Fort Myers FL – Happy 94th birthday, Aunt Vee

Vee Andree – New Zealand-born, war bride of World War II – will turn 94 on November 18, 2017. My cousin, Su Scognamiglio, tagged me on this recent photo of her Mom, my Aunt Vee.

Vee Andree, October 2017. Photo: Tami Scognamiglio-Diglio

I had the pleasure of spending four nights with Vee at her home in Fort Myers in July of this year. I did not take her to the hair dresser, or to Mass, even though her Oldsmobile was parked outside her condominium, as I don’t drive in America, but the two of us pottered around happily together. Here is a photo I took of Vee enjoying the sunshine in her courtyard: 

Vee Andree, Fort Myers FL, July 2017. Photo: Ann Barrie

I'm going to tell you a little about Vee’s family history. Her parents – Margaret MacKenzie, a Scottish nurse from Lochcarron, and New Zealand sergeant Charles John Herbert – were married in Queen’s Park parish in Glasgow on June 6, 1919, and they travelled to New Zealand on the Corinthic in August 1919.  

Charles John Herbert and Margaret MacKenzie, Glasgow 1919. Photo: Herbert family collection.

Charles worked with the Public Works Department, and so the family moved around New Zealand, settling first in Cromwell, Central Otago. This was where Vee’s older brother, Charlie, my father, was born. 

Vee was born Violet Margaret Herbert in Matata, which is on the east coast of the North Island, on November 18, 1923. She was a frail baby – her Aunt Chrissie and Uncle Jack, who minded her while her mother recovered from the birth, had to carry her round on a pillow – but she proved very resilient. 

Violet and Charlie Herbert with their mother Margaret, 1925. Photo: Herbert family collection.

Sadly, Margaret MacKenzie died when Vee was only thirteen and Charlie was fifteen. Their father purchased a house in Riccarton, Christchurch, and arranged for a housekeeper so Vee and Charlie could finish their high school education. 

After the outbreak of World War II, Charlie Senior knocked eight years off his age, enlisted with the N.Z. Railway Operating Company and sailed off to war again. He and Vee were very close, and he wrote to her from Egypt.  He died there on February 1, 1941. 

 Sergeant Charles John Herbert, Egypt, 1941. Photo: Herbert family collection

Charlie Junior joined the R.N.Z.A.F. and went to Canada to train as a navigator, and Vee joined the W.A.A.F. in 1943. She used to attend the U.S.O. in Lambton Quay, Wellington, and there she met Douglas R. Andree from Iron River, Michigan. The two were married in Auckland on February 11, 1944, and then Doug returned to active service with the U.S. Navy in the Pacific.

Douglas R. Andree and Vee Herbert, Oriental Bay, 1944. Photo: Vee Andree collection.

Charlie Junior returned home from his overseas service in early 1946, and brother and sister were photographed together in Wellington shortly afterwards.

Vee Andree with her brother Charlie Herbert, Wellington 1946. Photo: Herbert family collection

Later that year Vee sailed alone to America to join her husband. Her new life was a steep learning curve. “I had never learned to cook and so I bought a cook book and found someone to teach me.”

Vee and Doug lived first in California, where my Cousin Su was born on November 4, 1947. Doug’s naval career then took them to Havana – Cousin Richard was born in Key West in 1950 – and later to San Francisco; Kodiak, Alaska; and then Staten Island NY for twenty years. Vee has five grandchildren, all of whom adore her, and she has great grandchildren too.

Vee has lived in Fort Myers FL since the late 1970s. She has always embraced life with both hands. “I belonged to everything – always have.” Vee has had careers in several fields including real estate in New York. She has always done voluntary work – Girl Scouts, the American Red Cross, the Edison Museum and more. She enjoys the arts and is very creative. Vee visited New Zealand several times to visit her beloved Aunt Lettie, who lived to be 107, and also her friends Ngai and Jock Ainsworth, all of whom lived in Christchurch. 

Vee Andree with Lettie Herbert and Ngai & Jock Ainsworth, Christchurch. Photo: Vee Andree.

For years Vee would telephone my husband Bill and me every month. “Hello, Miss Ann,” she would say. It would be the early hours of the morning in Florida, and I would quiz her about family history, and we would chat at length. 

My son Charles and I visited Vee in Fort Myers in 2013. I presented Vee with the R.N.Z.A.F. flag that I had, at her request, ordered from a New Zealand flag maker (she had been doing some advance planning for her funeral). We enjoyed Vee's lively company. Just before I took the following photo, she instructed Charles to say, “Sex”:

Charles Barrie and Vee Andree, Fort Myers FL, 2013. Photo: Ann Barrie

Then Charles flew to Jamaica, and I stayed on with Vee. She took me with her to visit the “elderly” at the Assisted Living Facility, and also to St Luke’s Episcopal Church where she is an active member, and she hammed it up for me in her Halloween costume. 

Vee Andree, Fort Myers FL, 2013. Photo: Ann Barrie

Vee Andree, Fort Myers FL, 2013. Photo: Ann Barrie

We also talked of many things – how her mother was a career woman at heart, for instance – almost as if I was Vee’s contemporary.

My visit to Vee in July of this year was poignant, as she has had some health set backs, but her spirit is undimmed, and she is elegant as ever. And I found it rather nice, at age 70, to be given a mild scolding by my Aunt, “Ann, I’m wondering if I should speak to you about your drinking.” No, darling Vee, there’s no need. It was just so good to be sharing a single malt with you.”

Vee Andree, Fort Myers FL. Photo: Vee Andree collection

Happy Birthday, Aunt Vee

Buon compleanno

Feliz cumpleaños

Blog by Ann Barrie

Owhiro Bay: Sheila Natusch

An Auckland friend emailed me a few days ago regarding the film No ordinary Sheila http://www.bridgeway.co.nz/movie/no-ordinary-sheila : “I was just reading about this woman - did you know her? She lived in Owhiro Bay and worked in the National Library! or was she before your time there?” 

Yes, I knew Sheila Natusch.

My first contact with Sheila was in 1985 or 1986, ten years after I came to live in Owhiro Bay. It was during the period when I was at home with two young children and, like my friend Kay Switzer, was enjoying a “sustained burst of creativity”. In my case, the creativity was expressed through knitting, embroidery, and gathering and pressing wildflowers in order to make them into pictures. Each November I was entranced by the flowers that sprang up in on the beach in front of my house, and, in profusion, on the hillside behind; these pink-mauve daisies for example:

I wanted to know the names of all these flowers, and so I phoned Sheila Natusch, who was well-known as a naturalist, and introduced myself to her.

Sheila invited me for morning coffee – brewed in a little pot on the stove, and served with cream instead of milk – accompanied by a hearty sweet slice made with plenty of butter and golden syrup (or perhaps it was treacle?). I was fascinated by the big black range, the smoky atmosphere, and the books everywhere. Sheila told me how much better roast mutton tasted than roast lamb. Then she presented me with a sketch she had drawn especially for me: 

There are twelve wildflowers and garden escapees carefully sketched, named and described. The top left flower, for instance, is: "Pink-mauve daisy, Senecio glastifolius (Compositae) S. Africa".  

After that, I stayed in touch with Sheila; and my husband and children also met her and Gilbert.

I pursued my interest in wild flowers for a long time, even producing a large 60 in pressed flowers for my husband’s special birthday in December 1990. The top photo of the two immediately below shows some of my pressed flower efforts, lined up along our coffee table; the other photo shows my husband and me wearing another of my creative efforts – matching red velour caftans. (I also provided Bill with much amusement when I knitted him a cosy cardigan in royal blue but with one sleeve markedly longer than the other – my mother came to the rescue and shortened the sleeve.)

My daughter, Sarah, inherited my love of gathering and pressing wildflowers, and here are two photos of her as a child on the beach in front of our house: 

When I was drafting this blog I asked Sarah if she remembered Sheila. “Oh yes,” she said. “Sheila wrote beautiful books about nature.” Sarah particularly remembers the little book called Granny Girton’s garden, which Sheila gave to our children when they were little, and which Sarah took back to Renwick years later to read to her own son.

Another book that Sheila gave our family was Wellington with Sheila Natusch:

And from our family scrapbook, an article about Sheila that appeared in a local newspaper:

"Tuesday, February 20, 1996

A labour of love, by Tina Nixon

Some authors write for money and fame but for Stewart Island-raised author Sheila Natusch, writing is purely a labour of love.

A prolific writer about Stewart Island and natural history, Mrs Natusch is about to publish her 22^nd book.

It deals with the life and achievements of her ancestors, the Trails […]

Mrs Natusch says she writes for love.

“I can’t help it.”

However, her collection of books has netted her little wealth.

“They are not the road to riches.”

Even if she sold all the copies of her books rather than giving so many copies away as she was apt to do, she would barely break even, she said.

Wellington-based Mrs Natusch uses her own company, Nestegg Books, to publish her work.

However, Craigs will publish her latest project … "

Sheila wrote more than sixty books. I notice that many are now out of print, and there is scope for some of them to be republished digitally, so they can be appreciated by a wider readership.

*

Wellington is a compact city, and once you have lived here for a while, your path crosses with others in multiple ways. And so it came as only a slight surprise when I bumped into Sheila Natusch at the end-of-year party for the Parlez-français Language School. Like Sheila, I have a degree in French, and when I decided that my children should be introduced to a foreign language at a young age, French was the obvious choice. (Sarah later switched to Spanish; and Charles to Japanese and later te reo Māori).

 At Christmas time during the 1990s, I would sometimes deliver to Sheila and Gilbert’s letterbox a small package of my home baking along with a note, and Sheila also gave us cards, at any time of year: 

 In 1994 when Sheila and Gilbert went overseas, I wrote to them at poste restante. Sheila replied with a delightful handmade postcard: 

Above Los Angeles, USA

(Us from 46 Owhiro Bay Parade)

Friday 18^th (2 of them!) 1994

Dear Friends-in-distant-Owhiro Bay,

Lovely to find your message in our letter box complete with DOUANE etc – so far we’ve managed to slip through all barriers. (The worst contretemps was at Wellington airport where the kind man offered to book our 2 big bags right through to Frankfurt and Gilbert failed to comprehend – wouldn’t listen to his wife!! Then a queue built up behind … too late. Much lugging hither and yon ensued.) It’s been cloudy all the way, a direct flight from Auckland to here, but interesting clouds, some turbulent and oppressing. Good to get off and walk to transit lounge and back (miles!). Weather fine here but terribly hazy – we won’t see a clear NZ-type horizon or clear-cut ridges or blue-black shadows ‘till we get back to the North Atlantic. On board are a German/Wendish couple we’d met (relatives of friends) – nothing to do with tour, just going home after NZ holiday and very keen for us to visit them on one of our free days. End of space (I made a few of these – they allow more room). Lots of love to you all, S & G.

Sheila and Gilbert visited us for lunch after this trip, and my diary records:

“Sunday, 25 September, 1994

Sheila and Gilbert Natusch came to lunch: French onion soup, corned beef and salad. Sheila had made beautiful albums of their overseas trip.”

Another of Sarah’s memories, also during the nineties, is the day we went to the Natusches for lunch. Sheila had laid out a blanket on the grass in front of their house (or was it on the beach?). She knew I had braces on my teeth and that chewing was painful, and so she produced pottle after pottle of pureed food which she had carefully prepared for us all: fruit, vegetables, seaweed …

The last time Sarah and I visited Sheila at home was during the early 2000s. I am not a “dropper-in” , but for some reason I suggested to Sarah that we pop in to see Sheila and Gilbert on Christmas afternoon. Gilbert greeted us with much enthusiasm and said, “Sheila is having a rest. I’ll go and get her.” There were family members present, who gave us Christmas cake and a cup of tea, but Sheila herself looked tired. I think it was during the period when Gilbert was becoming more difficult for Sheila to manage on her own.

In more recent years I would often see Sheila out and about at Owhiro Bay and we would exchange greetings, but the last time I had a good chat to her was at the Bach café in 2014. We each had a rendezvous relating to our writing. In Sheila’s case it was a librarian from the Alexander Turnbull Library. In my case it was a fellow student from Diane Brown’s online course Tools for Storytelling; he and I had just completed the course, and since we both lived in the Wellington area, decided it would be nice to meet up; we had both, while doing the course, written about violent and unforgiving seas – he, because he was from Nova Scotia, and I, because I was drafting the second half of my novel Deserter: a novel based on true events. Sheila and I chatted while we waited, and I found her vibrant and engaged as ever.

I saw the film No ordinary Sheila at a special showing at the Penthouse Cinema that an enterprising Owhiro Bay resident, Sue Reid, organised. There was much in the film that struck a chord with me, for instance, the very neat way in which Sheila described how her friend, Janet Frame, ended her teaching career: “The inspector walked in one door, and Janet walked out the other.” Sue had also arranged for the film maker Hugh Macdonald to be there. During the question time afterwards, members of the audience commented on the slight sadness Sheila had shown when she said on film that Gilbert had not wanted children, and so her books were her children. But Sheila was always positive, someone who took what fate threw at her and lived her life with joy.

As I walk along Owhiro Bay Parade, I look at the houses, and think of all the souls who lived here for a very long time – the Jameses, the Hoys, the Natusches and others. They are still with us here at the Bay. 

Ka kite anō.

Blog by Ann Barrie

A pantoum poem, two years after my husband died

On Monday 23 October it will be two years since my husband – Bill Barrie – died. These has been a difficult two years for our family, as we work to establish a new and different maturity within us.

A friend who reads my blog asked me the other day if I was still writing some poetry. I said, “Not at present.” But on reflecting overnight, I decided to post a poem I wrote for Diane Brown’s online poetry course in 2016 (the poem was written less than a year after Bill died). Diane gave me useful feedback at the time; she suggested for instance that I consider reducing the original version by two stanzas, because some of the lines were very straightforward and might not stand up to the repetition required by the pantoum format (she suggested cutting two stanzas rather than one, as that would give a little more flexibility as to which lines to keep). Diane said she revises each of her poems an average of twenty times. This poem of mine has been revised twelve times, and so I present it to you as a work in progress.

The sun umbrella (a pantoum)

On this cool and moody autumn morning

as I open up the drapes in our back room

I get a sudden shock on seeing it

lying against our crib wall, still and tall.

I open up the drapes in our back room

and see the creamy sun umbrella

lying against our crib wall, still and tall.

There’s something not quite right, but what?

And seeing the creamy sun umbrella,

I think the wind has blown it over, yet

there’s something not quite right. And then

I realise it winters in the garage every year.

I think the wind has blown it over. Bill’s

no longer here to jog my memory –

it always winters in the garage

on cradling brackets he made overhead.

No longer here to jog my memory.

We coped together as a team of two,

with lifting on to brackets overhead

until at last he was too old and frail.

We coped together as a team of two,

and so we found a practical solution

when at last he was too old and frail –

we wrapped it snug in plastic on the floor.

And since we’d found a practical solution,

for this year why should I not do the same

and wrap it snug in plastic on the floor?

Perhaps I want the shock of seeing it there.

For this year why should I not do the same?

Perhaps I want the shock of seeing it there.

Outside it conjures up team Bill and Ann

each cool and moody autumn morning.

Ann Barrie

Blog by Ann Barrie