The Union was the essential element and the core that held everything together, and protected our interests.
There was a mental and emotional toughness about them, with the two leaders in my time, who were The Godfather, Bill Bennett, and Mike Kitchen, the entrepreneur.
Love them or hate them, they were powerful men in charge of a powerful workforce, who both took an aerial view, as well as a close-up view on all the issues. When they squared off against each other during elections, Mike the entrepreneur stated, "I started the Whakatu forestry". "Yeah, and that's going broke!", yelled a Bill supporter.
"And I started the Whakatu deer farm", declared Mike. "Yeah, and that's broke too!", was the growing retort. Mike replied, "And I started the Credit Union as well". "And that's the brokest of the lot!", Bill's supporters trumpeted back!
We knew there was trouble brewing when the delegates and officials marched around with a purpose, in and out of offices. Then a call would go out for an immediate "all up", with a "down tools", and a "leave them hanging", meaning the sheep, and we would all make our way to the dining room to be informed of the pending action.
Some of these occasions had been fuses lit long ago, while others just blew out over nothing. Whatever the cause, there was both a sense of dread of losing wages, but also a sense of euphoria that you were doing the right thing in protecting yours and other workers' rights.
"One out, all out!", was a familiar catch cry.
"Make them an offer they can't refuse!", was the chorus, as officials headed back into negotiations. If the decision was passed by vote to go on strike for a day, a part day or more, heads would shake sadly, while others would whoop and rush for the door.
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But we stuck together through thick and thin, and I believe we eventually became a target for corporates and governments whose ideologies were to restrain, and even minimise the power that unions had over their members and workplaces.
Rogernomics was rife at the time, with an anti-union drive, which was especially strange as unions were the backbone of the Labour Party, and Whakatu was right up there, donkey deep.
It was the forces of Rogernomics and the Labour Party turning its back on its union forebears, paving the way for the corporate raiders that eventually brought Whakatu to its knees. David Lange and his team had succumbed to big business greed, and workers were the expendable baggage.
The "penny-a-carcass" model was cast aside, as was the "cost-plus" business case, which was how Whakatu was able to stay ahead of the pack and maintain such a vibrant workforce. But not any longer. However, there were great and colourful debates during our meetings.
One meeting I remember was the Godfather censuring the freezer's delegate Bill Schroeder, for trying to incite a freezer-led walkout of the entire works, including "leave them hanging!".
On two occasions he was asked to sit down, but he kept on speaking over the Chair. "Homer!", he appealed to the crowd, which meant "walkout". The Godfather then threatened to have him physically tossed out.
He stopped in mid-sentence, pulled out a black comb, held it under his nose and goose-stepped from the room, yelling, "Seig Heil, Heil Hitler, Long live the Fuehrer!", to the delight of the whole audience, who cheered him on!
The Godfather found it funny as well, and I saw those two later in the Clive pub, having a quiet beer and a laugh. On short days such as the "one out, all out!" calls, bomb scares or machinery breakdowns, we inevitably found ourselves down one of the pubs, the Clive being the closest, before everyone drifted off to their own, local haunts.
Here we would review, replay, and re-debate the actions of our union with a vigour, because it was intimidating getting up and voicing a contrary opinion in front of up to 500 workmates. So, the majority of us stayed silent until we got to the pub. Many a debate was concluded by fisticuffs and a good old fashioned brawl, because we weren't backward in coming forward with our opinions after a few beers!
When new hygiene regulations were brought in by MAF, there were plenty of stoppages, as vets and meat inspectors, followed closely by boardwalkers, raced up and down the chain looking for culprits not complying with these new rules, and followed closely by union delegates.
It was decided that the vets and meat inspectors would talk to all the workers together, so in comes the head vet into the dining room, and he speaks with a plum in his mouth.
"To the leggers, one must not allow urine or faeces from the rectum and anus to get on the gluteus maximus. You must place this paper in between the hide and the carcass to prevent any contamination".
He started to blush, so Harry Lyver got on the microphone and says, "He means, 'hey you bloody leggers, don't let the s**t or p**s from the a********e get on the meat, put a bloody paper in, got it, or you're down the bloody road!". We all got it with a hoot and a toot, then went straight back to work, feeling much the wiser.
It's hard to ascertain whether the union or company managers saw the closure coming, because there was real shock and surprise by all involved, and I haven't heard a "tut, tut, tut, I told you so" reply from any party, union or company. It was a corporate blitzkreig by Watties/Waitaki, Weddell and Richmonds.
There was plenty of speculation but no evidence until much later. I joined a group of workers including Maria Wātene, who was one of the first woman butchers, and Sid Taukamo, who toured the country representing the union and extolling the virtues of having a redundancy clause in all site agreements, to pre-empt what had happened to us.
We visited freezing works in Waitara in Taranaki, Imlay in Wanganui, Wairoa, Pacific and Takapau, Waingawa in Masterton, Oringi in Dannevirke, Borthwicks in Fielding, Longburn in Palmerston, Blenheim, Belfast in Christchurch, Burnside in Dunedin, Pareora in Waitaki, Finnegans in Balclutha, Mataura and Bluff, as well as some others.
But we weren't allowed into Tomoana by their union! Our misfortune was their good luck! They had won the titanic struggle of two mammoths going head-to-head.
In the end though, there was widespread national support, and redundancy clauses were added into most sheds. But we also returned home with about a $75,000 worth of koha collected by the hosting unions who wanted to help struggling whānau survive this devastating event.
The Waitara freezing workers union voted unanimously that the whole shed would give one hour's pay each toward our cause. Amazing stuff! It was put towards a welfare fund, as some whānau couldn't cope with the trauma, with their curtains at home remaining closed for weeks, even months, on end.
In a later study headed by Vera Keefe-Ormsby, through the Eru Pomare Māori Health Research Centre at the Wellington Medical School, it was found that suicide rates of ex-workers more than doubled, and self-harm rates escalated in the months and years after the closure.
Cancer rates caused by the stress of being made redundant also increased. Vera and I were invited to present these findings at a medical conference in Helsinki, Finland, and it is still the biggest research project of its kind in the world today.
But several months later, we were called to a meeting and informed that a redundancy offer was on the table, following threats of a nationwide walkout of all unions, not just the freezing workers. The company had also written to every individual worker with a tailored redundancy offer, so there was both a push and pull to settle.
Our little effort had made an impact after all. That was my first and only duty performed for the union, and it was rewarding for me to see some result.
For God, For King and For Country... AUE!
There were several 28th Māori Battalion members on the slaughterboard. I made sure I worked alongside all of them at some stage.
Two of them were 39ers, who were the first volunteers to go against the Germans. They declared war on the Germans before the New Zealand government did! There was George Tawhai from Dannevirke who was a spear cutter, and Joe Babbington from the Coast who was a flanker.
George wouldn't talk about the war much, but he must have suffered real traumatic events, because from being a genial elder statesman, he could go off like a sky rocket if a wrong word was said, and then he'd be the practical joker the next minute. I once saw him drop a live cigarette butt down the gumboot of a fellow worker, which took a while to burn through the sock before burning the foot!
The result was a hopping, yelling mad workmate who, once emptying his gumboot to find the live butt, would glare up and down the chain for the culprit, and George would be studiously concentrating on his sheep! George wouldn't let all but one of his six sons work at the works, while all his other five sons became carpenters and are still working all over the world.
Joe Babbington, or "Joe Babbs" as we called him, kept pretty much to himself. He would have a quiet beer with you but he never referred to the war. And although all the 28 veterans were our heroes, both George and Joe were given greater mana as 39ers, and deference by the other 28s.
Sid McIlroy was also a 39er, but he came to the works after a career in taxi driving in his later years. Riwai Mansfield from Haumoana was a sticker, and his throw-away lines were, "Aah, you young fellas should worry about the future, not the past!"
George Haronga from Nuhaka was a flanker, and once told us over a whisky that an ex-well-known 28th Battalion Captain came into their trench, and that he and two others were picked to go out on what was a night-suicide-patrol behind the enemy lines.
One of the three refused to go, sure that they were all going to get killed. The officer held his pistol to the soldier's head and said, "if you don't go, I'll shoot you now!" The soldier went to push the gun away and was shot through his hand. George and his mate were out of the trench like a shot, feeling safer behind enemy lines than in their own trenches!
Dick Huata, a gutty from Ramoto, was fearless and would volunteer for every dangerous engagement going, especially behind the enemy lines. And when he couldn't find any Germans to fight, he'd fight his own mates! Ricky Smith from Nuhaka was a pelter, and he wrote Blue Smoke, the famous WWII song in memory of the blue smoke from the biggest guns that drifted over the battlefields, making him think of home and his family. The blue smoke of his troop carrier ship prompted him to put a tune to the words.
Dempsey Greening was on the chain but used to knock off early every year to go to the orchards, which the management kept growling about. So he left and went to Tomoana, but three of his sons remained until the end.
Blue Te Hau from Tawapata, and Mahia and Boy Hawkins from Waihua were stickers. Boy married Blue's sister after the war. They were both in the artillery and were the mortar carriers.
Once after a hike that lasted over three days without engaging the enemy, they decided to dump their loads of mortars by the side of the road in a ditch because they were too heavy. About 5km down the road, they were bombarded by the Germans.
When asked to produce their ammo, they told their officer that they'd forgotten it at their last stop. They were ordered to go and retrieve them, or be court-martialled.
They sprinted back to get their dumped cache and got back just as all the other mortar shells had run out. Their mortars cleared the way, and they won the day. They'd gone from zero to heroes!
Barney Haraki from Whakaki was a legger. He was a sniper in the war, and I was told by Zac Pierce that he was the best in the business, living alone behind enemy lines for days at a time. He never kept a tally of his hits, but others in the 28th did, and it was impressive! But Barney refused to talk about the war too. He would say to me, "back in the old days, a woman of beauty had a huge nose, juju lips, pikaru eyes, black as the ace of spades, with hair like barbed wire, she was horrible".
"Now, who the hell would want to go back to those days, do you?", he'd ask. "No", I would say. And then he'd say, "so don't ask me to go back to the war!". "Okay, okay, I get it", I would reply.
Charlie Tihema from Wairoa was a lugger and shoulderer. In the pub I'd ask him about the war, and he'd say, "get me another beer", and then another one, then another one, until he was incoherent, and then he'd tell me to, "p*** off!"
Koro Henderson was small, and tough as a rough-house boxer. He once wrestled an escaped bull to the ground in the beefhouse after everyone else had scarpered, by grabbing it by the tail and flooring it. Then he solo butchered it!
Tatere McDonald from Waimarama was a guttie, and he must have had a great time overseas because he was mischief to the day he died! He said he went to war speaking only one language, and came back speaking six or seven languages, most of them pick-up lines and swear words! And at singing and playing the guitar, Tatere was the man, the life of the party!
His wife Ruma, who worked beside him, was the only one to match him song for song. Simon Puna, a guttie from Kohupatiki, was probably the quietest of the lot, and it was hard to believe that he had been amongst it all as well.
Jock Pene from Waiohiki was on maintenance and must have suffered heavy percussion gunning, because he was almost deaf, yet still trained the Ratana Hamuera Band. He also played the bugle at tangi and on Anzac days. Guy Tomlins from Pakipaki was a legger and was in the RNZ Airforce.
He trained in Canada and flew for the RAF. He was a muso of renown, with fingers that could stretch from one fret at one end, right to the other end of the guitar. Canon Wi Te Tau Huata was the 28th Battalion chaplain, and he frequently visited the works and was always warmly greeted by those mentioned above.
There were also those who fought in Japan and Korea, Borneo and Malaya, including Broughton Tomlins, Charlie Hamlin, Darky Unahi, Bill Whaitiri, Gary Huata, Bill Kaua and Mac Tomlins. Gerald Southon and Bunny Tareha both did two stints in Vietnam as well. "Ake ake, kia kaha e... hi!"
■Ngahiwi Tomoana is chairman of Ngati Kahungunu iwi Inc.
■Newt Week: Baa, Baa Black Sheep