Greg Dixon
Defeat is certain for any would-be invaders.
Be warned. If ever we decide to set up as the People’s Republic of Wairarapa – and, frankly, I’m all for it – we’ve got what it takes to defend ourselves.
If, say, hordes of Aucklanders attempt to invade us with their overpriced flat whites, petrol taxes and moribund property market, we shall fight them not on Lime scooters, but with lime milkshakes and cheese and onion toasties at the beaches of Castlepoint and Riversdale.
We shall fight them on the A&P showgrounds and at the Golden Shears; we shall fight them in the fields and in our traffic-jam-free streets, and we shall fight them up in the rugged hills of the rough-bastard Tararuas.
But, most important of all, we shall fight them in the blue skies above us, because – and this is a littleknown fact in the cafes of Ponsonby – we, the Mighty Wairarapa, have our own air force.
Usually hidden away under tight security in the hangars at Masterton’s Hood Aerodrome, this small but menacing strike force is rarely seen in public. As our farmlet, Lush Places, is close to one of Hood’s flight paths, we very occasionally hear these predators of the skies zipping over us, bound, no doubt, on some trouble-making mission north or south of us. However, it wasn’t until last weekend that I finally sighted the People’s Republic of Wairarapa Air Force at the Wings over Wairarapa (aka Wow) air festival.
I’m sure the existence of Wow is also a littleknown fact in the cafes of Ponsonby, but, in fact, the first air show was put on at Hood in 1975, with the first Wow event held 20 years ago this year. It’s far from being a best-kept secret; as the premier air show in the North Island, the biennial festival typically draws weekend crowds of 25,000 and generates $7-8 million for the local economy, much of which, I’m guessing, comes from selling the official programme for an eye-watering $10.
Dad travelled down from Tauranga especially; he did his compulsory military training in the Royal New Zealand Air Force in the mid1950s, as an aircraft armourer, and was mad keen to relive past glories. As was I. It just so happens that I once achieved many, many “victories” on Microsoft’s Combat Flight Simulator computer game.
If Wow’s advertised top of the bill failed to turn up – a giant US Air Force B-52 Stratofortress bomber, which broke down on the way from its base in Guam – the rest of the aircraft on display, and the in-flight displays, were jolly exciting.
There were a couple of Spitfires, a Catalina flying boat, RNZAF and Navy helicopters and – very exciting for Dad – a 1950s de Havilland Venom, an aircraft he’d trained on. The Venom, a first-generation jet, roared over the airfield making the sort of sound that sunburnt middle-aged men in jeans and baseball caps drinking beer and eating hot chips (that would be me) just love. My fervent wish is to have that sound played at my funeral.
However, it was the smell of burning castor oil, as aircraft with such evocative names as Albatros, Sopwith and Fokker flew over, which heralded the arrival of the air force of the People’s Republic. Yes, that’s right, Wairarapa’s warbirds consist entirely of restored and replica World War I aircraft.
The $10 programme informed me that they are made, restored and owned – on behalf of the People’s Republic of Wairarapa
Air Force, of course – by a company called The Vintage Aviator Limited. However, it took me a Companies Office search to confirm that TVAL is actually owned by film director Peter Jackson – though his name was not officially heard or mentioned at Wow, and he actually lives, in Greta Garbo-like seclusion, near Masterton.
“You can thank The Lord of the
Rings for that,” yelled the bloke sitting next to me, proudly, as a trio of the People’s Republic’s wonderful Albatros planes flew overhead.
“Yeah, and the rest of the country better watch out for the Mighty Wairarapa,” I yelled back.
Usually hidden away under tight security, this small but menacing strike force is rarely seen in public.