A Piece of My Childhood

My mother is red zoned as a result of the earthquake in 2011.  This means she must move from her house to a new property by the end of April 2012.  In preparing for this move in the future she has started clearing out her house and the other day gave me a bag that immediately took me back to my childhood.  Inside was a collection of Rugby League Weekly magazines my father had collected over the years we went to watch my uncle play league.

Most people would have discarded them once the games had been played, but my father kept his and now they are mine.  Memories flooded in - the smell of wintergreen in the liniment, the sound of cleats on concrete, hot pies, warm steam escaping from the changing rooms, huddling under a rug to keep warm, exploring the showgrounds and nearby train tracks, the stamping of feet when a try was scored and the occasional player being stretchered off.

Reading through some of the weeklies takes me back to another era - McWilliam's Wines sponsored the Player of the Week, Wayne Beri (famous for the Aulsebrooks robbery) was playing for Marist-Western, Pat and Peter Smith owned the Embassy Hotel (Manchester Street) and Tattersalls Hotel (Cashel Street), Newmans Coachlines was in business, sauna and massage was provided at Frank Endacott's Health Studio in High Street and Rothmans cigarettes warrented one page advertising.

Although I was only a child and probably spent more time adventuring than watching the games those Saturday memories will always be special.  Sitting beside my father who was only too ready to explain how the game was played it was easy to get caught up in the excitement.  Standing on the seat, so I could see over the heads of the adults who had risen to their feet as the game reached a crucial moment.  Yelling encouragement to my uncle's team as they tried to move the ball towards the try  line.

Then there was also the visit to the Linwood Rugby League clubrooms after the game.  The adults drinking beer and buying us children potato chips to keep us happy.  I remember playing the piano with no talent at all and the kindness of the adults who cheered us on although it must have been awful to listen to.  I remember the slippery, slimy feel of a raw oyster sliding down my throat.  I hated them, but if my father won any in a raffle I would bravely devour one to show him what a fantastic daughter I was.

Thanks Mum for letting me have the weeklies.  I know they are precious to you and like me you have good memories of those days.