Today I broke free from imposed solitary confinement today! After five weeks in lock-down, I had my first glimpse of Level three restrictions.
Traffic was light, and my first stop was the vetinery clinic. A dozen cars were lined up in the car park, with ’No Entry’ and ‘Do Not Enter’ notices around, and tape straddling the door. A vet went from car to car, checking on barking dogs and cowering kittens. Owners stood behind their cars, fiddling with cell phones, enjoying the balmy autumn sun. I struck up a conversation with the van alongside me. It was a police dog squad van, with a copper young enough to be my grandson. He and his lovely Alsation were weary following a 3 hour hill chase to catch a ‘bad guy.’ Thanks to the tracking talent of the dog, the trouble maker is in gaol.
Eventually it was my turn. My dogs’ medicine was prepared and carried out, unbagged. We had two efforts to use the eftpos machine, with no luck. Like other customers I witnessed, we have to return or pay by some other means.

My next errand took me to Mitre 10 , to pick up a couple of large, tough bins. With my many rescued birds, I have a lot of birdseed to protect. Uninvited mice have been ‘crashing the party,’ and nibbled holes in several sturdy plastic bins, polluting and stealing bird seed. (Although my dogs and cat are great mousers, they can’t neutralize the entire crop moving in from the vineyard next door, to find new warm homes over winter.)
I would have been grateful to look around Mitre 10, and take a toilet break; but no such luck! Pallets packed high with potting mix and compost blocked much of the car park. Two unadorned tables outside the entrance was the goal to aim for, but to reach service one had to join the line, keep 2 metres apart and wait. I finally got to the front of my line, only to find that that queue was for already on-line- paid goods. Back to square one for me, and start again. The queues were decorated with orange road cones, measuring the space between patrons. One moved forward by one cone each time a customer was dealt with. What fun! It was like playground games from primary school, as we joked and moved closer to the table. My big bins were brought out and it was time to pay. But there was no Eftpos machine outside. I had to surrender my card to the shop assistant who grabbed it with a mechanical ‘hand’ to keep his distance. That wasn’t all. The young man also required my SECRET Eftpos digits! For the first time ever, I had to share that in order topay for my bins.

Next stop was my publisher’s office. I know she returned to work yesterday, on a very limited scale. No entry to her office though, we transacted our business on the footpath. I handed over my illusrations for the latest book, and beat a hasty retreat. We’ll do our continuing discussions by phone, which is more intimate that talking across the pavement.
On to the pharmacy, where yet another queue was outdoors, and the new ‘Covid jig’ began with one person going in as another came out. And a sturdy security guard watching our dexterous moves. With my lotions and potions collected, I faced my final challenge of today’s adventure. I joined the pavement line-dancing outside the supermarket. While chatting cheerfully to the dancers fore and aft, we moved along ever so slowly. I was number 15 in the queue, and I felt quite miffed when one
lady toddled from her car, came up behind the security traffic warden, snatched her trolley and entered without queueing. That’s not cricket, lady! And that was poor policing, traffic guy!

“Lord, give me patience! I need it right now!” I muttered. With my cap pulled down, glasses on, mask in place and rubber gloves firmly enclosing my itchy fingers, I trundled through the aisles with my list. Being a friendly person, utterly deprived of human contact for 5 weeks, I smiled at everyone, and wondered why no one seemed to respond. I felt invisible, until I realized that behind all that protective gear no one would have known I was smiling at them!

Those gloves are fiddly things. I’ve appreciated staff packing groceries until the Covid outbreak. I muddle along, trying not to drop things, packing like with like, dog and cat food separate from people food, chilled away from hot, etc. Meanwhile the check-out queue gets impatient waiting.
Last detour was to the petrol station. (They used to be called service stations, and they did serve. Oil would be checked, tyres pumped, windscreen washed, all for the cost of your fuel.) I shouted myself a treat; a copy of The Press, Christchurch’s morning paper which has been part of my life for three quarters of a century. I also collect old newspapers here to line the many cages and aviaries in which I care for rescued birds. At this stage I’ve got two with broken wings, a thrush with crippled legs, doves, cockatiels and a budgie who SPCA asked me to adopt when its owner went into care.
Sadly, no cheery chat with the cashier today. He’s been imprisoned behind locked doors, operating a bank-like secure money drop -box beneath a security screen.

Business transacted, money paid, change given through a two-way drawer. Now, having checked off my list of completed errands, I headed home; appreciating the loneliness of lepers and patients with contagious diseases. It is possible to feel utterly alone even with people nearby. Back home, I secured my gate and let my personal security buddies come out to play. What a joyful, waggy welcome home they gave me! I wish I was as good as my hounds think I am!  They think I’m the most amazing ‘top dog’ of our pack, and the champion hunter-gatherer. I go out for a few hours and returned with enough food for a fortnight!  And my reward is their slobbering, affectionate loyal protection.

We’re living through unprecedented times, with no end in sight. We are expected to adjust and adapt our personal comfort for the greater good. I am proud of being a Kiwi, and we are doing so well in protecting the vulnerable, obeying the heavy and sudden restrictions imposed. We like freedom, which our ‘grandcestors’ fought for, and which we are currently denied. While Covid may lurk around for many months more, our country is doing remarkably well to squash it every time it rears its deadly head. Let us pray about our response, exercise those character traits that God would have us live by. Those ‘fruits of the Spirit we talked about yesterday; found in His love letter, in Galatians 5. This is a time to mature these attitudes; patience, kindness, self control and perseverance.
​
As Marlborough’s many vineyards turn golden with crinkly grapevine leaves, let’s think about the harvest of good fruit we are working on for our Master.

Rose Francis

​We're only human
But we are women
Help us believe
In all we can be
And all we can do

School work and mountains
Of washing to climb
Help us today
To take every day
One day at a time

One day at a time, sweet Jesus
That's all that we're asking of you
We're taking deep breaths
But ignoring the mess
We simply can't do

Yesterday's gone, sweet Jesus
And tomorrow is more of the same
Help us today
To not go insane
One day at a time

Do you remember
When you walked among us
Well, Jesus, you know
If you look down below
It's worse now than then

Locked down in bubbles
It's groundhog day
So for our sake
Help us to take
One day at a time

One day at a time, sweet Jesus
That's all that we're asking of you
We're taking deep breaths
But ignoring the mess
We simply can't do

Yesterday's gone, sweet Jesus
And tomorrow is more of the same
Help us today
To not go insane
One day at a time 
Lord for our sake
Help us to take
One day at a time  

Lyrics written by Stephanie Ham

Clear, concise, accurate. These are the words I use while teaching writing skills to various classes. We have thousands of words to use, but selecting the correct ones to reflect anything is a skill. To poets, every word counts, it must be stripped back to its basic essence. The right word will conjure up a vivid picture, because it involves the reader or listener using their imagination and memory to 'fill the gap's between the lines.
I love the many brilliant words in our Bible, and the mind pictures they paint. Think of the Fruits of the Spirit. ponder each word and what it represents.
love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, gentleness, perseverence, self control.
Beautiful fruit indeed, fragrant in our lives, and pleasing to God. A tree is judged by the fruit it bears, not by the fruit it talks about. Growing fruit takes time, energy and patience. The grower needs vision and faith to protect and supply the tree's basic needs.


The following single words sum up their accompanying picture. They sum up each picture with clarity, describing briefly the content of the picture. The right word in the right place at the right time makes all the difference to recipients of words.
I hope you enjoy viewing them, and thinking about the power of words. They can bless or destroy, they can comfort or grieve, they can cause laughter or tears. They are tricky little weapons that need to be handled and used with care.
May our words today be sweet to the taste, gentle to the ear, and honouring to God.
Remember, it's easier to bit your tongue than to swallow your words.
May God bless your positive words today.
Rosemary Francis
May the words of our mouths and the meditations of our heart be acceptable unto Thee, O Lord.

Hope

Love

Excitement!

Adventure

Security

Contentment

Curiosity

Heroism

Confusion

Honour

Accomplishment

Perserverance

Companionship

Beauty

Caring

Relating

Fruitful

Awe

Loneliness

Tradition

Tenacity

My grandfather, Herbert Campbell Pearless returned from the Great War very frail. He remained an invalid until his death in 1934, when my Mother Betty was eighteen and her sister Faye was fifteen. It was fortunate that they had relatives living nearby, in the Nelson region. (Herbert was one of eight children, while my Nanna Gertrude was one of nine children.)

My mother left school and went to Blenheim where she trained as a nurse in Wairau Hospital. Mother remembered that all nurses had to live in the nurses’ hostel at Wairau. Each trainee nurse had to bring 3 woollen singlets, 3 pairs of woollen bloomers and 3 woollen spencers, which would hopefully prevent TB; a common illness at the time. Three pairs of woollen stockings were also required. All items of clothing had to have the owner’s name embroidered on it.

Wairau Hospital was where Betty met an injured airman, John Pearson, an immigrant from Britain. John was a test pilot flying in the RNZAF, when he was involved in a serious air crash. This resulted in him needing many weeks of hospital care. Betty ‘specialled’ John, and their romance began. They were married in 1942, and had a two day honeymoon at Hilltop, on the road to Akaroa, on Banks Peninsula. Back at Wairau Hospital, Betty only had to change only half of her name embroidered on her clothing. Pearless became Pearson, making the job easy.

Nursing Years in Marlborough.

The twenty year period between the two World Wars was comparatively quiet for the Hospitals of Marlborough. Plans for another 3 wards, a kitchen, and operating theatre had been approved; and building loans obtained. But with World War 2, the availability of manpower and building materials was severely restricted; and extensions were put on hold.

When Japan entered the war in 1941, Marlborough suddenly assumed strategic importance. A 6,000 strong Army Brigade was stationed there, to meet a possible Japanese invasion threat. Plans were needed to cover the possible bombing and shelling by Japanese planes and ships. Also, the 80-bed Wairau Hospital needed to be greatly increased, with an additional 250 beds. The Hospital Board took over Marlborough College as No 2 Emergency Hospital for a year. It was used for service personnel, and was staffed by Army nurses and volunteer registered nurses. At one stage it housed 100 patients, while the displaced students were educated at various primary schools and church halls around the region.

In response to public protests at the commandeering of Marlborough College, the then Minister of Health, Mr Nordmeyer; and the Director General of Health, Dr Watt, offered, in 1942, the opportunity for the Hospital to proceed with its building plan, but using light construction materials in place of the substantial construction previously planned. Construction costs were to be borne by the War Expense Account. It was agreed that after the war, the building would be handed over to the Hospital Board at valuation. It was estimated to cost 50, 000 pounds, built in wood and fibrolite. Building commenced in 1942, and became wards 4,5, & 6; with the administration block below. To service this increased hospital accommodation required more staff; so extensions to the kitchen block, nurses’ home and boiler house were completed. This was followed by a nurses’ change room and tutorial unit.

Meanwhile, precautions were also being taken against the possibility of air raids. Trenches were dug in the hospital grounds and adjacent to the Nurses’ Home, Old Peoples’ Home and the Fever Ward. Then, based on London’s bombing experience, (where more casualties were inflicted by broken glass than any other cause during air raids;) it was decided to cover all windows in the hospital . Many thousands of yards of calico, wall-boarding, and wire netting were used to secure all windows.

Accommodation for nurses and domestics was insufficient, so army huts were set up near the hospital to serve as sleeping quarters. The Old People’s Home (which was serving as Emergency Hospital No 1) was converted for use as a hostel for staff. Increased demand for support services like kitchen and laundry were soon insufficient for the expanded hospital. (At this stage the laundry was laundering over a million articles per year.)

Social Security, which was introduced in 1939, had a big impact on hospital and medical benefits. At first, the Government paid Hospital Boards 6/- per day per patient; and boards could recover from patients the balance of 16/- per day that it was costing to keep each patient in hospital. ( The Government subsidy later increased to 9/-) Local Bodies were expected to meet increasing levies to make up the difference between what was being paid by the State and what could be recovered from individual patients; as well as the increasing costs of maintaining and running hospitals. These levies were not phased out until the 1950s.

The period my mother Betty Pearless was training at Wairau was during a time of great growth in the medical services. In 1925, in-patients at Wairau totalled only 52 for the year. Twenty years later, the number was 1920. Nursing staff numbered 18 in 1925, and two decades later it totalled 80. The introduction of outpatient departments for general and maternity patients in 1920, made more demands on hospital services. Wairau was serving a population of 19,000 by 1950, and 15,000 of them had treatments in the hospital.

Like other would-be nurses, when my Mother left school at Nelson Girls’ College aged 18, (1938) she presented herself to the Wairau Hospital Matron for an interview. She was accepted and began her training immediately. Nursing students learned by experience, attending lectures given by the matron-superintended Miss Lewis, in her flat, or in a ward; or in the corridor. Some were given during working hours, but mostly in the nurses’ free time before and after work. When training was completed, the trainees sat three examinations and had an oral test of their general ability. Mother spoke fondly of her years at Wairau. Each trainee nurse was given three sets of uniform, and, like her personal undergarments, each apron, cap, cape and dress had to be embroidered with her name.

In 1938 a scheme was developed to give student nurses some preliminary training before they worked in the ward. This was instituted in 1942, when the nurses’ duty roster showed that a class had a preliminary period of four weeks prior to ward work. Until that time, individual nurses attended lectures on their days of duty.

Sister Retemeyer became the first permanent tutor in 1938. She was responsible for drawing up a training syllabus and giving lectures whenever students could be available. A permanent home for training nurses was established with extensive alterations to the nurses’ home. This cost the Hospital Board 6,500 pounds.

The mortuary through the early years was a lone wooden shed situated near the main hospital building. In 1946 it was replaced by a concrete structure (for the price of 3,898 pounds) by Fred Williamson. Refrigeration equipment cost a further 250 pounds.

District nurses had covered remote areas of Marlborough since 1902, but it was 1950 before a district nursing service was provided for Blenheim and Picton townships. Medical practitioners appointed nurses, and notified the Hospital office of patients requiring bedside attention. There was an acute shortage of nursing staff throughout New Zealand, and district nurses were expected to reduce demands on all hospitals. In the late 1940s, Wairau was badly hit by a nursing shortage, so the Hospital board instructed the discharge of anyone who could receive reasonable care in their homes.
During my Mother's years at Wairau hospital, Dr T Julian was medical superintendent, (from 1920 to 1950.) He was demobilised in 1919 after four years’ war service. Then Dr Julian completed his FRCS at London Hospital. His Wairau salary was recorded as being increased to 750 pounds “plus free house, fuel and lighting’ in 1920. He had a great reputation for the high standard of medical care. Under his control, Wairau had the most modern x-ray unit in the southern hemisphere.
​
Another long-serving staff member was Miss E.M Lewis, who was matron superintendent from 1921 to 1942, when she resigned to serve in the War effort again. ( Miss Lewis had served in the Army Nursing Corps in troop and hospital ships in World War 1.) This time she was matron of the hospital ship Maunganui which made several trips ferrying sick and wounded troops back to New Zealand. She subsequently married Hospital Board member W G Rudd, a widower.

Mother spoke of Lewis with great respect and fondness. She also kept in touch with Dr Julian. I recall our family visiting him by boat ,when we were staying in the Marlborough Sounds in the early 1950s. We were treated to afternoon tea and hugs all round.

I only remember three of Mother’s nursing friends who we saw frequently in the 1950s. Alma Vorbach was one, who I think remained unmarried. Molly Carson was another; I don’t remember her maiden name, but she married Rev Dick Carson, and they had five children, and served in Pakistan for many years as missionaries. We spent time with them when they were home on furlough, and I stayed with them several times in CMS House, Hackthorne Rd. The third person was Molly Troupe. She was married to academic Gordon, a jolly old bearded fellow. (He marked one of my School Certificate exam papers, and told me (off the record) that I had passed it! He recognised my distinct peacock blue ink and rolling handwriting!

Most New Zealand families will have similar histories, which show how much the threat of War influenced our regions. Our people adapted and changed to meet the new challenges. I've recorded this for Nativity Reflections, because I know our parish has some retired nurses who may appreciate this chunk of their history being recognised. During the wars, as now, our medically trained people have served us well. I have left names in this record in case they are recognised by our readers.

Today’s citizens have benefitted from the courage and foresight of those who came before us. Our responsibility is to pass on our knowledge, experience, and a better world for coming generations. While Corona Virus has claimed many lives, and devastated families, the toll is far less than the environmental destruction that is occurring day and night, relentlessly.

Let’s contemplate how we can help prevent this looming global crisis. When God created our wonderful world, He saw that it was good. How it must grieve Him to see what devastation human greed and power have caused; as countries and individuals burn, pillage, pollute and rape land, water and air for their selfish gains. This is the new battle front, people. Let's “put on the armour of God,” and in faith, prepare to clean up our act, and spread the warning to all we can. God has instructed us to be good stewards of His creation.

We who believe, are His ‘essential workers’ in such times of crisis. What a privilege – and a responsibility. We’re under orders from our Creator. Let's rise up and prepare for the next round of warfare.

In His Name,
​
Rosemary Francis.

  
Last year I researched the Spanish Flu pandemic for my family history. It seemed unimaginable that whole cities around New Zealand would be ordered into isolation, and that we, proudly, independent people, would submit to such government controls over our personal lives and hard-won freedom. Yet, last month (was it really such a short time ago?) we all obediently retreated into lock-down. We closed our work places, adjusted to home study and struggled to gain new skills using technology, to communicate and carry out necessary business. Our churches and meeting places, cinemas and concert halls cancelled gatherings. Our lives were stopped in their tracks, and turned upside down by newly enforced ways of living.

For some, this was a novel experience; for others a 'bonus' holiday from routine demands. Our priorities changed. The lowly paid and under-appreciated food providers, care workers in rest homes and communities, humble rubblish collectors, delivery and postal workers, shelf-stockers and supermarket staff were recognised as heroes. All became vital cogs in keeping our lives going. We appreciate these 'essential workers', and the courageous volunteers who have reached out to the less able in their communities, offering support with getting food and medications. I hope their contribution is recognised into the future when our lives return to a' new normal'

It will not be a 'return to the old ways., or business as usual. We will need to respect social distancing, and scrupulous hygiene for many months. Transport will be slower and probably more expensive, as arilines and shipping companies struggle to survive.
Spare a prayer for those families who will be dealing with deep regrets and unresolved grief. Many thousands of families around the world have been unable to comfort their loved ones going through the shadow of death. They have been unable to find comfort in funeralrites and family gatherings. Weddings hae been postponed indefinitely, and families split apart for months due to Covid travel restrictions.  Remember too, those elderly who have little understanding of modern technology, who are truly isolated in their bubbles. Those who rely on paying bills by cheques no longer acceptable, whose cash at home is running out.

As New Zealand anticipates being lifted to Level 3 restrictions, there will be little or no change for many of us. For others comes the challenge and 'guilt' of going back to work versus staying home to supervise schooling for their young children. For many others, anxiety will increase with reduced pay or crippled businesses collapsing from the consequences of Covid's grip on the globe.

We have weathered Round One of Covid, but it's still lurking, and struggling to make a come-back. like ANZAC warriors of times past, we have to remain vigilant at our posts, have each others' backs, and obey our commanders.  I'm grateful that it's a common enemy virus, not people, that we are enlisted to fight. Let's support each other in prayer, do our bit in this war effort, and continue long after wtthe threat appears to have passed; just in case.

Although the following description of that other pandemic is grim, it is true; and on the heels of Anzac Day, a solemn reminder of the horrors of a pandemic that got out of hand. May this serve to remind us how important both isolation and hygiene are in this battle for our lives. It is so eerily similar to what we are living through now, a century on.

The Spanish Flu Crisis, 1918

As World War One staggered to an end, an epidemic of influenza swept across the world, claiming an estimated 70 million lives. The following year, it disappeared. The outbreak began in the Middle East, and got its name because the King of Spain was one of its victims. A third of the sufferers experienced harsh symptoms of bronchial pneumonia, cyanosis and septicemic blood poisoning. Troops on both sides were affected that northern Spring. By Autumn, the virus spread across the Atlantic to the USA via military ships; where a brief fever overwhelmed victims. The 'flu virus caused uncontrolled haemorrhaging that filled the lungs, and patients drowned in their own body fluids.

The first Kiwis affected were soldiers of the Fortieth Reinforcement on board the troopship Tahiti. On 22 August, their convoy had called at Sierra Leone. Although none of the crew or soldiers were permitted to go on-shore, due to the Fever, locals came on board to coal up the ship. Within days, over half the men on board fell ill. The Tahiti’s final death toll exceeded 80.

New Zealand itself was not spared. In just two months, we lost about half as many people to ‘flu as we had in the whole of WW1! By December 1918, the death toll topped 8,600; including 2,160 Maori. Military camps and central committees were established to co-ordinate relief in their areas. Each was divided into districts with a depot. Many public facilities and businesses were closed, and public events postponed. Medics were stretched, and volunteers had to fill the gaps.
The ‘flu was known also as the ‘Black Plague,’ because victims grew black spots. One hopeful remedy was for everyone, including children, to wear a camphor bag around the neck. (I remember my Grandmother kept her little muslin bag, with a camphor ball in it, just in case thedreaded ‘flu returned.)

It was believed that if the sufferer’s nose bled, he would recover. If the nose did not bleed, that patient would die. People were advised to sprinkle their fireplace with sulphur and inhale the fumes. (my grandmother still did this when, as children, we had chest infections.) She had learned this technique from her father in law, who was a surgeon in the Boer War. She also kept a camphor ball to wrap in her hanky to hopefully stave off asthma.)

Already, New Zealand was reeling from the losses of so many lives at War. Now we lost a further 8,000 people to the flu. With no vaccinations and no antibiotics available, patients struggled to breathe; thus lacking oxygen in their blood. This caused their skin to darken, and they turned purplish black post mortem. Public inhalation chambers were set up to help more people to breathe sulphur fumes, but these was not effective; and probably increased the spread of the flu. Between a third and half of New Zealand’s population was infected. Some places, especially crowded quarters like military camps, suffered losses of about 80 per cent.

Medics returning from War fell ill; medical supplies ran low. Hospitals were full, and emergency hospitals were set up in schools, halls and tents, manned by inexperienced volunteers. The healthy few manned soup kitchens. The Red Cross trained girls and women in a three-month ‘crash course’ of home-caring for victims.

By this stage, normal life was impossible. Workplaces and schools were closed, shipping around New Zealand was halted, leaving many towns short of basic supplies like flour and coal. Proper funeral services were impossible as undertakers and grave diggers were ill. Then, miraculously, by December, the worst of the epidemic was over.

The flu had killed 6,413 New Zealanders, including soldiers. It was the world’s worst recorded pandemic of flu. In four months, it had killed 25 million people; twice the number killed in fighting World War One.

This 'Flu Epidemic led to the New Zealand 1920 Health Act; a major reorganisation of manpower and supplies for pandemic management.

Lest we Forget!

Our future is in our hands, Kiwis. Please continue to trust God and encourage each other as we prepare for a gradual lifting of restrictions. "This too, will pass."

Kia Kaha!

Rosemary Francis.
​

It was not only our men who signed up for the War Effort. A number of women did too. They were a welcome addition to military hospitals near the fighting zones, where they worked tirelessly and courageously under primitive and dangerous conditions. Many lost their lives and are remembered as heroes of the War, along with those who fought.

As younger men went to war, women took over their jobs in industry and communications, and many were posted to rural properties as ‘Land Girls’. Women also had challenges at home due to the Depression, and scarcity of many goods. These are the women whose contribution is not often remembered. Today I honour them.

From the commencement of war in Europe, the NZ Government imposed rationing on food, clothes and other consumables, to ensure the maximum amount was diverted to UK, to help ‘Mother Britain’feed her population. As part of our War effort. In New Zealand, we went without, for their sakes. Here, rubber and leather goods, including shoes, were in short supply. People learned how to repair things, remake things and make do with bare necessities. For as several generations we lived by our ‘No 8 wire’ survival instincts. To this day, those who lived through these years of deprivation are horrified with the waste of today’s ‘planned obsolescence’ culture. We made things last, adapted and repaired , shared and re-made every garment.

Petrol was rationed; to about two gallons a month, depending on the size of the car. Some cars were fitted with gas producers to provide an alternative type of power. Petrol rationing was introduced in 1940, and continued for ten years. My father, a Flying Officer in the RNZAF, acquired a motorbike; and Mother became his pillion passenger. It became more difficult with young children, and mother used to bounce up and down on the pedals of her old blue bike. My bother sat on the seat, clutching mother’s waist, while I sat on the metal clip carrier behind him, holding onto the seat springs. My baby brother was in a cane basket strapped to the handlebars. This was our mode of transport for some years.


For food and clothes rationing, everyone was issued with a coupon book. Women generally took control of all the family’s ration books. These consisted of flimsy coloured sheets of paper, marked T (tea), S (sugar), M (clothing) & X (stockings) Only one pair of stockings per woman was permitted every three months. Knitting wool was also rationed. Patriotic committees convened knitting groups, to make scarves, balaclavas and socks for the troops overseas. It was illegal to swap coupons, but many people did. My parents were married early in the War; Father resplendent in his Air Force uniform. Mother wore her best outfit; a cherry red woollen dress with big shoulder pads, and a cherry red broad- brimmed hat. Their wedding gifts consisted of rationing coupons, which subsidised their wedding feast, and enabled them to buy their first linen.


Food rations included 6oz of butter per person per week (except infants), 2 oz of tea per week, 6 oz sugar, and 1/9d worth of meat per week for adults, with a half rations
for children up to 5 years. Cream was not available. 3 eggs per week were rationed for children up to 5 years, & 6 a week for expectant and nursing mothers.


Such restrictions tested the women’s ingenuity in producing palatable meals. Lard rendered down and beaten with lemon juice replaced butter in shortening for baking. Pale powdered egg replaced fresh eggs in baking. Beetroot juice was used for food dye; par-boiled swedes were dyed in beet juice, and used as cherries. If one could acquire kidney fat, it was whipped with honey to supply fat for baking. People dug up their back lawns to plant vegetables and potatoes grew among the flower beds.


Of necessity, wartime influenced fashion. Each person was allowed 26 coupons for clothing every six month. A knee-length coat of tweed or garberdine took 12 coupons, a gym frock 4, and a blouse needed 4 coupons. Women wore practical dresses, with gored skirts to just below the knee, using as little fabric as possible.
Beetroot juice was used as lipstick, and young women dyed their hair with henna.(I recall my mother rubbing her lips and cheeks with a cube of cooked beetroot, and getting more on her fingers than her face.) Men’s trousers were cuff-free; their lapels were narrower than pre-war styles; and single-breasted jackets saved material. Post-war celebrations saw women copying the Christian Dior ‘new look’, with long full skirts and platform-soled shoes.
Tobacco and cigarettes were in short supply, and much desired. There was little awareness of the health risks of smoking. Pipes and roll-your-own ciggys were popular, and tobacco was sent to our soldiers abroad, in their ‘care parcels’ from home. Some doctors, themselves smokers, advised their patients to smoke to calm their anxiety! I still have the brass box imprinted with Gallipoli dates that my great grandfather received at Christmas 1914, gifted by NZ Government. Our thoughts about the dangers of smoking have surely changed.
Toilet paper was in short supply, and especially in non-flush toilets, crumpled squares of newspaper were used instead. I remember a loop of string holding newspaper wipes, hanging from a nail on the toilet door. Matches were also scarce, so twists of newsprint were used to start fires, and to light pipes and candles.

Pre-War, University of NZ exam papers were both set and marked in Great Britain. During the War, a ship was sunk which carried papers to be marked in Britain. Those candidates were made to re-sit the exams the following year. In subsequent exams, all candidates had to make carbon copies of their answers, and only the top copy was sent overseas. There was no photocopying at that time. By 1945, the system of overseas marking had been abandoned.
The end of the War saw street parties around the nation on VE Day (Victory in Europe,) 6 June 1945, and on VJ Day (Victory over Japan Day ) on 15 August, 1945. For several years later, posters continued to remind people such things as “Food is a weapon. Don’t waste it! Buy wisely, cook carefully, eat it all.
Health Camps were established for impoverished children, Sanitoriums were established to deal with Tuberculosis. Soldiers returned in poor health, suffering malnutrition. Many were traumatised, and had terrible injuries. Sadly, I never met my grandfathers, who died before I was born; casualties of two world wars. I was grateful for years with my two Grandmothers. They patiently answered my interminable questioning, and these remembrances are thanks to their experiences.
It was many years before all the restrictions imposed on Kiwis were lifted, as normal supply routes re-opened. Almost every family and community had lost loved ones during the War, and life was tough for families.
As we continue to commemorate these grim times on ANZAC Day, we pray that our young people will never again be caught up in such devastation as war. Let us also give thank for the perseverance of our women, who took up the burdens of keeping life going in the absence of their men.

Rose Francis

These Oaty biscuits are a Kiwi favourite.

I recall during the Post-War and  Depression eras my grandmother, mother and aunt used their precious rations of healthy ingredients to make batches of Anzac biscuits.

As they had done during WW1, the crisp, sweet biscuits were wrapped in paper, and carefully packed in tin boxes.  These were carefully hand-sewn in sturdy scraps of canvas or calico, and marked carefully with indelible pencils with the name, rank & number of their menfolk in War Zones.  We children, with watering mouths, were only allowed the broken bits and crumbs left over. When such parcels arrived from home, what joy and encouragement they brought 'our boys'.  Along with hand-knitted socks, mittens and scarves, Anzac biscuits became a signal of hope in dark places.

I wrote this poem to honour the faithful women who served our country so well, keeping the home fires burning, machinery working, families cared for and farms producing. businesses.


ANZAC Biscuits

Mothers of soldiers, their Grandmas and wives,
girlfriends – all fearing for their lives-
Our brave boys shipped to war far away .
Let’s send them some nourishing food today.
Planned with love.

Nutritional biscuits (Scot’s recipe)
tasty e’en after months at sea.
Home- cooked biscuits, a crispy crunch
to supplement dinner rations or lunch.
Prepared with love.

Take one cup each of finest flour,
Rolled porridge oats, so good to devour.
Add half a cup of sugar sweet.
These biscuits will be quite a treat.
Measured with love.

Drop baking soda – half a teaspoon
in boiling water; two tablespoons.
Add butter, a 7 tablespoon knob
And another of golden syrup, a glob-
dissolved with love.

Now pour this yellow liquid sweet
on dry ingredients, and then beat.
Stir well until the biscuit dough
is creamy smooth – it’s good to go.
Mixed with love.

Place spoons of mix on cold greased tray
Put in a hot stove without delay.
Cook well, ‘til flat and golden brown -
delicious treats to gobble down
Baked with love.

When cool, stack biscuits in a tin.
Pack them firm (rat-free) within.
Add a cheerful note and wrap your gift-
it’s sure to give our boys a lift.
Packed with love.

For months these tins are in the post
en route to men who need them most.
The perfect comfort we agree
to cheer our lads in Gallipoli
Sent with love.

By Rosemary Francis.

Lest We Forget

My Great Grandfather Walter Relf Pearless was the oldest man to land on the Gallipoli Peninsula. Aged 60, he had already served in South Africa in the Anglo-Boer war in 1902; for which brave service he was awarded the Queen’s South Africa Medal with 2 Clasps, and promoted to Surgeon Lieutenant Colonel. In 1914 he and his son Walter Hugh were the first men to sign up from Nelson Province. (The Memorial Gates at Wakefield were built to honour their memory, and the district gave them each a fine horse.)

Leaving Egypt, they and landed at Anzac Cove on April 25th, 1914; where Walter quickly established a Field station. Casualties were serious, with Walter’s battalion suffering 20 killed, 89 wounded and 101 missing on that first day. They moved further up the ridge, and, though wounded, Walter cared for those attacked by the Turks, with 835 casualties in Week 1. By September, severely ill from debilitating Enteritis, he was admitted to hospital in Malta; and when recovered, he headed back to Alexandria. He was the Consulting Surgeon on the Tahiti, carrying repatriated solders back to New Zealand. Walter had a few weeks to recover, before embarking on the he hospital transport ship, ‘Inverness.’ He worked at the huge transit camp at Codford, as the Senior Medical Officer. Walter returned home in 1918 serving the Medical board certifying men, mostly conscripts, fit for service overseas. Walter attempted to embark on another tour of duty, but his request was ‘firmly but gratefully declined’. His family definitely needed an income, but due to dismal paper war bungling, his ‘right of passage’ for a military pension was declined.

So, at the age of 64, and in frail health, he was faced with the rebuilding of his medical practice in Wakefield. He died, worn out and ill from his life’s activities in saving and treating others. His funeral was held with full military honours, and was one of the largest seen in Wakefield.

Three of Walter’s sons also served their country overseas, in both WW1 and WW2. His doctor son Walter Hugh also battled the influenza epidemic which swept the world with the return of troops from WW1.

WW1 had killed 16,500 New Zealanders in four years. Yet, in just eight weeks the flu wiped out another 8,600. Hugh did outstanding work, and his efforts were tireless during this pandemic as the only Doctor in a huge area.

My grandmother and her sisters were involved in growing and preparing vegetables, and cooking soups in huge cauldrons, then delivering food to suffering families around the district, using Walter Relf’s pony trap.

While hating war and the grief and pain it causes, I am proud of the courage of my ‘grandcestors.’ They were God-honouring folk who obeyed the call of their Government to fight for freedom and to protect their families. WW1 was supposed to be ‘the war that ended all war’, but people don’t seem to learn from their mistakes. Hardly a family in this country wasn’t damaged by death, maiming, and loss caused by mans’ hate, greed, arrogance, and cruel weapons of all the wars we’ve participated in.
Now, in 2020 we are in the thick of another world war. This time, not against a country, or group of people; but against a common enemy. All around the globe, scientists and medical personnel are desperately trying to defeat Covid. There are many similarities with the Spanish ‘Flu that crippled the world following the horrors of WW1.

We’re all called to do our part. Some are front-line with healing and caring for he sick. Others are part of essential services, Our heroes in the Covid war are the delivery drivers, the home care, hospital and medical people. We are grateful for the postal deliveries, the rubbish collections and unsung workers who keep our lives safe and comfortable. The rest of us have a duty too. We’re expected to reduce the risk of viral transmission by staying at home, limiting contact with others, and cheering each other on from the lonely sidelines as we try to squash the impact of the common enemy Covid. We’ve sacrificed individual freedoms for the greater good, which is what is required of us.

This is the first ANZAC Day in 102 years when the Dawn Services and Citizen’s Services have been forbidden, the annual events when we gather at the War Memorials through cities and little towns nationwide. We meet to remember those who gave their lives, and to honour the dwindling, shuffling parade of veterans. Yet, in our own bubbles, we can quietly give thanks to God for the way we have been allowed to grow up in a free country, not facing persecution for our religious beliefs. We have food, clean water, and shelter. We have a caring, responsible government, and we should all be grateful for our blessings. We can also promise to do everything within our power to bring peace to this world. That may be by sharing our bounty with those who are needy. It may be by giving of our time to help refugees adapt to life in a new country. We may feel God nudging us to offer friendship and kindness to the lonely and disabled.

This too is our ‘war effort’, and our ‘reasonable service’. God’s Word tells us that “from those who have much, is much expected.”

As we ponder the horrors of war that robbed us of so many fine people, let us be peace-makers in our community.

“Blessed are the peace-makers, for they shall be called the Children of God.”

Peace and God’s blessings,
​
Rosemary Francis

Have you ever had dry, cracked hands? Manual workers ofter have this problem. So do medical people who must use hand sanitiser frequently, to ensure they do not infect their patients.
As COVID strangles the globe, there are thousands of health workers who have dry, cracked hands; especially those who are struggling to save lives in refugee camps, mission hospitals and crowded slums.

This true story is dedicated to all of them. Back in the fifteenth century, in a tiny village near Nuremberg, lived a family with eighteen children. Eighteen! In order merely to keep food on the table for this crowd, their father, who was a goldsmith by profession, worked almost eighteen hours a day at his trade; plus taking any other paying chore he could find in the neighbourhood.

Despite their seemingly hopeless condition, two of the older Durer children, Albrecht and Albert, had a dream. They both wanted to pursue their talent for art, but they knew full well that their father would never be financially able to send either of them to Nuremberg to study at the Academy. After many long discussions at night in their crowded bed, the two boys finally worked out a pact. They would toss a coin. The loser would go down into the nearby mines and, with his earnings, support his brother while he attended the Art Academy. Then, four years later, when that brother who won the toss had completed his studies, he would support the other brother at the Academy; either with sales of his artwork or, if necessary, by labouring in the mines. They tossed a coin on a Sunday morning after church. Albrecht Durer won the toss and went off to Nuremberg.

Albert went down into the dangerous mines, and, for the next four years, he slogged and struggled, and thus financed his brother; whose work at the academy was an almost immediate sensation. Albrecht's etchings, his woodcuts, and his oils, were far better than those of most of his professors; and by the time he graduated, he was beginning to earn considerable fees for his commissioned works.

​When the young artist competed his four years of studies, he returned to his village. The proud Durer family held a festive dinner on their lawn to celebrate Albrecht's triumphant homecoming. After a long and memorable meal, punctuated with music and laughter, Albrecht rose from his honoured position at the head of the table to drink a toast to his beloved brother for the years of sacrifice that had enabled Albrecht to fulfil his ambition. His closing words were, "And now, Albert, blessed brother of mine, it is your turn. Now you can go to Nuremberg to pursue your dream, and I will take care of you." All heads turned in eager expectation to the far end of the table where Albert sat, tears streaming down his pale face He shook his lowered head from side to side while he sobbed and repeated, over and over, ”No ... no ... no."
​
Finally, Albert rose and wiped the tears from his cheeks. He glanced down the long table at the faces he loved, and then, holding his hands close to his right cheek, he said softly, "No, brother. I cannot go to Nuremberg . It is too late for me. Look! See what four years in the mines have done to my hands! The bones in every finger have been smashed at least once, and lately I have been suffering from arthritis so badly in my right hand that I cannot even hold a glass to return your toast; much less make delicate lines on parchment or canvas with a pen or a brush. No, brother; for me it is too late."

More than 500 years have passed since the Durer brothers flipped that coin.. Now, hundreds of Albrecht’s masterful portraits, pen and silver-point sketches, watercolors, charcoals, woodcuts, and copper engravings hang in every great museum in the world. Yet most people are familiar with only one of Albrecht Durer's works. You may very well have a reproduction hanging in your home or office. One day, to pay homage to Albert for all that he had sacrificed, Albrecht Durer painstakingly drew his brother's damaged hands with palms together and thin fingers stretched towards Heaven. People recognised that this drawing was a masterpiece, and renamed his tribute of love "The Praying Hands."


This touching creation has become a symbol of hope around the world.. From the hands, broken in loving sacrifice for him, Albrecht has crafted a simple, poignant , picture. Those praying hands seek God’s comfort and help, and remind us to turn to God when life overwhelms us. HE is our hope, our anchor in the storm, and He will carry us through.

Shared by Rose Francis