The life of Anna
Even Anna Crighton’s friends have been shocked by her life story. Philip Matthews talks with the heritage campaigner about her new memoir.
Do you choose to remember or do you prefer to forget? There are three people in a room on Thursday afternoon, on the 13th anniversary of the February 22, 2011, earthquake that forever changed Christchurch and the lives of so many in it. All three were in the city, and each of them have their own stories and tough memories of that day and those that followed. One of them is Dame Anna Crighton.
Yes, she noticed the date and no, she has not been thinking about it. “I try to block it out, actually,” she says. “It was pretty terrifying.”
It’s striking how little space the earthquake occupies in her newlypublished memoir, Still Standing. Is it because she thinks the subject has been covered enough or because she can’t readily access those feelings?
“Both,” she says. “I just feel my story is not as bad as thousands of others, and there’s so many stories out there.”
But that’s what everyone said after the earthquakes. There was always someone worse off. It was part of the humility or resilience of the times. Yet Crighton was nearly killed by a falling water tank in her grand old home in Chester St East. “You imagine looking up and just seeing it coming towards you,” she says. “I can remember the feeling. Have you ever run in slow motion? I remember going down the hall and it was a weird feeling, like those dreams where you’re trying to run away from something and you can’t move.”
Yet Crighton has so many other, less familiar stories to tell. Some early readers of the book have been shocked by them, she says. Others have been left in tears. Crighton turned 80 last month and some of the stories are typical of the repressive New Zealand of the postwar years. Her parents starved her and brother Ralph of affection. She talks of “my father’s sternness and my mother’s spoiltness”. Both later had happier marriages with new partners. As a rebellious teenager, it was agreed she should leave Christchurch Girls’ High School. She ended up in the Mt Magdala convent in Halswell, which put wayward teenage girls to work in the Magdalene laundries that are more familiar to us from movies set in Catholic Ireland.
The fact that such laundries existed in Christchurch is one of the details that shocked readers.
She was adventurous, to put it mildly. On her way to meet a fiance in England, she jumped ship in Naples and ran off with an Italian named Vincenzo. She returned to New Zealand pregnant and gave the baby up for adoption, like so many other unmarried teenagers in the 1960s.
She later suffered through an awful marriage. “Abusive” hardly begins to describe it. Details include rape and drugging. But she escaped with her son, Dorian, on whom she doted. Now she has three granddaughters.
“I was never able to have a loving, trusting relationship, which is probably something I would have loved but it never happened,” she says. “Because I wouldn’t let anybody in.”
But she does write about her time with another partner, Mark, later in life. “And it was good for a while. But I’m better off on my own.”
There are other, less shocking revelations. Those who know Crighton only as a respectable city councillor and heritage campaigner may have trouble picturing her as a cabaret dancer and go-go dancer in 1960s Christchurch. She danced in a cage in the Plainsman nightclub in Lichfield St.
This gathering of memories was a lockdown project, really. Former Press journalist Mike Crean was very helpful in putting it together. But why did she want to do it?
“Why?” she asks. “I don’t know. When I look back over my life, I thought I had a pretty adventurous life. A lot of things happened to me that I don’t think people would ever think of or know about me.
“One thing is that I love going to funerals. You get to know about people. I always come away thinking, ‘Gosh, I wish I’d known that’. You get to know people when it’s too late.”
But she admits that she feels exposed as well. “Exposed and vulnerable, actually. But I’ve got enough of a hide now or enough strength to just say, well, so be it.”
It is a very emotional book, in the end. A lot happens. “It was quite cathartic, really. But it also gave me a lot of dark moments. I couldn’t see anybody for weeks on end because I’d go inward. I’d wake up in the night crying. Things like that.”
That was the private Anna Crighton. There is also the public Crighton, well known around Christchurch for arts and heritage advocacy. There was hardly an old building in town that she did not have strong feelings about.
Where did this public figure come from? As a solo mother in her 30s, she went to university and eventually ended up with a PhD in history and art history. Her subject was the “selection and presentation culture of the Robert McDougall Art Gallery”, from its opening in 1932 to its closure in 2002.
She worked in the gallery for 17 of those years, most of them as registrar.
The arts and heritage became her life, or gave her a purpose. She attributes her love of heritage and tradition to her early years in her grandmother’s villa at the Linwood end of Gloucester St. She recalls it as a “magical house full of exquisite objects”.
She began to create her own historic homes, initially restoring an old worker’s cottage in Armagh St before taking on the grand, 11-room Victorian house on the corner of Chester St East and Madras St.
That was a major restoration job, a labour of love, and she was there for 30 years until she downsized dramatically and went modern, moving to a terrace house in Montreal St.
She has only been in this new place for a couple of months.
“Of course, this was painted all white,” she says, gesturing at the dark green walls. “And I can’t live in a white environment. I’ll never be a minimalist.”
Instead, it is a riot of art and colour. There are paintings by Mark Braunias and Euan Macleod downstairs, a Philip Trusttum work hanging by the back door and a Neil Dawson sculpture at the top of the stairs. But other pieces of art went into storage and there was some serious culling involved in squeezing into this new home.
The home was built on the site of the former Normal School, which became the Cranmer Court apartments, and was demolished in one of the most bitter heritage disputes of the post-earthquake era.
“An absolute crying shame,” she says. Crighton was a strong voice in some of Christchurch’s art and heritage stoushes, and her advocacy meant she was made a dame in the 2020 New Year Honours.
She was an opponent of the Canterbury Museum’s controversial extension plans in the early 2000s but is very approving of the museum’s current plans, which include the use of the mothballed Robert McDougall Gallery. This time she had input.
Other victories included saving the Addington Jail and honouring war hero Henry Nicholas with a statue by the Avon River. In the field of public art, Neil Dawson’s Chalice was initially contentious before it was widely loved, but Michael Parekōwhai’s temporary giant rabbits and an art bridge near Hagley Park had to be chalked up as losses.
But these were small skirmishes compared to the full-scale heritage war that followed the 2011 earthquake. There were so many losses that it would be impossible to list individual buildings, “but one thing I really resented was the scorched earth policy in demolishing everything up and down Manchester St”, she says.
“It was one of those streets where the buildings were of human scale. Each one had a small business. It was a delight to have. To wipe it out unilaterally was just cruel. Not only did you lose the buildings in that environment, none of those businesses came back.”
We lost so much but what is good in the city now? Do any new things appeal?
That’s a tough question. She goes quiet for a full 25 seconds and eventually says that she likes the fact that the council saved the Town Hall. “There was huge pressure on them for that to be demolished.”
She was also happy that plans to revamp Victoria Square were pushed back after a public outcry.
But as for things that have been built, she turns the question around. “What do you like?” she asks.
Well, Tūranga is a pretty good building. Yes, she agrees. Riverside Market and the river area in general have been successful. Again, she agrees.
As far as post-quake heritage goes, she is pleased to have helped to save the Isaac Theatre Royal, the Trinity Church and the Shands Arcade, which she bought from property developer Antony Gough for $1 and moved to a space in Manchester St.
A campaign to save the Catholic Cathedral was less successful. She calls it “a fiasco” and news that the replacement might be built in Barbados St after all has her throwing up her hands in disbelief. “I mean, really?”
Finally, there was politics. As a former councillor, she remembers Christchurch in the 1990s under mayor Vicki Buck as a kind of golden age. “She was like a breath of fresh air. Nothing was a bother. We did things responsibly.”
Morale among staff was good and the councillors worked well as a team, she recalls, rather than splitting into factions and cliques. She does not have anything to say about Buck’s successor as mayor, Garry Moore, or at least not on the record. Consult the book for those opinions.
She was on the council from 1995 to 2007. Does she miss it? Surprisingly, she says yes. “Because I keep getting frustrated with what’s going on.”
The public Crighton remains undimmed.
Still Standing by Anna Crighton, Canterbury University Press ($39.99).
Mrs May at Twizel Area School had no idea then of the lifetime effect she would have on 6-year-old Matthew Bennett when she decided her class should build a papier-mâché model of the Mackenzie Country.
Shy Matthew didn’t really enjoy much about school but this task certainly excited him as at that young age he loved maps, space and the Titanic.
Possibly because of Matthew’s passion for outer space, Mrs May took her class to visit Mt John’s Observatory in Tekapo and on their return they recreated the solar system by suspending the different painted planets from the ceiling of their blacked-out classroom.
These two creative assignments were a high point of Matthew’s schooling and what a shame that they both happened so early on. Sadly, as he got older, Matthew found it difficult to be among crowds, disliked loud noise and found so much in life too puzzling to process.
Now don’t get me wrong, Matthew is clever, in fact extremely clever, so it didn’t come as a surprise to anyone when he eventually graduated with a bachelor of science in physics from the University of Canterbury.
To better understand Matthew, we need to mention Lego and music as both these diverse activities have played and continue to play a central part in his life.
Matthew can’t really remember a time when he didn’t design and build extraordinary things with Lego, but on reflection he thinks he was probably 5 when he got his first set.
Even at that young age he loved escaping into his own quiet world where his extraordinary abilities to focus on the most complex of designs made him feel so alive yet at the same time relaxed.
The tuba called out to young Matthew but he was too small for this giant of the brass family so while waiting to grow he played the trombone and then the euphonium.
Finally at the age of 16, at the Christchurch School of Music, his tuba journey started and it was love at first pump of the rather rusty valves. Matthew got so much pleasure from the music he played and he enjoyed all the different groups he was asked to play in.
He said these were some of the rare times when he could tolerate large crowds. He felt comfortable being with other like-minded highly focused people who accepted him as he was.
Everyone really appreciated Matthew as he was always so obliging, well prepared, rock-steady, and an orchestra or band with a tuba always sounds so much richer in tone.
At 19, Matthew’s natural curiosity made him research autism and he suddenly felt a huge wave of relief when he realised that this self-diagnosis explained so much to him.
He remembers telling his mother, Lorraine, who was also so relieved that Matthew could now feel more comfortable and accepting of his unique abilities. Matthew and his mum went to a specialist, who gave him a legitimate welcome to that club of very talented extraordinary autistic folk. Thirteen years on, Matthew regards his autism as both a curse and a blessing, but in the end says “it’s just the way I am”.
Despite gaining his bachelor degree, gentle, retiring Matthew found it impossible to find suitable employment, so he worked as a manual labourer before taking a job sorting at a recycling depot. Matthew could only dream of finding a job that used his incredibly agile brain.
Thankfully there was some true fulfilment in Matthew’s life because at the age of 23 he went to a Lego show and instantly found a magical world of other like-minded adults, who, as with the music world, made him feel comfortable and he was totally at ease.
Most people who think of Lego think of assembling a pre-designed model from a complex diagram but since 2013, Matthew has become fascinated with making his own monumental designs that require him to tap into the criticalthinking skills he acquired at university to calculate the intricate mathematics of scale.
At the first Lego show Matthew exhibited at, he’d designed and built an extraordinarily impressive Dubai-style 10-metre-tall tower that he took to the show in assembled sections. Matthew’s calculations were perfect but what he had not factored in was that the venue had a ceiling height of only 9m. Poor Matthew had to display his glorious creation with the top metre lying detached on the floor in front.
He subsequently travelled the length and breadth of New Zealand exhibiting at Lego shows and found his new Lego family to be his tribe.
Now, remember Mrs May at Twizel School all those years ago setting Matthew and his class that task of building the model of the Mackenzie Country? Well, at the age of 25, Matthew decided he would bring his love of maps and Lego together and make a totally accurate model of the Port Hills, Lyttelton Harbour and some of Banks Peninsula in a 1 to 31,250 scale.
What started then was an extraordinary building adventure as, after this initial model was completed,
Matthew went on to construct equally lifelike models of Aoraki/Mt Cook, Fiordland, Mitre Peak and several other South Island geographical wonders. All of this was leading up to an epic 6m by 2m model of the South Island.
When I use the word epic I mean epic – this model has more than 120,000 pieces and weighs over 100kg. The only thing more accurate than Matthew’s model is the South Island itself.
Among all these three-dimensional map-building activities, Matthew then set off for Denmark, the home of Lego, to attend the international Lego exhibition of all exhibitions.
Now, like me, you might wonder what a Lego builder’s luggage would consist of. He packed two suitcases filled with neatly arranged Lego, with just a few clothes as an afterthought.
Matthew was really happy in his mind-boggling Lego world, and content and busy playing in eight different Christchurch orchestras and bands.
Sadly, he started getting inexplicably tired – things got so bad for him – and then he was told he was going to need a kidney transplant. Finding a suitable donor is an almost impossible challenge, but Lorraine, his mum, didn’t hesitate to be the person who was going to preserve her son’s life.
The operation went smoothly and both Matthew and Lorraine came through it successfully, but in Matthew’s case, recovery was slow, with many ups and frustrating downs.
Despite all the care in the world, Matthew then contracted Covid and sadly he is one of those very unlucky folk who continues to suffer from the debilitating long Covid.
The Lego and tuba have temporarily taken a back seat as Matthew tries hard to regain his zest for living. His beloved tuba is waiting to play again those proud bass lines all around Christchurch and his nation-building Lego brain is devising the next staggering creation as soon as his energy returns.
I asked Matthew, if health permits, what his next creation might be – maybe a map of the North Island or an even taller tower?
He thought for a bit and then said: “A giant Ferris wheel – my goal is to beat the world record for the largest Lego Ferris wheel. The current record is 3.38m in diameter and 3.64m total height. My goal size is 5m in diameter, although the actual size will depend on what will actually work.”
All going well you might see this yet-to-be-designed marvel at the Christchurch Brick Show on July 13 and 14 at Christchurch Arena.
Matthew is a young man with so much natural intelligence, integrity, focus and quiet charm, whose greatest wish is that one day he will find that opportunity to utilise his unique skills and abilities.
For me it was an absolute privilege to enter Matthew’s world and I couldn’t help but think how special those Mrs Mays of this world are. Matthew is still in contact with his favourite teacher and very fortunately she is still weaving her magic at Twizel’s school.
Former Cantabrian Mark Walton, an internationally recognised clarinettist and saxophonist, has an enduring fascination with New Zealand history and writes regularly about his home country.
‘‘My goal is to beat the world record for the largest Lego Ferris wheel. The current record is 3.38m in diameter and 3.64m total height.’’