19992
Weather Ruled Our Lives by Irene V. Bronlund
Main BodyFor the first twenty-one years of my married life, my medicine cupboard opened to only sticking plaster and a packet of aspirin. In 1953 our nearest doctor was at Coromandel - thirty-five miles and a two hour drive away on winding country roads. Our homestead was situated five miles from the beginning of this road. To begin our journey, we either walked or if weather was so inclined, sped round the coast in dinghy and outboard.
Our outboard was prone to not always starting at the first pull however and oft I could be seen rowing valiantly while my husband swore and cleaned spark plugs and swore again. My medicine chest served all three of our children, my husband, two brothers-in-law who lived on the same property and a worker or two who came and went. Campers, hikers, yachtsmen, the lost and the hysterical all came to be patched up.
Our 3000-acre farm basked in all the weathers the gods saw fit to send us. In this near perfect paradise of endless coast to our east and forest rising to Mount Moehau behind us, we all survived both minor or serious that happened and my ministrations. Remedies of boiled water and starvation for funny tummies or poultices for poisoned fingers or stone bruises were brought out. Sticking plaster held together the horrible gashes with blood pouring everywhere.
Gashes and blood always seemed to happen when the sea was running high and a flood in progress. No hope of help there. A steady hand and calm voice was needed. Swallowing a bee was nearly a disaster and neither the aspirin nor the sticking plaster helped that time. A nervous night listening to the ragged breathing was spent at the bedside of our son. With thirteen others on our party line and only specific times to ring, I was fortunate to be able to call the doctor that time – who recommended sipping cold milk. A usually exuberant busy little boy was subdued for a day or so after this and decided not to chase his sisters around with a bee on the end of a pipe.
Nearly forgotten. About this time my medicine cupboard acquired another addition. This was a bottle of carbolic oil that my father bequeathed me when he left his farming days. I still have it. My grandchildren and now the great grandchildren shudder and run when I reach for it. It is the most wonderful oil – it does sting a bit when applied, but I guarantee no foot that stood on a rusty nail or a finger pricked with a thorn will ever get poisoned if you pour a little of this on immediately.
Unlike my sparse medicine chest, my pantry was large and always had at least six months supplies in it. In our early years we only went out every six months – in this case to Auckland by launch - and our supplies were all loaded from the wharf into the boat. There were 100lb bags of flour, 60lb bags of sugar, tea chests full of loose tea, not to mention the men's tobacco, which was very important. These were the essentials.
Various other boxes of tinned food and some luxuries were sneaked in. The milking cows kept the jugs full. Our butter was home-made and all our vegetables came from the huge acreage bequeathed to me by my father-in-law. This to be dug and hoed and coaxed into food for winter storage and summer days.
A variety of hens, duck and turkeys cackled, quacked and gobbled and eggs were to be found in all types of hiding places. When plentiful they were preserved in glass water in crocks for winter days when the hens went on strike. I even kept bees for all that wonderful honey we shared with others at Christmas.
When our road finally arrived at the gate, a weekly service bringing our mail, a whole week's Heralds, groceries and other needed farm essentials began. However, my grocery list still remained the same with the basic essentials of flour, sugar, tea - and the tobacco for the men. This service depended very much on weather and we could still be isolated with floods and slips for up to six weeks sometimes.
Electricity did not arrive until 1968, so most fruit and vegetables were preserved in the good old-fashioned way during those steaming hot February days. Meat, whether wild pork or home grown mutton was quite often pickled in those quaint crocks – delicious.
Our schoolroom was also kept full to overflowing. With three children on correspondence, we had three desks and piles of books and work to keep stored in a mannerly fashion. This sunny room also doubled as my sewing and work room and faced out to sea where we could watch the world go by. Whales, dolphins, coastal steamers or overseas liners all passed by. I had to have the desks facing the inner wall and blackboard or there was too much distraction.
Schoolwork arrived from the Correspondence School in sturdy green envelopes. These were eagerly awaited. There were letters from teachers to be read and answered. Marked work to be read and new work to be carefully stored for the new day. Most days I rang the bell at 9am and we worked through with breaks until afternoon. In between doing tables and spelling words, I was baking morning tea or lunches for the men. Just before shearing began the children worked over time during weekends so they could go mustering or 'helping' in the shed. There were morning teas to be run up the hill to the shed and messages to be decipered for and by the cook.
Carrying and carting were just part of our everyday life. If we left by boat, everything was carrried to the beach, crossing the stream first, loaded into the dinghy or launch. If our destination was Auckland with a load of wool, our 36ft launch was used. If a trip to Coromandel, the dinghy came into its own. Our car was kept five miles round the coast at Sandy Bay. On our return the boat was unloaded and everything carried back across the beach and stream to our home. As babies the children were carried too and settled into position and warned not to move. Once we even set off without our new baby daughter left in her carrycot high and dry on the stony beach.
Visitors arrived in the same fashion. Not always did they leave by boat, as weather could control this and often whole families trudged back over the five miles of hills – yes, carrying everything – to their car. If floods intervened their stay was a little longer than anticipated. Whatever, it was always an adventure to be remembered and enjoyed.
Our unmetalled road eventually came in 1960. We invested in an old army jeep to negotiate the mud and streams. This was also used to gather firewood. An ample supply of ti tree grew up the gullies. A change from school and house work saw us all trundling off and working in the sunshine, loading the jeep and driving back with more supplies for the stoves.
Today that same house we built in 1955 is still there in the same wonderful setting. The Conservation Department now own the farm. Thousands of campers, trampers and day trippers enjoy what was once our own little paradise.
The children I taught on correspondence have now scattered and presented me with nine grandchildren and ten great grandchildren. In 1974 we moved to Onewhero (I now live in Pukekohe) and I have spent a few years writing up the family histories. These all date back to pioneering days and doing the research has been a fascinating jigsaw.
‘Weather Ruled Our Lives’ was written for the Memoir & Local History Competition 2011, run annually by the New Zealand Society of Authors (Bay of Plenty Region) with support from Tauranga Writers.
Our outboard was prone to not always starting at the first pull however and oft I could be seen rowing valiantly while my husband swore and cleaned spark plugs and swore again. My medicine chest served all three of our children, my husband, two brothers-in-law who lived on the same property and a worker or two who came and went. Campers, hikers, yachtsmen, the lost and the hysterical all came to be patched up.
Our 3000-acre farm basked in all the weathers the gods saw fit to send us. In this near perfect paradise of endless coast to our east and forest rising to Mount Moehau behind us, we all survived both minor or serious that happened and my ministrations. Remedies of boiled water and starvation for funny tummies or poultices for poisoned fingers or stone bruises were brought out. Sticking plaster held together the horrible gashes with blood pouring everywhere.
Gashes and blood always seemed to happen when the sea was running high and a flood in progress. No hope of help there. A steady hand and calm voice was needed. Swallowing a bee was nearly a disaster and neither the aspirin nor the sticking plaster helped that time. A nervous night listening to the ragged breathing was spent at the bedside of our son. With thirteen others on our party line and only specific times to ring, I was fortunate to be able to call the doctor that time – who recommended sipping cold milk. A usually exuberant busy little boy was subdued for a day or so after this and decided not to chase his sisters around with a bee on the end of a pipe.
Nearly forgotten. About this time my medicine cupboard acquired another addition. This was a bottle of carbolic oil that my father bequeathed me when he left his farming days. I still have it. My grandchildren and now the great grandchildren shudder and run when I reach for it. It is the most wonderful oil – it does sting a bit when applied, but I guarantee no foot that stood on a rusty nail or a finger pricked with a thorn will ever get poisoned if you pour a little of this on immediately.
Unlike my sparse medicine chest, my pantry was large and always had at least six months supplies in it. In our early years we only went out every six months – in this case to Auckland by launch - and our supplies were all loaded from the wharf into the boat. There were 100lb bags of flour, 60lb bags of sugar, tea chests full of loose tea, not to mention the men's tobacco, which was very important. These were the essentials.
Various other boxes of tinned food and some luxuries were sneaked in. The milking cows kept the jugs full. Our butter was home-made and all our vegetables came from the huge acreage bequeathed to me by my father-in-law. This to be dug and hoed and coaxed into food for winter storage and summer days.
A variety of hens, duck and turkeys cackled, quacked and gobbled and eggs were to be found in all types of hiding places. When plentiful they were preserved in glass water in crocks for winter days when the hens went on strike. I even kept bees for all that wonderful honey we shared with others at Christmas.
When our road finally arrived at the gate, a weekly service bringing our mail, a whole week's Heralds, groceries and other needed farm essentials began. However, my grocery list still remained the same with the basic essentials of flour, sugar, tea - and the tobacco for the men. This service depended very much on weather and we could still be isolated with floods and slips for up to six weeks sometimes.
Electricity did not arrive until 1968, so most fruit and vegetables were preserved in the good old-fashioned way during those steaming hot February days. Meat, whether wild pork or home grown mutton was quite often pickled in those quaint crocks – delicious.
Our schoolroom was also kept full to overflowing. With three children on correspondence, we had three desks and piles of books and work to keep stored in a mannerly fashion. This sunny room also doubled as my sewing and work room and faced out to sea where we could watch the world go by. Whales, dolphins, coastal steamers or overseas liners all passed by. I had to have the desks facing the inner wall and blackboard or there was too much distraction.
Schoolwork arrived from the Correspondence School in sturdy green envelopes. These were eagerly awaited. There were letters from teachers to be read and answered. Marked work to be read and new work to be carefully stored for the new day. Most days I rang the bell at 9am and we worked through with breaks until afternoon. In between doing tables and spelling words, I was baking morning tea or lunches for the men. Just before shearing began the children worked over time during weekends so they could go mustering or 'helping' in the shed. There were morning teas to be run up the hill to the shed and messages to be decipered for and by the cook.
Carrying and carting were just part of our everyday life. If we left by boat, everything was carrried to the beach, crossing the stream first, loaded into the dinghy or launch. If our destination was Auckland with a load of wool, our 36ft launch was used. If a trip to Coromandel, the dinghy came into its own. Our car was kept five miles round the coast at Sandy Bay. On our return the boat was unloaded and everything carried back across the beach and stream to our home. As babies the children were carried too and settled into position and warned not to move. Once we even set off without our new baby daughter left in her carrycot high and dry on the stony beach.
Visitors arrived in the same fashion. Not always did they leave by boat, as weather could control this and often whole families trudged back over the five miles of hills – yes, carrying everything – to their car. If floods intervened their stay was a little longer than anticipated. Whatever, it was always an adventure to be remembered and enjoyed.
Our unmetalled road eventually came in 1960. We invested in an old army jeep to negotiate the mud and streams. This was also used to gather firewood. An ample supply of ti tree grew up the gullies. A change from school and house work saw us all trundling off and working in the sunshine, loading the jeep and driving back with more supplies for the stoves.
Today that same house we built in 1955 is still there in the same wonderful setting. The Conservation Department now own the farm. Thousands of campers, trampers and day trippers enjoy what was once our own little paradise.
The children I taught on correspondence have now scattered and presented me with nine grandchildren and ten great grandchildren. In 1974 we moved to Onewhero (I now live in Pukekohe) and I have spent a few years writing up the family histories. These all date back to pioneering days and doing the research has been a fascinating jigsaw.
‘Weather Ruled Our Lives’ was written for the Memoir & Local History Competition 2011, run annually by the New Zealand Society of Authors (Bay of Plenty Region) with support from Tauranga Writers.
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AuthorIrene V. BronlundArchived Kete Linkhttps://perma.cc/2CLP-RWC6Type of ContributionCommunity storyTaxonomyStories | Events
Irene V. Bronlund, Weather Ruled Our Lives by Irene V. Bronlund. Pae Korokī, accessed 27/03/2025, https://paekoroki.tauranga.govt.nz/nodes/view/19992
