Young Jeremy was an English lad who found himself at one of Life's little crossroads. A long way from home, he had travelled to New Zealand to be a journalist on a new major daily newspaper, bringing with him his new bride Debbie, whom he loved greatly.
- Jeremy was also equally passionate about being a reporter. Seeing his name in print from time to time when he had a by-line piece was a great thrill. He loved the hot house environment of deadlines and competition with other media, unlike some of the other older hands who had arrived from Australia, Canada or South Africa for the money, carrying their usual suitcases of cynicism. For him it was big break. He could not have had got such a high grading and by-line opportunities in the U.K.
- So it was noticeable when he started looking, as my mother used to say, "as though he had lost a pound and found sixpence". He had the desk next to mine so I felt obliged to ask him what was causing the gloomy countenance.
- "Horns of a dilemma I'm afraid, major horns of a major dilemma," he replied, leaning forward and putting his head between his hands.
- With that level of response I suggested a drink might be in order, so we casually wandered out the building to a favourite watering hole where he began an outpouring of what he called "troubles on the domestic front."
- In essence it was a homesick partner hating this "insular little country" and wanting to be back in England. Not next year, not next month, but now. He had tried stalling tactics, no result. Ultimatums had been given to him. Her or the job. He was seriously gut-wrenched and sleepless. She didn't understand how every month of experience at this more senior level counted, how much he loved the job, and so on. Hours later no solution, no decision, just two journalists back at their desks with difficulty focussing on their computer keyboards.
- A month later dark clouds of tropical cyclone proportions hovered over the next desk, before Jeremy finally spoke.
- "Debbie flew back to London last night."
- "You chose the job?" I responded, incredulous. I had met Debbie, she was a delight.
- Jeremy nodded, tapping a pencil frenetically on his desktop, and added that he didn't want to talk about it, but that he would appreciate a drink or two after work. It was a long night.
- A fortnight after that, the editor called everyone to a meeting and announced that the paper's new owners, renowned asset strippers, had closed the paper. We had one hour to clear our desks and leave the building. Security guards would be present to assist. The shock left silence for a few moments. First to burst into tears was a tough woman political journalist. Followed by Jeremy, who then rushed out of the building.
- Later, as I was leaving, an Australian photographer Mike was coming back in. A security guard asked Mike for the firm's camera.
- "You mean the one with this extremely expensive telescopic lens. Oh! Silly butter fingers me. Must be redundancy shock. I've dropped it by accident, and look, its all smashed."
- The security guard went into explosive mode telling Mike what prosecutions he could expect for deliberate property destruction, but Mike just looked him calmly in the eye.
- "Mate, I'd be more worried about the firm's car if I were you. Funny thing happened. It stalled right in the middle of those railway lines near here. Just couldn't shift it."
- Then he gave a theatrical flourish of his wrist and studied his watch.
- "And oh, the 3 10 train is due quite soon"
- Mike handed the guard the car keys. Australians do seem to have a different response to New Zealanders when it comes to industrial troubles. That night at the wake in the press pub, I told Jeremy about Mike's little caper, hoping it would cheer him up. It hardly seemed to register. Jeremy was still sobbing into his beer long past midnight.
