70 years of age

Well, today is the day. I was born 70 years ago on November 29th, 1939. I didn't really think I would get to this stage with all my mind in one piece and most of my limbs still active. Yesterday was the 40th birthday of our daughter Helen. Joan made her a wonderful quilt and we delivered it to her at her own backyard party. She loved it. Joan made a label for the back of the quilt and we hope that it lasts long enough to be a curiosity to whoever ends up with it. It is well made and should last a very long time.
I received a great present from Joan and Helen which took me by surprise. I have had a lifetime love of aircraft and our house is in a flight training path of Jandakot Airport. Their present was a one hour training flight in a Royal Aero Club Cessna. Perfect! I did however warn Joan that this could cost a lot more than the initial trial flight. If I get the bug, a private licence and subsequent flying could cost us our superannuation.
Don't think I'll take up the offer of aerobatics though.

Last night we had a family meal with my sister Shirl and my surviving brother Graham at a Chinese restaurant....cheap, good service and average food. When we returned home I had a 9.15pm phone call from a friend in NSW, Graham Egan. We knew Graham from our time teaching in Papua New Guinea. He rang to tell me that I was already 70 according to his eastern states daylight saving calculations. He also informed me that when I die, my death will occur the day before it does in Western Australia. Should somehow be able to capitalise on that?

Graham, is the ultimate wordsmith and ...in a nice way, a pedant! He kept a daily diary of his time in PNG and last night he read from his diary the entry of February 4th 1970. where he noted the fact that the new Vocational Centre teacher had arrived, one Kevin Lock, and that 5 years previously he had been at Arehava in the Gulf District of Papua. I am pleased to tell that he gave me a good/very good assessment. Graham is a walker.....the length of Great Britain, The Grand Canyon etc etc. We just hire a car! I think he will try a climb of Everest before long.

Further report on today's bash with some photos coming.

The Wedding

A couple of staff members at my school were from the Central District; one was a Motuan from around Port Moresby and the other was from Hula some 90 miles from Moresby. They were both great blokes. We had lots of fun together.

The Motuan chap fell into a relationship with a nurse from the London Missionary Society hospital a few miles away. This wasn’t supposed to happen. The girls were supposed to serve faithfully after their training, not get married and leave the mission.
I was asked to be the go-between and talk to the Rev. Stan Dewdney about my man stealing his nurse away. It wasn’t too pleasant for a while but Stan eventually gave permission and the wedding was scheduled. My man asked if he could wear my suit in the ceremony and of course I agreed. My suit had been hanging in a cupboard for some eight months and tropical fungi attached to it made it look and smell like a mushroom farm. Never-the-less we cleaned it up and he wore it on the day. I was the best man.
Wearing a black suit in coastal Papua on a sunny, humid day is pressure cooker stuff, but he did it and looked pretty good.

In the weeks leading up to the wedding the father-in-law to be travelled to Arehava and shifted in with his son-in-law to be. Tradition had it that he could take anything he wanted, so the son-in-law to be, put all his valuables and his bicycle in my place. Even so, his sheets, pillow and blanket were ripped off by his new Dad.

I must mention Stan and his lovely wife. They had been in Papua since about 1925 and I don’t think they left during WW2? Once a month I would visit the Mission to give Stan a haircut. The ritual was the same every time. As I finished his hair he would say..’Kevin, would you please do my ears?’ Stan’s ears looked like a couple of anemones and it took a strong pair of scissors to cut all the hairs. The rub was, his next comment….’You know they have only started growing like that since I’ve been in the tropics!’
Pic: Rev. Stan Dewdney sans ear hair.

The Mission station was pretty well set up. They had a gun boi (boy) who was actually a man. He shot pigeons etc and their table was always good when I stayed there. There was a price to pay though. Before and after the meal there were prayers. After the meal there were individual prayers around the circle. When it came to my turn I opted out. They knew I was born a Protestant and desperately wanted me as part of the flock. It didn’t happen!

I also stayed over at the opposition, the Catholic Mission, a couple of miles further down the road. Some stories about that later.