Memories of an Anzac

It's now a bit past Anzac Day, but on that day I had reason to remember the Anzac I knew better than any other. 

Here he is as a soldier.  Len Holdaway was a farmer from Blenheim.  He spent a few months on Gallipoli - and later fought on the Somme.

My recent Anzac Day memory was of a time in the late 1950s or early 1960s.  My Papa was a talented engineer (in the practical sense) and he had a huge variety of tools in the 'workshop'.  As a child I loved rummaging around in there.  One day I 'borrowed' the hacksaw and managed to break a blade.

It's probably an exaggeration to say I didn't become a farmer because of that hacksaw blade, but there is some truth.  The fact that I did break it, my Papa's reaction, my sense that I did break things when my brother didn't, my academic potential (more than attainment) gradually led me to university - as a second choice really. It's only after I've made my career as an accountant that I've returned to my farming roots - with enough money to pay for my mechanical incompetence.

My Dad eventually solved the earlier hacksaw blade problem by having me buy Papa a new hacksaw blade for Christmas that year - and every one subsequent (for a few years).  When Papa saw that present each year he would laugh ... but not quite forgive me for my lack of mechanical dexterity.

This Anzac Day I was working with a couple of WWOOFers at Moora and we had reason to take a length of mild steel rod and cut it into pieces.  So I taught a young Japanese woman and a young Frenchwoman how to use a hacksaw - and, while I did, I told them about my Papa.

They didn't break any blades.