MEMORIES

We all have memories of the time we had in the band. The purpose of this page is to get these memories down in writing and to share them with others.

If there is anyone out there that would like to contribute, just click on the area below and submit your story. We would like to keep them reasonably short and suggest no more than approx 150 words maximum..

"The band contest that sticks in my mind, probably because it was one of the first that I attended was the Wanganui Contest in 1953, you will see a photo of this under the band photos. I remember we stayed at the Federal hotel, we had a midnight "Pajama parade" we walked through the police station and we all had a few VERY late nights or more correctly "Mornings". The next day the famous British band identity, Harry Mortimer, who was the contest adjudicator conducted our band in the park opposite as a demonstration.

It was Ernie Franklin's last contest and I still have vivid memories of one of our "Senior" players (mentioning no names) appearing through a trapdoor in the veranda (where all us young boys were sleeping ??? ) at about 5 am in the morning.

It was a contest with many memories and the band did well by winning the "C" Grade Aggregate. All in all a very memorable contest."

"In the late 1960s someone came up with the grand idea of having a jar night after practice on the last Wednesday night of each month. In those days beer for drinking at home was often bought in bulk a half-gallon jar. There was an entire industry built up around the kiwi custom of taking home a “half-g”, as it was frequently called. The Band enthusiastically embraced this monthly jar night idea and it became a regular feature for many years.

Colin Rodgers, solo horn, solo euphonium, solo cornet and solo a lot of other things may well have been the originator of the idea. He certainly led the charge from time to time. Colin had this splendid habit, after a few beers, of rocking up and down on his toes whilst making a wonderful ‘uuurrr” noise in the back of his throat. This sound is very difficult to write down, but once heard is never forgotten. Those who were there will be able to reproduce the sound as they read this sentence. Very quickly, all around copied this noise and movement. It was nothing to see thirty or so men (no women in those days!), standing in a rough circle, all rocking up and down on their toes going “uuurrr” in unison. A rare sight, indeed! "

"Take note, the more sharp-eyed amongst you, of the band photo of 1965. As was the custom in those days, several players are wearing their contest medals. The bass drummer, Harold Jefferies, a lovely old chap, has joined the cornets in the back row and he has a medal on his right side, not the left. His son, whom I think had died, had actually won the medal. Harold was wearing it in memory of his son. Ian Billington has a medal on too. Dick Howe, a very amusing chap, spotted all this medal wearing and decided he should have one as well and look as sharp as Ian. There it is, on his chest. But look very carefully and you might notice something about it. Dick did not actually have any competition medals so he used the key ring from his Volkswagen car. Look at Dick’s face and the camera has caught him in the process of telling Ian, out of the side of his mouth, just how super he is going to look once the photo had been taken."

"Many years ago the marching element of the National Contest involved a formal set of routines. This formal element ended in 1969, with the introduction of the display marching. All bands were required to march 100 yards in 60 paces, at the beat of 120 per minute. The score was given to the crowd while the bands played and many were the oohs and ahhs as the results were announced. One of the manouvres the band had to perform was a right angle, 90 degrees turn to the right, coming off an inclined march of 45 degrees, and all while staying between marker poles. Sounds complicated, doesn’t it? It was! Especially after a hard night out celebrating results.

Not only that, but the BBb bass player on the front right of the band was known as Marker. He was the one the rest of the band marked themselves from. All very military.

At the 1964 contest in Christchurch , the band had come second in the B Grade to Addington Railway Workshops, conducted by the great Mervin Waters, although at this stage he was not yet with Woolston. The band celebrated hard on Saturday night, none more so than Jim, who was quite fond of the suds. Off went the band, playing as well as they could under the circumstances. Jim came to the crucial turn, but misjudged the 90 degrees. He turned it into something like 110 degrees, picking up the wrong flag to march towards. He strode off leading the band with him. Eventually, the band marched diagonally across the course with very surprised players dodging the marker poles which had suddenly appeared in their midst. The crowd certainly gave out a few oohs and ahhs at this point.
Not surprisingly, the Band did not feature in the placings for marching at that contest"

"At the Dunedin contest in 1970, Don Bly, the wonderful soprano player and later a conductor of Onslow, played for another band in a lower grade. The conductor of this other band had an unfortunate stance while conducting which included sticking his bum out and having a facial expression normally associated with great pain. Further, his cut-offs resembled the grasp required to lift a large sack of potatoes. Don found this combination a real eye opener and shared it with us in the bar of our hotel late one night.

The other band had played the hymn “Cym Rhonda”. With our enthusiastic encouragement, he decided to take those of us in the bar through the lovely “Cym Rhonda”. We sang most mightily, in glorious harmony, several verses, with Don standing on a table, using his bum for introductions and keeping the beat, while the potato sack method ensured the cut-offs were approximately precise and the facial expressions kept everyone focused on Don. Many present were reduced to the level of weeping hysteria by Bly’s bum and cut-offs. We were convinced, without doubt, that our performance in song was far more meritorious than that given by the band Don had played for.
(As a footnote, this singing performance was so enjoyed by the band that it actually became quite a regular feature in the bar for the next few years.)

"During the late 1960 and early 1970s the Band had a room in the Nairnville Park Sports Ground. It was used for music storage and Committee meetings. One sunny summer Sunday morning there was a Committee meeting in the room after which the boys all said how hot and thirsty we were, and wouldn’t a beer right now just be lovely? At that stage you could not buy beer on a Sunday in

New Zealand

unless you were staying in a hotel. Norman said he had a can of beer in the boot of his car, but it had been there for some months he thought, and he couldn’t guarantee what it would taste like. Not to worry, we said. These are desperate moments. We need beer now.
Beer cans in those days were quite different from today. They had only been using cans for a few years and had not yet invented the tear tops. A special opener with a sharp spike was required to puncture the lid. Not only that, but the metal was very thick. It was a show of strength to be able to crush a can. Norm duly produced this can of beer, but unfortunately he did not have an opener. So there we were, about half a dozen of us, all with our tongues hanging out, looking at this can.
Someone came up with the bright idea of whacking the top of the can with a metal spike he had found nearby. We took the can into the Committee Room and proceeded to whack the tripe out of the top with the metal spike. Naturally, everyone was gathered close around the beer can and we enthusiastically cheered on the two fellows doing the holding of the can and the hammering. An extra large whack suddenly punctured the can lid, but also knocked the can out of the hands of the bloke holding it.
The can, following months of rolling about in Norm’s boot and the rough treatment with a metal spike, suddenly exploded its contents like a fire extinguisher. It spun round wildly on the table, beer firing everywhere, and dropped to the floor. Several sets of hands tried to get hold of it, while others tried to get out of the way. Screams of alarm and “Never mind the women, save the beer!” echoed round the room. Round and round again it went on the floor before someone at last got their hands on it and lifted it up. But in doing so accidentally pointed it at the rest of us, spraying everyone generously from head to foot with a foaming shower of beer. By this time people were shouting and scrambling backwards to get out of the way, falling over chairs and tables in the process.
The can finally exhausted the remains of the beer on the low ceiling as whoever had hold of it eventually got it under control and pointed it upwards. As I write I can still see Ian Billington wiping the beer spray from his glasses while the rest of us lined up with our mouths open under the drips of beer dropping off the ceiling. As I said, it was a hot day and we were desperate for beer. Waste not, want not!"

"Percy Brooker was President of the Band for many years during the 1960s and 1970s. Percy was the owner of a very prominent New Zealand law books publishing company, a very dignified and capable man. For much of this time he was also President of the New Zealand Brass Bands Association and Norman was a member of the Management Committee at the same time.

The national contest of 1968 was held in Christchurch and the Band stayed in an old hotel near the Railway Station. One of our cornet players was a young man called Craig Ansley, (who won the Amateur cornet solo the following year). Craig was a leader and chock full of good ideas. This contest was the beginning of the rise of Onslow as a top A Grade band.
At a very late stage on the Saturday night, or early Sunday morning, following our Second placing in the A Grade (no one was more surprised than us!), we were all in the bar of the hotel. Craig decided that a Street March Pyjama Parade was called for. Everyone rushed away to find their instruments. Onslow players were joined by all sorts of hangers on and the rabble eventually formed up outside in the street. Craig appointed himself Drum Major, in a very unsteady condition, and we wobbled away up the street playing some march or other in an odd assortment of keys. The Salvation Army’s People’s Palace was up the road and as we approached the band that was staying there could hear us coming (how surprising!) and decided to join in the playing of the march, but from their balcony. A little further on, walking back to the hotel, were Percy and Norman. Both were past military men and knew what was required. Right there on the footpath Percy stood to full attention, with Norman by his side, and saluted as we spluttered on towards to the Square.

Our triumphant return was only halted by the unfortunate arrival of some Policemen in a car who told us that while they enjoyed the music we should get off the road before some silly bugger ran into us.

We rounded off the evening’s performance by us serenading the band in the People’s Palace with a small part of an approximate version of the test piece, played by each of us in our own time and own key!"

"Norman was in the New Zealand Army contingent that went to

Greece

and Crete in the very early stages of World War Two. I think he was Deputy Conductor, to his younger brother Dean, in the Second Brigade Band, based out of Burnham. The

New Zealand

Army were routed when the Germans came through northern

Greece

. Huge amounts of equipment was lost as the New Zealanders, and all other Allied forces, evacuated Greece, thinking they would get to the safety of the nearby island of Crete. Somehow Norman managed to keep his cornet with him on the evacuation boat, even when the soldiers were being ordered to throw their weapons into the sea as there was no room on the boats for any gear. The safety of Crete proved to be short lived for the Germans soon overwhelmed the New Zealanders again, causing terrible casualties to both sides. Again, Norman was evacuated under very heavy German fire. This time however, he had to abandon his beloved cornet on Crete . After many more aerial attacks by German bombers they finally reached the safety of

Egypt

and eventually the Bands were reorganised and supplied with new instruments.

Several years later (it was during this time in Egypt that brother Dean wrote the incomparable “Rhapsody for Brass”, and performed it with the Second Brigade Band in the Officers’ Mess in, I think, Alexandria), Norman was walking down a street in Cairo and looked in the window of a music shop. There was a cornet for sale in the window. Norman was intrigued, for it looked somewhat familiar. He went in for a closer inspection of the serial numbers and discovered it was his own cornet, the one that had been abandoned in Crete during the evacuation!
He didn’t purchase it, since he had been supplied with a replacement, but the possibility of that instrument turning up again in such circumstances were simply extraordinary. Norman could only presume that the instrument had been gathered up by the Germans and given to one of their bands, which took it with them into North Africa . Presumably, during one of the counter attacks by the Eighth Army, the instrument was again abandoned and eventually recovered by some Arabs or an enterprising soldier, who subsequently sold it on to the music shop in Cairo .

I had heard this story several times from Norman over the years, as we mused over some of the great mysteries of life."

Norman ’s wife Lynn was an American lady. They met and were married (1942, I think, though I may be a little early with this date) in Cairo during the War. Lynn was just the loveliest person. She had grace, charm and kindness for everyone. Lynn ’s story of getting to

New Zealand

alone is extraordinary and is worth recording. It contains the values and attitudes of the wonderful generation that made incredible sacrifices. They were simply doing what needed to be done at the time.

On the eve of the outbreak of World War Two in September 1939, Lynn was on a ship tied up to the wharf in Marseilles Harbour, France. She was on her way to

Egypt

as an American missionary teacher. The ship’s departure was delayed for many hours as a flood of Jewish passengers suddenly clamoured for transport out of

France

. Lynn said that the hundreds of Jewish refugees were simply spread all over the decks, wherever they could get a space. Finally, the ship departed for Alexandria , the port for Cairo ,

Egypt

, and they all arrived safely enough. Lynn then spent the next several years teaching missionary children in various parts of

Egypt

, at some stage meeting Norman . They eventually got married in Cairo , having a double wedding with another

New Zealand

soldier and his bride. The honeymoon was very short lived. As I recall, the wedding was on a Saturday and by the Monday all leave had been cancelled and the New Zealanders were rushed away to what was then called Palestine, today northern Israel, guarding against a possible attack from Turkey trying to support the Germans getting through to the oil fields of Iraq.

The War had been progressing and the Americans, who were not involved at this stage, had been supplying American people in

Egypt

by aeroplane.

Aircraft left Miami , Florida , flew down the coast of South America to

Brazil

, across the Southern Atlantic to Africa , across Africa , and up the Red Sea to

Egypt

. Once the

United States

entered the war in late 1942 it was decided that it was far too dangerous for the missionaries’ children to remain in

Egypt

. They would all have to be returned to the

United States

. Accordingly, Lynn (by this stage, Mrs. Goffin), children and others to be evacuated were gathered in Cairo . They were taken to a ship in the Red Sea , where they had to sign an oath that they would not light matches and smoke cigarettes on the boat, as tided to the side of the boat were barges filled with aircraft fuel. The danger was of an enormous explosion caused by a discarded match or cigarette. This oath signing caused great amusement amongst the missionaries, none of who smoked, anyway.
The ship took them to Port Sudan , where they were transported to an old fort outside Khartoum in

Sudan

, waiting for an empty aircraft to return them to the Untied States. Finally, Lynn and the children were flown from Khartoum , across Africa , stopping constantly for refueling, transferred to flying boats for the journey across the Southern Atlantic to Rio de Janeiro in

Brazil

, up the coast of South America , eventually to safety in Miami . Here Lynn handed over responsibility for the children to their own families. Lynn then returned to her own family in Ohio .

Meanwhile, Norman was still in

Egypt

fighting the Germans. By this time it was mid/late 1943 and the War was raging everywhere. Lynn eventually decided that since she was married to Norman, who would be returning to

New Zealand

after the War, she should get herself to

New Zealand

and wait for him there. So during 1944 she organised herself onto a passenger ship heading for New Zealand, eventually arriving, meeting and staying with Norman’s family until he finally arrived after the War.

When I first heard this story I was staggered at the courage and determination that was involved. Lynn was surprised that I was amazed at such goings on. She simply commented, “Well, that was what you did in those days. We just got on with it. I was married to Norman . If we were going to be together, I needed to get to where he was going to be. So off I went..

It is no wonder that Norman and others found Lynn to be such a wonderful person."

I was playing second euphonium next to Neville Cudby in 1974 and we were rehearsing for the national championships at Dunedin that year. There had been a rather heavy party on one Saturday night and marching practice was scheduled for 9:30am next morning. Obviously not everyone was too enthusiastic, other than the drum-major.

We all assembled and shuffled into position ready to head off down the 100 year straight. Just before the drum-major gave the order to quick-march, there was some hurried whispering amongst the band. He shouted the command and we all started straight into playing the march however only the front row of 6 trombones moved ahead with him. As I recall, 4 of those 6 were national bandsmen that year and their sound was quite enormous. They were halfway down the straight before the drum-major realised that something wasn't quite right. Perhaps it was the fact that most of us who hadn't moved had, by now, broken down in uncontrollable laughter that gave the show away. I don't think he was too impressed and worked us harder than usual for the next two hours.

"NZ COMPOSERS WEEK" : By Seager Mason February 2004

It was early 90's I think, under Peter Zwartz, and we were invited to perform two NZ composer's works in the old Town Hall, during NZ Composers Week.

One of the pieces was weird to say the least - it was 64 bars long, but each bar had squiggles indicating roughly the sort of thing that the players involved should do, so the players in each bar were effectively asked to improvise around a theme. Not a smart idea for a brass band like ours, I think you will agree.

Even weirder, the conductor's job was to simply hold up a big bar number, and change the number after an appropriate interval. Not quite the style that Peter Zwartz was used to.

There was a reasonable audience for the inaugural performance, but almost all had left by the time we mercifully arrived at bar 64. It was obvious to all of us players that the performance was not going that well (we are musicians after all), but more seriously, Peter Zwartz was suffering badly. He was standing there stiff as a post, holding each bar number up in turn, and yet sweating far more profusely than he would have during even his most exuberant normal performances.

By the end, it was pouring off him, and off most of us players. Strangely, we got a reasonable applause from the now very scattered audience, probably more out of abject sympathy for our ordeal. The composer was invited on stage to take his bow, and he too was applauded.