Local history writer, Judith Galtry, lived next door to who she describes as the last hermit in Paekākāriki for many years. She shares her neighbour’s complex story with insight and compassion. Read an excerpt here then the full article on Newsroom.
Paekākāriki’s last hermit died late in 2023. The ‘For Sale’ sign for his small home of over five decades described it as a “derelict shack that needs to go to make way for your stunning future home.”
The Hermit was a flawed and fascinating man. For our first 15 or so years as neighbours, his most embittered and booze-soaked period, it was hard to spot any redeeming features. Back then, on a summer’s evening, he would lean over his deck, bottle in hand, and loudly recount tales about fish and women that he had purportedly “netted”.
It was impossible to imagine ever having anything in common with this antiquated dinosaur. But, over the course of 40 years, many things changed, including our feelings about our neighbour.
In his heyday, The Hermit was renowned for his prodigious drinking, his womanising, his violence, his mistreatment of many of those close to him, and his clever, but often savage, tongue, especially when under the influence. His friends were few and forgiving. This was fine with him as he preferred his own company.
He was 78 when he passed away. By the end, he was dry, having kicked the alcohol (and roll-your-owns) some years earlier.
The Hutch, as he referred to his old wooden cottage, was bought sometime around 1970. A set of steep, curving steps, most in disrepair, provided the only legitimate entry, although he had occasional access through a neighbouring driveway. It was a classic seafront cottage of a kind that now faces extinction. The long, narrow strip of garden out the back produced prodigious amounts of potatoes, carrots, and cabbages.
The Hutch was built in the 1920s and had a leaning brick chimney and a roof in need of constant repair. Only 50 square metres in total, there was one bedroom off the living area and a small alcove just big enough to fit a single bed. This was screened off from the main room by a curtain on a rail. The kitchen was part of the living area. It had a wall-mounted Zip water heater (later replaced with a kettle), mugs hanging from hooks, and a mustard armchair with a wooden, leg-elevating handle, surely the last of its kind. A fireplace sat against the south wall.
But the real action happened out the front on the cracked concrete deck overlooking the Cook Strait. It served as the occasional stage for a cast of often dissolute and sometimes well-known characters. Among his drinking companions were two of New Zealand’s greatest poets: Sam Hunt, from Paremata’s Bottle Creek, who regularly drank at the Paekākāriki Hotel between the late 1960s and the late 1990s, and Denis Glover, who lived in Paekākāriki between 1959 and 1970.
Read the full story on Newsroom here.
