The scene this morning, before 89 year old Aunty Ethel waltzed up and down the hallway playing sprightly tunes on her hormonica, was serene and rustic.
The décor is ‘history recalled’, Puhoi Pub is like a working museum. Everywhere you look are old things unknown by youngsters, nostalgic to older folks. And some things are a mystery to even the oldest amongst us.
We gathered last night in the old fashioned dining room, a smallish gathering of relatives of my ex husband’s cousin, Eric, to celebrate his 70th birthday. Most of the guests moved to the verandah outside the upstairs bedrooms when the bar closed. Luckily we had taken all the available rooms, so we didn’t disturb any other guests. I think there are only 8 rooms, 4 doubles down one side of the hall and four singles and the bathrooms along the other. None of the modern trappings of accommodation but after a party you just want a bed, right? And mine was cosy and comfy, and much appreciated by the time I finally found my way to it.
Three of my children just loved catching up with their cousin David (second from the right) who none of us had seen since he was a teenager, and meeting his lovely wife. (We also met Eric’s charming new wife.) When they were growing up David enjoyed (I hope) many holidays on the farm with us. For my Canadian son-in-law it was an opportunity to meet some more Kiwi relations.
I stepped out on to the verandah this morning to take a photo of the grape vine but was more taken with our little party table. Every picture tells a story, right?
You could take photos all night inside this pub but I will limit myself to a couple of signs:
Oh, and I must include one photo of the guest of honour, after all it was all about him. Here he is entertaining my son.
And now I’m off for a nap, after all I’ve earnt it.