I hit 3000 days with Hubski recently. I know I'm not a wildly active user, but I've been around on and off since sometime in 2015 and I've always enjoyed popping into this quiet corner, to see what's cookin'.
I thought I'd ring in the 3k mark with a memory my grandfather told me about, roughly two weeks before he suddenly passed in 2019. I loved hearing it, and I think even without the connection to his passing, it would have stuck with me anyway.
Grandad completed his Masters in musical composition, and like any good kiwi lad, immediately fucked off on an OE. Back in the 50s, the options were Australia, or Australia. So he and four friends hopped on a ship headed for Sydney. The crossing of the Tasman was fairly uneventful, some minor sea sickness amongst the group; but throughout, grandad found himself visting the massive passenger lounge each night, to listen to the pianist. Time flew, and soon they had berthed in Sydney. Sydney was the original destination, but during the crossing they had heard so much about another city that they began to change their minds. During the trip over, the lads had concocted a plan. A bet, if you will. They would split up at Sydney, and the first to make it to Melbourne, would be declared the winner. Those who arrived should check at the post office for messages left, and if they happened to be first, well they would soon know.
Two of the four opted to hitchhike, while another two had hit it off with some girls on the ship, and had an offer to take a bus tour with them. They were headed down to Melbourne via the highway that runs down by the ocean. Grandad could have gone with either group, but declined with a cheeky smile, and said he'd make his own way. The groups parted and he was alone. At this point I'd asked him "Weren't you worried about being by yourself?" and he said "Honestly, not really. Safety wasn't something I considered at all. Perhaps I should have been, but at the time I was giddy for the adventure."
He explained that while the group were debating about how best to get to Melbourne, he spotted the cruise ship pianist disembarking with his luggage. At this point his plan solidified and once he was alone, he strode right back to the ship to speak to the captain, or whatever highest ranking person he could. Somehow he made it through to a person of some authority and enquired about the next leg of this cruise ship. "Why to Melbourne, in Victoria".
"Excellent."
He then offered to be their pianist for that leg of the trip, if he could have board and meals during. Wouldn't need any pay. They took him up on his offer, and his single bag of luggage was brought back on.
He spent the next days and nights performing for the passengers, some taken on at Sydney, while others recognised him from the Tasman crossing. The ship arrives in Melbourne, and he disembarks. He eventually makes his way to the post office in the centre of the city and, seeing no messages from his friends, penned his own. He set up camp at a local backpackers, and began to plan his exploration of the city. It was only two days later than the others arrived, within hours of each other. They found my grandad in the early afternoon, in the backpackers bar. He had his gangly 6ft 5 frame spread out over two chairs with a lukewarm beer dangling from his fingers.
"Here now, how'd you get to Melbourne?" they asked.
He winked and told them increasingly farfetched stories until they gave up asking ("Your bus tour? I was driving it." "I rode a colony of Hunstmen spiders down the Ocean Road." "I walked briskly for a day or two."), and settled for enjoying beers as a unit once more. Apparently he let them in on the story, but only after a decade or two had passed. Enough time to embellish.
I don't know how much of the story is accurate. But it's a nifty wee tale all the same. His daughters (my mother and aunts) have heard the story and his friends confirmed at the very least that somehow grandad beat them all to Melbourne despite being on his own, and they'd never been entirely sure which of the stories was the real one.
Grandad always said his life really began once he retired. He poured himself into his community -- earning a Queen's Service Medal, a NZ Citizen's Award, and others relating to music, education or community service. Honestly if my life can have a quarter of what he accompished after retiring, I'd be happy. Now, as I type this, a piano sits to my right in our study. If I lift up the piano lid, I can look to the left and see a name. Carved with the kind of jagged precision only a 7 year old child could manage. Grandad's name. He learned to play on this piano, and when he passed he left it to me.
I just wanted to share. Despite my sporadic use of the site, I have a fondness for you all, and I hope good things come your way.
What a wonderful story. Your grandad sounds like such an amazing man. You’re lucky to have had him in your life. Do you play that piano much? My grandmother died several years back. She was a wonderful woman. When she was little she was quarantined for months in her room. Her mother gave her an accordion. She played it often in my childhood. When she died, I inherited it. I don’t play it that often. I should. When I do, it’s overwhelmingly emotional. It still smells like her. Again, what a beautiful story. Thanks for sharing.
That's wonderful you have something from her. I know exactly what you mean about the smell. When I lift the piano lid it still has that same smell of grandma and grandads house. I don't know how long that will remain but so far so good. If you find the time to keep playing it, I hope it brings you some joy! I am relearning the piano! I played when I was a teen, did grading to a point but couldn't tell you how far along I got. I stopped during high school, to focus on rugby (and I have no doubt, was worried playing an instrument wasn't manly. Stupid stuff). I have a book now essentially called 'relearning the piano for dummies.' for people who have the muscle memory but sheet music to them, is hieroglyphs. Working through it bit by bit! It's going well and I'm forever grateful that I inherited it, and that I got to spend the time I did with grandad. Growing up he was just that, grandad. But as I got older I realised all the things he'd done over the years. I found a wonderful write up that goes over everything though that would probably dox myself in some way - if I were to post it here. But the list involves two scholarships as a teacher, to travel the world and learn about other countries best teaching practice, working with handicapped students, running the local meals on wheels and reading to the blind as a part of his volunteering, helping to kick start a govt funded sex/health education program that is still in operation up and down the country, coaching sport, teaching music, playing in orchestras (and conducting smaller events) and amongst all of that, just being grandad. The write up even covers his gardening talents. The man practically willed tomatoes into existence. I need to do more. That's the conclusion I've come to.
I need to do more. That's the conclusion I've come to.
You will. I have definitely accomplished a fair amount in my 46 years but I need to do more too. Particularly for others. I feel like I have 5 more years of high productivity in my current endeavors and then I want to go all out altruism. My grandparents were very giving people. I need to follow suit
Family stories are a rich resource. Aspects of your grandfather's personality emerge in this story: he's creative and resourceful; he takes initiative; he takes risks; he has a sense of humour. Did you inherit any of these traits? His post-retirement activities are impressive. What did he do before retirement? Did he use his graduate degree in music composition?
I like to think I've inherited a few of his traits! I didn't get to inherit his imposing height, but I did inherit his piano and love of music. I didn't inherit his endless patience, but I did inherit his love of grassroots movements and community focused projects. Creativity and risk-taking does sound like me. That combo has gotten me into and out of some sticky situations as a youngster. He was a teacher for most of his life. He and my grandmother both became teachers after meeting at the same University (that I also attended, and now work at). They would travel the country taking early jobs as teachers. As a result, my mother and aunts were all born in different towns and on different islands. Mum in Whakatane awaaaay up north, the sisters in rural areas down south. He mainly wanted to teach students Music, but had to have something more substantial up his sleeve when looking for positions, so he taught English initially then wheedled his way into taking over the music scene in whatever school he was situated at. Eventually he settled in a small town (the very one he himself grew up in), as principal at the local high school (that he attended in his youth!). His daughters attended the school, one daughter met a boy, they grew up and had me and my siblings, who also lived in the small town and eventually attended the same school. He taught at the school until retirement and then, when met with too much free time, sought to uplift the community around him. The whole "education" bent is noticable in our family. My mother went to Uni to be a teacher, as did both her sisters. My sister did the same thing. I was this close to following the same route, and I'd probably really have enjoyed being a teacher. My graduation day was a bit of a blur, I was more keen to get the whole thing done after 3-4 years of studying. But I distinctly recall my grandparents beaming in the crowd. Now that they're both gone, and unable to see what we're all up to, I'm very, very grateful they got to see their grandkids succeeding when the opportunity arose.