Gordon HENDERSON Obituary

Where do I start for a man that in my eyes has been many things? a Soldier in the New Zealand Army in Mayala, Fireman with the Ministry of Transport at Hamilton Airport, Area/ regional Manager for the grocery chain Shoprite as it was , Tanker and truck driver, one time Farm worker, running a shop as a small business owner, these only to just list but a few.

To me Gordon Lenard Henderson was not just a man, but everyman whom had been raised as a boy from hard humble beginnings in post WWII small town New Zealand, worked hard with honesty and integrity in the face of hardship and poverty, and tried to provide for and help his family the best way he knew how. This work ethic did not change throughout Dads life.

I recall Dad telling me that as a young man how he would hunt for pigs with a 44 Winchester lever action rifle around the bush areas in his hometown of Tekuiti, to provide meat for the family table.He said his mother (my Nanna) wasn't that fond of wild pig, as the flavour was too gamey' for her.

There was one occasion, that would horrify us now, but given the backdrop of rough and tumble of kids growing up in rural post WWII New Zealand-was when Dad, his brothers and some friends were shooting a .22 rifle at each other, but missing by a wide margin. The police constable that knocked on the door, was not impressed when Dad tried to Feign ignorance, of what he was describing as
reports of someone shooting a pea-gun'. Boys will be boys.

For this family of 7 kids There wasn't exactly a choice of heading off to the local butchers for a nice cut of meat on the day. The other dietary food options were either, if Dads farther (my Poppa) had work, was Bread with butter and jam, or if he was between jobs-which was more often than not-
only either butter or Jam with the bread not both together. At other times there was Weetbix for Breakfast ,lunch and dinner for the week.

The seriousness of this was that, Dad bore the brunt of the stresses that were generated by these situations, from his mother whom was trying to keep her family clothed, feed and together as best she could in 1950s New Zealand.

Dad was as a soldier with the 2nd Battalion, C company, in the Royal New Zealand Army, in Malaya from 1960 to 1963. His service came with some interesting stories to tell. He recounted how dark at night, the jungle canopy could be when out on patrols -not even starlight or the hand in front of your face was visible , except maybe for the odd glow of a cigarette when permitted to.

He said one or two guys had to go home, because they could not handle the thought of insects,snakes ( yes including cobras) or Tigers- of which they saw signs of tracks at various times. These would be reasonable fears under normal circumstances, but not when your policing for armed communist insurgents in the middle of the Malayan jungle.

On other occasions, dad would mention other stories, like when he belay out of an Army
Sycamore Helicopter to ungraciously land on his backside, instead of his feet, or the time when instead of heading on a full days patrol defending country and Commomweath, they stopped at a village and played cards with some locals all day.

Dad said The one and only time They had come
close to any real contact with the insurgents, was when they had some reports of confirmed movement, in a certain area of which they were to lay an ambush. This didn't happen as while they were waiting, some one had disturbed a hornets nest of which they had to break cover and retreat.

I remember looking at amazement as a boy at Dads photo albums he had compiled, from his time in Malaya. He would explain how hot it was, or how you could almost set your watch each day to the exact time there would be a down pour of rain in the jungle, around 4pm If I remember he said, all the while I was looking at the various pictures of Buddha's, temples, villages , Malay people, the
other soldiers on Army patrols with him at different locations , their weapons and equipment they had to carry.

Dad had brought back a replica Gur-keri knife with him from Malaya. He told me if it is ever unsheathed, you have to nick your finger or thumb on the blade, as it is custom the knife requires blood. Dad held the Gurkhas in high esteem as formidable soldiers, and that he said he was glad they were on his side.

The other memories that I have now of Dad are those of a onetime Hazy Northland summer holiday as a boy , accompanying Dad and my uncle Peter on Surf casting expeditions to various beaches, of the North Island and sometimes on Dads work trips as a regional manager at Shoprite.

A particular highlight was when he was a Fireman at Hamilton Airport, being allowed on the first V8 firetruck in New Zealand at the time. There were Family holidays with Dad to Opotiki, Cooks beach and Kaipra harbour and other places to name but a few.

I remember him with his sixties Joe 90' style reading glasses on being an avid reader of all type of books, but his favourite was Wilbur Smith.

One good memory was sitting under the stars, night fishing with Dad at the estuary mouth at Cooks beach on a summers night, and him catching his first big fish there off the main beach.

I remember him supporting me at my rugby games, from when I was a boy through to When I was much older, here was a man whom was heading towards his 40s at the time, but could still beat his supposedly much fitter son of 14 in a running race from the house at Links Ave to The shop at Mount Maunganui south and back again ; getting my first bike to my first Car, helping me join scouts and
the many birthdays and Christmas', that he was there.

The proudest moment for me is that he was
able to see me get married, and for him and mum to hold their Grandson. There so many other stories and memories,but its time to go now Dad, I know that you are in go hands and at peace and we'll all be together someday.