They told a great yarn. They were racy (but never explicit). They were action-packed and fun, with heaps of interesting characters. But mostly they crackled and shimmered within an unmistakably distinctive New Zealand idiom. Ron's writing had the rare knack of oozing authenticity and the canvas was his own backyard.
New readers coming to Morrieson's works now may find them a bit tame in the context of contemporary novels -- particularly the exponentially gory thriller/crime genre. But for all that, a half-century after their publication his works still stand up remarkably well for their story-telling prowess and clear, fresh language.
A few brief background details for those unfamiliar with his resume: Apart from a few brief jaunts, he never left the Hawera district. His entire life was lived in the family home built by his grandfather, Charlie Johnson, on the corner of Regent St and South Rd, now the site of the Hawera KFC outlet. The upstairs attic became Ron's castle. The whole immediate family were gifted musicians, both his parents and his live-in spinster aunt being music tutors -- as was Ronald Hugh in later life. For many years after leaving school, Ron was a major player in local dance bands, eventually leading his own. This involved exposure to the seedier life and times of the district, which later all became grist to the mill of his vivid story-telling after he retired from the band circuit, aged about 40, to pursue his long-held bent to be a writer.
But his initial early success met a very mixed response on his home patch. Many good burghers of Hawera were up in arms that this dissolute bohemian -- as they regarded him -- had not presented the God-fearing respectable side of Hawera they identified with. One of the two bookshops in Hawera refused to stock The Scarecrow.
When KFC bought the old Morrieson homestead, a few locals unsuccessfully tried to have it conserved. However, part of Ron's attic eyrie staircase, plus assorted doors, native timbers, a fireplace and pieces of furniture were saved and later incorporated into Morrieson's Cafe Bar.
Miraculously, too, the upper part of the staircase together with the attic itself was removed intact before demolition, many years later emerging fully restored (complete with a replica RHM ruminating at his writing desk) as part of the extraordinary Tawhiti Museum, just outside Hawera.
But soft; what sound through this pale moon night dost break? Ahhh ... 'tis the roar of Ron's '37 Nash -- chock-full of bootleg hooch, pedal-to-the-metal around the river road's papa cliffs, spitting gravel into the roiling waters far below ...
