tīpuna
1. (noun) ancestors, grandparents – plural form of tipuna and the eastern dialect variation of tūpuna.
One of the coolest things about what I’m doing right now is the connection I feel to my father and his father.
My grandfather was born in Glasgow and came to New Zealand as a bonded electrician. His first job was to do the electrical installations on the old Auckland Railway Station. Then he got a job at Westfield Freezing works. Grandad was a conservative Labour man. He loved the old Labour Party and there was that picture of Michael Joseph Savage in the sitting room at his house. He was one of 213 freezing workers jailed in 1942 for striking during the war over the quality of the meat the company was using to send to the boys in the trenches.
But grandad was a very conservative unionist and often fought with the union hierarchy at Westfield over too many strikes. Grandad was a typical Scottish Presbyterian. There was a natural order, the master and the servant… I spent a lot of my childhood at Grandad’s with my cousin Warren. He never once raised his voice to us, unlike grandma. His hands were soft and he sang in soprano. His ashes are in the Clyde.
When the Lange government came to power in 1984 him and I really connected in a political way because although he was a Labour stalwart, he knew a scab when he saw one.
These days I hear his sweet voice and feel those soft hands a lot.
My other grandad would not hear any bad words about any Labour Party and when I came into conflict with Richard Prebble in the Railways, he told me fighting Labour meant you were being led by the CIA who were the ones who would always undermine socialism.
He knew all about how the CIA undermined socialism all around the world. He was fascinating to listen to. And in a way, he was pretty much right about al of it.
Dad was different to his father, but still his father’s son.
He worked at Hellabys as a meat packer and seemed to be always on strike. In those days the freezing works got the pay rises for everyone else. They’d give the boss a spanking when he needed one and make sure that a joker could work 40 hours a week and feed, clothe and house his family while Mum stayed at home and looked after the kids.
I hated it when Dad was on strike, and it was quite common.
My teen years were when my relationship with Dad was put to the test. We disagreed on so much and spent too much time arguing. But he taught me how to argue and how to do it with principle – to always play the ball and never punch below the belt.
He also taught me to treat everyone as an equal, especially people who thought they were better than you.
It wasn’t until Dad got sick and started dying that we fixed everything between us, It was the best blessing ever. Dad died too young. From smoking.
Today he’s usually right beside me. I can smell the Rothmans and hear his voice.
When I stand up in front of a crowd of people and ask them to vote for me, I’m asking him to vote for me.
I figure if I can get my father to vote for me, you will as well.
When I sit at the computer and write, I’m talking to him.
I recent time’s there’s a disconnect, not for long, but sometimes, especially when I need it, those can be daunting.
I get a bit lost.
What I am doing right now is incredibly humbling, and that’s where I really need my father and grandfather’s guidance.
When it’s not there, it’s actually painful.
But I know I can get it back with just a little bit of effort.
And the good thing is, I know it will never leave me.
And the ever more better thing is, my children and grandchildren will inherit this from me.
Here’s a photo. It’s me in the middle. My grandfather, in his best suit, is congratulating me on reaching my ‘majority’ i.e my 21st birthday. My father is looking at my Bata Bullets, my Levis, and my op shop suit jacket and going ‘tsk tsk tsk’.
This is the only photo of the three of us together, unless I take a selfie now.
Me receiving my 21st key from my grandfather with my father looking on
My father receiving his 21st key from my grandfather, my grandmother to the left and my uncle next to her
Me in Greenock after putting some carnations (my father’s favorite flower) in the Clyde where the ashes of his parents, my grandparents, were placed.
My mother’s father, my grandfather, with my grand daughter.
I also laid carnations at Culloden, the site of a massive slaughter of Scotland’s best.
Five generations photo, L to R myself, my granddaughter in my grandfathers arms, my mother and my youngest daughter.
My grandson representing his tīpuna
Off to cheer for Scotland in the Rugby World Cup
Born day photos of my grandchildren
