Recollections

I met esteemed historian, race relations and cultural commentator, author the late Michael King twice – once when he interviewed me for a book, and the second time when I interviewed him about a book.

That first meeting took place in 1985 at a rustic old Devonport house with an overgrown tropical garden at the foot of North Head, which I rented with three women friends. He’d come to interview me for his book on the bombing of the Greenpeace protest vessel, the Rainbow Warrior, by French secret service agents.

I was nearing the end of a journalism diploma at Auckland Technical Institute (now AUT/Auckland University of Technology) in 1985 and I’d had a great scoop (what journalists live for) earlier that year during the course, which ran from July to November. It turned out that I’d had a close encounter with one of the French spies sent over to set up the July 10, 1985 bombing of the ship moored on Auckland’s Queens Wharf.

Earlier that year, I’d worked at a small community newspaper, Inner City News, to gain some journalism experience having finished a Bachelor of Arts at Auckland University the previous year. On a routine visit to Greenpeace’s office in central Auckland as part of my job to check up on the latest news there (it was during the peak of anti-nuclear protests as super-powers amassed nuclear weapons) I was introduced to a visiting Greenpeace volunteer – from France. This struck me (and others) as odd, but this was a more innocent time. So, Frederique Bonlieu (aka Christine Cabon) was accepted as genuine by trusting Kiwis.

I asked if I could interview her about French views on the nuclear issue. Many New Zealanders were strongly opposed to France’s nuclear weapons testing programme at Mururoa atoll in the Pacific so it was a rare opportunity to ask a French citizen about the mind-set behind France’s insistence on having a nuclear arsenal and how they could justify testing weapons in the Pacific. She was hesitant at first but we spoke about these issues. I took notes. She was ill at ease, and refused to let me take a photo. I had no idea I was face to face with one of the French secret service team who had infiltrated Greenpeace in order to uncover plans for the Greenpeace trip to protest at Mururoa. While faking it as a Greenpeace volunteer, she was actually gathering directions, maps and information for fellow spies entering New Zealand on a yacht so

they could bomb the Rainbow Warrior and disrupt the protest to Mururoa. ‘If only I’d guessed’ – I’ve said many times. But no one could have imagined or anticipated what was to come…

When New Zealand police arrested two other French spies in the weeks after the bombing and it was revealed to be a French government plot, I realised I still had my notes from that interview with the woman who – it turned out – was a spy.  She’d left the country by then. I got a front-page story in the Sunday Times newspaper during the journalism course. It was the biggest story of my career!

Michael King wrote one of first of many books about the Greenpeace affair, and I was just one of the many people who met and interacted with the spies he wanted to speak to. I recall sitting at the kitchen table in our flat and talking to him for an hour or more. He was very easy to talk to, and I felt honoured to be speaking to this author whose ground-breaking writing on race relations I admired deeply. It wasa big deal for me! I’d recently read his book Being Pakeha, and found his insights on our nation’s cultural identities very interesting.

Death of the Rainbow Warrior was published in 1986 by Penguin. I get a few mentions in the middle of the story as ‘Jenny Little’, with a description of what happened.

As an Auckland-based part-time correspondent for the international news agency, Agence France Presse, writing feature articles about lifestyle and culture in New Zealand for international readers, I met Michael King again. This time I interviewed him – about his just-published biography of Janet Frame in 2000, titled Wrestling with the Angel. We met at the Heritage Hotel where he was staying.

Again, he was very humble, modest and generous with his time and conversation. I was enthralled to be talking to him about the book and to be able to ask him about his meetings with Janet Frame in person. She was, and is, one of my favourite writers and I was personally so looking forward to reading his book.

These were brief encounters but I will always feel deeply privileged to have met and discussed two profound events and people – not connected but both influential in my life – with Michael King.

Jennifer Little

Michael and I served together for many years on the Frank Sargeson Trust. We had both known, and revered, Frank, whose biography Michael had written. Michael and I also had a connection with the eastern Coromandel; He and Maria had a home at Oputere, Gillian and I had a holiday house at Hahei, further up the coast

Just before Christmas 2003, it was arranged for Gillian and I to take Maria’s mother down to Opoutere, where Mrs Jungowska was to spend Christmas with Michael and Maria. Our car, crammed with Christmas presents and food, got to Opoutere by mid-morning. I also had in the car a copy of Michael’s Penguin History of New Zealand, which had been published a few months earlier. I wanted him to inscribe it for me.

Mrs Jungowska, the food and all the Christmas presents were unloaded at the bottom of Michael and Maria’s driveway. We carried everything up the steps and into the house, then settled down for coffee and cakes before resuming our drive to Hahei. As always, there was laughter and story-telling over the refreshments, so we stayed for some time. Gillian and I then wished the others a happy Christmas and New Year, and prepared to leave. It was then that I remembered Michael’s book, which was still in the car. Relieved that I hadn’t forgotten it, I raced back to get the book. Cheerfully, Michael inscribed it. For Graeme & Gillie, and in celebration of friendship. Love and best wishes, Michael. December 2003. We then said our farewells and drove away.

That was the last time we ever saw Michael and Maria. A few weeks later, in March 2004, they both died in their car, which crashed while being driven from Opoutere to Auckland.

Graeme Lay

Who knows about the UK-based Arvon Foundation Writing workshops?

Who now remembers that Michael King was one of the key facilitators of a series of a similar residential Writing Workshops held here, in rural Albany NZ, from 1986 to 1993?

Here is the story behind my getting to meet up with the famous Dr Michael King…

What I already knew was that throughout his stellar career as a researcher, historian, editor, journalist, author, and teacher Michael was recognised as a man of spirited generosity. He was a man of letters who did not choose to spend all his working life within the reliable comfort of academia. Instead he became renowned for his very personal concern and practical support for the many other writers who sought to make sense of the world around them throughout Aotearoa.

A man of similar interests was Robin Dudding – then editor and sole financial supporter of the national literary magazine “Islands”. He too liked to ferret out and support literary talent wherever he found it. As a young country GP’s wife locked in the small-town wilds of rural Canterbury. Far from libraries and bookshops. I had been an ardent subscriber to “Islands”. Years later, in the 1980’s with my family, we made a major move to the rural fringes of Albany to grow kiwifruit. Between pruning and training the youthful vines, I became an apprentice reporter for a local paper called the “Albany News”. In this role, I researched and then wrote the story of an “Educational Arts Centre” that had recently been established in the area by members of the Auckland Philharmonia. Having interviewed the owners and been shown around the complex, I decided this would be the perfect place to hold the kind of residential writing workshops I’d gathered information about on a recent visit to the UK. But I knew that setting up something similar here would never happen unless I could enlist the help of respected key figures in the NZ literary world. I decided to run the idea past Robin Dudding who I discovered lived close-by, in Torbay. To my delight, Robin was as excited as I was about the potential for a NZ-based Arvon Foundation-style series of writing workshops. He encouraged me to persist with the idea and advised me to pay a visit to Michael King, then living nearby in Browns Bay.

All it took was one visit! Michael King was equally enthusiastic. I discovered he was a close friend of respected author and NZ publisher Christine Cole Catley. Christine (who was living in Picton) had established and now chaired the Frank Sargeson Trust whose members at the time were David Ballantyne, Nigel Cook, C.K. Stead and Michael King. (Broader and more onerous secretarial duties were soon after taken over by Graeme Lay.)

Michael won Christine’s instant support for my residential workshops proposal. She even talked of this proposal as planting the seeds for the later establishment of a national Writers Centre.

Meantime it was agreed Christine’s Sargeson Trust would to be responsible for approving the chosen workshop programmes each year. Amazingly, this avid reader but completely unknown, journo-cum-kiwifruit grower (Wensley Wilcox) was formally appointed as unpaid (but fully financially liable) administrator of the Sargeson Writing Workshops. The series of workshops as planned (and approved) were held in Albany Auckland from 1986 until 1993 and in Wellington in 1986 and 1988 with Patricia Grace (for young Maori writers). Overall, the Auckland workshops alone contributed to the writing lives of over 200 people.

After Michael’s sudden and tragic death in 2004 Christine was determined the concept of a national Writers Centre would be the appropriate memorial for Michael, especially (with the right resources) if it were to encourage ”local” literature by including not only annually selected individual writer residencies but also annual programmes of workshops for both professionals and for school-age young people. I know that Dame Christine was immensely delighted that she lived long enough to see all this come to fruition and we all remain so very grateful to her and to the memory of her dear friend Michael. It has been such a privilege to have worked (for over a decade) with such an enthusiastic bunch of fellow trustees of the Michael King Writers’ Centre alongside such visionary and generous spirits.

Wensley Wilcox

I was in the same class as Michael at St. Pat’s, Silverstream, all the way through to the 6th form.

I recall once in the 4th form we were given essays to write in our English class for homework and to be presented the next day. Michael did it differently.While everybody else did the usual prose, Michael’s was a multi-page poem which our instructor, Fr. Delaney, read to the rest of us. We were all duly impressed.

Robert Wright

I fell in love with Michael King in the late 1970’s. A fellow Sagittarian, my soul mate, the love of my life. My hero in brown corduroy trousers. His shining brown eyes meeting mine across the ‘Varsity’ crowded writing workshop room in Wellington, making my heart flutter with desire. In his somewhat high octave voice he would say, ‘Explain it in as few words as possible. If you can’t, it is not worth saying.’

My adoration of course was unrequited. Michael was oblivious to my ‘crush’.

I am sure if Michael had realised my passion for him, he would have been somewhat amused.

I would travel from Palmerston North to Wellington in the old slow express train to Michael’s writing course at Victoria University. I would scribble my award winning short story in my shiny red covered ‘Warwick 2B5 Lecture Book’ as the clickety-clack rhythm of the train wheels echoed in my head. ‘I’m going to see Michael, I’m going to see Michael. Clickety-clack, clickety-clack.

The sense of freedom was exhilarating.  The sense of learning creative writing was thrilling. I felt as though I had been let out of my solo parent jail.  I was on a constant ‘high’ with enthusiasm and excitement for the written word and of course for Michael.

Michael King was always professional. I cringe now when I think of the short story I had written all those years ago.  I had eagerly voiced snippets to the other students in the class. Thank you, Michael, thank you, fellow classmates, for being very diplomatic and not roasting me about the dreadful story I had written.

I have not won any awards for writing but my passion for the written word remains.

My memory of Michael is with love. Changed of course from the inane affection of years ago. This love is with admiration for a man who encouraged me to write.

With that encouragement, I have always thought that my award-winning day will come. The silence beyond is deafening.

Karen Denby

The last time I saw Michael King was at the 2003 Prime Minister’s Literary Awards, which he won for non-fiction that year.

I had gone to support my old friend, Hone Tuwhare, who won the poetry section of the award. During the evening I got talking to Michael, who I had met several times before at literary events without getting to know him well. I had also met him though my sister, film-maker Clare O’Leary, who had filmed an interview with Michael a few years earlier, and which was subsequently shown at film festivals and on Maori Television.

I was surprised and delighted when he told me he had read most of my work and that he really liked it and rated it highly. We talked for a while before he was whisked off into the award ceremony. I remember his last words to me were: ‘Keep writing, Michael’.