Jack Tame: Nothing lasts forever

I was taken aback by how long it had been since I’d last come to town.  

It’s amazing how time creeps up on you like that. One minute you’re at Grandma and Grandad’s place every few months, knocking around with your siblings. The next you’re going through Grandad’s drawers, packing him a bag of his most precious possessions. The next, you realise it’s three years since you even drove down his street.  

State Highway One was an absolute shocker. I was driving the old straight line, heading South from Christchurch. Rolleston, Dunsandel, Rakaia. The storm was fierce. There was surface flooding and the rivers were up which obviously made things worse, but some of the potholes were so large they could’ve swallowed the irrigators that usually crawl the paddocks on either side of the road.    

Those irrigators have brought a lot of prosperity to mid-Canterbury. But not on Grandad’s street. His place was an old state house on what Dad always called the wrong side of the tracks. Given the main trunk line cuts right through the middle of town, it’s a literal thing in Ashburton. 

Dad reckons the family moved in in about 1967. A two-bedroom place, clad in a shocking baby blue, an 85m2 state house, on a 900m2 section. They don’t do property like that anymore. The Tames had arrived from UK a few years earlier – migration had cost them everything they had. By the early 1980s, on his limited income, Grandad saved up and for $21,500 he bought the house from the government as a home for life. He spent his working life slowly chipping away and paying off the mortgage. The quarter acre dream.  

Grandad always had an amazing garden. He made the most of all that space. There were vegetable beds and fruit trees, a huge compost heap. Flowers out the front. Harakeke. We used to play games of hide-and-seek and go-home-stay-home before retiring inside for luncheon and tomato sauce sandwiches and vegetable soup. At home, our parents didn’t put salt in our food, and it was always a thrill to eat a hot lunch prepared by someone less concerned by cholesterol readings.   

The neighbours back then were mixed. I remember Grandad telling us once that if we hit the tennis ball over the fence it was best to just get a new one. I doubt the Police were strangers to the neighbourhood. Inside, I used to curl up in Grandad’s La-Z-Boy and read Grandma’s gossip magazines by the fire. On the times we stayed over, I read old Biggles stories. We’d all get covered in Labrador fur. They had a faux grandfather clock in the living room with a mechanism that filled every silence. Click, click, click.   

Grandad lived in that house for 55 years. He raised his sons there. He lost his wife, there. When it finally came time to leave, my cousin found his war medals, hidden away in a clothes drawer.   

When I came around the corner, the rain was pelting the windscreen. It took just a moment to get my bearings. The little place next door was gone. A similarly vast section, where once there was a humble cottage, it was filled now with a tidy row of modern units. 

But there was Grandad’s. Some of the baby blue cladding was missing. The harakeke and the flowers at the front had all been ripped out. I’m sure the veggie patch is done. But the house was still there. Tired, but still there. 

Nothing lasts forever. I can’t say with certainty when I’ll be back. But I know one day I’ll come around that corner, and Grandad’s place will be gone too. 

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:07):
You're listening to the Saturday Morning with Jack Team podcast
from News Talks. A'd be.

Speaker 2 (00:13):
Honestly, I was kind of I was taken aback by
how long it had been since I'd last come to town.
It's amazing how time creeps up on you like that.
You know, one minute you're at Grandma and Granddad's place
every few months, knocking around with your siblings. The next
you're going through Granddad's draws, picking him a bag of

(00:35):
his most precious possessions, and the next you realize it's
three years since you even drove down his street. State
Highway one was an absolute shocker, a shocker. I was
driving the old straight line heading south from christ Church,
Rolliston Dunsandal Rakaiah. The storm was fierce, There was surface

(00:57):
flooding and the rivers were up, which obviously made things worse,
But some of the potholes, honestly were so large they
could have swallowed the irrigators that usually crawl the paddocks
on either side of the road. Those irrigators have brought
a lot of prosperity to mid Canterbury, but not so
much on Grandad's street. His place was an old state

(01:20):
house on what Dad always called the wrong side of
the tracks, and given the main trunk line cuts right
through the middle of town, it's a literal thing in Ashburton,
Dad Reckins the family moved in in about nineteen sixty seven,
a two bedroom place clad in a shocking baby blue,

(01:42):
an eighty five square meter state house on a nine
hundred and something square meter section. They don't do property
like that anymore. The Tames had arrived from UK a
few years earlier. Migration had cost Grandma and Grandad basically
everything they had. By the early nineteen eighties, on his

(02:03):
limited income, Grandad had saved up and for two twenty one,
five hundred dollars he bought the house from the government
as a home for life. He spent his working life
slowly chipping away paying off the mortgage. The quarter acre dream.
Granddad always had an amazing garden, you know. He kind

(02:24):
of always made the most of all of that space,
the nine hundred square meters of backyard. There were vegetable beds,
There were like fruit trees. That was this massive compost
heat flowers out the front of the house, a big
hudder kicker bush. We used to play games of hide
and seek and go home stay home before retiring inside

(02:45):
for luncheon and tomato sauce, sandwiches and vegetable soup. At home,
our parents didn't really put salt in our food, and
it was always a thrill to eat a hot lunch
prepared by someone less concerned by cholesterol readings. The neighbors
back then were mixed. I remember Granddad telling us once

(03:06):
that if we hit the tennis ball over the fence,
it was probably best just to get a new one.
I doubt the police were strangers to the neighborhood. Inside
I used to curl up in Granddad's lazy boy and
read Grandma's gossip magazines by the fire. On the times
we stayed over, I read old biggles stories that Granddad

(03:29):
had lying around. We'd all get covered in labrador fur,
and they had a faux grandfather clock in the living
room with a mechanism that filled every silence. Granddad lived
in that house for fifty five years. He raised his
sons there, He lost his wife there. When it finally

(03:52):
came time for him to leave, my cousin found his
war medals secreted away in one of his drawers. When
I came around the corner. The rain was pelting the windscreen.
It took just a moment to get my bearings. The
little place next door was gone, a similarly vast section

(04:13):
where once there was a humble cottage, it was now
filled with a tidy row of modern units. But there
was Granddad's. Some of the baby blue cladding was missing
on the front of the house, the hudder kike and
the flowers at the front had all been ripped out.
I'm sure the veggie patch out in the back is done,
but the house was still there. Tired, yeah, but still there.

(04:38):
Nothing lasts forever. I can't say with certainty when I'll
be back, but I know one day I'm going to
come around that corner and Granddad's place will be gone too.

Speaker 1 (04:49):
For more from Saturday Morning with Jack Tame, listen live
to News talks'd B from nine am Saturday, or follow
the podcast on iHeartRadio.