The Bard

When it comes to names, sometimes parents get it exactly right and by giving him ‘Porteous’ for his second name, they got it dead right – William for a Christian name didn’t do him any harm either.

I’m always impressed by people who can put poetry together and our local Bard was adept, especially when he added humour with a bit of satire having a go at bureaucrats and governments.

I have no idea what comes first, music, poetry or rhythm but they are tied together, so playing the bagpipes probably started our Bard off in becoming the wordsmith he turned out to be.

I first ran into the Bard when he played the Lament at the local ANZAC dawn services and more closely when he became a neighbour when the Forest Service bought old Bert Fraser’s block of land.

He was a little older than me and his two younger daughters were around the same age as our sons, so we met up in the role of parents supporting their kids at school and Sunday school functions.

The Bard was hugely community spirited and took roles in local government and community committees such as water, school, hall and sports.

There was a spring on the South end of Fraser’s block that was the source of a small water scheme that served several homes almost reaching down to the coast. The Bard took responsibility for the scheme, which meant that he and I cooperated to ensure the integrity of the scheme. I advised the users to be aware that the spring had a limited life because it was to be surrounded by pine forest, which meant it would eventually dry up. It was a matter of keeping of keeping the various households informed and the Bard was good at that and helpful.

I used the Bard as an example for our environmental programme with schools in Tanzania. The basis of my story was true but I embellished it to impress the students and to motivate them with the message of tree planting.

‘Porteous [I knew the name would impress] was not permitted to light fires close to the forest but burning his gorse and rough vegetation was the only method of control available to him. He asked me what he should do. My reply was that we should have a common boundary, meaning when we burn the gorse on our side, we would also burn his side. Then we should both plant our respective areas with the same species of trees. I told him that after twenty years, he could become rich! I was prepared to give him the seedlings but he must look after them. His trees grew very nicely.

Twenty five years later when I was back in New Zealand for a visit, my friend Porteous came to see me. He had heard that I was home and he had come to thank me. He had recently harvested his trees and had made a very good profit, so was grateful!

The next day he arrived in a huge lorry. On board he had a gift for me – it was a big, red bull [the audience usually gasped]. The bull‘s horns were as wide as my Landrover was long! The animal was so big [I stepped out four large paces and gestures with my hand for his shoulder height].’

Of course the kids were too intelligent to take my story as gospel and joked among themselves about the size of my mythical beast but they certainly remembered the lesson.

I hope too that they remember the name ‘Porteous’ because in my perverse way it serves as a memorial to a man whose wit, community spirit, companionship and poetry are sorely missed.