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FATHER AND SON 
By Terry Carson

And remember that a cup of tea and other light refreshments will be served in the hall at the conclusion of the service. Martin’s family warmly invite you all to stay and share memories.

We are gathered here today to celebrate the long life of Martin Braithwaite. Although we didn’t see much of him here at St Martha’s it is appropriate that the service is held here today. The church is the centre of the community that Martin served so faithfully for over sixty years. He took up farming here just after the war. He was a war hero, who had suffered as a POW. He never forgot those he served with and was the first to help out any ex-serviceman down on his luck. Martin was the district’s longest serving RSA president. He helped many people and was always the first to lend a fellow farmer a hand.

What was Grandad really like, Dad?

What do you mean?

Well, I hardly knew him at all. We never saw him.

We saw him at the hospital, just before he died.

Yes Dad, but that was only the second time I had ever seen him. Why did we never visit him?

Martin was a generous, much-loved man. He was a hard-working man who broke in several local farms. As well as his work on the farms and being President of the RSA, he served on school committees, the A & P Society, and was for many years our local councillor. He supported many causes. His family can be proud that many of his achievements will live on.

I don’t know Johnny. As I got older, we just didn’t get on. He was a hard man to know and work with…I guess you’d say.

Did you milk the cows, Dad.

Yeah, I started getting them in when I was about six years of age. Then by about eight or nine, I had lots of chores to do seven days a week. Once your Uncle Pete was older, we often had to milk the cows by ourselves at the weekends, or the nights when Grandad went out to his many meetings. We got into a lot of trouble if anything went wrong.

Was he harder than other fathers, Dad?

You see these marks on my forearms?

Yes.

‘They are burns. When I was still only a kid Grandad bought about three hundred acres out on Gully Road near the beach. It was all ti-tree and scrub, Very rough land. He wanted to break it in quickly and would burn off the scrub. He always wanted things done as soon as possible and he would send us boys into the area to haul out logs and clean up what was left. The fires were hardly out, and we often got burnt.

What did Grandad say?

About what?

About the burns.

Said was our own damn fault for being careless. I don’t think he really cared. Once your Uncle Pete’s gumboots almost caught fire and he said if they were ruined Pete would have to work in bare feet.

Martin Braithwaite was a compassionate man. He had seen much suffering on the war and wanted a better life for everyone in the peace that followed. I have already mentioned his work with the RSA. Then, there was his work with the SPCA. Martin, like St Francis, could not bear cruelty to animals. His animal husbandry was second to none. He won many prizes for his stock at the A & P shows. He loved his working dogs.

I guess it was the beatings I most remember.

Beatings?

Yeah, if anything went wrong, he would lash out at the nearest person. He’d use his fists, a stick, even the washing down hose. He’d thrash whoever was closest. It didn’t matter whose fault it was. I suppose I shouldn’t be telling you this. He was your grandfather after all.

Is that why you have never hit Allie or myself, Dad?

Yes, I was determined to bring my kids up different.

Martin was a keen sportsman in what little time he had. Before the war he played for his province and was an All Black trialist. He never missed listening to an All Black test, and later in life could always be found at the Rec ground on a Saturday cheering on the local team. He was also a keen fisherman.

Did Grandad talk to you about footy, Dad. Did you play?

Only during school time. I was once picked for the under twelve Roller Mills team, but Grandad said I couldn’t be spared from the farm. I never…got much of a chance, I guess.

But you did go fishing, I remember you once saying that to us.

Oh yeah, the fishing. It wasn’t really for fun, although Pete and I enjoyed it. We fed the family and made some money from all the flatties we speared sometimes. We’d often sell sacks of them. We made the spears ourselves from sticks and number 8 wire sharpened. They worked well.

Martin Braithwaite was also chairman of the local hospital board for several years back in the 1970s. It was his passionate advocacy and trips to Wellington, that kept it open. We owe him a lot for the local medical services we enjoy.

It was fishing that was responsible for my crook foot.

How come, Dad.

Well one night your Uncle Peter and I were out spearing flounder, and we started fooling about. Pete threw the spear at my foot, and I didn’t move fast enough. The point went right through my foot. God, it hurt. When we got home, I could barely walk. The old man went mad. He belted Pete and me with a fence batten. Mum kept us home from school for a few days so the teacher wouldn’t see our bruises. I got blood poisoning, and he wouldn’t let Mum take me to the doctor. Finally, probably for the only time in her life, she stood up to him. The doctor took one look and had me rushed to hospital. They reckoned another couple of days, and I would have lost my foot.

It is a privilege to be able to address this congregation today to pay tribute to such a selfless, caring man who will be so sadly missed in our community. Our love goes to his family. It was only six months ago we gathered here to farewell Mary, his wife of nearly sixty years. I think once she departed, Martin slowly faded away. We offer our support to Bill who is here today representing the family who are scattered throughout the country. They loved and respected their father and were blessed to have such fine parents.

What made you stop seeing Grandad? Was it something to do with Mum?

Sort of Johnny. When Grandad found out I was interested in a girl who was a townie, he told me I had to stay home and forget her. He had never met her. I was twenty-one. I argued and he hit me. I hit him back and he ordered me out and to never return. I’ve felt guilty for hitting him all my life.

But he used to beat you all the time.

Yeah, but he was my father.

So was that when you got together with Mum.

No, I didn’t really know her all that well. She was the new local schoolteacher. I’d never met her folks. I left the farm late at night, slept in the Johnson’s barn, and got a ride with the tanker driver through to Taihape early in the morning. I had no money and no idea what to do. I slept rough for a few nights until I got a job and was able to move into a boarding house.

Did you ring Mum?

No, I didn’t have her number, and she had gone home for the holidays – lived miles away. I was sitting on my own Christmas morning feeling miserable, when she turned up with her father. She had tracked me down. They took me back to their place. For the first time in my life, I saw a real family Christmas. Her parents treated me like a son, gave me presents… they didn’t even know me. In the middle of Christmas dinner… I broke down and sobbed like a child.

Is that why Nana lives with us?

Yes, she sorted me out, Saved my life, I reckon. I’d walk over hot coals for that woman. Your Mum is marvellous too, but you know that.

Did you love him?

Who?

Grandad, your father.

I…let’s go and have a cup of tea. I really should talk to the old neighbours, seeing I’m the only family member here.