Remembrance in OItipua, South Canterbury

Underneath the lamplight in Otipua. Photo: Bob McKerrow









Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning We will remember them.

I am in Otipua, South Canterbury. Last night as the sun set over my daughter's property, just behind the Otipua war memorial, I took a photo of the memorial underneath a lamplight. I thought of my Dad, James William Godfrey McKerrow, who fought in North Africa and Italy in WW II, and the eleven young men from the Otipua district who died in Europe fighting for their Motherland, Great Britain. One was a Major who won a DSO and a Captain, who won the Military Cross. Obviously brave men who bore names from Scotland, Wales, England and Ireland. The names of those from Otipua who died during the First World War. May their names live on. Photo: Bob McKerrow

As I took the photo on the going down of the sun, I thought of all those Kiwis who fought in all the wars, and the song that Dad used to sing, and which he had a tattered copy of in five languages; Lili Marlene, came to mind.

Underneath the lantern, by the barrack gate,

Darling I remember the way you used to wait.

'Twas there that you whispered tenderly,

That you loved me,

You'd always be,My Lili of the lamplight,

My own Lili Marlene.

Time would come for roll call, Time for us to part,

Darling I'd caress you and press you to my heart,

And there 'neath that far off lantern light,I'd hold you tight,

We'd kiss good-night, My Lili of the lamplight,

My own Lili Marlene.

Orders came for sailing somewhere over there,

All confined to barracks was more than I could bear;

I knew you were waiting in the street,I heard your feet,

But could not meet,My Lili of the lamplight,

My own Lili Marlene.

Resting in a billet, just behind the line,

Even tho'we're parted, your lips are close to mine.

You wait where that lantern softly gleams.Your sweet face seems to haunt my dreams.

My Lili of the lamplight, My own Lili Marlene.

The memorial for those soldiers from Otipua who lost their lives for New Zealand in the Great War 1914-18 on the corner of Beaconsfield Flat Road and Beaconsfield Road, Otipua. Photo: Bob McKerrow

The Words of Remembrance at the beginning of this posting were written by Pericles well over two thousand years ago, long before the first ANZAC Day, but only a stone’s throw from Gallipoli:

Each has won a glorious grave - not that sepulchre of earth wherein they lie, but the living tomb of everlasting remembrance wherein their glory is enshrined. For the whole earth is the sepulchre of heroes. Monuments may rise and tablets be set up to them in their own land, but on far-off shores there is an abiding memorial that no pen or chisel has traced; it is graven not on stone or brass, but on the living hearts of humanity.
Take these men for your example. Like them, remember that prosperity can be only for the free, that freedom is the sure possession of those alone who have the courage to defend it.

Engraved forever at ANZAC Cove are these words from Kemal Ataturk, the Commander of the Turkish 19th Division during the Gallipoli Campaign and the first President of the Turkish Republic from 1924-1938:
Those heroes that shed their blood and lost their lives. You are now living in the soil of a friendly country therefore rest in peace. There is no difference between the Johnnies and the Mehmets to us where they lie side by side here in this country of ours. You, the mothers, who sent their sons from faraway countries wipe away your tears; your sons are now lying in our bosom and are in peace. After having lost their lives on this land they have become our sons as well.

At the going down of the sun...
I crouched in a shallow trench on that hell of exposed beaches... steeply rising foothills bare of cover... a landscape pockmarked with war’s inevitable litter... piles of stores... equipment... ammunition... and the weird contortions of death sculptured in Australian flesh... I saw the going down of the sun on that first ANZAC Day... the chaotic maelstrom of Australia’s and New Zealand's blooding.
I fought in the frozen mud of the Somme... in a blazing destroyer exploding on the North Sea... I fought on the perimeter at Tobruk... crashed in the flaming wreckage of a fighter in New Guinea... lived with the damned in the place cursed with the name Changi.
I was your mate... the kid across the street... the med. student at graduation... the mechanic in the corner garage... the baker who brought you bread... the gardener who cut your lawn... the clerk who sent your phone bill.
I was an Army private... a Naval commander... an Air Force bombardier. no man knows me... no name marks my tomb, for I am every Australian or NZ serviceman... I am the Unknown Soldier.
I died for a cause I held just in the service of my land... that you and yours may say in freedom...

Hibernation – a dispatch from Otipua, South Canterbury, New Zealand

A view across the farmlands of Otipua to the Southern Alps

Ten km south-west of Timaru, is a cameo of rural New Zealand. Otipua township boasts a population of around 100 with a community hall, a primary school, a church and a war memorial. Not much different to tens of thousands of small rural townships in New Zealand. It is a township without a general store or gas station.

On a hill, in High Street, is St Marks Anglican church, built from local stone in 1893. Today there is only one service a month, at 9 am on the first Sunday every month.

St. Marks Church, Otipua

My daughter Anita, her partner Jonts and their 3 boys, Harper, Jed and Billy have bought a small farmlet here and are remodelling an old farmhouse, and an outbuilding which was the original village bakery, built crica 1890. The people who live here are a mixed bag : farmers, city workers who live here for the quality lifestyle and retirees. It is a positive community with little or no traces of criminality and where the community hold summer and winter community pot luck dinners so people get an opportunity to know each other better.

Anita and Jont’s farmlet is on the corner of Beaconsfield Flat Road and Beaconsfield Road, and at the apex of the land in prominent view, is a memorial for those soldiers from Otipua who lost their lives for New Zealand in the Great War 1914-18.

The names of those from Otipua who died during the First World War. May their names live on.

Eleven young men from this district died in Europe fighting for their Motherland, Great Britain. One was a Major who won a DSO and a Captain, who won the Military Cross. Obviously brave men who bore names from Scotland, Wales, England and Ireland.


It’s 11.30 am Monday morning. New Zealand was in mourning yesterday after Australia toppled us in the rugby test on Saturday night.

This morning I helped Jonts, Harper (4) and Jed (2) rake and pick up long grass and dead weeds on a small paddock. Moby, their large Labrador, chased sheep.The section was so overgrown when they moved in some months ago that it has taken a marathon effort to tidy it up and restore the pasture.


With Harper, my Grandson, Harper plays rugby for the Marist club and I wear his Dad's Marist jersey.

About 10 am I cycled towards the Hunter Hills freshly covered in snow and beyond, the mighty Southern Alps, with snow clouds covering the highest peaks. In the foreground paddocks dotted with sheep, neatly fenced with tall trees, providing wind breaks from the snow laden winds.

There is something sleepy about Otipua. Shakespeare would have described it more as a seasonal affliction:

“ That time of year when yellow leaves or none or few do hang.”

The last week of extreme weather conditions in New Zealand from cyclonic storms and storm surges in the North Island to heavy snow falls in the south, signals it should be a time for hibernation, not the exploration I planned for. I travelled over Arthur’s and Lewis passes last week, but the bad weather prevented me from going to Mt. Cook Region and doing small trip. With cold and sunless days I consider going into semi hibernation and reflect rather than do.
Having lived with Inuit hunters and north American Indian fur trappers inside the Arctic circle, I noted how, they go into a form of semi hibernation as darkness descends for 24 hours a day. Their biological clocks skow down and they engage in little activity apart from feeding dogs. brewing tea and cooking meals. In 1970 I wintered over at New Zealand’s long closed Vanda Station in Antarctica. At that time we were the smallest ever group to winter over in Antartica. In the dark winter months I can recall that feeling of cabin fever overcoming us as we had to fight off the temptation to withdraw and hibernate. We ignored our biological clocks and never lowered the so called standards, whose standards ? Those of Harold Lowe a dour Scot who led our team or more aptly described, was our leader. I never knew why we needed a leader as he contributed little.

It was a New Zealander who proposed the first 40 hour week, a Spaniard who invented the Siesta, and I would like to be the person who offers all New Zealanders a 3 week winter hibernation holiday which would reduce our ever increasing electricity consumption, reduce road deaths, reduce heart attacks from being over stressed, and hopefully increase our baby boom so we will have someone to pay for our pensions when we get older.

Yes, sleepy Otipua has made me examine the quality of my life and I look forward to spending more time semi-hibernating, reflecting rathet than doing for a few days while the bad waether passes.

Update: More weather warnings on Monday night and further snow in the South Island. On Tuesday 29 July, another cold wet morning. Took Anita my daughter, and Harper my Grandson to Montesorri Kindergarten in Timaru. So wonderful to see young children playing so calmly, so creatively. This is a real learning nest.

My daughter Anita with her son Harper at the table on the right at the Montesorre Kindegarten in Timaru

Montesorri education is based on the inner motivation of the child, and for the teacher's role to work with this motivation in ways that will enhance the child's process of self creation. I enjoyed my time watching children play and enjoy learning.


I am about to get the Intercity bus, the successor to the New Zealand Railways bus service, from Timaru to Christchurch. I am posting this dispatch from the Internet Cafe at the bus station. I enjoy travelling by bus where ever I am. In February and March this year I spent 3 weeks in the the Indian Himalaya and used buses to get about. Travelling by bus in NZ has many similarities as you get closer to the pulse of people, places and it offers you a chance to talk to fellow wayfarers.

Tomorrow I am looking forward to meeting a fellow blogger, Marja. Blogging shrinks the world. With the weather forecast predicting continuing rain and snow, I will be in Christchurch hibernating the next 5 days, before returning to Indonesia.