“The trains opened up the country, why were they taken away?” said Don Broady, as we sat chatting about another time, another place - a period in his life that began for him in 1930.

“It's called progress Don,” I replied, "wrapped up in politics and profit."

My father would load the cream on the back of the sledge, and the horses would pull it through the mucky roads down to the train station. That's the horses there, "and he pointed to the picture on the wall of three powerful looking horses.

"Are they Clydesdales?" I asked.

“Don't know he said,” and shrugged his shoulders, “just horses."

I looked at the large photograph on the other wall.

"That's Don's old homestead," Phillpa said, "in Broady Road."

The old kauri house stood surrounded by green paddocks and patches of bush.

“My brother and I sold the land to a Developer in 1996, and some of the land has now been subdivided, he explained..

"It's a beautiful, peaceful scene,” I remarked. “I hope the developers leave that part of the land just the way it is.”

“The road has your family name, how come?” I asked.

"I suppose so, “he said. 'The cattle station and sale yards were there.

It was so easy to transport the stock to the works. Good for the farmers,” he went on, “but terrible for the poor beasts, what with the smoke and the noise."

"Nothings changed Don,” I said, “the poor beasts still suffer, except now they are crammed into trucks on long journeys and on crowded roads."

"Blame the politicians for that,” he said with a glint in his eye.

“I love the wonderful sound and rhythm of the wheels-relaxes me, It's a great way to travel. What say you Don?”

"It would take about five hours on the train to get to Auckland. I remember there were no clip tickets, the guard use to write them out,” he laughed; “have a look in that top draw, in the tin, I still have one.”

Sure enough there it was, “It's as big as a cheque!” I laughed.

“Without the train it would take days to drive the cattle to Auckland.”

He paused for moment and then deep in memory he said, "Life was hard in the depression. We had to walk 3 miles to the Railway station for mail, and the school was just a short distance past the station before it was moved to the William's place on the corner of Tahekeroa and Monowai, where the two roads part company, just there on the bridge about mile and a half from the house. It was the reason my father decided to move us here," and he smiled, “I suppose that would be a bit of joke for today's youngsters, I can't see them walking one and a half miles to school.

Why didn't you go to school on horseback?" I asked.

“Horses were for work!” He exclaimed. “We kids followed the stream along the right of way and spent a lot of time playing in it.

Tahekeroa School was in the old shed- don't know if that still exists, he shrugged his shoulders, and it was a halfway time school.”

"Whatever does that mean?" I asked amused.

He sat contemplating for a while, and said, "You probably know about the

Makerau tunnel."

"No, what about it?" Again that twinkle in his eye and I felt he was amused at my ignorance.

“The tunnel use to bend when the trains went through he said animatedly, because the clay was too soft and they even had to lower the tracks, the sides bulged and shifted and eventually gave way. We could often hear the trains rumbling through the tunnel at night.

“Still does” laughed Phillipa, (who lives not too far along from the old homestead) but the wind has to be blowing in the right direction. It rumbles along in the middle of the night, but only carries goods now.

The nurse kept popping in and out and finally said, “Bath time Don.”

“Does she really want us to go?” I joked

We got up and as we got to the door, Don suddenly shouted out.

"There used to be tearooms at Maungataroto and Helensville and you can still pick up the broken crockery on the side of the rails.”

I laughed, “I've heard that passengers use to throw them through the window and I'm old enough to remember those chunky cups and sauces.”

"And the express used to run excursions through to Whangarei twice a day” he went on hurriedly; sometimes one following the other. The troop trains too-the army was stationed at Okaia.”

“Well for a man that doesn't know much Don, you're doing O.K.” I said, and he smiled shyly.

“It been great talking trains with you Don. I shall take a drive down to Tahekeroa to see if there's anything left of the old station.