ANIMAL HEROES ‘Swansea Jack’
The black labrador retriever dubbed ‘Swansea Jack’ made as many as 27 watery rescues during his short life in the 1930s.
Dear Father You left me when I was 5, with a 3-year old brother and another just a babe-in-arms. You also left a young widow new from South Africa with no New Zealand family support. You were just 34 when doctors amputated your infected leg and you died from septicaemia in the days before anti-biotics were around to save you.
I’m an old man now, Dad, and I remember you in black and white flickers, like an old movie; like the times you sat me on a bar and gave me raspberry and lemonades while you drank beers with your mates; and when you said you were going to take me to The Blanket Show and with excitement, I pictured a fair ground and a merry-go round. But I recall the disappointment when you told me The Blanket Show was bed.
More than 70 years have passed and I still stand by your grave each time I return to the old home town and wonder what sort of a man you were and how different my life and that of my brothers might have been if you hadn’t been taken so young.
Don’t worry, we’ve had good lives Dad, but I wonder what influence you would have had on my brothers and me if you’d lived.
You were tough. Really tough. You were a New Zealand champion boxer and you fought professionally with success overseas.
Indeed, that’s when you met my mother and married her in Cape Town after a three-week courtship.
You fought with the bad leg that would eventually kill you and you savagely sought early knockouts in case you couldn’t go the distance. In your teenage years, legend says you slept on top of firewood with a thin blanket to make yourself even tougher.
When I was young and naughty my mother would say: ‘‘It’s as well your father’s not alive. He would deal to you!’’
So in those times I was glad you weren’t around.
So what would you have done with me? I have always wondered. Early pics show me in pugilistic poses with a head of blonde curls (sadly long since gone) and an innocent smile.
Would you have got me to sleep on firewood? Could you have made me a champion? I had the skills as a boy developed in a boxing club.
But when I won I felt sorry for my opponent. I was harried at school because your reputation was still fresh but I could best most of the challengers, though I didn’t want to hurt them.
I didn’t have your killer instinct. Could you have planted that in me?
I so wish, Dad, that we could talk now and I could discover what sort of a man you were. Did you have your Irish mother’s fierce bigotry and determination? Does the photo of you as a teenager holding a violin speak of an unexpected sensitivity?
Would you have made a success of your post-pugilistic life? What were your dreams and plans?
So as I stand over your grave, I wish we could go back to that old hotel that’s still there today at the bottom of the hill, where I could look into your eyes now and share a beer or two with you and you could answer my seven decades of wondering.
I would tell you I hardly knew you; but I have always missed you.
Your son, Joe.
ASKING the chief cook in your house ‘‘what’s for breakfast?’’ on Boxing Day is a bit like asking a marathon runner if they’d fancy a jog the day after a big race.
If you’re in charge of cooking, the whole point of Christmas (pushing aside the obvious religious observances involving church and shopping) is to ensure Boxing Day is an oasis of calm and leftovers.
From my point of view, the best Boxing Day breakfasts involve a bowl of leftover trifle, a large spoon and a bit of peace and quiet.
But if your household, like mine, is usually short on leftover trifle or peace and quiet, it can be useful to have a few simple tricks up your sleeve to delay the inevitable ‘‘what’s for lunch?’’ Serves 4-6 Preparation: 15 minutes (plus overnight soaking) Cooking: nil
JACK lived with his owner William Thomas at Padley’s Yard, Wales, on the western bank of the River Tawe – an area made derelict after Swansea’s shipping industry shifted to the eastern side of the river.
In 1931, aged just 1, the labrador retriever made his first heroic rescue when a 12-year-old boy, who was playing on the wharf, fell into the water.
As a puppy, Jack had always been frightened of deep water (perhaps explaining why he was so watchful of humans in the water), but as soon as he saw the boy was in trouble he jumped in and dragged him back to the shallows, where the boy struggled ashore.
Despite his timely action, Jack’s bravery was not reported at the time.
Several weeks later, Jack performed a second successful rescue by saving a flagging swimmer from the nearby waters of North Dock.
This time his actions attracted a small crowd, and his photo and an account of the rescue were printed in the local newspaper.
He was awarded a silver collar by the city council for his efforts, and sprang to fame as a local hero.
By the age of 5, Jack had made 1 x 850g tin black doris plums (I use Wattie’s) 2 cups rolled oats 4 tablespoons ground almonds or LSA (combination of linseeds, sunflower seeds and almonds) 1 teaspoon pure vanilla essence
cup cream, whipped (or about 11⁄ cups whipped cream) 6 squares good-quality dark chocolate (I use Whittaker’s), finely chopped
Drain the plums, reserving 1 cup of the syrup. Remove the stones and put the plums into a large bowl with the reserved syrup. Stir in the rolled oats, ground almonds or LSA and vanilla. Cover and refrigerate overnight. In the morning, fold through the whipped cream gently to achieve a marbled effect. Divide between bowls and top each with a sprinkle of dark chocolate. Serves 2 Preparation: 5 minutes Cooking: 10 minutes This is the kind of cooking for beginners (of all ages) that should be encouraged often. I like these with a generous layer of honey, but you could always push the boat out and top them with fried eggs. so many rescues that he was featured in the national newspapers. He won numerous medals for his service to humans, including two bronze stars from the National Canine Defence League, the Bravest Dog of the Year award from both the Daily Star newspaper and the Daily Mirror in 1936, and the Bravest Dog category at Crufts.
He was taken on a nationwide tour and was presented with a silver cup by the Lord Mayor of London.
Later, Jack also helped to raise substantial amounts of money for charitable causes, when his owner permitted the famous and wealthy to be photographed with him.
Sadly, on 2 October 1937, aged just 7, Jack died after accidentally eating rat poison.
A memorial to this charismatic and courageous canine was erected near his favourite swimming spot on the promenade in Swansea, near St Helens Rugby Ground.
More than 70 years have passed and I still stand by your grave each time I return to the old home town and wonder what sort of a man you were.
Do you have a letter you have always wanted to write to someone but never did? If you would like to finally write that letter and have it published in
Summer pages, please email it to bess.manson@fairfaxmedia.co.nz. or send it to A Letter To... Bess Manson, Features dept, The Dominion Post, P O Box 3740, Wellington 6140. Names may be withheld at the writer’s request.
It can still be visited today.
An extract from Ben Holt, (Allen & Unwin) $20.
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