The following is the first chapter of Peter Casey’s Book of Life. Peter’s complete story chronicles his life from birth to present day, highlighting life’s joyful moments and capturing some hard won lessons.

Welcome to the World

Peter Casey was born on in January 1961, in Roxburgh Hospital in Central Otago, New Zealand. Against a backdrop of the vibrant Clutha River and spectacular mountain views, the rural settlement in mid-summer offered a gorgeous first view of the world. Born as the fourth of five children to Charles-Graeme, known as Patrick or Pat, and Jenneth Casey, Peter arrived to a full and busy household. His siblings included Pamela (6), Suzanne (4), Graeme (2), and, later, Karen, who arrived the year after Peter.

Peter was brought home from the hospital to a sheep farm at Moa Flat where the family resided. Pat was employed as a worker on the farm, and Jenneth was kept busy by her children. While Peter was still a young boy, the family moved around at times, following Pat as he found employment on various farms. First the family shifted to Dunedin, then lived for a time in North Dunedin, before settling in Doon Street in Mosgiel.

Often, the family lived in workers accommodation on the farms. This gave a rural backdrop to Peter’s childhood, filled with animals and free rein to play and learn with minimal supervision.

The children kicked around home with their friends most of the time, making their own fun and knowing better than to rely on their parents for entertainment. As young as five, Peter remembers playing “spin the bottle” with his best friend, Sheryl, who lived around the corner from him. The bottle would be spun around in a circle, and whoever the bottle landed on had to be kissed by the bottle spinner. “You had to do it!” Peter laughs, but adds, “We were both scared”.

In addition to his parents and Sheryl, the two most important people in the world to Peter were his maternal Grandmother, Ruby McNeill, who he called Gran, and her husband Jim. Peter delighted in being able to regularly head to their place at Caversham where he received the kind of one-on-one attention that was not always possible in a large family, particularly when both mother and father were working hard to make ends meet.

Gran made Peter feel that he was special, and used to take him places, just the two of them. A favourite was the local swimming pool. They would patiently wait at the bus stop together, her holding the coins to give to the bus driver for their passage, him a little boy next to her, bursting with excitement for the day ahead. After a short journey, they would arrive at the St Clair Salt Water Pool, which in the summertime offered a breathtaking backdrop to an afternoon swim. A six lane manmade pool built into the sea wall, the pools filled with natural water from the sea as the tides went in and out, offering spectacular views across the azure ocean. Neither Gran or Peter could swim, but that was not important – the kind older lady and her Grandson talking about the tides, the weather, and maybe even getting an ice cream, was the highlight of Peter’s week.

On returning home, they would often find Jim sitting in his chair after a hard days’ work. A kind man, Jim and Peter would talk and laugh, and as an ultimate treat, Jim enjoyed the crust of a slice of bread with butter on it. Peter reflects on these times as important to his development as a person – prioritising simple gestures and time together, appreciation of the small things, and how easy it can be to show someone you love them.

Jim had married Ruby in around 1959 and was an ex-army soldier, captured in the Second World War as a Prisoner of War. Despite his firsthand experiences of the horrors of war and the atrocities that humans can do to one another, Jim refused to become closed off and angry. Instead, though he may not have known it at the time, he became a deep sense of inspiration for at least one “little fella” who couldn’t wait to rush over to their place at every opportunity.

Another wonderful treat for Peter was when television came beaming into people’s homes in 1968, first in black and white, and then later, in colour. There was one channel, appropriately named Channel One, and some of Peter’s favourite shows included the Lone Ranger and Basil Brush. Part of the reason he enjoyed Basil Brush so dearly was because it made his Grandad Jim laugh, and Peter liked to hear him laugh.

As was common in those days, in a busy household, children were not usually consulted about things that affected them. As a young child, Peter had a little blanket that helped him go to sleep, which he called a “sniffy”. Each night, Peter and his sniffy curled up together, providing comfort and happiness to the young boy. One day, at age about six or seven, Peter looked for his sniffy at bedtime and could not find him. After checking down the sides and underneath the bed, Peter asked his mother where his sniffy had gone. “You’re old enough now”, she said, and that was the end of it. That night, Peter took a while to drift off to sleep without his familiar comfort, and never saw his sniffy again.

Not long after, something else Peter loved was taken from him. Oscar, the sheep he had raised since it was a lamb, was more than just a pet—Oscar was a friend. Peter had spent countless afternoons leading the little sheep around the block on a leash, laughing as it stubbornly tugged at the rope or nuzzled into his side. He loved the way Oscar would trot behind him, always a step or two behind, like they shared a secret bond.

One summertime, Peter went away on a weeklong school camp. When he returned home, he eagerly ran out to the paddock, looking for his woolly companion. But Oscar was gone. His father casually mentioned that they had given Oscar to Pat’s Uncle George. No one had thought to tell Peter. He stood there for a moment, staring at the empty yard, not knowing what to say. He hadn’t even been able to say goodbye. Many decades later, Peter remembers these two incidents clearly, time erasing little of the sinking feeling and sadness at not being important enough to be considered. As early as he could read a calendar, he began counting the weeks until the next school holidays, when he would be able to go to his Gran’s place.