When I Was Ten
Now in my decline from a time back then
I remember the days in a life when I was ten,
when we lived in a shadow much greater
at the foot of the mount and its dormant crater.
Where we’d climb and to the top race
like Hillary and Tenzing up the south face,
then on our backsides slide to the rocks below
from whence the lava used to flow.
Behold the old white house at 89 Owens Road -
the grass I with an old push blade mowed,
and where from my upstairs bedroom
I saw the spring terraced flowers bloom.
Where outside we played cricket all summer long
and inside were the masters of ping pong!
In our living room my family and me
saw a moonlanding and a war on TV -
on our black ‘n white set watching My Three Sons,
Gunsmoke and Bonanza with my toy guns,
or maybe playing canasta soon as I was able
and even a séance on the coffee table,
where spirits from the spirit world did roam
and truly spelled out to our guests “go home!”.
When my birthday cake burned ten candles
and I wore short pants and Roman sandals.
Meeting my mate with the sign on his door
who lived above the corner shoe store,
with my duffel bag down Valley Road talking
past the shops on the way to school walking -
spending my lunch money licking my lips
eating aniseed wheels and jelly tips!
Listening to my transistor radio all the while
tuned in to 1480 kilohertz on top of the dial -
the hip happening sounds of Radio Hauraki
in the gulf on a pirate ship called Tiri.
Till through the gates of my teacher and jailer,
Mrs Furner, Ms Gaiqui, and Mr Taylor,
and catch a glimpse of a vision in a cotton dress -
the girl of my restless dreams I confess.
Before the bell sounded its morning ring
we’d be flying on the moari swing,
or games on the courts or a tag to yield
playing bullrush on the football field.
And behold, in class on his guitar my teacher
playing folk songs and exhorting like a preacher
singing “where have all the flowers gone?
young girls pick them every one…”
and “Oma rapeti…rabbit run, run, run”
or playing Maori stick games just having fun.
Drawing carvings and birds that can’t fly,
reading tales of Hinemoa and Tutanekai.
Weaving flax and hand tricks on a string
into diamonds and parachutes hanging.
In single file kids marching from the school
with our towel and togs to the pool -
Eden boys and girls at the starters end dive in
for a prized 50 metre certificate to win,
then gather the class in the projection room
and gaze in the ceiling the stars illume,
where our Milky Way mural hung so surreal
as we sat and watched an old movie reel.
But soon fun would turn to palpable fear
when all the class trembled to hear -
read to the children who were quiet as a mouse
was the dental list for the Murder House!
Alas a fate worse than death, the whining drill
to bore and clean and to mercury fill,
where the needle sometimes dulled the pain
yet the screams of boys and girls remain.
After school in hat and uniform arrayed
I marched in the army of the Boys Brigade,
and on weekends roaming the neighbourhood
in search of adventure as best we could -
climbing the hill to the construction site
of The Pines apartments at a great height.
On Guy Fawkes night from my pocket
lighting my firecrackers and my skyrocket -
armed and dangerous ready to throw
with Double Happy red packs lit to blow.
And on nighttime mission on dark ninja patrol
detonating milk bottle whoa! Fire in the hole!
Or off to the Crystal Palace to catch a flick
lest my poor mother test my arithmetic,
and Eden Park where the mighty Auks play host
sitting with my mates behind the goalpost -
with my dad and brother at the track
in the birdcage and hearing the whips crack,
at Ellerslie in the Ladies Stand or Alexandra Park
with my Best Bets for my picks to mark.
And on the Sabbath beneath cross and spire
in Sunday School at old Greyfriars.
Until the day my time comes to an end
I’ll remember way back when I was ten.
Written: January 2016
Pics above: My home when I was ten
and picturesque Mt Eden.
Copyright ©
Keith D Trestrail
|