Good Kiwi Citizens by Ian Clarke

After fifteen years in laid-back New Zealand, I did not expect to be shopping for a suit. My previous suit went green and mouldy while we were still living in Hong Kong. When we came to this country, we were given residents’ visas: large stamps that took up a whole page in each of our passports.

This was all we needed unless we left the country, in which case we would need to renew it to get back in. Even that was not a burden. Unlike their counterparts in many countries, New Zealand immigration officials were genial – real Kiwi gentlefolk, we thought. There was no pressure to become citizens. That was before we went to Russia.

I met Monica in Liverpool, England. She is what they call a Scouser, born within the span of the Liverbird’s wings. And I was ....

Well, I’m not sure exactly what I was. My parents were British, but I was born in India. At sixteen, I went to sea in the British Merchant Navy. This enabled me to visit them in Calcutta until they retired.

When Monica and I married, I found a job ashore in a town called Blackwater, thirty miles from London. It was interesting work, but a satellite town far away from the sea was not where we wanted to be. So we headed for Hong Kong and spent five exciting years working and playing in that dynamic little colony. From there we came to New Zealand.

I’m not sure we expected to stay here the rest of our lives. There were still plenty of places we wanted to visit. We spent two years in Auckland and would probably have been tempted off to some distant shores had the right offer come along. And the right offer did come along. Not for Rio or Yokohama, but here, sunny Tauranga.

We had heard of Tauranga: an article in the Naval Architect magazine described a ship especially designed for the port. Friends in Auckland spoke highly of the town – more like the real New Zealand, they said. The job was something I wanted to do – promoting the safety of seafarers.

This place, Tauranga, had to be checked out.

A long weekend made our minds up for us. We stayed at the Outrigger Motel by Mount Maungnaui beach and walked on the sands. We stared out from Pilot Bay over the incredible expanse of water sheltered by Matakana Island, with its mile after mile of pines.

What a find!

We had dreamed of living in a seaport; not a big city – we’d had plenty of that. Somewhere not too large and not too small. Cool enough for Monica, yet warm enough for me. This was as close as we were likely to get.

First I had to get the job. With the decline of British and New Zealand shipping, a great many qualified seafarers were scouring the world for opportunities. A job in a place like that could not go unnoticed. But call it luck, or kismet or fate, that job was earmarked for me.

Within three months we had sold our house, packed our Datsun Cherry till you couldn’t have squeezed a folded napkin in the back - and headed down Highway 2. I had been teaching nautical studies for the past seven years and the next few months were like being let out of school.

The work was not quite what I had imagined. But if there’s one thing joining new ships and working with different people teaches you, it’s how to adapt. I also found a remarkable boss in the local senior surveyor, along with two excellent colleagues. It’s hard to believe how quickly the next nine years slipped by.

But things do not stay the same. As in any country, the people in power change, and so do their ideas. What was perfectly sensible one day becomes incredibly stupid the next. The system my colleagues and I thought so highly of was all wrong. Our group was torn apart and its work distributed to other contenders. Once again I faced the prospect of moving to a different location.

As recipient of one bit of incredible luck, I could hardly expect another. But lo, in 1993, New Zealand signed the ‘Tokyo Memorandum of Understanding on Port State Control.’ Signatories undertook to inspect foreign ships visiting their shores, to raise standards of safety. Master mariners and first class marine engineers were needed for the task and I was already based in one of the country’s busiest ports.

We developed guidelines and made ourselves familiar with some incredibly complex international safety conventions. Then we were let loose to inspect ships and intervene as we saw fit. I was involved in this until my retirement and consider it one of the most successful initiatives of recent years.

In August 1997, Russia hosted a conference on Port State Control for Pacific Rim countries. It was to be held in Vladivostok. Our senior manager was supposed to attend, but couldn’t make it. When asked to take his place, I jumped at the chance, and Monica came with me.

We reached Russia’s far eastern capital via Sydney and Seoul, then took a great loop, flying over Japan to avoid North Korean airspace. August was the height of summer in Primorye, which reminded us of the western Mediterranean. Winter would have been a different story. Our Russian hosts were hospitable, taking us to sea for the whole of Sunday on their sail training ship, Nadezhda.

There was a lot to cover at the conference and some days we worked late into the evening. By the end of the second week there was general agreement. Even the Japanese delegation, whose team of lawyers checked every word and punctuation mark, were happy with the results. Job done, we headed home. All went to plan until we got to Seoul.

At Seoul airport, it was discovered that our New Zealand Residents’ visas had expired. Oh dear! How could we have missed something like that? That I, part of whose job was to check the validity of ships’ certificates, should overlook our visas. In our pre-departure haste, we probably overlooked a lot of things, but this was a real calamity.

There were no genial Kiwi immigration officials in South Korea. New Zealand might well have been surrounded by a steel fence. Our house, our possessions and our lives were on the other side.

To keep things brief, we did get back. When we did, we renewed our visas then applied for New Zealand citizenship. And that was how, with Monica in her finery and me in my brand-new suit, we came to attend the citizenship ceremony in Tauranga District Council Chambers.

Friday 18th July might have been wet but, for us, it was a wonderful day. We were welcomed by His Worship the Mayor, Mr. Noel Pope. Field Officer Alice Jo read a message from the Minister of Internal Affairs. The President of the Bay of Plenty Ethnic Council gave an address. We made our individual oaths or affirmations of allegiance. Then, after singing three verses of God Defend New Zealand, accompanied by Marie Withers on piano, we took afternoon tea.

Twenty-nine New Zealand citizens came into being in Tauranga that day. We were from all over the world: Peru, Canada, Philippines, Britain, Singapore, Tonga, South Africa, Bosnia, USA, Switzerland, Netherlands and Yugoslavia. The invitation was open to friends and supporters, many of whom, I noticed, were Indian.

This seemed odd since no Indians were being New Zealandized. While chatting to one of them, I asked why they were there. She said they were from the Tauranga Multicultural Council and had come to support a new citizen from India. I said it was kind of them to give up their time to welcome a stranger. I also mentioned that I was born in India and was surprised when this caused consternation in their ranks.

As New Zealand citizens, we are fortunate to be allowed to retain citizenship of our mother land. Not all countries permit this. Practically, it seemed to make little difference whether we were residents or citizens. But we’re glad we went through the ceremony. It’s one of the memories that enriches our lives.

And as for that suit, it’s still hanging in the wardrobe. It hasn’t gone mouldy. Not in New Zealand’s fresh, clean air.

Maybe I’ll wear it again one day.

About the writer:

 Treasurer for both the New Zealand Society of Authors (Bay of Plenty Region) and Tauranga Writers, Ian Clarke is also a published author. His debut novel, A Very Fishy Business (National Pacific Press, 2011) is a murder mystery set in the Coromandel, and based on experiences in the maritime services.

During his days at sea, books were a favourite pastime for Ian. From reading he developed a hankering to write a novel. Several were consigned to the trash can, but he says he is improving now, and has completed three and is immersed in a fourth. The Bungalow at No. 2 Road

 ‘Good Kiwi Citizens’ 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.