This week is the 50th anniversary of Auckland’s Harbour Bridge and tomorrow I am hosting a tribute to the workers, past and present, who built and maintained the bridge over the past 50 years.
I did think that someone in the new tarmac-mad NZTA would honour the workers – perhaps upgrade the monument to the three workers who died during the building of the bridge. But instead, they’re having a conference at Sky City, called “Bridges Linking Communities” where big wigs can talk about important stuff.
I’ve heard from many old workers, and some of their stories will be told at the tribute tomorrow. I’ve heard from people who walked across the bridge in 1959, from the woman, who as a child, gave flowers to the Governor General on opening day, and from the man who drove the first Birkenhead Bus across the bridge. Relatives of deceased workers have also been in touch, wanting to mark the contribution of their fathers or grandfathers.
My brother Kit, scaffolder, poet and photographer worked on the bridge for 20 years. He tells many stories through his sonnets about the changes that occurred under the National Government of the 1990’s.
I thought this one might ring some bells as National wields the knife in the public service.
CONSULTATION
First, the whisper of changes yet to come,
pack rats in a convocation of squeals,
or for us, the slimy ripple of eels
through sea weed and rank industrial scum.
And then, still hopelessly new to the game,
a nervous fluster of men in new suits,
who laid out our future to mocking hoots
from the floor when our new company name
was announced, a dead fish flopped on a bench,
hinting at promises bound to turn sour.
All that intended slickness, all that fuss
simply confirmed that the joke was on us,
as our boss explored the new tools of power -
nought per pay deals and who to retrench.
