A Comfort Zone Behind Those Gates

From Pam Jackman, NZ Brat

I didn’t realize at the time but it really was a comfort zone behind those gates. My Dad was in the Royal New Zealand Airforce, having originally been in the Royal Airforce during WWII, and yes my Dad was British.

My Mum was the Base Barber, during the “short back and sides” era. They wear their hair much longer these days, maybe it’s not like that in the USA. It was fun when my country used to “play” with the ‘Yanks’, as Mum got to hone her skills on the “flat-top” cut and also the short all-over style. NZ servicemen weren’t quite so keen on losing that much hair! Dad would bring foreign servicemen home, my favorites were definitely the Americans, I was spellbound by how they spoke and their material goodies, jeans, gum, etc. Remember in those days the only way I got to wear Levis was when Dad returned from overseas with some buttons and I’d sew them onto my old Kiwi jeans and pretend they were Levis!! I remember Dad getting my first-ever set of 30 (or so) felt-tip pens. All the other kids at school had single-purchased crap-colored felt pens :-). Then they would get some too, when their Dads went away. Our gum came in little packets of tiny pillow-shaped bites. Americans had STICKS of gum, so to flick a few of those around was somewhat of a status symbol, and I loved every minute of it!! Besides we never had such joyous flavours as strawberry or grape etc. We only had peppermint gum, period! PK and JuicyFruit.

I used to sit in the Barbershop after school, and the men would tell me “It’s your turn”, but I would have to announce that I was a girl, in those days barbershops were solely for men. Mum always had my hair very short, for convenience I guess, and being a tomboy, who needed long hair!! 50 cents pay for every head of hair I swept up had its limited appeal, and being humiliated in the barbershop was beginning to wear off. I guess the climax came when my Dad gave me a camera toy. I soon realized it was not a toy but actually would work. I found some money to buy film and proceeded to go walking while I waited for Mum to finish work. So I wandered up to the “apron” where I knew everyone, with my camera. The men up there figured it was a toy and didn’t mind my taking photos of their brand new C-130 Hercules AND the new Iroquois Helicopters. I mean these things were the pride and joy of our government, sparkling clean and pristine new.

Somehow I wormed more money from my Dad to get the film developed. That day I collected my photos from the pharmacy and ran all the way to the Barber shop to show my Mum. It seemed kharma that the man under the barber’s cape, showing no rank visible, was the Base Commander. I think the next day the MPs had a wee revision on possible breaches of security and to even look out for cameras that looked like toys hahaha.

Summer came around and I wandered down to the base pools, knowing I’d be safe. On our Base, if you passed a proficiency badge and had it sewn on your swimming trunks, you could swim unaccompanied at the base pools. All my friends were down there. But I had been scared of the water so a slow learner. Embarrassment at this forced me to learn and get my proficiency badge, which I did. All the young people went there after school, in those days. Our parents knew we were safe, and most of all, knew where we were. I also played Softball whenever I could, as I loved things American and it seemed, so did most of the military around me.

I learned to drive on the airfield, learning how to operate the gears, etc, and take time to view my hands and feet, etc, not having to look up to any road. It was just miles and miles of green grass to wander around bunny hopping Mum’s car!! But I could handle the vehicle before I ever saw a road to drive on! Then I began to grow up and of course, all the single men on base were my dream guys. I got a job working for the Base cleaning company. As a tomboy with short hair, I could even clean the men’s dorms, as most people thought I was a boy!! That was way more fun than doing the toilets (yes down here we call them toilets, not latrines or whatever!) or the library, or even Base HQs! Give me the men’s dorms any day. Well, one or two of my mother’s skydiver friends (did I mention my mother was a skydiver?) would stop and talk with me, so I would stand and polish their brass door knobs. The adjutant never did work out why, looking down the hall, every now and then there was a shiny gold door knob and the rest were left dull brown tarnished color! :-))

Our Primary School (Elementary School) was civilian but it was attached to the Base, with only a fence separating us. I remember back in the 60’s we were all shepherded over to the fence and allowed to cross through to the Base, and stand on the side of the road waiting for an event. Back in those early days, the Military Base shared its runways with the then-international airport. Some cars emerged and went by very very slowly. The windows opened when they came across us kids, and some young men with the weirdest haircuts waved and called out at us. We all waved not really knowing why. Back in class, I remember the teacher asking us what we thought of their hair. I replied I thought it looked like our Black Beetles from the garden!! She laughed as she told us that we had just waved at some nice young English boys called The Beatles 🙂

We were safe on that Base. Our parents let us run loose but we were under the umbrella of our military family. The only time I had any problem with the MPs was when my brother and I, now a little older, were flying our kite. My brother biked down to the store and bought another ball of string, and our kite rose to great altitude. Mum was at the barbershop. Dad was in the hangar. MPs were sent to nuke this airborne hazard as the pilots of the precious C-130s had reported it on their flight path!! Spoilsports!!!!

In recent years I have returned for various functions, but never seeing any familiar faces naturally. Time and faces move on. However, it feels very very wrong and hurtful when a ruddy-faced young MP tells me I can’t enter the Base without a military ID. That is the part of being a Military Brat that I hate, they stop me from visiting my home. Of course, I have no home in there now, but nevertheless, it’s where I grew up. I have my youth dependent ID and one day will present that and see what they say. hahaha. But it is quite hurtful to be turned away.

Well, our stupid government has deemed it unnecessary to have a military, sold most of our aircraft, and the land my Base is on is considered prime city land, soon to be handed over to the state again. The day that happens will be a day part of my heart will break very very badly. Apparently, it will be in about 10 years time. Already the Base where I was born is no longer there, but I don’t have such heartfelt memories of that place. My daughter began pilot training earlier this year, and the cycle repeats itself, but she has never known the military life. I married a farmer (he’s a pilot too) and my kids have grown up on a farm, which is also a good life.

I am proud to have grown up a Military Brat! I hope you have enjoyed my little bit of Kiwi recall.