Paddy The Wanderer

By Dianne Haworth

A well researched and endearing non-fiction account of an amazing Airedale who captured public imagination throughout New Zealand during the Great Depression, and who is today honoured in Wellington by a statue celebrating his status as a much-loved local legend. Like Scotland's Greyfriar's Bobby, Paddy mourned the loss of his human, in his case a little mistress who died of pneumonia, but instead of haunting a graveyard, Paddy headed for the waterfront. there he became a favourite of the watersiders and seamen, not to mention the taxi and bus drivers of the Central City, who fed and protected him from dog rangers. He certainly got around - taken on board ship and crossing the tasman, travelling around coastal ports and even flying in a Gypsy Moth - not to mention the dastardly attempt to move him to Auckland by jealous Aucklanders. He was also rumoured to have made it to San Francisco and back. Formally adopted by the Harbour Board, his official title was Assistant Night Watchman responsible for Pirates, Smugglers and Rodents. On his death his funeral procession brought Wellington to a standstill. Not bad for a stray dog.

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Sep 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9780730444053

Dianne Haworth

Dianne Haworth is an award-winning journalist and author of adult sporting books and biographies, and is HarperCollins' leading local biographer. An experienced editor and journalist, she edits Animal Voice for the SPCA, and is a devoted animal lover. Paddy the Wanderer is her first work for children. Dianne was raised in the Waikato and now lives and works in Auckland.

Book preview

‘My name is Dash’

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Strayed Airedale dog, answers to the name Dash. Collar no. 501. Anyone knowing whereabouts please ring 22-784. Reward.

The Evening Post, 13 December 1928

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Bubby! Bubby! Close your eyes! I’ve brought a surprise for you!’ Alex Leitch burst through the front door of the villa at 22 Adams Terrace, laughing as he struggled to control the wriggling, twisting bundle of tightly coiled fur in his arms.

Mary Leitch brushed floury hands down the front of her apron and walked slowly into the narrow hall to greet her husband. ‘Alex! Where on earth did you get this puppy? We haven’t got room … and it looks like a pedigree dog! How could you afford such a thing for a little girl, even if it is our Bubby?’

‘Don’t worry, Mary. You won’t believe it, but I was given him for nix! Nothing at all.’ Alex beamed as he stooped and lowered the puppy to the ground. ‘Dick Roach, the manager at the Colonial Motor Company, left a message at work saying he had something special for me to collect. I think it’s his way of saying thanks for all that work I did on his house in Island Bay. He was greatly taken by Bubby when I took her over on the tram one day, and I told him how lonely she is without a little companion. So he pops up with this young rascal as a present for our granddaugher. He specially ordered him from a breeder in Christchurch, because he knew Airedale terriers are so good with children. Anyway, where is she?’

‘Don’t you remember?’ Mary reminded her husband. ‘Jock’s ship is due back in port, so Alice has taken Bubby down to the wharf to meet her daddy.’ Hmmm. Mary thought a few pound notes might have been a more welcome thank you for the family budget, but her husband’s delight was infectious and the puppy was a dear little chap, bouncing up and down like a yo-yo and tearing in mad circles around the hall floor.

She looked at the puppy again. What did that little piece of cardboard dangling on a piece of string around his neck say? My name is Dash. Oh well, Dash it would be and another mouth to feed.

It was 1927 and the Leitch family — Alex and Mary, and their grown-up children Elsie, Alice and Jack — were comfortably settled in Wellington after having emigrated from Australia. They had originally gone to Greymouth, but there was not enough work in the small mining town, so they packed up their belongings and moved to the capital.

They lived in an attractive white villa with a red-painted roof, high on a rise in the heart of the city. The family could walk or bicycle to work, and they were close to the Wellington wharves, the lifeblood of the city. With a houseful of six adults and a baby, it was a good place to live, Mary reflected as she watched the puppy slurping at his bowl of water.

Dash was a nice little fellow and his arrival would be a happy distraction from the awful tragedy their son-in-law Jock Glasgow had been involved in, which had greatly upset their daughter Alice.

Jock was second officer on the mail ship Tahiti when it had rammed into the Manly ferry on Sydney harbour three months earlier. After hearing a thunderous bang, he’d watched in horror from the stern as the passenger ferry, the Greycliffe, was cut in two. The sea was filled with people, many of them screaming for help. And then there were the bodies, bobbing up and down on the water’s surface like lifeless rag dolls.

Every officer and seaman on board the Union Steamship Company’s Tahiti was affected by the tragedy, Jock admitted. ‘Despite the official story, I reckon we were racing the ferry,’ he told his wife. ‘The ferry didn’t make the turn our men at the helm expected and cut across our bows instead. I can’t stop thinking about it, Alice. It haunts me. But I can’t keep away from the sea — it’s my life.’

Thank God for Bubby, their little daughter. Her name was Elsie Marion Glasgow, and she was the joy of their lives. Bubby was a strikingly attractive child, everyone agreed, with golden ringlets cascading down each cheek and a bubbly personality to match.

That afternoon Bubby was almost beside herself with happiness. It was the best of days — her daddy was back from sea and she’d arrived home to the best of presents, a puppy of her own!

Everyone in the family would come to love him, but for Bubby that little puppy was going to be her best friend, a companion she would play with for the rest of her life.

Jack Leitch announced to the family he would be taking Dash for ‘a walk and a sniff around the streets’ that evening. Like his brother-in-law Jock, Jack Leitch was also a seaman working as an engineer, and the pleasure of coming home on leave was now much improved by having a bouncy, fun-loving young dog around the place.

‘Hmmmph!’ Dash made his usual happy sniffing noise through his nostrils and rolled on his back for a pat on the tummy. Walk! He knew what that word meant.

Jack had taken a book on Airedale dogs on loan from the Wellington Library to learn more about the breed. One evening as the family sat around the fire, he decided it was time to educate them in the ways of Dash.

He cleared his throat and began to read aloud. ‘Listen, everyone! Here’s what the book says about Airedale terriers. They are large dogs with a harsh wiry coat, a long flat head and a deep chest. Their hair is resistant to dampness. A well-balanced Airedale stands square, with a level topline and very straight front legs. The tail is carried high and is usually docked; left undocked it should be carried gaily, but should not curl over the back. The wiry outer coat is lined with a soft undercoat and should be tan with black markings.’ Yes, his audience nodded. That was right. Dash had the classic markings and build of his breed.

‘The Airedale terrier is a strong swimmer and vermin hunter. They will usually mix well with children if they spend lots of time with them as puppies. This breed needs to feel loved and respected. They are courageous, loyal and protective, and are fairly friendly with strangers. Sensitive and responsive, Airedale terriers are fun-loving and playful when they are puppies. Without enough attention and exercise the Airedale terrier will become restless and bored and will usually get itself into trouble …’ Jack’s voice tailed off. His family was also becoming restless and bored. They certainly knew the breed was playful, they joked. Another of Alex’s slippers had just gone missing, after being chewed to bits when Dash was feeling bored and no one was taking any notice of him.

Jack read on to himself: ‘Airedale terriers are not difficult to train, but they do not respond to harsh, overbearing methods. They are intelligent enough to quickly understand what is required of them, but if asked to do the same thing over and over again they may refuse. The Airedale terrier was bred for active work, and therefore needs plenty of exercise. Try to vary their training, making it a challenge. Most of them love to play with a ball, swim or retrieve objects, and once fully grown will happily run alongside a bicycle.’

All right. He would vary Dash’s activities more and teach him to do some tricks. The puppy was bright enough and very playful — Jack would take a ball out with him next time they went down to the park and give him a swim at Oriental Bay.

His three weeks’ leave on shore was over and Jock Glasgow was preparing to return to sea. As always, Alice, Bubby and Dash accompanied him down to the docks. Their first ritual was always to greet the customs officials as they passed through the heavy wrought-iron gates at Queens Wharf.

Dash was in his element. He loved the wide open spaces and inviting smells of the wharf and the ships. It might be his master’s patch, but to Dash this was his patch too, one where he could sniff and roam in freedom, have a piddle on one of the bollards and always get lots of friendly pats and the odd piece of food slipped quietly to him from a cupped hand while Jock, Alice and Bubby were busy saying their goodbyes.

That water looked good; perhaps one day he might jump off the wharf when no one was looking and have a really big swim …

It was always sad when Daddy went away, but three-and-a-half-year-old Bubby knew she, Mummy and Dash would be waiting at the wharf when he returned to Wellington.

‘I’ll give it to you!’ Bubby aimed a playful slap at Dash, who was barking excitedly as they played their favourite game, the one where he planted his paws in front of her then leapt in the air with a big happy grin, before running away. The two raced each other, barking and yelling with happiness round the concrete backyard on the winter afternoon.

‘Dash, let’s run down the gully!’ Bubby called. Dash grinned widely, ears flying and long pink tongue hanging out as he hurtled down the hill after her.

‘Come inside, Bubby, it’s cold and it’s starting to rain!’ Her grandmother was calling from the back porch, but the child pleaded for just one more game of running through the long grass in the gully behind their house. ‘Please, Nana! Dash and I are having lots of fun.’

The next day, Bubby’s high spirits deserted her. Alice was alarmed at the sight of her daughter, who had a high flush on her cheeks and was developing a bad cough. It wasn’t like her little girl to cry and lie limply on her bed.

‘Dad, get the doctor. I think she’s getting worse.’ Alex pulled on his heavy overcoat and ran for the door.

Later that night a grave-faced doctor looked up from the little girl’s bedside. ‘It’s pneumonia, I’m afraid. Her lungs are very badly inflamed.’

She got no better. Throughout that week Bubby grew weaker and weaker until finally, on 29 August 1928, her heart gave out. Two days later, Elsie Marion Glasgow was buried in the Karori cemetery by Father Evans.

Alice and the Leitch family were heartbroken, and Jock Glasgow had to wait another three weeks until his ship returned, to comfort his grief-stricken wife.

As for Dash, he had lost the only friend he ever wanted.

Dash lay on the concrete yard at Adams Terrace, his head sunk between his front paws. Something had gone terribly wrong in his life, something he couldn’t understand.

His family no longer laughed at his pranks or threw sticks to him. He was brushed aside when he tried to lick their hands or do tricks, and told gruffly, ‘Don’t bother us, Dash.’ There were tears and sad faces where once there had been laughter and love.

Worst of all, he couldn’t find his little friend. Where was she? He’d sneaked up to her bedroom several times when no one was looking to see if she was there, but there were no fresh scents. Why had she left him?

Other little girls had come to the house with their parents and he’d been fooled a couple of times, barking for joy and pushing his way through