The New Zealand Dream Complete Series

By Sheila Smith

This is a story and account of my life so far.  The first book in "The Seeds Are Sown" is the background story, it will take you on my journey from birth, growing up in a beautiful country town, painting the background of "The New Zealand Dream."

The second book "Growth And Destruction" I move to the suburbs and discover New Zealand's underground, you will meet characters you may relate to and characters that will shock you,

I will lead you into the world that surrounded me, strangled me, and nearly killed me.

The third book "The Healing" is about how I escaped turned my life around and my healing.

I wrote these books to inspire and give hope to others, so they know they are not alone.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elise Smith
• Release date: Nov 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223748755

Book preview

Chapter One, A Safe Place To Hide

248. Chapter Two, A trip Down Memory Lane

253. Chapter Three, Rediscovering Sheila

255. Chapter Four, Adjusting

257. Chapter Five, Re Building

263. Chapter Six, Proving Myself

265. Chapter Seven, Bella’s Nightmare

269. Chapter Eight, Trip Of A Lifetime

274. Chapter Nine, Bella’s New Start

277. Chapter Ten, Reconnecting

295. Chapter Eleven, Home Sweet Home

298. Chapter Twelve, Saying Goodbye To Jasmine

301. Chapter Thirteen, Bella Steps Into Adulthood

304. Chapter Fourteen, Could He Be My Soul Mate

306. Chapter Fifteen, New Goals

307. Chapter Sixteen, The Question

309. Chapter Seventeen, Goodbye Tauranga

311. Chapter Eighteen, Surprise

313. Chapter Nineteen, Bella’s Narrow Escape

315. Chapter Twenty, A Crashing Halt

321. Chapter Twenty One, Saving Bella

323. Chapter Twenty Two, Peter’s Roller Coaster

325. Chapter Twenty Three, 2020 Gives Us The Finger

327. Chapter Twenty Four, The Planning Begins

328. Chapter Twenty Five, Conor’s Devastation

330. Chapter Twenty Six, I’ll  Miss You Tracey

332. Chapter Twenty Seven, Discovering Dad’s Secrets

335. Chapter Twenty Eight, United As One

338. Chapter Twenty Nine, Escape To The Country

341. Poem

Chapter 1

Background

I have often thought I was born in the wrong era. The music, clothing, and people that have influenced me, have attracted me, are from the 1960s and ’70s. By the time Mum decided to have a family, she had traveled the world, become a brilliant nurse, and accomplished her ambitions.

My beautiful auburn-haired mother grew up in Port Elizabeth, South Africa. Alex and Molly, my granddad and granny, had a modest tobacco and poultry farm. The farm was surrounded by nearby tribal villages. Mum shared many farm stories. She told us about solider red ants marching through the house devouring everything in sight. She remembered riding on the side runners of the old vintage car hunting for rabbits. She loved becoming a Queen’s Guide with her sister, taking Girl Guides camping. These were not peaceful times; race wars flourished and hate consumed people’s minds. Mum’s cousin was sent a package one day that blew up in her face. If you walked into the wrong shop, took the wrong bus, or showed up on the wrong street, you risked getting a gun pointed at your head, at best!

Granny loved her animals and surrounded herself with many, from chickens to cats. She would spend countless hours helping the SPCA, although not all the animals were friendly. Mum and her friends took a boat ride one afternoon. The boat capsized, and in the scramble to get a shore one of the girls was taken by a giant crocodile right in front of Mum’s nose! The croc grabbed the girl’s leg, dragged her under, and started to spin wildly. This is the death roll I’m told. She never came up again.

Granddad was a very stern, tall man who loved to fish. Having served several years in the army, he had little tolerance and a wicked temper. Granny became the peacemaker ensuring that some things were hushed up to keep Granddad from losing it. Mum told me stories of granddad’s harsh discipline. She told me that Gran and Granddad’s relationship was, at times, toxic. Secrets were kept and matters swept under the mat.

Mum had desires to become a nurse. This was not acceptable to her father; he insisted on her being a teacher and would not approve of any other plans. Mum became a teacher and taught English in neighboring villages and schools.

Around this time, apartheid had reached full swing. Arguments about who owned what land led to Gran and Grandad’s farm being claimed and taken away. All the years of hard work were gone. They lost the lot and received nothing in return. Walking away, they held their heads high.

As soon as Mum could, she left home. She was sixteen years old when she took a train out of town and fulfilled her dream of training to become a nurse. A very independent, strong, courageous, and outspoken woman, Mum traveled all over the world—Scotland, England, Jerusalem, and the Holy Land.

Now Auntie Jay was different to her identical twin. She too became a teacher, but then she joined a nunnery to concentrate on serving God. Jay soon meet an ex war veteran, Bob. She fell in love, got married, and had four children: Drew, Matt, Lyn, and Neil. There was a huge age gap between me and my cousins. Growing up alongside them was awkward. I could not fit in or join in, as I was too young to relate. I did get plenty of hand-me-downs though, and I stood out in my ’70s fashion trends in the ’80s era. Maybe that’s where I got my love for that era.

My father grew up in Yorkshire, England. The youngest of three boys, he was a slight, gentle man with a different kind of strength. They lived in a small country cottage with their troubled mother. I never got to meet my grandparents on Dad’s side, and Dad himself knew them only briefly.

During World War II, in the 1940s, his father was called away to fight for his country. Dad would tell me stories about the common bomb raids, sirens, the Nazi’s big black boots, tyranny, and danger lurking at every corner. My grandmother was left to bring up three boys by herself during a depression. She struggled with this greatly, often neglecting her responsibilities. Dad would go to the other houses at around teatime. He would sit under the table to catch any food that dropped. Often Gran was nowhere in sight or passed out drunk. It took desperate measures for the authorities to notice how dire his situation had become. They soon packed him up and sent him to a boys’ home. In those days, homes of this type were not an improvement over a poor home life. They were run by fascists and child abusers; they could often be compared to jails.

When he was sixteen years old, my father entered his dorm room one afternoon and glanced at a newspaper on a table by the door. He read the headline: Women Beaten to Death with Fireplace Poker. His father had returned from the war when Dad was eight years old, but he had had a heart attack on the airplane journey home, which killed him instantly. His mother’s problems and drinking had increased ever since. That particular night, she got into a heated argument with a man. He lashed out, whacking her over the head with the poker, killing her. This news hit Dad like a ton of bricks. No one told him or warned him. If it had not been for the paper, would he have ever known?

Chapter 2

My New Zealand Dream

With plenty of life experience under her belt, Mum sought a pen pal. Before long, she wrote to my father and they met. I have some of those letters. Mum, in announcing her engagement to Auntie Jay, described Dad as a wonderful man of God. I can hear how deeply she had fallen in love and the joy she felt. My mother was forty-two when they married in June. Dad belonged to the Salvation Army Church. He wore his uniform, and Mum had made her own wedding dress with a matching hat. Her dress was cream white with gold trim. Here started my mother and father’s New Zealand Dream.

Dad moved into Mum’s small one-bedroom flat in Napier, New Zealand, close to Ocean Beach. Mum was close to her sister, Jay and her family and had regular contact, as they lived nearby. Before long Mum became pregnant with me. My parents were so excited and overjoyed! I can see this in my mother’s letter to her mother, who was still in South Africa. Due to my mother’s advanced age, there was concern for my development, and it was not a straightforward pregnancy. Mum was told to take it easy as she’d had miscarriages before me and did not want to lose her precious cargo. A cesarean was the way to give birth at Mum’s age. When I was born, I did not breath straight away, so I was incubated for three days. Much to Mum and Dad’s relief, I soon started to fight and began to breath on my own. Mum and Dad named their little girl Sheila, and this is when my New Zealand Dream begins.

Mum and Dad got a flat by the beach in Napier. I recall from one photograph what this looked like. The house was up a winding hill tightly snuggled against neighboring houses. The house was white weathered board with a red trim on the eves. The front door was a ranch slider that opened into the lounge area. There was an open-plan kitchen at the back and a bedroom to the right next to a poky little shower-and-toilet cupboard. The flat was decorated in retro seventies style with large green-and-yellow flower-print curtains, dark green-blue carpets, and a brown-and-white floral couch. Because Mum and Dad’s flat was so tiny, my cot had to fit in the small space between their bed and the wall.

Dad had to tippy-toe around my mother in order to hide the fact that he smoked. He managed this by taking long walks on the beach. Dad struggled to live with Mum. Amongst her many strengths, we suspect lay much deeper problems. Too often my mother would not admit when she needed help. This included her physical and mental health. Mum would experience strange mood swings, violent rages, and depression. For those who interacted with her on a daily basis, isolation and loneliness were the heavy consequences of this. Maybe it was this that caused the terrible event later in my childhood.

My dad had no idea what a family looked like, who a father should be, or even how to love. Growing up in a state boys’ home had left him without a clue. I remember him this telling me later in life, on his death bed, as I held his hand, in-between fountains of blood. I’m his family. I’m all he has left. It took him till I was well into my thirties to see that he had a family.

Mum told me a story about Auntie Jay. One wet morning at this flat, she slipped and fell with me in her arms! To avoid dropping me, she took the fall, skinning the entire length of her legs. Her little niece, Sheila, was very dear to her. Her own children were already much older, in their teens.

Mum and Dad bought a large section of land in a little town called Clive, a farming town on the North Island in Hawkes Bay. It was a typical beautiful country setting of rolling meadows and green pastures. It was the setting of their New Zealand dream. Clive was a classic small town; everybody knew everyone’s business. They built a three-bedroom house and painted it dark blue. A giant walnut tree stood in the yard. Its strong branches cradled a beautiful tree house just for me. I even had a tire swing. My bedroom was all light pink and white. A pink homemade patchwork quilt that Mummy made lay on my bed, and pink wallpaper covered the walls. Pink was my favorite color. I even had a pink dress with white lace that I wore on special occasions such as church and family gatherings.

Mum drove a turquoise Datsun sedan, her favorite color. Dad loved to ride his motorbikes. He had a shiny red one and a dark-blue and black one. I thought they looked really cool—like they belonged to people in the movies. I was too small to ride on the back of Dad’s bikes, so he would give me pretend rides while I sat on his lap. Sometimes I pretended I was riding a motorbike; other times I pretended I was on a horse.

There was another member of our family—a white-and-ginger, short-haired cat called Topsi. One day Topsi ran away and never came back. Mum said she got tired of me pulling her tail!

In our house, a ranch slider opened onto the patio. Beyond the patio steps was Mum’s precious rose garden. Before I could walk, I used to make quick getaways in my walker. One particular getaway sent me crashing, smashing through the glass doors of the ranch slider straight into Mum’s beautiful roses! I gave Mum such a fright that day, but I didn’t get one single cut or graze on me. Mum has since told me that I have a guardian angel watching over me.

The house was in the middle of a row of other family houses down a long driveway. Our neighbors included Ruth (also known as Ruthie), Melanie, Robert, and George with his wife, Quin. Ruth was a large girl—fat as my father would. She was about four years older than I. George was a quiet man, and Quin was the troublemaker. Quin was an elderly woman with white short hair tightly permed. She wore glasses that balanced on the tip of her nose. I only ever saw glimpses of her through the fence or behind her curtains. Mum and Quin hated each other. They were always yelling abuse of some kind from either side of the fence. I caught Quin pouring her old porridge over my dog’s grave one day. I made sure to hide when she was about.

We had neighbors who lived across the drive from us, Cecily and George. They were a kind, friendly, elderly couple. George and my dad had a close relationship, and they talked often. Dad and I would have cups of tea with them using real china cups and saucers like ladies do. This was a novelty for me. Cecily had long white hair that she tied in pigtails then plated. The two of them had a smelly chicken farm. Cecily would take me to feed the chooks and collect their eggs. I got to hold a baby chicken. It was so soft and fluffy, but it really needed a bath. Mum did not approve of this friendship. One night, George visited our house. He carried colored cards with him and promptly asked Mum if she wanted to buy them. Mum screamed at him, Get out of our house! Apparently, these cards were used for gambling, which was a no-go in our Christian household. The visits never happened again.

Mum worked all day at the hospital as a midwife delivering babies. She was hardly ever home. While this career required a lot of concentration and time on Mum’s part, she always made time for me. She sewed lovely dresses for me to wear, and she made beads, which she baked in the oven and then turned into necklaces or earrings. A hobby of ours was to pick and bottle fruit together. Clive was full of magnificent fruit trees. Visits to pick-your-own fruit orchards were common outings for us. We went for peaches, nectarines, plums, strawberries, boysenberries, grapes, and of course apples of all varieties. Mum would make delicious jams and preserves with the pickings, or she would bottle the fruits for winter eating.

While Mum was at the hospital, Dad stayed at home looking after me till he got a job as a cleaner at Wattie’s (Heinz Wattie’s Limited). This lifestyle often put up rifts that caused arguments between Mum and Dad. Mum did not think Dad was doing a good job looking after the house and me while she was working. Things always had to be done my mother’s way, or she would do the job again claiming it was not done well enough. They would argue till the cows came home. Physical abuse was rare; there was only one minor incident when Mum pushed Dad down the hall. I felt sorry for Dad; he would look so sad at times. He tried to hide it behind the twinkle in his eye, but at only four years old, I could still tell. Mum would scare me a lot when she got angry with Dad. Her yelling was pretty loud. I would run outside into my tree house. The neighbors would hear them and would peep over the fence. I felt embarrassed. I loved my mother so much, and I could not understand how to stop her from becoming upset. Neither could Dad. Even at that young tender age, I wished I could fix things and we could be happy.

The arguments were so petty. I recall one disagreement over beans. Yup, Dad thought he’d surprise Mum and prove to her that he helped out round the place. He planted some beans in our bountiful vegie patch. The rows were laid out in perfectly straight lines with stakes ready to support their growth. It took him most of the day. We were excited to show Mum the result of his hard work when she got home. Well, when Mum came home, she wasn’t happy. Dad’s plan backfired. She was furious because she believed the project was something they should have done together.

Dad used to spend hours escaping in a room attached to our downstairs garage. He’d record tapes there—tapes of updates to overseas family and friends. He also recorded music for the church. I have one of these tapes. He recorded me with him and Mum. I was two or three years old. This specific tape includes Mum speaking of hoping for a peaceful Christmas, me singing Three Blind Mice and talking about of some of my favorite books and TV shows—The Basil Brush Show, Mister Ed, Noddy, and the stories of Pooh Bear. I talked about meeting Father Christmas for the first time, and then I thanked Grandma Pris for Polly Anna, a dolly companion of mine. I talked about finding a purple soft-toy bunny (a new member of my soon vast soft toy collection) with its head off. Listening to this tape as an adult now gives me a bittersweet feeling. I feel the innocence in my voice. I can still hear the love in my Dad’s voice as he spoke to Mum. Mum’s voice sounds bubbly and hopeful, with a hint of disappointment. The tape reminds me that, at these early beginnings, there was a lot of happiness. That is the sweet part. Knowing what follows is the bitter part. Mum speaks of play center Christmas celebrations with Auntie Jay, Auntie Jay riding her bike to come and see us, and Lyn, my cousin, having a bike crash. The recordings indicated the cousins and Auntie were still close to us at that stage and keeping regular contact.

When Dad and I weren’t recording tapes, he would play his guitar and sing to me about a dog called Blue. He’d sing How Much Is That Doggie in the Window? And there was another song about a lady called Aunt Roddie. I would cry a lot when he sang about Blue because he dies at the end of the song. Dad had a special nickname for me, an abbreviation of my middle name, Elise. He called me Lessie. I was Daddy’s little girl, the apple of his eye.

Auntie Jay lived on a large estate in sought-after Havelock North. They had pet lambs on their vast section. I felt the closest to Aunty Jay; I hardly ever saw my uncle. Auntie Jay was always the one to visit and take an interest in me. As for my four cousins, they were much older than I—by ten years or so—and lived their own lives.

Mum’s friend, Pris, lived in South Africa. She was like a mother to my Mum, giving her advice. They wrote to each other about their problems. Mum felt that it was important to keep in touch with her. I did not know her; I only ever saw photos. She was an elderly lady, round with short white hair and glasses.

Mum and Dad would regularly send packages to Mum’s mother, Gran, in South Africa with tape recordings so she did not feel left out. We were excitedly waiting for her to come to New Zealand. Gran would send goodies wrapped up in brown paper tied with string. Inside were knitted items and yummy South African sweets. I remember being so excited when we picked up the parcels from the post shop.

We had a visit from Aunty Prim one day all the way from South Africa. Prim was not really my aunt; Mum just told me to use that term. I did not know her, and that was the only time I met her. Prim looked like a man. She had short black hair and skin darker than mine. Actually, her skin was much darker than anyone else’s. I was used to seeing skin that was a soft caramel color. Prim was also tall and lean. She would call me strange names such as skulam and stink bug. Mum thought this was funny, but the names made me feel uncomfortable. I do not even know what a skulam is!

Dad and I had a special place that we called our little world. This place was so special. When my mother started to get upset and yell loudly, Dad and I often felt very down and sad. At these moments we would go for long walks in the beautiful country setting. The place we ended up in we called our little world. It was a grassy hilltop. We would sit under our shady tree and look out over a still lake. We would sit there after our long walk, inhaling the peace, gazing at the water, skimming stones. I remember asking Dad why Mum was so often so upset. He could never answer that.

Often on our way to our little world, depending on the season, we’d pick up feijoas that had fallen onto the path. These are soft, sweet, green fruits that are sometimes called pineapple guavas. Well, one particular time a snobby neighboring lady took offense. She growled at us and said they were hers. Dad, with his gentle sense of humor, turned to her and said, Ompa, ompa, stick them up your jumper! We made a little song of this as we pranced away. You should have seen her face! Priceless.

Clive had a small fish-and-chip takeaway joint that was within walking distance from where we lived. Every Friday night, Dad and I would walk to this shop and buy tea. Outside the chip shop were two large cartoon fellows holding the chip sign. They always made me smile.

The creature I looked forward to seeing the most on our walks was Macey. Macey was a gorgeous tan-and-white horse with a long white main. I enjoyed stroking Macey and feeding her grass from the side of the road. One sad day, Macey mistook my long blonde hair for hay. She bit down hard on my ear! Dad raced me home. There was blood everywhere, as ears bleed a lot I’m told. Mum took one look and banned us from visiting Macey ever again. I cried my eyes out.

I spent countless hours in the walnut tree in our backyard, climbing and hanging out in my tree house. I hosted tea parties or played school with my dolls and teddies. All the dolls got to eat walnuts with me. I had an enormous doll collection; they were my most special friends. Shelly had black hair, Penny had blonde hair, and Prissie was bald because she was still a baby.

I was mad about the Mr Men books and Little Miss books by Roger Hargreaves. I had the entire series. I also had a Mr Men poster that reached across a whole wall. I loved to read about Mr Skinny and how he could eat only one baked bean before he was too full and Mr Noisy who was always yelling and had to learn to speak softly.

The next place anyone could have spotted me was in the water. We had a large Para Rubber pool that Mum and Dad built from scratch. The water was well over my head, so I had to wear flutter wings on my arms and hold onto my close pal, Ducky, to keep safe. Ducky was a big bright purple-and-white inflatable duck. She saved me from going under many a time. One time, though, Ducky was nowhere in sight. Dad was supposed to be holding my hands, but I’d slipped out of his grasp and was quickly sinking. Dad grabbed my arms from under the water and swept me up to the surface in a huge hurry. With his shining eyes and a grin from ear to ear, he said, Good girl! You did it!

Did what?

You went under the water!

This was my first experience learning to swim. I wasn’t much scared that day (the weed eater scared me more), as I knew Daddy would get me up.

One thing that did scare the crap out of me were weird noises coming from Mum and Dad’s bedroom at night! These sounds were loud—they woke me up. I’d best compare the dreadful sound to that of an angry bull. My father—boy, he could snore the roof off.

In our lounge was a large glass china cabinet in which Mum kept all the things she had collected while overseas traveling. There was a Spanish dancer, an African lady with her baby, beaded glass bottles, a well-dressed English gentleman and his lady, a Loch Ness monster, camels, and wooden elephants. I loved to sing and dance. One day when I was dancing around the room, I accidently put my leg through Mum’s cabinet door, smashing the glass and a lovely white vase decorated with pink flowers. Boy, was I sorry! My leg was cut and it stung like crazy. Mummy fixed it all up, as she was a nurse.

I would dress up often pretending to be my mother or a fairy. Mum sewed for me a white nurse’s dress with a red cape and cross on the front and a matching white hat—the kind of uniform nurses wore in the sixties and seventies. I looked just like my mummy when I wore that outfit.

When Mum said I was old enough, I started to go to kindergarten—kindy as I called it. The kindy I went to was in Havelock North. I remember dressing up there too, as a butterfly with shiny blue wings attached to my arms or a princess with full, puffy pink lace skirts. We did other things there too—painting, story time, and playing on the castle-shaped fort outside. I used to pretend to be the queen. I’m the queen of the castle! Everyone else was a dirty rascal. Right from the start of my educational years, I felt I did not fit in or belong. I kept to myself in my own fantasy world.

When I turned four, Mum and Dad brought me a playmate. Her name was Mitzy. She was a little pug-cross puppy, and I loved her with all my heart. I played with Mitzy every day, taking her for walks and throwing a ball for her to catch. She was my first best friend.

As I mentioned earlier, our house was on a long driveway that we had to share with our neighbors. The driveway went right down the end past Ruth’s house, past Robert’s house. And round a corner lived Melanie. We did not see them much as their house was a little hidden. Well, one day I was sitting on the loo doing my thing, and the door barged open. There stood Melanie’s mum. She was crying, and blood was dripping from her hands. She started reeling strand after strand of loo paper off the roll and wrapping her hand. I could hear Mum yelling at her, but I could not make out what she was saying. I jumped off the loo and headed off to play with my bestest friend. As soon as I entered the dining room, I knew something was terribly wrong. Everyone looked so sad sitting there staring at me gapping. Melanie’s mum started telling Mum how she tried to pick Mitzy up and got bitten. The penny sank. That witch had run over my friend! I screamed and ran off to my room. I must have cried all night as my eyes were all red and sore the next day! We had a funeral for Mitzy that day and sang a song I had learned in Sunday school. I’ll see you in heaven, my best friend. We buried her by some pink flowers next to Quin’s fence.

A few weeks later, the witch came over again with a present for me! With a giant pink bow around her neck, Mitzy number two looked the same as my first friend, but I knew she wasn’t! We didn’t get on as well. She was a grumpy dog who snapped at me if she did not want to play.

Life was full of ups and downs. I quickly learnt this. For example, bees sting and it hurts a lot, including black-colored bees. Tipis can blow down in strong winds, and mums forget things sometimes. With Mum having so much to do—she had a lot on her plate—sometimes life simply went wrong.

By now I had turned five and started school at Clive Primary. I bounced off to school one morning with my leather satchel strung over my shoulder. All bright and chirpy, I’d greet everyone who crossed my path politely. The lawn mower man—as I called him—on his giant noisy tractor, pulled up alongside me. There is no school today, young lady, he said. Best you run all the way back home now, you hear me? He frightened me so much, especially with the noise of the tractor. I did run all the way back home; I did not stop once.

School soon became far from the happy experience it had first been. I lashed out a lot, and my favorite time of day was naptime. I struggled to make friends, and naturally my school experience led to me bulling others and making their lives hell!

I hated sports, especially cross-country day. I sat on the field refusing to run because I was tired. All the cheering still did not make me move. I had begun to put on a lot of weight, and I was self-conscious and jealous of prettier girls. I did anything to get back at them—I stole their hair clips and made them cry.

By now, Dad’s smoking habit was fully out in the open. This caused more fights between Mum and Dad. Dad left his cigie on the edge of the table still burning one afternoon. I was sitting on his knee, and I leaned over, grabbed the cigie off the table, and took a puff! Ah yuk! I yelled racing to the kitchen for a drink of juice to get the taste out of my mouth.

Back in those days, we had dial telephones. There were no cell phones or even cordless phones. To make a call, you had to wind the numbers round the circle to dial. I kept asking Mum to call someone so I could dial the phone. It would drive her nuts, and I loved it! Sometimes when Mum was not looking, I’d make prank calls, asking the person if her fridge was running and pretending it was running down our street. I’d laugh my head off.

Dad disappeared. He often wasn’t home. I do not recall being told, but my daddy, it seemed, had moved out and lived at another place, leaving just the two of us. Mum would still have to work at the hospital, so babysitters started to come over to look after me. I despised them all. The worst one was Garry, a cleaner from the hospital. Simply put, he was slimy. I could not trust him to stop the trolls at the end of my bed from biting my feet at night. They were mean. If my feet touched the bottom of the bed, the trolls would bite them hard. Garry insisted I gave him a kiss good night. This made me cringe, but I did so. He’d kiss me back with big sloppy wet lips—so gross! I hated him. I always wiped his kiss off my wet cheek as hastily as I could, so I would not offend him. It was no use as he told my mum. She thought I was rude, and as a consequence, I got punished for nothing. It was so very unfair!

Chapter 3

Now There Are Three Again

One day as I was sitting in the lounge room recording myself singing on Dad’s tape recorder. I used to do that a lot.

Mum, I want a brother—someone to play with. I told her. I remember it clearly still to this day. I was five years old, Dad had moved out, and it was Mum and me.

We took a drive into town. About twenty minutes from Clive, close to town, was a stony beach with a marine parade. This was a favorite picnic spot. The parade had attractions such as dolphin shows, an aquarium, a miniature museum called Lillie Putt, a round fountain with a gold statue of a lady (I would go swimming there butt naked!), a golf course, a clock made of real flowers, and a neat little playground. In the playground there was a giant turtle made of stones all stuck together. I loved to climb on it. And I loved it when Mum pushed me on the swings really high.

After I had played that day, we were going to see a lady called Glender. I zipped up my red puffer jacket as it was getting cold, and I climbed into the car. Glender’s house was old with a lot of art deco character. Mum and Dad started to talk.

I was quickly distracted because I could see a little baby on the carpet crawling around. He looked like a boy. He was wearing a yellow stretch-and-grow, and he had tanned skin and golden hair. I wondered who he belonged to as Glender was too old to be his mother. I watched this cute little boy in awe, being careful not to hurt him. His cheeks were chubby, his hair was wavy, and I wanted to take him home with us immediately! He would make the bestest little brother ever, I thought. I’m ganna ask Mum. I turned to look for Mum, but she wasn’t in the room! I heard her voice coming from the dining hall. I headed off to ask her if we could take the baby home. As I approached, Mum said, Sheila, shall we take Meryvn home to our place?

Yes, Mum! (I can’t believe it! She knew what I wanted most!)

Would he make a good playmate?

Oh, yes, Mum! The bestest!

So it was settled. We took Meryvn to our house, and I had a new brother. Mum had a talk with Dad. She did not like the name Meryvn, so we decided to call him Peter. Peter was three months old.

Peter and I were great friends most of the time, except when he got to swing in my tire swing, even though I could not fit in it anymore. Peter got to wear some of my clothes, too, that were too small for me. He wore my favorite overalls with 3 kg written on the front in light blue. Peter got to sleep in a cot in his own room at the top of the hall. Peter got to drink out a of bottle. He got everything! We always knew when he’d finished drinking his bottle as he would throw it against the wall. Even though he often smashed the glass, he never got in trouble!

The best thing besides fruits in Hawke Bay were the beaches. The sand was lovely for making castles. We enjoyed picnics, swimming, and playing on the Billy Goats Gruff bridge. In the bush area next to the kindy playground at the beach was an old rickety bridge. Dad would hide nearby pretending to be the troll in the bush. Peter, Mum, and I were the three Billy Goats Gruff. We would act the story out just as it was told in the book I had at home. Mum and Dad still saw each other and kept a close relationship, mainly for us kids. Dad got to come on picnics and camping trips, and we stayed at his house when Mum was working as Peter got older.

There were excellent camping sites within a short distance out of town. My earliest memory of a campsite was one located in a town called Waipukarou near a beach. We had an enormous green tent with plenty of room for Dad’s stretcher (camp cot) along with Mum’s, mine, and Peter’s. Dad broke his leg putting up a stretcher one season. He had to go to hospital, and I was so worried about him. I slept with my yellow teddy called Dogie to comfort me. Peter slept in his green sleeping bag with his plastic bottle tucked in half under him as he was still so small (my mother had given up using glass bottles). I liked camping as we got to eat outside under the umbrella and swim in the paddle pool all day because it was so hot. It was nice, too, that other campers came and joined in.

I do remember not listening to Mum and wandering off. I got stuck in some gooey sand that was swallowing me up—sinking sand! Luckily, Dad had gone looking for me, and he got me out before Mum found out. I never wandered off alone again. It took ages to get the sticky mud washed out of my long blond hair, and I never did find my other shoe.

My mother, whose beautiful auburn hair was now a smoky gray, needed to be closer to the hospital for work. She told us we needed to sell the house. This made me sad, as I’d miss my room and our little world especially. The people who bought our house told Mum they had to have a discount as the walnut tree was blocking the sun and they would have to cut it down! Oh no! My tree hut would be broken! These people were big fat meanies! Mum did give them a discount, and you know what? To this day, the old walnut tree still stands proud. I wonder if my tree house is still there.

Chapter 4

Moving to the Bronx

All of us—Mitzy number two, Peter, Mum, and me—left our beautiful country home and moved closer to the city. Our new home was in a subdivision called Green Hills. Mum bought a yellow-and-white house with three bedrooms and an inground swimming pool. This house was on a street that was within walking distance of school.

We adopted some more pets because, when Dad left, he left a big hole that needed filling with love. There was a cat called Puss who was black with a white belly, and a rabbit called Patches who was brown and white. She had babies called Salt and Pepper—until Patches decided to eat her bunnies. We also had a yellow canary, whom I named Goldie, who sang very well.

My new bedroom was smaller than my old one. It was still nice. It was not pink; rather, it was decorated with wallpaper that had pink flowers on a white background. Peter’s room was much bigger than mine; he had two beds called bunk beds.

Straight across the road opposite our house was the Blue House (Peter and I named it). The people who lived there kept lots of old cars and motor bikes outside their house. They also had a dog—a German shepherd—who was a growling, vicious dog named Satan! If I went to our letter box to collect the mail, he would charge out snarling, frothing at the mouth, teeth bared, barking at me, chasing me all the way back up our driveway!

On the left side of the fence lived the twins, Corrina and Charmain. We would play marbles together. Corrina was a champion at karate. We had tea at their house one night; Mum was not there.

Tracy’s house was down at the end of the driveway. Her family hosted heaps of parties that were really loud. They called the cops if Mum was too loud yelling at us, yet they partied all night making it hard to sleep. Tracy’s face was covered in burns, but I never knew how she got them.

To the right side of the fence lived a very large, round, friendly lady from the islands. She always said hello to me.

Mum joined a pen pal club and started to write letters again to men. I guess she had started to get lonely. The first guy I remember meeting was an Italian whom we called Uncle Pepe. We visited Pepe in Auckland. He was annoying because he was always pinching my ass. We did get to go to the zoo, though. That was the best because I got to see lions for the first time.

––––––––

Peter would play army with his GI Joes and other army men. I would have tea parties with my dolls. We had these parties inside the bushes sitting on cushions. Sometimes Mum would give me real sugar lumps, and I would use them to sweeten the tea for my dolls. We always used china teacups and saucers.

When I wasn’t pretending to be a posh lady with my dolls, Peter and I would build forts out of couch cushions and cover them with blankets. This we used as an army base. We dressed up as solders with army paint on our faces for camouflage. We would try to raid each other’s bases. Peter would kidnap my dolls as hostages. We used sticks and small stones as our ammunition.

Mum still found the time to sew a lot for us, and this saved a lot of money. Mum made us fluro-colored shorts and tank tops, as those bright colors were the latest fashion. She made PJs and nighties too. The best dress I remember Mum making took her a lot of time. I wore this dress only for special occasions and church. It was so pretty—light gray in color with tiny little pink flowers, lace, and a purple ribbon to tie as a bow at the back. It was my favorite till I stopped liking girlie dresses.

I remember going to a new kindy in the days before primary started. I played in the sandpits, built things with Legos, and made puzzles. When we stopped going, I asked Mum why I was not allowed at kindy anymore. She told me that I had been too mean to the other kids, and I had been kicked out!

I had to go to a new school—Green Hills primary. It was much bigger than my country school in Clive. Peter was so lucky he did not have to go to school yet.

As Peter and I grew older and he too started school, I had a bit of company walking or biking to school. Even in the rain, this was what we did most days. I would try to look after my brother at school, but he preferred to do his own thing and make his own mates.

I fondly recall being excited to get brand-new school supplies at the start of each year. Peter and I would carefully individually wrap each book in different colored Duraseal. We’d name all our pencils and pens by carving our initials into them. And we’d stick subject stickers of cartoon characters to the front of our books.

I did not like school one little bit! I had become a very big girl; my weight had plummeted out of control. It did not help that my mother had passed on her emotional eating habits to me, using food as bribes to behave and rewards for good behavior. My social skills were lacking. I didn’t have a good example to follow. Because or Mum and Dad’s behavior, picking up on social cues was hard for me. I became angry and adopted a hard-done-by attitude. I hated it when other children were happy and I was not; it did not seem fair. I continued my bullying antics and got into trouble almost every day.

We got to go camping every year, and sometimes we’d take our friends along. They lived across the road. I’ll tell you more about them soon. We would stay up all night talking and playing games such as dare, truth, command, or torture. When it was your turn, you had to choose which option you’d use to answer a question honestly. A question might be, do you have a crush on (fill in the blank!)? You might have to obey a command, tell the truth, take a dare, or be tortured! One of these dares became dangerous. We ended up setting the sand dunes on fire! The fire trucks came we were grounded forever!

At Cliffton Beach, we took tractor rides to see the gannet colonies. We had to hold on tight to the back of the tractor as it was a bumpy ride. Gosh those birds stank! I thought the black swans at Lake Tuteria were the prettiest birds I’d ever seen, and we made that our favorite spot. By now we had a pop-up camper called Bunny with a large awning. For this trip, we had a blow-up rowboat to use on the lake. We’d received it for Christmas, and we had so much fun, up until the swans got grumpy and tried to nip the boat.

One night, other campers were drinking alcohol and started to fight outside our pop-up. Mum had to take the camper down in the dark and zoom us home. It was too scary to go back there.

Mum was clever in using reward systems such as loyalty cards. She would collect points to spend or get cheap accommodation deals. Mum took us on a trip to Taupo. We stayed in a motel with a spa pool pretending we were rich, living the good life. Our favorite spot in Taupo was the DeBretts Hot Springs. Visitors could choose which pool they wanted. They went from warm to hot to hottest. It was all-natural spring water, and I always felt so good after swimming there. My muscles and the rest of my body did not hurt as much for the rest of the day.

Dad lived in many different flats after he left us. He worked as a cleaner for a while, and then in a computer store selling software. Mum could get staff sales from Dad’s work—heaps of cheap cans of food—because Dad got a discount. Later, Auntie Jay also worked there and got discounts for us.

One of his flats was attached to a tall, dark, and spooky two-story house like the sort of houses ghosts hang out in. Dad still looked after us when Mum went to work. Mum would drop us off with cooked meals on her way to work and pick us up late in the night after her night shift. Wrapped in blankets, we would sleep in the car on the way home.

Dad loved to play a computer game called Dungeons and Dragons. It had castles and monsters and lots of fighting and a weird diamond-shaped dice. While Dad was busy at night playing his game on the computer, Peter and I would sit in front of the TV. We’d sit up late watching the Sunday horrors—shows such as Kujjo, Psycho, The Birds, and The Swarm. The scariest movies were the Omen series. These gave me nightmares; I did not want to go to sleep.

Peter and I used to get bored a lot, and we’d get up to mischief. One day we decided to re-enact a particularly gory horror scene we had seen on TV. First, we found an axe, and then we got hold of some red paint. We snuck into the garage and messed it up a bit by trickling blobs of red paint all over the walls and floor. We placed the axe carefully over a saw bench and poured more blood over that too. We stood aside admiring our handiwork. It was horrific! When the neighbor gets back, she’s ganna think someone was murdered right here! Peter said with a laugh. Dad was not happy with us; I do not recall a punishment though.

Sometimes when Mum had time, she would pack a picnic to take to Dad’s. Dad would take us to the most amazing park. Walking through Fantasy Land was like walking through fairy tale story books—the old woman in the shoe, Noddy, Peter pumpkin eater. We could take a train ride, and we could see Sleeping Beauty’s castle and Captain Hook’s pirate ship. The pirate ship was surrounded by water. We had to cross a bridge to hop aboard. One time I slipped and got my Jandels sandals stuck in the mud. The mud swallowed them up when Dad had to pull me out. Mum was not impressed that I’d lost my Jandals.

Often things seemed to go wrong when Dad looked after us. We were once enjoying a treat at a McDonalds restaurant. When we were playing in the playground, I fell off the top of the swing set and hurt my ankle. Dad growled at me because I was not meant to be climbing way up there. As we struggled to walk—I was hobbling—home, a man driving past saw us and felt sorry for us. He gave us a ride in his car back to Dad’s place. Once again, Mum was unhappy to find out what had happened.

Next to Dad’s flat was a great park called Ebbit Park. It was full of huge trees that were great for hiding in when we played stone wars. A fierce storm came one night causing lightening to hit one of those magnificent trees, splitting it in two. This made the best hiding place to use as our lookout.

On the opposite side of the park lived Nigel. He was so cute. He had soft, wavy, brown hair and green eyes. We would hang out playing war games using stones as ammunition whenever we could, re-enacting our favorite movie scenes.

Dad never had much money. I think that is why Mum brought our food to Dad’s house. The best things ever I remember Dad buying me were coloring books. I had a lot of coloring books, and I would spend hours coloring, especially in church. One of my favorites had My Little Pony pictures, and I got a pink toy mouse and a pink-and-purple people eater from the A&P Show. Don’t worry—that was the name of a soft toy I liked.

We went to the A&P Show every year. It was fantastic. There were many stalls with carnival food, crafts, animals. There was an area for rides such as a roller coaster, the Octopus, the Gravitron, the Explorer, a haunted house, and a ghost train. Peter and I would save up all year to go on the rides.

We enjoyed a lot of picnics. Mum would bring cold meats and salads. We’d have dinner at the park, lunch on the beach, or fish-and-chip night at home.

One of these parks was called Cornwell Park. I liked it there because of the beautiful gardens, tall statues of lions to climb on, and birds to visit. My favorite was a cockatoo called Mate who could say, Hello, Mate.

At Dad’s flat on a street called Buller Street, Peter and I spent one Halloween. Dad had not planned anything and was on the computer as usual. Soon Peter and I got bored. We were jealous of other kids going up and down our street, dressing up, trick or treating, and getting lollies galore. I came up with a plan. Peter and I went door knocking and tricking people into giving us donations for our school. Of course, we were lying. Soon we had heaps of cash and lollies. (We were rolling in it!) Mum and Dad never found out.

Dad had to move from there soon after that as there was a huge fire that destroyed the old backpacker hostel close by. Dad was not home at the time.

A huge aquatic center was built in town at around that time. It was so flash! There were four pools: a paddle pool, a medium pool, a large pool, and a diving pool. The divining pool was really, really deep. There were two low divining boards and one super-high divining board. I had a terrible fear of heights, but I decided to try to conquer that fear head on. I had completed my life saving certificate at school, and I knew I could swim. My first attempt at jumping from the high board I remember clearly. The ladder was at least three stories high. I stood in line at the bottom and looked up. My skin turned to goose bumps as sun glared down on me, obstructing my vision of the top. Oh, shit. My turn.

I reached out and grabbed hold of the ladder. My hands were slippery. Sweat and water beaded down my body. I tried to lift my feet to climb, but they felt like blocks of concrete refusing to cooperate with my brain. People behind me grew impatient calling out to me. Come on! Hurry up! What’s the matter? She must be chicken!

That’s all I needed! No one calls me chicken! I’ll show them chicken! Slowly, my feet climbed to the first step, then the second. At about the halfway point, I could feel my insides doing flips. My throat was dry, and I wanted to cry. My legs started to shake. They felt like melting jelly as the sun relentlessly beamed down. My hands too began to shake. I felt unsteady, as if I was going to fall any minute! I sat on the step. I saw Peter. He was calling out to me to hurry up, You got this, sis!

I took a deep breath,