A Special Place

Queen Victoria is purported to have stated that she was not amused. By what or by whom I know not. But she would have been in good company in New Zealand this week. The country, rightly, is in a sombre mood. There can be very few who have not been touched deeply or do not share the grief of the Pike River families. Much continues to written of the tragedy and Fryday is tragically ill-equipped to add anything profound, except to state that there is one individual who should take Fryday’s cue and shut his mouth. He is an embarrassment and, as their self-appointed spokesperson, a further and unnecessary infliction on the grieving families.
My own week has been lightened immeasurably by the arrival, occupation and company of a French family. The family includes my goddaughter of whom I have responsibility for her spiritual guidance and upbringing. Again I am ill-equipped. I have to rely on the good sense of the girl herself to lead the right path through life. I am sure she will—a week with me has undoubtedly shown her the result of taking the wrong path. The fact she is now heading toward Hamilton will undoubtedly complete that education.
Their command of English is excellent but still provides some amusing moments such as “get a grip, mate” delivered with a soft and lilting French accent. They apparently learn that from television. And I too have learnt from observing them. I have learnt that there is much in this country that is totally foreign to—well—foreigners. Hokey Pokey ice cream is one of course. But I didn’t realise that Jaffas was another. Smokers too. And you should have seen their surprise and delight when they ordered hot-dogs from the Leigh Café to find they came as some unidentifiable object on a stick. There is nothing like that in France.
No doubt as they travel through New Zealand they will find much more that is unique to this little country of ours. And whilst those children will not know it –and nor should they—their presence has given me a near-xenophobic pride in New Zealand, particularly the way in which we as New Zealanders compassionately and sincerely dealt with Pike River. New Zealand ceased to be a country; it became a family. Could that have happened in another country? In France? I don’t know. Perhaps. So, I won’t call it unique to New Zealand. Just very very special.

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