Thanks for the memories of childhood in the ’60s

Remember the days gone by as a kid, jumping on your pushbike and taking off for the day at the weekend? The only rule seemed to be, ‘‘Be home before dark, or else’’.

There seemed to be a trust thing happening there as you knew to be home at tea time, or else.

There didn’t seem to be rules on where you could go, although advice was given as to who they thought was the right company, and they usually left you to work it out for yourself.

There was the odd creepy old guy around the streets but we all knew who he was and to stay clear of him.

A bit like bullies at school, we all learnt to avoid them and hang out with the right kids.

We played Cowboys and Indians at morning tea and lunchtimes and if the school groundsman had cut the grass on the bottom field, we made forts in the po¯ hutukawa trees.

Cowboys and Indians was a popular game in the late ’50s, early ’60s at school. Later we played war.

The transition from walking everywhere to having a pushbike was huge. Pushbikes were expensive and few parents could afford to buy them for their children. Same went for pedal cars.

Only the kids with wealthy parents had them. Ooh, to have an army Jeep or an A40 Austin pedal car. To us, rich kids were gauged by the toys they had. My friend Steven Moss had a flash cap pistol made of metal and a lead pistol – quite detailed. I had a wooden gun I’d made in Dad’s shed with a nail for a trigger. That was the difference.

There was never jealousy, just that difference. And going to his place to play cowboys or war meant I could use one of his flash guns in the game, kind of like a treat.

We made wooden push carts from the wheels and axles off old white cane prams. Mine had steel boot skate wheels on the back, which made the cart slide and go faster.

Up we would go to the top of the Browne St zig zag and fly down the hill at full speed, broadsiding at the bottom into the swamp before we hit the railway lines sticking up on the track. Suicide, yes, but the thrill of the dare. And, of course, the winner got the closest to the railway lines and risked ultimate death.

Making things out of wood in Dad’s shed was great. Guitars with fishing nylon strings, rafts and carts were fun to make. Poor old Dad’s tools got a hiding but he rarely mentioned it. I’m sure he found where I’d hidden them?

Corrugated iron canoes followed, iron beaten flat and wooden triangle ends made of wood and tar to seal the holes. We were so lucky we weren’t drowned in the river. I crossed a very choppy river in one when I was quite young and would have gone straight to the bottom.

We made shanghais and slingshots and all manner of weapons. I killed a poor blackbird one day that was sitting on the fence singing his little heart out, and it gave me such a fright when the slingshot knocked him over dead.

Firing shanghais at targets was fun. I always wanted a daisy air rifle but never had one. From the age of nine I was at the river, every chance I had, fishing.

I’d always gone with Dad to his favourite spots at Turangi Rd, Wai iti and Waipapa Beach and Urenui, and the thrill of catching a fish never leaves you.

The river was boiling with yellow eyed mullet and kahawai, feeding on the effluent from the freezing works into the river. It was also pocket money as we sold them for 2 bob (20 cents) a dozen, scaled and gutted and threaded on a fire.

Jagging kahawai that swept through the thick shoals of yellow eyed mullet was frequent, usually in the tail or the head. It was quite a job to pull them in.

Kids cried out ‘‘KAHAWAI’’ at the top of their voice, signalling a significant event. Giant eels lined the river’s edge and were often caught on hand lines or scooped up in a white bait net by accident.

We’d watch the granddaddy eels heading out to sea from off the east wall and marvel at the white horns they seemed to have – they were the biggest. On West Beach, off the end of Battiscombe Tce, the Pill Box stood among the rocks on the foreshore.

This old observation post was built during World War II and we keenly cleared out the logs and stones to pretend we were watching for the Japanese coming in their submarines. There was another one by the wharf up river but it was half full of water and spooky, so we never went there. The Waiongana River was a great place to meet up with friends and swim. It was quite safe.

We made rafts out of logs. I remember seeing several large barracuda hovering around the mouth of the river and we kept well away from them. There was a large whale washed up on the beach around 1967 when I was 13. I chased a friend with one of the intestines that was strewn along the beach, much to his delight, ha-ha.

Hanging out at the Battiscombe Tce dump and later the Waipapa road dump, we fossicked for pushbike parts and made ‘‘Strop bikes’’. Bare frame and wheels and turned-down handlebars.

Fluoro paint in spray cans was ‘‘in’’ in 1968 and we sprayed them fluoro orange, lime green or yellow.

The freedom of a pushbike was second to none. It was nothing to pushbike to Onaero or Urenui or to Fitzroy Beach. What kid would do that today? As kids we didn’t have a lot, but we made the most of what we had. And, boy, what an adventure. I was blessed with great parents and came through an interesting era. Thank heaven for memories.