Iron, man

Back in my hometown, opposition to a Queens Wharf combover is growing. I've raved about this before but at the Fundy Post, Paul Litterick is sputtering about it better than anyone else:

To paraphrase Mike Lee, the Queen's Wharf has become the people's liability.

But what about the sheds, you demand? Well yes, what about them? They are spacious, dry, sound, weather-tight; in short, they are capable of hosting parties. They are iconic as well, and thus optimal for tourism purposes. So they will be knocked down and those merry pranksters from Jasmax will build a curved pavilion, because that would be so so post post modern and rugby fans love a bit of architecture.

An online petition calling for preservation of the sheds is at SOS Queens Wharf.

I had a sinking feeling as I signed the petition but I believe in it. I've always loved Auckland's harbour because it is a working harbour, not in spite of it. I love the tank farm and the iron fences and the smell of diesel and the recalcitrant ferries and, yes, the rusting iron sheds. I like these things because they're signs of real work. I like them because they are old and rusting. They're a history of the community every bit as much as a pa or a cemetery.

Pictured above, my great grandfather William (Bill) Collard (foreground) and my grandfather (in the engine cabin) in Auckland in 1933 and behind them, a shed. Not a combover in sight.