After I’d bought the tea, Uncle Jimmy Shop asked me to help him unload a cartful of goods before it rained. The cart was out in the yard where there was also firewood, old iron, broken washboards and wringers, holey pots and pans, bits of canvas, animal pelts, horns, rusty tins and a broken box. Jimmy Shop let anyone help themselves to anything in the yard except the firewood.

We unloaded dried goods, brooms and scrubbing brushes, sandsoap, boxes of tea, milk powder and condensed milk, Vicks, Lane’s Emulsion and canned peas.

When we’d finished, Jimmy Shop offered me a handful of lollies but I asked if I could have the box instead.

‘That’s not a box, it’s firewood,’ he said. But he let me have it. Lollies as well.

The only thing left at home from my own babyhood was a set of pram wheels, which I sometimes pulled along by a rope with a load of wood on top. I fixed the box as best I could and tied it on top of the wheels to make a cart for Moonface.

In the dark or half-dark, I’d lift Moonface out of his cot, pull off his night nappy, wrap him in his blanket and take him in the cart to let Kata off his chain before going on through the house gate calling the cow. Moonface would sit there while I milked Tui, talking his sounds at Kata and me, his face luminous above the edges of the box. Mum was impressed with the cart.

The day I turned twelve – that was in August 1925 – Mum mentioned to my sisters, Mina and Ti, that it was my birthday, reminding them to give me their good wishes. Mina had part-time work helping at Jimmy Shop’s store, and Ti was helping Mum at home while the men were bringing in new ground so that we could extend our gardens.

On the way to school, and all morning while sitting in the classroom, I thought about this day being my birthday. The desk where I sat and which used to fit me was now resting on my knees so that its feet came up off the floor. This made me understand that anything to do with school was now unsuitable for me.

At lunchtime I started for home, chewing my bread as I made my way through the trees, at first running, but then slowing down to a walk, captured by the penetrating smell of damp leaves, spores and mosses, the mordant, chilled air, the running water, the black and the green. Also there were the warm, mottled patches where sun was being sieved through the fronds of fern trees. A journey through bush fills your lungs and frees you.

Instead of going to the house after coming into the open, I went down towards the flats where I knew Dad and others were stumping in the burn-off.