Wellington's National War Memorial

I know that, in the technical sense anyway, we had sailed for Nelson at the end of last week’s blog, but would you allow me to linger a little longer in Wellington, I forgot something.

When we were selecting photographs to use in last week’s piece we came across one that showed our visit to a memorial. When I say we, I use that at the loosest end of the meaning of the word, I really mean Jane. It is she who picks them out and describes them to me.

I am very grateful to the incredible strides that are been made in the field of Artificial Intelligence but, there’s always a but isn’t there, when my phone describes pictures of me at Parkrun it assumes I am playing golf! How does that happen?

Anyway, she asked me if I had mentioned our visit to the National War Memorial in, of course, Wellington? I answered that it hadn’t been included in my journal so it couldn’t have happened. Working on the assumption that the camera never lies, although I am not necessarily sure that that is the truth any longer, we must have visited the site.

I remember the photograph she described to me, but thought it must have been at another war memorial, we did visit one or three during the trip. No, it was at Wellington.

So, we did indeed make a visit and it most certainly deserves a mention, if not for the, what sounds amazing, Hall of Memories, or the Tomb of the Unknown Warrior, or the War Memorial itself, most certainly for the carillon.

Am I the only person in the world who didn’t know what a carillon is? Please write to me to say that you didn’t know either, I need some backing here. I guess that if you are a campanologist you will be all over this. Well, here goes: a carillon is, literally, a musical instrument consisting of a set of at least 23 tuned, bronze bells hung in a fixed suspension. There you are! If you all knew that, then I’m a Dutchman, whatever that means.

Well, apparently, this is the only one in all of New Zealand. When the bells peal out at countless public performances every year it is enjoyed by hundreds of thousands of people. The funds for the carillon construction were raised by some very public spirited private citizens, rather imaginatively grouped together as the “Wellington War Memorial Carillon Society”, in time for it to be officially opened on ANZAC Day, 25th April, in 1932.

When the carillon first burst into tune the local newspaper recorded it as sounding like magic from the skies. Back then, it boasted 49 bells which pales into insignificance next to the present total of 74.

Altogether the bells weigh an incredible 70 tonnes so you can see why the authorities, in this seismic paradise, might think them a danger should they fall down during an earthquake. Hence, the carillon and its neighbouring attractions were closed during our visit, but not because of a botched repair or anything like that.

Listen to this, you won’t actually believe it, but, on the other hand, you probably will, it involves politicians. Structural Engineers were engaged to assess the carillon’s exposure to an earthquake and, when they reported back, among other things, it was recommended that the steel bell support beams be assessed and, if necessary, strengthened.

Governments being governments, they ignored the last bit of advice and the refurbishment was instructed without allowing for the checking of these, what has to be said, were pretty important components. The engineers did not give up and after an assessment was carried out the carillon was closed for works to be commenced.

The Government was so ambiguous in its explanation of the further closure that many locals assumed that the original contractors had botched the repair. Have you noticed that however much mud you sling at a politician it never sticks, instead it rolls down their sharp suits and ends up at their feet like piles of bulls**t.

Winston Churchill might have said of them that they should carry their own China closets around with them! Now here’s a slightly sobering thought, the carillon is not scheduled to reopen until 2027.

Forgive me, I mentioned at the beginning that Jane had discovered a picture in her library that prompted this second look at Wellington, and, hitherto, I haven’t mentioned it. It is a structure sculpted from mild steel, bronze and polycarbonate which shows the entwining of an English Royal Oak tree and the native New Zealander, the Pohutukawa. Silhouetted within the artwork is the profile of a lone soldier.

It is meant to represent how Britain and New Zealand have stood as one in conflicts around the world since the South African wars of the late nineteenth century. It provides a canopy to sit under as would most trees. I have to say, I found this to be extremely moving and, like many tributes to the fallen of the past, it managed to turn on the taps to my lacrimal ducts. That means I cried like a baby!

Why I never recorded this in my journal is beyond me. I think I was more shocked by the racial ignorance of some of my fellow passengers as detailed in last week’s article. When checking out some of the information I discovered that the sculpture lights up at night; seems like a reason to return to New Zealand on its own!

A Few Hours In Nelson...

Off to Nelson. Our scheduled stop here was only for a few hours so whistle-stop didn’t even allow us enough time. I have to say, though, following the statement above about the uniqueness of Wellington’s carillon, we found another one here. I smell a politician’s hand in this, maybe Winston should have advised them to take their own toilet paper and soap around with them as well!

Now, what was there to do in Nelson on a lazy Sunday summer’s morning? You got it, the square root of FA! To start with we walked up to the non-existent carillon, we didn’t hear that one play either. It appears that, in the strictest sense of the word, Nelson does not have a carillon. Not sure, then, where that bit of information came from, I thought it came from a noticeboard in front of the cathedral, an imposing structure overlooking the small city.

It transpires that the bells here are better known as Ellacombe Chimes so, just maybe, the Wellington tourist board has it right, there is only one carillon in New Zealand. Therefore, I feel I should apologise to all politicians I have maligned in my writing! On the flipside, maybe not, I haven’t enough time left in my life.

As we walked through the city centre on our way up to the cathedral we kept an eye out for attractions we might like to visit on the way back. We didn’t spot a lot. There was the Street Piano which displayed a sign inviting anyone to have a go. We discovered the ANZAC memorial garden. I don’t think I am being unfair, you might, when I say it was a tad underwhelming.

If you were in any doubt as to whom the settlement of Nelson was named after you only had to take in the street names. They included: Nile (battle) St Vincent (battle) and, I am sure the next two don’t need any explanation, just write to me if you do need them explained and I will publish your names in the yet to be created Dunces’ Corner, Trafalgar and Victory.

Someone was sitting at the piano as we approached it on our way back. As we got closer we could hear a strangled cat’s version of “Piano Man” being belted out. Fair play to the bloke, but “Billy Joel it was not.” One mistake to highlight was that we walked back to the ship and ended up at the wrong quay. Never mind, one of the security staff arranged for us to be taken back to our own ship. Thank you.

Now it was time to leave New Zealand and make ready for the 70 hour crossing of the Tasman Sea, taking us back to that insignificant island off its western coast! Yes, you did read that correctly. 70 hours? Ouch!

Blickling Parkrun

Anne Boleyn was here. Well, to be honest, it doesn’t look like that is definitive.

According to an eyewitness at one point she did return to Blickling after her execution. Wild or what? I think if my spouse had had me put to death and I had acquired the special power to come back and haunt, I would spend my time popping up everywhere that that spouse was.

I don’t think I would go to the trouble of hiring a coach and four and making my way to a place, I might or might not have lived, a hundred miles away. Imagine the additional trouble she had to go to? She had to find four headless horses as well as a headless carriage driver. It is amazing that they got anywhere near Blickling!

I suspect the witness may have partook of a Norfolk ale or three. When checking into these tales, on the weekend when we commemorate the “Greatest Story Ever Told,” I was staggered to learn that all of the following are descended from Anne’s sister, Mary: Elizabeth II, Charles III, Diana Princess of Wales as was, along with both the current Prince and Princess of Wales. This is merely an observation and I offer no further comment. Interesting! Talk about keep it in the family! As the great Bill Bryson said, “Norfolk, too many people and not enough surnames!”

Anyway, back to modern times, and the spectre of 478 people running around the tracks and trails where Anne may well have walked, with or without her head. Looking at the social media reports emanating from all the local Parkrun events, it appears that nearly all had record attendances. I think that they may well enjoy good numbers next week as well when we are all invited to encourage friends and family to come along and join us as Parkwalk is officially relaunched.

Back to Blickling, not in the Anne Boleyn sense of the word, and off we went. As usual, I was tethered to VI Guide, Nik, and given the seasonal runners and walkers who had dragged themselves out of bed, it was a bit of a crowded start, so pretty hard to get going.

I had been made aware of a tree stump standing proud just off to the right about thirty metres after the 3-2-1 had got us on our way. I felt for the stump! I have no idea how my mind works sometimes but knowing the alleged link with Ms Boleyn I had, in my own confused mind, called the stump Anne in her honour. You see, like Anne, this marvellous tree had also lost its head! I know, don’t ask, I probably should seek help.

The very enthusiastic Run Director, Stephen, gave us a very thorough welcome, although he forgot to thank the volunteers, but on this weekend, of all weekends, I think we can forgive him his sin. We had the normal briefing advising us that if we had a dog we needed to keep it on a short lead, or was that the child? I forget.

Then Nik, as is his want, stood up to brief the crowd about his role and promised that he too would keep his charge, that is me, on a short lead too. I wonder how long he had worked on that line!

We were off, up the hill. Okay, this isn’t a hill in the Holkham or Sheringham sense, but it is a nasty little number, for it seems to go on forever. Then, having conquered the hill at the beginning of the first lap they force you up it again as a welcome to the second lap, and yes, it was more demanding second time around. How is that allowed?

It is a lovely course, though, and I am told that if I could see there would have been marvellous views of bluebells. Maybe there were, maybe there weren’t. Going up that pesky hill presented a few more obstacles in the form of some knobbly flints that stood proud of the surface. Nik steered me around these with exceptional skill. Once at the top it levelled out nicely and, of course, there is then the reward of the downhill bit.

I think Nik and I enjoyed the event very much and the encouragement all the way round was warm and well received. Thank you.

RD, Stephen, in his social media report made an observation about me taking part. It was very nice and, I am sure, well intended. When he mentioned that VI runner and guide, Robert and Nik, were in attendance and suggested to the ordinary runner that before they moan too much about how difficult they should run a mile in his shoes” Well, Stephen, I couldn’t agree more, but, I have to say, try running three.

Nik’s jokes, that start rolling off his tongue even before the start, and don’t stop all the way, are what keeps me going. Sorry, Nik, none intended and, I hope, none taken. Seriously, though, really enjoyed it and will try and get back again sometime.

A couple of things whilst I am on the subject. I think that the National Trust part of the show is a bit of a letdown. Right, let’s get into this one. To start with there is the exorbitant £5 charge for the carpark; personally, I think this is taking the pee, the participants are doing parkrun, most probably couldn’t give a monkey’s about the bluebells or the mausoleum or the great wood.

It didn’t actually matter to me as I am a member. We were asked, however, if we could swipe our membership card so that the Blickling estate benefits from a contribution, over four quid I believe, towards their funds from the NT HQ purse, even if we weren’t going to look at everything on offer. I am sorry to say, I did swipe my card without really thinking, but on reflection I would suggest this behaviour borders on the slightly reprehensible, wouldn’t you? Talk about want your cake and eat it!

Talking of cake we stopped in for a snack and, my opinion only, the coffee could only be described as insipid and the cake was not a slice, it was a small slither, of poor tasting Victoria sandwich in my case. Moan over. We will be back but might find somewhere else to snack.

Jane and I did stay around for a wee stroll up to the bluebells. Before we set off in search of these spring beauties we wandered around the formal and walled gardens. There was a magnificent magnolia with the most impressive sized flowers I think I have ever seen or, rather, felt. Gorgeous. Do love a magnolia.

White Cane Ratings*
Car Park: average; £5, bit pricey - 🦯 🦯 (2)
Welcome: very good; friendly and incredibly enthusiastic - 🦯 🦯 🦯 🦯 (4)
Atmosphere: very good - 🦯 🦯 🦯 🦯 (4)
Course: good; hilly, challenging - 🦯 🦯 🦯 (3)
Marshalling: very good; - 🦯 🦯 🦯 🦯 (4)
*These ratings are how the event suits a blind person, and are my opinion only; they are not scientific. Whatever happens no-one must be put off by me. The best way to learn about something is try it for yourself.