AS a young boy, Taku Parai would often be sent to pick up his family’s tea. He’d cross the short distance from his home on the Takapuwahia Pa to the shores of Porirua Harbour and cast his net wide.

The waters teemed with kaimoana: cod, snapper, kahawai, flounder, mullet – around 30 species of fish in all – plus piles of mussels, cockles, bubus and pipis.

“It was our breadbasket. All our sustenance, all our livelihoods came from the harbour and Porirua Stream.”

Occasionally, Taku says, this abundance made him greedy. He remembers being told to bring back six flounders for breakfast and proudly returning home with ten.

“Dad gave me a pull on the ear and said ‘can’t you count?’

“Our philosophy was always to just take what we needed, and leave the rest.”

For Ngati Toa, the harbour’s generosity was not something to be taken for granted. Subsequent guardians were less considerate, however. The laissez-faire attitude of consecutive governments, local and national, condemned the estuary to decades of abuse.

As Porirua and the northern Wellington suburbs grew, it was physically modified, polluted and silted up. And, slowly but surely, the fish began to disappear.

From the earliest days of Porirua village, local Maori were fighting to protect their vital marine resources. In 1883 a Ngati Toa delegation begged the government to ensure burgeoning urban development would leave the harbour unspoilt.

But not long after, the Porirua Lunatic Asylum was built at Elsdon. The institution’s drains, already condemned as ‘scandalous’ in a 1904 report, were by the 1950s pumping 136,000 gallons of effluent a day into the Porirua Stream. At Takapuwahia, less than 3km away, Taku’s young cousins were dying from typhoid.

“While they were pumping that rubbish into the stream, we were gathering our food down here in the harbour. No consultation, no dialogue. Our people had no idea of the danger.”

Taku Parai (right) was born in 1955. Four years later work began on the new Porirua CBD, a massive development requiring the demolition of most of the old village and the dumping of more than 770,000 cubic metres of rock and soil at the head of the harbour.

The pipi and flounder beds used by generations of Taku Parai’s family were extinguished by the new Titahi Bay Rd, and the harbour’s fish stocks began a swift and steep decline.

The loss of this prized resource had a huge impact on Ngati Toa’s mana, he says. “It broke the hearts of our old people that other iwi would leave here and say ‘Ngati Toa has nothing’.

“There was there a lot of anger. If it’d been an earlier time we’d have gone to battle over it, without question.”

Today, Porirua Harbour is very sick indeed

The lower North Island’s largest marine estuary – comprising the Onepoto Arm, which runs north from the CBD out to the sea at Mana, and the east-flowing Pauatahanui Inlet – is being attacked on all sides.

From the surrounding agricultural smallholdings comes fertiliser run-off, DDT residue and livestock faecal contamination.

Heavy metals – copper from car brake pads, zinc from galvanised rubber tyres – wash off State Highway 1 and into its waters. And mud, tonnes of the stuff, is carried by stormwater and streams into the harbour.

MAN'S INTRUSION: A digger comes to grief in Porirua Harbour (Stuff image).

As Keith Calder, the harbour strategy co-ordinator at Porirua City Council, says: “The reality is, without our intervention, anything we put on the ground around the Porirua Basin could only ever, end up in one place – the Porirua Harbour.

“Whether its litter, fertiliser, paint, carwash detergent or the chemicals leaching off our roofing iron, everything goes downhill.”

Of all the threats the harbour faces, sedimentation – the process by which eroded soil is washed through streams and stormwater pipes and out in the harbour basin – is by far the most serious.

For millennia, this process raised the base of the Porirua Harbour by an average of between 1mm and 1.5mm each year. But a study last year found that net average deposition rates are now 5.7mm/year in the Onepoto Arm and 9.1mm/year in Pauatahanui Inlet, five to ten times natural rates.

While every estuary’s lifespan is finite, the rocketing rate of accumulation is threatening to kill Porirua Harbour long before its time, the study said:

Allowing for uncertainties, at current deposition rates Pauatahanui Inlet will have ceased to exist over the next 145-195 years and the Onepoto Arm over the next 290-390 years.

Sedimentation poses immediate threats

Suspended in water, sedimentation clogs fish gills and reduces their visual foraging abilities. Lying on the harbour floor, it smothers algae food sources and destroys shellfish habitats.

In Pauatahanui Inlet, for example, cockle numbers have halved since 1976, a fact widely attributed to increased sedimentation run-off from the expanding Whitby suburbs.

Throughout the harbour, the problem is made worse by a weakening of the “tidal prism”, the amount of water pushed in and out by tides. Tide-blocking structures like the Paremata road and rail bridges are a contributory factor, but the main culprit is sedimentation itself.

“With the filling up of the sediment, you’re raising the bed of the harbour and reducing its capacity to take the tide in.” Keith Calder says. As the harbour loses its ability to “self-flush”, the real danger is that the sedimentation rates are going to be exponential, not lineal.

And here’s the kicker: those contaminants leaching from our roads, roofs and atmosphere are drawn like a magnet to the silt accumulating on the harbour’s floor. The mud pouring into the harbour is a veritable stew of heavy metals and poisonous chemicals.

As in most urban marine environments, locals are resigned to being unable to collect shellfish from the harbour. Perhaps a more powerful illustration of the harbour’s toxicity comes from those, like Aniuwaru ki Porirua waka ama club members, who regularly complain of infected sores and cuts after prolonged exposure to its waters.

Crusading marine environmentalist

It’s early Saturday morning and I’m clambering over a hill high above Porirua Harbour, as crusading marine environmentalist Jim Mikoz strides on ahead.

A gap-toothed, 63-year-old in black aviator sunglasses, Mikoz (left) prides himself on being a thorn in the side of local government. He’s brought me up here for a primer on the shortcomings of council sediment control.

We stop at sediment traps, tiered ponds designed to catch the silt run-off from large-scale developments. None of them, Jim says, are regularly cleared.

“They’re dug out and then just left. They use aluminium sulphate [to drag silt particles to the bottom of the ponds], but what’s the point if they’re not going to maintain them? As soon as it rains these ponds overflow and all that silt and those chemicals go straight into the stormwater, and into the harbour.”

Jim points at Jessie, his black Labrador who is attempting to puddle in the muddy water. “Look at that. That pond was originally dug out to a depth of two or three metres and now it isn’t even deep enough for a dog to swim in.”

As we walk back to the four-wheel drive, Jim tells me about his long campaign against pollution in Wellington’s estuary systems.

As president of the Wellington Recreational Marine Fishers Association, he has made countless submissions to government in an attempt to highlight how freshwater degradation is destroying marine food sources and spawning grounds. He carries his camera with him, obsessively cataloguing blocked streams, eroding banks and neglected sediment traps.

It was his photos that convinced Ngati Toa that something had to be done, he says. “I’m their expert. Without me they wouldn’t have known [about the state of the waterways]. The council isn’t telling them anything and they’re getting pissed off about it.”

We drive south along the route of the Porirua Stream, stopping every few minutes so Jim can point out places where the streambank has fallen into the water. The wrong kind of riparian planting – or worse, no planting at all – has left the edges of the stream exposed to the elements and liable to collapse. The result: more erosion, and more silt in the harbour.

Mikoz says the only solution is to dredge, and quickly. Wait much longer and the Mana marina, located at the mouth of the harbour, will soon be landlocked.

I put Jim’s claims to harbour strategy co-ordinator Keith Calder. He pauses a long time and lets out a sigh. “Jim has some good points, but the problem is you have to spend so much time filtering out the crap.

“It’d be different if he was saying ‘some of these sediment structures are not working or not being maintained, or both’, but instead he says the councils are not doing their job, sediment controls are a joke. You know, he can take you to places it’s not working, but I can take you places it is.”

Calder says he understands people’s impatience to have the harbour dredged. “This delay isn’t about us being tight-arsed, it’s about us saying we understand the nature of the problems, we just don’t know how to solve them. At the moment, if we rush into it, I can’t guarantee it’s going to work.”

What’s needed, he says, is a long-term action plan that addresses all the threats currently facing the harbour. “We’re saying ‘things are bad, but it’s not about the past. What is the situation now, and what do we do about the future?’”

PAUATAHANUI INLET: Picture by Porirua City Council's Keith Calder.

In 2006, the Porirua City Council allocated $2.6 million towards rescuing the harbour. Calder’s job was created, and research work began.

Understanding the reasons and impact of excess sedimentation is a priority. A detailed hydro-dynamic computer model of the base of the harbour has been commissioned, and will form the framework for any decisions on dredging.

The cost of the computer modelling will be shared between the Porirua, Wellington and Greater Wellington regional councils, with support from the NZ Transport Agency and the Transmission Gully Motorway team.

Both Greater Wellington Regional Council and Wellington City, under whose remit 70% of the Porirua Stream catchment falls, have pledged their support for the harbour regeneration project.

“The reality is we’re going to need money from other sources – other councils, central government – because the issues here are significant. And while lump sums (like Porirua’s $2.6 million) are great, what we really need is ongoing commitment,” Calder says.

He jabs a finger at a map marked with potential developments in the area. “Windfarm. Rural residential intensification. Urban development. Transmission Gully motorway. One hundred percent of Wellington’s green field development will happen in the Porirua Stream catchment. And in the next 25-30 years, fifty per cent of Wellington’s regional growth will happen here.

“We’ve already got a problem, what’s the chance that this will improve it? Zilch.”

While government support will be key, Calder is careful to characterise the project as “co-led” with Ngati Toa. “When I hear Taku Parai speak about what the iwi has lost, I feel embarrassed for what [local government] has done.

“We’re not asking them to contribute a cent towards this – it’s not even an issue. As far as we’re concerned, Ngati Toa didn’t create the problem and it didn’t even enter our thinking that they should pay.”

He says Jim Mikoz’s accusation of poor communication between the council and Ngati Toa is “totally wrong”. “Jim’s got the ear of a small number of people, but the fact is we are required to liaise with Ngati Toa through the runanga only.”

What’s being done

Ngati Toa spokesperson Jennie Smeaton says there is a “really good relationship” with the council. In February, the iwi held a harbour issues hui that will feed into what has been a long process of public consultation on the issue.

By June this year, a draft Porirua Harbour Catchment Strategy, setting out the problems and proposing a way forward, should be ready to go out for further discussion. The strategy will include a “healthy harbour” education programme aimed at everyone who lives in the Porirua Basin.

“We need to give people the top 10 hints for cleaning up the harbour. For example, people should be made aware they shouldn’t wash their car on an impermeable surface, but on a lawn. And how do we reach the Polynesian community? The obvious way is through the churches.

“After all, from a biblical point of view there’s actually a mandate to look after God’s creation.

“This needs us all to participate. If the harbour is worth saving, it’s worth recruiting as many people as possible. We’re going to be asking everyone, ‘what can you do to help?’”

A final action plan won’t be ready for implementation until midway through next year, but a lot is being done to help the harbour in the meantime.

Calder points to the Pauatahanui Inlet fencing and re-vegetation project, which has significantly reduced the amount of sediment and faecal contamination entering the harbour from rural streams.

And in 2008, Porirua Council introduced its own sediment control by-law to help stem the flow of silt from property developments. Since then, Greater Wellington Regional Council has announced a review of its earthworks controls.

But everyone I spoke to agreed the real problem is a lack of resources, not regulations. Guardians of Pauatahanui Inlet chair John Wells says he has “a lot of sympathy” for the regional council.

“They have the regulatory mechanisms in place [to stop the discharge of sediment into waterways] – in fact those resource consent conditions are pretty draconian.

“The problem is in monitoring them. Half the time, something happens and by the time the council inspector arrives the next day, it’s too late and the damage has been done.”

But no matter how well enforced, the Resource Management Act can only do so much. Without a total commitment from every stakeholder – government, commercial and private – the harbour’s future looks bleak.

It’s something former Methodist minister Keith Calder is passionate about. Talking about the problems facing Porirua Harbour, he takes on an almost evangelical tone.

“We’ve never paid the true cost of developing the Porirua basin – the harbour has. And it has to end. We’ve had our ‘drugs, sex and rock n roll’ for the last 150 years and now the party’s over.

“We have to live up to our responsibilities, not just to our own kids and the rest of the community, but to future generations.”

Emma Booth as Kim Hollingsworth in TV3's Underbelly: The Golden Mile / Supplied

A pair of middle-aged English women visited NZ recently to see how our version of the world’s oldest profession compares with their own. They rated it. TASHA BLACK takes her own look at our “underbelly“:

THE first time, the door wouldn’t shut properly.

And *Fleur didn’t know what to do with her hands. She offered the man some wine, sat down in an over-sized chair and to bide some time, started to babble. “You won’t believe what we talked about. Of all things – autism.”

She was not aware of time. He was: “Well, ahh, so should we get down to it then?” “Oh yes, of course!” Not quite knowing what to do, she embraced him.

That was Fleur’s first experience as a hooker. It was the fastest two hundred bucks she had ever made.

She sips on her chamomile tea and smiles at the memory. The man prematurely ejaculated and Fleur spent most of her time cuddling and consoling him. Now 23, she has come a long way since those clumsy days and has over a year’s work under her belt (literally) at Bon Ton, a high class brothel in Wellington.

Bon Ton works hard to distance itself from the sleazy stereotypes associated with prostitution. The brothel’s catchphrase, “not for everyone” is certainly true. At $400 an hour, the girls don’t come cheap (pun intended).

Bon Ton was declared the world’s best brothel by two middle-aged English women (left) from the UK Women’s Institute.

They travelled the world with a TV crew to find brothels that provided safe working environments. As one of the few countries in the world where prostitution is decriminalised, they believe New Zealand is a world leader in sex workers’ safety.

But by visiting Bon Ton and other high class New Zealand brothels, they bypassed the less savoury side of prostitution in New Zealand.

It’s not all silk robes, glasses of wine and intelligent conversation. Working conditions within the industry vary dramatically. While Bon Ton girls are on call, in most New Zealand brothels, shift work – sometimes 12 hours or longer – is the norm.

Fleur has also worked two shifts at the Kensington Inn, a Wellington brothel located next to the Papua New Guinea embassy, across the road from a French bakery and a takeaway curry shop.

She says Kensington Inn has a meat market atmosphere and the long shifts left her exhausted and hungry. Her shifts started at 7pm and came to an end at a time most of us are eating cornflakes and reading the morning paper.

Who comes in at 7.30am, you ask? Indian taxi drivers, apparently.

Fleur says it is an unsustainable lifestyle. “I enjoy my job. In some ways, it’s the best job I ever had. In other ways there have been times when I have thought I can’t do this any more.

“It’s definitely not something I would see as a career. In saying that, I will struggle when the time comes for me to give it up. A lot of people find it really hard to go from earning such easy money to being a slave to the wage.”

But easy money comes with risks.

For eight years Shelley (40) serviced the men of Whanganui. She would go out to farmers’ houses in the Whanganui hills and often be out of cellphone reception. “If he got a bit rough it could get a bit scary,” she says. “I am a pretty strong woman – you have to be to work in the business.”

All working girls worry about their safety, she says matter-of-factly.

Shelley was working at the brothel Club 28 in 2002 when her friend Diana Leafa (23) disappeared after work one night. Her handbag was found on her doorstep, but it took three weeks before her decomposed body was found in the sand dunes at a Whanganui beach.

CATHERINE HEALY Stuff image

FOR more than 20 years sex workers have had the support of the Prostitutes’ Collective, which advocates and supports sex workers.

The Prostitutes’ Collective can be hard to find. There’s no neon sign outside.  Open the unassuming door, go up the stairs and take a right turn. There’s a glass bowl filled with condoms. Yep, this is the place.

The fuchsia pink walls are a bit overwhelming, but you warm to them. In the back room, the microwave sits tightly packed amongst boxes stacked to the ceiling, all filled with lube sachets. Dolls line the window sill, representing working girls travelling the world.

Prostitutes’ Collective national co-ordinator Catherine Healy spins round on her office chair, stands up and introduces herself. She says the media often contact her looking for a “normal” prostitute. They’re looking for a white middle class girl, but there is no stereotypical prostitute.

Healy says officials from around the world come to New Zealand to investigate the workings of a decriminalised country. She recently returned from debating the merits of the legalisation of prostitution at Oxford Union in England.

In 2003, the Prostitution Reform Act was battled out in parliament and overnight things were different. All the girls in this article agree the reform improved rights for sex workers.

A worker can refuse to see any client and if a man tries to have unsafe sex a girl can simply say “no condom, no service”, and the law will back her up. But Shelley says there is always a fight over condoms and she had “100 different tricks” to get men to use protection.

And what if they were asked to do something they didn’t want to? “We learnt to say ‘it costs extra’,’’ says Shelly. How much? “We would make up an astronomical amount.”

Some clients try to weasel their way out of paying. “There would be farmers that would try and swap you half a side of beef for half an hour. I’ve been offered a car stereo, a TV, all sorts of weird things instead of cash,” says Shelley.

Fleur thinks legalisation was the opportunity to create something like Bon Ton and push for a new wave of sex work. “Sex work doesn’t have to be disgusting, it doesn’t have to be sleazy, it doesn’t have to be about plastic sheets. We can make this safe and enjoyable for everyone.”

University student Michelle, agrees. She use to work at Splash Club “where guys would stumble in off Courtenay Place”. Now she works at the Fun House and sees only about two or three clients a week on call.

SO, who are the customers of this supposedly cleaned-up retail trade, this sanitised, modern brand of a commerce that predates all others?

Michelle says her clients at the Fun House are older and more respectful. “I tend to attract lots of socially awkward IT geeks, which is quite perfect for me.”

Some clients are disabled, others are lonely and some have sexual fetishes their partners can’t fulfill.

Fleur’s clients have included United Nations workers, government officials and the son of a world leader. Many are married or in long term relationships. “A lot of people cheat on their partners. It can make one a bit cynical.”

Prostitutes are a listening ear. They talk to her about their wives and children.

Sarah, who has worked in Wellington for a year, says sex is a small part of the exchange. “A lot of clients come for intimacy or to boost their ego, because they have low self esteem or they just want someone to talk to. Sometimes clients would come and talk to me for hours.”

Fleur: “One thing about going to a prostitute is that they [prostitutes] are not going to judge you. Well, maybe they do secretly, but guys feel like they aren’t being judged, and it’s true that most sex workers have kinda seen it all. Not a lot fazes them.”

In saying that, while both girls admitted some clients just want a wham bam service, a lot of clients go away feeling like they have had a genuine connection.

Fleur: “It’s kind of a funny thing, because yes, they have, but no, they haven’t. They have had a genuine connection with someone who doesn’t exist. People’s ability for self deception never ceases to amaze me. You get those guys who think they’re hot shit and that you are really into them.

“And it’s like how can you be so stupid? You have your own company and you charge $500 an hour for your advice and yet you’re like a gibbering idiot being led around by your cock. The smartest guy can be a slave to his penis.”

TWO young women walk into the Prostitutes’ Collective.One is new to sex work and Catherine Healy excuses herself to guide the girls into another room, where they can talk to someone in the industry about the reality of life as a working girl.

The Prostitutes’ Collective gives out new starter packs with condoms, tips on how to deal with tough clients and a copy of their magazine.

New girls are always popular with clients. “Sometimes, a new girl would come in and work and take all the business, when you had arranged a babysitter, got tea ready and booked the taxi,” says Shelley.

Fleur: “It’s kind of like a new flavour at the ice-cream store, you know, everyone wants to try it.” She says it’s a paradox. “Guys want a virgin and a whore at the same time.”

Sarah says sex work is about supply and demand. Shelley agrees: “To me it was like cleaning public toilets – you know, I was doing a public service.”

A heavy cloud sits over the sex industry. It is halfway underground and halfway out in the open. None of the women interviewed felt ashamed of their work, but none was willing to use a real name, and most tell only a handful of people about their work.

Fleur says her parents wouldn’t understand. “I think it’s better they didn’t know. I mean, no one really wants to think about their daughter having sex, let alone having sex for money.”

Shelley says her kids didn’t know at the beginning, but the eldest one worked it out and the middle child used to say in front of everyone his mother was a whore.

Michelle: “You go to work and you put on your ridiculous high heels and your ridiculous dresses and heaps of makeup and then you go home. It’s like you’re a different person at work than you are the rest of the time.”

Separating your work life from home is not always that simple and the secrecy can be stressful. “I lie every day in some form or another to the people around me. I have this big secret and that causes emotional stress. Compartmentalising your life takes effort,” says Fleur. She is unable to have a normal relationship with a guy. Even dating is difficult.

Shelley had relationships while working, but says they “inevitably didn’t work out”. And Sarah, who started seeing someone while on a break from sex work, is having doubts about whether she will return to the industry.

Fleur enjoys her work, but admits there have been times when she thought she could not do it any more. “At the end of the day, it always feels a bit emotionally empty. I’m usually thinking about what I am going to have for dinner and maybe getting a bit bored.

“Sometimes, I will be on a high. Like, I did two or three jobs in a day, I’m in the zone, my appointments went really well, easy money. I just made, like, $570. I am fucking so hot, whoooo.

“And then I get home to my empty room and I lie on my bed and I feel a bit tired, and I just want someone to cuddle me.”

* Real names not used.

BADGE OF HONOUR: Terry Brown with a pen given by Richard Nixon.

THE US president’s gold-embossed emblem gleams on the yellowing pen box Terry Brown has fished from a stash of keepsakes.

The journalist of 50 years’ experience recalls Richard Nixon giving the pen sets to journalists covering the White House.

“You know he was called ‘Tricky Dick’?” says Terry. “That pen never worked. All it did the first time I tried to use it, it deposited a large blot of ink.”

The navy Parker is a prized item in his Mt Victoria home stacked with memorabilia – and plants. 

Plants line the floor and fill every nook in the conservatory where Terry lounges in an outdoor chair.

He has more time for gardening now. Terry retired in 2008 from the role of editorial policy manager at Radio New Zealand. 

But with some prompting you can get him talking about his days as news correspondent for the Australian Broadcasting Corporation (ABC) in America where, for six years from 1967, he documented numerous landmark events. 

The assassination of Martin Luther King; Richard Nixon in the White House; lunar expeditions and man walking on the moon, anti-Vietnam war demonstrators amid saturation television coverage of war casualties in body bags; the civil rights movement. It was a busy era for Terry Brown at a pivotal time in recent American history.

Wearing his habitual slacks, long-sleeved shirt and navy zip-up vest, he talks animatedly of his time as a young, clean-shaven junior watching Apollo 11 launch on July 16, 1969.  “Everything would vibrate when that huge rocket went up,” he says. “There was a bang, like a huge thunderclap. It was absolutely amazing.”

Covering the lunar series became his forte and Terry was among the world media watching on a big screen outside NASA in Houston, Texas, as Neil Armstrong took his momentous steps. 

Terry leans forward in his chair. 

“You can imagine what that was like,” he says in his soft voice.  

If America and Canada were his territory, then New York and the United Nations headquarters were his local beat. Terry kept in close contact with the diplomatic scene and attached himself like a limpet to visiting Australian dignitaries. 

While he says his accent opened many doors, being a strapping New Zealand lad wasn’t always an advantage, particularly during the racially charged atmosphere of the civil rights movement. More specifically, Martin Luther King’s funeral in Atlanta. 

“All the kids were out on the streets. And when we went to the Ebenezer Baptist Church they were throwing rocks at us. We were white people in an unfortunately bright red car.”   

Terry returned to the car after the funeral to find a brick through the rear window. 

Even New York was a dangerous place to be and Terry had members of the National Association for the Advancement of Coloured People escort him into the poverty-stricken areas. 

Terry’s blue eyes turn serious as he recalls driving down Tenth Avenue in a taxi and seeing a black man collapse on the sidewalk.  

Shot by red-necks driving round in a convertible looking for trouble, the man was a school teacher on holiday from Texas, who survived to become one of Terry’s feature stories.

With the deaths in 1968 of Bobby Kennedy, Martin Luther King and President Eisenhower in 1969, Terry was dubbed the funereal correspondent.   He recalls flying to Abilene, Kansas to interview the family of Dwight Eisenhower – the president who helped bring an armistice to Korea but built a stash of nuclear weapons as the Cold War deepened.  

On the flight to meet the mourning train, turbulence caused Terry’s wallet, with his media credentials, to fall into the stainless steel “john” and slide into the holding tank – to the detriment of an apoplectic airline employee who had to don gloves and search (unsuccessfully) for it.   

Terry chuckles at the memory, glancing around as the ranchslider opens and Julianne Brabant, his soon-to-be second wife, breezes out from the dining room. 

Terry on his 1970 United Nations accreditation.

“My live-in maid” he describes her when she is safely out of earshot making coffee in the kitchen. Julianne and Terry will marry in Nelson next month at the house of friends, companions with whom they have explored China and Nepal. 

Terry’s house is littered with artefacts from various continents. The colourful cushions on the dining room chairs, oriental rugs covering the floor and pictures were picked up on their travels.  

“We lived in a state house – John Key and I have got a lot in common.” 

As a boy, Terry was unaware of his heritage (Ngai Tahu through his maternal great-grandmother) until his grandfather’s funeral. His younger sister elbowed him, drawing his attention to two Maori men wearing feather cloaks standing near the gate.   

“This started the process to discover who we were.  It was sort of an awakening.” 

His Maori-pakeha grandfather had been adopted out to Greek parents – a taboo topic within the family. 

As a kaumatua, Terry now recognises himself as Maori in the census.  

Watching spaceships launch became so repetitive Terry talked his boss out of sending him down to the launch of Apollo 13, something quickly remedied following an abusive early morning call from Australia.

After Linwood High School, Terry began journalism in 1959 as a cadet at the Christchurch Star.  Following  two years gaining worldly experience in Timaru, Terry was poached by the Otago Daily Times. 

For several years Dunedin was his home before he sailed for Fleet St with flatmate Athol Meyer in 1963. Their money ran out across the Tasman so they disembarked in Sydney instead. 

Following a spate of nefarious activities like selling cigarettes door to door and working for a weekly, Terry began his 35-year career as a broadcaster with the ABC.   Both men were transferred to Tasmania, where Terry says he absorbed everything radio for two years – and got hooked. 

A girlfriend drew Terry back to Sydney. Athol stayed in Tasmania, where he later became a local MP and a gentleman farmer, while Terry married in 1967, and set off with his new wife to America that same day, aged 26.

Or that was the plan. “That ship sailed without us.”

Luckily a friend in PR at Air New Zealand bumped passengers off a flight to Wellington so they could catch the ship and an embarrassed captain.

“That was an interesting start to a career and a marriage.”

Along with journalism, another enduring passion in Terry’s life is rugby.  It is to blame for the slight stoop in his tall frame: He broke his back during a Sydney game. “I was told I wouldn’t play rugby again,” he says. “The first thing I did when I got to New York…was look up rugby in the phone book.  And I found New York Rugby Club – which turned out to be an Irish bar on Third Avenue.” 

He went from the pub to the national side, playing for the American All-star team against Sid Going’s All Black team in 1972.   

What was the score? His answer is immediate. NZ won 40 – 10. 

Terry has been tutoring at the polytechnic’s Cuba St campus since 2008, after retiring a second time.

The first was in 1998. On that occasion, he left the ABC to tutor journalism part-time at Monash University in Melbourne while studying disabilities at Deakin University, inspired by his 36-year-old disabled daughter Chrissie.

In 2000 he returned to NZ to be closer to Julianne and lead a more relaxed lifestyle. But Terry got bored with golf and gardening after three months, so became editorial policy manager at Radio New Zealand.  

During eight years there, Terry developed media in-house training systems – the best in the country, according to friend and colleague Jim Tucker, head of journalism at Whitireia.  

The two veteran journos first met in 2005 on the New Zealand Journalists Training Organisation where Terry has been involved since his return to his home country. 

Terry’s life is full of women. Teigenes lives in the Marlborough Sounds. Terry and Julianne try to spend as much time as possible on her 32 foot decks.

Jim has only praise for Terry and his dedication to looking after young journalists. 

“Intrinsically he’s a teacher, as well as a damn good journalist,” says Jim. “He’s a deceptive guy, actually. You think that he is sort of big and quiet and gentle but he’s got really strong principles.” 

Through experience Terry says he has learnt to look grave, nod and hope no-one asks questions.   

He doesn’t fool anybody.  

As soon as he retired from Radio NZ Jim snapped him up as a radio tutor.  Students there are terrified of the high standards he upholds. “You just don’t want to disappoint him,” one says. 

A call from his youngest daughter, Hayley, in the UK interrupts the conversation and he promises to call her back when time constraints allow. The glasses swing faster. 

Terry keeps his finger on the pulse in the radio world with visits to the Ohariu Golf Club with the Morning Report team every Friday afternoon. 

Presenter Sean Plunkett believes Terry’s performance on the golf course reflects his career: Very deliberate, a bit canny and nothing too flash, but he keeps his eye on the ball.   Sean misses having robust arguments with Terry at Radio NZ. He remembers one over the use of the word “Kiwis” to describe New Zealanders, something Terry hates in formal news writing. 

Terry always played the ball and not the man, Sean says. “He wouldn’t pull rank, he would always argue the point. I think we never resolved the ‘Kiwi’ argument but it was never taken personally that I disagreed with him.”   

His colleagues use many words to describe Terry: pragmatic, collegial, principled and passionate.   “A rock of a guy,” Jim Tucker sums up. 

Terry himself says he has had “such a fantastic run as a journalist I’m not sure that anything sticks out”.  He says he likes teaching and being involved with young people entering journalism. “I have always thought of that as being able to give things back in terms of my experience. 

He chews his glasses pondering the question. 

“I could tell you that playing the All Blacks was a highlight, but not compared to all the other things I have been able to do. 

“I have been a lucky boy. Absolutely.”

JANICE IKIUA talks to the convenor of a movement fostering leaders around the Pacific. Leadership Pacific gives her confidence in the future, she writes, as it is already inspiring many of her generation.

LEADERSHIP DRIVE: Kabini Sanga (left) in conversation with Maciu Raivoka, Sione Vaka and Cherie Chu.

HIS VISION is to grow 1000 new generation Pacific leaders by 2015 – a goal which has raised eyebrows but one he sees as achievable and already gaining momentum.

Kabini Sanga is well known in the Pacific for driving leadership initiatives that change lives. Last year he ran the second Wellington Leadership Symposium and has run workshops in Samoa, Fiji, Tonga, Tuvalu and the Solomon Islands. 

Pacific Island Affairs Minister Georgina te Heuheu and Labour MP Charles Chauvel talked to more than 120 attendees at the symposium.

The Pacific Co-operation Foundation sponsored a website, the Growing of 1000 New Generation Pacific Leaders, to support Dr Sanga’s vision for developing and growing Leaders.

“The vision is to inspire Pacific peoples themselves to assume responsibility for improving their own leadership,” he says.

The Leadership Pacific programme he convenes is about inspiring younger people, “particularly Pacific Islanders who see themselves now as leaders, not in a positional sense but as people of influence”, he says.

“Commonly adults refer to younger people as leaders of tomorrow. In Leadership Pacific, we see young people as leaders of today. We charge them to be purposeful about their daily choices and actions because their decisions of today matter, tomorrow.”

This man’s journey began in a small village – Ngongosila, East Malaita, in the Solomon Islands – that has no electricity to this day. 

“I grew up in a tribal village world, very different from the world of schools I went to or the contemporary Western world I now live in,” he says. “My village world was more open, as a place of learning for children.

“The classroom was the Pacific ocean, the reefs, the rivers, the forest. Every experience was educational and teaching and learning took place 24-7.”

At age nine he went to boarding school in another district. The rest of his schooling was done away from home.

 “I chose always to return home to the village each year, in this way I kept connected and rooted without losing my head to the attractions of the wider world.”

Dr Kabini works as associate professor at Victoria University within the faculty of education.

In his office the book shelves are filled and any spare space is taken with books and papers. Walls are adorned with pictures of his family and students he has mentored; his coffee mug has Saskatchewan University, Canada written in green bold letters, a memoir of the place where he studied for his PhD.

“My passion for leadership came progressively throughout time, it did not appear suddenly as I had to nurture my interest. Today, my day is full just thinking about leaders and leadership and what might be done to help.”

His hope is in the next two years through Leadership Pacific that there will be an established leadership vision for this country.

“My sincere hope is that 100 younger citizens of Aotearoa, New Zealand will rise up as new generation leaders; inspiring their families, schools, neighbourhoods and country and raising the leadership capacity of New Zealand society.

“It will be this cohort of Kiwis who will lead the vision for turning New Zealand around to credibility by virtue of their credible leadership.”

The leadership programme forms a cluster of students at different levels of tertiary studies and of those who have graduated and are now working.  There are no pre-requisites or forms to fill out.

Wellington Institute of Technology lecturer Kurese Manueli is a student of the leadership cluster and has been a participant in Leadership Pacific over the past five years.

Mr Manueli says the cluster offers him an avenue where he can him myself and can safely navigate the challenging waters of postgraduate studies.

“Through the cluster I have met other members who ‘have been there done that’ and so I am motivated to achieve my academic goals knowing that my cluster members (more like family members) can provide guidance/advise in times of uncertainty, academic loneliness, and whatever else is out there.”

Mr Manueli explains that Dr Kabini has his own style of teaching leadership which resonates with his upbringing.

“For me, the major difference is the empowering nature of his presence.  To me he is an older-brother type of figure who I can approach any time for guidance whenever required.  Through his wide international experience I am able to receive guidance and advise that is relevant to me. 

“Coming from a science background, most of the stuff I’ve learnt is text-book based and somewhat disconnected to my island-based upbringing. Dr. Kabini’s teaching style and examples are relevant to my childhood experience and it is naturally engaging when he is addressing us.”

Many students say Dr Kabini is more of a friend as opposed to a mentor.

Mr Manueli says the cluster adds value to his studies.  He says he’s developing leadership skills, has hands-on practice, networks with other Pacific students, and “grows naturally”.

Dr Sanga takes no responsibility for the changes that happen with students as he says it’s about them making the changes for themselves.

“They become more enabling to others at home, in school or at work.  They seek to be credible in their own lives and begin to be models to others, rather than wait for a later time. From a mentor’s view when my leadership students demonstrate such changes in their own lives, it is so delightful and rewarding to observe.”

In the quest for 1000 leaders, Dr Kabini says numbers are not important as the networks will keep expanding. But he says there are 300 to 500 participants so far across New Zealand, Tonga, Solomon Islands, Vanuatu, Niue and Fiji.

OTARI-WILTON HAVEN: Tom Petrie nurtures plants from all over New Zealand.

THEY MAY may not attract as much attention as the endangered kakapo and kiwi, but New Zealand native plants are just as deserving of protection, says their staunch champion, Tom Petrie.

Tom is collections curator at the Otari-Wilton’s Bush Reserve, New Zealand’s only botanic garden that is entirely native. It extends over 100 hectares of natural and regenerated native bush and a further 10ha of formal gardens.

Tom, one of two staff who look after the formal part, says it is a great resource and necessary for future generations.

“New Zealand is quite a remote place, and we have a really different set of plants to countries closest to us,” he says.

“We have places like Three Kings, Great Barrier, The Kermadecs, and the Chathams [Islands], and they all have quite a lot of individual plants just from them.”

Even on mainland New Zealand, environments range from dry plains to river valleys, wetlands, alpine and sub-alpine, with many plants specific to each. This diversity means many Kiwis would never see a lot of these plants in their natural habitat, but the work at Otari lets them see a huge variety all together.

Having discovered a liking and natural aptitude for horticulture at secondary school, Tom also credits having a really good teacher for developing his interest. This led to an apprenticeship in horticulture with Wellington City Council, the reserve’s owner.

He says this was a great way to get a qualification as he was always working in different places, gaining depth of knowledge and practical skills.

“You also get to work with a wide variety of people and the more people you meet, the better off you are because they can all teach you something.”

Day-to-day work in the formal gardens includes maintenance, pruning and weeding, as well as landscaping and design, and propagation of plants.

However, taking cuttings and collecting seeds, from a huge number of plants gathered from around the country, means  “it’s like a bank of plants”, and it is this aspect of his job that gives the most satisfaction.

All the plants collected from around New Zealand must be permitted by the Department of Conservation.

Petrie says DOC, regional councils and Otari staff are all working toward developing awareness of the diversity of New Zealand plant life and the sheer numbers of plants, and have the goal of ensuring these things won’t be lost to future generations.

“In the last few years its becoming a lot more apparent people are more into conservation,” he says, adding that this had led to higher levels of understanding about native plant life.

“You get so much positive feedback from the people who come out and see it: That’s always good.”

The project has had the added benefit of regenerating the entire eco-system, with native birds abundant, skinks and geckos around, and native fish and freshwater crayfish in the streams in the gardens.

There is also an effective pest control programme, although there may be the odd goat on the back boundary.

Tom finds it a great place to work because of the co-operative nature and common goals of the staff, as well as the fact that “you don’t hear a lot of horns and cars, or people arguing – it’s a pretty stress-free environment”.

“It’s my little haven.”

It is not as easy as it looks. You must sit correctly, hold the brush properly and think about positive and negative spaces. It’s the fine art of calligraphy, says Tasha Black as she talks with Akiko Crowther.

Sitting in Nelson’s Yu Yu Japanese Calligraphy Gallery and School, three women discuss the difficulties of learning the ancient art of calligraphy.

They are students of Akiko Crowther (above), New Zealand’s only grandmaster calligrapher who is in Wellington recently to teach her discipline at the Japanese Embassy.

Akiko’s students range in age and ability from barely able to write their own name to being well into the latter years of their life.

Using the soft, horsehair brushes of calligraphy, it has taken student Stephanie Alderson two years just to get control. There is no room for mistakes. It has to be perfect.

CREATIVE PARTNERS: Tim and Akiko. IMAGE: Yu Yu Gallery

“The line,” says Akiko, who pauses to let the seriousness of it sink in, “is alive’”.

She wanders the room, admiring the work of her students. Their calligraphy doesn’t yet reflect their dedication. It has taken 50 years for Akiko to perfect her craft.

Round wire-rimmed glasses, flared jeans and a black jacket. He looks like John Lennon. Born in England, he is Akiko’s creative partner. Their artworks are a fusion of his painting and her calligraphy.

The gallery’s interior is white and the concrete ceiling beams have been painted black to emulate a Japanese farmhouse. The name, Yu Yu, means calm, gentle, peaceful and eternal.

EARLY WORK: Akiko's first calligraphy aged five.

Akiko wraps up her class for the day, but her students linger, laughing and chatting with her.

Slowly they drift out and Akiko takes off her apron, revealing a delicate silk kimono, which she says must be sent to Japan for drycleaning.

Born in Tottori, in south- west Japan, Akiko was five years old when her great-uncle began teaching her Japanese calligraphy and her first work hangs in the gallery today.

She continued studying calligraphy until university, and shortly after her studies she married and started a family.

I ask Akiko how she met Tim and she leans into the office, asking Tim to explain and he dutifully joins us to recount his story of being lost on a small fishing island off Hong Kong. He came to an intersection, he says, and “something told me to turn left instead of right. And there she was, standing outside a tea shop.”

Tim goes back to to the office, no doubt to make more tea. When he’s out of earshot Akiko says: “He changed my life completely.” She blushes and raises her fan to cover the smile which involuntarily creeps higher.

Akiko spent 14 hours designing the gallery sign, making 300 versions in the process.

YU YU: Calm, gentle, peaceful and eternal.

Tim says he sometimes finds her working at three o’clock in the morning. If she has a commission she will work on until she is happy with it and it’s done.

A holiday to New Zealand evolved into a permanent move. On one condition: If Akiko had a bad feeling about New Zealand they would go home. The bad feeling never came.

They roadtripped their way around the country and settled on Nelson. Not too big and not too small, Nelson is a hub for artists – just what they were looking for.

Tim and Akiko began selling their work at the Saturday market and before long people began asking if Akiko would teach them calligraphy. 

She hopes to train the first New Zealand master calligrapher and is well on her way there.

IN COMBINATION: Tim and Akiko's artwork. IMAGE: Yu Yu Gallery

Three students so far have been awarded the highest-honour award – tokusen – the first time such an honour has gone to a non-Japanese.

One of the three, 10-year-old Yousif Cahusac de Caux, had lessons from Akiko in Nelson before his family moved to London. Yousif did not want to give up his lessons.  

So every Friday night, in his pyjamas, he sits in a big office chair in his London home and has a lesson with Akiko via Skype.

Akiko has a way of connecting with people and students from around the world remain in touch with her through Facebook.

A big dog wanders in from the office. Buyu has a white fleece and a wagging tail. He is an Akita, a rare breed considered a national treasure in Japan.

Buyu sits at Akiko’s feet, and Akiko buries her face into his fleece.
 
“It’s a very unusual life I have, but I am so happy,” says Akiko, looking up.

Nana cars are hardly suited to the mating ambitions of the average teen, right? BEN STRANG tries a few…and is surprised:

The moves are all perfect.

Cool music is playing on the radio. Hand is rested just outside the window. The shiny clean paint job is gleaming in the sun. Nice clothes and a cheesy smile are on.

But girls just laugh, which is not the ideal reaction for a 19-year-old male.

Nana’s reliable shopping trolley of a car, it seems, is not the biggest babe magnet for a teenager. You just have to put the classic pick-up moves away if you’re a younger person driving a small car.

There are in fact plenty of positives to the little round-town runabout, but finding them can be difficult. Don’t expect mind-blowing technology, jaw-dropping power. Just enjoy the handling, cheekiness and practicality.

Looking at price (all under $20,000), size, power (less 1.5 litres), handling, looks, interior design, fuel economy, and something Clarksonesque called the “cool factor”, we tested three small cars Nana might buy.

Daihatsu Sirion

The sound the door makes when slammed closed is like the sound Lego blocks make when clicked together. Plastic.

The previous person to drive the car must have been rather small. The seat is all the way forward, only inches from the steering wheel. My knees are pushed up towards my chest like when an adult tries to ride a toddler’s tricycle. It’s okay once the seat is slid back, and the car has plenty of space for taller drivers.

The engine starts first time, and I am assured by the salesperson it will always start first time on cold winter mornings. Refreshing. The petrol tank is half full. “That’ll get you to Taupo, that,” I’m told. Is that a challenge?

Pulling out of the car park and one thing is immediately apparent – the three cylinder, one litre engine lacks guts. It’s sluggish. It sounds like a remote control car, and gives you about as much excitement as one.

The interior of the Sirion is kept simple

Most teenagers like to feel they are travelling fast (the big appeal with go-karting). The Sirion doesn’t give you that feeling. When accelerating, you’re not forced back into your seat. Not even close. It feels like you’re taking a leisurely drive on a Sunday afternoon. There is no rush (either for the driver or the car), which is probably why grandparents like driving a car like this, which equates to its biggest drawback for the more youthful drivers.

So it’s a slug. You have cyclists wave, asking to pass, when you accelerate from the traffic lights. But does it handle well? Short answer: no. It is a tall car and the body roll around corners is quite bad. On a windy road you may end up with sea sickness. It doesn’t have the greatest grip, either. It slides around corners and will squeal if you push it hard. But don’t be fooled – just because the tyres are screeching doesn’t mean you’re travelling fast.

Now for one of the most important factors teenagers look at when assessing a car: sounds (and we’re not necessarily talking about exhaust). Does the car have a decent radio and good speakers? If I play it loud, will the song sound crackly and hurt my ears? The Sirion has only two factory speakers and an AM/FM radio and in-dash CD player that works well. The sound is decent. People in other cars may look over at you bobbing your head up and down and question whether you are sane or not, but if you’re enjoying your own music, who cares?

The interior of the car is disappointing. Like seeing a sex worker down Vivian St, from a distance it looks modern and attractive. However, look closer and it is plastic and cheap. Although, this could be a good thing for a teenager: as rough as you are with the car, it will probably be able to handle it. Drink holders for that early morning coffee after a big night add to the practicality, and there is plenty of room in the back for two or three friends.

The boot isn't huge, but it's enough for the golf clubs

A handy fact for any student considering the Sirion is fuel consumption. It takes five litres for every 100 kilometres travelled, therefore it will travel around 800km on its 40-litre tank. At this time, that is just under $70 to travel from Wellington to Taupo and back. Not too shabby.

Safety isn’t a big thing for teenagers with a car, but Mum and Dad might sleep better at night knowing the Sirion is rated  four stars out of five for safety by website Rightcar.govt.nz. It could be because of the front and side driver airbags…or perhaps it is down to the car never moving fast enough to cause any real damage. You would need some serious driving ability and a very steep hill to get a speeding ticket in this car.

I have trawled the internet trying to find ways to make this car cooler. There are no fake carbon fibre panels or sexy looking angles to the car. In other countries, it is also known as a Daihatsu Boon and a Toyota Passo, but possibly the coolest version of the Sirion is the Subaru Justy. No offence to Toyota or Daihatsu, but Subaru’s rally pedigree makes the rebranded Justy a cooler version.

Speaking of rally cars, the Sirion was used in the 2006 Rally Japan and managed to win two of the classes. Perhaps I should have mentioned to those girls that I was driving a rally car.

Here’s an idea – perhaps if the car was turbo-charged? Then I would have a truly cool car, wouldn’t I.

Mitsubishi i-Car

This is the younger, distant step-sister of the Mitsubishi Evo rally car. A rear-engine 660cc turbo-charged car with a futuristic look, this could attract younger teenagers. It must be cool, surely, with a name like i-Car (like the iPod).

In 2003, the i-Car lit up the Berlin Motor show. The concept left people in the motoring industry with a vision of the future, but perhaps they were getting a little bit excited. At first glance you have to wonder. It takes some time to appreciate the shape and overall look of the car, but then it grows on you.

Here is something space age for a Nana car. It has keyless entry, press a button and it opens, no keys whatsoever. It works like a car with central locking, but there is no option to simply open the car with a key. When starting the car, you just pop the device into a wee slot and press the button. Vroom.

After a tight squeeze into the driver’s seat things feel very familiar. It isn’t the most spacious car in the world. To be fair, it is a lot bigger inside than you would expect when looking at it from the outside. Because the car has a long wheel base, the designers have been able to maximise the interior space. So, the inside of an i-Car is no place for a quickie with your girlfriend though, unless you fancy yourself a talented contortionist.

The car starts okay, but then I’m disappointed to find it’s an automatic (there are no manual versions at this stage). For such a small engine, the acceleration is a minor revelation. This is no Ferrari, but a light kick in the backside brings a grin to your face. The sound of the blow-off valve is, well, not really there. Sorry boys. And despite that initial get up, it’s a bit of a turtle on the road. Slow and steady around town, and on the motorway it drives comfortably  at 100kph.

The interior is high quality, enjoy Nana

Handling around town it is quite entertaining. It is the first four-door car since the 1960s to have its engine in the rear. This means the wheels are practically on the corners of the car, allowing great cornering. It reminds you of the basket trolleys in supermarkets for Nana to use. It is really fun to drive around town, and it’s a very noticeable car. People might not go to the extent of playing i-Car tag, but driving it you get the feeling of people whipping their necks around like they do with Minis and Beetles. “Hey Mum, an i-Car!”

Space is limited in the car, but it’s similar to the Sirion. Two or three friends could fit easily into the back seat, and they’ll get to know each other better in the process. One small problem is the lack of storage space: there is little room in the boot because of the rear engine. No chance of getting the golf clubs in. The seats fold down to give more boot space, but there goes the space for your mates.

Nothing flash comes on the musical front. There is a standard radio in the i-Car, with front speakers, and the sound is a bit tinny when the volume is cranked up. One piece of advice: don’t toot the horn in Mt Victoria tunnel. Save yourself the embarrassment – it’s like my dog’s Alligator squeaky toy.

The i-Car is economical, using 5.9 litres of petrol per 100 kilometres. It will cost you about $60 to fill the tank, taking you fractionally under 600km before you need a top up.

Hyundai Getz

This is the Korean version of the Nana car, a small 1.4 litre 5-speed manual.

The shape is basic. There are no flash, stylish angles, which leads you to believe they have just set out to make a decent all-round car. The colour is noticeable, a turquoise paintjob, which I think will go well with my eyes. Like the i-Car, the Getz has keyless entry. This car looks like something Nana would dream about.

There is similar space to the other cars, but the fabric on the seats seems to be of less quality. While the others had cloth or something similar, these seats feel almost plastic. It is also less comfortable then the other two. upright and firm. The pedals are also at an uncomfortable height from the floor, feeling as if they are in midair.

It starts fine and of the three cars this is quickest off the mark, but it “sounds” slow, which is disappointing. It has the most power and the biggest engine of the three cars tested, but is the least satisfying to drive. But once the car hits the corners, things start to brighten up: it handles well, is very responsive and gives you that speedy feeling. It feels the best around bends.

The interior is uninspired in the Hyundai

Out on the open road it wins another battle. Despite quite a bit of engine noise, the car drives well at 100kph, and although it has a high roof (giving plenty of head room), this doesn’t translate to a tough drive on Wellington’s windy motorway. The extra power the bigger engine produces helps the Hyundai at higher speeds.

The radio and speaker system in this car are decent, but if you turn the volume up too loud people will laugh. – it starts to crackle and hurts the ears. I stop at a petrol station to buy a drink and end up finding one of the biggest positives: the drink holder is just big enough to hold a 600ml bottle of coke. However, smaller drinks or a thermos flask might tip over.

The inside is nothing flash. The designers really haven’t tried hard to impress. It would be great if the car didn’t look so bland, but there is nothing unique inside the Getz. The space in the back is limited, and three burly young lads would have their knees pressed against the front seats. The boot is a decent size in this car, and a set of golf clubs or a cricket bag would slide in fairly nicely, and if extra space is needed the rear seats do fold down.

The economy of the Getz is the worst of the three cars tested. It uses 6.1 litres per 100 kilometres of driving. The 45-litre tank will take you about 740km and cost about $78, which is still not a big cost to get to Auckland.

Which is best?

On looks, the Mitsubishi i-Car is modern and trendy. At first glance you may think “ugly duckling”, but it grows on you. The interior is also best, with a mixture of modern styling and high quality plastics.

With these three cars you are not looking at the greatest driving experience, but you need to size up what it is you are driving, and the intended purpose.

Despite the speed and cornering of the Hyundai Getz, and even though it has least power, the i-Car comes up trumps again. The 660cc engine gives its all in any driving situation: it negotiates Wellington’s hilly landscape and windy roads well. The touch of peppiness it shows in accelerating is better then you get in the other cars.

The problem with the Hyundai is lack of driving satisfaction, despite it being quicker and better–handling. I did not feel content. Compare that to the i-Car – I smiled like an idiot the whole time I was at the wheel.

For sheer practicality, you cannot look past the Hyundai. The space in the boot is massive and the car will fit you and three mates. Headroom is impressive.

I would be embarrassed if Nana had the Sirion or the Getz. The feeling is different with an i-Car. It’s unique and makes people look at you. And being so modern-looking, it’s bound to age a lot better than the others.

Get one, Nana. Please.

KEEPING IT HUMMING: Ian 'Blink' Jorgensen. Photo by Karen Lee

Ian ‘Blink’ Jorgensen is one of those rare individuals who manage to fuse their passion, job and hobbies into one all-encompassing lifestyle.

Blink is “living the dream”, he jokes, as we slowly climb Wellington’s Brooklyn hill in his beat-up van. He does a job he loves, and in doing so shares music with like-minded people. He cuts costs every chance he can. This is not to say that he is cheap, but he’s efficient.

Since 2004 he has conducted more than 30 nationwide music tours, thrown four music festivals, and released 37 records, all under his label, A Low Hum.

Blink worked part time as a photographer while at high school and had a couple of part-time jobs before trying Wellington Polytech for three months in 1997. It didn’t fit; he dropped out to take up photography full-time.

He recalls shooting a school ball at his old high school, Onslow College, where some guys recognised him from the music scene.  He got talking to these 16-year-olds about their band Ejector.  Guitarist and songwriter Nik Brinkman blew Blink away with his talent. So much so, Blink he put down his guitar.

“It was tough for me, but it was the most important day of my life,” he says. “I finally realised I’m not a musician. I’m not meant to be a musician; I needed to get this musician [Nik] out there. So that pretty much became my goal.”

In 2003, Blink started organising shows for Ejector, which snowballed into mini-tours. Nik is now half of Over the Atlantic, a hugely successful indie-pop duo that just spent three months recording an album in Los Angeles. The band returned to New Zealand in 2007 to play the first Camp A Low Hum festival at Brookfields Outdoor Education Centre in Wainuiomata.

“Camp” has been an annual event ever since.

Blink is the driving force behind Camps. He started the festival, as a magazine and tour circuit, and from the outset it has stood out from other festivals: The crowds are small, the list of performers isn’t released until the gig begins, and the sets are intimate – the performers are also campers, there to enjoy the gig between sets.

What is so special about Blink’s hands-on approach and lack of concern over profit? His viewpoint – if he makes money , but first let’s make sure everybody has a good time.
 

2009 Camp ALH poster, courtesy of Amy.

Before the advent of digital photography, Blink was one of the few photographers shooting bands in New Zealand. Taking photos of Shihad for Rip It Up, he would shoot three or four rolls of “awesome” black and white shots. The photos didn’t get published: Blink was told the magazine paid for colour paper, so would only print colour photographs.

 “If I was commissioned to shoot a gig, I’d shoot from start to finish,” he adds. “I remember Betchadupa were playing a festival I was shooting. A photographer turned up half way through their set, he didn’t care at all. He turned to me ‘isn’t one of those guys Tim Finn’s son? Which one?’ I said yeah and pointed to the bassist Joe [Not Liam Finn] and laughed as I watched this guy shoot roll after roll of the wrong person.

“They have no idea, and they just don’t care!” 

He laughs, gesticulating wildly as he talks.

A Low Hum began as a Xeroxed zine, initially as a way for Blink to publish his photos and promote bands he rated highly. Bands that otherwise would get no press, were too small to get air time or be covered by music magazines.

By the end of 2003, he had taken the simple paper product a step beyond, organising a tour for Ejector and Degrees K. Each tour would be accompanied by an A5 magazine, with band bios and often a compilation CD, or a feature album/EP of songs from local and international acts. 

The Low Hum Tours quickly became well known for their pace and scope. They played in towns other bands ignored. Blink would be on tour three weeks in the month, as well as organising the forthcoming tours for the next two months.  Looking back, he can’t work out how kept this up often for nine or ten months of the year.

“If you told me how much money and sleep I would lose, how much heartache and stress they would cause. Yeah, I’d still do it, but I’m not sure how I was able to.” 

The tours took in small towns across New Zealand including all-ages gigs, something relatively unheard of at the time. All-ages gigs meant a bunch of young people getting exposed to live music in a way they had never been before. Touring bands would often play two shows a night, an all ages starting at 8pm then an R18 licensed show from 10pm.

Blink says: “New Zealand is more than just Auckland, Wellington, Christchurch and Dunedin. The magazine was getting distributed in New Plymouth, but how would those kids see a Wellington band. . . The tours changed that.”

This would come to represent everything the Low Hum tours were about. 

The no-alcohol, all-ages shows were important. Blink explains: “I used to tell people I was a teetotaller, try to bring that word back in. But people didn’t know what it meant. I tried the whole, ‘my body is a temple’. Didn’t work. Now I sometimes tell people I’m ‘straight edge’ – it’s easier.”

Blink doesn’t drink, or smoke, or take drugs.  They cost money that could be better spent doing what he loves, touring with bands, sharing music.

“Bands complain that it’s too hard to tour, too expensive. Then you see each of them spending 20 or 30 bucks on beer at the bar… If you look at that over a month or two, that’s a ticket to Melbourne. Over a year, it’s a ticket to the US.”

So when Blink goes out on weekends, it’s not to get drunk. “I don’t have time to get drunk. When I’m in town, I’m all over town. Running from this gig to that, I’ll try to see, like, nine bands in a night.”

Blink sighs and leans back. “People put up barriers all the time just by putting caveats like money into the picture,” he says.  

His bare feet poke out from beneath my coffee table as he speaks.

“When I was a kid it was my dream to travel the world touring with bands and taking photos of them. I never wanted to be rich at the same time, never occurred to me.”

Which is just as well, because now he leads a relatively simple life. You don’t need to spend a lot of money to do what he does. He has lived for free the past couple of years, how? The oldest trick in the book, he moved back home, or he lived with family and friends. He eats a lot of baked beans.

Sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll? More like sleeping on floors and sausage rolls.

Touring with Blink takes a certain dedication.  Using networks of friends and sharing contacts, he reckons, any New Zealand band can tour the world for $5000. It may not be pretty but it works.

Last year he spent five months touring America with Disasteradio. Just because you are touring with a band doesn’t mean that it has to be all cocaine and strippers. But his tours are always on the cheap.

Blink has an interesting approach to money. It’s not so much that he doesn’t like it or doesn’t value it. He just realises it’s for spending. In 2008 Blink took Over the Atlantic on a six-month world tour that took in the USA, England, Scotland, France, Germany, Luxembourg, Netherlands, Australia and, obviously, New Zealand.

The tour was done with Blink’s usual finesse and economy. They slept in tents and on people’s floors. Blink laughs as he tells of driving across the UK for two weeks with only one pound to spend on food a day.

When Blink starts working on a new project, he does so not expecting to make money. It’s all part of a larger plan, known only to him.“When I started the zine, I decided I’d do it ’til it cost me $1000, and then when I started doing Low Hum tours, I decided I’d do them until I’d lost $5,000. . . You’ve got to be prepared to lose when you start something new.”

Caleb Carati, scientist and long-time Camp enthusiast, says of the festivals: “Whilst at camp I’ve found there to be a pervasive vibe of everyone being there for the same purpose. .  .We’re all there to get down! Have a party! Have a rocking good time!“

Blink just kinda rocks around the festival, micromanaging the shit out of everything to ensure that everyone is having a good time and things are running smoothly. But in doing so he always is just cruising through the crowd, like everyone else.” For the interview, I arrange to meet Blink at a ritzy bar on Cuba St; we meet outside but merely looking in it dawns on us that neither of us can afford it. I ask him if he knows a geeky unpopular place that will be quiet enough for us to talk undisturbed, then realise that a pop-culture guru may not be the right person to ask this question.

He laughs.  “Man, the only places I know are geeky and unpopular!”He’s excited, though: he’s just moved into a flat for the first time in five years. He’s also started looking for a day job. “Something quiet and low key, maybe working out the back of a print shop or something.”

Initially he  padded out his lifestyle with the occasional photography gig. He’s decided to focus on Camp A Low Hum festivals in the future, which in and of itself take over his life. He works 14-hour days in the months leading up to the festivals. 

Art for Camp's sake.

The reason Blink does all this is because he wants to contribute something to “the scene”. Does he mean the indie scene, the hipster scene, or the punk scene?

Blink describes “the scene” as music the way it should be seen, live, to audiences who are into music, and that’s what they go out for, rather than choosing specific bars or seeking particular cliques.

“The dudes that only go to gigs at Bodega or Mighty, I mean, that’s cool,” says Blink. “But you’re not into the scene then, you’re into a bar. Kids that pick up the groove guide every Thursday and go through it seeing which band is playing where, those are the cool kids. Those kids are into the scene.”

Amy Walsh is one of those kids.  She describes the scene as a cult, but without negative connotations. “No one’s too cool to be involved,” says Walsh. “We’re all just there to get down. Sure there are poseurs… but that’s just people. A Low Hum breaks down barriers and brings people together.”

And that’s why Blink does what he does.

When A Low Hum was starting out, Blink got a real kick when he went to people’s flats and saw that they’d cut photos out of the zine and put them on their walls.

“And Camp, after the months of stress and lack of sleep, by about the end of the second day [when] there is a band on each of the stages, when I see people smiling and coming together and making friends: Camp is what these people look forward to. That makes it.”

AUTOZAMM singer Nick Major wishes he had listened to his father’s advice when it came to his hearing – before listening became too difficult.

Nick has tinnitus, because as a young musician, he didn’t use earplugs when he played gigs.

Tinnitus is a symptom of hearing loss, when the sufferer perceives a constant sound in their head or in one or both ears.

Audiologists, musicians and organisations dedicated to hearing are all concerned about hearing loss in young people because of portable music devices and lack of earplugs at concerts.

The main piece of advice is simply that high volumes will cause hearing loss: “Listen loud and lose it.”

If you want to be able to hear the things you love at 40, turn down your portable music devices now and if you want to embrace your love of music at concerts, wear earplugs so you’ll always be able to enjoy these shows.

Conversing with Nick on the phone can be difficult these days. He speaks loudly, not because he is compensating for being in a loud environment but because his hearing damage means he has no idea how loud he is speaking.

The damage hasn’t stopped him from making quality music, though, as Autozamm are soon to release the follow-up to 2008’s Drama Queen album. They began touring last month, although the newest album still hasn’t been released.

An interesting fact about Autozamm – who have been together since 2004 – is that bass player Ollie Gordon also suffers hearing damage.

One of the band’s most famous hits was Closer To Home, a catchy song with powerful lyrics about a love interest with a strong hold over the writer. See a live performance of this song and it’s noticeable Nick’s hearing damage doesn’t affect the quality of his ability to play live.

Some people’s tinnitus takes the form of a high-pitched ringing but for Nick the sound in his head is a low-frequency grumbling. “It’s like waking up every morning with a fire-truck outside your window or an earthquake coming,” he says. Silent rooms like bedrooms, as well as rooms crowded with people, are hardest for people with hearing loss to deal with. But those are not the only difficulties.

As a musician Nick says he would like to hear his music the way it is in the studio, but because of his hearing damage, some things don’t come through properly.

To try to prevent further hearing loss, Nick went to an audiologist and spent $350 to have custom earplugs made. “It was something I had to do…a pair of custom plugs lasts you ages. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing.”

Instead of buying PlayStation games, Nick says it’s important for musicians to be spending their money looking after their hearing.

But even though some use ear protection, Nick says you’d be hard pressed to find a musician who doesn’t have some form of hearing damage. 

He says young musicians often don’t wear earplugs because they think the way they hear their music will be compromised, but he says that’s just not the case any more. In fact, he says musicians can excel live if they use specialised earplugs.

A stigma surrounds earplug use at concerts, he says. Often, men in particular think they’re tough if they don’t use them and stand as close as possible to the speakers. But earplugs don’t have to be huge and pink. “If you’re serious about your hearing and want to get to 60 without having to scream at people to pass the salt, [they’re necessary].”

The use of MP3 players and iPods poses the biggest problem for this generation, Nick says, adding quickly: “I’ve never owned one. The Walkman generation all have some form of hearing loss because there was no limitation on volume. It was like a drug – you have a certain amount, then you’re immune to that [amount], so have to have more.”

He believes it is part of the responsibility of concert venues to provide earplugs to patrons, but he thinks the Ministry of Health should subsidise them for that purpose.

He says the band should also take some responsibility for the hearing of people at their concerts and turn their volume down. “Sometimes the music is so loud it feels like it’s breaking up. If it sounds like that, it’s a deaf sound: Man, tell him to turn it the f*** down.”

Lower Hutt music venue Secret Level provides earplugs if asked. Sound from the venue can be so loud that it’s heard 500 metres away.

A survey by the National Foundation for the Deaf found 52% of people would wear earplugs at concerts if they were available free at venues.

Wellington’s TSB Bank Arena has been providing earplugs for their patrons for two years. A spokesperson says earplugs are part of their commitment to patrons.

Arena management hired a team to do an acoustic survey on events and found a possibility of patrons getting hearing loss at concerts.

The San Francisco Bathhouse is another Wellington concert venue that provides earplugs as part of their customer service.

Westpac Trust Stadium is among venues that don’t provide hearing protection. A spokesperson says the stadium has never had any complaints about sound being too loud. He says people know what to expect when they go to a rock concert at the stadium and they need to take responsibility and come equipped.

Wellington gym Les Mills provides earplugs for members, particularly older people, who find the gym’s music too loud while exercising. 

Wellington audiologist Estelle Olivier says if gyms can provide earplugs, gig organisers should provide them, too. “Earplugs need to be made hip and cool and be promoted as ‘the in thing to do’.”

She says people going to concerts need to have some personal responsibility towards their hearing, but to do that they need to be educated about the damage that can be done at concerts.

The amount of hearing damage a person can suffer at concerts depends on the level of exposure, but in some cases the damage will be instant and there is nothing even earplugs can do to prevent it. If a person is standing by the speakers, the sound could be up to 100-110 decibels and there’s no protection.

Permanent damage can also occur from listening to sound at 85-90 decibels for eight hours a day, but Ms Olivier says some people have more sensitive hearing than others and for them, more caution should be taken.

As for hearing loss caused by iPods and MP3 players, she says the best way to prevent damage is to be responsible with the volume. “About two-thirds or half the maximum volume is the safest level.”

She recommends that people using portable music players should try not to compensate for background noise when on trains or busses, because it can push volume up too loud. If you must use portable music on public transport, she says custom-made earpieces for Ipods and MP3 players are worthwhile. They cost $60-$70 apiece and keep music volume at a non-damaging level while blocking unwanted sound.

The foundation has many tips on its website for concert-goers as well as for frequent users of portable music players. In its most recent survey, seven out of 10 under-30-year-olds were experiencing symptoms of permanent hearing damage caused by listening to loud music.

The survey of 1000 New Zealanders showed that just 6% bothered to regularly take hearing precautions, such as wearing earplugs or reducing the volume when listening to music. They found deafness was the disability under-30s felt they could cope with the least. However, 24% didn’t know how they could save their hearing.

Of the people in this age group surveyed who had hearing damage, 38% say listening to loud music was the cause.

The foundation says the most frustrating thing about hearing loss in today’s youth is that it is completely and easily preventable.

For Nick Major, the frustration is having to ask people to repeat themselves. “I think my mum put it down to being a boy and choosing to block out what she was saying, but I was mishearing.”

 He says as a vocalist he found wearing earplugs hard at first because he felt removed from the audience, but he still strongly pushes f the importance of earplugs. Not wearing them is just “a human ego thing and macho bullshit”.

He just wants to maintain the hearing he has left.

Ian Templeton has spent more than 60 years as a journalist, 53 of those from Parliament’s press gallery. His services to journalism led to the award of Companion of the New Zealand Order of Merit in this year’s New Year honours.  He talks to VAUGHAN ELDER.

CYCLONE GISELLE had caused havoc as it made its way down the North Island to the capital. Already bad enough, it was about to get a lot worse. 

As the cyclone struck Wellington, it merged with a storm blown up from Antarctica to create some of the worst weather conditions New Zealand has ever seen. Winds of up to 275km an hour buffeted the capital.

Ian Templeton, then a reporter for the Auckland Star, sat terrified in the passenger seat of a Holden station wagon driven by long-time photographer Morrie Hill.  Hill negotiated the car through the winds, at one stage nearly skidding into a power pole.

They would arrive at the coastal end of the Seatoun tunnel at about 1:30pm. Their car would be the last vehicle allowed through the tunnel.

When he got to the coast the scene he witnessed would be remembered by the name of the ship, the Wahine, one of the most tragic events in New Zealand’s history.

Ian Templeton’s task now was to create a “word picture” of the scene for the evening edition of the Star. Rushing to a nearby house to make the call,  he would tell the newspaper  he’d seen more than 700 confused and frightened  passengers and crew jump ship, some landing in lifeboats and others not.  There “was an unreality that it could be happening,” recalls Templeton.

It was not until later that evening he would find out the extent of the tragedy that cost 53 people their lives.  He would hear it from another reporter who had been to the railway station on the Eastbourne side of the harbour, where survivors were gathered. Many who did not make it into life boats died crushed against the rocks.

53 YEARS: Templeton still works in the press gallery.

On his 50th anniversary as a press gallery journalist, Templeton would be given a framed copy of his front-page coverage of the disaster for Britain’s Guardian. It now sits proudly in his apartment which he shares with his wife of more than 50 years, Hannah.

For Templeton, in his late 30s at the time, this was not the first and would not be the last time he would cover a story which would become etched in the national consciousness. Being a journalist for more than 60 years has given him a unique viewpoint on our country’s history.

For most of Ian Templeton’s life he has been a reporter based at Parliament’s press gallery. The 80-year-old still reports from Parliament three days a week and has now spent close to 53 years reporting politics from the press gallery. That equates to 14 Prime Ministers and 18 elections.

Many of the stories he remembers most proudly do not involve politics. He singles out when Air New Zealand flight 901 crashed into the side of Mount Erebus in Antarctica, the Wahine disaster of 1968 and the 1951 waterfront strikes as some of his most memorable stories. But most of his time has been spent working from Parliament.

Working out of the press gallery is “endlessly fascinating” and he could not imagine giving it up, he says. He brings up an old adage: “Those who do not remember their history are forced to relive it” but adds: “Each time it is slightly different.” The fact it is different each time keeps him interested, says Templeton.

As he talks about his life and the stories he has covered he is not afraid to pause to make sure he gets the facts right. He speaks slowly and carefully. His colleagues say that his desire always to be accurate came through in his journalism.

The way in which he has conducted himself as a journalist and the length of time he has been in the profession earned him an OBE in 1994, and he became a Companion to the New Zealand Order of Merit in this year’s New Year honours.

Templeton’s journalism career started in 1949 when he was just 17. After being turned down for a job on Dunedin’s now-defunct Evening Star, he got his first job working for the Otago Daily Times. Dunedin was a good place to start his career, he says.

“Dunedin was going through a golden period – it had just celebrated its centenary and many of the country’s head offices were still there,” says Templeton.

After working his way through the ranks and taking a year off to finish his economics degree in 1949, by 1951 he had become the ODT’s shipping reporter.

It was his job to cover the largest industrial dispute New Zealand has ever seen.

“[Covering the 1951 waterfront strikes] meant that I was able to get a prominent place in the paper on almost a daily basis,” he says.

Covering the strikes helped him build his writing skills and would serve him well for when he went to Britain to work for the Glasgow Herald.

“At the time every journalist had ambitions to go to Britain, which was seen as being the pinnacle of journalism,” he says.

Working in Britain was “a lot of fun”, he says. It’s a phrase he uses often.

The London first-night shows he attended included Look Back in Anger, which would revolutionise British playwriting.

CHANGING TIMES: Templeton notes how the Wellington skyline has changed.

Templeton would marry Hannah in London and after itching for life back home he got a job in 1957 as the Star’s Wellington correspondent under editor Eric Dumbleton. During his first years at Parliament he was ahead of his peers in that he would inject analysis into his stories.

Unlike many colleagues, he would never tire of his work in the press gallery: It “still keeps you on your toes”, he says.  The diversity that came with the introduction of MMP has helped keep him interested.

This is typical of a man willing to embrace change. He makes use of modern technology and maintains a blog for Trans-Tasman, a weekly publication read by the rich and powerful, and one he owned up until 2002.  He does not see himself retiring any time soon.

He says journalism is a worthy profession and what he does is for the public good.

His insistence on fairness has been a major reason behind his success, particularly when it comes to gaining the trust of his many sources. By all accounts, Templeton built a web of sources including high- flying Cabinet ministers, civil servants and even prime ministers.

He says his knowledge of economics often got him in the door, especially of finance ministers including Bill Birch in the 1990s and Bill English today.

His sources at the top included Helen Clark while she was prime minister and with whom he had better access than any other journalist.

“She gave me a weekly one-on-one interview which was mostly off the record and that was pretty useful,” says Templeton in a typically understated way.

Marie McNicholas, a journalist who worked with him at the Star in the 1980s, says Helen Clark talked to Templeton because she was aware of Trans-Tasman’s influence, especially among business people – some of the most important people she had to win over.

His ability to maintain such good sources meant that he had a better understanding of what was going on than other journalists, says McNicholas.

In her early days as journalist at Parliament, McNicholas would be shocked to enter the office only to find a Cabinet minister giving Templeton the inside story on what was happening in government.

Public servants would read his articles to find out what was going on in their own departments, she says.

Max Bowden, who bought Trans-Tasman from Templeton in 2002, says it was Templeton’s ability to “look behind the news” which attracted him to the publication.

“Whereas other reporters look at what is happening day to day, what Ian is looking for is where the government is actually taking us,” he says.

Templeton still does about 50% of the work for Trans-Tasman and no longer has to worry about the administration bogging him down, says Bowden.

MIRROR IMAGE: Templeton (pictured right) in 1957 and now in reflection.

McNicholas began working with Ian Templeton in 1984 when he was already considered an elder statesman of the press gallery. Working under him for the Star was always a pleasure and his office was more fun than any she has worked in, before and since.  While he was not always the one making the jokes he would always be the one who laughed the hardest, she says.

Having his encyclopaedic knowledge on tap was a major help at the beginning of her career at Parliament, she says.

“He is a good advertisement for those who are a bit shy, and proof that it’s not always the outgoing ones who make the best journalists.”

She is careful to mention that underneath his retiring personality and “goofy grin”, he is a lot tougher than he seems.

 Templeton says he always kept in mind that “loyalty is not just to your sources but also too your readers who are entitled to as much information as you can give them”.

This attitude has occasionally put him at the wrong end of an ear bashing from politicians unhappy with what he has published.

One politician sued him for defamation because Templeton had written that he would never make it into Cabinet.

The case was “a real bugger to deal with”, lasted three or four years and only went away when he was proved right: The MP’s party made it into government and he was not in Cabinet.

Being appointed a Companion of the New Zealand Order of Merit  “was a sign that I have been here a long time”.

“I was pleased for my family’s sake, they put up with my long hours and maybe I didn’t give them as much time as I should have,” says Templeton.

McNicholas says she cannot imagine life in the press gallery without him. It will lose the physical link with the past and the institutional knowledge he holds, she says.

“If he leaves, he will have to be carried out, possibly feet first,” says McNicholas.

FIRST PHOTO: Ian Templeton standing on the far right in his first annual press gallery photo taken in 1957