No such thing as health and safety on housing sites in the 1960s

A Magical Moment: Never Forget the Joy of Jumping on Frozen Puddles

The longest-running number-one hit in 1964 was Hello Dolly by Louis Armstrong. While a lot of people reading this might not remember him, they will know What a Wonderful World. But in 1964, this is what was on the radio many times a day, and number one on the Billboard charts for a long 9 weeks.

The fourth house we lived in, in New Zealand was on Burwood Rd in Christchurch. It was the first and only house my parents ever owned, and the bank owned most of that. It was a desirable and rapidly growing suburb at the time, and the price would have been around $15,000, compared to an average price for a 3-bedroom home in Christchurch at the time was around $11,400. I don’t know what number it was, but I bet this house is still standing, (unless it became a victim of the earthquake).

I remember our visits to the house as it was being built. It was always tools down on a Sunday, which was a great day to go and play on the construction site.

My father had a good job at the Canterbury Museum, where he made dioramas, some of which are still on display, as well as exhibits that went to country schools around the South Island.

This is my father on the left, looking at one of the dioramas he was building, with the museum director, Dr Duff, of a Maori quarry. Below is a photo that someone on the Remembering Christchurch Facebook page shared with me recently, which I much appreciated, as I haven’t been to the museum since the last time I lived in Christchurch in the late 1970s.

I tried unsuccessfully to find photos of what Burwood looked like in 1964 when our house was being built. This is what it looked like before they broke ground.

No such thing as health and safety back then. I enjoyed great adventures, while my parents imagined what the house would look like when it was finished. Going inland was going to be a big change for us, leaving the beach of South Brighton behind.

I used to love exploring the abandoned construction site on Sundays. The place was like a playground for kids like me. There were massive pipes for sewage and other services, and I would crawl through them, just for fun. The machinery was just left in situ, begging for us to climb all over it and pretend to operate it. I could spend hours there, along with my mates, or solo.

I felt like an explorer, discovering a hidden world. The pipes were dark and damp, but I didn't care. I was too busy imagining what it would be like to live in a world where pipes were the size of houses. I would crawl through them for hours, making up stories about the creatures that lived inside.

The machinery was even more exciting. I would climb up into the diggers and graders, pretending to be a real construction worker. I would imagine myself building skyscrapers and bridges, changing the landscape of the world. I felt like I could do anything.

These were the good old days. I remember a month when my parents got together with the neighbours on each side and every weekend, they would work together building driveways because they didn’t come with the house.

At the end of each day’s work, there would be a few beers and some food, and the neighbours got to know each other, and for friendships to develop.

The neighbourhood was cool, all young families, which meant friends to play with and a community of people in similar states of growing a family and getting on the property ladder which was much easier back then. It had to be, because my parents were useless with money, and must have got a very low deposit loan.

I remember being taken on trips with neighbours’ kids for long weekends. I’m not sure why my parents didn’t go, but we would go to batches, and have great adventures. I remember on a number of occasions being in the back of a pickup truck, hiding under a tarpaulin with half a dozen kids, and being told to make sure we kept our heads down in case a cop might see us. All part of the adventure.

On the radio at that time there was an awesome band coming out of Christchurch called the La De Da’s, who became very successful for their time, in New Zealand, Aussie and even a stint in the UK. Among them was the great guitarist Kevin Borich, who like many great Kiwi artists, was subsequently claimed as an Aussie, as his success grew. He does live across the ditch and is still touring Australia with a number of gigs booked for July 2023.

I spent one year at Burwood Primary in 1964, before we shifted to Auckland, where my father got a job at Auckland Museum. When the director of Canterbury Museum moved to the role of Director of Auckland War Memorial Museum, and invited my father to go join him.

This isn’t me, I didn’t wear pink, just an image I borrowed. I can still remember the crisp, clean smell of winter mornings as I walked to school. The air was so cold that it stung my cheeks, and the ground was covered in a layer of frost. But the best part of winter mornings was the puddles.

There were puddles everywhere, covered in a thin layer of ice. I would jump as high as I could, landing with a satisfying crack. The ice would shatter into a thousand pieces, and the sound would echo through the air. I didn't care if my shoes and socks got wet. It was just too much fun.

Except for the occasional time when I would land on a puddle that was totally frozen. That hurt, but the pain was instantly forgotten when I would arrive at the next puddle.

I loved jumping on frozen puddles. It was a simple pleasure, but it brought me so much joy. It was a way to connect with the winter weather and to feel the power of nature. It was also a way to let loose and have some fun.

I'm not sure if I'll ever have the chance to jump on frozen puddles again. But I'll never forget the feeling of that cold, crisp air and the sound of the ice cracking beneath my feet. It was a magical moment, and I'll cherish it forever.

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