12May2005

This is really a story about John Tamihere and his cats. But first I need to digress. When I was about eight years of age my mother considered that my speech wasn’t all it should have been. Accordingly she decided that I should take elocution lessons. Every Monday afternoon she’d give me a shilling and off I would reluctantly go to Miss Donnelly’s house for my lessons. I’d sit in the musty dark hallway awaiting for the kid before me to finish his lesson. Through the wall I could hear the muted, muffled grunts as Dougie Kelly, as reluctant as me, was taken through the correct recitation of the vowels. Correct according to Miss Donnelly, whom I thought had an unusual and fascinating way of speaking. I found out in later years she was Irish. Silence through the wall. The big door opened. There stood Dougie Kelly. The look of relief on his face as he was about to be set free. “Your turn now Lundon” he whispered sneeringly to me through clenched lips. Even through his sotto voce utterance I knew that the lesson had done nothing for him. The “now” of “your turn now” came out as “neow”. Miss Donnelly would have insisted that it rhymed with “brown” and “cow” as in “how now brown cow”.

She wasn’t a big woman but her presence seemed fill the room. A big gloomy dark room. The funny musty smell of the hallway was recreated here. It reminded me of how my wet rugby socks smelt after a week of lying in the corner of my wardrobe. There was a massive black upright piano. It dominated one wall. The only light was a gnarled twisted wooden standard lamp with a golden shade and tassels hanging off this. Although it was only 4:00pm the heavy curtains had already been drawn. They were dark red. Velvet I think. I couldn’t stand touching velvet. Like the black velvet shoe polisher my father had. Touching its sent a sort of creepy feel up the back of my neck. Miss Donnelly looked at me through her half moon rimmed glasses. “Have you got your shilling Jack?” I don’t know why she called me Jack. Something to do with an American author called Jack London. I found out later on that he wrote adventure stories like “White Fang” and “Call of the Wild”. As an elocution teacher Miss Donnelly was well read. She obviously wanted to let me know. This was wasted on me. I’d never head of Jack London. As I handed over the shilling I mentally noted what better purposes I could have put this money to other than an elocution class. Like a couple of toffee bars. And an afternoon in the dress circle of the Majestic Theatre in Willis Street watching the Lone Ranger and his faithful servant Tonto once again cheat certain death from the Sioux Indians.

“Today we’ve going to learn a poem, but first our vowels”. “aay – ee – aye – oo – you”. I intoned them after her. “Not yew. “Round your lips”. Her little red mouth outlined in red lipstick formed a little round red ring. Reminded me of those rings farmers used for getting rid of lamb’s tails and other things. “Good” she responded as I made a valiant effort to comply. “Now for today’s poem. It’s called the ‘Cat came back’.” Well I won’t bore you but it went on for about ten verses. It was the epic story of an unwanted cat that everyone involved with it was trying to get rid of it without success. One verse went like this
A little boy said he’d kill the cat got a dollar note.
Went out in the river with a little open boat.
Tied a rope around the moggie’s neck.
With a stone that weighed a pound.
They’re dragging in the river for the little boy that’s drowned,
But the cat came back.
Which brings me to John Tamiehere’s cats. John has been castigated for leaving his two tom cats behind after he vacated his West Auckland property. If the truths known he took the cats with him when he and his family left. But like Miss Donnelly’s poem they kept coming back. And the last verse went something like this
They gave it (the cat) to a preacher who was going far away.
But as his train went around a curve it struck a rotten rail
And not a man aboard was left to tell the tale.
But the cat came back”.