Wills & Dills in Westpoint, 7

“That’s the school over there.” Christian said. “Want to have a look around?”

William said, “At your school? No thanks.”

Dylan agreed. “We see more than enough of our own one. What else have you got?”

Roman said, “Jump in the car and we’ll go down to the tiphead.”

They got in, William and Dylan in the back and Christian in the front next to Roman. He drove west, along Derby Street. There were houses on the left, for a while. The school was on the right, followed by the racecourse. The Gypsy Fair had arrived in there and they were setting up.

Next, they passed the stables, where Christian worked, and a small sportsfield, (Kilairney Park). They turned left into Coach Street at the end and went past a line of beachside cottages. Most of them were small and old but there were bigger and newer ones amongst them, it was a growing area.

Then, there was a sportsfield set-up for horses, some paddocks with horses in them and the big and smelly fish-processing plant, which Roman’s family owned.

“Really?’

“Yes, really.”

“Your folks rich, Roman?”

“They like to think they are.”

The road went up on to and along the top of the rock-wall between the river, on their left, and the North Beach on their right. He didn’t slow down at all, just drove right up to the end of the road, jammed on the brakes and skidded to a stop.

“Damm, Roman!” Christian complained. “I wish you wouldn’t do that. One of these days the brakes will fail and we’ll sail out to sea.”

“No worries, My Boy,” Roman grinned. “I wouldn’t drown you.”

“You bloody better not!”

“So, Dylan and William, this is the North Tiphead. North Beach is out there, the South Tiphead over there across the river and Carver’s Beach beyond that. Australia is straight ahead of us, somewhere.”

“Very cool,” Dylan replied. “Is this a surfing beach?”

“Sometimes, yeah. It’s the nearest place to town where you can surf, but it’s no good when the river’s in flood. The surf gets full of driftwood and trees and stuff. The best surfing is out at the Bay, around the other side of the Cape to the south there. We’ll go and have a look out there later.”

William said, “What’s that big factory place down past Carvers Beach over there?”

Christian said, “That’s the cement works. It’s one of the town’s biggest employers. The coal barge is coming down the river.”

The big, black, box of a barge, looking ridiculously huge behind the small tugboat, passed alongside them, rocking as it left the rivermouth and went out to sea.

“Whoah, that’s a lot of coal,” Dylan commented.

“It is,” William agreed. “A couple more thousand tonnes on its way to Japan. They make all sorts of stuff out of it, steel, plastics, paint and explosives. It’s Westpoint’s biggest export by far. Of course, most of it is railed to Lyttleton to be shipped out of there.”

The two in the front swung around to look at him.

“Damm,” Roman said. “You really are a bright kid, aren’t you? How do you know all that?”

“I just . . . know stuff,” William blushed.

Dylan slid an arm around him and hugged him. “He’s a bright boy, My Wills. He’s gonna be a teacher.”

“He’s going to be a good one,” Christian smiled.

“Okay,” William shrugged. “Dills is going to be a musician, of sorts. What do you guys want to do with your lives?”

“Haven’t a bloody clue,” Roman replied. “We haven’t really thought about it.”

“It’s about time you did.”

“I guess. Something will turn up. I don’t care what I do. As long as I’m with Christian, I’ll be happy.”

“Yeah, me too,” Christian nodded. “We could just build a cabin out in the bush, live there together and be happy for the rest of our lives.”

“Wouldn’t work,” Dylan said. “We know of brothers who tried that, they lived in a cave. They got horribly sick and had to be rescued before they died.”

“Brothers?”

“Yeah, twin brothers, about Ross and Robert’s age.”

“Damm. Were they gay?”

“One is, the other is very not gay.”

“But they stuck together? That’s cool. Are they doing all right now?”

“Oh yes!” William grinned. “They’re doing very all right now. What are those people on the rocks doing with those big net things?”

Roman said, “You don’t know everything then. They’re whitebaiting, or trying to. There’s not many left these days, they’re almost fished-out.”

“Oh yeah, the Whitebait,” William said. “The juvenile form of the Common Galaxias, or Inanga. They lay their eggs in the tidal grasses, the larvae get swept out to sea and they live and grow out there for 6 months before returning to live in freshwater, breed and die. They are almost fished out but it’s more because their habitats are being destroyed by land development. They can sell for up to $200 a kilogram.”

Christian and Roman both said, “Damm!”

“That’s my Boy,” Dylan beamed proudly and hugged him again. “If you want to know anything, ask my Wills.”

“Shut up, Dills. I don’t know everything. I just read.”

“A lot, obviously,” Christian said. “There’s an old story here about a kid who used to swim up and down the river, chasing whitebait into people’s nets. But, that’s all it is, probably, just a story.”

“Yeah, probably,” Roman agreed. “They could do with him here today though.”

They got out of the car to stretch their legs and look around. It was a glorious sunny day and there was not a breath of wind. The landscape shone in the sunshine and everything looked fresh and clean, probably because it’d just had a good wash-down. There were clouds over the hills inland though, and a rainbow arced over the back of the town.

A small fishing boat was coming down the river, heading out to sea, and another one was coming back in. Two jet-skis played in the wake of the outgoing boat. They would not be popular with the whitebaiters.

There were several cars parked on the South Tiphead, looking across at them. Some little kids were paddling in the water on the small beach inside the river-mouth, under the watchful eyes of their parents, and there were more people on the long, gray, beach north of the river. Some of them were building a hut out of driftwood sticks.

The beach stretched away into the haze in the distance. A couple of dirt-bikes were racing along it. Several camper-vans were parked in the grassed area at the back of the beach and two people were fishing, with surf-casting rods, from the low rocks at the front of the tiphead.

It was a busy but laid-back scene – Saturday at the beach with the locals basking in the sunshine, while they had it.

“Very cool beach,” William summed it up.

“It is that,” Christian said. “Cold water though, and no-one’s surfing. There ‘s probably too much debris in the waves.”

“Yeah, most likely,” Roman said. “That’s the beach, one of them anyway. Now you’ve seen it. Let’s go uptown now.”

They got back into the car and retraced the route they’d come from. In Derby Street, they turned right at the second intersection, went along 3 blocks, turned right again and went up and over an embankment. They stopped in a gravelled parking area at the edge of a lagoon.

There were a couple of old sheds with a tangled heap of burnt and rusty roofing iron between them.

“That,” Roman pointed to the mess, “is the remains of the Westpoint Yachting Club’s shed. It burnt down a while ago; it’s about time someone cleaned it up.”

“It’s a sore point with Roman,” Christian said. “His old boat went up in the flames.”

“Yeah,” Roman sighed. “It was just an old dunger and not worth much, but it used to be mine. My Jackass father tried to have me blamed for the fire. We weren’t even in town at the time.”

Dylan said, “There really is not much love lost between you guys and your families, is there?”

“Definitely not! How are your family going to take you two being together?”

“We don’t know, but I hope it’s better than yours.”

“Couldn’t be much worse,” Christian said. “They’re all just jerks anyway. Our new family is much better.”

“You’ve landed on your feet there,” William said.

“We have,” Roman said. “They’re good people; most of the Carvers are. They’re not as rough as they look.

Anyway, to continue our tour – this is the lagoon. The fishermen’s wharves over there, obviously. You can get cheap fish here, under the table. It’s a good safe place for their boats, out of the river because that floods.”

“Biggest river in New Zealand when it’s in flood,” Christian nodded.

“Is it? How do you know that?”

“William told me.”

“Of course he did. You’ll make a good teacher, William. Come and teach in Westpoint, we could use you.

Okay, we’ll go up to the Square now.”

They went back over the embankment and straight ahead, up the street to where it ended at the town’s central park and sportsfield. He turned right, parked next to the kids’ playground and they all got out of the car.

“So, this is the Square,” Christian said as they walked across the playground to the edge of the sealed oval track around the sportsfield. “This is the heart of the town. Everything that happens, happens here.”

“The Gypsy Fair doesn’t,” William grinned.

“Well, if you’re going to be pedantic, almost everything happens here. That’s the skateboard ramps there. They’re not bad, but there’s a better one in Brownsville and Riverston, of all places, has got the best one in the country, so they say.”

“The best one is definitely not ours,” Dylan said. “There’s one on the waterfront in Kaimoana, but it’s crap really.”

“It’s not crap,” William objected. “But it is little; this one’s much bigger. What’s behind the hedge?”

“That’s the outdoor bowling club, green and clubhouse. After that is the pavilion for the Old Boys’ Rugby Football Club. Apparently, they used to have exclusive use of the whole of the Square, but there was some sort of rebellion and the people pulled the fences down and took the square back for everybody. Good job too, this is a great place.

After them is the miner’s memorial – a sunken garden with water features and stuff. There’s a statue of an old-time miner in there but some clowns kept breaking his head off, so now he’s got no head.

Over the far corner is the Westpoint Croquet Club’s greens, the Bandstand and the Grandstand, with the old swimming baths behind it. The next corner is the old War Memorial Gates, with some gardens and a couple of statues. Then, the new toilets, unisex and wheelchair accessible of course, and back to the Skateboard ramps. There used to be a shelter shed and an old jungle-gym there, but they bowled them to build the ramps.

So, that’s the Square, and it’s all one block away from the main street. They have street parties, games and all sorts of events here. It’s a cool place.”

“It is, very cool,” Dylan agreed. “We’ve got nothing like this at home. What’s the track around the football field for?”

“Running,” Roman said. “I think it was built for the Cycle Racing Club, but they’re defunct, so it’s just runners who use the track now. It’s a good place for training. People have been killed running in the streets. There’s talk about putting a rubber surface on it, which would be good. The tar-seal is hard on the feet.”

Christian said, “Ross and Robert are up in the grandstand, let’s go over there.”

The Grandstand was directly across from them but they walked to it by going around the track.

“Why are we going there the long way?” William asked. “We could just walk straight across the field.”

“I suppose you could,” Roman answered. “You just don’t. It’s normal to walk around the track.”

“It’s probably better for the grass or something,” Christian said. “See that statue there – the big white bust? That’s James Hargreaves Williamson, he was one of my grandfathers.”

“Was he? Why did he get a statue?”

“I’m not sure. He was one of the first mayors and he gave the Square to the town. Or, maybe it was because he started the Carvers, we’re all descended from him.”

“We?” said William. “Are you a Carver too, Christian?”

“Yeah, kind-of. My mother was a Carver.”

“Sounds like everybody’s mother was.”

“Well, almost. Roman’s wasn’t. Anyway, Mummy Dearest has nothing to do with them these days. She thinks she’s better than them – she’s not.”

“Definitely not,” Roman agreed.

Dylan said, “What’s the other statue? The small bronze one on the stone plinth?”

“Oh, that’s Superboy,” Christian said. “He hates it. They put it up after he died.”

“He died? I thought you said that he lives in that hotel with Robert’s brother?”

“Yeah, he does. He came back from the dead.”

“Rubbish! Nobody does that.”

“Justin did. Told you he was super.”

“He bloody must be!”

“He didn’t really die,” Roman sighed. “Everybody thought he did. He got swept away in a flood in the river when he was rescuing some kids. They had a funeral service for him and he turned up alive and well the same night.”

“And they put the statue up anyway?”

“Yeah. Well, why not? The money for it had been collected and he is Superboy.”

“Of course he is!” Christian said. He started up the steps into the grandstand where Ross and Robert were sitting at the front, behind the safety fence. “Hey, Robert. What are you doing here, run out of condoms?”

“Shut the fuck up, Squires. None of your business. What are you lot doing here?”

“We’re showing our tourists around the town.”

“Yeah? What do you think of it so far? And don’t say ‘rubbish’.

“It’s not rubbish,” said William “It’s a pretty cool town, for a small town.”

“It is a cool town, and it’s not that small. Kaimoana’s no bigger.”

“Wills used to be a Wellington boy,” Dylan said.

“Wellington? Yeah, well, the less said about that the better.”

“You can shut up too, Robert Mathieson!”