I've been away with a bunch of guys whom I first met 44 years ago. We go fishing once a year. I say 'fishing' but these days most fish are quite safe. Instead, we walk the beaches, frequent the cafes, read newspapers, listen, talk, and laugh.

Occasionally throughout the year we might ring each other up. We even did a ‘zoom’ once. There might be the odd emails too. Though some of the guys don’t really ‘do’ email. In short, there’s nothing that quite beats being in the same room together.

Older pākehā males tend to struggle a bit with friendships. Many friendships have been made at work, and then don’t seem to last when that work is done. We seem to struggle with having meaningful conversations over the phone or by other modern wizardry. Some of those we consider ‘best friends’ might not have talked with us for over a year.

Being in each other’s presence, or physically doing something together, even if we are not talking, seems to work best.

Communication is a lot about presence. Mind you there are stories. Good stories, maybe with a little embellishment to cover for some forgetfulness. Not that forgetfulness is a big thing for anyone yet, but most of us have passed the three score years and ten.

We used to consume alcohol as we talked. Maybe it reflects the change in NZ drinking patterns but nowadays it's coffee. If there is beer, it’s one of the zero brands. Alcohol often can mess with our attention, sleep, and health.

And also, we are wary of alcohol’s negative attributes generally, like its correlation with cancer and car-crashes, and its marketing as necessary for social acceptability by wealthy conglomerates who then take little responsibility for the consequences.

Mind you we eat. Lots and often. Including fish. We have some good cooks in our number. A friend of a friend joined us one evening. He brought dinner in a large cast iron pot that he had cooked over a fire. A venison curry. Venison that he’d shot and butchered. It was quite a curry.

Our guest lived up in the bush, and had to get his chainsaw out to clear the track/road in order to join us. He was a character, and regaled us with stories and opinions that you don’t hear every day.

This year we went to Kaikōura. Travelling by car, air, and hitch-hiking. Some of us came from the North, some from the deep South, some from the urban, some the rural. The getting there is part of the experience.

We were invited on to the local marae, a friend-of-a-friend thing again. Takahanga Marae is the turangawaewae for Ngāti Kuri. The wharenui (meeting house) that stands today is on the exact site of the original house, which was built some 450 years ago. The marae made this doco about their history: https://www.maoriplus.co.nz/movie/the-bones-of-our-past‍

The current marae was made in the mid-1980s and the design and build were led by the renowned master carver Cliff Whiting. The walls and ceiling are alive with the stories and whakapapa of many of the hapu and iwi that make up what is today known as Ngāi Tahu. From the void, to the night, to the light. For a couple of hours, a kaumatua talked the history to us.

I came away from the weekend musing on stories, what we remember, and retell in order to remember, and what we pass down, which in turn shapes the now. I hope that stories of goodness, of giving and sharing, of courage and resilience, of laughter and community will always have central place and not be forgotten.

I also read in the weekend a recent academic journal article, of a historical nature, from 43 years ago in which two of us guys feature. A tale of protest and arrest and religion’s role in political change. My memory did not recall the same level of detail, and I was pleased to be reminded. It’s another encouraging story that others think should be passed down.

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Glynn

(Photo: Takahanga Marae)