In the late afternoon, after an unsuccessful day, we made our way to a sandy beach which lay beyond the wharves and jetties and sheds – round Oriental Parade there.

We took ourselves out of sight behind a rocky outcrop, where we collected kaipūpū – some to cook up in the billy, some to bait the line with. We pulled in a few little carp, cleaned them and cooked them on a fire we made after dark. We slept there on the sand.

After three days’ seagulling, eyes having passed over us on all three, the uncles decided we’d be better off at home catching decent-sized fish and growing cabbages. The walk back to Porirua would take several hours.

We were leaving through the main gates when a taxi pulled up and a ship’s captain looked out and spoke to us. Well, I thought he was a captain. All these dazzling, uniformed men were captains to me in the days when I didn’t know better.

‘Gentlemen, I could do with a helping hand, or two, or six,’ he said. ‘Follow me.’

We followed the cab back through the gates to the wharfside where a ship was being loaded, and with the help of the driver we took from the taxi a bolt of cloth, a small carved table, a supply of whisky and a suitcase. During our three days of wandering the wharves and jetties in the hope of earnings, of all the sights to be seen it was this coal-powered steamship bearing the same name as my home town that had most drawn my attention.

After we had delivered the goods on board, the ‘captain’ handed over three florins, which we were more than pleased with. He accompanied us off the ship in case we stowed away or stole.

‘Wait here,’ he said, ‘and let’s see.’

We waited an hour or more. The man, who wasn’t a captain I found out later, didn’t return. Instead another grand uniformed man arrived and seemed to sigh within himself as he looked us over. To my uncle he said, ‘We can take the young one,’ and rattled off a whole lot of information that my untrained ear couldn’t catch.

My uncle spoke to me in our own native tongue. They’re shorthanded because of sickness and unreliability, he told me. They needed a new peggy and could give me work on board, no pay for three months, but I would have food and training. Sailing in an hour. If I proved myself, if I was reliable, they would hire me. Uncle Tad added a few thoughts of his own. ‘What if they never pay, just dump you back here when they’ve got the work out of you? When he says a few crew got sick does he mean they died and got chucked overboard? And what will your parents have to say to me if I allow to you go?’