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but most of the audience ran like mad things to the local store, such as Ozzie Buckman's shop in Wallsend. This occurred wherever Westland
Talkies were showing pictures. Few patrons could last for a full session without buying food and drink. You had to race everyone else too, or you
could miss part of the main film. It was sometimes my job to issue “Pass-outs” to those leaving the theatre. Everyone wanted them at once. And
then they had to be collected when they all came back. I did manage to become quite fierce about it in time. Mind you, very few people on the
Coast would be mean to a child, especially in a mining community.

Before and after the film there was another hazard awaiting fair maids, or the faint-hearted. Between Wallsend and Taylorville across the
magnificent Grey River, there was a very long swing bridge, ie. suspension footbridge, and a giddy and wobbling bridge that was. That was bad
enough, but if the lads noted someone they wanted to impress for good or bad, they leapt onto the end of the bridge, shaking it and dancing on it.
One solution, apart from going many miles round to the road bridge, was to race across on your bike if you were quick enough to get there before
the boys. Walkers were generally doomed, and most people walked. The best solution was to trail along behind some of the elders of the district,
but they did tend to stand and talk after the pictures for what seemed hours!

My strongest memory, apart from significant films, is the trip to and from the
venues. If I did all of the housework possible, my mother was a softie and
would let me go to the movies twice a week, which meant that I did the trip
often. Dad gave us a cake of chocolate for Rene every time we went. He
knew her love of the stuff. She growled, but ate it happily.
This trip was amazing in retrospect, and similar in Stan and Fred's area.
There could be up to 20 squashed into the van (a larger one) which picked
everyone up from our place. It was crowded and hot. Some of us discovered
that there were some that we did not want near us in the dark van, or in the
dark theatre for that matter, but we soon found those who were safe to sit
beside. Loud voices worked too. The van would stop with a jerk and the
relevant jerk was put out to walk, by Alf or Rene. That usually ended the
problem.
Fred Galletly (left), his brother and sister-in-law.
It was a safe enough trip because Wallsend is only a few miles from
Stillwater, and both of our drivers were particularly skilled. There was one bench seat near the cab, and there were many metal cans of film and
other gear. Apart from that there were the two wheel-arches and the floor. You had to be quick to get a seat, but a crowd meant that each of us had
to carry less gear up the hill and up the stairs, especially at Wallsend, and then back down again afterwards. It was not compulsory to carry the
gear, but it became a sort of rule that we made for ourselves. I suppose that was part of being in a community which appreciated every scrap of
entertainment that was provided.
Westland Talkies survived until 1957. People had individual transport by then and could go to the main centres for entertainment. Television was
making its appearance in New Zealand.

What did Alf and Rene do for an income then, after the trade fell off? Why, drive of course! They purchased a taxi business with radio telephone,
which included yet another necessary technological skill. Alf had been told that this would be simple for him to deal with. In frustration one day,
he came mournfully into the house, stating that he “was not simple enough”. A second try brought success, especially as we had laughed to order.
As in everything else, they set about driving people round with gusto, and drove the car both day and night. At first, Alf drove at night and Rene
during the day, because women were not allowed to drive after dark. Eventually Rene won the right to drive after sundown and before sunrise, if
she had a companion with her. Her aged father did most of the trips, but my sisters were called in at times.

Entertainment gave them great pleasure till the very end. Strong memories remain.
They watched television at a time when you had to hang netting cloth over the screen
to see even a shadowy picture. Reception was near impossible over the Alps in
Westland, but local geeks of the day had climbed Baldy (Sewell Peak) above
Stillwater and placed a repeater station there, after being told it was impossible. They
had found various spots throughout Westland from which they could bounce the signal
around.
When colour TV was first promoted for sale, Rene went immediately to Greymouth
to buy one. The pair of them wanted to be, and were the shop's first customer. It
remained in the off position until the 1974 Commonwealth Games in Christchurch
were telecast in colour. There were many visitors to their home at that time!

Alf could not be without a driving task in his old age. He joined the Dobson Volunteer
Fire Brigade, and set about improving it. Because all of the volunteers were at work,
he trained women to be firemen - until it was forbidden. I typed letters to authorities Great mates for life - Fred, Stan and Alf. Image: West Coast History
for him in 1975, pointing out that he had to wait around for precious minutes for the men to get away from work, and that the women were perfectly
capable of getting everything to the fires ready for the men. These pioneer women eventually managed the biggest hoses two at a time, and saved
several properties on their own. But no, the authorities brought that to an end. Fortunately times have changed. He would be pleased.

My last memory of Rene, who survived Alf by a few years, was of her watching TV1 in colour, with a small black and white set on top showing
TV2. She was also listening to the cricket on the radio, and doing a cryptic crossword. Goodness knows what she would have done with all of the
channels in operation today. ✶

Credits:
Cartoon by Peter McLauchlan.
West Coast History.
Unless noted otherwise, all photos from Mary Moffit’s Family Collection.

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