2004 July - Shoeless Digits in Waitara says Roger - Mum say's it wasn't true!

From: raf  (Note, you can see Roger's wearing sandals at the Waitara Central gala)

Sent: 13/07/2004 9:18 a.m.

Hi Danny, I do recall doing math with fractions, especially cold fractions. Like most kids that attended school at Waitara Central, we went shoeless. Sometimes from not having the money for shoes but more so because in New Zealand it is a way of life to go barefoot throughout the year. In fact I smile everytime I come home and see the local kids coming home from school and not wearing shoes. It does tend to toughen you up especially with an active life style of being down the beach wading in the tidepools, jumping across rocks, running in the sand dunes, getting your feet stuck in cow shit on the way up to Nana's farm. Having shoes can be an impediment. Having tough feet meant that you could come and go as you pleased all year round. On the down side I did feel the hots and colds of the weather. Many cold wintery days when the freezing blast of the southerlies would freeze the puddles into ice, I would take great pleasure in cracking the ice sheets in bare feet before heading to school in the morning. By the time I would get to school my feet would be numb and I found it difficult to count beyond 10 digits since my feet didn't want to uncurl. Math was a difficult subject to warm up to in the morning. For those of us without shoes, the rush into the class room was always to get to sit next to the hot pipes that ran along the side walls in a serpentine fashion. Placing your frozen digits on hot pipes was a form of self inflicted torture as generally the pipes were too hot to touch with bare skin. Sometimes the sudden rush of heat to a frozen pair of feet and toes would send a kaleidoscope of pain. By morning break the pain would be gone and the arithmatic would show a sudden improvement on test scores. As soon as we were let out there would be a rush of shoving bodies to get to the small quantity of milk bottles, fresh from the factory up at Brixton. The 1/2 pints had a small cardboard inserted top with a button sized hole to insert the straw. We were all encouraged by the principal to drink our milk, to help promote healthy young bodies to grow. We weren't exactly civilised in the way we went about getting our share of this vision. It was more like a feeding frenzy with starved pigs trying to empty the trough. I got there late a few times and found all the bottles drained. After a few training sessions, I decided to change my tactics of being polite and joined the madding crowd as they rounded the building sprinting to the milk crates. The taste of the rich head of cream at the top of the bottle was like eating desert. The more experienced of the pigs (myself included and proud of it) would grab 2 bottles at a time, pop the caps and guzzle them down as fast as possible, then grab a 3rd or 4th if you could handle it. It was reminiscent of the adults 5' o'clock swill that was common to Borthwicks and the local pubs, except it was milk instead of beer. The effect of gross consumption of cold milk had 2 side effects. A bloated and painful stomach and the mass of cold liquid takes your core temperature down. Bare feet on cold concrete continues the rapid process of heat transfer. Not a good thing! Most mornings we would head out to the bottom field to play football on the lower fields. On the cold wet days kicking the football would be a sado-machistic challenge. Kicking the football high and far was always a great pleasure but the sudden impact of a wet soggy leather football on a bare foot imparted instant pain. It left a burning red welt that contrasted with the cold whiteness of bare skin while you would hobble around and howl with pain. Your mates would call you a sissy and laugh a your performance. Needless to say this experience left an indelible impression on my young foot and years later I proudly took up less girly sport of soccer. Of course by that time we could afford shoes and my ability to consistently kick a round football in the wet had a lot more confidence. From the coldness of winter we got to experience the warmth of summer. In most cases it was a pleasurable experience running around going full blast in bare feet. We were mostly outdoors and being free from school in the summer we didn't have to worry about math. Our biggest concern however was still math. It became a case of high speed math for calculating the pain threshold versus the time and distance equation to the next safe haven. We always hit the beach in the summer, racing down the beach to hit the surf. On a good hot day it was amazing to see "slow people" in bare feet sprinting down the beach. New Zealand's black sand beaches look very picturesque but they can be like a frying pan. Typically you can see these slow movers beginning the journey with a slow leisurely stroll. Very quickly the intense burning registers, full panic sets in and your ability to calculate time and distance becomes acute. Even the fast movers will sprint at drop of a hat once they realise the burn. I spent many a day looking for immediate relief from the burning. The most sensitive part of your feet was right between the toes. In those areas you dont have any hard callouse. The trick was to look for an piece of insulation like a piece of grass or a bit of driftwood and balance on it until you were willing to endure more of the pain. Awaiting you after racing across the "hot coals" was the soothing coldness of the Tasman Sea. Can you imagine it, hot cold, hot cold. Indian fire walking, that is sissy stuff in comparison. Just another normal day of going bare feet at the beach. Roger Fenton