130 LISTENER AUGUST 10 2019THE GOOD LIFE
[by telegraph]
Wairarapa District, July 1939U
pon my word, ’tis cold here in
the Provinces. It was our
wretched fate to have the
worst snows of the winter
arrive the very day my dear wife
and I reached the wilds of the
Wairarapa District by charabanc
from the Capital.
The hamlet of Masterton was
covered to a depth of six to eight
inches, and it was up to 18 inches
in some localities. A warm hearth
and lashings of strong tea were
our salvation.
That we did not freeze on the
journey here is to be wondered
at. The motor coach was open-
topped, and as it laboured over
the interminable goat track
separating the Hutt Valley from
the Wairarapa District, it was all
I could do not to demand the
ill-mannered cad at the wheel of
the draughty contraption return
us to Wellington.
To keep the cold at bay, my dear
wife and I were forced to break our
strict concord in the company of
others and sit very closely together
holding hands. I dare not contem-
plate what a shameful spectacle we
must have made, nor what Mother
would have said.
It was only on arrival in Masterton
that the rotter at the wheel informed
me I had “only my ruddy self toA gentleman and
his lady embark onrural endeavours
in the Provinces.From The Archives
GREG DIXON
DSO, OBE, ESQ.blame” or some such thing. If we had wanted to
travel in comfort, we should have “taken the ruddy
train”.
I can only wonder at why our travel agents,
Messers M. T. Promises & N. O. Refunds, had not
thought to inform us of such. I have written them a
stiff note of complaint about the sorry business.
The journey by train from Auckland to Welling-
ton was a no less fraught affair. Lamentably, our
agents had erroneously booked us third class, and
in the vicinage of an oppressively hot radiator. My
dear wife and I were so overcome by hot flusheswe had no choice but to remove our hats and coats
in mixed company. I dare not contemplate what a
beastly exhibition we made of ourselves, nor what
Father would have thought.
At this juncture, as this is the first of our cor-
respondence to this fine, new periodical, a word
of explanation is surely vital to elucidate why we,
a northern boulevardier and a woman of deli-
cate constitution and refined sensibility, have so
recently left the civilisation of Auckland for the
very backblocks of the Dominion.
One might deduce that madness has possessedus. One might reason we have taken
leave of our senses. ’Tis not so! We
were determined to flee the city’s
many vices and foul airs. We were
desirous to escape the insufferable
traffic because, and this beggars belief,
more than one-in-seven natives of
Auckland now own a motorcar. And
let us not forget the price of property.
Four-bedroom hovels in the slum of
Ponsonby now sell for sums as high
as £400. Madness!S
o, after the successful dis-
posal of our Auckland estates,
it was in blithe spirits we left
the wen for our small holding in
the remote Wairarapa District.
We can report that some
loathsome rumours about the
Provinces are in error. The rustics
speak excellent English. Though
in truth one does fear they are
not as strict believers as we in
a rigorous regime of weekly
bathing.
The closest local farmer, a
fellow named King, is a sterling
chap and has made it his labour
to shape us into robust Country
Folk. Only last week he gave me
a vigorous exposition on the
practice of “crutching”. He has
a fine son, Miles, who appears
inordinately mature for his
tender years, and is fair brimming
with aphorisms and sage advice. Wor-
ryingly, he appears also to have an
uncommon interest in the minutia of
sheep breeding, though that might be
expected of farmers’ sons.
So, our new Good Life begins,
though one does fear our endeavours
here in the Provinces will prove very
dull for your readers. One wonders,
how long will it be possible to main-
MY tain such a correspondence? l
DE
AR
W
IFE
;^ G
RE
G^ D
IXO
N
Our man in the Provinces.Four-bedroom
hovels in
the slum of
Ponsonby now
sell for sums as
high as £400.
Madness!