Ten Pound Poms

"Ten Pound Poms were British citizens who migrated to Australia and New Zealand after the Second World War. The Government of Australia initiated the Assisted Passage Migration Scheme in 1945... The migrants were called Ten Pound Poms due to the charge of £10 in processing fees to migrate to Australia." (Wikipedia)

This week our Sister Cydney Brown hugged us for the last time. She flew home to the U.S. on Tuesday. She was one of the first of the American missionaries to come to New Zealand after the country opened following the Covid pandemic.

The sisters made one last sunrise visit to the Ngongotaha Public Lookout on Operiana Street

On Sunday, we were greeting people at the door when the Baxters came through. They were on vacation to the North Island and other places in the Pacific. They recognized our name badges from a conversation we had in the Los Angeles International Airport as we headed out on our mission--they had been getting ready to leave for Beijing, where the dad works for the Air Force, and we were about to get on the plane headed for  Auckland.

We invited them to dinner, and had the best time together. They were missing family in the U.S., and I was missing my grandchildren. We had mashed potatoes and chicken gravy,  green salad, ice cream and BYU mint brownies. Then we played Telestrations and Rummikub, at which they excelled. It was a much-needed reminder of home. 

They are back in Beijing by now, but they'll head back to the U.S. in a few more months.

Sis. Brown, on the far right, on her last day with the District. We found out that it was her family, living 16 years ago in John Day, Oregon, that had taken in my sister-in-law Charlotte's children when she and her husband Jorge went to the hospital for the second time, after she had been sent home as "not being ready" to have her baby. Lucas was born in the bathroom at home!

Small world.

District missionaries having lunch together. One is a new sister replacing Sister Brown, and Sis. Mower is on splits from Gisborne.

All the missionaries have crocs so they can attach their colorful little badges

This is Sister Tekaiti from Kiribati (Sis. Tek-Ice from Kiri-Bas). The letters ti are pronounced with an "s" sound. She learned English in three weeks at the MTC. She is amazing. 

The Republic of Kiribati is a series of tiny coral atoll islands halfway between Hawaii and the Cook Islands/French Polynesia, with a total population of about 120,000. An LDS temple will be built there. Sis. Tekaiti is smart, feisty, and fun. 

Here she is at District Council Meeting, in the "Hot Seat," answering two minute's worth of rapid-fire questions from other members of the District.
After having the Fairy Springs elders and sisters over for dinner later that week, we played a game of Telestrations, which although fun for the Americans, was perplexing to Sis. Tekaiti. She had no concept of most of the picture prompts, including my oh-so-accurate drawing of an American square dance. 

Elder Rooks and I took another trip to the Hamilton Temple, this time to do sealings with Chris K. and her friends Liani and Ronnie. She was able to finish all of her names. On the way home this group always stop in Dinsdale at a lunch counter with sandwiches, meat pies and doughnuts.

Chris and Liani eating their sandwiches

Elder Rooks waiting for all the chatting to end

Bro. Gibson from the Tarawera Ward brought a soil drill to see why Chris' water around her shed was not draining. He brought up not only sand but a very deep layer of a strange, water-retaining, lightweight, popcorn-like "clay." 

It is "gley" soil, probably volcanic ash "with blocky structures," and is the reason her water is backing up. It explains why trees don't die when it doesn't rain--the layers are saturated from spring rains, and hold onto the water all summer.

This was more than Elder Rooks could manage, so Chris will have to call someone with a commercial drill to see if the gley soil ever gives way to something with drainage capability.

I have been seeing these cricket-like insects with long antennas in the house. Lenora Winiata said they sounded like Wētās, which in New Zealand can be up to 4" long. I am very glad these ones were not 4" long! I recognized the name as the title of New Zealand's Digital special effects and props company,  the Wētā Workshop

Logo of the Wētā Workshop, which did extensive work for the Lord of the Rings and Hobbit movies

The Gibsons invited us to their place in Brunswick for lunch, so we took Highway 30 northeast around the lake

It was a lovely day, and the neighborhood was beautifully well kept, with large acreages

Fenced, with a lot of trees

Brunswick Road, where the Gibsons live

Brother Gibson greeted us into his house. He and his wife built a home with their daughter's family in the East Wing, while they inhabit the West Wing. They are both very artistic and interested in the world around them

Karen Gibson had a wonderful lunch of bread and beetroot chutney, cheese, sliced meat, and homemade lemonade, with Coupland Bakery cakes for dessert

Brother Gibson, who was born in England, told us that he immigrated to Australia as a 10-Pound Pom in the late 1960s. The invitation for English workers made way for one million immigrants between 1945 and 1972. The program ended in 1982. The BBC has a television production detailing the lives of some of these immigrants.  

Bro. Gibson is exceptionally bright, hardworking, and has had a lot of interesting jobs in his life. He eventually left Australia for New Zealand, where he met his wife, and has lived in Rotorua ever since.

There is some controversy about the origin of the word "Pom." Most early references have to do with the ruddy pomegranate cheeks of the Brits, although Bro. Gibson prefers the acronym of "Prisoner of Mother England" which refers to the arrival of English convicts to Australia earlier in the 20th century.

I had Sis. Gibson give me a tour of their lovely acreage. She is a talented artist, and makes everything more beautiful that she turns her hand to.

The buggy apples are falling off the trees, and Mr. Pukeko is taking full advantage of it.

Since I am always making fun of Mr. Pukeko, I thought I would include this glamour shot to show his other, more polished side

Waitangi Day Rotorua

 Elder Rooks was on his way to fix a cupboard door upstairs in the Stake Center when he hurt his achilles tendon. So it has been Rest, Ice, Compression and Elevation, and we haven't been able to walk very much this week.

Tuesday, February 6th, is the national celebration of New Zealand's founding documents. Called Waitangi Day, it is observed over all the North and South Islands. I didn't want to miss Rotorua's Waitangi Day celebration.

Two parti-colored ladies on stilts. They walked around like this all day long, seemingly enjoying themselves. I don't know how they stay up there.

Fortunately, the Mylers remembered our predicament. Rebekah, mother of four boys, invited me to come along with them. It was fun to be grandmother for a day

The Parade of Flags in front of Wai Ariki Spa, where the event was held. It was traditionally held on the lake shore, but Ohinemutu is having recurring geothermal outbursts, and a boiling pool showed up where it shouldn't. The Spa was a wonderful venue, though.

Several of the pictures here were borrowed from WaitangiDayRotorua's Facebook page -- Waitangi, For the Love of the People. I asked Maori friends about Waitangi Day, and got the answer that New Zealand needed to return to the original reasons for the founding documents. The message from Tania Tapsell, Rotorua's mayor, was one of unity and inclusiveness.

Google Search featured Waitangi Day

One of the performing groups, warming up

There was dancing and music from Pacific Islanders

More music and more islanders

The crowd was large and appreciative

I saw this booth with hand woven items and couldn't resist looking in

This happy gentleman was Nepalese. His family weaves everything in his booth

So I treated myself to a sturdy-looking handwoven Nepalese bag complete with zippers

There was also a table with hand-made soap, another weakness of mine

These are kawakawa and kumarahou soaps and should only be used once a week. This is serious soap.

If I weren't leaving New Zealand in a few months, I would have bought some plants. The Kōwhai, Sophora Macrophylla, is the unofficial national tree of New Zealand, but will not survive in Fruitland, Idaho.

We were invited to tour the spa, guarded by fearsome tikis. Three of the Myler boys let me tag along while Rebekah took their younger brother to the craft table.  As the tour began, the guide read the Karakia, prayer, for a blessing

The spa pools overlook Lake Rotorua. You are not supposed to put your head under the geothermal water.

These are comfortable-looking tile beds where you can lie down and apply a thin coat of famous Rotorua mud to yourself. You are not allowed back in the pools after this.

The karakia at the end of the tour. There was also a sauna and cold water walk. It all looked very relaxing.

The stilt ladies, still upright

This is Thomas, a lovely Maori gentleman who recognized my missionary badge, and told me how he and his family were still faithful members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We shook hands before we parted. 

Here is Marina and her Miracle Cake Basket. The Myler boys wanted everything they saw and settled for cake pops, and wanted to go back for more.

Marina does have miraculous cakes. I have a weakness for carrot cake, and gave into Marina's yellow-frosted trio inside a nice little box. It's possible that the absence of Elder Rooks enabled me to support the local vendors to such an extent. I did actually save some cake to take home to him and his elevated ankle.

Here Rebekah is getting a temporary Moko, chin tattoo

She looks like a proper Wahine, don't you think?

When Conrad, the dad, showed up after spending the morning doing American taxes, I said goodbye and walked back home via the lakefront road. It was a lovely day and I enjoyed it all. I waved at the swans and ducklings, which are getting pretty big by now. 

At home, I checked in the garden, and picked our first Telegraph cucumber. There are several more to come. They are crunchy and sweet.

Mr. Pukeko, sneaking around