Tauranga - by Sheila Armstrong
In April 1948 my husband Allan finished a three month course at Massey Agricultural College in Palmerston North and we’d driven up with year-old Anthony, in our 1928 Essex car looking for a job on a sheep farm. All our worldly possessions; pram, baby bath, tents, primus stove and food were strapped on top of the trailer.
It was now May, and so far there had been no sign of a job, and the weather was deteriorating. We longed for a roof over our heads after spending the last few months in tents. We thought the Bay of Plenty sounded full of promise. It was growing dark by the time we reached Tauranga and found the Motor Camp in Fifth Avenue. We were comparative rookies as we’d only immigrated to New Zealand about eighteen months before, so still had a lot to learn.
We pitched our tents by the beach, cooked up some baked beans and gave Anthony some Farex with milk, before putting him to sleep in the car. Allan and I settled down on bed rolls in the tent. After our long journey we were soon sound asleep.
Suddenly we were wide awake, feeling slightly damp. The sea was lapping around us, starting to wet our bedding.
“Quick!” Allan cried, jumping up. “I’ll move the car if you could rescue the tent.”
We hadn’t thought about the tide coming in.
Allan moved the car to safer ground while I started gathering up our bedding and pulling out the tent pegs. We piled the tent on to the trailer and crawled into the car, cuddling up to Anthony. We didn’t get much sleep that night.
Tauranga was a small town in those days, only 5,750 inhabitants; but we liked it here and decided to stay for a while. Allan found a temporary job in a tile factory at three and four pence ha’penny an hour, which at least paid for the camp fees and some food. Butter was still rationed to five pounds a month between us – no margarine then - and we were allowed three eggs per family.
At the weekend we took the ferry from Tauranga to the Mount, much to Anthony’s delight. This was a new experience for him and for us as well. It was a perfect beach; the sea was azure with white waves breaking gently on the shore, the sand gloriously golden and the sun was shining. Motoriki Island and Rabbit Island were waiting to be explored. One day, we promised, we’d climb Mount Maunganui.
Since we’d arrived in New Zealand we’d lived on farms and had seen little of the seaside. Anthony spent a happy day building sandcastles and paddling in the sea. Unfortunately it was too cold to swim.
“I’d love to live by the beach,” I said to Allan. “I suppose it’s too much to hope for a sheep station on the coast.”
Allan laughed. “That would be good, but the way I’m feeling at the moment, any sheep farm would do, provided it has married accommodation.”
Next day Allan enquired about possible jobs. In spite of answering ads and enquiring at Stock Agents, no farming jobs were available. A few citrus orchards were starting up, but not large enough to need extra labour.
We needed to earn some money, so Allan found a temporary job in a tile factory. When that finished, he applied to the Post and Telegraph Office and got a job as a linesman, which he quite enjoyed. But when they offered to train him as an electrical engineer at £7.10 shillings a week, he had to decline. He had his heart set on owning a sheep farm one day.
Meanwhile I made friends with other families in the Motor Camp. We realised how kind and helpful New Zealanders were when Norma and Clyde offered to lend us the key to their cabin while they were away so I could dry Anthony’s cloth nappies - a major hassle in the days before the invention of disposable ones.
It was a great temptation to stay in Tauranga where Allan had work and we’d made friends, but there seemed no possibility of finding work on a sheep farm in this area.
After a month we reluctantly decided to move on and stopped for the night at Ohope Beach. We’re lucky to be alive! The beach was covered with pipis which we ate, not realizing they might have been lying in the sun for some time and might give us food poisoning. They were delicious.
However we survived, only to arrive next day at Opotiki and find an isolated motor camp in the pouring rain. Not a soul around. It was far too wet to pitch the tents, so we moved into the small kitchen block which at least had a roof and a door to keep out the rain.
To our initial delight there were electric lights, a sink with cold water and a toilet handy, but that was the extent of the luxuries. We made up a make-shift bed with seats out of the car and Anthony slept in the pram. The room was cramped, the rain continued to fall in torrents and our tempers got short.
There were spent the next miserable week wondering why we’d left the security of home in England.
But when the rain eventually stopped our spirits rose and we packed up and were on our way again, leaving the glorious Bay of Plenty bathed in sunshine.
