The 'f' word was only used in whaikōrero, or since the works closed. At Mangateretere, we schooled amidst the twin towers of Whakatu and Tomoana Freezing Works,
measuring time from the factory lunch and smoko hooters.
These two behemoths of industry dominated our landscape and thoughtscape. Living on the main road at Waipatu meant that every morning from 4am, the squeal of tyres would wake us and the hum then thunder of cars, trucks, trains, vans and buses, as they crisscrossed their way to Watties, Birdseye, Apple and Pear Board, Tuckers, Tomoana, Whakatu, to Pacific and the many pack houses in close proximity, would arouse our adrenalin and spirit us into the day.
These sounds were the sounds of action and of exciting futures, and we as kids couldn't wait to get amongst it all.
The classical Māori expression is "Heretaunga Haukunuiararau" - the Heretaunga plains of life nourishing waters, giving rise to hundreds of diverse industries.
School was just an obstacle between us and the money trees that surrounded us, even though we were always warned that we would get educated and work elsewhere.
But who could ignore the call of a working frenzy, the excitement of aunties and uncles and cousins heading off to work every morning and returning every night, worn out, but happy.
We joined the din and addiction of work after school picking raspberries, strawberries, graduating to broad beans and tomatoes, and then apples during peak picking times, and the small, but significant contributions to the household finances made us all proud and grateful that we lived in the "fruit bowl of New Zealand". If you were out of work or hungry, then you were from another planet! For respite from the hard work, the men would call into the Mayfair Hotel for a Leopard beer, and the women would head off to housie twice a week. Not all of course, but it seemed like it!
At Karamu High School, many of my Mangateretere mates started leaving in the third and fourth forms to work at Whakatu or Tomoana. Earning big money. Some of us worked the strawberry farms, chook farms, orchards during weekends and holidays, but the big draw cards were Whakatu and Tomoana. Only a few of my primary school mates remained in the fifth and sixth form.
I finally got a break to line up with a 100 others outside the hiring office at Tomoana, but decided to bike on to Whakatu, where only about 50 young and older men were in line.
I joined the end of the queue, expectant and nervous. I was 16 years old and in the fifth form and had just finished school certificate exams.
I saw my father go in and out of the office, then back to his carpentry job. The hiring officer emerged with a clipboard and came right down the line to me. He said, "what's your name?" And I told him "Tomoana", and he said "you should be at Tomoana then, not here! Are you related to the Robins and the Cunninghams and the Whataraus?" "No", I said. "Aw", he frowned.
But he asked me to follow him inside past all the glaring and envious eyes and I filled out some forms, putting down my age as 16 which he then changed to 18! Then he sent me upstairs to report to the slaughter board office. Wow! I was in! Just like that! And then I learnt later that it was all due to a secret handshake!
I sprinted upstairs and burst out on to the main floor and was blown away by the waves of black singlets in all stations and forms of work, the crash of steel on steel, the hum of a hundred motors, the clink and clank of trays, spreaders, hooks and gambols, but most of all, the overriding din of men shouting to be heard above the cacophony of machines, tools and dead animals grinding down the slaughter board.
The sound of energy, pulsating energy, the sound of new houses, cars, boats, bikes and furniture. And I was in the middle of it. A worker came over and told me the office was up the nearby ladder, so up I climbed until I heard a new sound, hooting laughter and the hammering of knives on the metal beams and basins.
I'd been heading for the roof, a favourite rite of passage for dummies... me! Suitably goomphed, I descended to the right office and was soon under the fiery glare of Harry Lyver, the boss, chief hirer and firer.
"I only want you for the holidays", he growled, "then you can get back to school, got it?!" I nodded my head off. In fact, he said he was going to give me the worst jobs to frighten me back to school! And he was true to his word, for after a month I was stuck on the gut table for weeks on end, while all my mates were promoted on to knife jobs and even on to the chain as trainee butchers.
So I did what Harry Lyver wanted me to do, I hung my apron up at smoko, told the labourer's boss, Bill Tipene, that I was finishing, showered, handed my clothes in, and walked out the door.
I wasn't going be stuck on one job for the rest of the season, or my life, despite the money. On the way out, I was asked where was I going, and I said I'm finished and I'm off to look for another job, and I told them why. Across the road, heaps of construction was underway, the building of the ginormous E Block freezers.
There were dozens of men moving around like ants and I recognised the foreman who coached us in rugby, and asked if there were any jobs going and he said "yes when can you start?" I said, "straight away!", And I did, on the wheel barrow, cleaning up all the mess after the blockies and the builders had finished.
It was good work, outdoors, fresh air, variation!
But Whakatu doesn't work like that. On the last run of the day, I got a visit on the building site from the Godfather, Bill Bennett, union president, with the foreman.
"Come back to work, I've sorted it out!" he said.
"Sorted what out? I left and I don't want go back to the same job". He said, "you'd better, because the union is backing you and we are ready to down tools if you're not reinstated forthwith, now hurry!"
Even the construction foreman knew the mana of Bill Bennett, and he told me to go with Bill. Well I was stunned, guilty, confused, elated and exasperated!
I was marched back on to the gut table by the Godfather (who before that, was plain uncle Bill), to a raucous knife rattling and table kicking welcome home, back to the job I was doing earlier that morning. "Now stay here and prove yourself to your fellow workers, that fellow over there has being doing this job for five years so don't you complain!", Bill said with his stern eye.
"They've stood up for you, now prove them right, this is one of life's tests, you know!", he said with a chuckle, and then he left.
And I did, for the rest of the season. Not a squeak out of me!
There were too many people watching, talking, there were no secrets at Whakatu.
You just had to suck it up! Show stamina, class, form. Separating guts from spleen, gall bladder, liver, lungs, gullet, sweet breads and so on, all day, every day.
Every so often a whole carcass would get rejected with green stamps from the meat inspectors all over it, and it would go straight down the chute with a thump to the pet food room to the shout of, "there goes another carcase down the chute!"
This became a standard saying of Uncle Taanga when a Whakatu worker was being buried, "there goes another carcass!", and he would intone matter-of-factly, after the final farewell at the graveside.
■Next week: Stringer to Waterslinger.
