DELICIOUS DELICACIES ...

My parents and all their local Italian friends often used to get together to play cards. Every couple of months it came around to Mum's 'turn' and she used to make the most delicious goodies for these evenings. I can still see the cream horns, the sponges, the pavlovas, the sandwiches and ... well ... everything.

Now, my brother Gino and I had a strategy which never failed us. We would have been about 5 and 9 years old respectively at the start of our 'careers'. We would plan very carefully how to go about our dastardly deed ... and nobody would be any the wiser. On these evenings he would come to my room and WE would play cards too. We had to stay awake for as long as possible.

Then, we'd wait until everyone had gone and all was silent. We had learned how to get around the creaking floorboard outside my bedroom, and also the central heating grate. It was only about six steps from my bedroom to the dining room - where the remains of the glorious goodies were left to put away the next day. At this point all our nerves would be tingling. We could not afford to make a sound.

We figured that if we cut a tiny sliver from each cake and then put the remaining pieces back together, it would be fine. That way we would both get to taste a bit of this and that. It was quite a daunting task as it all had to be left exactly the way it was or Mum would soon find out what we'd been up to, and as she wouldn't allow the cat indoors there would be nobody to blame but us.

Gino and I spent a good few years being 'food crims' and although it was difficult at times depending on what Mum decided to make, we did enjoy the escapades!

So ...

it came as an immense shock 35-odd years later when Mum was dying, that while we were reminiscing I thought I would mention those card evenings ... and she began shaking with laughter and said that we were both silly beggars and that she had left the food there for us - specially. The height of indignation came when she told us that she heard us leaving the bedroom!

All our wonderful daring plans ... for years ... and years.

You just never know when you're being set up do you ...?

FATHER CHRISTMAS ... WAS HE OR WASN'T HE ..?

Christmas time was great at our place when we were kids. It was always so exciting to know what Mum was going to make, how many people would be coming, going to Midnight Mass, dreaming about presents from Father Christmas, and all the usual childish emotions surrounding Christmas.

We were always told that on the night before Christmas, we had to put out two glasses, 2 pieces of christmas cake, and two bottles of beer. When I asked Dad why we had to put two of everything, he said that Father Christmas ALWAYS brought his helper along. Ok .. I bought that.

This went on for years and it was always amazing to find the empty bottles and glasses, and no cake on the plates. It was great for my young brother Gino, and his eyes used to light up at the thought of Father Christmas having actually been!!

I guess I was around 8 or 9 years old, and Gino 4 years younger, when I began to have suspicions about 'two of everything'. On that particular Christmas Eve, I decided to find out for myself but it had to be kept very quiet.

We had put all the requirements out ready, and after Midnight Mass we all came home and headed for bed. But I couldn't sleep. I wanted to wait for Father Christmas.

A seemingly long time passed, and I crept out of bed and negotiated the creaky board just outside my room trying not to wake Gino. But he was already awake and heading down towards me. I knew he was only little and if my suspicions were right then it wouldn't be fair to him, so I told him not to follow me yet.

As I approached the lounge door I could hear very quiet voices and some paper rustling and cutting. I could feel my heart booming with anticipation as I peeped around the corner into the room where the giant Christmas tree was set up.

I think shock and indignation were mild words for what I felt when I saw Mum and Dad with a glass of beer each, and demolishing Father Christmas's cake. That's when the penny dropped and I was frantic that Gino should not see what was happening. He believed me a few minutues later when I blurted to him that Father Christmas still hadn't arrived down the chimney.

MY FIRST DAY AT SCHOOL ...

I guess most people barely remember their first day at school ... but I will never forget. It was one of those exciting but awful days - a nightmare really when I look back ...

We always spoke Italian at home and I knew only basic English and that included 'Hello!' There were no other kids around the neighbourhood then except my younger brother who kept pretty much to himself. All my parents' friends were Italian.

So that first day was quite an education - in the fast lane, so to speak.

My Primer One teacher was Sister Dorothy, and I was to find out many years later that ours was her first class. Sister was new young nun at Sacred Heart Girls' College in Lower Hutt. It was quite a large class, and there was plenty to do. I was very inquisitive and loved her spinning tops and books (which I couldn't read of course). I remember the 'Janet and John' readers which went 'out' many years later ... I can't think why. I loved them and it didn't take me long to devour their contents.

I guess the day progressed much like any other day, and at the last bell, we were taken to the bus stop to be put on our respective buses. Now Dad had told me to look for 'TAITA' on the front of the bus. I knew what that looked like. Therefore I was more than terrified when a huge prefect tried to get me on a bus with 'NAENAE' on it. She reminded me of a huge blowfly ... buzzing around all the little kids. In those days the uniforms were all black.

I made all the right signs to her, that I was NOT about to get on that bus, but she wouldn't have that. She sounded cross with me, so I went and hid behind the shelters when she got distracted. It was hot too ... being the beginning of the school year in February, so I loosened my tie.

I had no idea how long I waited there, but when the buses had gone and the prefects too, I came out of hiding, and with my school bag on my back, and my new panama hat hanging down the back, I began to walk home. I knew the way and I was determined. Nobody was going to shove me around.

It was a long way home - according to my feet. I remember the heat, and the uniform was getting more uncomfortable by the minute. The sun was blazing and I couldn't do anything about that except keep going.

Eventually, I reached the place on High St roughly where Nae Nae College is now, and I could make out our dog further along the road by the Tennyson Ave crossing. As I got closer I saw Nonna Rosalia and I waved out quite happily. She seemed pretty upset and I had no idea why she was even there with the dog.

'Where have you been?' she shrieked in Italian and then she hugged me.

So I told her all about the giant blowfly who tried to put me on the wrong bus, and she said that Dad had driven over to the Nae Nae bus stop to get me. (Later I figured that the blowfly or someone must have rung home and told them what happened).

There was a huge commotion in the house later and I really had no idea of the magnitude of the situation. I just did what I thought was right.

But I don't remember having seen Mum cry before ...

(The distance from the bus terminal where Queensgate is now to the Tennyson Ave bus stop is about 4.5 kms. Fifty-five years later I can still do it, but it takes me a while longer!)

GINO ...
Gino was about 8 or 9 years old and had not long had his smart shiny new racing bike from Italy. He looked after it as though it was his pet and it didn't have a mark on it. It was a beautiful piece of machinery and he was really proud of it. I think he must have polished it even in his dreams.
One night we were having dinner around the table as usual, and we noticed that Gino was unusually quiet. He was always pretty quiet, but this evening it was rather disconcerting. When Dad asked him what was wrong Gino didn't say anything. He was also a very strange colour - a bit like peuce, then going on green and his lips were a funny colour.
Mum lost her cool and demanded to know what was wrong. Gino then sat back and there on his left inner thigh was a gash about 2-3 inches long, and it was open. There was no blood that I could recall. We were horrified that he hadn't said anything. Dad bundled him up and took him to the hospital.
It seems that when Gino was going on his bike around the block, he headed straight into a heap of large pipes which were being laid in the next street. Maybe he didn't see the pipes, or he didn't have time to brake, but he hurtled over the top, caught his thigh, and as a result mangled his bike.
It was the bike he was more concerned about - not his leg.