I remember, I remember ... the place where I was born ...

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19 Palliser Road, Mount Victoria, Wellington, New Zealand.

On the ridge of that hill in the background. Or .. wait a minute ...

We're on the big number two bump. Opposite Mr Hinge's plunging pine forest.

It was a dear old house. Clapboard and corrugated iron, with a dear little turret that John and I deemed terribly smart. And swarming with borer. It was great fun to stick a compass down the holes ...  It was built on the side of the hill, and had, on the next level up, a grand lawn and garden, with a big taupata hedge and a summer house which only served to breed wetas ...

Dad, when he wasn't running Wellington Technical College grew a cornuopia of veggies -- I remember the broad beans, the spinach, the gooseberries -- We tried chooks, but the rats got them. He built a sandpit for we two boys, but our main joy there was squashing the slaters and huhu bugs that invaded it.

Oh dear, what lucky lads we were. What a wonderful childhood. I think I only made to run away from home twice, and I giggle to remember what I packed into my kiddie suitcase. I got half way up the road and remembered it was tea time...

We left Wellington when I was 10 and John 6 ... father's big promotion meant we removed to Richmond, Nelson ...  but as I age, the fondness for no19 returns ...  I'm sure that, in New Zealand there are some photos...