REVERSE

About the poet: Louise Wallace is the author of three poetry collections published by Victoria University Press, including Since June and Enough. She is the founder and editor of Starling, a literary journal showcasing young New Zealand writers. Originally from Gisborne, she now lives in Dunedin where she is a PhD candidate at the University of Otago. In brief: It’s a common sight every summer: Kiwis flock to coastal towns to escape city crowds, only to find that everyone else had the same idea. This poem considers the traditional Kiwi summer holiday from a different point of view, eschewing rose-tinted nostalgia for something a little more prosaic and cynical. Why I like it: This poem is an excellent example of the competing tensions throughout most of Wallace’s work, which has a sly observational quality about it. Many of her poems take familiar social experiences and zero in on the things many of us think but don’t say. While it’s not explicitly a concrete poem, the shape created by the line breaks suggests an ebb and flow, which could refer to the waves at the beach or the arrival and departure of local tourists. Why read it: Everybody looks forward to a summer beach getaway, but there’s a special type of stress that comes with it. All that relaxation is going to take a lot of planning and packing. Wallace captures this pressure with surgical precision, skewering the exodus of city folk escaping to golden beach towns with their “litany of stuff” which is displayed as symbols of wealth and privilege, emphasising the chaos that these holidaymakers bring with them. This poem feels even more apt in a year when we’ve been told to stay away from popular holiday hot spots to protect vulnerable communities from Covid-19. Read more: In addition to her own collections, Wallace’s work has been widely published in journals and anthologies, including the recent A Game of Two Halves: The Best of Sport 2005–2019. Her collection Bad Things also contains a great poem addressed to her namesake, the actress and reality TV star Louise Wallace.

Re-verse

INTRODUCED BY CHRIS TSE

SUMMER HOLIDAY

It's not just us: Everyone is on their summer holiday. We have flocked to the coast like gulls, to get ourselves back to nature, irritating the steady local population. This is the red zone for tsunami. Salt dries stiff in our hair, and as we walk back from the beach, there are the jet skis, the barbecues, the cars with silver jaguars launching from their bonnets, the kids’ bikes, kids’ friends’ bikes, a litany of stuff and the pressure to have it, and it joins to form a mountainous wave that's high enough to dwarf even the most assured among us.

By Louise Wallace From Bad Things (Victoria University Press, 2017)

Hard to be Hager

PHOTOGRAPHY BY ADRIAN VERCOE

Writers Mandy and Nicky Hager tell Sarah Lang about the shaping of their social consciences – and their relationship as siblings.

Mandy

Mandy Hager is a prolific, multi-award-winning author, primarily of young-adult novels, as well as adult fiction, non-fiction, a picture book, and many educational resources. Her most recent book is Protest! Shaping Aotearoa.

We grew up in Levin. Our father established a clothing factory there. Our mother initially had four of us under five: Debbie, then Nicky, then me, then Belinda. There weren’t really any big-sister or big-brother dynamics, because we were so close in age. We had a lot of freedom and spent a lot of time at the river and the beach. We played imaginary games, and built forts. We were really close as a family. Our parents, Kurt and Barbara Hager, were only children, so it was important to them to create a tight family unit.

We grew up with a strong social conscience, instilled by our parents. Our father escaped Austria with his parents as a refugee of the Hitler era. Our mother, a New Zealander, was raised in Zanzibar, where her father was a doctor. Those experiences hugely influenced the way they both viewed the world. They both had incredibly strong beliefs about social justice, human rights and the environment. They always modelled how to behave in a kind, generous, and empathetic way. They encouraged us to ask questions, discuss important things, and notice what was going on in the world.

During our childhood, they invited people who needed respite into our house. We had unmarried mothers having babies. We had gay couples when it was still illegal. We had people who were having breakdowns. I think my parents heard about these people in need from friends of friends. We were too young to understand too much.

The arts and culture were very important to them, and we were exposed to all sorts: classical music, opera, contemporary theatre, dance. We went to performances. We had a huge home library and walls filled with original art. We girls were encouraged to go to university and experience the world without gender restrictions. Sometimes people gave our parents a hard time about the work Nicky was doing, but they backed him 100%.

Nicky is my role model. He’s always been completely clear about what needs doing, and what needs to be written about – and he’s done that calmly, ethically, and with integrity. He doesn’t only do difficult work, and stand up to people, but he’s also an amazing father, and a loving, kind person.

My first husband died when my kids were little, and the support that Nicky gave me, and gave my kids as a male role model, was extraordinary and I’m very grateful. If I need somebody to bounce ideas off, or to get my head around something, he’ll give me a really reasoned response. I can be overly emotional, such as with my recent despair over climate change, whereas Nicky is calm, reasoned, and logical.

Writing is the way I’m most comfortable expressing myself, and how I get out how I’m feeling. During a teenageangst stage, I only communicated to my parents via notes! I'm quite shy if I don’t know people well, so I’ve found public speaking a strain.

I’m currently finishing a young-adult novel. Next up is a crime novel for adults. I’m also President of the New Zealand Society of Authors Te Puni Kaituhi o Aotearoa Inc. We’re working on issues such as lobbying for authors’ rights regarding copyright.

My sister Debbie is a public-health educator and researcher at the University of Auckland who advocates for the disabled, and works on preventing violence against women.

My sister Belinda is a jewellery maker, who has exhibited, curated, and run Quoil gallery, and is now a qualified metal conservator. Belinda recently moved to Waikanae, which means she’s pretty close to me in Raumati.

Nicky Hager

My son Thom lives next door with his partner and children, aged three and seven. My daughter Rose lives 10 minutes away in Paraparaumu, so I feel honoured that they want to live near me and my husband [Brian Laird].

My sisters and I frequently get called “Nicky”. I recently spoke at an event and said “I’m the lesser-known Hager”. Afterwards someone walked up to me and said “Hi Nicky” by accident. We all joke about it. We’re in touch sporadically, but we’re all close. We each love gardening, cooking, and family gatherings at Christmas and other times.

I feel particularly proud of Nicky when his books come out. He’s got an unusual ability to put negative comments about him aside. Judith Collins [who was featured in his books The Hollow Men and Dirty Politics] said in public that he “needs to meet his maker”. That’s not okay.

Nicky

Nicky Hager is an author and investigative journalist who has written seven books about subjects including the military, intelligence agencies, and the unseen sides of politics. He also writes occasional investigative articles in the media.

When we were kids, the four of us hunted as a pack. We were a team. We were naughty sometimes. Once we ran away from home when our grandmother was babysitting us. We only made it to the back of the garden.

My siblings and I are all products of our upbringing. We had our Austrian father, Kurt, with his strong accent, and our dynamic Zanzibar-born mother, Barbara. They had a strong sense of social justice and an empathy for others. Our mother had a degree in horticulture, which was quite unusual then. While we were growing up, she spent 11 years doing extramural study and got a BA in social work. She became a family counsellor and a district councillor.

Our mother came from a line of doctors, for whom serving other people is what life is about. An old saying among her family was “You never regret your generosity” – words I think of often. Our father, having as a refugee escaped extreme danger from Hitler, spent his life showing respect and care for others. They brought us up on Dr Seuss values like “A person’s a person, no matter how small”.

With our parents, it was probably inevitable that we’d feel different in Levin. Feeling different can be difficult as a child but I think it’s also a gift – it allows you to plot your own course.

From age 12 to 16, I went to boarding school, so became a slightly more remote member of the family for those years. When I was a teenager, my father asked me if I’d like to take over the family clothing factory, but I don’t think he expected a yes. It would have been obvious that my life was going in a different direction.

When people ask why I do what I do, and why I am who I am, I say, “Let me introduce me you to my three sisters’. I’m proud of them all. Debbie recently launched her report for the Human Rights Commission about the violence and abuse experienced by disabled people including tāngata whaikaha Māori [Māori people with disabilities]. Meanwhile Belinda is in Antarctica, using her metal-conservation skills to help maintain historic sites.

Mandy is brave, loving, and wise. She doesn’t always realise how special she is. She cares deeply about her family, her readers, and the ideas and issues that underpin her books. Issues don’t always make good books, but Mandy combines them with telling a good story. I don’t know anyone who works as hard as she does.

Mandy is one of my greatest supporters. When I’m attacked in public, she leaps to my defence privately and publicly. She’s fiercely loyal. It’s a great thing to have your sisters on your side.

Currently, I’m in an in-between phase book-wise, which means I’m writing some articles in the media when I’ve got interesting information. With books, I never say what my projects are in advance for two reasons. Firstly, so they don’t get hindered in some way; plus the worst thing is to boast you’ve got a piece of work coming then not manage to do it.

Yes, what I earn is minimal, but it’s a privilege to do what you want with your life. If the price of that is not earning much, then it’s trivial as long as I get by. I live in the same house I’ve been living in for 30 years. It’s very Wellington in that there are more than 150 steps. I enjoy being part of a choir and tramping. My daughter Julia, 30, lives in Wellington. We’re very close.

I get approached by a lot of people in need. Over the past few years I’ve helped some Afghan refugees – who are some of the most marginalised people on earth – come to New Zealand. They’re now safe at last. It took a huge effort and I expect they and their families will give back to New Zealand ten-fold for being given a home.

Often people say to me “Don’t you agree that the world is doomed?” and I say, “No, that’s not fair” – because we owe it to people, particularly young people, to do our best to confront what is before us and make a better world.

I think many people try to answer the question about how they can make a difference and be useful in the world. I’d say that I, Mandy, and our sisters have been working on that question all our lives so far. We’ve tried to find ways that we can help people the most and to help with important things the most. It’s that simple.

Mandy Hager and Nicky Hager talk together at Writers Week session “A Write Powerful Challenge” (26 February) as part of the Aotearoa New Zealand Festival of the Arts 2022

Down a suburban street in Featherston, Katie and Carl Rosati’s black house sits behind a giant macrocarpa tree. Low-slung, with a sloping roof and a bright pink front door, it looks to be a stylish new build.

It’s hard to believe that the house was built in the 1970s, and cost the young, single-income couple just $350,000 when they bought it three years ago.

The couple returned from the UK nine years ago after Katie’s father became ill. Carl, a lead designer at Catch agency, and Katie, a florist, had their daughter, Ida, who is now four, and moved around three rentals in Wellington. Like many couples, they struggled to get on the property ladder.

Recalls Katie: “We looked at houses to buy but they were out of our budget. Wellington was really competitive. We had friends who had placed bids on something like 10 houses and missed out.”

They had friends who had moved over the hill to Featherston – single-income couples like them, who were drawn to the artsy, low-key community which still had relatively cheap property.

They fell in love with the house they eventually bought, and their daughter, Soren, now two, was born there. While the house was in a good state, they immediately painted the exterior a modern black, hiding the spots of lime green and beige popping through the old paint. Carl laughs. “The house is pretty rough around the edges. Don’t look too close. When you squint you notice things.”

It’s small, at just 90 square metres, but the living room has a high, sloping ceiling, giving

the semblance of more space and making the room feel light and airy. Most of their furniture was from the 1970s, and it fits in perfectly. The open-plan living and dining area is the hub of the home. A pot plant sits in the corner near a sideboard and the walls are still the original soft grey hue, though the light fittings are new. They sanded and waxed the dining room table. Most items in the living area were bought from thrift shops or Trade Me. The 1970s kitchen is original and in good shape.

Off the hallway, Ida’s bedroom has a teepee in one corner and an original 1970s glass door patterned with yachts. Next door, Carl and Katie’s bedroom is simple, with a view of the garden and trees.

Soren sleeps in a cute bedroom at the back of the house which doubles as Carl’s

office. Carl grew up in Norfolk, in the UK, where he found a passion for collecting things and foraging at car boot sales. When Katie met him in Newcastle-upon-Tyne, where she worked as a nanny, Carl was an artist and designer, and his hobby was collecting cameras.

A bookshelf in Soren’s room is full of Carl’s current obsessions: the Lego cars he bought and built sit in front of his collection of lime green “Fighting Fantasy’’ books.

Says Carl: “I’ve always had to collect something. It’s the surprise of looking for something you want to find. You get a little buzz when you do.”

On that note, the junk shops lining Featherston’s main street were among the things that lured him over the hill. “I also liked the fact that Featherston was a bit grungy.

I expect it will become a bit gentrified and when it does I’ll probably look for the next grungy town,’’ he laughs.

While the house was in good condition when they bought it, the 1000-square-metre land it sat on was another story. Carl points to the back garden, which is now alive with colour: mandarins and grapefruit hang on trees, near lemons like drops of sunshine. The back is now covered with grass, replacing rubbish, weeds, and thick bush. “It was trashed,” laughs Carl. “The back third of the property had dirt up to the height of the fence. You couldn’t get within five feet of the fence.”

They got a digger in and took months to clear it. Katie dragged a box around and filled it with rubbish. “It was like a forest in there. We were like goblins chipping away out there,’’ says Carl.

“I found some big bones in there. There was a bone graveyard behind the garage. Twenty years ago, people would warn ‘You shouldn’t go into Brandon Street after dark’.”

Katie says: “Over the years, I think the owners buried a lot of rubbish in the ground. We found that lemon tree near the chicken hutch, but it was lost in the mess until we cleared it.’’ She describes the overgrown yard as “the opposite of an enchanted forest.”

Carl loves tinkering in the back yard. He’s building a treehouse for the children which is getting bigger. “I’m working towards a space in my head that I imagine the kids having fun and playing safely. I want to build interesting areas that stimulate them.”

Katie grew up on a sheep farm in Kimbolton, in the Manawatū, and likes the familiar sense of space for her children. Chickens run around in a pen with a hutch inside it, and she has built a flower garden behind the shed. Tulips are bursts of red and white, and Lady's Mantle blooms along the fence line.

Carl loves his home and garden. He reflects that if they hadn’t made that decision to move they’d still be renting. “I can’t fathom what it must be like trying to buy now,” he says.

There are many things they love about the Wairarapa, including the junk shops. Katie drives along the highway to her part-time job glazing for Wundaire, a ceramics studio in Greytown, and she also works as a self-employed designer and web developer from her dining room table. Says Katie: “The community is amazing, full of creatives, and we are still only an hour away from the city via train or car.”