SYNOPSIS; BOB BK02

I have never looked at those years like that before, however things are not always as they seem. Take Barugh's and Dad's jobs as a example both COW FARMS, both TIT PULLING jobs, up early, bugger all time off. NO DOG WORK, NO HORSES, just not my thing, but if you don't try something and get it out off your system you never know. Waikino and Waikite both 10500 words, both good jobs because both managers were good buggers both are still our friends and we see them regularly. Waharoa Transport 22600 words, although we were there for about four years, so obviously the owner Bruce Clothier was and I imagine still is a good bugger, (although since writting that Bruce has died, so no matter what I hear nothing will change the way he treated me so until I die he will remain a good bugger.) That pattern has stayed with me all my life, I seem to stay with a job until I have gone as far as I can then try something else. I was Derek's only shepherd on Waikino then his senior shepherd on Te Kopia but just did not have the age to get up the next step, that's when we considered share milking up north as a means to making a bit more money and kill a bit more time. For the whole of this book I was ducking the stick, but all that was to change at the end of the last chapter. To cut a long story short, Roger Bedford, Waikite's manager was considering a change and had put my name forward as his successor. I subsequently found myself in the SUPERINTENDENT'S OFFICE, and after a brief interview I was given the job with the proviso that if Rodger did not go I could have either EDGECUMBE or GOUDIES BLOCK. At the mention of EDGECUMBE my ears shot up and I asked Senior Field Officer (SFO) Rowe who the Head Shepherd at Edgecumbe was, and could not believe the answer. shit o dear ! it was that old .astard George Millar, I could not believe he was still alive and still doing the same job. (Old George was more than likely only a old .astard in my opinion as I am sure plenty others thought he was a nice old chap.)

The farming properties and two non farming jobs I had during the period of this book are listed in the following order. W GRIFFINS & SON, PRIVATE * RUKU BLOCK, EDGECUMBE BLOCK, TUHINGAMATA BLOCK, LANDS & SURVEY DEPT * W BARUGH & SON, AF SIMMONDS (Dad) PRIVATE * KINLEITH, FORESTRY * JOHNNY WALKER Esquire, PRIVATE * WAIKINO BLOCK, LANDS & SURVEY DEPT * WAIHI PUKAWA BLOCK, MAORI AFFAIRS DEPT * TEKOPIA BLOCK LANDS & SURVEY DEPT * WAHAROA TRANSPORT, Bruce Clothier, Esquire, PRIVATE * TUMUNUI BLOCK, MAORI AFFAIRS DEPT * WAIKITE BLOCK, LANDS & SURVEY DEPT. That list must look as if I was sacked from one job to another but in those days, it was just the way it was for most young fellows. Minus the 2 days I was at Kinleith that's nearly about 18 months on each job, and there's BUGGGER ALL wrong with that. I guess you can tell by the amount of of words in each chapter and in the way its written just how happy or otherwise I was with each job. Shepherding was not just a job, for some it was defiantly a career, especially with the SURVEY which in those days was a real Government Department, it did not matter which block you worked on as it was seen as one outfit, although when you moved from one AREA OFFICE to another there was a noticeable difference. When I started you could start at the bottom as a GENERAL HAND, keep your nose clean, comply with the hierarchy, acquire a couple of dogs and some bugger would more than likely give you a job as a shepherd somewhere then you could work your way up to a HEAD SHEPHERD, sit there until you were around thirty then get hold of the stick and be a MANAGER for twenty odd years while waiting for some old FARM MANAGER come SUPERVISOR to die so you could move into town and his job. However by the time I had done the hard yards the Department had moved with the times and Field Officers were coming from universities and the likes, clever educated .astards most of who in their turn were on a career path to something they considered better. By GOD some of them caused a lot of grief while they had hold of the bloody stick.

In this section I have endeavoured to write a synopsis for this book, (BOB BK02) I have tried to be honest , but truthfully writing about something you have written yourself is rather difficult. Always in the back of your mind is the knowledge or the fact, that if it's under done the book will not sell, but if it is over rated and the buyer is disappointed it won't be long before they will justifiably claim to have been RIPPED OFF and I certainly don't want that to happen. Previously when I was randomly selecting a page or two for the excerpts I could pick out the pages that I felt would better clinch the deal, however now by taking them in sequence while I feel it's more honest it probably is not such a good idea when trying to convince somebody to buy it because NOT EVERY PAGE CAN HAVE THE WOW ! FACTOR.

This book BOB BOOK 02, ISBN 9780473170967; contains 100,000 words and numerous illustrations, it is written on 196, A5 pages covering the years 1956 - 1973, it is written, edited, published, and completely produced my myself (Bob Simmonds.) It is not a glossy, flashed up publication pretending to be something it is not, but a honest account about the trials and tribulations of family life while shepherding on sheep & cattle farms / stations / ranches & rural truck driving in New Zealand between 1956 and 1973. A few people have been confused about the big stick so I will explain it this way, when we were kids we had plenty of sticks put around our behinds. When you are on wages, you are threatened by your BOSS waving his bloody stick. Admittedly only metaphorically speaking most of the time, although most people know it's there all the time. When you get to the top of the heap, you get to wave the stick at others, and later in life if you are lucky you get to lean on it. In all those years while I was working directly under some other bugger I never actually had a stick land on me, because fortunately all my former BOSSES, were all good buggers just some better or worse than the others, some were owners and some were farm managers however they all had hold of the stick.

Today when you see Kaimanawa horses getting publicity they are nearly always bays and have a definite unmistakable look about them. I will admit right here I am long out of touch with the situation down there now, with regards the breeds or colours. But in the early 1960's the horses we referred to as Kaimanawa horses were east of state highway across as far as the head waters of the Kuratau river and were all shapes, sizes & colours.

This is a REAL NON-FICTION Kaimanawa horse, I know because Goldie & I ran him down in 1964.

Eventually the pages concerning the Kaimanawa horses will appear in the excerpts but this little bit of what could be termed or described as useless information won't. Today when you think about all the people that have grown-up shrouded in protective OSH and Health and Safety legislation it makes me wonder and marvel at how preceding generation actually survived to produce the molly-coddled people of today. (Although it would appear that not many of them realize it) We / I thought nothing of throwing a bit of tucker and gear into a saddle bag after work on Friday and heading out to where the horses were, Daphne may have known where I / we (me and my best catching horse SOUVENIR) was heading but once through the big block of native bush on the roughly southern boundary of WAIHI PUKAWA there was virtually nothing except thousands of acres of open native grasses, tussock areas and second growth scrub with patches of second growth bush.

When Derek and I used to go out there from Waikino we floated our two horses there and usually but not always four back in the floats behind Dereks series one Land Rover and my 51 Vanguard, the shortest way was to head towards Taumarunui then a few miles from Kuratau turn left onto a private track by which you could get right through to the main road between Tokaanu and National Park. ( I was always scare stiff we would get caught on this bloody track and be robbed and murdered, but never ever saw any bugger any where out there.) We used to operate in a area between the Wanganui and the Kuratau River, and on a map about half way between the two main roads, and even though we most likely could have got over both rivers considered it to dangerous and not worth the risk. (that's the difference in the thinking from those days, today many don't consider what the consequences of their own action or decisions may be and when it all turns to shit expect others to find and further molly coddled them out of a situation generally of their own making.)

But once we were on Waihi Pukawa it was only a couple of hours ride through the aforementioned native bush and I was right amongst them, the difference was now I was on the western side of the Kuratau River and on my own. Furthermore the horses were few and far between however the biggest concern was that it was just to dangerous on your own so Buck was the last. It also coincided with buying the Ford and selling my saddle, and because we were no longer under Derek's stick the door into Baldy's finance company was closed, so my best catching horse Souvenir and anything else I could do without was sold,to finance the truck consequently I was in no position to go Brumby chasing. It was also about that time through desperation and a sore arse from riding bareback that I started making saddles and associated gear.

Lets get out of this rabbit hole and get back to Buck and his hackamore, and another of the many use's rawhide can be put to, a Bosal type hackamore is much the same shape as a snowshoe, and while I have made a few out of different things the one on Buck is the best I have ever used. Believe it or not, but the core, the snowshoe shape was made from a bulls penis laid out in the shape I wanted, dried in the sun then rawhide cut into a strip about 1 inch wide and wrapped around it twice. Then 6 half inch strips braided around that ending with a turk's head to secure the reins to, it was then left in the hot water cupboard for a couple of weeks before having the sheep skin band fitted and being attachet to the headstall.

This stick was in the possession of my grand mother's family on her mothers side (Clare) when it arrived in this country at New Plymouth from Scotland in the early 1840's and has been in my custodianship for the last 20 or so years. In all that time it has stood patiently in the corner of our bedroom and never made contact with my psychic, however in the last year or so each morning something seems to make me look at it and I swear the message is always the same "good morning Robbie can I help you today" & so far I have been able to reply with " not today thank you but please keep asking"

The saddle on Buck up there was the first and as this bit of what to many is probably useless information is not in the book I will put it here. The frames on all my saddles apart from one when I experimented with fiberglass were covered in rawhide, the stirrups were also bound with rawhide before being covered with leather, and if you noticed the sheep skin (what could look like a halter to some) around Bucks nose that is actually a hackamore, or more precisely a Bosal type hackamore. From 1965 when that photo was taken to 1975 when all my gear was stolen by some .astard that had most likely never created anything himself except grief and chaos for others no horse of mine apart from a mouthing bit ever had a bit put in its mouth. You may think I am a bit confused when I say for 10 years I only used a hackamore but still used a mouthing bit when actually breaking a horse in, incidentally that is a term I loath but unfortunately is exactly what happens many times but what is actually broken is the horses will. However call it what you will but apart from teaching the horse to accept that it is tied up, to lead, and learn that you mean it no harm, in my experience and note I have said my experience (other may not agree and that is ok) I always mouthed a horse in the conventional way. By walking around behind it and for the want of a better word steering the horse in the direction I decided with what I knew as long reins or mouthing reins, until it got the message. For some reason I always felt more comfortable getting up for the first time when I knew the horse had been mouthed properly and was going to respond to the bit. After performing normal farm duties for a couple of weeks or as long as it took to develop confidence and mutual trust I found the transgression to a hackamore much easier and quicker.