24 LISTENER SEPTEMBER 14 2019
in the 2nd NZ Expeditionary Force. At
age 29, 190cm and 83kg, he was marked
Grade 1 for fitness and duly inducted into
the infantry, leaving the Kōkopu-Kara
district for the military training camps at
Papakura and Trentham. Les had grown
up in Ponsonby in his grandparents’
home, his father often away logging kauri
in the Coromandel.
Perhaps Les joined up with the
thought that if he had to be physically
absent, he wouldn’t be emotionally distant
as well. All soldiers were encouraged to
write, and often (“Write Home First,”
exhorted the supplied stationery), and he
certainly obeyed. He wrote to Molly, to the
spinster aunt who raised her, to friends,
neighbours, his Kōkopu students, nieces
and nephews and directly to his son.
From his first days away, Les wrote
to Christopher on topics to engage a
four-year-old boy – guns, trucks, football
games and types of barbed wire (one sort
for repelling Germans, another for tanks).
He signed himself “Les”, or “your loving
father”, never Daddy or Dad. Molly was
likewise named. Printed carefully on flimsy
sheets of airmail paper bearing YMCA,
National Patriotic Fund or Church Army
crests, the letters were often illustrated
with stick-figure people, trees, bombs
and barbed wire. While keeping up with
Christopher’s world of starting school,
lost teeth, and scooter maintenance, he
gave him encouraging – if unvarnished –
reports of his own activities.From Trentham
“Dear Christopher, Yesterday we went for
a run. It was over three miles long and when
we finished we had to run between stools
and get tickets to say who was first and who
was second and so on. There were 300 of us
and I got ticket 135. We did not have to run
fast, but we had to get in by a set time, which
about half of us did. Molly will say that 135
is not very good; but I ran just hard enough
to get the right marks for my team without
getting too tired.”“I hope you like Bayfield school. It may be
a long way for a boy to go; but you know the
walk will make you strong.”A
letter to Les must have reported some
indiscretion of Molly’s to elicit this
response. “... Your letter is very nice.
You will have to look after Molly, and not letCAher say bad things or I will be wild with her.”
ME
RO
N^ F
AM
ILY
CO
LL
EC
TIO
N
FROM THE ARCHIVES
“... I also think of Molly taking you out,
and you are quiet and polite then, because
grown-up people and their tidy houses can’t
stand anything else ... Then I think of you
romping and playing, and singing out, and
running about. It will only be a few more
years and you will able to drive the motor car.
I think of this because I was remembering
how we used to fix the Morris up at Kara, so
that it would run well, and drive us along over
the hills and sometimes to the beaches.”Les would often reassure Christopher he
was safe, but would prefer to be at home.
“I like it over here all right, but I would
rather be with you and Molly in New Zea-
land. I cannot send a snake over to you. I am
not allowed.”O
nly one letter to Molly from Les
survives, in which he does not
temper his loneliness, or grief. In
February 1943, he wrote, “If I didn’t love
you so much, then I shouldn’t think of you
all the time and perhaps it would be easier
to live here alone. But then I should be only
half alive ... Let me tell you that my feelings
have never been more jumbled. That’s because
there’s a war on, and I love you. I must be
away from you, yet I want only your love, and
life with you.”With Christopher, he kept his tone
lighter, and focused on the future. On
October 20, 1943, he composed a long
letter to his son, discussing his growth
and fitness, which would ultimately lead
him to being able to run well, swim,
dance and bat “at the wicket”. In Les’
view, he wrote to the now-eight-year-old,
“every man should try to be fairly good at
everything”.
He believed riding a bicycle wasn’t good
for growing boys, but regular running was.
He outlined his philosophy, suggesting a
jog-and-sprint training regimen “at least
every other day”. “Always arrive home at
a jog, never a sprint. The sprints come in the
middle of your work-outs. You should be cool-
ing down and breathing more quietly as you
jog up to the back gate.”
The letter ended with his usual “Your
loving father”, followed by stick-figure
sketches of JC Kirk (Christopher’s first
name, James, was never used) as a school
boy at Cornwall Park Primary, then Les’
secondary, Auckland Grammar School.
The final figure is JC Kirk, “a University
Man”.Sometimes, the longing to be with his
family could not be masked with humour
and homilies. A single page, undated, is
a few simple lines showing Christopher’s
name in various writing styles, “X X X
3 kisses, not crosses” and a sketch of an
umbrella with falling rain. “Do you remem-
ber a long time ago when I showed you how to
draw rain?”
Les, now 2nd Lieutenant LJ Kirk (“good
type of officer, is a leader, should do well”,
noted his Trentham commandant), was
posted to the NZEF’s Pacific HQ in New
Caledonia with the 34th Battalion, but
was soon on the move to Fiji. The letters
continued, longer and more detailed as
Christopher’s reading skills developed.
They were still illustrated – Fijian floraand fauna, descriptions of training (or as
much as allowed), excitement – “we locked
the prisoners in the guard house” – and local
observances. “Tobacco here is sold among
the Indians and Fijians in the shape of rope,
and it costs sixpence a yard. An Indian spends
lots of time sniffing at the ends of different
tobacco ropes before he spends his sixpence.”Les also kept up on the everyday of the
Norfolk St, Ponsonby, household where
Molly and Christopher had set up home
with her similarly war-separated sister,
Jean, and her two children.
“You must like the new hot water; and I
suppose that the Electrolux is working well.
The coconuts on the trees are getting ripe now,
and turning brown. We are working pretty
hard here and learning a lot of new things too,
but the Army will not allow me to tell you
about them.”
The envelopes sometimes contained
little gifts. In January 1942, Les was pleased
to send three used hat patches for his
six-year-old son and his cousins. “I have
worn these three patches on my hats (left side
is where you sew them on) ever since I came to
Fiji. They have been in the bush, and through
cane and rice fields, on the beach, and on to
other islands too ... They are only bits of cloth;
but I have quite an affection for them.”There were also parental edicts on
expected behaviour.“I cannot send a snake
over to you. I am not
allowed.”