Scars that Run Deep (19 page)

He stood, shrugged his broad shoulders and agreed. I bought the car from him for about £160. ‘You know where to find me, Paddy, if it breaks down.' I enjoyed a good laugh at that one, as he moved about more than even I did.

IN AUTUMN 1970,
I was quite honestly gutted to hear that Ferguson's were closing down. In late November, actually. So I had no choice. I was glad I had my passage booked to New Zealand. Mr Ferguson told me I was doing the right thing in emigrating. I believed strongly that I was, and decided that even if I got homesick I would stay at least twelve months and see a bit of the world before returning.

The
Shota Rustaveli
was a Russian liner, and I was one of two thousand people from Ireland, England, Malta and Cyprus on board. It was enormous and spotlessly clean, and when I walked up the gangway into the shining corridors I felt as if I was in a hospital! For the five weeks I was on board, the great liner was like an incredible floating city.

My first walk around after I had settled into my cabin, which was a four-berth, became a walk into another romance – within hours of coming on board! I was watching the English coastline fade slowly into the distance when I noticed a slim,
tall young woman coming towards me. She had dark shoulder-length hair and was holding a cigarette. She looked at me and smiled. I got a whiff of her perfume and was attracted to her casual, film-star charm and her tantalising smile. Just like the beautiful French au pair, Maria.

She spoke softly. ‘Have you got a match for me?'

‘I'm so sorry, I don't smoke, I said apologetically. She put away the cigarette. I was overwhelmed by her beauty.

‘My name is Andrea. I'm from New Zealand.' Her hand was outstretched and mine reached slowly to hold it as I introduced myself. What fine long fingers, I thought. I held on to her hand, as she wasn't letting go. I felt at ease. We were alone on deck, and we both stood staring at the distant coastline. I imagined I was dreaming.

Andrea turned and began to move along the deck. I followed with a certain reluctance, not sure of myself. Then she paused, long enough for me to catch up. I began to feel this could be my lucky day – and all this in the first few hours. It did strike me as something of a fantasy.

We were now in a short darkened passageway, and the only sound was from the seagulls. My hand seemed to rest lightly at first around her waist. Her lips closed upon mine. Her long fingers rested in my hair. Losing any clear notions I had in respect of her charm and elegance, I let myself go as scenes of the flesh took hold of me.

A light came on that brightened up the passageway. I noticed a huge deckhand, then another. They passed some comment and then roared with laughter. ‘Come on, Andrea, I'll see you back to your cabin.'

Before she went I could at last see how she really looked in the bright light. I was overwhelmed by her attractiveness. She asked me if she could share my table in the dining room. We had a table for two for the entire voyage.

The trip to New Zealand was more of an adventure than a sea voyage. Life aboard the ship was fantastic. I took part in stage shows, the best of them
South Pacific
. They organised a poetry reading, with pride of place for anyone who recited their own poetry. I was driven to write at that time, so I entered for the reading, which was to be held in the great dining room after the evening dinner, as a form of cabaret.

On the night of the poetry reading Andrea came to dinner with me. She wanted to hear my poems. She looked beautiful in her red dress with a blue silk sash around her waist. Her smile simply radiated confidence and encouragement for me as my name was called out. I was being either honoured or disposed of quickly – I wasn't sure which – but I was the first to perform. I had to stand on stage before two thousand people, the captain, the officers and crew and hear the host describe me as a new Irish poet. I took out my first poem, called ‘Some Mother's Son'. It's about a young man washed up on the sands at the end of the
Second World War, whom I learnt of while on my first visit to the Isle of Man in 1959. I followed that by reading ‘The Coal Fire', for which I received a rapturous applause.

I tried to leave the stage, but everybody stood up and began chanting for more, and I was led back. I tried to get a glimpse of Andrea, and when I spotted her I felt fine. I wanted her to hear the poem I wrote with her in mind and dedicated to her, ‘The MS
Shota Rustaveli
'.

From the moment I got up at around nine every morning until I went to my cabin for the night between midnight and two, there was always something for me to do. Each morning I took charge of the keep-fit fanatics' class at half ten. There was a writers' workshop at noon. One-act plays were performed at night in the main lounge in front of over 500 people, and I took part in these too.

After lunch there were sports, from basketball to clay pigeon shooting. There were three small cinemas, which showed the very best films. There was also a choice of bars, lounges, dancing, cabaret, and stage shows. I was eager to participate in all the sports and shows, and in this way I was always kept active. Andrea was always close at hand but she was a real mystery to me. I couldn't figure her out at all.

When we arrived in Auckland, the sun was extremely hot. I was dressed in a pure wool three-piece suit, and I was stared
at as I walked down the gangway. God, I muttered, how am I going to stick this heat? Andrea came towards me, and once again I blew it – as always! I felt she had ignored me at times to be with other men friends at night in clubs and at the roulette tables. I thought she was simply using me to suit herself. When Andrea asked me if I had a place to stay, I felt cold and distant towards her.

I looked at her, and without really giving it a second thought I said, ‘I'll stay in Auckland. After all, I've come twelve thousand miles to be here. I'll find some place to stay.' She looked sad as she silently went on her way. Little did I realise that I would never again see the beautiful New Zealand girl who had stolen my heart in the first hours of the long voyage. Once again I blew it, perhaps. She was sincere, but I couldn't take the chance after what happened with Noreen.

Afterwards I felt lost, lonesome and foolish as I settled in to my room in the YMCA hostel in the city. I must admit that down through the years I have made some dreadful decisions that later left me sick with self-pity.

There were times when I wanted to end it all, and once I actually tried. I was out along the beach at Bream Bay, and I was feeling so homesick that I would have offered everything I owned for the sound of an Irish voice; and a piece of Irish music on the radio had me in tears. I walked into the water from the golden stretch of sand. I simply wanted to keep on
walking, when I took a fall over some rocks beneath the water. I heard a voice shouting, ‘You okay out there, mate?' Within moments I was lifted out to safety, with blood oozing from a head wound. I opened my eyes to find a young woman cleaning my wounds while her boyfriend helped her. I was taken by surprise when I realised she was topless!

His accent was a mixture of Yorkshire and New Zealand. ‘Sorry, mate, for the way we're dressed, or undressed.' He smiled. ‘We come here at weekends and swim out to the reef like this – quite a lot of us do in these parts.' He looked at his girlfriend and said, ‘This is Jean. She comes from a place near Te Aroha, near Morrinsville.' He shook my hand. ‘I'm Erin.'

Odd name, I thought, and smiled. Blood was getting into my eyes and I felt dizzy. I just heard him say, ‘I've got an Irish passport,' and then I passed out.

I had a good nurse looking after me in Jean. I was brought back to their house near Wellsford, where I stayed for a few days. Jean was a teacher with first-aid experience. She was the kind of girl I dreamed of ending up with.

After I had settled down in the YMCA in Auckland, I began to find my way around the city. I searched for a new start. However, I could find none; no job offers came my way.

I had no choice. I realised I had to find work in a bakery, or face life on
the dole. No way, I thought, was I going to join the dole queue in New Zealand having come across the Equator 12,000 miles. While out walking I happened to come across a home bakery on a busy main road. A sale sign was in the window. I entered and a tall gentleman came to meet me. ‘How can I help you, mate?' He's English, I thought. For a while I worked with him and his wife. Eventually I agreed to take over the leasehold and I opened the Home Bakery as Laurence's Home Bakery, as Laurence is my middle name. I held a small opening party.

I was unaware of some of New Zealand's customs, and I ran into a few sticky problems. I put on what I thought was a fine spread of food and drink, but as the guests arrived I noticed there was going to be a far bigger crowd than I invited. How was I going to have enough for everyone? Some of the guests I already knew from the voyage. I had kept their addresses and I was glad to meet them again.

I had met Dave on board ship, and we kept in touch. He was a mature young school teacher, born in New Zealand to English parents. He quickly became my adviser as I tumbled from one problem to the next. He pointed out that when one invites a Maori to a party, they believe they can bring the clan. It doesn't always happen, but in my case I had invited an English lad who was married to a Maori chief's daughter, and she turned up with over fifteen members of their family.

I began to wonder why they had all brought their own
food. I asked Dave, and he told me that it's the custom in New Zealand to bring your own ‘tucka' and drink to such gatherings. So, after my initial worries, I was left with a hell of a lot of uneaten food.

Just before Christmas the priest, Father John Davaro, was outside the church to greet everyone personally after Mass. When he came to me his first words were, ‘So you're the new man in our parish – just in from the old sod. So tell me, where are you for dinner, Patrick?'

I told him, ‘I'm alone, Father. I've just moved into the bakery in Ponsonby. It's called Laurence's Home Bakery – formerly Don's Cake Tin.'

‘Yes, yes, I know it. Too bad – it's not nice to be left alone at Christmastime for dinner. So you'll come with me to my mother's up in Helensville for a few days? Mother will take care of you. She's a wonderful old lady, Patrick, and she'll simply spoil you, I can tell you now, just to get all the news from home, you see.'

I readily agreed, thrilled that I had someone to talk to during the days ahead. I believed that by keeping up my faith and praying at intervals during the day, good things would really happen and it would help me to settle into my new home. On the way up to Helensville I noticed that the beaches were crowded. I smiled as I thought of Ireland. To tell
the truth, I was missing the foggy dew and the frosty winter mornings.

Also, I was having a tough time of it making a living. I soon realised I had made another awful decision. The bakery trade was slow: New Zealanders on the whole didn't go in much for cakes, or indeed sweet things. Once more I was left cursing my rotten decisions.

I began to make Irish soda bread. The brown soda wouldn't sell, but the Maori really went for my white bread. However, they soon got fed up buying it. They invited me to the home of a chief, and I was obliged to show them how I made the bread. Soon after that business fell away.

Winter started to draw nearer. Suddenly I began to enjoy going to bed at night, as the climate was much like home now. I joined the GAA club for the forthcoming football and hurling league. I was asked by Peter, a new friend, to join the soccer club he was in, and I obliged. I enjoyed every moment playing alongside Peter. Soccer was at about the same level as any one of the junior leagues at home, but no better. Rugby was the main New Zealand sport. There were only about five or six Gaelic clubs in Auckland, and Celtic were the best of a poor lot.

The winter was wet but mild. I decided to try to sell the lease on the bakery, but there were bakeries for sale in every
second street. The country was troubled by England joining the EEC, and concerned about their beef, butter, lamb and cheese trade.

I was struck by the many good things in New Zealand, and I realised it far more after I had returned to Ireland for the New Year. Going into Auckland for a bit of shopping was made more comfortable by the practice of having a white line dividing the city footpaths in two. To walk up the main footpaths you had to stay inside on the left-hand or shop-window side; people walking down had to remain on the outside of the pavement. It was all very orderly. You could only cross the street with the wardens, who were at special pedestrian crossings; anyone caught crossing through the traffic got an automatic on-the-spot fine. Churchgoers always went into the church rather than standing at the back. On the whole, people were most orderly, and more tolerant than I had expected.

I noticed as time passed that Irish people stuck closely together and rarely mixed with other nationals, yet I found that I was odd in that sense: I liked to mix with New Zealanders and people from foreign lands.

ONE AFTERNOON IN
the spring of 1971 I was cleaning up in the shop. Business had not been good; I suited myself when it was time to close. Just as I was about to finish for the day, a tall, middle-aged man entered the shop. I had the cakes and bread that were left over ready to bring down to the convent. This, I found, was the best way of parting with the leftovers. I had been advised by business friends in the area that it was very bad for business to give your goods away for free, even stale bread. They had a point, but as far as I was concerned, it wouldn't make me any poorer.

‘Hello, Father. What can I do for you?'

He came closer. ‘I'm a missionary Brother, not a priest.' He smiled. ‘I travel Asia in my work for the missions. Most of our members have to do some work on the land every day and teach others the same.'