Life #2: Social Evolution
Farming defined my father; his character, his crutch
With land and community, totally in touch
A farmer through and through
It was all that he knew
So when we left the farm, he grieved it very much
No he didn’t miss the stress, and grinding workload
Just his friends left behind, on Ohauiti Road
So the open sliding door
Was the dairy factory store,
Where farmers came to Dad for their tools and download
But Dad’s wage barely paid for the things we’d need
In our family of six hungry mouths to feed
With bills unremitting,
Mum sold her hand knitting
And we’d seek out jobs, and follow every lead
I had an early morning daily newspaper round,
Riding my laden bicycle, up hills and down
And even when imperilled
The New Zealand Herald
Would always be delivered, before the school bell would sound
Next, I deep-fried donuts, before start of school
I worked citrus orchards, in a fruit picking pool
Hardware shelves stacked
Then groceries packed
Evolutionary leg-ups on a formative stool
My paper round paid two bucks fifty a week
The supermarket wage was also quite bleak
At fifty cents an hour
Doesn’t sound like much now
But the wolf stayed away from the door, so to speak
Dad made my first tramping pack, from an empty wheat sack
With the straps from old belts, to sling on my back
And my first rugby boots
Were cheap plastic offshoots
And I’d buy my own clothes, off the second-hand rack
School holiday employment processing chickens,
Opened eyes to the demise to which hens are stricken;
From plucking and gutting
To killing and cutting
The gruesome memories still make me feel sickened
Another year on, and to stay off the street
An industrial laundry, my holiday retreat
Dirty washing so foul
From overalls to towels
I can still smell the stench, of urine-soaked sheets
I sold soft drink bottles, from bins by the beach
Rolled papers for butchers, to wrap up their meats
One of Gertrude Owens’ Scholars
Was worth a hundred dollars
To further education, for families out of reach
By summer seventy-seven, I was picking up hay
Aunty Shirley invited me, to their place to stay
Hard yakka would entail
Earning two cents a bale
For sixty thousand bales, as my varsity pay
Stinging sweat seeped out of every gland
Cuts and callouses festered, on fingers and hands
Hay strewn across pastures
To barns stacked to rafters
My heyday to pay for studies and exams
At Otago University, I finally felt free
Flew down to Dunedin for a commerce degree
First time on a plane
A whole new domain
So grateful the then-government, helped pay for fees
In freezing student flats, with single bar heating
Life’s inventory growing, but dollars depleting
So to St George’s Jams
To load sugar and cans
For cash to buy books, to pay rent, to keep eating
I finished university, but was never a star,
Juggled lessons between lectures, the mountains, the bar
But the cupboard was bare;
At starting my career
I needed my first bank loan for a suit and a car
My story is typical of many of my peers
The stairs of evolution, in our formative years
Beginnings so modest
Where nothing was promised
But hard work that defined us… for future frontiers.
Kevin Holmes • 15th September 2022
