Members Stories

Strawberrys and things

I have called the streets I mention by the names by which they were known then – so Colonial Road was Seddon Road and Huka Road was Hutton Road (should have been Hutton Track). I am writing about 1947-48. Did you know that we were the last ones to grow strawberries commercially in Birkenhead? It all began when my husband eyed a large empty section at the bottom of Seddon Road and thought of what he could do with it. (Without much thought I must admit) So, after getting permission of the owner, who lived in Hutton Road, he went ahead with his plans. Can you imagine the work ahead of us? Virgin land to be transformed into a neat strawberry patch. It takes almost a year of hard work. First to Rotary hoe and hand dif most of it’ then dig drains. Time and effort passed. Then the time came for planting, weeding, mulching not with plastic but with straw. To keep the birds off a contraption of string and tins, with the help of Ned Harkins whose property lay between our precious strawberry patch and our house, was rigged up so every time I took a deep breath I could pull the string and so frighten off the birds.

Then the thrill of the first berries though this soon died off with the work ahead. Up befor dawn and to bed after dark. The chips had to be packed in those faroff days, that was my job. By then I was struggling with a very sick baby. Then the worst trick of nature –I got a whithow on my finger which made packing pure agony. I felt at this stage that I didn’t want to see another strawberry in my life. I well remember one o f the "Turners" with an autioneer and buyer coming to inspect our patch as we were getting top price in the market of 7/6 a chip, wanting to know what fertilizer, etc. we were using. The only stuff we used was soot from the Sugar Works. The mind boggles when I think of spreading that awful stuff which we got by the truckload.

It was round about this time that there was a big Polio scare and the Watemata Harbour was declared polluted. Noone could swim in it. Then one Saturday morning over the radio came the news that the ban was lifted. With cries of joy, we got into our bathing suits and down to Chelsea to frolic and swim. Alas, in the afternoon the ban was back on. But from that day on, my finger which had not healed from the day Dr. Dudding had operated on it, miraculously healed and has never bothered me since.

Back to the strawberries. In those days I never heard them called fields – always patches. My very first memory of such was picking them in Glenfield "somewhere" and eating cheese and onion sandwiches sitting among the plants.

Needless to say, we didn’t make our fortunes.

Kaye Bland