9. Mates, gas, smoke, liquid, fire, works, finger - Dave's photos

mates

gas...

smoke...

liquid...

fire...

works...

finger...

8. Cupping bees by Stephen Galbreath

Each year, on David's birthday (November 11) I send a card to David's mother Anne. This year I was tramping in the Orongorongos with some friends and didn't realise until it was too late that I'd be far from a postbox.

 

I often find myself fondly reminiscing about the many adventures I shared with David. For some reason, as we were tramping out of the Orongorongo Valley, I remembered that David and I used to cup bees in our hands off the flowering gum trees. We would see how long we could shake them about before freeing them back into the open.

I think we stopped that experiment fairly promptly after we were stung…!

7. The human dartboard by Jill Galbreath

Not sure if you know the story about Steve throwing a dart that hit David bang smack in the middle of his forehead, just missing both eyes.

It was the day we were shifting into 400 Muritai Road, Eastbourne (next door to the Curtis/Manchester family). My boys found a dart board under the house and set it up against the gum tree at the back.

Your boys decided to come over and join in the shifting. As Steve threw the dart, David (aged about 5) ran down the side of the house and round the back straight into the path of the dart. It stuck straight out of his head. James started screaming "You've killed my brother".


David pulled the dart out and we didn't know anything about it until he came back round to the front of the house, with a red dot between his eyes...!

6. An unforgettable night in Ross-on-wye by Liz Curtis In the year 2002,or maybe it was 2003, James and David came to stay with me in Ross-on-Wye, Herefordshire. Ironically it was New Year's Eve. They arrived, eyes shining with excitement because they knew they would be able to buy fireworks which they said that at that time was quite difficult in New Zealand.

Rather anxiously I pointed them in the direction of Ye Olde Fire Work Shoppe and they returned arms laden with the most enormous and dangerous looking rockets, bangers, catherine wheels and Beirut-type explosives. They asked where they could let them off and I said in true Pommy style "not here, mate" and directed them to a field well away from my house. They returned some time later obviously satisfied with whatever they had done down there but said they had saved the best for later on in the evening. Again they asked if they could let them off in my back garden so we could all see them. "Definitely not" was my response as my back garden is of the small, patio type in the middle of an old market town and I feared for my house, the surrounding area and its inhabitants.

We then, James, myself Tim ,my son and two daughters of a previous New Zealand girl friend who were also staying with us, started to get ready for a New Year's Eve party we had all been invited to. No-one noticed David was missing. Suddenly the most enormous and thunderous explosion rocked my 250 year old house and more importantly windows. David came through the back door with a huge grin on his face. He had let off the most deadly of his explosives and seemed somewhat puzzled when I also exploded. For him it was a masterpiece of noise, chaos, fire and danger. Georgian architecture and listed buildings meant nothing to him.

Eventually and somewhat frazzled we all bundled into a taxi, including David and the remaining fireworks. I thought I might have registered my displeasure over the inappropriate letting off of fireworks enough for David to "tow the line" when we got to my friend's house who had said he could let them off there at midnight when babies, dogs and small children had gone home. Obviously David couldn't wait and again no-one had noticed he had gone missing. Another enormous bang ripped through the air. Babies and small children were crying and a couple of dogs yelped and ran for cover. My words had obviously fallen on deaf ears, though all our ears were deaf now.

David was hauled in and had his fireworks confiscated until the 'witching hour' of 12.00pm, or is it am. With a quiet look of satisfaction on his face, at midnight he watched with the rest of the party the remains of
his stock of wonderful fireworks burst up into the frosty night sky. God bless you David...

5. Empathy by Kuljit Kaur

My favourite memory of David is from Christmas day a few years ago. We were having a lovely face-stuffing day at Graham's place. The day was lovely and warm so we were out in the garden.

Our celebrations were punctuated by a pathetic whining. It became apparent that Dad's next door neighbour had a new puppy who was very lonely. The sound tugged at all our heart strings for a while but then became a part of the background din of the day. However, David was often to be seen at the fence line comforting the dog and tossing him treats.

After lunch we retired to the lounge to watch an afternoon film. David and I sat next to an open window and the whining persisted. David leaned out of the window and the puppy came closer. The next thing I knew, David leapt out of the window over the fence and was playing with the puppy. In that moment, I truly admired his spirit and empathy...

4. Fuzzytop by Sandy Lang

My family knew the Manchester/Curtis family through church, home group and camping trips. I don’t think that I ever visited the Manchester/Curtis home at 402 Muritai Road or that you ever visited mine at 53 Rona Street. Our kids were too different in ages to play comfortably together, roughly 10 (Hester), 8 (Ewen), 6 (James) and 4 (David). Two years is a big difference when you’re little.

Except as the leader of a small gang of two, my memories of James are scant - just a name really. I remember David as the younger and I remember him more visually. He is about five years old and has a rather round little head, topped with two centimetres of very fair, stand-up, hair. I reach out to touch his head to feel if it is as prickly as it looks - it is downy. My kids and I call him ‘Fuzzytop’...

3. A fireworks night to end them all by Anne Manchester and Sam Hatcher

When David decided in 2002 that he was going to join the Army, I must say I was doubtful he would have the discipline or stamina to stick with it.

But how wrong I was! I accompanied him to an introductory afternoon for applicants and their families, an opportunity to ask questions and meet some of the Army personnel. Later, I helped him buy his gear for the 12-week basic training course in Waiouru, including boot polish, toiletries, an ironing board and iron. Farewelling him at Wellington Railway Station as he mingling with the other rather disheveled and pimply young recruits, each equipped with their own ironing board, was a heart-wrenching moment for me. Our relationship was still rather taut, and our goodbyes awkward and rather distant.

Would David be able to stay the course? Who would his new friends be? Would he be able to make the radical changes in his life that Army discipline required?

A couple of weeks later I began receiving rather tender letters from David. I could see the experience was maturing and changing him within a very short timeframe. He wanted me to visit him during the occasional family visits they allowed during this training period. Already he seemed so much more relaxed and comfortable in his own skin, warmer and more open in his feelings towards me. Army training began feeling like a rite of passage for us both.

New friends were emerging - Sam Hatcher and Scott Bennett in particular. I could tell living at close quarters with these young men, out on exercise and in the barracks, was teaching David some great lessons about loyalty and dependability. One story Sam told me was about David having to carry Sam on his back to safety and medical assistance after he had almost developed frost bite in his toes, following a night camping out in freezing conditions. And Sam, too, had carried David on his back when he was in trouble. It sounded like a parable to me.

David was obviously responding well to the “ears open, mouth shut” philosophy of those early training days. He wanted to get through the course and be able to “march out” on his graduation proudly and confidently. To see him on the parade ground on march out day, looking so handsome in his dress uniform, his boots shining, and his eyes clear and determined was incredibly moving for all David’s family, but perhaps for me in particular. Old wounds were healing and a new chapter in our relationship as mother and son beginning.

But the spirited, determined David, the David whose fascination with all things incendiary, had not disappeared. And the story I heard from Sam one day about how they celebrated Guy Fawkes together in late October 2004 confirmed absolutely that David’s life-long passion for fireworks and explosions remained undimmed.

Who eggs on whom, I wonder? Who suggests they pool their money and buy $600 worth of sparklers from the Palmerston North Warehouse, the store’s entire stock? Much scheming and planning ensues, as sparklers are peeled open, their gunpowder contents poured into piles, then bound into bundles, the fuses tied and the “bombs” held together by gaffer tape. It is the ultimate in fun for David, as they work late into the night making bombs of all sizes, using one of those ubiquitous ironing boards as a table.

How successful will these sparkler bombs be? Some experiments on the rubbish bins around the Linton Army Camp barracks follow. They produce some pretty good explosions. But what about blowing up something more exciting? How about that old gun pit down on the demolition range? It hasn’t been used for years and no-one will miss it if they blow it sky high. David, the proud field engineer, is a little reluctant, not wanting to land himself in a heap of trouble and blot his copy book.

But Sam urges him on and David warms to the idea, overcoming his fear of getting caught. They lay the bombs, then throw the lighter to each other, undecided who will light the fuse. It falls to Sam in the end, then the two of them make a run for it, adrenalin pumping. A deep bang reverberates from the gun pit, the sound echoing and bouncing off the trees around the range. This is a fireworks night to end them all.

Suddenly they hear voices and torches are coming in their direction through the darkness. The last thing they want is to be caught by the military police (MPs) and held in custody over night. If they get caught, the consequences could be quite bad, as being in illegal possession of explosives is deemed a very serious offence. The best thing to do is to get to the river as fast as possible, cross over via the water pipe and make their escape into Palmerston North. When things have calmed down, they can then sneak back into camp, their exploits, with a bit of luck, undetected. All goes well, till Sam falls off the pipe. David laughs so hard, he falls off the pipe too and they must swim the last few metres through the murky water. They take off their clothes, ring out the worst of the water, then head for the city, hoping their clothes will dry a little more on route.

Half an hour later, they reach a taxi rank, jump into one of the cabs and head back to Linton. All seems to be going well, until they realise neither of them can pay the driver. The driver and David wait while Sam heads into camp to find his wallet. Taxi paid, they both make their way back to the barracks, passing the duty complex en route. There the MPs do indeed apprehend them, suspicious at seeing their wet clothes. They question them about what they have been up to. Were they trying to evade paying the taxi driver perhaps? Oddly enough, they are never charged with blowing up the gun pit. Of course people are suspicious it may have been them, but they have no evidence, other than the fact they were seen round the barracks earlier in the evening letting off fireworks. To have got away with such an exploit is a triumph for them both.

When David arrived in Eastbourne a week later to spend the weekend with me, I asked him if he had any special plans for Guy Fawke’s night. He told me he was kind of over it and didn’t think he’d bother this time. An extraordinary development, I thought. But I had no idea at that stage that nothing could beat the night the gun pit was blown to smithereens with sparkler bombs.

I have now heard this story on a number of occasions. The first was when Sam told it at the blessing of David’s memorial seat at Greenwood Park in July 2005. I think James had just told the story about how he and David, as little boys, had once set fire to the park, run home and hoped no one would find out they were the culprits. Sam was obviously inspired to cap that little anecdote when he took the microphone to remember his best friend.

And I heard it again when we gathered to mark what would have been David’s 26th birthday in November 2009. We begged Sam to tell it once again, especially for Sandy who had never heard it. Then the women who were perhaps closest to David during his life – his mother, grandmother, Aunt Catherine and Emma -- blew out the birthday candles on his favourite banana cake and, as the little flames were extinguished and the wisps of smoke dispersed, we sent forth our love to our beloved David whose absence still tears our insides apart.

2. A rebel with guts by Richard Curtis

It is David’s spirit rather than a single memory or recollection that comes most readily to my mind.

David was like a breath of fresh air in this world of political correctness and hypersensitivity.

David was always ready to tell it like it was and act according to his instincts not according to society’s opinions.

I will always love David’s direct approach to life.

He was a rebel with guts and attitude and he had the sort of personality that could break the mould of the status quo and produce something inspiring.

He was taken from us early but I like to think that he left us all with a priceless message: Follow your heart and do what you think is right and fuck anyone or anything that tries to hold you back from you dreams.

Shine on you crazy diamond...!

1. Introduction by Anne Manchester

David William Curtis was born at 11pm on 11/11/1983 and died on 31/12/2004 soon after his 21st birthday.

Over the years since his death, a number of anecdotes have emerged that throw charming light on this admirable and spirited young man, my son, whose life was cut so tragically short in an accident.

More recently, the idea has arisen that we might collect these little stories and post them on this blog site for David's family and friends to enjoy.

If you would like to add a comment on any of these stories please do so. Better still, we would love you to post your own story here about David...



Photo: David December 2004 (left) with mother Anne (middle) and brotherJames (right)