Ngā Tāngata o Te Hiku o Te Ika

“I often think this, holidays at our bach up 90 Mile Beach, stuck in behind the dunes, when I was 6-7-8, my mum & sisters and I would go there probably every May school holidays while the cows were out, are some of just the best memories of my life. We lived off the beach pretty much, the sound of surf – I love that so much – it's such a strong memory for me. I loved the freedom at the beach, to do what you like. I’d be out the door by daylight, my only instruction from Mum to be home by dark. No parent would do that these days. I remember reading to mum, reading was a big part of my life, and I would listen to the weather. The bad weather was almost better than the good weather because you could light the fire and listen to the wind and rain on the roof.

I was originally going to be a schoolteacher, but I dropped out of university and came home, went to social welfare because I couldn’t find a job. I was told to go away when I wanted to go on the dole, so I found a job cutting scrub under telephone lines, and then the day I turned 20 I got a job as a barman at the hotel but that was cramping my social life so I got a job at the substation in Pamapuria. When that job finished, I got a job from a friend who was 2IC at Aupōuri Forest, I was absolutely useless at it but I stuck at it. 90% of the guys I worked with were Māori which was good for me because I was in the minority, which I had never been before.

One day when I was married, and we had our first child, I did a correspondence course in journalism because I did not want to spend the rest of my life pruning trees, and offered myself to the Advocate but they didn’t give me a job and then one day I got a call from the Age and I got a job. That was the beginning of 44 years at the Age.

One of my most memorable experiences during my career that truly impacted my world view was in the 90s when the government was going to downgrade the hospital to a super clinic. That went on for 7 years... one year, there was a march for the hospital. It started outside the Age office, it went right up to the hospital, full width of the street... Some reckon there was 20,000 people that day, who knows.

But they came from all over, right out from the Hokianga, busloads of them! And there were patched gang members linking arms with businesspeople and little old ladies, everyone was totally united.

That was the real Far North... A lot of people were in tears. It was an amazing display of solidarity, I had never seen anything like it before, and I don’t know if we ever will again. That changed the way I thought about this community. It's the first time I remember thinking 'very few people are all good, and even fewer people are all bad.' Everyone had a mix – everyone has something to offer. That was sort of a light bulb moment for me.

I’ve never knocked on doors after death in my career... I realised because I value people more than the story. I knew I wouldn’t get a positive reaction in door-knocking in a sensitive situation and upsetting them really wasn’t worth getting more readers of the Age.

Early on in my career, I realised I had to let people decide that they can trust you... Trust is so very important, and I would never, ever do anything to put that trust into any kind of question. If something was off the record – it was never published by me. Even if it was a really great story, I wouldn’t jeopardize the trust by doing anything with it. Accuracy was also a big part of gaining trust, as well as treating an individual with respect and giving everyone a fair go. My philosophy was always to give someone a fair go. If someone wrote to the paper with an opposing opinion to my own, I would still publish it – why wouldn’t I? I don’t think I would’ve gotten very far otherwise.

The biggest hurdle I had initially... I was reporting in this community where I have lived all my life and I’m related to a lot of people – where a lot of people I was writing about somewhat negatively were friends or people I knew... That emphasised to me the importance of accuracy and respect. Although it was tough, a lot of people ended up taking it on the chin.

My biggest achievement in life is my kids and grandkids, who are all growing into good, normal people.

Other than that, I was made a member of the New Zealand Order of Merit some years ago, that was special because it came from people who know me.

One year, we had a gentleman working on advertising for the Age who went up and down the main streets of Kaitaia asking people what they thought of the local paper... the main feedback that came back was that the paper was credible. That also meant a great deal to me.

There’s always been critics and there always will be, and bless them, because you need them – you seriously do. I’d do something I thought would be brilliant and I’d get completely slandered for it. It was definitely what kept me grounded.

This really is a fantastic community – some extraordinary people and so many of them just fly under the radar. It just about brings me to tears when I think about the division happening across our country, and I hope it stops soon.

Nowadays, I spend a lot more time tending to my roses and they are looking better than ever because they’re getting a lot of attention... I’ve slowed down a bit and am enjoying having more time.

A part of my daily routine is still reading the rainfall. It’s something that funnily enough I have done every day since I was asked to on 6 May 1977 at the Age. When I walked into my office that morning, I was told that I needed to read the rain gauge every morning... I’ve continued that habit, still collecting the rainfall every morning, simply out of curiosity and habit I guess.

I am relatively happy with the legacy of being the former editor of the Northland Age, but I guess more than anything I just hope I will one day be remembered as someone who really values this community and always did what I thought was the best for it.

There are things I’ve realised since I’ve come into retirement that I didn’t have the time to even consider before. If I could go back, I would tell my younger self that you don’t stay young forever, and the things you do now are almost certainly going to have an impact on you later in life... Take your time to smell the roses.”

“I grew up in a farming community, back when neighbourhoods had neighbours who cared and children could run freely, it was overall a very happy time. All the neighbours would look out for one another’s children in their own way. I didn’t grow up with the word ‘safe’, it wasn’t even a question that you were safe – that was already implied in the community I was raised in, I was really lucky. My mum was always heavily involved in community things, she had a servitude nature, and I got to experience our Marae at a really young age. The lifestyle, and the kinship and the connectedness of all of that, with many aunties and uncles.

My grandmother was the most influential person in my childhood, as well as my mother. My grandmother had a big part in my upbringing, her house was only 100 metres across the paddock, and it was always my job to make sure she had milk in the morning. As I grew older, I would hang out there more and more, and then I got to the age when my parents said it was okay for me to live with her, so I did. We had a special bond her and I.

My mum was a marvel to be reckoned with in our lives, and looking back, my dad was a really cool character, very hard worker. My mum would always be doing things in the community. If there was a fundraiser, if the school needed something, or if her kids needed something, she was there. My dad was very outdoorsy, he was the kai moana gatherer and would always have my brother and I outdoors doing crazy things, like my brother driving a bulldozer up a steep hill at intermediate age, while I’d be following behind with a flame thrower strapped to my back burning off parts of the ngahere [forest]. We were having the time of our life while our poor mum was probably ageing terribly cause her face had “worry” written all over her face whereas I was “woohoo”!

I did my overseas trips - worked overseas for a few years, got to spend time in Turkey on a Rotary International scheme but Te Hiku is always home. I have so much pride and joy for this area. I was the best bar maid in Australia for a while, and I came back to Te Hiku when my dad passed away. A lot of things in my life would not have happened the way they did if my dad had not passed away when he did, I probably would still be living overseas today. When I was home, I needed coin in my pocket, so a friend said to me, ‘why don’t you apply for a job at Aupouri Ngati Kahu Te Rarawa Trust?’. Honestly, back then, I couldn’t get the first word out of my mouth let alone the rest, at the time it was probably the longest Māori word I’d ever heard in my life. So I was super nervous to get an interview with an organisation where I couldn’t say their organisation’s name.

I went for the interview and was asked if I knew how to turn a computer on, and off again. Laughing to myself and a bit cocky I said yes, yes I do. So I got the job, but fell off my chair when I was told I was a computer tutor teaching women office things. I knew nothing about computers or running an office! Like nothing. Geez, I was reading heaps and prepping tutorials the night before, for months until I finally fessed up. The women I was teaching all had black sunglasses on, black leathers, black jeans – they were pretty staunch women, and I later figured out that many had partners in the Black Power. They absolutely blew me away and I learnt so much from them. Together we set the bar for success and we just kept going. Every day, they showed up, dressed to succeed, ready to empower themselves. They all went through the New Zealand Institute of Management Supervisory Certificate and succeeded. That was a really incredible thing to be a part of. I was proud then and I am proud now to have shared that journey with them.

They were on the court and playing the game of life, marvellous role models to their kids – they weren’t in the grandstand watching life go past them. That period and their success made me realise that everything in life is possible.

These last few years I’ve been thinking about how history will record me – am I sitting in the grandstand or am I on the court and playing the game? I want history to record me as playing the game. If you sit in the grandstand, there’s no effort, no trial, no commitment, no nothing – you’re just an observer. To get on the court and play the game is hard work. You’re going to be unpopular at times and fall over, question yourself, and do dumb things but ya get up again when you are on the court - cos change doesn’t happen from the grandstand, it happens on the court. I’m a glass half full person and Te Hiku is home and we deserve the best. Everything is possible! End of story.

If I could go back and talk to myself 30 years ago, I would tell myself to stay on course to learn my Reo. I did Te Reo in school right until fifth form, when the school just pulled the class and closed it down. My teacher said to us, ‘it’s not going to help you in life, so put it as far from your thoughts as you can and go choose another subject’. So, I did just that, I switched that part of my life off for a very, very long time, and I wish I hadn’t. I wish I had carried on for myself, it is my culture. I didn’t reconnect until I returned home to New Zealand and saw myself staring at the longest Māori words I'd ever seen (Aupouri Ngatikahu Te Rarawa Trust). Funny thinking about that now – ain’t life full of surprises, it rolls off my tongue these days.

It is not our past that creates our future, it is your words, in the here and the now.”

My parents came from Auckland and lived here for 50-something years. They never called themselves locals, but always said their children would be, as we were born and raised here, so this is and always will be home for me.

My earliest memory is paired with my mum’s retelling of it; she used to take me to Awanui School [where she taught for many years] with her, right from when I was 10 weeks old. Although I don’t remember that early on, I remember being around 4 years old and being led through the playground by other school kids, I have many happy memories there.

I always had a lot of fun throughout my childhood and teen years, growing up in Kaitāia, I was very lucky. My best friends today are still the girls who were my neighbours on Matthews Ave growing up. My biggest pride is my family unit - my husband and my children. They’re just good people, you know? They care about the world and people and family. And that’s all that matters to me. We may not be perfect, but we always try to do our best. I can look at my family with much pride.

I’ve always been passionate about the work I do in Human Resources and Compliance. One of my best bosses and mentors, Trevor Gray, put me onto the journey of HR which I’m really grateful for. Another great boss, Tunney McFadyen told me I should work for myself, but I wasn’t brave enough to take the leap. I was scared! You see, I’m not a risk-taker. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realised that it’s those risks that bring about the change you need in your life. If something compromises my ethics or integrity, or the environment I’m in doesn’t honour human rights and partnerships, I won’t hesitate to speak up or remove myself from that environment. That’s something I’d tell my younger self. If your beliefs aren’t being respected, walk away. Someone else, somewhere else, will appreciate you for who you are. I work for myself now, and I love it, and I treasure the relationships I’ve made along the way.

In the future I want to travel more; whether it’s travelling locally or internationally, I think travel opens your eyes in ways nothing else can. You meet new people, experience new cultures, and learn more about yourself and the world. I remember the first time I was invited to a national REAP conference and I missed out because I was afraid to fly. For years, I made excuses. But once I faced that fear, I never looked back – I would be first on the list for all future conferences! I believe life isn’t about the things that you have, but the experiences you get to live. I used to always drag my kids along to community events because I wanted them to experience things, it’s really important.

The most pivotal moment of my life came when I lost my dad and followed by my sister, Kim. Who even was I before that happened? I don’t remember. Loss changes you in a way that I can’t fully describe. It really changed the way I view life, and I’m always learning this and being reminded of it – but you really, genuinely try to stop sweating the small stuff. It just doesn’t matter anymore. There is no point. When you watch someone like my sister who wanted to live, would’ve given anything to live, who had four children and three grandchildren at 49 years old, and through no fault of her own got cancer and pass away. It really changes how you see things. I got stuck in the angry phase of grief for a long time, and it wasn’t until I did grief counselling that I was able to come out of that, I couldn’t recommend getting that external help enough.

There was so much going on around the time that my sister got diagnosed. My dad had passed away, my mum had already been diagnosed, and then my brother was diagnosed five months after Kim was. Kim passed in September of 2012, and then two months later my husband had to have life-saving open-heart surgery, and I was suddenly back in the hospital that my sister died in. It was a tough time.

It feels like a really depressing part of my story but it’s real – people don’t often talk about this kind of stuff because it feels awkward or bizarre, but it’s the truth. Once I passed the angry stage, humour is what got me through, maybe a bit of a warped sense of humour. Because if you don’t laugh, you pretty much would cry all the time and you know those that have passed on wouldn’t want you to be doing that.

I live knowing that life is so precious, and it’s too short to sweat the small stuff. My children are like that too; they appreciate sunsets and sunrises, the moon and the stars and the rainbows – all the things that are bigger than us that bring joy. I love that.

I’m so lucky that I have so many people in my life who are influential to me – my late sister, my Mum & Dad, my brother, my dear friends, my Matthews Ave girls that I grew up with, oh and my husband and my two children – I’m learning from them every second.

My mum used to say, “Will this matter in a year’s time?”, sometimes things feel really, really huge but if you stop, and think, is this going to still be important in a year’s time? It helps to put things into perspective. Above all, I just want people to always be kind. You never know what someone is going through.

For my 10th birthday, during the end of the Second World War, in 1945, my mother asked me what I wanted for my birthday cake and I said a battleship. So she made me just that. She asked if I wanted a birthday party, and I said oh yes. For the birthday party, she took me up to just below the airport where there was a lovely grove of taraire trees. We played cops and robbers, tag, and all the rest of it on the crunchy leaves. I remember it so vividly.

During the war, when NZ was under threat from the Japanese, because our school [Oturu Primary] was very close to some military installations, we had a practice every week to keep ourselves safe in the event of an invasion. When the teacher said ‘run,’ we had to run and get into a six-foot deep slip trench, and you had to run fast. That was scary stuff. I can still remember the smell of the damp soil, and the teacher would leave us there for 10 or 15 minutes. It was a very different time.

I had a very happy childhood. Most days were very enjoyable. I had very good parents. My mother had the biggest influence on me when I was younger. She was an ex-matron from Waiuku Hospital but had to give up her career when she married my father, who was a widower. She had more energy than my father, who I guess had already had his first family and perhaps wasn’t as interested in the second edition. A loving, caring, and charitable person my mother was. She taught my brother and me lots of domestic skills—cooking, ironing, and cleaning. She certainly taught me a love of books and reading, which went on to be very important in my life. Being charitable, I think, was one of the best things I learned from her. She was always inclined to help others, and I think a bit of that rubbed off on me.

I’d say to young me, go back to the start because it’s going to happen so rapidly in front of you. I’d also say travel isn’t the only way to garner your understanding of the world. Knowing your neighbours is just as important. Get to know the world around you. We had a rich community back then; people shared and cared, and everyone was interwoven. I think it is important to continue your relationship with your community. Don’t forget those friends you had in the beginning, keep with them. Keep your relationships going, they’re very important. It's something I wish I did more of.

I wouldn’t call myself a passionate person, but a person that maintains a compendium of interests. The things that I most enjoy in life are human connections, having people around to meet and greet and talk to and entertain. The real stuff in life is in amongst the interactions with people.
My wife and I bought this bit of dirt in 1972 and turned a whole lot of gorse into a farm. My wife and I made a bloody good team and had a wonderful marriage. It’s almost five years since she passed now. I saw some past students the other day who told me Mrs. Shepherd was the best teacher they ever had. I said they were indeed lucky because she was a very good teacher. But she was also a wonderful mother and a great wife as well. I regret very much that we’ve had five years without her because we would’ve had a pretty good five years, I think. I doubt time will ever change that feeling.

Community development has always been something I’m committed to and interested in. The coalition of cooperative people on a committee or a board has always fascinated me—how the dynamics work and how decisions end up being made. I’ve spent half my life on committees, most of which have been for the benefit of the community, like one that resulted in the building of Te Ahu Centre.
In life, you get dealt cards that you’re not able to control the dealing of. I ended up in the army as a 21-year-old, and the rest of my mates were 18. When that happens, you end up as a leader by default because of your age. So I ended up going up in the ranks quite early on. Because of three men who drowned that were my neighbours, subsequent events meant that event changed my whole life because I most likely would’ve stayed there in Te Rawhiti for a few more years.

In my lifetime, I am most proud of the fact that I survived. There are a couple of times that I should have died. I should have had heart attacks and other things, but I survived because of good medical attention. I had a very supportive family and wife, and the right doctors and medical care at the time.

I think the special feeling that the Far North provides is very hard to put into words. Every single day, there’s something that makes me say, ‘Well, isn’t that lovely.’ There are always beautiful scenes to see, whether it’s rural or coastal. It’s a lovely, pumping little town, there always seems to be something happening around the edges.

I want to be remembered for being a good cook. I’ve preserved 154 jars of local produce this year so far. People can remember somebody else for the strangest reasons, maybe that will be mine.

A defining moment in my life that I often look back on is when we decided to make Kaitāia our home. My husband is born and bred in the far north, in Houhora. We met in the south of France, and after that, I moved from a small South Taranaki settlement called Hāwera—a place I’ll always call home, full of fond memories—to a small town I knew nothing about. It was a huge change for me.
I’d never been North of Auckland, and suddenly, I’m here, running a business, raising two boys with my husband, and making connections with some of the most incredible people I’ve ever met.
It wasn’t just a move; it was a life shift, and it’s been one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. Most people don’t know this, but before I became a florist, I was a chef for 13 years. I loved the energy of a kitchen, the hustle, the bustle, and of course, the food and the joy it brings people. I spent a lot of time traveling the world, working in different places, but when I moved here, I knew it was time for something new.
Floristry found me, and I’ve never looked back. That journey from chef to florist was life-changing, and I wouldn’t be who I am today without those years of learning and growing. I always tell people the best piece of advice I’ve ever received is to "never forget why you started" and "only look back to see how far you’ve come.
It’s so easy to get caught up in the hustle of life and business, but remembering that spark—the reason you first began something—keeps you grounded. And for me, that spark is the joy of meeting new people and helping them celebrate life’s special moments, whether it’s a wedding, a funeral, or simply brightening someone’s day with a bunch of flowers. That’s what keeps me going. That, and my ever-supportive family.
I’m really proud of the community here in Kaitaia. I’ve been lucky to meet so many inspirational people through my work as a florist, and I have to say, the support I’ve received from this town has been amazing. The people here—whether they’re customers, suppliers, or my fellow volunteers at the Kaitāia fire brigade—are what make this place so special. I’d even say I could think of 50 people before myself who should be featured in this piece! It’s an honour to serve and be a part of this community, and every day I’m grateful for the relationships I’ve built over the past 14 years.
I’m so proud to call this place home.