We could do with a couple more strong women right now, I thought, as Whina and I picked up the heavy wooden ladder Dad had made, and struggled over to the next plum tree. We’d already filled one sugar-bag with pears and apples. The orchard grows so much fruit, my parents give lots of it away.

‘Well, the trees should grow well,’ Dad said once, ‘there’s plenty of my blood in the ground to fertilise them.’

Mum went ‘Duncan!’ Then she stroked his cheek. They’re still lovey-dovey at their age; it’s embarrassing sometimes. But it must have been so scary when he hurt himself the way he did. He’s still got the axe; uses it to chop wood for our stove. Nana Hahona and Great-aunt Ngaio wanted him to throw it away; they said that, because it had human blood on it, it would want more. But Dad told them he was going to show it who was boss. ‘I’ve got unfinished business with this axe,’ he said — whatever that means.

He always keeps it clean and sharp. Once I saw him holding it, staring at the heavy metal blade and shaking his head before he limped across to the wood-shed to put it away. He can’t climb the ladder to pick fruit in the orchard any more. His leg hurts a lot of the time. But he can do most other things.

‘If that bloke Hitler causes any more trouble in Europe, I’ll send him a photo of me and my axe,’ he told Mum as he read the paper at breakfast this morning. ‘That’ll scare the pants off him!’

Mr McDougall has told us about Adolf Hitler at school. He’s building up a big German army. Anyone who tries to stand up to him gets sent to prison camps. ‘New Zealand lost thousands of men when we fought Germany in the Great War,’ I heard Nana Aggie telling Nana Hahona not long ago. ‘Pray to God we never have to fight another one.’

There were three plum trees to pick. Grandad John and Dad left as much native bush as they could. ‘Good on you,’ Auntie Jess said when she was staying with us once. ‘There’s too many people bulldozing and burning every tree within sight, just to make money.’

‘Nonsense!’ Grandad Sheffield snorted. But I think he secretly admires Aunt Jess. After all, she’s still his daughter’s best friend.

As Whina and I approached the first plum tree, a pair of magpies squawked at us, then flapped off. Mum made me take out my hair-clips before I left home to meet Whina. If she’s picking, she always takes off the silver bracelet Nana Aggie passed on to her. ‘Magpies like shiny things, Florence. You don’t want their beaks digging into your head because they fancy your hair-clip.’