My father’s ancestors arrived in Dunedin sometime in the later 1800’s. Brothers, escaping from Ireland as so many were, voyaging together to the end of the Earth in search of a freer life.
We are working-class, through and through; no-one in my generation has entered a profession. Beyond that, I know very little of my family history beyond my parent’s generation -ours was the quintessential “nuclear family”.
My mother and father met at work, in the same industry to which they have devoted their lives -knitwear. Dad’s family had ended up in Ashburton after years of unsettled life; my mum had lived there all of her life. Both of their families had strong maternal figures and fathers who were “unstable” to a certain extent.
Dad was used to moving and ambitious for his growing family (I was on-the-way when they married and my sister and brother followed in quick succession). So, when I was 4 and a good job opportunity came, in Mosgiel, off we went. There followed a couple of years in Christchurch before our final jump to Auckland at the end of the Sixties.
Each move took us further from our “roots”. Inter-island journeys and phone-calls were expensive and not often made; and letter-writing was becoming a lost art as television, school and work absorbed more and more of our time. We saw very little of my grandparents, uncles, aunts and cousins. Without the common-ground of shared experiences and histories even blood-ties become thin and insubstantial.
So, Auckland became our life, pretty much. So far from “The Mainland” it was like another country -which, of course, Mainlanders always thought it should be.