76 WHAT TRADIES WANT.W
hen I was a lad the Wallabies
would beat the All Blacks. We
often had the wood on the Kiwis
in the cricket too – even if we had to bowl
underarm to win. And if push ever came to
shove, my mates and I were confident Bob
Hawke could’ve punched out New Zealand’s
PM Sir Robert Muldoon, taken a quick
breather then decked his successor, David
Lange, to prove the point.
Australia was bigger. Better. More evolved.
It was the era of the America’s Cup coup
and the bravado of the boxing kangaroo
when we loved to lord it over our cousins
across the ditch.
At my high school, the kids who’d come to
Oz from NZ when they were younger kept
pretty quiet about their roots, cloaking their
heritage in a broad Australian accent and
barracking for the green and gold lest they
were mercilessly mocked.
Living proof of the veracity of this edict
arrived at our school in 1983. I forget her
name but I recall she was catwalk gorgeous
and – straight off the plane – she had a thick
Kiwi accent. You’d imagine possessing
breathtaking beauty would buy you a bit of
slack when it came to the ye olde faithful taunt:
“Ere? Whut’s fer denner et yor plaice tunite?
Fush un chups? Bwahahahahah!”
Not a chance. The glamazon was a New
Zealander and thus fair game for anyone in
year nine at my school. I was one such pimply
git who asked her if she’d fancy “...going to the
crucket and drenking sux tuns of pus from the
chully-bun.” Disgraceful. Her family returned
to NZ the following year.
Not only was it customary to mock
the way New Zealanders spoke,
generations of Australians –
clearly in need of someone
even more inferior to
look down upon –
contrived a never-
ending supply
of gags that all
pretty much ended
with the punch-line:
“Because Kiwis like
heving six wuth sheep!”
As if Australians didn’t have
25 million sheep, too.
Despite this endless barrage,
every single New Zealander I knew
growing up was good natured about it,
even though it must’ve been infuriating – not
to mention boorish and racist. But the spirit of
the ANZAC, it seemed, ensured all was said
and received in
‘good humour’.
My, how the
t a b l e s h a v e
turned! These
days the joke
is on Australia.
In fact, we are
the joke.
Not only have
we apparentlylost all hope of ever beating the All Blacks
again, not only has New Zealand taken out
the America’s Cup several times since we
went all silly about winning in 1983, and not
only does the NZ cricket team still exhibit
more sportsmanlike behaviour than ours, but
the Kiwis are a demonstrably more advanced
people beyond the boundaries of sport.
Here are just a few markers to consider:- Indigenous recognition: In 1840, the British
Crown signed a treaty with Maori chiefs
which, although not perfect, has largely
given Maori and non-Maori New Zealanders
equal rights ever since. In Australia our initial
approach to the original inhabitants was
oftentimes to kill them. Then our forefathers
sought to steal their children and breed them
out of existence.
Then we shunted the remainder off to
settlements outside country towns. The
first Australians have been here for 40,000-
50,000 years and we still haven’t given them
constitutional recognition. Maybe next year. - Gender equality: New Zealand had two
female Prime Ministers – Jenny Shipley (1997-
- and Helen Clarke (1999-2008) – years
before Julia Gillard came to power in 2010.
In stark contrast to Australia’s first woman
leader, Mrs Shipley and Mrs Clarke were
largely treated with respect. As far as I know
they were not publicly called bitches, witches
or liars.
- Governance: With a few exceptions, when
New Zealanders elect a party to office –and
by extension, a Prime Minister – they can
generally rest assured the PM will lead the
party at the next election and be judged on
his or her merits. I know! How crazy is that? - Gay marriage: If you’re a lesbian, gay,
bisexual, transsexual or intersex person,
you’ve been legally allowed to get married
in New Zealand since August 2013! That’s
right, the Kiwis even beat the US to this
no-brainer milestone. - Mrs Henderson: Some years ago I married
a New Zealander, born and bred in the North
Island town of Hastings, who is proud to tell
anyone who’ll listen she was awarded a ‘Tidy
Little Kiwi’ badge at primary school. She’s
not that tidy these days, but Lizzie is tall,
beautiful, warm, loving, smart and hilarious.
And she doesn’t flinch when I suggest we
“...take the keds out to hev sem fush and
chups fer denner.”
Smoko With Hendo
CRAIG HENDERSON’S IN A RACE WITH THE KIWIS