Stopover provides poignant reminder
FOR elderly drivers Civis and spouse, the prospect of driving from Nelson to Christchurch, leaving after 2pm, seemed unnecessarily tiring. So overnight accommodation was booked at Owen River, which seemed a wise decision after experiencing the two episodes of criminally dangerous driving described last week. It was a relief to pull off the road and relax. A comfortable bed, and good food for dinner and breakfast reinforced that feeling.
Over the last fortnight, some of the events leading up to the Armistice between Germany and the Entente, which came into effect at 11am on November 11th a century ago, have been noted by New Zealand media: the armistice of Villa Giusti between Italy and AustriaHungary on November 3; the capture of the walled town Le Quesnoy, by the NZ Rifle Brigade, on the 4th; the death in action, during the crossing of the SambreOise Canal, of war poet Wilfred Owen, that day; and the three days early ‘‘fake news’’ of Germany’s surrender, come to mind.
But while enjoying a predinner drink in the bar of the Owen River tavern, Civis noticed a sobering memorial to another war in which New Zealanders fought and died — though perhaps it should be regarded as the Second Instalment of the Great War, given that the decisions of the victorious Entente powers at Versailles, and the myth that Germany had been ‘‘stabbed in the back’’ politically rather than defeated militarily, set the scene for World War 2.
A wooden board in the tavern’s bar bears the names of the 48 men from the Owen District (that’s right — 48, from one of the most sparsely populated areas in the country) who served in the armed forces from 1939 to 1945, and shows those who died in action. Especially poignant was the fact that, of those 48, there were seven pairs, and two trios, of surnames, none of them common names — it’s reasonable to assume that, from such a district, those with the same name are likely to be related, some probably brothers.
Thankfully, though the New
Zealand casualty rates were horrific (one in every 150 of New Zealand’s population died on service — the highest per capita rate in the Commonwealth) the death rate in the 193945 fighting (8.5% of New Zealanders who served overseas died) was not as high as in 191418, when nearly one fifth of those who served died, but the anxiety of the wives and parents of those fighting must have been informed by memories of that earlier war.
For the Owen district those fears were justified: seven (14.6%) of those listed on the board in the tavern were killed in action.
Of course there were many casualties among those who survived combat, too. In the Great War 2.3 times as many men were wounded as killed, and that doesn’t count those mentally crippled by their experiences.
Those left behind in the Owen district during the 193945 conflict must have wondered, as Lt Owen had during the Great War, when the men left:
‘‘ . . . Shall they return to beatings of great bells/In wild train loads?/A few, a few, too few for drums and yells/May creep back, silent, to still village wells/Up halfknown roads.’’?
Promoters of the Dunedin Casino Pride of the South charity boxing match say participants will be safe, despite Kain Parsons having died following such a bout.
Some commentators have suggested organisational reasons (such as lack of head gear, or inadequate training) for Mr Parsons’ death. But they, and the promoters, are talking nonsense.
The purpose of boxing is brain damage. Brain damage can kill. Head gear may reduce cut eyebrows, but it doesn’t prevent brain damage.
Charities which accept funds raised by such bouts are complicit in the death of Kain Parsons (and of Neville Knight in 2016), and in the nonfatal cases of serious brain damage which those contests have caused.
While they do so, Civis won’t support them.