William "Bill" Anthony Carius

Decree Absolute [draft...]

James K Baxter, New Zealand playwright and poet, once wrote that you cannot grow flowers in concrete –maybe that’s true – certainly it is poetic; he was a poet after all.

I once found a small cabbage tree sapling growing in a small crack of the concrete of my driveway some years ago – it would not have grown very tall if I had left it there, and perhaps it would have died. Seeing that it would be in trouble I extracted it and planted it in a large terracotta indoor plant pot and it grew into a tall tree of five feet or so, its leaves were unusually soft and a verdant light-green. When it got too big it was later moved to the outdoors and placed in my garden and grew even taller – harder and stronger like its parent which I knew to be a really ancient cabbage tree from across the road in Pukekohe, New Zealand.

So, yes, flowers and trees can start their life in concrete but they do not thrive – and sometimes they die. My beginning was very like that small cabbage tree.

My great-great-great-grandfather, William McKelvey, was born about 1819 in Tandragee; County Armagh, Northern Ireland, Tandragee is a village on the Cusher River in County Armagh, Northern Ireland. William was employed as a farmer 1878 - 1879 in Makara, Wellington New Zealand – whilst he lived in Tandragee, Ireland he worked as a whitesmith [working for instance with pewter]. He married Charlotte Toms in 1836 in England as that was where she was from. David their son was born in the United Kingdom as far as I can determine – as William, his father, did not arrive in New Zealand until 1847.

William McKelvey had enlisted in the United Kingdom with the New Zealand Regimental Forces 8th October 1837(Regimental Number 1180, Sgt McKelvey 65th Battalion) when the settlers were experiencing problems with the prominent Maori chief Te Rauparaha, leaving England from Woolwich for Australia on the Convict ship "Tory" on the 29th September 1846 arriving in Hobart, Tasmania on the 18th March 1847.

William immediately left Hobart for Auckland, New Zealand, ten days later on the ship "Julia" on the 28th March 1847 and arrived in Auckland 23rd of April 1847. He was finally discharged from the New Zealand Regiment Forces on the 30th of November 1849 his army discharge papers where his character was described as "good and trustworthy" – when leaving after two years seven months with gratuity – recorded as being a parcel of land. On Discharge from the army William became the Turnkey for the Wellington Gaol – then later from 1855 he was the Keeper of Lunatic Asylum Karori for fifteen years there are a large number of William’s descendents now largely concentrated around the Wellington Region

William McKelvey died on 3 June 1891 in Makara, Karori, Wellington, New Zealand from pleurisy and he was buried on 7 June 1891 in Karori, Wellington, New Zealand.

William’s son, David “Fafa”, also called “William”, McKelvey [William & Charlotte’s fifth child], was my mother’s great-grandfather, was born in Tasmania, and christened there 8 February 1844. Fafa also farmed at Makara according to what I have been told – and was a highly regarded man. David was christened on 8 February 1844 in Hobart, Tasmania, Australia and died on 11 Sep 1927 at age 83.

David’s [he was called Fafa by the family] younger sister Harriet [William & Charlotte’s sixth child] was born in 1846 – Harriet certainly died 4 Aug 1872 and was buried in at Makara, Wellington, New Zealand. Samuel McKelvey [William & Charlotte’s seventh child] was born on 15 Mar 1852 and died in 1930.

My therefore great-great-grand father, David [“Fafa”]’s married Emma [surname not recorded] in Carterton, Wellington New Zealand, and they had an only child, a son also called David in 1871 – Emma sadly died in 1872. This David married Janet [family name unknown, she died 3rd November 1950] and had a daughter, my great-grand-mother, Kathlene “Kitty” McKelvey was the mother of my grand-father, therefore was my mother’s father, Trevor Colin McKelvey. David died in Masterton in 1954.

Trevor was born illegitimately being as Kitty was sent away from Pahiatua to give birth to him privately in Wellington, and I have not been told nor do I know the paternal name of my grandfather – he was given his mother’s family name and was bought up by his grand-parents – David and Janet. There is some reason to believe my grandfather’s biological father was a Douglas – there is certainly some circumstantial evidence to suggest this – during his life my grandfather had a close relationship with this family and was known to correspond with Leonard Douglas – possibly his half-brother. Trevor certainly spent holidays on the Douglas farm at Castle Point in the Bay of Plenty – family legend has it Leonard’s father owned and ran a circus in the North Island – and at one stage lost the circus in the thirties to a fire...there’s a story to be followed up! I cannot locate any newspaper records of this event though – nor is there any other information I can provide here now.

My mother, Maude Janet, was born 4 March 1945 in Pahiatua, the first-born to Trevor and Greta McKelvey; she was named after her mother’s sister Maude Lambess, and my grand-father’s grand-mother, Janet McKelvey. Maude was the great-great-grand-daughter of William McKelvey.

Robert James, my father, was a bastard in the truest sense of the word – born to a young mother, Irene who was sent away from Dannevirke, her home town where the Rossiter’s were well known, to Wellington to have the child: Robert James. Bringing baby back to her father and mother, Benjamin and ‘Rose’, who officially or unofficially adopted the boy child – he was bought up therefore by his grandparents surrounded by his 21 half –brothers and sisters - there were two sets of twins somewhere in there – all of whom were much older than he.

The Rossiter boys in fact used to be a rugby team in their own right in Dannevirke. He had little contact with his mother as far as I am aware and grew up unsupervised to a great extent because he always seemed to rebel and got into all kinds of trouble in the local area but to the distress of his adopted parents Ben and Rose [Irene’s parents].

My father, Robert, at one stage was directly involved in the death of one of his friends...it was some sort of stupid teenager’s challenge to race motorcycles through the Manawatu Gorge; once a dirt track through the Ruahine Ranges , then a wriggling unsealed two-lane affair cut into the side of a sheer rock cliff which dropped away to the Manawatu River below – across the other side ran the main railway line - his friend lost control of his bike and crashed into a power-pole part the way through the race along the winding road. My mother used to relate during the war the Americans were saying they would build a bridge across it and negate this treacherous pass ...but it never came to anything and it remained as dangerous as it ever was even when I was a teen-ager – narrow and winding – to the point you could never really see more than fifty feet ahead of you before the road view turned into the cliff face. At one point they placed some traffic lights at the most narrow parts and you would wait for them to change before heading into the narrowest parts. To think I cycled through it when I was fifteen or sixteen without a crash helmet...totally crazy – being in a car is scary enough!

My father [Robert James] and mother [Maude] had already had one child in late ’63, my sister, June – the two of them [not my sister] were married quickly because of it – my mother was only 18 and he was 16 or 17 – my grandfather, Trevor insisted he marry his daughter – so it was a traditional Dannevirke gunshot wedding. Dad’s family were from there and with his 20-odd half-brothers and sisters it was weighted against my mother that the wedding would not occur in Pahiatua where she was born and raised but there. My sister has a wonderful photograph of my mother exiting the car in her wedding dress – looking picture perfect – though it was, judging by the wet ground in the colour photo raining that day – so grey clouds abounded and remained for the duration of the stormy marriage – sometimes I wished she’d just got back into that white car and sped back home - like the two old ladies gawking at her seem to be willing through horn rimmed glasses, judging by their sour bitter faces.

Robert and Maude were not well matched – the only thing they had in common was that they were both children – children having children – ill advised but not uncommon for the time – an unmarried mother was not supported by the community, or by the state, in 1963. They must have had a troubled relationship – he was still wanting his youthful freedom, women and drink – god, could he drink and he had an unsavoury background.
My father, Robert, used to board with my mother’s father in their home in 6 Tui Street, Pahiatua – I am not sure how they actually met – but I think my father used to work for the same trucking company as my grand-father and invited him to live with them when he was aware my father had no satisfactory place to live.
‘Popeye’, as grandfather Trevor was known, was like that – a caring and generous man – self-made who was well respected and admired in the industry – known for his hard working ethic and also his integrity – sharing his home with someone less well off than himself was typical of his character.

My grandfather, Trevor, was a bit of a lost soul really – having also been an un-wanted child of an un-married mother, Katherine ‘Kitty’ McKelvey, she came from a good family – so I am not sure what her story was...she finally married a Ernie Thomas who was a police Detective in Dunedin and they fled the family embarrassment of her illegitimate birth of Trevor to Timaru in the South Island, who stayed with his grandparents David and Janet McKelvey.

Kitty had a further three children with Ernie, two boys; and one girl Daphne who I met in 2002. As Daphne related to me personally - she said she remembered a thirteen year-old Trevor visiting her mother and was always told Trevor was her ‘uncle’ – she never knew until I told her that he was her half-brother. Here she was in her late seventies finally finding out she had other siblings, she was shocked – her two other brothers had long died without issue and she had also only had one child – an adopted girl. Daphne thought she was the end of her line – she was well and truly shocked when she was told that Trevor has two children and they went on to have six children and now there were nine great-great-nephews and nieces she had – so the line was well and truly surviving – she almost fell over in her kitchen!

Daphne married ‘Ned’ Petrie, who came from a well known family who ran a factory in the South Island. Ned and Daphne, when I finally met them, had a house nearest the entrance to Long Bay on the North Shore in Auckland New Zealand, where I used to go cruising on the gay beach there. You can still see their two story white house from the road, just near the entrance to the main Beach where all the hetero’s go with their dogs and kids – it is set back from the street up a steep driveway – I visited her often in 2001-2003. She painted, like me, and kindly gave me one of her water colours. Sweet and kind lady – though she was a Seven –Day Adventist. She said her mother, Kitty, converted to the religion when she received one of their pamphlets in their home mail-box in Dunedin in 1927.

My mother had been keeping house and looking after my grandfather since he was separated from his wife Greta, they had been married for some twelve years before her carousing and nocturnal antics were the laughing stock of the area and finally left – but not before she had terrorised her husband and daughter. She was evidently an evil woman, possibly schizophrenic. She was hell bent to her own ends and devious without comparison – during the war she apparently was man hunting non-stop and would take off at the drop of the hat to pursue some dalliance at the expense of her children and husband- she was even know to take my mother on her escapades...my mother would have been only around eight or nine. Grand-mother’s favourite was always her only boy Trevor Colin junior – her golden boy – her angel – the one who could do no wrong and went with his mother when she left the family home.

Mother was only thirteen and not long got over a serious brain operation – it was quite the thing when it happened and she underwent one of the first or earliest brain operations in 1954 – when she was ten – by a well known Scottish surgeon down in Dunedin where the main advances in medicine were practised – my mother was one of their first guinea pigs – overall a horrendous experience for her – she had been having headaches from a really young age –six or so. The way my mother related the story she was hit by a car when she was around ten and then had to be rushed to Dunedin where they discovered she had a rather large brain tumour located in the rear occipital parietal region of her brain – I had seen the track of the scar which went straight up from the middle of her neck and arched over to the left like a question mark – the scar clearly visible after thirty years – I used to see it when I used to brush her hair.

She was not expected to survive – she was aware a priest had been called by her mother not long after the operation and she was given the last rights on two occasions – which seemed rather odd to me as I was aware my mother was Presbyterian perhaps last-rights is another word for the catholic version of extreme unction. Anyway she was given this ceremony and was expected to expire not longer after – she survived. Then proceeded a year of her mother caring for her during her recovery – mother related to me that she had a nasty scar and no hair and her head had to be oiled and re-bandaged every day. This level of care her mother gave her seems rather strange, when I cast this against the stories my mother related how badly her mother treated her not long after she had recovered from the surgery.

This oiling and doting mother-care went on for about a year – then when mother was between ten and thirteen her mother underwent some kind of psycho change and became some possessed monster – throwing hot pots of tea at her husband, burning cigarettes into my mother’s arm – really rather sadistic. She also went off on sexual adventures going out to the local army barracks and ‘socialising’ with the men there – even taking my mother with her at times...grand-mother turned into a real hell-raiser- but I think she had that in her from a young age.
My great-aunt Maude told me that Greta, when she was a young girl, did little to nothing to support her Kaituna family with their cow herd –not even joining the family to assisting the hand-milking out the back of the house in the morning – if she did show up it was only to watch – her sister, Maude got really sick of it and really resented the high sense of entitlement she demonstrated.

Greta, a very wilful child; by everyone’s account. She grew up to be a wilful adolescent and went on in her teen-age and twenties to carouse around with the American soldiers when they were stationed in Auckland – Maude used to socialise with her – my great aunt remembered being at one dance with American soldiers herself and being aware all the men quickly left at one stage because there was an alert that the Japanese were flying over Auckland Harbour – though I suspect this was the Japanese submarine scare – as there was a report of one sub being in the harbour and one just off the coast of New Zealand – my grandmother used to keep pots of hot water on the stove as a greeting card for any Japanese soldier who happened to wander into her kitchen – as if that was going to happen . Every housewife in New Zealand was recommended to do this as part of the war defences – and also donate their pots – very much like the British during their darkest hours – something to keep the locals concentrated on and perhaps believe they were contributing something useful to the war effort. They were, I guess, heady days – Greta ended up marrying my grand-father Trevor after he at first proposed to great-aunt Maude – Maude said to me she turned him down twice – he had no prospects according to her.
Great-aunt Maude continually used to refer to me as Trevor and then corrected herself saying I was very much like him.

Trevor used to stay with his Aunt May – who was married to Ernie Wadham [my eldest sister still has their wedding photo I gave her]. The Wadhams had a farm up the road from the Lambess’ in Kaituna [a small village just outside of Pahiatua in the North Island of New Zealand]. I understand too when David McKelvey, in his old-age, could no longer continue farming at TeWharau he went to live with his daughter May and his son-in-law Ernie on the Wadham farm in Kaituna.

Ernie was the son of ‘Ma and Pa’ Wadham, he was one of five or so children. Ma and Pa Wadham were both well known local ‘characters’ – both for their marathon drinking and gambling. Great-Aunt Maude related a story of the both of them tearing down the hill from their home on the hill and their car hitting Alfred Lambess, her then teenage brother – his life was saved by the coat’s, which he was wearing at the time, button hole catching on the car’s bonnet hooks [they kept the bonnet covers down on the side of the car] and he was thrown onto the top of the engine – though slightly grazed; he lived, thank goodness. The Wadham house is still there, just up the road from where the Lambess home used to be – about a ten minute walk – having, as it did, a legendary cat’s fur rug made from the local cats they captured and skinned!

Ernie Wadham took over the Wadham Farm from his father, Edward Wadham - Edward Wadham died in 1909 - and was instrumental in setting up the Kaituna Dairy Company, as one of the co-directors with among others Christian Carlson - the Kaituna Chees Factory opened officially in 1903 and produced 1000 pounds of cheese per day.

My grand-father Trevor must have visited the Lambess boys, down the hill, and also met them at the local dances at the now destroyed Kaituna Town Hall – which is now long gone. All the Lambess used to play instruments at these community gatherings – I never heard that grand-dad played an instrument himself but I would not be surprised if he did – both his children, my mother and Trevor, both played instruments – my mother played the piano by ear very well – and Trevor Jnr went on to become a professional musician.

The Lambess boys, of Kaituna, were all mad on motorcycles, then cars, when they were young men living at home on the farm – Nortons and Triumphs. You can still see their cast-off car detritus on the old property today – along with the remnants of the old one-horse gig on the front paddock which would have been in the front of the house when it was there – two of the decomposed wheels and the seating arrangement melting into the long grass in the small front paddock which was just outside the front veranda of the old Lambess house.

Alice Maude Lambess and her husband Alfred put their names in the government land lottery around 1914 and they were selected, well Alice was, and Alfred went there and built a shack-hut at the front of the property and lived there clearing the land – she arrived a couple of months later and they lived there in the hut until he had built their home on the land. Alfred, my grand-mother’s and great-Aunt Maude’s father built the Lambess home himself. He worked at a wood mill and processed all the wood used in the house building it himself.

My Aunt recalled that her father, Alfred, had piercing blue, blue eyes...that was one thing she remembered to tell me...so not like mine - I would therefore believe that his twin brother James had the same colour too.

From what I recall from my Aunt there were two parts to the Kaituna dairy property – the main farm was back of the house where the old creek is and they owned another plot of land across the road. Looking at it today the property across the road was very hilly and this was the main direction from which the high winds common in the area used to come from. Aunt Maude told me they used to use a broom handle to keep their front door closed because without it the door used to fly open every time the wind picked up. They lost the farm property from across the road through gambling losses – I understand it was because of one of the Lambess boys – though I was never told which one – Aunt Maude was not very forthcoming with this information – by all accounts it was a rather sore point with her even fifty years after the event.

The Lambess house was moved off the land sometime after 1968 when old Alfred sold the property when he died and Alice moved to nearby Pahiatua. The Lambess house that Alfred built is still; standing in the local area and can be found at the end of Coutts Road – I think it is a rental property now. Alfred died not long after and Alice then re-married.

My great-Aunt related that when Alfred died she turned up at the Kaituna Farm and caught her brothers piling up all the old furniture which was owned by their parents on to a bonfire - she was mortified - some of the furniture was already over a hundred years old and they were chopping it up an throwing it all on to the fire!

I also located our great-great uncle Thomas Robert Lambess' Boer War Records - he was one of the sons of Thomas and Emma [nee Cassell, her mother and father were Sarah and David Cassell from London England] Lambess - he was born 14 Feb 1867 in Wanganui. His brother Alfred was our great-grandfather [Alfred was father of Greta & great-aunt Maude]. Thomas Robert Lambess was Private # 743 of Unit 3RRC6C part of the Third Contingent to the Boer War - his unit was known as the 'Rough Riders' - love the name....lol. Thomas ended up farming outside Bulls on Nutt Farm...hmmm...interesting name. David Cassell, apparently illiterate, is recorded as working as a Farm labourer – apparently working for his grandson Thomas.

Thomas’ unit embarked for the Boer War on the "SS Knight Templar"17 February 1900. Thomas then returned to New Zealand on the 'Tongariro' with the Third Contingent as part of the No 2 Company on 10th April 1901.
Sarah Cassell [nee Peoppell], was originally from Ayrshire in southern Scotland, married David Cassell [born circa 1810] in the East End of London in 1840, and Sarah was the person Alfred fled as a teenager too in Taihape from the family farm in Wanganui - I understand that the reason Alfred rode his horse, fleeing the family farm to live with his grand-mother Sarah.

He fled because his brother (James?), horse whipped him. He was 13 years-old at the time and when you consider his age and the distance he rode on his own he was a very brave and independent child - his grandmother then took over his up-bringing - hence the reason Alfred chose to use the Cassell family name to be added to all his male children - because of the high regard and love he felt for his wonderful grandmother Sarah. Sarah must have left David at some stage and lived in Taihape – certainly Alice Maude when she married Alfred lived in Taihape at one stage – she lost two children whilst they were there – Claude, her son who was around 18 months old drowned in a puddle at their home there and one other...John – he died at the tender age of three from taiphoid.

The only other immediate claim to fame was Alfred’s brother James ['Jack'] Lambess – he ended up being a well known horse trainer operating stables near the Ellerslie Racecourse in Auckland – a couple of his well known horse were Kauri King and Kauri Park – Kauri King won 300 guineas at steeple chasing in 1927. He remained unmarried and one of his sisters [Sarah?] lived with him until his death. In fact he gave one of his horses Blossom to his niece great-Aunt Maude which she rode to her school in Kaituna- but all accounts Blossom was the envy of all her school pals – she was a very fast horse. Blossom was found dead one day in the creek at the back of the house by one of the Lambess boys – Maude told me they seemed very pleased with themselves when they told her the news – Blossom is buried somewhere near where she died – there well beneath the lush green grasses of the Lambess Kaituna Farm.

Guess I was suckled on kooky and spoon-fed crazy from the very beginning - I am trying to remember my childhood with my mother – my earliest memory is vivid – I must have been around two or three and I remember pushing a pram with my youngest sister Maree down the hall of our home in Fergusson Street, Palmerston North- hell, that was an old house it still had wallpaper pasted onto sackcloth backing – there was no plaster beneath it. I re-call the draft coming through the holes in the wallpaper in my bedroom the torn corners blowing into the room from the wall when there was a mere drift of wind around the place. I shared the room with my other sister Donna – when we were very small. We were both kept in baby cots, me three and her around two, in the room with a door which opened into the main living room.

The living room was one of the biggest and coldest room in that small wooden house – it was used to watch television – a small 12 inch black and white rental TV – I remember the picture used to “roll”. It must have been before the moon-landing 1968 because I remember watching that when I was around four, and by then we were in Leicester Street, Terrace End – still in Palmerston North – I was standing in the living room one day and my Dad and I caught a news bulletin and news reel of the landing pictures – I even seem to remember the re-entry footage...so I was still quite young. The only dining table was in the back of the house a depression era affair with wooden chairs near the un-used fireplace – and above it where we sat down for dinner we were watched over by the glass eyes of a deer head mounted above it. Moments...gawd that furniture would be worth a bit of money now – she also had a wonderful Arts & Crafts oak hall table – it used to wobble – it kinda irritated me as a child because you could never write really hard on it [I had a rather heavy writing hand style] because your pen would squiggle with the wriggles of the table top.

At Leicester Street I also remember empty beer bottle crates in the living room, somewhat more modern than our last home – a three bedroom affair built in the late-fifties of asbestos and with a corrugated iron red roof – Dad must have had some of his friends over one evening and there they were when I got up – there in the living room – I remember picking up one of the bottles out of the crate and seeing there was liquid in it drinking it – it tasted awful – I decided then I did not like beer...well, not until I was in my late twenties did I even try to drink it.
The other early Leicester Street recollection I have is Dad having some old black Austin car for a while also in the late sixties – it must have dated from the late forties – it was very small and all us kids just fit in the back and we would go shopping in it – I recollect Dad being very proud of it and cleaning it on the front lawn of our house in Terrace End – I have a distinct picture of it being parked on the front lawn near the front door of the house – off the road – strangely. It was probably stolen.

He had a reputation of being light-fingered – not sure what kind of stuff he got up to – but he certainly was in court a lot and was in jail for a period in 1967 – I know this because I saw a telegram to the jail he was in announcing the birth of his second daughter – so it must have been around July of that year when he was incarcerated.

No doubt his criminal career was petty, though extensive – I understand he was recidivistic and incarcerated a number of times – perhaps three at the Queens pleasure – and was involved in some rather unsavoury affairs – one of which my uncle was encouraged at one stage in the early seventies to procure the services of an assassin of sorts to go from Sydney to New Zealand to ‘do’ my father in – heaven knows what slight or affront my father caused him but no doubt richly deserved – alas my uncle pulled the plug on that enterprise just prior to the man he hired got on the plane to execute the deed.

That would have been a story to tell if the contract was carried out – I am none the wiser as the reasons – and one day I hope to find out – perhaps someone in the family will make the effort – I have little energy to spend on my father so the reason is of reduced interest to me – but fascinating nonetheless.

How my mother tolerated his criminal activities I am not sure – I am not aware she was familiar with all the details but she did recount that on a number of occasions whilst we were living in Terrace End that our home was searched on a number of occasions by the local police for his contraband. He worked at one stage at Palmerston North hospital and was known to have helped himself to the hospital supplied and bought them home...not too bright.

Our father was a womaniser, heavy drinker and violent – I certainly remember all of these traits certainly I was on the receiving end of the last two on a number of occasions. With regards to his womanising one evening I was aware of him dressed up in a tuxedo to go out on the town with whomever - perhaps one of his many lovers – and leaving my mother at home alone with her four children – him never having money to provide for his children and responsibilities and carousing around the town at his pleasure. With his criminal CV the only jobs he appeared to have the skills for were collecting rubbish – to my horror I saw him collecting rubbish from our own street...I was not sure how I knew this was not a good occupation, though a necessary one, I seemed at a very young age to have acquired an overly elevated sense of snobbery and remembered by sense of shame at seeing him doing this job. Perhaps if he had done this at a place far away from my home – until that day I had no idea nor even considered or thought of what he did for a living. Another time I was aware he was also a house painter – having one lunch time been approach by him across a fence which faced our school playground one day – in front of my eldest sister and my friends – once again I was horrified ...I laugh now but then I was mortified.

Apart from this the only enduring memories I have of him is his violence – he was prone to lash out at his wife and children at short notice and little cause – children being children I suspect it might have been because we were – high spirited and at times noisy as children are want to be whilst playing in the house – perhaps this was too much for him and perhaps reminded him of his own miserable childhood. He took this out on us – I have memories of him attacking my sister and I on a number of occasions – hitting, throwing and lifting us up in the air above his head in the hallway – our backs against the wall as he held his hand under our chins telling us to be quiet – or making us quiet through fear. He was successful – I have no fond consideration of him – we all feared and loathed him – glad when he left and hoped he never returned.

My mother came into my room one early evening when I was already in bed and told me he was not returning – I still remember the overwhelming sense of relief. We were all pleased to see the back of him – though my eldest sister always seemed to pine for him and in her adult years – when she herself had children sought him out – alas I have never felt the need – nor will I ever, want to have him cross my threshold – may he not darken this earth any time longer and soon pass on to whatever reward awaits him in wherever he may arrive at. I hope that he is reincarnated – as what I am sure you can imagine and that the sufferings he plied with such generosity is revisited on him double. An undesirable character – well little character really – character requires intelligence and real sadistic proclivities requires imagination – both qualities he had in abundance but no talent to back it up.

This is probably a place I will put my religious up-bringing – I would say my mother imparted little religious education or her own personal beliefs – certainly she was bought up a Protestant and I believe she went to church as a child – she also sent her children to church. My earliest church memory is being sent to the local Presbyterian church in Limerick Street in Palmerston North at the age of seven, funnily enough never with my mother, she never went with us as far as I can recall – I know I went to a couple of children bible classes at this church and certainly went with my sisters by ourselves – along with our 20 cents to place in the offering basket – we did not have a bowel – it was a woven basket.

It was a grindingly boring experience – lots of platitudes and well meaning, pinched up-tight people getting together for one morning to do something they would rather not be doing – I certainly remember some of the congregation looking down their noses at us when we went there – overall my impression was that this was not a place I wanted to be and quickly decided organised religion was not for me and went home one day from a Sunday service and telling my mother in no uncertain terms that I was never going back. I decided this at that age – seven – I hated the idea of being in a room of people who could not or would not practice the teachings they had presented to them both on the pulpit and within their religious writings – deciding that perhaps my search for spirituality outside its pedestrian constraints. The suffering I had seen and experienced drew no solace from the church or religion per se – nor did I gain any comfort from those within the congregation or the community of faith – I found them to be deaf and blind – I could not understand why these people were there. There was no fellowship and Christ was not present there in the hall of community assembly.
I do though remember reading the bible for my mother on occasion – not that it was a great read but it must have given her some comfort – though it was rather boring, it was not a well written piece of literature.

Religion is a blind turn – spirituality can promote self growth away from the confines of religious dogma – and for some an organised religion may offer the opportunity for those to self examine, self question and look inward to ask yourself those critical questions – not necessarily obtain absolute answers but no doubt discover the certainty that not everything can be known but everything is open to enquiry and exploration. This is the true purpose of our life – search, learn and discover – and above all ask the questions – and don’t be afraid of the answers. Not to seek the false certainly of religious dogma but to question it – and hopefully break the chains of ignorance and free yourself from superstition and take refuge in the uncertainty of life – as random as it can be – and celebrate the human condition in all its diversity. Being fully evolved means you are self actualised, free – free from socialised paradigms – coming face to face with the limitations of your own thoughts and frames of reference. Like a small child does stretching yourself by going palaces you have not been before.

We are, without examination, prisoners of our own history and that of our culture – we should continually test the validity of our assumptions – and sometimes be surprised or disappointed when then fall away as being founded on falsehoods. Religion, prejudice and personal dogmas – the trash we collect from childhood into our youth...most can be discarded and replaced by something better – maybe even never, or even they might be kept – this is what evolves us and makes us better people. I refuse to be a prisoner of my certainties I would rather examine and challenge those things which I believe to be shadows – things without substance – fantasies.

Religion for some believes this can absolve them from self enquiry based on rational thought – I have little sympathy for those who believe in an all-knowing god, a higher intellectual imaginary friend in the sky who looks down on us individually who knows what we are thinking and sees all our transgressions. If we deviate we would hope with some modicum of intelligence higher than room temperature would be able to learn from our mistakes and certainly not believe that without someone’s temporal intervention on our behalf to this higher spiritual authority to absolve us of our ‘sins’ and transgressions – I am sure we would as intelligent cognisant beings we would know prior to our ill-advised actions – but I would not condone any creed which allows or permits the punishment of thought crime – I would enjoin anyone who is interested in this discourse to seek better authority than myself.

I am an avid admirer of the late Christopher Hitchens, writer of “God is not Great”, he presents a sound case to banish religion to our human developmental infancy and as adults on the evolutionary scale seek a better authority on what it means to be human and not falter in our intellectual and emotional growth by hiding behind Christian-Judeo mumbo jumbo...seeking the intervention in the material world by some Deus Ex Machine – there is no saviour who will come back to us – and if they did we would not recognise him or her – and more than likely assume they were mad or delusional and no doubt with time we will consider those who believe in god in the same light – and rightly so. I found and received more comfort in my Koala Bear than I ever did in the supposed comfort provided by Jesus or his ever present father.

We could believe if we were seriously looking at the origin of the Christian and later Judaic theology to the sandy plain of Armarna and perhaps consider that this mono-theistic construct was created to smash the poly-theistic pantheon of gods proffered by the Priests of Thebes and that this action was, as Christopher proposed an attempt to reduce the number of gods to one – in order, as he said, to get the total closer to the truth – there are none and never were any god or gods – it is all a human creation to control those in the temporal world – to gain financial advantage through the procurement of favours and the selling of trinkets and talismans. All pointless and an overall one of the most horrendous cons ever perpetrated against human sensibility and good taste.

When I express this I am not reproaching those who find solace in the teachings of the messiah – I have no issue with anyone who is truly seeking to understand what their world is all about – but not just their internal world but that which resides outside and we have far better measures of this than we did a millennia ago –when we were in the wilderness or under the stifling dogma of the Catholic church. If the Catholic Roman Church had a true humanistic credo to begin with reading history you come to the fast conclusion that they lost their way – or more pointedly were push away from this and up a polished road of greed and power. It seems to me that this was the eventual destination – those who were closest to the prophet chose to obscure his teachings with their own narrow interpretations.

One only has to remind oneself that the early church referred to all their brethren as ‘brother’ and ‘sister’ and encouraged childless matrimonial relationships, allowed their clergy to marry and have children should they chose too. It certainly mirrored more closely the Judaic theology on this count – after all Jesus was not called ‘Rabi’ because he was a single man. Being as he was, possibly, or most likely, married to Mary Magellan – and more than likely had children by her – there are references to his family dynasty – and there were up to four male heirs who carried his name in antiquity. Who was it according to legend who was at the consecration of the Glastonbury Cathedral other than Jesus the Just – the commemorative stone is there to this very day – who was this man – who could it have been other than a member of the House of David.

If you look back further reading the old texts, the Psalms, Book of Kings of the old Testament and compare this with the stories related in the New testament and you start to notice the same stories with slightly changed names appear more than once – and you start to question whether someone is regurgitating a much older story which seems to harkens back to ancient Egypt – and those names start to make sense to you. Look at the story of Akhenaton – the Shepherd King the Flail and the Crook – the Teacher the enlightened one – and you wonder how original Jesus was. May be he was a follower of this man – perhaps Jesus existed or he did not. It might be that he was ‘reinvented’ at a later time by the likes of Saul of Tarsis – wondering as he was – being spellbound by the story – the words of release from the distortion of the Jewish teachings realising that they were derived from a greater and much older source – that Abraham who begat Joseph [Yuya] was in fact the father-in-law of Akhenaton, married to Tuya, and that through her daughter; his wife, Tiye he learnt that there did not have to be many gods – that he could found a new religion based on nature – based on the worship of the life giving son – he was called the Son of Aton – the one that pleases Aton – the son of god that is Aton. Akhenaton was a visionary and a great leader who was far ahead of his time – and with the reduction of the power of the Priests of Karnak he faced the greatest challenge of his life and maybe paid for it by forfeiting it.

It is also interesting to note that Yuya’s tomb was found in the Valley of the Kings – a high honour for one who was only Pharaoh himself after Tutankhamen for two years at most – a man who was vizier to Amenhotep III then for his son Amenhotep IV [Akhenaton]. Do not believe everything you are told and certainly not all you read – but it is well worth the effort to do your own research. Certainly the history of Akhenaton deserves more research and certainly to be held in higher consideration – a sole lone voice in the wilderness of ancient babble – a sane man with a vision that all men could enjoy the secrets of god-ness – carrying sacrifices and services outdoors in the great temple he built in Tel Armarna – there are signs if you look for them.

Armarnic Art alone would indicated something rather strange and wonderful happened then – and it should be considered as the font of Christianity – and a short while after the banishment from Egypt after it’s little cousin Judaism.

It is my belief that the old Testament is irrelevant if only as a garbled history lesson – somewhat jumbled – but if you can extract some of the clues you will see that there are echoes in there of a greater story not being told – being avoided – the New Testament has its merits also but only in that it’s god is very much the opposite of the old. We should also consider the other excluded books from the Bible as we now know it to be – Marcion is one you should reference – it was he who came to the Byzantium Church and suggested that there should be some codification of the religious tracks out in the early Christian community – he collated his own suggested list and this included some of the now banished books – the church thought his idea a good one but rejected his list out of hand and this accelerated the creation of the first council of Nicaea where this matter was headed off at the pass – Marcion was silenced and those books the church fathers wanted to be included were those which did not challenge the myth of the Messiah – the virgin birth and the sanctification of Mary his mother came later. The real Jesus was crushed by degrees over time – that was all they needed time. The loud voices of protest died through weariness or old age and the agenda of the Church was given free rein. To the point the Byzantium Church split from Rome.

The Catholic Church was born through schism – the Holy Emperor of the Universal Church should never have relocated to Byzantium – but at the time it was the best place to straddle two worlds the west and the east – it was the river through which all the knowledge of the world flowed, flowered, accumulated and was exchanged. Jews, Muslims and Christians lived in relative harmony – truly a place of open dialogue and tolerance. That all changed in 1452 – Rome turned her back on this and decided she knew best for the world.

Rather than fearing the darkness of our ignorance rather it is better that we are encouraged to make solitary enquiry, thinking clearly in the diurnal urgency with clarity of reason and without trepidation.

There is also another theory that Cleopatra’s son Caesarean, son through Caesar, is the prototype of the son born of a virgin – she reinvented herself as the virgin goddess Isis – and oddly another name Jesus is known is Isus...or son-of-Isis...so there’s another winding rabbit hole to get lost down in your researches – Caesarean also had two three half brothers and sisters – born from the union of Cleopatra and Mark Anthony. Two of the children were twins and three of them were his disciples...interesting.

We lived in Fergusson Street, in Palmerston North – a small rural service town in the Manawatu – it was a white-painted wooden villa built in the late 1880’s – it was a large house with two bedrooms – we used three – one, my parent’s was a converted parlour in the front of the house and my sisters lived in the other front room to the left of the main entrance – parents on the right. My room backed on to the small galley kitchen at the back of the house – it was a small dark room – from what I remember – and the place was cold most of the time – summers though were OK – I remember once my elder sister and I were on a blanket on the front lawn – surrounded by tall trees and bushes obscured from the street , sitting in the sun eating raisins – for some reason my mother thought these were healthy – I suppose they were – I do not remember being given sweets at this age – I was probably around two or three. Out the back to the right of the main house was a wooden shed – rather large – it fitted my father’s car and to the left of the shed was a small paddock – this was where horses for the gigs or carriages was kept – and in the late sixties it was still there....really cool.

In front of the paddock was a camellia tree – pink flowers – I loved that tree – it is one of my first scent memories – I used to pluck the flowers off and deconstruct the flowers and rub the petals between my little fingers – my sister and I spent most of our pay time in this yard – you could walk around the back of the house, the side away from the shed and get to the front of the house – which always had lush green grass and lots of verdant bushes which we would hide in. There was in the front lawn my most favourite tree – it was an old oak – and I would climb it and sit in the large fork within it and pretend it was a motor bike or a horse – I guess I had the Lambess genes for riding from a young age...my mother though I remember never came out to play with us at all – I have little memory of her there – except that she would cook and clean – she was hardly interested in the play activities of her children....not sure what she did during the day – she certainly did not work outside the home. There was a single very long clothes line in front of the horse paddock at the back of the house where she would lower the centre pole so she could reach the line to hang washing – we would play between the sheets whilst they were drying in the sun...the smell of the grass still lingers after forty years.

We left Fergusson Street when I was about four and moved to Terrace End – I did not like this house so much and will write more about it later – needless to say this was when the whole familial situation went totally pear-shaped – our father left – whilst also playing around with the local young girls – there was one who he used to visit not far from our house –hell, he even used to take me with him to visit her – and I remember once the three of us, him, his piece of fluff and I drove to Foxton Beach – he had a trailer – though I cannot remember what was on the back of it – he used to have go-carts and drive them on the sand dunes – but this day he did not have it. It was getting late in the afternoon and the sun was about to go down so it was really cool – he was in the car and she was there with him in the front – and he told me to go for a walk along the beach – here I was, five years old, alone on the beach, sun going down, cold and alone – walking not far from the car – and he was screwing her stupid on the back seat ...what a guy...what a father.

I remember she was a brunette and then there was a later one – nearer the time my grandfather died – a blond – she babysat us whilst our mother and father went to the funeral – we did not go – I have clear memories of this it was 1971 – so I was about six – and I was allowed to have lots of honey or something on my toast – something my mother did not allow – we were allowed to do a lot of things that day – whilst our mother was away.

That was such an odd day – my mother who was continually present was absent for what seemed the whole day – she arrived back in the late afternoon. It must have been a terrible day for her – she adored her father. Whilst I have few memories of him I do remember him as very doting and attentive when he came to visit – he came once to our home in Fergusson Street when my mother had organised a local photographer to come and take the family portraits – this was when only my sister and I were born – Donna may have been a baby then I am not sure – but I do not remember her photo being taken – the ones that survive are only of me and June together –sitting on lamb’s wool in the living room.

Our grandfather, Trevor, arrived later in the afternoon when the photographer had gone – I ran into the room still wearing the good clothes I was put in for the photos – shorts and a green striped jumper – my shoelaces had come undone and he sat up on the day bed and bent over whilst sitting there and tied them up for me. He once looked after me when my mother disappeared with June – no-one could find me when she was discovered missing – and finally I was found at his place – I was only about nine months old.

My mother had a number of turns whilst we were both very little – once in Wanganui she gassed herself whilst we were in the house – my sister June was about two and I was just about one year old – the neighbours found her. One would have thought she would have had her children taken away from her – but in those days I guess they were less inclined to believe she was not capable to care for us – I am not saying she was a good housekeeper – she spent some of her early life being trained by her mother in household craft and also worked for a catholic man in Wanganui –a live-in housekeeper with her then two children – fish on Fridays was what she remembered and once she got it wrong and cooked him something else – there was hell to pay – she did not work for him long. Father must have been in prison at this time as he was on a number of occasions – I have seen the telegram sent to the local prison warden announcing the birth of Donna whilst he was incarcerated.

Quite sad – and also seeing the then Social Welfare notice of a Supervision Order issued in 1965 – which was a shock – so our family was of interest to the local authorities – I am not overly sure how mush supervision was exercised –they did not see what my mother got up to whilst they were not around and the visitations would have been spread apart over a period of time to the point that they would have only been presented with her ‘best side’ – she was a very good actor. They had her pretty well sussed though – assessing her as being very devious and manipulative – one even described her in a report as psychotic...well, that did not seem to jolt them in to action and exercise any sort of intervention.

Mother did though try – she placed both June and I up for adoption – she had me put forward on three occasions whilst I was a baby and every time she pulled out – even when there was a local family in Palmerston North who were very keen to adopt of June and I – she declined and we returned to the chaotic family life which we were used to – it was normal for us. I only found out about the abandoned adoption attempts when I was thirty –it was a shock – I had thought that though she was as nutty-as-a-fruit cake and erratically crazy as a bob-watch – she at least loved us – me – well, it was not really that way all the time. I was saddened at first that she would even think of doing it once, let alone three times; then I was angry that she did not go through with it – June and I missed out on the opportunity to be with a family who might have provided for our emotional and physical needs much better than our incapacitated mother.