Christopher Wilson-Archer: Grandma knew about march of progress

"Make up your mind, laddie. Are you coming or going?"

That's one of those always-to-be remembered grandmotherly questions that echoes in my memory. It still seems like a good question to ask at New Year.

Grandma Carr was a small, no-nonsense Scotswoman who was born in the 19th century. She ruled as matriarch over her household.

Every Tuesday she would put on her black shoes and black hat - fixed in place by a fearsome hat-pin - and walk the three miles to the Newton post office to collect her pension.

The weekly ritual was not complete without afternoon tea at Rendells and the purchase of several balls of knitting wool. She would then walk the three miles back to her home in Grey Lynn.

On special occasions and school holidays I was invited to accompany her.

This spry nonagenarian was never to hear about Arthur Lydiard's rigorous training regime, but she showed no mercy to a struggling 10-year-old boy. The walk to the city was no stroll in the park.

As we approached each bus stop, I would earnestly be hoping for the fortuitous arrival of the next bus.

Alas, it hardly ever came and, even if a bus arrived, there was never any discussion about the benefits of riding as opposed to walking to town. We were always "nearly there".

Every Sunday, Grandma would go through a similar process, walking three miles in the other direction to the Presbyterian Church at Surrey Crescent.

Sometimes I would accompany her on this journey as well.

There was no thought of using the public transport system on these occasions, either. This was the Lord's Day and we would not show him disrespect by riding on a tram or bus to attend church. Besides, the Auckland transport system of the 1950s scarcely offered a regular Sunday timetable.

Eventually, I discovered some benefits accruing from these enforced marches. They became times of fellowship that I valued.

On the way, Grandma would tell me stories of her life in Scotland, of the hardships of travelling by steamship to New Zealand in 1886, and of arriving in a new land to hear the news that Mt Tarawera had erupted.

Her memories of the 20th century faded as she grew older, but her vision of the 19th century remained alive and she shared this with me.

I do not think I could ever write a book about these extraordinary events because I am short on key facts.

But I hold something far more important - living memories. Historical memory provides us with a sense of identity and of continuity which transcends the relentless march of time.

The New Year is, traditionally, a time to bring closure to the experiences of a past year as well as being a time to stop, think and prepare for the new one.

Those of us who are old enough to have a past discover it is also a time to recall people who are no longer with us and to remember places that exist only in our memories.

It is an annual, cleansing ritual which enables us to begin life anew.

That is why we call the month January. Iiauna, from which the name of the month January is derived, is the Etruscan word for door.

In classical Roman mythology the god Janus was the deity who ruled over beginnings and endings - not just years, but all sorts of events.

If you were leaving an old job and starting a new one, Janus was the proper god to propitiate.

As well as occupying the first month of the year he also expected a passing acknowledgment on the first day of each successive month.

Janus is represented on coins and statues as having two faces, looking in opposite directions. In earlier images he sports a beard on one of his two faces. The bearded face looks wistfully backwards and the bright young face looks expectantly forwards.

Like most Roman deities, Janus had several temples in his honour. The most important of these, known as the Ianus Geminus, was a double-gated structure with one door facing the rising sun and the other facing the setting sun. It was in the Forum Romanum, through which the Roman legionnaires marched off to war.

Before the Roman legions departed, the gates of Janus were opened. They were shut only when the empire was at peace.

Historians cannot agree as to the exact meaning of this symbol. Were the gates shut in order to keep peace in, or were they opened to let war out?

Whatever the meaning, the gates of Janus were seldom closed throughout the entire history of the Roman Empire.

If there were a temple dedicated to Janus somewhere near the Auckland War Memorial Museum, how many times would its gates have been shut in the past 150 years of New Zealand's history? Not too many times, I would guess.

Those who hoped that the arrival of the third millennium of the Christian era would presage a new age of peace have every right to feel disappointed.

But despite the discouragement and difficulties which presented themselves during the past year, we all have an opportunity to begin afresh.

Let's ask ourselves these questions. Are we coming or going? Will we be defeated by the past and call a halt, or can we find a renewed sense of purpose and move forwards?

Whatever our individual starting point, each one of us has the opportunity to set a new direction for a New Year. Let's make the most of it. May the New Year be a joyous and fulfilling one for us all.

* Christopher Wilson-Archer is a Henderson teacher and writer.