The Pass

By John van Buren

The Pass is a humorous yarn about the first eight years of John van Burens farming career. Set at Okuku Pass Station in North Canterbury, New Zealand, the book follows John as he learns the arts of farming, rodoeing, playing rugby and generally having a good time in rural New Zealand. Told in the manner of a good kiwi bloke, the story will have you laughing with and at the characters you meet along the way. Enjoy the mirth as you saddle up and ride your way through the pages of this epic tale, told in a gripping, no holds barred narrative.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Jul 10, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499009224

John van Buren

John van Buren began his farming career at Okuku Pass Station in 1980. He was seventeen years old. He worked his way up from a junior shepherd to the position of head shepherd by the time he left the Pass in 1989. He went on to work as a stud stock manager in Lyttelton Harbour, owned a successful gorse spraying business, leased a farm in partnership with a mate and then went on to lease the Wheatsheaf Tavern. John gave it all away to go gold mining underground in Australia. He currently lives with his wife and son in the Southwest of Australia.

Book preview

Copyright © 2014 by John van Buren.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2014911024

ISBN:      Hardcover     978-1-4990-0932-3

                Softcover       978-1-4990-0930-9

                eBook            978-1-4990-0922-4

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 09/25/2014

Xlibris LLC

1-800-455-039

www.Xlibris.com.au

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CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

About the author

For my son Zac,

May you have as much fun reading it as I had living it!

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

T o my editor, Belinda O’Keefe who turned this book from a yarn into a story and made it readable, a huge thank-you. To my neighbour, Judy Evans who critiqued the work as it progressed, and to all the people who helped with the memory lapses: Steve Pauling, Lyn Morris, Des Dobbs, Taff Henry, Scott Keenan, Dick Neal and Bob and Bruce Yates. Cheers guys and th anks.

CHAPTER 1

I was desperate not to have to go back to sc hool.

I had had enough.

It wasn’t that I was stupid and couldn’t handle it. I had just lost interest. I had decided that an outside job was the one for me and I was prepared to do anything except work on a council.

Being a national park ranger had the most appeal as I loved tramping and being in the mountains but that meant going back to school, repeating the sixth form and then doing a further three or four years at university.

No way.

Not when they guaranteed jobs for only thirty-five people out of an intake of one hundred and twenty.

But that wasn’t my biggest concern at the moment—just finding a job was. Mum and Dad were going to make me go back to school unless I found a job, so I had to find one ASAP.

I applied for over fifty jobs out of the paper and only got a sniff at three of them. One was for a painting apprenticeship. While I was at the interview for that, the contractor asked if I was related to a Henk van Buren. When I told them he was my dad, they said that if I was anything like my old man (he was a painting inspector for the Ministry of Works) then they didn’t want me. Too pedantic, they told me. Too fussy!

The second one was for a picture framing apprentice. Not exactly what I had in mind for a career and I bailed out at the interview that I never expected to get. Told them that I would probably be too pedantic, too fussy to be a good picture framer!

The third was an ad for selling educational toys. It wasn’t till I got through the introductory course and was due to do my first night in three days’ time that they told us we would be selling encyclopedias. I stuck it out for the first week, but after getting frozen every night, bitten by some mongrel dog, finding out that there was no retainer paid and not making a sale, I bailed on that one as well.

I was getting desperate.

I ended up writing letters to every Lands and Survey Farm in the phone book, of which there were about seven.

I only got three replies. The first was from a farm just out of Christchurch at a place called Eyrewell. The manager of that place wrote to me and said that there were no vacancies and would not be any in the foreseeable future.

The second was a letter of rejection from a place called Coringa written on toilet paper, so it wasn’t hard to guess what the manager had been doing when he wrote that reply! But at least he took the time to let me know.

The third was a handwritten letter from the manager of Okuku Pass Station who wrote to say that there was nothing available at the moment but would keep me in mind if anything arose. I got that letter on a Monday and was getting pretty despondent. The start of the school year was looming and I was starting to panic.

Then the phone rang on the Wednesday morning and it was the manager of Okuku Pass Station, a guy by the name of Lyn Morris who said that they’d had a vacancy arise through the TEP (Temporary Employment Project) scheme. This was a government-based incentive to find jobs for the youth of New Zealand. He asked if I would be able to make it out to the station for an interview on Saturday morning and gave me directions on how to get there.

I whooped for joy and couldn’t wait for the olds to get home from work that evening to let them know the good news. Although I had a driver’s licence, I had no car, so I asked to borrow Dad’s. He decided that he would come for a drive with me to see where the farm was. Saturday morning rolled around and, because it was a nice summer’s day, I put on a dress shirt, shorts, walk socks and my best shoes. Dad backed the Falcon station wagon out of the garage and we set sail for North Loburn. A drive of about forty-five minutes, that took us north of Christchurch out through Rangiora. The Station was at the end of the tarseal just past North Loburn. In front of us was a large hill which I would later learn was Mount Karetu.

We pulled up at the manager’s house and there I met for the first time the man whose influence was to rule my life for the next eight years.

He was standing outside the front door of the house with his hands on his hips, dressed in hobnail boots, jeans, check shirt and a large western-style straw hat. He wasn’t a tall man but he was built like a brick shit-house.

‘Good morning Mister Morris, I am John van Buren and this is my father Henk,’ I said, and stuck my hand out only to have it crushed in the strongest handshake I had ever experienced. I was six feet tall and reasonably well-built and I squeezed back as best I could. My dad had always taught me that when you shake a man by the hand you do so firmly and look him straight in the eye. I did this, but could feel my knuckles getting rubbed together with the pressure.

‘G’day,’ he replied, and stood there looking me up and down before turning and shaking my father’s hand. ‘Lyn Morris. Nice ta meet ya both.’

I had a feeling that I had seen this man somewhere before.

‘Come into the office,’ said Lyn, as he turned and headed into the garage.

‘I’ll wait here and have a smoke,’ Dad said.

I followed, taking in the sights as I went. There were two cars in the garage, a Falcon Ute and a Mitsubishi Mirage. In front of the ute was a buggy with the shafts poked up toward the ceiling and to the right of this was a set of deer antlers loaded with all sorts of horse gear. Hanging on the wall next to the antlers was a set of Charles Atlas Bullworking Springs with a full set of six springs on it.

‘Grab those and pull them apart,’ said Lyn, indicating the set of springs.

Oh yeah, I thought to myself as I got the springs off the wall. Shouldn’t be too difficult.

I set my feet and got a good grip on the handles and started to put tension on the springs in front of my chest. Shouldn’t be too hard to get these apart. I got my left arm straight but holy shit I could only get my right arm halfway out! I had a real crack at pulling those bloody springs apart but I couldn’t achieve any more than I had! Shit, as a start for an interview and trying to make a good impression this wasn’t going so well.

‘Mmm,’ Lyn said, looking at me thoughtfully. ‘Come into the office.’

The office was set at the back of the garage and Lyn entered first, sitting down at a small writing desk. I followed and sat on a small bench seat—it was pretty cramped and I nervously awaited the outcome. I was sure I had blown my chances by not getting those damn springs apart.

‘So why do you want to go farming?’

I thought I’d better be really honest here. ‘I don’t know anything about farming. I only know that I don’t want to work indoors or on the council; I want an outside job,’ I admitted.

‘So can you start Monday?’ Lyn asked.

‘Pardon me?’ I replied. I sat like a stunned mullet trying to absorb the fact that I had been offered a job. Lyn must have noticed my complete look of surprise and incomprehension.

‘You’ll do me,’ he said. ‘I’ve had a few young fellas try and pull those springs apart but none have had as good a go as you. So I’ll give you a crack. Like I told you the other day, you will be employed under the TEP scheme, which runs for six months and after that is up then the job will cease, but we’ll see what happens, eh? You’ll be paid $172 a fortnight by cheque. You keen?’

‘Hell yes! I’ll be pushed to start Monday though,’ I replied. ‘I’ll have to get a bit of gear organised and tidy up some loose ends in town. What sort of stuff will I need to bring with me?’

‘Just some boots and whatever clothes you want to work in. You’ll be staying in the old cottage up the road so you’ll need bedding, and you’ll be eating with the head shepherd and his wife at the old homestead. Come up tomorrow week, get settled in and be at the sheds at 7.30 a.m. on Monday morning.’

We walked back outside and I think the grin on my face made it pretty clear to Dad that I’d scored a job.

‘How’d it go?’

‘Yea, start Monday week,’ I said, still grinning like a Cheshire cat.

‘Thanks for giving my boy a go,’ Dad said to Lyn.

‘She’s right mate, we’ll make a man out of him,’ Lyn replied, shaking both our hands again. This time I was ready and got a good grip and squeezed like shit, but I could still feel the tenderness in the knuckles from the previous handshake.

We got into the car and headed back to town.

Whooee… the year was 1980 and I didn’t have to go back to school! At the age of seventeen and a half I was leaving home to start my first full-time job. Dad was pleased for me but I think he was also apprehensive that his boy was now flying the coop and heading out on his own.

The next week couldn’t go by quickly enough for me and by the time I said good-bye to my mates and got my few possessions together, I was well and truly excited by the prospect of living and working in the country. My girlfriend, Helen, was pleased for me in the fact that I had landed a job, but she was none too pleased that I would be leaving town!

Mum baked up a storm and got out sets of sheets and items that she thought I would need in my new accommodation. Dad gave me a pair of work boots that he had been issued with and never worn, so that was a saving of $120. I was set to go!

The following Sunday finally arrived and we set off to my new life. Mum and Dad both came for the ride (this time along with my brother Tony) and we arrived at Okuku Pass at about one thirty in the afternoon. We pulled into Lyn’s driveway and it was full of cars. There was the smell of a BBQ cooking and a whole lot of people were around the other side of the house.

Lyn came out of the house with two rolls of toilet paper and tossed them to me. ‘The cottage is the first place on your left up the road; it’s unlocked. I’ll see you at the sheds at seven thirty—they’re behind the old homestead over there,’ he said, pointing over his shoulder to where I could just make out an old house behind a row of big old trees. ‘See you then,’ he said, as he turned and headed back to his guests.

We drove up the road and stopped outside an old weatherboard cottage that looked a bit dilapidated, with waist-high grass surrounding it. We made our way up a concrete path which led to the front door. I could see the look of distaste on Mum’s face as we entered the kitchen area where there was an old coal range, sink, fridge and table and chairs.

‘It’s a bit filthy,’ she said. ‘It’s going to take some cleaning.’

She saw the ripped lino, cobwebs in the corners of the room, dust everywhere, and the faded paint.

I saw heaven!

I wandered through the kitchen and into the lounge—the carpet was a bit threadbare but there was a couch, two armchairs and an open fireplace. An old TV sat in the corner on a beer crate. Off the lounge was a bedroom and to the north was a sunroom, which was divided into two. The larger bedroom had a bed in it and I decided to make this mine. Heading back out the front door was a large laundry with a bath and a hand basin in it. There was another small room that served as a woodshed. The toilet was in a separate room between the laundry and house. To me it was perfect.

‘Not bad, better than the railway hut I had to live in when I first arrived here,’ said Dad.

We went back into the house where Mum was already in full swing cleaning and dusting. Tony had gone over to the woolshed and was poking around the yards. I grabbed the broom and went to the bedroom and swept that out, set the bed where I wanted it and made it up. Dad had cleaned the lounge and started in the sunroom. I gave him a hand and by the time we were finished there was the smell of a bacon and egg pie coming from the kitchen. I leaned out the window and gave Tony a yell and we all sat down to the pie that Mum had prepared earlier; then we did the dishes and had a cup of tea.

‘Well, ‘bout time we headed back to town, my boy,’ said Dad.

I agreed, so we packed up the car and they prepared to leave. Mum had a bit of a tear in the eye, and after lots of hugs they departed.

The first thing that hit me was the silence. After living in the city for most of my life the quiet of the country was something I was totally unaccustomed to. It hinted at a solitude that I had not experienced since I was last tramping in the mountains. It was a beautiful evening and I sat on the step of the sunroom and lit a cigarette. It was awesome, the sun was setting, the birdsong was dying away and I felt like I had finally arrived at where I was supposed to be in my life.

I know that it’s about here that I should say that I missed my home and my family, but the truth is I didn’t. Even though the cottage was a bit rough I felt that it was here that I was meant to be.

As the evening cooled further I wandered back inside and flicked the lights on; the silence was actually quite loud so I turned on the old TV. To my surprise it worked. Well, it came on, but had no picture! A quick study of it revealed that there was no aerial attached—just a length of aerial wire screwed on the back, so I ducked out to the woodshed where there was an old bicycle wheel hanging on the wall. This I grabbed and attached the aerial wires to it and sat it on the windowsill… I had sound and a picture! (On TV1, anyway)! I eventually worked out that if I moved the bike wheel to the other side of the room I got TV2 as well and both had sound if the weather was right!

I read a book until I felt tired enough to go to bed and slept surprisingly well.

I woke the next morning at 4 a.m. and bounced out of bed. I didn’t realise it at the time but this was to become a habit that would stick with me for the rest of my life. I got dressed and went through to the kitchen and made myself a coffee, sat at the table and lit a ciggie—this was also to become a habit for the rest of my life. I like to refer to it as my quiet time, to sit there and contemplate and plan the day ahead. A great way of beginning the day.

I carried on with some more cleaning, liberally dosed with breaks for coffee and cigarettes.

Because I was unsure of where I was to meet Lyn at the sheds, I thought I had better leave a bit earlier to make sure I found them by seven thirty. I headed out the door at six thirty and wandered down the road past Lyn’s place. I came across a gate which led me into a small paddock—the sheds were on the other side. I made my way through the paddock and duly arrived at the front of the shed at 6.37 a.m.

Mmmm, mental note to self, do not need to leave the cottage at 6.30 a.m.!

I wandered around the shed, where there was a large lock-up with two attached open bays in which were parked a couple of tractors and a couple of Land Rovers. Outside there was assorted haymaking, fencing and spraying equipment parked neatly around the yard. Everything looked in good order and was nice and clean—I was to learn that Lyn ran a tidy, well-organised operation and we were expected to keep the gear in pristine condition. Behind the sheds were more implements and a heap of posts and coils of wire for fencing. Across the yard were single-men’s quarters, which consisted of two bedrooms, a lounge and shower-room/laundry. To the right of these was a fence behind which was the old homestead – it looked absolutely huge. Behind both of these buildings were fenced-off paddocks where I could make out a chook-house, dog kennels and a whole lot of horse jumps scattered around. There were old established trees everywhere and all the lawns were freshly mown.

I was enjoying the sights and smells when a voice interrupted me.

‘How’re ya goin’ mate? You must be the new fella, eh? Des Dobbs… I’m the senior shepherd here,’ he said as he approached me with his hand out. Des was another fella who was a bit on the short side, mousy blonde curly hair and a moustache.

I had learned my lesson last week, so I grabbed his hand and squeezed the shit out of it.

‘Yeah mate, good ta, John van Buren.’ I saw him flinch a bit at the handshake and thought; Ha… must be doing it right! ‘You stay in the quarters here do ya, Des?’

‘Yeah mate, travel into town to see the missus on weekends and spend the weeks out here. Drive back on the Monday morning and head in on Friday night.’

We wandered back over to the shed together and Des showed me where the key was for the lock-up; we unlocked the door and slid it open. There was a white Land Cruiser with a crate on the back parked up, and around the walls were a heap of tools and equipment for the running of the farm. A large walk-in freezer sat in the corner and Des went to it and pulled out two hunks of meat that he said were quarters of sheep for dog tucker.

‘Here, grab one of these and I’ll show you where the killing house is.’

I picked up one of the pieces and we went around the shed and followed a track that obviously went up to the paddocks. There was a gate at the start of a lane and off to the right of the gate was a concrete block shed. Here we hung the meat on stainless steel hooks that went on rails that ran around the inside of the shed. As we were making our way back to the shed a car came into the yard and a young guy about my age got out.

‘Hey Steve, this is the new fella, John van Buren. Steve Marshall, John,’ Des introduced us.

‘Pleased to meet ya,’ I said to Steve as I shook his hand; I got a good grip on this one too and saw him flinch as well!

‘Likewise.’

‘Steve stays with his parents down in Loburn,’ said Des. ‘Call him Split-Pin.’

I was wondering how he got the nickname Split-Pin but there was no further information forthcoming, so I didn’t press the point. We got back to the shed and there was a skinny guy there in a short-sleeved shirt, singlet, dirty scruffy jeans and a beaten-up black cowboy hat. He had a long scraggly beard and hair that was down to his shoulders.

‘This is the head shepherd of the place, Dick Neal. Dick, this is the new guy, John van Buren.’

Dick looked me up and down and stuck out his hand. ‘Pleased to meet ya,’ he said as he grabbed my hand in a vice-like grip. I had got a good hold and I was starting to realise that a handshake around these parts wasn’t so much of a greeting gesture but more of a competition!

A sharp piercing whistle sounded from over by the homestead and Lyn walked round the corner.

‘What’s he whistling at?’ I asked Des.

‘Just making sure that no one has got their hands in their pockets. It’s a pet hate of his—people standing round with their hands in their pockets!!’

Lyn was dressed as he was the other day and he stopped in front of us all.

‘Met everyone have ya, John?’ I answered in the affirmative so Lyn began to dish out instructions for the day.

It appeared that all the boys were heading Out the back, wherever that was, to shift sheep and repair floodgates. They talked block and creek names, but I had no idea what they were talking about so just remained silent and listened in. Lyn checked to see whether I had a licence and then delegated me to take the Land Cruiser around to the front of his place and meet him there. This I did and parked up outside his garage. He came from behind the house with two dogs, one black and tan and the other black and white. He put them in the back of the Cruiser and said, ‘Right, let’s go.’ We drove back past the killing shed and up the lane to the paddocks.

‘How’d ya find the cottage?’ he asked.

‘Yea, it is excellent, bit grubby but I’ll get it straightened out, and I’ll have to do something with the grass around it,’ I replied.

‘Yea, don’t worry about that—you’ll be getting plenty of lawn-mowing in!’ Lyn replied with a grin.

We got up on to a plateau and here the track forked right and left; we went left and drove past a hay barn and through rolling paddocks on a well-formed track. It was a beautiful day and everything looked like it was well looked after. The fences were neat and tidy and all the gates were easy to open and close; all the paddocks had at least one double fence in between which were planted rows of pine trees for shelterbelts. It impressed the hell out of me even though I didn’t really know what a good farm or a bad farm looked like.

‘Can you tell me a bit about the place please, Mister Morris?’

‘Drop the mister, John—it’s just Lyn. Okuku Pass Station is an experimental block owned and run by the Lands and Survey Department and the New Zealand Forest Service. There are 15,000 acres of which approximately 6,000 are planted in trees, and there are about 3,500 acres of developed country. The rest is in fenced hill blocks.

‘What does developed country mean?’ I asked.

‘This is land that has been cultivated and sown down into paddocks like you are seeing here. There are 1200 acres in what we call The Front, which is what we are driving around now, and out The Back there is a further 2200 acres of worked up country. The rest of the place that is not in trees is fenced into hill blocks but there is an ongoing fencing regime in place. We are running 6500 half-bred ewes with 2000 two-tooths and 2000 replacement ewe lambs. We also run 350 Hereford cows and 110 heifer replacements. Plus we have assorted bulls, rams and killers.

‘When you say it’s an experimental property, what do you mean by that?’

‘The oldest trees we have on the place are six years old now and we are able to graze the stock beneath them. The aim is to plant more of the hill out and then the experiment is to see what stocking rates we can get in amongst the trees.’

‘Does it work… grazing amongst the trees, I mean?’ I asked.

‘It seems to, though I do think it is going to get more and more difficult to get the stock out of the trees as they get bigger.’

It was a prophecy that was to come true one hundred-fold and it would be one of the main reasons I was to leave this place in eight years’ time.

‘How long have you been here, Lyn?’

‘Shit, I was head stockman for Stuart Bain from ‘72 and then took over as manager when Lands and Survey bought the place in ’74, and I’ve been here ever since. It’s a good place and we run a pretty tight ship.’

Our conversation was interrupted as we stopped at a closed gate and I got out to open it; once we were through Lyn drove down the fence line to the left and we opened another gate into an adjacent paddock.

‘Tie this one back against the fence, John,’ Lyn said as we pulled up. ‘We’re gonna have to change your name… don’t think John suits you.’

I raised an eyebrow; this was the first time in my life I had been told that!

We drove across the paddock to the far corner where a creek ran diagonally across and a ridge ran up to a fence line above and in front of us. Lyn stopped and let his dogs out of the Cruiser and walked to the bottom of the ridge. I got out and leaned on the front of the Land Cruiser to watch, and lit a cigarette.

‘Get in, Glen. Come ‘ere Wal,’

The black and white dog tucked himself in behind Lyn’s legs and the black and tan shot out in front of Lyn barking his head off.

‘Stand there Wally, . . . stand.’

Wally stopped immediately and continued to bark furiously, he then turned slightly to look at Lyn and he got a ‘Stand-up Wal, stand-up.’ Lyn then went on to work Wally up the ridge with a series of voice commands and whistles. The sheep peeled off the ridge, crossed the creek and streamed up the face onto the next ridge. Lyn stood Wally on top of the ridge and got him to bark-up continuously; he then commanded Wally to walk down the face and follow the sheep through the creek and up onto the next ridge. I was impressed; I had never witnessed anything like this before. We had always had dogs as a family that were well-trained, but I had never seen dogs trained to do this!

Lyn called Wally back to him with a ‘Wayleggo Wal Wayleggo’, and Wally came tearing back to us looking as pleased as punch. We got back in the Cruiser, turned and drove up the ridge where the sheep were congregating, the dogs running happily beside us. We ended back up by the gate we had just come through. Lyn stopped the Cruiser and got out.

‘You take this John, and follow me down.’

He started walking down the hill and I followed a fair way behind, as I was scared of running a dog over. He had Wally barking at his heel and next thing I heard him give Glen a command. He shot out to the right going round the mob until Lyn let out a piercing whistle and Glen stopped on the spot. The sheep moved away from Glen and the next thing I knew they were running through the gate that I had opened; I thought that this was marvellous and I became absolutely determined that I was going to make this farming caper a career. Lyn followed the sheep to the gate and closed it after them while I parked the Cruiser and joined him.

‘What types of dogs are these, Lyn?’ I asked.

‘Glen is a Heading dog—a dog that pulls the sheep toward you and doesn’t use any noise. Wally is a Huntaway, a dog that uses lots of noise and chases the sheep away from you,’ he replied. ‘Never seen it before?’

‘Na, never seen anything like it. I’m impressed,’ I said.

‘We’ve just got to go up and check the water tanks. Leave this gate open but make sure you tie it back,’ said Lyn as we pulled up to another gate.

As I got back in to the Cruiser he asked, ‘So what about you, what have you done with your life so far?’

I thought I had better be pretty honest with this guy as he had offered me a job, and I do believe that honesty is the best policy.

‘Well, I had a pretty normal childhood, I guess. Dad was a painter and paperhanger and we lived all over New Zealand as kids, but we spent most of our lives living in Christchurch. Nevertheless, I’ve had the odd drama… I first got picked up by the police when I was nine. We were holidaying in the Coromandel staying at a place called Papa Aroha when we went for a picnic to a beach down the road. I ended up having a row with my sister about not being allowed another can of L&P, so I got the shits up and decided I was going to walk back to our campsite without telling anyone where I was going! I must have got a couple of miles up the road (I didn’t realise that it was actually about nine miles back to the campsite) when a policeman stopped and asked me what I was doing wandering around the countryside. He ended up giving me a lift back to camp, but of course I never realised how frantic Mum and Dad were when they discovered I was missing. Apparently they searched the beach, surrounding bush and roadsides for me, but of course I was back at camp just relaxing. They were more relieved than shitty when they finally caught up with me that evening! Ha-ha.’

‘So what else did you get into trouble with the police for?’ asked Lyn.

‘Ah, well….’ So, wanting to remain truthful, I proceeded to tell him the story of when I ran away from home.

‘I was fourteen and we were living in Christchurch. I wasn’t getting on with my sister too good; a mate of mine Greg was also having the same problems at his place with his sister, though he was a year older than me. I had been working down at the local dairy two evenings a week and in the weekends so I had a couple of hundred dollars in my bank account. Subsequently we decided to run away from home.

We were both fairly keen trampers so packing our gear for an extended trip was all too easy. We both flogged food and pots from home but we weren’t too sure where we were going to run to, until I mentioned that my family had been holidaying at a place called Brightwater, about nine miles out of Nelson. There were plenty of tobacco farms and orchards up that way so we thought it would be a good place to head for, easy to get work in the fruit-picking season. So we conned a couple of mates who had motorbikes to take the day off school and give us a ride out to Kaiapoi, where we were going to catch a train. We hid out in a ditch that night and jumped on the train the next morning, getting off in Blenheim as we had to catch a bus from there to Nelson. We chose to celebrate our newfound freedom that night with a six-pack of beer. We decided that Greg would go into the bottle store as he was the oldest—ha-ha, they kicked him out ‘cause he didn’t look old enough. I tried my luck and sure enough got served! We stayed at a motor camp that night and caught the bus over to Nelson the next day. We ended up spending the night sleeping under trees in the Botanical Gardens and in the morning we set out on the walk to Brightwater.

When we reached Brightwater we were both hot and thirsty so we stopped at the local dairy and got a drink and an ice cream. While we were sitting outside the shop, a long-haired guy with a pronounced limp went into the dairy after getting out of a really old-looking car. When he came back out I asked him if he wanted to sell his car, and for how much. It was a rusty old 1951 Vauxhall Wyvern; the type with suicide doors that open the wrong way. We agreed on a hundred and twenty dollars and he pointed out a house up the road with a big high fence around it and told us to be there at seven that night. We arrived just before seven to pick up the car—it turned out to be the gang house of the Lost Breed Motorcycle Gang. We were pretty nervous, but they were actually a good bunch of blokes who thought it was a helluva funny that we had run away from home, and without licenses, bought this car with no rego.

Greg drove ‘cause I had never driven a manual before; we stopped and got groceries, then headed out to a camping spot by the Wairoa River. We got a fire going in the riverbed and had a cook-up and coffee. We pitched the tent and got settled for the night.

There was a frost on the ground in the morning so we decided to drive up the road to a patch of sunlight we could see. Greg drove and as he picked up speed I think a combination of our foggy breaths and the iced-up windscreen caused him to lose control. He veered into the shingle on the driver’s side of the road and got into a skid which took us over to the other side. We hit the shingle again, and the car rolled onto its roof before skidding into the middle of the road. We weren’t hurt, but the inside of the car was a mess… a bag of sugar, a bag of flour and a bottle of shampoo had all burst on the inside of the upturned roof! There were groceries everywhere and the roof was pretty well caved in, but none of the windows had broken.

Greg went back down the road to a scout camp to see if there was anyone there who could give us a hand to get the thing back on its wheels, while I started grabbing handfuls of frosty grass to wipe all the mess out of the inside. Greg arrived back with about ten scouts who helped us push the car onto its side and then rock her over on to her wheels! She wouldn’t turn over when I tried the key, so I guessed it was either flooded or the battery had come off. We checked the battery and it was all good, so we decided to push start her. We grabbed the smallest boy scout and shoved him in behind the wheel, showed him how to put the car in second gear, where the clutch was and where the brake was.

The whole group of us got in behind and started pushing like mad. We got the old girl up to a fair old speed and then this wee fella drops the clutch and with a bang and a cloud of exhaust, he takes off like a bat out of hell, straight across the road and through a fence, into a paddock.

I pissed myself laughing and we all thought it was a helluva joke. The wee fella had managed to stop the car and still had one foot on the clutch and the other on the brake and man, did he have a grip of that steering wheel! We straightened up the fence as best we could, thanked the boy scouts and sent them on their way. I drove down to a corner of the paddock and got the car back onto the road. We headed back to our campsite, deciding to get warm by the fire and bugger the sunlight.

We tried kicking the dents out of the roof but that was a no go, so we ended up heading back to the Lost Breed’s gang house for some advice. It was mid-afternoon when we got there and the boys were all partying on the back lawn. They pissed themselves laughing when they saw the state of the car. They got into it with axes and hammers and got it roughly straightened out; all the while the beer and the hilarity flowed! The leader of the gang offered us some room in the garage to throw a mattress on the floor—the deal was that we had to take him to periodic detention every Wednesday afternoon. We accepted.

Next thing we were all interrupted by a shout of Cops! We were made to climb a ladder on to the roof of the house and hide behind the water tank. We cringed up there hoping the cops didn’t look up! I looked around our possie and there were a whole lot of young dope plants in containers up here with us! Thankfully the cops left without spotting us and things were all good again.

Over the radio that afternoon we heard an ad for casual workers needed down on the Nelson wharf. In the morning we drove to the wharf to check out the job situation and were offered a job on the spot. Of course we lied about our ages and gave them false names! We ended up working out on the wharf unloading the fishing boats as they came in; we either got in the hold with a big vacuum hose or worked on a sorting table on the wharf. The guy that employed us was pretty impressed with us by the end of the day and he offered us as many shifts as we wanted. We ended up pulling a double shift just about every day, which meant starting at 4.30 a.m. and finishing around 11 p.m. We told him we couldn’t do Wednesday arvos ‘cause we had other commitments (running Wayne to PD) and he was fine with that. We drove back to the bikies’ place each night after work and crashed there.

The following Wednesday we knocked off at lunchtime and headed back to Brightwater to pick up Wayne and take him to PD. I was driving and we were just about in Nelson when I got pulled over by the cops. Greg was shitting himself, but Wayne thought it was a helluva joke. I gave them a false name and they fined me for having no licence and driving an unregistered and unwarranted vehicle. After a closer inspection of the car they put a red sticker on it and banned me from driving it any further!

As I was leaning on the car talking to the cops, my sister drove past (she was holidaying up in Nelson with her boyfriend). She recognised me and they turned around and came back. The cops looked on in bewilderment as she started telling me how worried Mum and Dad were as I stood there telling her that there was no way I was going home! The cops ended up leaving and my sister and her boyfriend gave us all a ride through to Brightwater. Jane left me after saying that she was going to ring Mum and Dad to let them know where we were and that we were okay.

The next day we had to walk to work and I tell ya what, nine miles is a bloody long way at that time of the morning! We started alternating between a double shift and a single shift because the walking was just too much; sometimes we managed to hitch a ride and that got us back to the Lost Breed’s place quicker.

Late one night we were walking home after a double shift. It was just on midnight and as we were walking past a caravan sales yard, I noticed a key sticking out of the door of one of the caravans. Greg and I checked it out and climbed into the caravan for a sleep—we had to be up at 4 a.m. anyway, so we knew we wouldn’t get caught. When we left the next morning I pocketed the key and every time we pulled a double shift from then on we slept the night in that caravan!

We continued living like that for the next week and a half until one night when we were walking back to the caravan after a double shift, the cops pulled up beside us. They asked what we were up to, and our names. I told them we were heading home from a party and gave them a false name, but was astounded when Greg told them his real name! They cruised off and we kept walking. Then someone called my name; instinctively I turned to see who it was—it was the police again. He knew he had me nailed. So you’re John and Greg from Christchurch, eh? You guys are on our missing persons list. Game over. They made us hop in the car and they took us back to the station where they rang our parents to let them know we had been found. Then they made us have a shower and put us in a cell for the rest of the night. We got a huge cooked breakfast the next morning… it was by far the best meal we’d had while we’d been away. Then we sat around and waited for our dads to turn up.

They arrived at about nine in the morning, so they must have left early and they definitely weren’t in the best of humours! After discussions with the police we were free to go, but we had to go and see the Chief of the Traffic Department where we managed to get the convictions against me dropped once he heard of the circumstances. It also helped that Greg’s dad was a traffic cop. We even bumped into the cop that had pulled me over, and he offered to buy the car from me! Sent me a cheque for $25, ha-ha. We then drove out to Brightwater to pick up our gear from the Lost Breed’s garage and our dads were horrified that we had been staying with bikies!!

We went to hit the road to get back to Christchurch when I leaned over from the back seat and told our dads about having worked on the wharf for the last fortnight. We headed to the wharf’s offices, and when they were told the story they still paid us our full entitlements even though we had lied about our ages. The manager did tell our fathers about how impressed he was with our work ethic and punctuality! Turned out we pocketed $2500 for the fortnight, and I could tell Dad was secretly impressed. This was a lot more than he made in a month! We got home and everybody was pleased and relieved to see us, although there was still a distance between my sister and myself. But our mums were overjoyed to have us back.’

‘Shit, not bad for a fourteen-year-old,’ said Lyn.

‘Yea, it was a good experience, taught me a bit about how the world goes round!’

We got to the tanks and Lyn explained to me about where the water came from and where it fed to. He pointed out the places they had the most leaks and where there would probably be a leak and how to spot one. Over the years I was to become the go to man when it came to fixing water leaks… but I’m pretty sure that people just commended me on doing such a great job so they wouldn’t have to do it themselves!

The view from the tanks was impressive looking down over North Loburn, the Karetu River, all the green rolling paddocks and over to the smog of Christchurch in the distance. Lyn pointed out the boundaries of the paddocks and gave me a humorous critique of all the neighbours. There was the Whiterock Lime Works off to the left and behind that was a place called Whiterock Mains run by the MacKintosh family. Behind us stretched a plantation of pine trees that spanned halfway up Mt Karetu, and to the left of this was a Douglas fir plantation that covered the hills. Okuku Pass was nestled in the saddle between the Douglas Firs and Mt Karetu. The paddock that the tanks were in had a long and skinny slope and was used as an airstrip for flying fertiliser onto the paddocks.

‘We’ll head back down and go for a cuppa and I’ll get you to sign your contract,’ said Lyn.

We got back into the Land Cruiser and started heading down the hill.

‘So, any more times you were in trouble with the police?’ asked Lyn.

‘Yeah, just one other time,’ I said, sticking with my honesty is the best policy theory.

‘When I was in the fifth form at school a couple of years ago, I went through a period of that teenage rebellion thing and started jumping out the window on a Friday or Saturday night. I wanted to go partying with the crowd that I was hanging out with at the time. I’ve gotta admit that they weren’t the best of people to be socialising with. There was a real drug culture within the group and that got me interested—I very rarely smoked pot but I could see a dollar to be made! I started purchasing deal bags off a sixth-former at school (he and his mother were growing it) for $30 a pop. I would roll the dope into joints and sell them at school for $2.50; I was getting about forty joints out of a bag and going through between two and three bags a week. It was a helluva lot of money in those days and I had cash to burn! I always had friends but I realise now that they were the wrong sort of friends. But, at that stage, for a school kid I was pretty rich!

However, it wasn’t that long before being a criminal caught up with me . . .

One of the kids I was selling to got caught in possession of marijuana—of course when the police asked him where he got it from, my name was at the top of the list! The police interviewed me at school that day and I was suspended immediately and sent home. The police also informed me that they would be around that evening to notify my parents of what had happened that day. That was the longest bike-ride I had ever made in my life—heading home and all I could think about was how I was going to tell Mum and Dad.

They both arrived home from work and I was still hiding in my bedroom trying to work out what to say. I knew the cops were going to be there at seven so I bit the bullet and went and sat them both down and told them the full story. They were not happy! Dad ranted and raved about what a mess I was turning into and how I had been brought up better than that; Mum just sat there and cried. I felt totally deflated and ashamed with myself for putting my parents through it. The police arrived at seven and discussed the situation with all of us; it was to be an experience I never wanted to have again. They also issued me with a summons to appear in court in three weeks’ time to face charges of possession and sale of a prohibited drug.

The next three weeks ground along slowly and the prevalent feelings I had were of disappointment with myself. I went to my scout leader, my boss (from my job at the corner dairy) and my great uncle and got character references off them to support myself in court. All of these people whom I looked up to were totally disappointed with me. In those three weeks I was also expelled from Mairehau High School for buying, selling and possessing marijuana on school property. I think this was the thing that hurt Mum the most because both my sisters Jane, and Diana, had gone to the same school and both had excelled; I, on the other hand, had been kicked out in disgrace.

My court day arrived and I appeared before a judge who read through my character references and told me that if kept socialising with the same crowd then he would see me back there, but, if I took the opportunity to straighten myself out, then I could be a better person. I agreed with him and he let me off with just paying court costs. Man did I feel lucky!’

‘So what about now?’ asked Lyn. ‘You still use that shit?’

‘Na, not at all,’ I replied. ‘I learnt a big lesson there and haven’t gone near the stuff for three years.’

By this time we had pulled up at Lyn’s house and made our way to a paddock behind the house where his dog kennels were, to put Glen and Wally away. The dog kennels were called motels, had six bays and were raised up on poles. There was a pad of concrete underneath them with a drain into a deep covered hole. There was also half a dozen kennels on the ground, some of which had younger looking dogs tied up to them. I was impressed with the set-up… I had never seen so many dogs in one place before. We went inside for a cup of tea and I got to meet Lyn’s wife, Barbara, who was a really neat lady, although Lyn was telling her to watch me, as I was a professional drug dealer with connections in the gangs! I could tell Barbara was a bit apprehensive at this news and not sure whether Lyn was joking or not, so I tried my hardest to be nice and polite.

We went out to the office where I signed my employment contract; then Lyn took me out and showed me the cow bail and how to use the milking machine there. There was one house cow on the place and she was milked for those who wanted it. If everyone had enough milk then the pups got the remainder, other than that she was left with her calf. The calf was separated from the cow in the evenings and she was milked first thing in the morning. I offered to do the milking and Lyn readily agreed to let me do it if I was keen. I already knew that I would have the time after arriving to work an hour early this morning. He told me not to worry about it this week but that I could start doing it the following week—I could give Barbara a hand with it and learn how everything worked. He showed me around the three stables that were there, plus the feed shed and tack room. The tack room smelt amazing! The leather of the saddles, harness and all the paraphernalia for working with horses had a smell like nothing I had ever experienced before, and it made me want to learn as much as I could.

‘Ever ridden a horse?’ asked Lyn.

‘Never been near one,’ I admitted. ‘Keen to give it a go though!’

‘That’s good,’ he said. ‘We do most of our mustering here on horseback and all the cattle work is done with horses, so you’ll be learning to ride alright!’

He got a couple of halters out of the tack room and we went out into the paddock where the jumps were and caught a big bay and a smaller honey-coloured horse. Lyn showed me how to approach a horse and be careful of the bits that kick or bite. We took them up to the stable yard and removed the covers, then he handed me a brush and showed me how to groom them. While I brushed them down he got his saddle out and put it on the bay. I stood back and watched what looked to be a very complicated procedure, but I was soon to learn how easy it actually was.

‘Go and let my dogs out, would ya please,’ Lyn asked as he slipped a bridle over the head of his horse.

‘Which ones?’ I asked.

‘All the ones in the motels, ta.’

I walked over to the kennels and let out five dogs. Glen and Wally I recognised, and there appeared to me to be another Heading dog and another Huntaway, but I couldn’t determine what the last one

Reviews for The Pass

[judithrs · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Confessions. Saint Augustine. 2d Translated by Frank Sheed. 1992. And I Burned for your Peace; Augustine’s Confessions Unpacked. Peter Kreeft. 2016. Confessions was a fall sections for our great books club, and I just finished it! Not that I it should have taken me this long; I just read most of the books listed above as I read a few pages in Confessions two or three times a week until I finished it. It is a beautiful book, and I am so glad that I read it. To be honest, I am not sure I would have finished it had I not read Kreeft’s book along with it. He certainly did a good job of explaining St. Augustine. It was sort of like reading the Bible. I really enjoyed most of it, but Augustine does belabor the points he makes! He takes a long time to say anything. This is a spiritual autobiography, not a typical autobiography. Anyone interested in early Christian thought would do well to read this. I expect I will return to read some of the many parts I underlined

[alexanme-1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Essential medieval/Christian philosophy.

[georgee53-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

One of the great works in philosophy and religion.

[davidpwithun_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Every time I start to get a little down on St. Augustine -- what with his invention of some pretty deplorable doctrines (ie original sin) -- I need to reread his Confessions. In fact, everybody should read his Confessions. It is an absolutely beautiful book! St. Augustine pours out his soul before God and all the world -- confessing his sins and telling the story of how he came to Christ, watching for the subtle movement of the Holy Spirit in all things and seeing God's guiding hand behind every event in his life. It's not often that you get to watch a sinner become a saint (literally!) -- read it!

[borg6mx5 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

St. Augustine is one of the most significant authors of the early Roman Catholic Church. This autobiography is stunning in its frankness and its passion. Augustine of Hippo documents his transition from childhood to adulthood; also his path from Paganism to Christianity. He is not a perfect human being, he is seeking something profound, but is also admittedly weak and tempted by pride and pleasure. While many books have been written after, none before had been written like it.

[maryh10000 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Actually brings up the idea that some parts of the bible are to be understood metaphorically, rather than literally. Including Genesis. I always have big trouble with the way Augustine just "sent away" his mistress when he converted. Lots of agonizing over how much it hurt him, but not much on how it affected her. Seems to me he should have married her.

[socialtrinity_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Chadwick's notes that accompany this version of Augustine's Confessions do the best job of understanding the deep Manichaean context of not only the book but Augustine's early (and, some would say, entire) intellectual life.

[beau0p0laurence · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

I profoundly disagree with Augustine's conceptualization of God/spirituality and truly wish he had kept his macho guilt to himself (our world would be so very different if he had). But his influence on Christian (and so U.S.) culture is undeniable, and so this is a good book to have read.

[agentjade · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Gorgeously written, though I suppose Latin generally translates into very lovely prose. I loved the introspective wanderings into the human consciousness, and recommend the book to anyone, especially one who puts the saints on an unattainable pedestal--the holy have never seemed so human.

[lassiter_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

If anyone struggles with desires within themselves and wonders why the struggle and if it can be overcome they need to read Confessions. The struggle has never changed and Augustine had to fight through his passions and his intellect to find trust and relief in Christ.

[nesum_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A wonderful book that at once balances a true confession of a life without God with the awe and wonder of knowing and seeking the Almighty. Augustine masterfully recognizes God's hand in every part of his life, and he makes his reader want to seek that hand as well. A masterpiece in both a religious and literary sense.

[theologicaldan · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Absolutely fantastic. I've read it several times and will wear it out eventually.l

[jpsnow · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

What makes this such a popular testimonial and classic of Christian writing is the profound thinking he shares about the depth of his own spiritual life and his contemplation about creation and God. Most of the early chapters are about the wretchedness of his life and those of anyone before they find God. He starts at infancy and works his way through boyhood to the point where he was a young man of 30. Book 8, #13 includes a great description of his friend going to the gladiator events, intending not to watch but looking out of curiosity and becoming another bloodthirsty member of the crowd. St. Augustine's life was not that of a typical saint. After this passage: "my concubine being torn from my side as a hindrance to my marriage, my heart which clave unto her was torn and wounded and bleeding," he took on another mistress and kept with him the son by the first. He refers to Epicurus, remarking that he would have believed were it not for the tenet that there is nothing after death. This metaphysical debate shows the type of thought process that Augustine had to endure to reconcile current philosophy with early Christian beliefs: " that the body of an elephant should contain more of Thee than that of a sparrow, by how much larger it is, and takes up more room." In Book 7 #7, Augustine begins contemplating the nature of evil and how it "crept" into being. Did God create it? Again, we see reason guiding his spiritual thinking. He talks about the astrologers and how he rejected them based on a story of two men born at the exact same time, one a slave and the other a prince. Despite identical stars, they led very different lives. Hee first encountered John 1:1 by acquiring it among some books recorded by the Platonists. The Platonic concept of duality is entwined through much of Augustine's thinking. He considers the passage "and the word was made flesh" and appreciates the implication. He thinks about the meaning of an "incorruptible substance" and the effect on that which it touches. Book IX, #20 relates the strength and admonishment of women Christians at the time, and how they placed value in hearing the scripture in the home as a way of controlling abusive husbands. Book IX, #33 is the moving passage about how he came to understand his mother's death and how it brought him closer to God. Book X is the single most important and profound part of the Confessions. Having in the former books spoken of himself before his receiving the grace of baptism, in this section he admits what he then was. First, he inquires by what faculty we can know God at all, reasoning on the mystery of memory, wherein God, being made known, dwells undiscovered. Then he examines his own trials under the triple division of temptation, 'lust of the flesh, lust of the eyes, and pride.' The sins of the eyes is actually "curiosity." The sins of the flesh are all of those bodily pleasures and desires that take us away from the spiritual. Book X, #47: "Placed then amid these temptations, I strive daily against concupiscence in eating and drinking. For it is not of such nature, that I can settle on cutting it off once for all, and never touching it afterward, as I could of concubinage." Like many other great thinkers, Augustine considered the wonder of creation; in fact, just the nature of it alone to be proof of something greater than, i.e. God. There is much discussion about the nature of time, memory, the soul, and the how of God and man. In the closing books, he considers the immutable and eternal nature of God and the logical implication on creation, God's will, the past, the future, and the human frame of reference about these concepts.

[andrewlovesoldbooks · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Has been called the greatest autobiography of all time.Exceedingly eloquent; the entire book is a prayer which reflects on the author's life and the work of God's grace within it.

[janemarieprice · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This is a master work of religious philosophy. This was one of the first things I read which made me understand religion in the deeper sense.

[endersreads · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This book is very dear to me. I read "Confessions" in a very difficult personal time and quickly became overwhelmed by Augustines sincerity, intellect, and love for The Immutable Light. Augustine presents us with a very interesting time period in as where Christianity and Roman Paganism lie in juxtaposition. Besides Augustine's personal confessions, I enjoyed his examination of Genesis and his hefty discourse on time, or perhaps I should say the lack of the past and future. Rather than prattle on in the present, which has become past, I will urge you, reader, to introduce yourself to an author you most assuredly will hold very close to your heart.

[justindtapp · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Confessions of St. Augustine, Bishop of Hippo (free). Some books are best listened to, particularly ones translated into Elizabethan English from Latin. By listening, I'm able to cover more ground and not get bogged down in word choice, and I'm able to connect the streams of thought more seamlessly.

I'd not read this classic, even though I long intended to "get around to it." Had it not been mentioned by Dallas Willard and Richard Foster as a great source for meditation and devotional (along with City of God which I will now read expediently), then I might not have gotten it done this year. Confessions is one of the first "Western" autobiographies and I was fascinated that it could have been written in the 1800s just as well as 398. Has the same raw quality of pre-20th-century memoirs that haven't been edited for their PC content and revisionism.

Augustine lives somewhat of a privileged boyhood with good schooling, discipline, and a devout mother. He loves to sin, particularly struggling with lust and theft just for the sake of theft. As a teenager, Augustine joins a cult of Manicheans for 9 years. Like any cult, he finds it intellectually stifling-- he's discouraged from asking questions, or trying to use science or reason. The leaders he is under are not as well-educated as himself, and this makes it difficult. Many of the Manichee, like Mormons or JW's today, were devotees to the writings of Mani, but had not read all of his thoughts or understood them. There appear to be some appeals to astrology in Mani's writings, and the people Augustine is around don't really understand all of what they speak of. Among these were Faustus who was supposed to have all the answers, but Augustine finds generally disappointing. Nonetheless, Augustine finds their message liberating-- "it is not I who sin." Manicheans were dualists--Gnostics -- who believed that Jesus did not inhabit a physical body, and that our souls cannot be corrupted by what is done by our flesh. Even after Augustine rejects their teachings, he does not want to choose Scripture as Truth.

So, Augustine remains fairly closely associated with Manichees while himself a professor of rhetoric both in Carthage and in Rome. Meanwhile, his mother is a devout Christian who prays earnestly for his salvation and implores him to repent.

She follows him to Milan, where Augustine encounters Bishop Ambrose (whose own life seems fascinating), who Augustine respects; he attends every Sunday service. (I found some of the description of church life interesting, there appears to have been some struggles with what role wine should play in the life of the believer-- Ambrose apparently being opposed to Augustine's mother's use of wine in an act of worship.) Augustine is a philanderer, has a child by a "concubine" who he loves, but rejects in order to marry at his mother's behest. He generally hates married life and continues a life of adultery.

Augustine converses with Simplicanius, spiritual father of Ambrose, who tells Augustine of Victorinus, a Roman philosopher and respected teacher of rhetoric in Rome, who toward the end of his life forsakes his career (it was illegal for Christians to teach rhetoric) to become a Christian. Augustine had read books translated by Victorinus, and this makes an impression on him.

"But when that man of Thine, Simplicianus, related to me this of Victorinus, I was on fire to imitate him; for for this very end had he related it. But when he had subjoined also, how in the days of the Emperor Julian a law was made, whereby Christians were forbidden to teach the liberal sciences or oratory; and how he, obeying this law, chose rather to give over the wordy school than Thy Word, by which Thou makest eloquent the tongues of the dumb; he seemed to me not more resolute than blessed, in having thus found opportunity to wait on Thee only."



Augustine also hears of Antony Eventually, Augustine has a conversion experience and repents.

"I seized, opened, and in silence read that section on which my eyes first fell: 'Not in rioting and drunkenness, not in chambering and wantonness, not in strife and envying; but put ye on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make not provision for the flesh, in concupiscence.' No further would I read; nor needed I: for instantly at the end of this sentence, by a light as it were of serenity infused into my heart, all the darkness of doubt vanished away."



His son is baptised with him. His mother is jubilant, and dies some time afterwards.

Modernly, Augustine's book is also seen as literature, with and it appears from reading around that modern scholars maintain that looking at his work from our modern lenses misses the overall purpose and meaning. Augustine's book is not some confession and testimony of a sinner, but rather his work was intended to convert Manicheans. After all, the biographical part ends in Book 9 and Augustine launches on a range of topics, including memory and the meaning of time. (Physics tells us that all moments in time already exists, and this is what I hear Augustine saying in Book 11.) It's plausible to me that his intended audience are Manichees since they were interested in times, planets, and creation as Augustine spends a great deal of time on these. He engaged in a lifelong battle against the Manichees in Hippo, and this work certainly seems part of his larger writings to that end. Augustine's philosophical musings are still of great interest today. I would like to read Brian Greene's take on his philosophy of time.

Confessions really drives home the importance of Scripture to me; Augustine was 40 when he wrote it and knew the Scriptures well. Augustine took part in important church councils, and my understanding is that by the time of his ascension to Bishop, the accepted Western canon of scripture was already considered closed. I really enjoy how he writes/prays Scriptures when pouring his thoughts out. He prays the prayers of David, Jesus, Paul, etc. in relation to his own life and salvation. Opens every book with a heartfelt prayer/confession. I would like to read books on the theology of Augustine.

It also inspires me to read more church history. People like Simplicanius could probably trace their spiritual lineage back to the Apostles. Christians like Antony were well-known in Augustine's circles, having also published works (Dallas Willard has a nice critique of Antony and the secular-sacred dichotomy that was probably popularized by Augustine's mention). What can we today learn from these and the controversies faced by the authors? Why aren't we Christians today more scholarly about our ancient heritage?

5 stars out of 5, of course.

[sprite_2 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

What can I even say about this book? I am standing too close to say anything sensible. Fortunately other people have written plenty of actual reviews.Memo to future me: the quote you're (I'm) usually looking for is book 10, chapter 36, first paragraph. "You know how greatly you have already changed me, you who first healed me from the passion for self-vindication, [...] you who subdued my pride by your fear and tamed my neck to your yoke? Now I bear that yoke, and it is light upon me, for this you have promised, and thus have you made it be. Truly, it was this but I did not know it when I was afraid to submit to it."

[ted_newell-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Fabulous feast. Who are you? God only knows, says Augustine reverently.

[cbl_tn · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The first two thirds of Confessions are largely autobiographical. There is a tendency to think of saints as having been not quite human. Readers who have that impression about Augustine will find themselves mistaken. Among his youthful indiscretions, Augustine recalls playing games with his schoolmates when they were supposed to be studying, disliking his Greek studies, and having a live-in girlfriend with whom he had a child. As a young man, Augustine raised many of the same questions about God and Christianity that are still raised today, such as the nature of God in the Old Testament and inconsistencies between science and the Bible. He describes his surroundings and his daily activities in enough detail that it provides a window into daily life in the Mediterranean world of the 4th century. After an account of his mother's death, the last third of the book shifts from autobiography to a blend of philosophy and theology. Augustine ponders the nature of memory and time, the mysteries of creation from the Genesis account, and an interpretation of the church through the lens of creation. This is heavy going. Readers more interested in history and biography than in philosophy and theology may choose to stop with chapter 9.

[jvioland_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A marvelous autobiography of a Church Father. How he coped with avoiding the "call" to God. He sought the truth in pganism, then Aristotelian philosophy, then Manichaeism. All the while relishing a sinner's life. Then he visited Milan, called upon Ambrose and began his conversion to Christianity. He portrays himself, warts and all, living with a mistress, his quest for easy living and money, only to be confronted by a voice telling him to read the Bible. It changes his life. He converts. He pursues Catholicism with devotion and eventually finds himself the Bishop of Hippo, ministering to the poor of all faiths. Quite a man.

[empress8411 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I know this is a "great" work of Christianity because I was told it was. But it did nothing for me. It seemed jumbled and erratic and hard to understand, despite the use of simple, easy language. It was more stream-of-consciousness that I excepted. I didn't enjoy reading about Augustine's life and struggles with sin. He was honest and that's rare from someone who because famous for their faith. I think this book can make a huge difference in many people's hearts - but for me, it was just not what I prefer to read. It was a bit too sentimental and full of angst for my rational tastes.

[cecrow · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

A classic work for its influence on Christian theology going forward, but hardly a pleasure read for anyone not a student of such or not keenly interested in early Christian lore. Non-religious at my best, I read it as an early example of autobiography and for the sake of its place in history; but the story of a man's search for himself and his quest for truth is something we all go through at some point in our quest for self-identity. In Augustine's case it is the story of an atheist brought to God, a journey that included the search for truth in many other directions before he resorted to religion. This was a very difficult read, a chore really, and it took me much longer than its page count warranted. I had to lean on Sparknotes quite a bit to help me navigate it. Merging neo-platonic philosophy with Christianity, Augustine argues that everyone and everything moves towards God, knowingly or not, as part of a quest to achieve near-perfect (only God is perfect) state of being. That is an essential message to be aware of and watching for if you've any hope of getting through this.The first nine parts are his biography, which serves as a sort of case study. This was the portion that satisfied my amateur interest. Augustine apologizes to God for every sin he can ever remember making, including some (e.g. crying incessantly as a babe) that he can't. Citing the evil sin of taking pride in his grammar lessons and rhetoric skills, etc. makes him sound almost a flagellant. Slightly more legitimate was the minor theft of fruit committed under peer pressure, and more philandering than was strictly warranted. Most peculiar to me was the supposed sin of taking pleasure in watching tragic drama, as he wonders where the pleasure came from to be entertained by tales of others' suffering, albeit fictional.The last four parts are increasingly obtuse as he lays out his theory of change that moves towards God. I could barely parse these chapters. The first explored memory, the next was on the nature of time, the next the biblical story of creation, and the last ... Sparknotes doesn't cover this one and it lost me so completely, I can't even hazard a guess at what it was addressing even though I read every word. The tenth chapter is also a discussion of temptations and gave me the sad impression that he had built a cage about himself, cutting himself off from every pleasure life has to offer and reducing his experience to mere survival. He writes that of course he knows he cannot permit anyone to dissuade him from this position. It's a typical tenet in any fundamentalist perspectives, this defining anyone who tries to talk you out of your beliefs as inherently evil, permitting your dismissal of their every argument without having to hear or consider (been there, done that, bought the Ayn Rand t-shirt - sold it back.) I have met a brilliant man, one who became deeply inhibited by the self-identity he arrived at.

[stillatim · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Considering that the style of Augie's work is completely and utterly impenetrable, this is actually a pretty decent read. Just come to it expecting circularity, meditation, rapturous theology and self-flagellation, and you'll come away impressed.
Don't expect anything linear, and you'll be all the more impressed when he ends up, every now and then, out-Aristotling Aristotle with arguments of the (x-->y)&(y-->z)&(z-->p)&(p-->q); ~x is absurd; therefore q variety.
Don't expect any modern 'you are a unique and special snowflake and your desires are good it's just that your parents/society/upbringing/schoolfriends/economic earning power have stunted you' self-help guff. It'd be nice to read someone more contemporary who's willing to admit that people do things wrong, all the time, and should feel really shitty for doing wrong things.
Don't expect Aquinas. This is the hardest bit for me; if someone's going to talk about God I prefer that they be coldly logical about it. Augie goes more for the erotic allegory, self-abasement in the face of the overwhelming eternal kind of thing. No thanks.
Finally, be aware that you'll need to think long and hard about what he says and why he says it when he does. Books I-IX are the ones you'll read as autobiography, and books X-XIII will seem like a slog. But it's all autobiography. Sadly for Augie, he doesn't make it easy for us to value the stuff he wants to convince us to value, which is the philosophy and theology of the later books. The structure, as far as I can tell, is to show us first how he got to believing that it was possible for him to even begin thinking about God (that's I-IX). X-XIII shows us how he goes about thinking about God, moving from the external world, to the human self in X and a bit of XI, to the whole of creation in XI and XII, to God himself in XIII. I have no idea if this is what he had in mind, but it roughly works out. That's all very intellectually stimulating, but it's still way more fun to read about his peccadilloes and everyday life in the fourth century.

[deborahjade · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This book has been one of the slowest reads so far this year and took around 41 days to finish. My main struggle was with the language the book was written it. The underlying story was interesting, but there were so many extra words around everything. Especially in the first books, Augustine is constantly referencing back and forward between the past and the present and the relationship between his past actions and God. He regrets choices and actions that he took, but acknowledges that God was present in them and worked through them.
The more I read, the more the underlying story of Augustine's journey became clear. It showed that his was a slow meandering journey to finding God.
His mother, Monnica, is one of the main characters in the book, who is constantly praying to God to save her son. And her prayer is answered before her death, albeit not by many years.
The last chapter ended by tying up the experience with an honest look at how Augustine was living in the present. He struggled with wanting to follow God in his heart, but also wanting to follow his own wills/passions. It is an encouraging insight into the life of such a well-known, influential Christian theologian and philosopher showing that he never attained perfection, but was reassuringly human.

[george1295 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The son of a pagan father, who insisted on his education, and a Christian mother, who continued to pray for his salvation, Saint Augustine spent his early years torn between the conflicting religions and philosophical world views of his time. His Confessions, written when he was in his forties, recount how, slowly and painfully, he came to turn away from the licentious lifestyle and vagaries of his youth, to become a staunch advocate of Christianity and one of its most influential thinkers, writers and advocates. A remarkably honest and revealing spiritual autobiography, the Confessions also address fundamental issues of Christian doctrine, and many of the prayers and meditations it includes are still an integral part of the practice of Christianity today.

[elfortunawe · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I began reading this once years ago, but it failed to engage me and I put it aside. When I started again I couldn't understand my previous lack of interest. The work ranges from philosophical speculation to personal memoir, and each kind has it's appeal. I was surprised by how must variety of belief and opinion late antiquity held on so many topics. Some of the debates and issues Augustine describes sound shockingly contemporary, though put in different terms. The passages covering Augustine's personal life can be poignant, especially those concerning death.

The scholarly consensus is that the Confessions was meant to be a preamble to a longer work: a detailed exegesis of the entirety of Christian scripture. The last three books cover the first chapter of Genesis, with careful attention given to an allegorical interpretation of the creation story. This is apparently as far Augustine ever got, thus adding to the long tradition of great, unfinished masterpieces.

[mbmackay · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Written in the 4th century by an early intellectual christian who is famous (to me anyway) for his prayer - "Lord grant me chastity, but not yet"!. The book is in the form of an autobiography, interspersed with lots and lots of beseeching of the lord. The biography is interesting, and all the beseeching has a strong echo in the formulaic rants of the TV preachers. The book ends with some ponderings - on memory, and on the creation. Augustine believes god made the world, but he has some interesting questions about exactly how this was done. I couldn't help wondering, if Augustine was alive now, when there are much better explanations, whether he wouldn't be in the Richard Dawkins' camp. Read February 2009

[quaintlittlehead · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The "Confessions" of Saint Augustine is a hard work to pin down--part conversion story, part apologetics text, part philosophical treatise, part Bible commentary. It is also a hard work to read. There are many points of interest within the text, but it is not something you just read straight through without a lot of stopping and thinking, and preferably some supplemental research. There were many times reading the book that I felt that my time would be better spent just reading hours of the Bible, and that I was trying to force myself to grapple with a seminary-level text without the prerequisite educational background. This is a vitally significant work in Christian history, to be sure; it lays out fundamental arguments against the Manichaeans, has been looked to by the Roman Catholic church in support of purgatory, and even influenced the philosophical writings of Descartes. However, this wide-ranging history is far beyond the scope of the book itself, and it almost needs its own commentary to be understood by the layperson. The Barnes and Noble edition contains a historical timeline, an introduction, endnotes, a brief essay on the Confessions' influence on later works (which I found to be the most helpful supplemental piece in the book and wish I had read it before the text), a selection of famous quotes responding to the text, and a few critical questions to consider in thinking about the work.

[bookomaniac-1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Veelvormig: gedeeltelijk autobiografie, gedeeltelijk getuigenisliteratuur.Soms zeer moeilijk leesbaar, soms gewoon storend door zijn pathetiek en door het kinderachtige zondebesef.Geen regeling voor het probleem van het kwaad.Qua intellectueel is hij wel de eerste die in de buurt van Plato en Aristoteles komt, maar om een heel andere manier. Vooral literair wel onderdoend.