Fish of the Week
Page 16
Naturally, what he wants to do most is play. I wonder how long he’ll last. He enjoyed himself on opening day; an ice-cream van parked next to the field, his team won 5–2, the soccer mums squeaked pleasant encouragements. But the loudest voice belonged to the coach of the visiting team. I recognised his voice immediately. It was the loud, moaning, furious, garbled, nagging, sour, stupid, savage, working-class voice of every Englishman that I used to hear on the sidelines all over the Bay of Plenty.
I always hated that voice. It was so out of place in the New Zealand landscape. The guy at my godson’s game worked himself up into a terrible and predictable rage. When his team narrowed the score to 3–2, he roared: ‘We’ve got to fight for every inch of this turf!’ I thought: Oh, for Christ’s sake. And: Please shut up. Also: You are killing soccer in New Zealand.
English football is great from a distance. Up close, it’s an embarrassment. You don’t want to be caught dead playing a game where the loudest voice belongs to a whingeing Pom. It cuts through the air like broken glass. It’s such a relief to turn away, and join in the familiar muttering, grunting rabble lined up at the field marked with the capital letter of New Zealand.
[May 6]
Flight Z5
Right about now the last stragglers of a band of 50,000 New Zealanders will have arrived in Alaska in search of sex. It marks the end of an epic journey, a world record, a feat of incredible and mysterious endurance—but such fanfare and trumpetry should stop there, because it’s business as usual for the bar-tailed godwits.
Every year, these wading birds depart our shores and tidal estuaries in both islands for the breeding grounds on the Alaskan tundras. This year, though, methods were in hand for the very first time to accurately track and trace the migratory path. Phil Battley, a Massey University ecologist and New Zealand coordinator of the international Pacific Shorebird Migration Programme, is able to announce: ‘They’ve made it!’
They left New Zealand in late March. About 50,000 birds crossed a world-record distance of over 10,000 kilometres to reach mudflats in and around the Korean peninsula, where they fed up large for about five weeks, and then hived off again in late April, early May to wing another 5,000 kilometres until landfall, and the earnest pursuit of sex, in Alaska, the entire population arriving in stages this month, this week, right about now.
Sixteen godwits were caught in nets and given satellite tracking devices in Golden Bay and Miranda this summer. The males wore harnesses fitted on their back; females had small devices implanted in an air sac just below the tail. One female has just hung around Golden Bay, but the first four tagged females to migrate have already reached the snows of Alaska.
Seven male birds have lost their signal. Battley: ‘Leg tags are not really the bomb.’ Two fell off before leaving New Zealand. Two confused males—the harnesses may have got in the way, literally dragging the chain—were last reported hopelessly off course in Queensland.
But the remaining tagged male—Z5, from Golden Bay—has beaten the odds. It left the Marlborough Sounds on March 18, veered away from the flock, and continued its solo flight to Yap in Micronesia, arriving on March 23. ‘I wouldn’t have thought that was wise,’ said Battley. It’s a tropical island surrounded by a barrier reef, with an inland lagoon but without mudflats, the richest source of food for godwits. Battley assumes it fed on crabs in mangrove swamps on the shoreline for the next four weeks.
Z5 left Yap on April 23. Then, on the morning of April 26, satellite tracking confirmed it had turned up on Okinawa Island in Japan; the news aroused local interest, and a call was made by a man called Kamenobu Ooshiro to Masakuni Yamashiro of the Okinawa Wild Bird Society: ‘I’ve found it!’ Yamashiro later emailed, ‘How exciting to know that it really came to Okinawa! How wonderful it is that it flies such a long distance with its own wings!!!’
Four exclamation marks from Japan for a wading bird from Golden Bay. Actually, Z5—which left Okinawa bound for the Yalu Jiang mudflats on the Yellow Sea, before its final destination in Alaska—has the eyes of the world on it. The satellite project is in association with the Ornithological Society of New Zealand, the United States Geological Survey in Anchorage, Alaska, and the Point Reyes Bird Observatory Conservation Science Centre based in San Francisco.
The satellite signals have established that godwits achieve the longest non-stop flight of any bird. No rest, no food, no nothing, just the relentless physical beating of wings and a fabulous sense of navigation for six days and nights between New Zealand and the feeding grounds of Korea and China. Bravo, etc, and it also makes a nonsense of our national branding.
We are our most famous bird, that freak of nature known as a ratite, or flightless bird—the kiwi. Dour, modest, shy. Feet on the ground, and happiest left alone to go about its chores and its rituals in the bush. Nice foundation myth. Good romantic image. Brilliant emblem, too. But the world’s longest recorded migration belongs to the sooty shearwater, or muttonbird, which completes an annual 65,000 kilometre journey from its breeding grounds in New Zealand to winter feeding sites in Japan, Alaska and the west coast of America; as for the bar-tailed godwit, its stupendous path is available to view on Google Earth—past Norfolk Island, New Caledonia, Guam and North Korea, past the Pacific Ocean and the Yellow Sea, on to the Yukon Delta and other desolations of Alaska.
Take-off in New Zealand can present a fantastic sight if you choose the exact moment to view hundreds, even thousands, of godwits rise up and head north. Plump after six months on feasting up large on our tides, the males tanned a deep rust-red in anticipation of Alaskan courtship, godwits often leave at early evening. They arrive back here in September, this time having executed a completely non-stop flight—direct from Alaska, no refuelling in Asia—with the new season’s young birds in tow. The exhausting journey means that adults which left New Zealand weighing about 600 grams will have lost half their body weight: one godwit caught and measured just after touching down came in at 247 grams on the scales.
The cycle continues: feed during our summer, migrate to Alaska in March. ‘Most of the time,’ said Battley, ‘they’re just a brown bird that people don’t much look at.’
[June 3]
News, 1994
David Bain said that when he got home he found his family ‘dying, dying everywhere’. His mother shot and killed, his brother shot and killed, his two sisters shot and killed, and his father shot and killed, supposedly the last demented act in a murder-suicide. It happened, he said, while he was delivering The Otago Daily Times.
He left his Andersons Bay home at about 5.45 a.m. He was on foot. Low cloud, snow at 700 metres, a few showers expected as Dunedin woke to its working week on Monday, June 20, 1994. The thin light of an Otago winter: sunset that day was at 4.59 p.m., sunrise at 8.19 a.m. A twenty-two-year-old man—‘the paper boy’, as he was described by a witness—carrying a yellow newspaper bag in darkness.
Apparently nothing much happened that weekend. The front page showed a photograph of Maurice Amor, Linda Fairweather, Grant Chalmers and Haydn Randall in their full Kaikorai Brass Band uniforms taking the annual midwinter plunge in the surf at Saint Clair. The event attracted 350 bathers. Yes, they said, the water was cold.
Every footstep Bain took was crucial. How long did he take to deliver what became the most famous paper round in New Zealand history? Mrs Rattray couldn’t sleep. Her paper was delivered at 6 a.m.—earlier than usual, she said. Mr Parker got his copy at 6.38 a.m.—earlier than usual, he said. He went back inside and checked the time on his clock.
The dawn chorus of the whistling kettle, the padding of slippered feet on floors. News of political intrigue: prime minister Jim Bolger released the government’s corporate plan in a document called The Next Three Years, at a cost of $35,000. He said sales of that compelling read would offset the expense. Public notices: a World Vision benefit concert for Rwandan refugees would be held on June 23 at Glenroy Auditorium, starring the Pog ’n’ Scroggin Bush Band. World news: singer Gloria Estefan was p
regnant.
‘He wanted to be seen on this run,’ the prosecution told the jury when Bain was accused of the five murders at his trial in 1995. ‘He was delighted to be seen. Why? It was normality.’ They also said he rushed to get home in time to kill his waking father.
The dead bodies, the paper tucked inside the letter box. Anita Nyenhuis crowned Miss North Otago, consent given to A.L. Sanders to burn 140 hectares of snow tussock on Obelisk Station, $300 damage caused when a car smashed into the front doors of the Beach Hotel: ‘The offender, identified as a blonde woman, drove off.’ Harraways Rolled Oats $3.10, ox tripe $4.95 a kilo.
Shayne Carter’s band Dimmer had played Saturday night at The Empire. Bill Direen was due the next weekend. Bain preferred classical music. On another day, he might have read Bruce Blanchard’s boring review of the Dunedin Youth Orchestra: ‘A demanding programme became more technically assured as the evening progressed.’ Music rang out of the sports pages too. Brent Edwards played a shocker when he wrote up his match report: ‘Stephen Bachop has a mop-headed look these days, similar to the Beatles, and he was almost as popular as the famous pop group when he starred in Otago’s 56–25 rugby win over Canterbury at Carisbrook.’
Bain said he ran much of the way—he was in training for a triathlon. A woman saw him return home at 6.45 a.m., which places him after the time police claim he left a faked suicide note on the family computer, but the jury were only told the witness’s sighting was ‘approximate’. Police did not disclose a second statement from the woman saying she ‘was not in doubt’. The jury at his trial did not hear evidence about his father’s allegedly ‘disturbed’ mental state; or from a witness who said Robin Bain’s daughter Laniet had told him that her father was having sex with her, and she was about to confront her family with the accusations.
The peeping through the curtains, the tide out in the bay— low tide was set for 7.23 a.m. News of the fire service releasing a man trapped in wool-scouring machinery on Green Island, a nature column by Anthon Harris addressing the subject of native weevils riddling a hedge in Tomahawk Lagoon, a shipping report that Liberian vessel Cosmos Vulture was due to call at Port Chalmers and unload 125 cars from Japan. Winter specials: snow boots $39.99 and hotties $3.99 from The Warehouse. Lunch specials: fish, eggs, chips and salad for $4.95 at the Waterloo, $5.95 steaks at the Captain Cook.
David Bain was found guilty and given a prison sentence of sixteen years. This month, twelve years later, the Privy Council ruled: ‘A substantial miscarriage of justice has actually occurred.’ It called for a retrial; a week later, when the High Court of Christchurch granted him bail, the television media’s sickening love-in (‘How was David’s salad?’ Mark Sainsbury asked Bain’s supporters that night) made legal history: for the first time, bail was reported as innocence.
The judge said at Bain’s trial: ‘Who did it? David Bain? Robin Bain?’ The newspaper the son delivered that morning was full of signs, portents, hopeless bitter ironies. Bain’s horoscope: ‘Do your best to avoid conflict.’ Bible passage for the day, from Jeremiah: ‘The fathers have eaten a sour apple, and the children’s teeth are set on edge.’ Cryptic crossword, ten across, six letters: ‘Family tensions.’
[June 10]
Fond Farewell
FROM: Race, Penelope
SENT: Tuesday, 19 June 9.13 a.m.
TO: All staff
SUBJECT: Jumbo’s Leaving Card
Hey everyone, Jumbo’s leaving card will be at my desk for you to come and sign (please do not remove it as we want to avoid it getting misplaced). Also in the interests of everyone being able to sign it, we would ask that you only sign the card so there is enough room for everyone. Please pop by and sign this before Jumbo’s drinks at 5 p.m. on Friday.
FROM: Race, Penelope
SENT: Tuesday, 19 June 3.57 p.m.
TO: All staff
SUBJECT: Jumbo’s Leaving Card
A reminder that this is at my desk to be signed. Please pop by as soon as you can.
FROM: Race, Penelope
SENT: Wednesday, 20 June 10.47 a.m.
TO: All staff
SUBJECT: Jumbo’s Leaving Card
Just a reminder that Jumbo has been an outstanding manager of the company. He’s had to make some tough decisions over the years but all of you will appreciate that he’s always treated staff fairly.
FROM: Race, Penelope
SENT: Wednesday, 20 June 11.30 a.m.
TO: Peak, Lofty
SUBJECT: Re: Jumbo’s Leaving Card
Lofty, as Jumbo’s PA I can tell you that he fought against downsizing. And he wasn’t thrilled to outsource some positions, either. But you’re forgetting that the move actually created six jobs for those boys from Thailand. I’m sure you’ll sneer that it’s ‘cheap labour’ but I’m also sure the Thai boys are very grateful to find employment in New Zealand.
FROM: Race, Penelope
SENT: Wednesday, 20 June 1.12 p.m.
TO: Giles, Geoff
SUBJECT: Re: Jumbo’s Leaving Card
Geoff, actually a lot of us thought that Jumbo’s motivational speech was the highlight of our away day. It was certainly a lot more popular than your behaviour at the Christmas party. You know what I’m talking about. But let’s put that behind us. It wouldn’t do for that little incident to come to the notice of our new manager.
FROM: Race, Penelope
SENT: Thursday, 21 June 10.17 a.m.
TO: All staff
SUBJECT: Jumbo’s Leaving Card And Prize!!!
There will be a prize for the seventeenth person who signs Jumbo’s farewell card!
FROM: Race, Penelope
SENT: Thursday, 21 June 10.30 a.m.
TO: Levin, Myrna
SUBJECT: Re: Jumbo’s Leaving Card And Prize!!!
Myrna, I can’t tell you what it is, but it’s well worth it! I’d hurry to sign the card if I were you. You’ve got to be in to win!!
FROM: Race, Penelope
SENT: Thursday, 21 June 1.15 p.m.
TO: Trudgeon, Jumbo
SUBJECT: Re: Friday
No, everything’s going great! The staff are really into it.
FROM: Race, Penelope
SENT: Thursday, 21 June 1.17 p.m.
TO: All staff
SUBJECT: Jumbo’s Leaving Card and Prize!!! Update
There will be a special prize for the fifth person who signs Jumbo’s farewell card.
FROM: Race, Penelope
SENT: Thursday, 21 June 4.16 p.m.
TO: Dixon, Tony; Giles, Geoff; Levin, Myrna; Wilson, Poor old Mr
SUBJECT: Bring your own pen
Could you all please pop over to my desk and write a message for Jumbo below your names. A long message is acceptable.
FROM: Race, Penelope
SENT: Friday, 22 June 10.13 a.m.
TO: All staff
SUBJECT: Please
I’ve heard through the grapevine that many of you have sick relatives who need visiting immediately after work. If you could delay leaving for just half an hour and come to the boardroom at 5 p.m., that would be great.
FROM: Race, Penelope
SENT: Friday, 22 June, 11.00 a.m.
TO: Kitpongsri, Anucha; Winothai, Teeratep; Singthong, Issawa; Suksomkit, Sutee
SUBJECT: Tiger beer
Sawadee! I hope you are all enjoying your new jobs. It is a custom in New Zealand to invite new workers for drinks on Friday afternoons. Please come to the main office today at 5 p.m. It is compulsory in this country to attend. A map is attached. Khorb koon!
FROM: Trudgeon, Jumbo
SENT: Friday, 22 June, 4.56 p.m.
TO: All staff
SUBJECT: Thanks guys
Just thought I’d send a formal note to everyone saying thanks for all your support over the past few years. I wish you all well in the future. Keep in touch! That’s a shame the card got misplaced. Bloody cleaners! But I’ll see you in a few minutes in the boardroom for drinks. Penelope has been very furtive this week … I
even saw her blush this afternoon! … What have you guys got planned I wonder?
[June 17]
Mr Dallimore
Recent visits by His Holiness the fourteenth Dalai Lama of Tibet, and Benny Hinn, author of He Touched Me: An Autobiography and Lord, I Need a Miracle, have reminded me of the strange case of Arthur Henry Dallimore. Considering him in his pomp, when he drew enormous crowds to services in Auckland, Hamilton, Rotorua, Thames and Ngaruawahia in the 1930s, Dallimore was possibly an even more spectacular figure than either Pastor Hinn or Mr Lama; in the directory of New Zealand prophets, he deserves special prominence as the only faith healer whose apparent powers of raising the dead included resurrecting a chicken.
Dallimore was born in Kent, England in 1873. As a child, he caught typhoid fever and nearly died—a significant event for his later life. ‘His statements grow more preposterous every day,’ wrote Robin Hyde in 1932. Then twenty-six, and forced to conceal her illegitimate son in Palmerston North, Hyde reported on Dallimore’s services for The New Zealand Observer in Auckland, and heard him say, ‘Jesus has raised the dead. There is one here. He raised me from the dead, and I know it. I am telling the truth, and I know. I know.’ Hyde: ‘The curious thing about these reiterations is that in the original version—as given to me by Mr Dallimore himself—Mr Dallimore was not dead, but merely dying.’
He emigrated to New Zealand in 1896. According to his entry in the Dictionary of New Zealand Biography, he may have worked as a surveyor’s assistant. He was a member of the Wesleyan Methodist church in Opunake. He then left for Alaska. Alaska!
Hyde refers to ‘log cabins in prairies’, but this could be speculative. He spent twelve years in that climate, and then went to farm in England. He married Ethel Ward in 1911. They emigrated to Canada, where their eldest child, Marjorie, was born. ‘He fell on hard times,’ writes Hyde. His biographical entry is more emphatic: ‘Failed business ventures brought about a nervous breakdown.’