Gerard looks at the history behind the mobile library service in New Zealand, and details his own exploits as a mobile library driver
Flower power, psychedelia, LSD, the Summer of Love and San Francisco 1967 – they all conjure up fairly surreal images. Freedom and hanging out – or just being on the road – are timeless vehicles of escape. The hippie’s motto of tune-in, turn-on and drop-out caught the flavour of the era.
One of the most recognisable legends was the famous ‘Further Bus’, driven by the legendary Neal Cassady along with writer, Ken Kesey (of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest fame),
Dr Timothy Leary (the LSD prophet), Ken Babbs and the Merry Pranksters. Along with that came the infamous ‘Acid Test’ concerts with the bus as the nerve centre – along with The Grateful Dead’s acid rock.
The Further Bus became an icon of a generation, painted in lurid colours, psychedelic swirls and crazy writing. It appeared at ‘happenings’ and ‘be-ins’ all over the US West Coast, and was based at the commune deep in Topanga Canyon. Being ‘on the bus’ became a catch cry for those escaping the shackles of an urbanised, materialist existence. A rejection of the excesses of the chrome-saturated American Dream of the ’50s. From this ensemble, the bus, house bus and motor home culture came to symbolise a paring back to basics the world over.
The Kiwi Escape
Fast forward to 1971, with New Zealand’s time lag from the rest of the world, and the small town straitjacket ran headlong into the wildest travelling circus. The BLERTA bus was on the road, with a tribe of long-haired troubadours revving up the locals and exciting public unrest wherever they travelled – at least in the eyes of the various civic leaders. But for entertainment-starved locals, this was an all-exciting revelation. Bruno Lawrence was their leader, the archetype anti-establishment rebel hero. A seasoned musician and hard living bronco, he pioneered the counter culture outdoors festival in New Zealand.
The BLERTA bus – Bruno Lawrence Electric Revelation Travelling Apparition – was an ex Wellington City Transport Corporation eight-ton, 1948 diesel Leyland Tiger.
This flagship quickly received a cosmic hippie abstract makeover. Their tour of the country unleashed a juggernaut of publicity and media scaremongering, except with the country’s youth – the freewheeling lifestyle seemingly enjoyed by the entourage had definite appeal, which the various city fathers were doing their damnedest to clamp down on. However, curiosity always won out, and the shows were a thumping success.
Bruno’s crew and his BLERTA bus were a shining beacon, and today mythology surrounds the saga, which even saw encounters with motorcycle gangs – in particular the notorious Epitaph Riders in Christchurch. Bruno showed he possessed the epitome of cool in subduing these dudes, and another mob in Timaru.
The legacy of being ‘on the bus’ continues today. Rolling along out in the bush-clad wild West of Auckland, a rebel bus roams the roads painted in weird symbols – designed, it would appear, by some greenie.
Behind the wheel another legendary driver in the Neal Cassady (as described by legendary beat author, Jack Kerouac, in his book On The Road) and Bruno Lawrence vein. A Robin Hood-style outlaw delivering the good oil to lonely, downtrodden and isolated communities. The mysterious driver sits up high, behind mirrored, wraparound shades, like the famed tanker driver in Steven Spielberg’s cult movie, Duel, never seen but always menacing.
The vehicle’s mighty Nissan diesel mill unleashes a thundering engine note as the big brown bus powers its way to the next pensioner village. A flight deck array of instruments chart the vital signs of this blockbuster beast. Behind the controls the good Samaritan hauls his cargo of books and multimedia.
The NZ Mobile Library Service
Mobile Libraries, or Bookmobiles, have been a rock in our communities around the country for around 70 years. Many of the drivers became legends in their own time, often navigating nightmare roads in the back-blocks from the ’30s to the ’60s. The machinery they drove in those early years was fairly rudimentary, and bone jarring to say the least.
The Country Library Service auxiliary van division of the New Zealand National Library was launched in 1938, with much fanfare. A ceremony took place outside Parliament with iconic Labour Prime Minister, Michael Joseph Savage, attending.
The service would build up a proud history, lasting 50 years before it was terminated in 1988. After that, the responsibility for providing the recreational reading needs of isolated communities passed to local authorities.
The vans – or Field Librarians as they were known – were each allocated a large chunk of territory. These were broken into around four circuits, each meaning around a month or more on the road. They entailed many long undulating journeys, way into the depths of the hinterland, visiting farms and rural outposts to replenish the book collection. Each community held small libraries or collections, sometimes in a person’s house or hall, which the locals could access.
Often the driver/librarian slept in his vehicle and cooked his own meals, as there was no accommodation for miles – not something OSH would take kindly to today. Occasionally, in the midst of a tour, a quick return to a National Library base library was made to replenish supplies.
The standard equipment vehicle issue to Field Librarians by the 1950s was the ubiquitous Bedford. Powdered by an in-line six-cylinder petrol engine, it was not at the cutting edge of innovation even then. However, the Bedford’s mechanicals were very simple and largely reliable, though they hardly excited their operator with mind-blowing performance.
The isolation of the library runs often required the driver to be pretty resourceful, and skills extended to massaging the Bedford mill with minor repairs. Things like broken axles posed bigger problems. Of course brakes, in that era and that rough terrain, were always a worry.
Visits of ‘the van’ to rural communities were always greeted with great excitement, and seen as an excuse for a gathering in the local hall or pub. The Field Librarian was always a very popular person, and was usually wined and dined along the route in considerable style.
A couple of the iconic drivers that come to mind, such as Jim Sutherland and Helen Woodhouse, recalled an era of rural and small town life that has now largely vanished.
Mobile Library Driver
Unfortunately the Bedford didn’t vanish by the ’70s – or even the ’90s. Forward-thinking local authorities continued to impose this ancient equipment on their Outreach Librarians, to give it the new term of the late millennium.
The TK Bedford banger was not the stuff that legends are made of – trust me, I have driven many. They are wheezing, fuming, gutless creatures. I had my first encounter with them in 1977, driving the ‘new’ Papatoetoe Mobile Library. This was, in truth, a refurbished council dump truck, with a new body grafted to its chassis.
It was an improvement to the mobile ex TAB caravan it replaced, but then just about anything would have been; especially as the caravan had to be towed by a council lorry from one location to another.
This was my indoctrination into the itinerant lifestyle of the Mobile Library Driver, and I’ve never quite managed to wrench myself from its clutches. I keep returning to the freewheeling temptations and who could blame me, like rolling stone I gather no corporate moss, so to speak.
That first Bedford wasn’t a bad old trouper, at least the fittings were nice, and with the confines of the independent Papatoetoe City area (pre local government amalgamation) it didn’t have to go very far.
I’d got my big OE over in 1979 – with mixed results – and returned to New Zealand for some domestic bliss thing. However, my head was still filled with road dreams. I was aching to move, find my own zone, garner some serious highway credentials and kick back in roadside motel-land. I was to get my chance.
In 1985, after a five-year prison sentence of an inside job, I felt like a chained animal and needed to get back on the road. A tip-off from a fellow cohort allowed me to score a North Island-wide bookselling racket, all to be handled from a Bedford truck.
I now entered the weird world of Strang’s Bookshop – an outfit firmly locked into a ’50s time warp even during the hedonistic ’80s. The organisation was seemingly peopled by a shambolic group of refugees – now I was one of them!
The Driver
Strang’s Bookshop had been a legend during the ’60s and ’70s, operating two trucks and taking its merchandise to back road outposts and rural cities within New Zealand. However, by the mid ’80s there were more lucrative buying options for rural centres, and the operation was approaching its end. Never mind, there were two damn good years left – years in which I roamed around the back-blocks in the Bedford Banger, all expenses paid.
My task was simple; I was a travelling sales-person, which meant that every second week I was out of Auckland, beating a trail through the mid North Island.
For a man about to break the shackles, the beast at my disposal was not what you’d describe as one to fan the flames of road warrior dreams. A Kenworth or Mack it sadly was not. The 1975 TK Bedford, equipped with the six-cylinder Vauxhall Cresta engine, was not eminently suitable for highway work – in fact, it was a dismal performer, but somehow I grew attached to that decaying Bedford. Presentation wasn’t what you’d call a visual symphony either, though its shabby appearance appealed to my ethos of the rough original highway runner.
The myth of the travelling man’s bond with his machine is obsessively true, but I had to dig deep to find the warm fuzzies with this thing. Even just a sniff of a hill seemed to cause it to lose heart. Actually, it was quite humiliating, there never seemed to be quite enough gears, and I made sure I kept my shades on!
With an attention-grabbing engine scream and an 80kph (50mph) top end on the flat or going down hill, I was forced to draw on reliability as the Bedford’s most endearing feature. Only one breakdown in two years on the Taupo-Turangi Road isn’t bad, and while it was a slack slug in the speed stakes, I became really fond of the old TK.
Charging down the Bombay Hills into the chequerboard of the Waikato, I guess, symbolised my escape to freedom and adventure. Walkman on, the rhythms pounding in my head, shifting gears and covering ground.
Travellin’ Man
How good is your local geography? The tour took me regularly to such Meccas as Galatea, Murapara, Kawerau and Reparoa, small settlements way off the neon-laced highway. A deep attraction and joy evolved in watching changing landscapes, seasons, the vegetation, colours and light.
It was my introduction into the realm of retro automotive road culture. I began carting my camera around with me, fascinated by old buildings, cars and relics. An obsession mushroomed as I attempted to capture the essence of road culture. I scoured the backstreets of old, broken down towns, shooting film and hunting out junk.
It was also my chance to do the Country Library Service-style gig that I had backed away from because of its isolation. I seized the opportunity, and left no stone unturned in the pursuit of the ultimate road experience.
It was a great lark, and while it lasted I got to know the country and rural cities intimately, and met some wonderful characters. Maybe it was too much of a good thing, and perhaps I didn’t put enough effort in the bookselling? Eventually the economics of the day spelled doom for the truck bookselling escapade. The end came in 1987, followed shortly afterwards by the demise of Strang’s Bookshop.
Back on the Road
Returning to the realm of Mobile Library, I was back driving in Auckland City and later Manukau in the early ’90s. The dreaded Bedfords were still with us, by now not always in the best of health and parts were becoming a devilish problem to procure. The low point of operating a 1969 vintage Auckland City barge emerged in 1990, when the tired old straight-six developed a leaking head gasket and the rings collapsed. The cabin quickly resembled a gas chamber, flooded with toxic fumes from the dying mill – and this was before the era of lead-free petrol.
There was only one option – tie bandanas around my nose and mouth in an attempt to avoid inhaling the filthy stuff. What with the shades, it probably appeared to hapless bystanders that we’d hijacked the vehicle or were en-route to a bank heist.
Both myself and my assistant road jockey had to drive the Bedford in this condition for several days, until we flatly refused to continue. It eventually dawned on the local government that we weren’t going to put up with this shambles. Another dodgy, cobbled-up motor later, and I decided to have a look at the view behind the wheel of the Manukau City alternative.
The pay was better and I elected to accept, against my better judgement, the suspect promise of a fabulous state-of-the-art new bus that I was assured would appear shortly. In the meantime, I was able to continue my love affair with Bedfords. In this case it was my privilege to be charged with the responsibility of operating an ex Country Library Service, 1966 Bedford – remember, it was now 1991! A much smaller vehicle this time, which placed less strain on the prehistoric running gear.
Despite its age and fuming tendencies, the old Bedford was reasonably reliable on its jaunts out to Cockle Bay, Half Moon Bay, Weymouth and other extremities of the burgeoning Manukau metropolis.
Eventually though, after a couple of years and no tangible action on the new dream machine’s progress into reality, I elected to flag it away for greener pastures.
Eventually, I re-entered the fray in 1994, driving one of Auckland City Libraries’ – you guessed it, Bedfords. The ‘newer’ 1971 vintage model this time, with dynamic decorations in an in-your-face shade of brown with a body-length strip of book spines.
The Modern Age
However, changes were finally afoot. The other, older Beddie had gone, replaced by a shining new 1991 Isuzu five-speed diesel, a veritable space-age fantasy in contrast to the Jurassic Bedford. Wonderful new composite material construction made for a very user friendly décor, but didn’t compensate for some very shonky design stuff-ups. Hard to credit, but the coachbuilders put an outside book return slot that was covered when the external door was open and swung across it. Go figure! A low bookshelf right over the internal book returns bin saw to it that every roadie librarian got a sore head from whacking against it at some stage.
The stabilisers were another great idea, designed to level the floor for our more elderly, balance-challenged citizens. The only drawback was that the manufacturer failed to install an ignition immobiliser, to prevent driving with these still down. Many drivers attempted to drive away with the stabilisers down at some point, which resulted in a particularly nasty grinding sound. It wasn’t good for their health, and the stabilisers never worked properly after a few of these episodes, slowly losing hydraulic pressure and sinking downwards.
Their final demise occurred after one hapless relief driver conducted a demonstration of the stabiliser’s operation in the garage. With a flourish, one of the vehicle’s stalwart crew activated them, only for them lock down and refuse to retract. The poor incumbent was marooned in a bleak lockup for hours until expert help arrived. They were dismembered after that.
I got to drive this beacon of new technology from time to time, and it just floated along effortlessly. The unbelievable low-down grunt from the mill was intoxicating, and fuelled erratic king of the road fantasies.
Eventually, in 1996, the other Bedford was finally put out to pasture with the arrival of the MkII Isuzu. This baby was supposed to be the ultimate. The low floor made getting aboard a breeze, even for the more arthritic. Everybody, it seemed, forgot that the low door wouldn’t open in the cart dock garage of Auckland Central Library, until some hasty alterations were effected. There were all the usual teething problems, but the new flagship was a superb machine with auto transmission, nice firm ride, a good sound system and a fridge for coldies. For a vehicle taking entertainment and culture out to the fringe areas of the populace, all these features were absolutely vital.
Trouble was, on the Auckland City Outreach Mobiles you had to have another team player riding shotgun in case you ran into bother. Team player is not exactly the phrase that comes to mind to capture the grief that unravelled at times between the pilot and offsider. Two people thrust into close confines day after day can sometimes provide personal friction.
One of my off-siders, after numerous patient attempts to teach him vehicle manoeuvring techniques, had a serious meltdown and refused to speak to me again, claiming sexist attitudes. This made working in a two-staff environment an interesting scenario. Later, the same person conspired to fall into the open engine bay, I am reliably told, then spent months on sick leave apparently suffering from some related fatigue strain or another.
The mana of the bus crew was further fuelled by an era of late Friday night ‘debriefs’ on board one of the machines locked in the garage – usually with a cask or a few bottles of wine. These sessions, in the basement of Auckland Central Library, went well into the night after closing time. Raving away about the heroic deeds of the week, accompanied by good vibes pumping from the quality sound system, became a regular refrain while slugging back the relaxing liquid potion. It was a chance to reflect on the week, the various encounters on the human highway, and the corporate bunglings of Big Brother.
Stories were massaged into legends, and we saw ourselves a little in the highway rebel mode, not ensnared in the corporate straitjacket. Only recently had we been issued with cell phones which, to my mind, was a drawback – now I was always contactable.
Back to a Bedford
All good things come to an end, unfortunately. A final extension of yet another temporary contract at Auckland City terminated in December 1999, so I moved across the harbour to North Shore City. Awaiting me was yet another Bedford, a better salary and promise of a new vehicle – if I was willing to wait long enough.
The 1981 Bedford was a true dog of a machine. It was full of rust and rot, with an optimistically colourful paint scheme which hid all manner of sins. The bean counters had opted for tweaking an old unsuitable chassis and greasing the palms of local suppliers which basically weren’t up to it. The result was a long saga of unreliability. It was the best decorative colour scheme I’d had on any steed, sadly it shrouded the most badly engineered and antiquated pile of corroding rubbish it’s been my misfortune to endure.
It smelt damp and musty in winter and hot and fumy in summer. Big and heavy, it was noisy and gutless, with heavy steering, and you literally had to get out of your seat and stand on the brakes to make them actually stop quickly. The Bedford’s 50-year-old engine technology, which really was an insult to the word, was shocking – especially at the petrol pump.
However, it was a nice to work by myself again, and the people at North Shore City Libraries were grand. But the nightmare of driving this thing stuffed up my arms with fatigue strain, as I fought to wrestle it in the right direction.
The horror drive in this baby was the Paremoremo prison village run. The Pari hill, as it was known, up from the Albany Highway, had the Bedford gasping its lungs out and screaming its head off. It’s a wonder it held together during the two years I drove it, as I gave it plenty of stick. Eventually I ran out of patience with it and moved onto to other things.
Mobile Library Rally
During my long career behind the wheel, taking it to the streets, I’ve had the supreme pleasure of attending New Zealand’s only two Mobile Library rallies. These were particularly riotous affairs, gathering all these road jockeys together, which usually meant bedlam would be unleashed sooner or later. The first rally was in Palmerston North in 1992. Mobile Libraries were driven from as far south as Dunedin and as far north as Auckland to make the party. The highlights were raving about your machine, sort of kicking the tyres or dissing them, depending on what you were driving.
The park up and inspection of everyone’s hardware was always a pretty ego-fuelled thing. I didn’t have to worry in 1992, as the Manukau 1966 Beddie was deemed unlikely to go the distance and was ruled out, thank goodness! Instead, I rode down in the new 1992 Auckland Isuzu.
Rally standouts were the street parade, public viewing and, of course, the big shindig conference and dinner blowout. Dancing on the table was witnessed at the 1992 affair, which gives some idea of what happened when these characters were let loose.
I got my Waitakere City Libraries 2000 vintage Nissan slugger to Taupo for the January 2007 Mobile Library Rally. This time there wasn’t a single Bedford in sight. Things had progressed, graphics and decoration really stamp the style of these iconic vehicles. The drivers are an eclectic bunch and, by this time, I was the longest serving driver among them. A sort of senior statesman of the rolling blacktop.
There’s a real brotherhood (and sisterhood), a sense of fraternity though we are different. It takes a special ingredient to be a roadie librarian – heavy vehicle driving skills are vital, as is a good knowledge of books, a difficult combination to find. Every time you leave the garage in the morning, you never quite know what uncertainties of the human and mechanical variety are going to descend on you on any day.
Freedom and the attraction of being on the road, wielding a great big juggernaut through city streets or bush-clad hills out to the ocean are mighty tempting. But the greatest buzz of all, though, is the tango with a constant influx of new characters, stepping into your palace from the street. The human circus is always the most fascinating, and they come in all shapes and sizes.
What I like about this work is that the flavour of the day can change instantly. Like, for instance, the afternoon a typical grey-haired gent climbed on board. We got talking and it turned out that he was Jock Barnes, the infamous leader of the Waterside Workers Union (Wharfies) in the 1951 Waterfront Strike and Lockout that paralysed the country. This gentle, intellectual, and well-read music-loving man was the farthest one could imagine from a ruthless uncompromising union boss. Just goes to show, the media has a lot to answer for.
At the end of the day, I must admit I have a passion and intimate bond with my mighty machine, Bedford or otherwise. We are a team and work closely together. I can sense and feel how it’s running, and certainly it has a presence and vibe which I’m dialled into. Its energy and power captivate me, and quite a few punters hit me with the question, “Hey man, you must have the best job in the world?”
On a good day I would certainly say amen to that!
Words: Gerard Richards
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