with the tiny party that the tongue- twisted convolutions of party politics has given us. Still, at the end of the day once he conveniently forgets one of his tongues, we have this situation because we----or is it you---couldn’t be bothered voting? Did you really think that NZ was in good hands and that the ‘tongue is just—well---a slip of the tongue and it’s just another day in the life of Johnny! www.authorneilcoleman.com