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| One man's memory of the Stubbies Tour to Christchurch Golden Oldies Festival 1995. |
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| New Zealand 1995 or How I survived McGarity Every respectable club should have at least one McGarity. If they don't they are indeed fortunate. Some clubs have more than one, sad isn't it? The preparations for the holiday were frantic. My recently widowed father-in-law visiting from Zims had decided to drive in my little red Corolla to Melbourne taking my widowed mother with him. Two more totally incompatible people you could not meet. I also had to complete a building extension under my house with the building certificate on the point of expiring, I did so, accompanied by much panic and fluster and the assistance of a pest certificate which I won't talk about too much, but I did have friends then. |
| I remember seeing my late father-in-law Bill leave. My Mother, cooler box on lap, wearing white sun hat and white gloves waving in a manner similar to the Queen Mother as the little red car headed off and father in-law, focused, with white police baseball hat, driving. Off on their trek they went. I remember also saying to him, "Bill, don't push that car, it does not like going over 110 kilometres an hour" his reply in Scottish brogue "I'm a MECH-AN-ICK " and off they went. The car blew up in Elliot. We gathered at Darwin Airport. Linda and the kids saw me off. My daughter, then 17 informing me that she was moving out of the house while I was away. I said you won't, she did. We gathered. Cole Smith, Mal, Mick Mac, Bob, Andy, Cole Whitby and the rest, all dressed neatly in Club Blazers and black Trousers. Not being sure of what we were to wear that day I had rung Cole Whitby and asked the day before. I did stand out in my track suit. I waved goodbye to my family and we were duly boarded the plane. We sat on the offside. I in the same row as Mick. We taxied down the runway and off into the air we went, destination Brisbane and then Sydney. The air was still and calm until the Captain spoke. He politely in his American accent wished us a good flight. The hostesses supplied our wants and none remained parched and the amber fluid flowed, a situation that remained pleasantly constant for the next three weeks. What started as an indifferent comment about the pilots origins, the pilots strike still fresh in people's minds, one anyway, became more raucous. After all, he was American, therefore he must have single handily stolen Aussie jobs, the fact that he could have been Curtin's Grandson was irrelevant, he had a Yank accent therefore it was only right that he be called a scab, a scab pilot and told to go home, and as for the hostess, she was being a total Pratt and unreasonable, complaining about the 'scab chorus, and worst of all, she ran out of beer and we had to drink wine, silly cow. And as for the security staff at Brisbane Airport, marching up to us and threatening not to allow us onto the connecting flight, but we told them, did we tell them, yes, we told them alright, we said "You're too late - Mcgarrity has already left on another flight." Mind you I would have been right anyway, thanks to Col. I was not dressed like the others. We landed in Sydney. Stayed the night. Got drunk, sang songs. Same old stuff - Great. Next day onto another plane and Christchurch. Much quieter trip and we did occasionally take the gag off McGarrity's mouth so he could eat. We exited the airport. Lined up were two buses. There was a big one, in fact it was a coach, into which the more civilised members of the club went and the other a small 'school type bus' into which other those classified as less desirable boarded. Can't think why I was placed in that group. Cheryl however did raise our status and she told the dirtiest jokes. I immediately went to the very back of the bus. It reminded me of school so I sat where I would have then. You know, where we used to sit and play games with the girls, like stink finger and used shanghais to propel jaffirs at the heads of teacher's pets. I had the whole of the back seat to myself. Being small and slight of frame, lay back thinking this is the life, who needs to be on the coach anyway. But bliss did not last, Big Cole, Fridge, sauntered down the isle sat down gently next to me with a thump, saying, 'Move over Gonzo" I went to the window. Moments later Move over Cole, move over Gonzo, was the word, as Big Mal sat next to Cole. It was not so bad, I could still breathe. The doors closed. There was a knocking, they opened, enter Big Bob Dysart. I says to myself. You're not going to sit here are you. He wouldn't, he couldn't, he did. A close bunch we were. At least I could still move my head from side to side, and who needs arms anyway. There I remained transfixed for the remainder of the pre tour. My only comfort being that if the driver went over the edge of one of the cliffs he liked driving so near to I would have been well cushioned. We travelled to the West Coast through towns that I can't pronounce & passes and forests. Many a tear came to Hooper's eyes as we motored along. He was heard to groan. Was it the mountains, was it home, was it the snow, was it the women he had known, the sheep, NO, it was McGarrity chewing on his leg whilst asleep in the isle wearing the 'yellow – dick of the day - shirt' a reward for his contribution to autra/us relations the day before. We hit a bump. Was it an obscenity that popped out of Mick's mouth, no, was it food, no, it was his teeth. They jumped out, triple somersaulted, tucked, and clapped, and landed squarely on his chest… he slept on, his snoring replaced by a strange rumbling sound as lips bounced off vacant gums. The acquisition of his teeth was considered however no one was brave enough to touch them so they remained where they were. We arrived at some town – can't remember what it was called I think "Hotitika' but the year was 1956. I looked for the Neptune Garage but that was not due to open until 1960. I went to dairy/deli – complete with Formica tables, steak sandwiches, baked beans on toast and had a milk shake. Lime. Made me think of my youth. A lone ATM was the only modern device. Stayed at a good pub. I was put with Fridge. The room had a double bed and a single, no guessing which one I got. At least I wasn't joined by Mal and Dysart. Next day we played a game with a a bunch of locals. Mal played on the other team until tackled by an Ex Chief Minister who mistook him for Marshall Perron. Mal departed with a broken rib. One of the more sordid activities to take place was the formation of the the 5 Bums Club. A framed photograph of a number of locals was prominently displayed on a pub wall along with photographs of local All Black Trialists and pretty sheep. This photograph depicted a bunch of fools going swimming in the sea during winter. This act being considered by those resident to be so foolish as to warrant a permanent and prominent place in the bar. Five stubbies who shall remain nameless gathered at the beach. Climatic conditions made it a non gender specific scene. They were however, all fucking ugly. Video running and waves crashing these naked buffoons ran into the sea and into local history. They too remain to this day, in print and framed next to the sheep. On we went, playing games up the coast, in the centre and down the east. The amber fluid flowed and love was in the air. Dysart fell, Whittles followed, her name was Daisy, her complexion was cream, her eyes were wide, big and brown, she was a _____________. The Five Bums Club continued to strike at every New Zealand major scene, from a top a ferry at Milford Sound to the top of Franz Joseph Glazier, one fool even bungy jumping in said attire in Queenstown. The rugby went on. An All Black Trialist of Queenstown Fame, in one game, with white line fever he charged, to be tackled, on the line, by a 60 year old, Peck, his name. Later the poor sod, reputation in ruins, a laughing stock, left his native home and moved to Bondi. The pre Tour ended and the sun was replaced by rain and cold. To Christchurch we went. We played the South African's we played Islanders, we met Kiwi greats and drank at Moire Pubs. McGarrity having honed his international skills, perfected them even further, and was our self nominated ambassador, and soon learnt locals greetings and pleasantries, such as "Good day Cannibal. Nice white feather you got there. How'd find the sheep, very nice I believe." In summary, Dick lost his voice, Andy his true love, Twinks was remembered as a home town hero with an editorial to boot, Oatsy got knocked out, Mal broke his ribs and didn't like the way the dunnies flushed, Allen sang songs, Mick was thrown into a fountain, Steve was in love, Hooper fined us all, Lex scored a try or two and also ski'd, Hockey knocked them down, Mick kept his teeth, Dougal tasted a grape or two, Cole Whitby only got lost once but was returned, Cheryl washed and ironed, Cribby made us laugh, Denise got the dick of the day, Denis was acknowledged to be the best, we went to Mount Hutt, we saw lakes and snow, flowers and deer, but, most of all, we enjoyed each other and drank gallons and gallons of beer. |
| Usually what goes on tour.... stays on tour. But this is too good not to share. |
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| GONZO |
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