Val was the Assistant in the Bookshop on the main street and I used to work with Gerald in the railway station. (See http://web.mac.com/pjan12/Hometown_Reefton/1960pg5railway_1965-67.html) A year or two ago.
After they returned home, to Christchurch, Gerald sent me this poem/story about some of the characters in the Reefton Workingmen's Club in about 1980. (Some of the language etc here is a bit eccentric, but i love it! It is very "West Coast".)
The Reefton Workingmen’s Club
On the corner of Bridge and Shiel Streets, the Eastern part of town
There stands an elaborate building where everyone goes when they’re down
The building has many amenities and ‘tis built on modern lines
It has the best beer in the country and the best sparkling wines.
So if the geography disturbs you and you give your head a rub
The name of this stately building is the Reefton Workingmen’s Club.
Given a start by the local Miner’s Union the Club has never looked back
It pulls publicans into line for the barmen are never slack.
They work to quench the Reefton thirst of volume drinkers
You would wonder don’t burst.
The Club plays host to many a debate such as Muldoon and the mess of the State
No question too big nor yet too small, amicably they are settled by all.
John Payn is our genial Bar-Manager, a man of quiet repute,
He’s the fastest barman in Westland on that there’s no dispute.
He can handle two hundred on his own; This is truth – No flash in the pan
His swiftness of foot has dubbed him “Reefton’s Six Million Dollar Man”.
Gerald Bray is our President and full marks; He is first class
You’ll find him at the Railway station in uniform of braid and brass.
At Working Bees he’s one of the boys and gets into it with vigour
While his future outlook for the Club is to see it progressively bigger.
Ruth Cooper is our Secretary, none better found as good
Her efficiency’s renowned New Zealand wide, her presence is good.
If any bouquets are to be thrown guide them in Ruth’s direction
As the statement I’m about to make needs no further correction.
Ruth Cooper is to business as bacon is to eggs
Although she wears a serious look she can still pull your leg.
She makes the position of Secretary look like the work of a kid
To you, Dear Ruth, all members, “We doffs our lid”.
Johnny Brown comes from Ireland – somewhere near Navoureen
He believes if you put a cow cover over a horse there should be milk in the
mornin’.
Standing next to Johnny is a shearer, reputedly first grade
Topping six feet in his socks it can only be Bert Bade.
For Bert Bade is to shearing as wool is to a sheep
They say that he can shave a rat when it’s asleep.
Now to Tommy Chandler, from Aussie he did come
It could have been from Iron Bark as he has taught to some
For his rating as a pugilist extends as high as moon
There’s only one man got him bluffed – That bloke called Rob Muldoon.
For vegetables and flower plants in the Club we have a cracker
The man who supplies these needs bears the name of Taka
He’ll supply your plants from Iceland and orchids from Guyana
There’s only one plant dodging him – You’ve guessed it – Marijuana.
The Rosstown Robbies raised by Dinny and Stell
A wonderful family all will spell
George though smallest of them all has plenty of guts to make him 10 feet tall
He’ll face the charging bull as though it was a flea
But a nurse’s needle is another cup of tea.
Then to Danny Stewart our golden voice of song
Quiet in his manner and respected by the throng
A voice like Nelson Eddy doesn’t mean a thing
When John Cooper meets him in the bowling ring.
They attack one another with snide remark and sneer
But when the game’s with a drink they call ‘Good Cheer”.
So if you’re feeling down a bit meet a Hunt called ‘Joe”
He loves to see people happy be it friend or foe.
When he was a carpenter he was the fastest ever seen
Hammer so swift in either hand; just to see him was serene.
He built houses for many years for all who came along
He vows he can remember when 4 inch nail were 6 inches long
The first prize all are sure, must be won by the Hunt called Joe.
Indoor bowls was the game the night a strange person came to town
Three quick beers he swallowed when on his face there came a frown.
From the hall inside the building a woman’s voice rang clear
“Jack, get it up. No good ‘til it’s up” were the word that upset in fear.
He leapt for the door like a deer in flight
Collided with Bob Hide and was arse of kite.
Jim Wearne gave him the ‘Kiss of Life’ and from Jumbo a rum to drink
Thus revived and the words explained it was clearly then he did think.
“These words are part and parcel of Indoor Bowls the Man of the Cloth thought
“But I thought it was a house of ill-fame on a Reefton saying, I’m caught”.
The annual fishing trip each year goes to the Marlborough Sounds
Les Nicol suggested a ‘Hare Drive’ as there were miles of hares around
We never had any given proof nor was there a name for a winner
One must assume it’s a fishy business or was it ‘Hare’ for dinner?
Bill Maxwell explained the ‘Hare’ were an awful sight and had large scars
So evil-smelling and salty were they we refused to take them in cars.
One could go on forever mentioning Tony Shutt and ‘Mack the Knife’.
Jim Etheridge, Spaniard and Athol who almost took himself a wife.
But there’s one man I must not forget as this verse gets steeper
He is grey of hair like Santa Claus and his name is Bert Neiper.
As a sailor in the war years he was at the River Plate
He helped sink the Graf Spee on that historic date.
Today he is still sinking through the years it’s not a ship
You’ll find him at the ‘Mulken’ mine with Big Mike sinking a dip.
So Stranger as you read these words from your holidays you can boast
Of the pleasantries you encountered at Reefton on the Coast.
You don’t hear a Coaster moaning but he respects the ‘Man of the Cloth’
For moaning and critics of religion should be lost in the ocean’s froth.
For when morals are lacking all honour is dead; Pray, what is the worth of Parole?
A small bit of preaching may turn a man’s head but it sure won’t alter his soul.
Return to your concrete jungles to your city’s flashest pub
I bet you won’t find friendship like THE REEFTON WORKING MEN’S CLUB.
Unfortunately, Gerald didn't say who wrote it. Thanks Gerald, very cool!
cheers
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