One man's story of a legal firm by John England

,

One man s story of a legal firm

John England

“All historical books which contain no lies are extremely tedious�

Anatole France, French Satirist (1844-1924)

Contents Acknowledgements

4

Introduction

5

1.

Roots

6

2.

The Competing Founders

10

3.

Early Partners

16

4.

The Sad Saga of Kenelm Neave

22

5.

Property

26

6.

More Early Partners

32

7.

Milner’s Boys

36

8.

The Kekewich Club

42

9.

Early Characters

46

10. The Law Clerk

54

11. The Post-War Years and Three More Partners

58

12. Two Decades of Comparative Calm

62

13. Two Departures and a Merger

68

14. The New Firm – and Departures Again

74

15. Consolidation then Night Flight

78

16. The End of a Millennium

82

17. Another Merger

88

18. The Last Seventeen Years

92

19. Random Memories

100

20. The Stories which Must be Told

108

21. In Retrospect – Remenham Farm to Minterne Magna

110

COVER “Current and former partners celebrating the 150 th anniversary on 2 July 2018”

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Acknowledgements I acknowledge with thanks the help and encouragement of many people but must make specific mention of the following: The staff of the reference section of the Christchurch City Library who were always well-informed, and helpful without fail.

The staff of Archives New Zealand of whom the same must also be said.

Te Ara Biographies which provide an incredible picture of so many New Zealand historical identities.

Rodney J.P. Wells whose fine sketches of many of Canterbury’s older homes would enhance any publication.

Bruce Rennie, former Literary Editor of the Christchurch Press, whose suggestions and encouragement were invaluable.

Current partners Andrew Shaw, Stephen Jeffery, Simon Clay and Gerard Thwaites who enabled me to paint what I hope is a reasonable picture of the ‘modern’ Lane Neave.

Past partners Colin Averill, Nick Clark, Sam Maling, John Brandts-Giesen, Glenn Jones, Bill Dwyer and the late Alistair Bowers who either confirmed or questioned my conclusions on various issues, and were all encouraging of my endeavours.

Finally, but very importantly, Dale Garing, stalwart Executive Assistant at Lane Neave, who managed to convert my aged, shaky HANDWRITING (would you believe it!) into something legible, even when I had difficulty reading it myself.

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Introduction During my last few years in Lane Neave it was suggested that I should write a history of the firm. Several of the partners, and even staff members, seemed to believe that there must be a story to be told, that I had as much personal knowledge as any surviving member of the firm, and that I had some experience, if minor, of being an author. For several years I resisted any temptation to yield to the suggestions made.

In 2014 when I finally retired completely, probably to the relief of many, the idea of an alternative purpose gained some attraction. The only problem was that I have found most legal and business histories I have read, or struggled to read, to be somewhat turgid, despite their undoubted value as historical records. I enjoy history in general, but perhaps I am not a true historian. Whatever the case, as recorded in the first chapter, I decided to dabble in the origins of the firm, or more accurately, in the origins of the two firms which represent the core of the modern-day firm. After several weeks of casual research I was hooked on the idea of writing some record of the firm’s history, provided I could keep it brief and make it sufficiently entertaining to ensure I didn’t fall asleep before the task was completed. Thus I put the proposal of “my story” to the then Chief Executive of the firm, Meryll Waters, who agreed, and even offered a modest monthly sum to see me through the exercise. The end result will be more a booklet than a weighty tome, but one, I hope, which entertains, to the extent modern mores allow, while being a faithful record of the essential elements.

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Roots In 1958 my father was very much the senior partner of the Christchurch legal firm then known as Lane Neave and Wanklyn. In mid-January of that year, having left school in the previous December, and having played three weeks of provincial under-age cricket in Auckland, I had at least six weeks of no commitments until the university year started in March. Or so I thought. The most junior of the firm’s law clerks, one Bill Unwin, subsequently a highly regarded District Court Judge, had been granted leave for two months. Seizing what he saw as an obvious opportunity, my father dragooned me into the vacant position before I had time to protest.

On my first morning I was summoned to my father’s office overlooking what I was assured to be the best end of Hereford Street, then the centre of the business professions in Christchurch. On the wall behind my father’s desk were several nondescript etchings, together with a photograph of a dark, bearded, forbidding man in legal wig and gown. This was John Holmes, the founder of the firm, and the brother, as I then understood it, of George Holmes, the Irish engineer who built the Christchurch to Lyttelton railway tunnel.

For many years there was no need to question the origins of the firm. Then, in 1983 Lane Neave & Co, as it was by then, merged with Ronaldson Averill & Co to become Lane Neave Ronaldson. Both merging firms were proud of their respective heritages, and thus cynical of the other’s claims, but happily the issue was then of insufficient importance to require precise resolution. Until I embarked on this endeavour that remained the case.

Having decided to record the story of the firm, even if more in anecdotal form than as a serious history, some certainty as to the firm’s beginnings seemed essential.

Thus, realising that the various memoirs and other information in my possession may be unreliable, I descended upon Archives New Zealand. Here are to be found two essential pieces of information – the official records of the High Court, including legal admissions, and the documents of the original Deeds System of land registration, including records of the firms presenting those documents for registration. Both systems were a challenge. As a modern Luddite, the High Court records, on computer,

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took some time to master. As a small, if once lithe, fellow in his mid-seventies, the 15-20 kilogram record books of the Deeds System were breath-taking. I soldiered on.

The first myth to be exposed was that John Holmes, the lawyer, was a brother of George Holmes, the railway tunnel engineer. The records showed that lawyer John was admitted to the Bar in 1868 but that his namesake, the brother of George, did not arrive in New Zealand until after George’s death in 1877, then died himself in 1879. From other documents it became clear the two namesakes were first cousins, or “cousins german” as lawyer John deposed in a declaration relating to his cousin’s death. Most importantly, however, it seemed that the official Lane Neave starting date of 1868 was probably accurate.

My next piece of research threw this 1868 date briefly into question. The first document I could find in the Deeds System with the Holmes name was registered in 1872 in the name of “Thompson & Holmes”. Was the Holmes on my father’s wall not the founder of the firm? Alfred Thompson, I ascertained, was the son of Frederick Thompson of Christchurch, Gentleman, pupil number 35 on the Christ’s College School List, and articled as a law clerk to the revered T.S. Duncan in 1864. What a founder this would be. Sadly, I then found that Thompson was admitted in 1869, shortly after Holmes, that the two were only in partnership for a matter of months in 1872, and that Thompson practised on his own account for several years afterwards.

Returning then to John Holmes and 1868, it was easy to establish that he practised alone, primarily as a barrister, until 1882 when he was joined in partnership

by Andrew Loughrey, who had practised on his own account in Christchurch since 1876. Holmes and Loughrey practised together until 1889 when Holmes retired to pursue full time farming. Briefly on his own again, Andrew Loughrey was joined by Beauchamp Lasseter Lane in early 1890, and their partnership continued until its dissolution in 1902. Both continued to practise on their own accounts, but the records of the Deeds System clearly establish that the majority of business eventually ended up in Lane’s hands.

Then, in 1907, Lane was joined in partnership by Kenelm Neave, and from that point there is a clear chain to the current partners.

“A dark, bearded, forbidding man…”

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Turning to the Ronaldson Averill stream, my initial research produced a result I had anticipated since the 1983 merger. Thomas Ingham Joynt, regarded by the Ronaldson Averill partners as the founder of their firm, was admitted to the Bar in 1863. My next finding was less expected. From 1858 Joynt had been an articled clerk to T.S. Duncan, and over the period of his clerkship no practice was more active in the Deeds System. Clearly the early influence of Duncan was substantial, and clearly too, Joynt would have had the best available legal grounding.

Post admission Joynt practised on his own account from 1863 until 1879, apart from brief interludes in partnership with W.B. Thomas, apparently a brother-in-law, and one Allan William O’Neill. The first of these partnerships lasted only for a matter of months, and there is no obvious evidence of the brother-in-law having subsequently practised in Christchurch. The partnership with O’Neill lasted for two years from 1874 to 1876, after which O’Neill practised in a sporadic way on his own account for several years, then ceased practice, at least in Christchurch. One can therefore conclude that Thomas and O’Neill are of little significance to this story.

In the meantime Joynt continued to practise actively, and in 1879 he again went into partnership, this time with the fascinating Westby Brook Perceval. More will be written of Perceval in a later chapter, but for the moment it is sufficient to record that the partnership lasted until 1883, that Perceval practised on his own account for another four years, but was then elected to Parliament for Christchurch South, effectively ending his legal career.

Very shortly after dissolution of the partnership with Perceval in 1883, Joynt was joined by William Acton-Adams. Acton-Adams had been a Member of Parliament for one term from 1878 to 1881 and was already a substantial landholder. Once again this partnership lasted for four years, and when the partnership ended in 1887 both partners continued in active practice. Joynt again practised alone until, in 1892, he joined with Henry Douglas Andrews to form the partnership which survived until Joynt’s death in 1907 and is the clear basis of the firm which still bears both their names today. Acton-Adams, on the other hand, was in partnership with one Philip Kippenberger by mid-1887, and from that point there is again an unbroken chain to the current Lane Neave partners.

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That leaves, then, the question of whether Holmes and a starting date of 1868, or Joynt and a starting date of 1863, is the appropriate claim. Clearly Holmes and 1868 cannot be denied, but is the Joynt claim tenable? On the face of it, Joynt practised for 20 years after he and Acton-Adams parted company in 1887. He had been in practice for 24 years before that. On the other hand, despite having a substantial property practice throughout, Joynt was primarily a Court lawyer, whereas ActonAdams was well known in both political and rural property circles. Court practice, by its very nature, tends to be personal to the practitioner, and often one-off, whereas property practice tends to be continuing, and thus remains with the firm. It is therefore reasonable to surmise that a large part of the property practice may well have devolved upon Acton-Adams. In that regard, one further piece of research in the Deeds System produced an interesting result. The majority of the documents lodged in the name of Joynt and Acton-Adams in late 1886 and early 1887 were uplifted in the name of Acton-Adams alone. That confirms the destination of at least some of the property practice, part of which doubtless derived from Joynt’s earlier years, and seems to confirm Ronaldson Averill’s claim as to its origins. That said, the firm did celebrate its 125th anniversary in 1993, and its 150th in 2018. So be it.

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The Competing Founders If it can be argued that Thomas Ingham Joynt was the founder of the firm, then it is hard to imagine a more colourful one. Born in County Galway, Ireland, in December 1830, upon completion of his school education he worked in a lawyer’s office in Dublin. Here he met one Henry Barnes Gresson, who was shortly to leave for New Zealand and who suggested Joynt accompany him. At that time Joynt declined the invitation, but Gresson duly left, arriving in New Zealand in 1854.

In 1855 Joynt married, and then in 1856, his wife having produced their first child, he decided to follow Gresson. The Joynt family left in July 1856 in the barque Mariner bound for Lyttelton and had an eventful trip. His obituary in the Christchurch Press records: “The ship was nearly wrecked, and ran short of provisions and water, only a wineglass and a half per adult being available daily, even when in the tropics.

Fever also broke out, and there were several deaths. The course of the ship was shaped for Hobart, the nearest port, in order to obtain vegetables, water, and provisions. A fresh start was then made for Wellington, which was reached in November, 1856. The Canterbury passengers including Mr and Mrs Joynt, were transhipped into a topsail schooner called the Canterbury and finally they arrived in Lyttelton on December 1st, 1856.”

After brief periods as a clerk in the Lyttelton Magistrates Court, and then in the office of his Irish acquaintance, H.B. Gresson, Joynt began his five year period as an articled clerk to T.S. Duncan. In the meantime, Gresson, who had been admitted to the Irish Bar in 1833, was appointed the first Supreme Court Judge in Canterbury. Not surprisingly, it was he who admitted Joynt to the Bar in 1863.

I have always been intrigued by the nicknames of two of the farming Robinsons in early Canterbury. On the one hand there was “One Chop” Robinson, whose name arose from his alleged parsimony with respect to the breakfasts of his farm workers; and on the other, the Hon. William Robinson, known as “Ready Money” for reasons

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A man of eloquence and wit, (but with an “Irish temper?”)

which require little explanation. My intrigue would be of little relevance to this story if it were not for the fact that, in addition to his Cheviot Hills estate of 84,000 acres, the Hon. William Robinson owned a substantial town residence in Park Terrace, Christchurch, close to the corner of Salisbury Street. Here, on the 9th of January 1871, Robinson’s butler, one Simon Cedeno, stabbed a housemaid to death. Joynt defended Cedeno, without obvious success, as his client was hanged, but the case was so celebrated that his reputation as a criminal lawyer was cemented for the rest of his long career.

I can personally attest that, over 70 years later, as a five-year old living with my grandparents in Park Terrace, and being inclined to wander, I was regularly banned from going anywhere near “the bad house”.

In 1886 Joynt was involved in two further famous cases – the Timaru poisoning case involving the well-known Hall family, a story excellently documented by Peter Graham in “Vile Crimes”, and a second case relating to the disappearance of one Howard on Sumner Beach, and the subsequent finding of a severed hand on the beach at Taylor’s Mistake by a married couple by the name of Godfrey. Substantial insurance monies were involved, the police were suspicious of fraud, and eventually Howard was located alive and with both hands intact. Both couples, the Howards and the Godfreys, were charged with conspiracy to defraud. The trial is recorded, almost in its entirety, in a small book published by Capper Press in 1974. Joynt clearly managed to confuse a number of the police allegations, but once again he was largely unsuccessful. The Godfreys were acquitted, but the Howards, Joynt’s clients, were convicted of simple fraud, an offence which then carried a maximum sentence of only two years’ imprisonment, much to the irritation of the presiding judge. As an aside, the source of the severed hand remains a mystery, although it has always been rumoured that Joynt knew the answer.

1 Despite my grandparents’ concerns, and despite popular belief, it appears that the murder actually took place in a Cambridge Terrace property then rented by Robinson.

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If Joynt is best remembered for his part in cases in which he appeared to be less than successful, he was in fact very successful in many other cases, both criminal and civil, which were equally important, but presumably of less public interest. To quote his obituary again: “As a pleader, Mr Joynt was incisive and eloquent, and was very fond of introducing scriptural quotations into his argument. It was perhaps in addressing juries that Mr Joynt excelled. He marshalled his facts with much cogency and point, and was usually very successful in convincing those to whom his arguments were addressed. Mr Joynt possessed, all the ready wit of his country, and was a widely read man, and a brilliant conversationalist.”

Edgar S. Bowie Q.C. echoes these comments in his chapter in the 1969 publication “Portrait of a Profession”, but he also notes that Joynt was possessed of an “Irish temper”. Does that perhaps account for his four separate partnerships of four years or less during his earlier years of practice? Or was he inclined to hasty decisions or, at least at times, a poor judge of his fellow man? Whatever the case, it is very clear that his abilities were respected in high places, for shortly before his death he was one of the first Barristers in New Zealand to be appointed a King’s Counsel.

However, one fact remains which must be recorded in light of the first chapter. In 1884 Joynt stood for election as the Member of Parliament for Christchurch, but was defeated – by John Holmes.

To find material about Joynt was a simple matter. His obituary in “The Press” was full of detail, and led inevitably to other material. Not so with John Holmes. His “obituary” was little more than the recording of a formal motion of regret for his death passed at a meeting of the Ashburton County Council. Joynt was a flamboyant character, Holmes less so. Joynt may have been defeated by Holmes in the parliamentary election of 1884, but Holmes was a Member of Parliament for only six years, and lived for 20 years after leaving Parliament. Joynt was very much a lawyer for over 40 years and was still in the limelight when he died. Holmes was a lawyer for 20 years, but was a Member of Parliament for six of the last eight years of his practice. He lived for 18 years after he ceased practice, and in a sense he died a forgotten man.

It is known that Holmes was born in Ireland in 1838, qualified as a lawyer before emigrating to Australia in 1865, apparently sat for a brief period as a Magistrate in Wangaratta, Victoria, and was admitted to the Bar in Christchurch in 1868.

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Nevertheless I have been unable to find much detail about Holmes, at least in so far as his practice of the law is concerned. Doubtless he was successful in many cases, but my efforts to find proof of that have failed.

However, other elements of Holmes’ life and character are well worthy of record.

According to Sarah Penney in the 1977 publication “Beyond the City” the Holmes family descended from “the old Irish family of the Marquis and Marchioness of Londonderry”. Be that true or not, there is no doubt that the family had considerable wealth. George, the original tunnel and roading engineer, did very well from his land dealings, but that cannot fully explain the land holdings of John Holmes or his brother, D.G. Holmes. The 1882 official Return of Freeholders records that the brothers held 11,699 acres of freehold land in the Ashburton County, then valued at £57,812.00.

Other family members owned 11,718 acres valued at £64,566.00. These figures were exceeded by very few of the early farming families, and will explain why John Holmes retired from law to pursue his farming interests.

As to Holmes’ character, he was clearly public-spirited. He was, as already noted, a Member of Parliament for six years and an Ashburton County Councillor for a number of years before his death. In his Will he left an area of two acres to be held as a reserve for the benefit of Methven township, together with a further strip of land to be known as “Holmes Road”. However, this generous gift was not without the stipulation that “on no account whatever shall a public house be erected on any part of my real estate nor shall the sale of liquor be allowed thereon on any condition”. In “The Story of Menzies Bay” written by Ian H. Menzies in 1970, the author briefly discusses the 1902 dissolution of the partnership between Andrew Loughrey and Beauchamp Lane and comments that “…Loughrey began to drink more than was good for him (was he a Roman Catholic too?)”. I will soon come to the question of religion, but in the current context it appears that the question of liquor may well have put some strain on the seven year partnership between Holmes and Loughrey. Possibly it may have been of shorter duration had not Loughrey’s sister married into the Holmes family.

A further stipulation in the Holmes Will related to the appointment of new or replacement trustees. In this regard he directed “that no Roman Catholic in religion, no professional accountant, no auctioneer or land agent, no clergymen of any denomination, and no attorney or solicitor excepting the said Beauchamp Lassetter Lane…shall be a Trustee under this my Will…”. That quickly deals with the possibility of Andrew Loughrey being a Roman Catholic. If he was a Roman Catholic, or he drank liquor, even in moderation, life in partnership with Holmes must have been

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a misery, or a painful charade at the very best. At that time bigotry with respect to Roman Catholicism and a passionate dislike of liquor were not uncommon, but why did he feel the need to exclude accountants, auctioneers, land agents, clergymen, and solicitors? One can only conclude that this was a man very much disaffected by the life he had known as a lawyer, if not by life itself. I cannot imagine my having greatly enjoyed his company.

Holmes had only one daughter, one granddaughter, and then several great grandchildren. It is probably no surprise that giving capital to women was not on his agenda, and consequently his estate continued from his death in 1907 until the death of his granddaughter in the early 1970s. It may also be no surprise that he had very clear ideas as to the investment of his estate funds. Very simply, they were to be invested in first mortgages of rural freehold land in the United Kingdom or Australasia “if such lands are not of less value than seven pounds per acre and not further from a market town than twelve miles”.

These two elements of John Holmes’s Will either brought me great pleasure, or were of considerable benefit to me. First, I was in England for much of 1963 and the Holmes granddaughter, Mrs A.J. Martin, lived in a “cottage” (of some six bedrooms) on two acres of land in rural Surrey adjoining the Basingstoke-Farnham canal. Mrs Martin was a delightful woman, and I spent two wonderful weekends with her, being entertained not only by her, but by several of her local friends as well. Secondly on my return to New Zealand at the end of 1963, my legal career began in earnest.

Many of my clients in those early days were sons of my father’s rural clients or school acquaintances from a rural background, and rural mortgage finance was then at a premium. The provisions of the Holmes Will were clearly directed to that purpose and thus I came into regular contact with the two trustees of the Holmes Estate – Christopher Hugh Bethell and Stephen Garland Lester. Both men were outstanding in their different ways, and I could eulogise at length. Suffice it to say, however, that from them I learnt much about business, the rural world, investment, dealing with people, and even being a lawyer. And so, if I have some doubts as to my compatibility with John Holmes in his lifetime, I am very grateful for his estate, and thus his life.

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Early Partners As indicated in the first chapter, Joynt’s first partner of significance was one Westby Brook Perceval, whose career is recorded in detail in Te Ara Biographies. Perceval was born in Tasmania in 1854 and came with his parents to Rangiora in the early 1860s.

His father, Westby Hawkshaw Perceval, was of Irish stock and had the reputation of being one of Rangiora’s “stormiest and most colourful settlers”. He was also one of the most successful settlers, as it is recorded that upon his death in 1872 he left the young Perceval “sufficient property to assure him a fairly large independent income”.

If the father was colourful and stormy, his son was apparently cautious, studious, quietly spoken, and showed high academic ability. At preparatory school he became friendly with one William Pember Reeves, and that friendship continued through Christ’s College, and subsequently. This friendship was to be tested, however, in later years.

Perceval travelled to England in 1873, after his father’s death, and eventually decided to “read law” at the Middle Temple in London. He was admitted to the Bar in 1878, returned to New Zealand, and entered into partnership with Joynt in 1879. The partnership lasted for little more than four years, but the Deeds System records show that the property practice was very active, and presumably successful for both partners. Presumably, too, the Joynt Court practice was equally successful.

For several years after dissolution of the partnership in 1883 Perceval practised on his own account, but his interest was turning to politics. His great friend Reeves had suffered from bullying at school, mainly at the hands of wealthy farmers’ sons, and possibly for this reason he had become a committed Liberal,

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A man of means and of intellect, a Member of Parliament, and a Knight.

ardently believing that the large rural land holdings should be broken up. At one point Reeves announced that “these estates are a social pest” and it was a happy irony that some years later Duncan Rutherford, one of the largest landholders, won the Grand National Hurdles with a horse he had named “Social Pest”.

Perceval joined Reeves in his cause, probably encouraged by the fact that Joynt’s new partner was W.B. Acton-Adams, yet another of the major landholders. Reeves and Perceval stood for election to Parliament in 1887, and both were successful. Both were re-elected in 1890, and both were held in very high regard as parliamentarians.

Then, late in 1891, when Perceval was only 37, he was unexpectedly appointed Agent General for New Zealand in the United Kingdom. This position was, in essence, that of High Commissioner, and was so called from 1905. Again Perceval was highly regarded, promoting New Zealand as a land full of potential, and safe for British investment. His emphasis was on publicity, finance and trade, and he campaigned to make produce from New Zealand better known and more widely distributed. He was knighted in 1894, and his future success seemed assured. However, early in 1896 it was announced without warning that he was to be replaced immediately by his old friend, Reeves. Apparently Premier R.J. Seddon found the intellect of Reeves intimidating and so decided to remove him from his cabinet to a position he, or his wife perhaps, could not refuse. It was a stunning blow for Perceval. He announced publicly that, if he was to lose a position he had come to love, at least he was to hand over to his oldest and closest friend. But the friendship could not last, nor did it. Nevertheless, despite his having had little more than four years in the position, Perceval had made many contacts and friends. He was already on a number of company boards, including the Union Bank of Australia and the National Bank of New Zealand, and so he decided to stay in England, living comfortably and happily until his death in London in 1928.

As for Reeves, he was equally successful, as Agent General, then as High Commissioner, but he eventually suffered the same fate as Perceval. Seddon’s successor, Joseph Ward, decided to reward a colleague with the now very prestigious position. This was an equal blow for Reeves, and it was followed by the notorious and very public affair of his daughter Amber with the famed novelist, H.G. Wells. In the meantime he had been offered and accepted the post of Director of the London School of Economics, a post for which he was unsuited, having no experience of teaching institutions. His tenure was a failure. He died in 1932 in London, four years after his old friend, and I suspect a much less happy man.

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Within months of the dissolution of the Joynt and Perceval partnership, Joynt was joined in partnership

by William Blakeway Acton-Adams, as he is now known, and was so known for much of his life. ActonAdams was born William Acton Blakeway Adams in England in 1843, the first son of William Adams, an English solicitor who came to New Zealand in 1850 and was appointed Superintendent of Marlborough.

Adams Senior had doubts about his first son’s health but was determined to have a “William” to succeed him. Consequently Adams Senior named his second son “William”, and in further consequence the first son decided to become “Acton-Adams” to avoid confusion.

Acton-Adams was educated at Nelson College, had a year working on a family farm, and then became an articled clerk in the legal firm his father had by then founded in Nelson. Following two years’ postgraduate study in England, he returned to Nelson in 1869 to become a partner in his father’s firm. In 1873 he was elected to the Nelson Provincial Council and in 1878 as a Member of Parliament. However, his sojourn in Parliament was brief, as he resigned for health reasons in 1881. He then decided to return to England and sold his law practice to his younger brother, Percy, with a covenant restricting his practice in the Nelson area for several years. Thus, when he decided to return to New Zealand in 1883, he came to Christchurch and had four years in partnership with Joynt, followed by several years in partnership with Philip Kippenberger.

Lawyer, yet another Member of Parliament, highly successful farmer, and perhaps one of what some historians have described as “the landed gentry”.

As mentioned in the opening chapter, Acton-Adams had built up a substantial property practice by the time his partnership with Joynt was dissolved. He continued to practice law for a number of years, but it is easy to reach the conclusion that his interest in the law was soon taking second place to his interest in farming. In 1883 he became the sole owner of Tarndale and Rainbow Stations, some 80,000 acres mainly held under Crown lease. Later in that decade he purchased the North Canterbury freehold property, then of some 13,000 acres, known as Tipapa, and in 1890 purchased the now famous Molesworth Station, then of approximately 73,000 acres. It is as the owner of Molesworth for over 20 years that he is best remembered,

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with the novel, but unsuccessful introduction of city cats, in an endeavour to contain the rabbit problem, being a highlight. Eventually it was suggested that the cats and rabbits had interbred, and an example of a “crabbit” was displayed in a Christchurch shop window.

Acton-Adams clearly took a keen personal interest in the running of his properties.

He was not a land speculator, nor simply a landowner or investor. This is evidenced by the fact that in 1890 he purchased the life interest of one of the Atkinson family in the Hanmer property known as Woodbank which remains in the ownership of the Atkinson family today. He knew the life interest must end, and so the sole purpose of the purchase can only have been to farm the property – for a limited time. That said, throughout his life his health had been of concern. Consequently he again decided to return to England at the end of the 1890s, and he came back to New Zealand but once, in 1911, to sell Molesworth, Tarndale and Rainbow Stations. It is now popularly rumoured that he had been forced to sell by the spread of rabbits, but that seems very doubtful as the purchaser was Duncan Rutherford, known as one of the most astute farmers and investors in Canterbury. Rutherford would not have purchased had the rabbit problem been so great. On the other hand, the rumour may have been helpful in the negotiation of the rental from the Crown! And as for Acton-Adams himself, having returned to England, he lived until 1924. He was aged 80 when he died, and left an estate of £460,000.00 – not bad for a sickly lawyer!

Turning to the Lane Neave strand, from 1882 until his retirement in 1889 John Holmes was in partnership with Andrew Loughrey, as already recorded. Loughrey was born in Melbourne in 1844 and studied law at Melbourne University College. Having acquired a law degree, he was admitted to the Bar but apparently decided his real interest lay in educational matters. He became Inspector of Schools in Victoria and then in 1875 accepted the position of Headmaster of Christchurch East School. He was very highly regarded in this position, but in 1876 he was admitted to the Bar in New Zealand and he was certainly practising law on his own account by 1881, if not before. Following his partnership with Holmes, he was joined by Lane and this partnership lasted from 1890 to 1902. Loughrey then practised on his own account until his death in 1913.

Schools Inspector, lawyer, and connected to the Holmes family by marriage.

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It is clear from the Deeds System that the partnership between Loughrey and Lane thrived. In the rural field they acted for many of the Rutherfords, Holmes and Chamberlains, and in the commercial world for F.H. Pyne, founder of Pyne & Co, Wood Bros, the dominant milling company, and a number of other companies. Upon dissolution of the partnership it has been suggested that the lion’s share of the business followed Lane. Ian Menzies in “The Story of Menzies Bay” wrote “Loughrey, being the senior partner, was confident the business would automatically follow him. Lane was an esteemed member of society, an old boy of Christ’s College, a member of the Christchurch Club, and wellconnected through his wife. He held all the trump cards in fact, and retained practically all the business…”.

The partnership was dissolved in 1902, but Lane was a bachelor until 1913. Thus the benefit of the connections of his wife were very much a future matter, although his school and club connections are accurately recorded. That said, in 1903 Lane acted on his own account for several of the Rutherford and Holmes families, for Pyne & Co, and for the Canterbury Jockey Club. By the same token the records show that Loughrey also continued to act for several of the Holmes family, which is not surprising in light of his sister having married John Alexander Holmes in 1889. He also continued to act for Andrew Rutherford of Mendip Hills, one of the more influential North Canterbury farmers.

Although, Lane may have been more prominent, it is clear that Loughrey continued to provide some competition. Having also been a Member of Parliament, from 1887-1890 (the same period as Perceval) one would have expected him to have retained some following. And his parliamentary sojourn raises the interesting fact that four of the first five significant partners of the firms merged in 1983 were Members of Parliament, and the fifth was not, only because he was defeated in an election by one of the four. Without doubt, parliamentary service was “de rigueur” for lawyers of that time.

And so to Beauchamp Lasseter Lane. Born in 1864, Lane’s father, William Hannibal Lane was described as “of Christchurch, Gentleman”. On the other hand, his maternal grandfather, one Lancelot Iredale, was an English blacksmith who was found guilty of minor theft and deported to Sydney as a convict. Upon his being pardoned, he formed a trading company which was very successful, and died in 1848, a very wealthy man. A nephew, one Lasseter, took over the business and was even more successful, hence Lane’s unusual second name. “Beauchamp” also derived from the Iredale family, and it seems a pity he was not given “Hannibal” as well – to maintain the family balance, if not to add to the exotic nature of his names!

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Lane was educated for two years at Christ’s College, then spent three years at Cheltenham College, Gloucestershire, England. He became an articled clerk to an English law firm in 1882 and was admitted to the Bar in 1887. Having returned to New Zealand, he joined Andrew Loughrey in practice in 1890. As already discussed, he was in partnership with Loughrey until 1902, practised on his own account for some years, and was then in partnership with Kenelm Neave from 1907 until his death in 1924.

The Deeds System records show that Lane had a very active rural practice, and his abilities in the commercial field are well documented. He was a director of the Christchurch Gas Company and, as a brother-in-law of the second George Gould, an initial Successful lawyer, gifted horseman, director of Pyne Gould Guinness Limited, being the and one to whom no-one “ever went in vain”. only non-executive attendee at the meeting which finally brought the three firms together to form one of the most successful stock and station agencies in Canterbury. In 1904-05 he was President of the Canterbury District Law Society.

Lane was also well-known in the equestrian field. He was a steward of the Canterbury Jockey Club for many years and was obviously a keen follower of horse racing. His obituary in the Christchurch Press records that he “twice rode the winner of the Christchurch Hunt Point-to-Point Steeplechase on Picton”. His obituary also records that he was “probably the finest fullback at polo seen in New Zealand to this day”. He was without doubt a horseman of considerable talent.

Returning, finally, to Lane’s legal career, The Press obituary recorded “In his profession Mr Lane held a high position, both as a sound lawyer and adviser, but more particularly in the esteem and affection in which he was held by his wide circle of clients, to whom he was bound by ties of personal friendship. To few men are given so generous and so sympathetic a nature. Anyone in trouble, high or low, could be assured of kindly help and sympathy from Mr Beauchamp Lane. His friends turned to him instinctively in time of trouble, and none ever went to him in vain”. That is a eulogy of which any professional person would be proud.

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The Sad Saga of Kenelm Neave Kenelm Neave was born in 1876 at Mt Algidus Station, situated on the North bank of the Rakaia River many miles upstream from Rakaia Gorge. Even today the station can only be reached by gravel road culminating in an intimidating ford of the often violent Wilberforce River. In 1876 the journey to Mt Algidus would have been diabolical, but the view from the station to the Arrowsmith Range and the Main Divide of the Southern Alps would have been as it is today – one of the finest alpine views in the world.

The young Neave had only eight years to appreciate the view, as in 1884 his father sold Mt Algidus and moved to Christchurch to enable his five sons to be educated more readily. In any event, the move to somewhere more comfortable was no surprise, as the father, Francis Digby Spencer Neave, had come to New Zealand from Dagnam Park, the substantial “family seat” in Essex, and had acquired a degree from Oxford University the year before his departure for New Zealand in 1864. Thus nearly 20 years in the wilds of our high country would have seemed more than enough, view or no view.

Now a boy of the fledgling city, Neave was at Christ’s College from 1888 to 1894 and then went to Canterbury College, graduating with a law degree in 1900. He was admitted to the Bar in the same year and presumably then entered practice on his own account, although I could find no evidence of his being in practice until 1903.

There is, however, clear evidence that early in 1907 he joined Lane in partnership and that they practised together until Lane’s death in 1924. In the same year Douglas Endell Wanklyn became a partner and that partnership continued until Neave’s death in 1931.

Little need be said of Neave’s years in practice. By 1907 Lane had built up a substantial rural and commercial practice which Neave doubtless shared. One of Neave’s sisters married into the Acton-Adams family which clearly improved his rural connections. He was a director of a number of companies, including the Christchurch Press Company, and he was President of the Local District Law Society in 1928-29.

He was successful.

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In his obituary in The Press of February 6, 1931 Neave was described as being a practitioner “of the utmost integrity, greatly interested in the maintenance of the best traditions of the legal profession”. In unpublished material held in the McMillan Brown Library at Canterbury University L.G.D. Acland, the highly respected author of “Early Canterbury Runs”, described him as a man of “notable courage and resolution” and “one who was a tower of strength to me in business – always sound and clear thinking, but so right and uncompromising in his judgements that I always felt shy when I had to tell him I had done anything foolish”. Obviously Neave was a man who took his profession seriously, was indeed successful, but was perhaps too intense at times.

A tragic figure.

Enough, however, of Neave’s life. It is Neave’s death which is the fascination. On the morning of February 5, 1931 Neave walked across Hagley Park from his home in Helmores Lane to the office, as was his regular routine, greeted the staff, as he always did, and then walked back to his home and shot himself in the garage. These facts have always been common knowledge in the firm and were confirmed to me personally by several staff who were in the office at the time, and were still employed in my early years. The intriguing question is why did he take this action?

On January 26, 1931 Neave executed a very detailed and carefully drafted Will. On February 2, 1931, three days before his death, he executed a Codicil to the January Will which was only a matter of fine tuning. On the face of it, then, his suicide was premeditated and very deliberate.

In “The Story of Menzies Bay” Ian Menzies devoted a chapter to Walter Somerville who was an accountant in the firm for more than 50 years from 1917. Menzies writes: “In answer to my query if he could explain why Ken Neave felt impelled to take his own life, Walter said he thought it would chiefly be worry on other people’s account. The 1929-30 slump had shattered the foundations of his society and those foundations were reinforced by money. To Ken Neave there did not appear to be anything to fall back on. Some time previously he had lent a

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substantial sum of Neave Trust money on mortgage over a North Canterbury property. He at first omitted to include the homestead block in the security, a serious matter as the balance of the land was isolated over the hills on the coast with access only by horseback; a bad risk on its own. To persuade the owner to include the homestead block in the land mortgaged to the Neave Trust Ken lent £8,000.00 of his own money. This he later wrote off.”

L.G.D. Acland, who acknowledged Neave to have been one of his most intimate friends, eventually concluded in material written in mid-February 1931: “Ken has left all his affairs in perfect order. I am one of his executors, and I suppose he has left between £40,000.00 and £50,000.00, besides a very good business. There seems no reason for this suicide except that he was a pagan, perhaps a little insane, and a very logical and resolute man who came to the conclusion that life simply wasn’t worth living in these changing and uncertain times”.

My father, who had joined the firm as a young solicitor in 1929, told a similar story, as did others in the office who had been there at the time. One variation of the story was that he invested substantial Neave family money in Auckland and that the money was lost. Nevertheless the central theme was that the suicide was premeditated and resulted from the effects of the economic crash in 1929.

I had no reason to question these conclusions until recently. Checking Neave’s obituary, which was in The Press the day after his death, I found the report of the inquest which had been held, mirabile dictu, at the Helmores Lane property on the afternoon of his death. Two letters from Neave were found near the body, one addressed to a North Canterbury client, and the other to his professional partner of some seven years, Endell Wanklyn. The Coroner directed that neither letter be published, nor included as an exhibit, because they both contained confidential material. Having made that direction, he paraphrased parts of the letters, indicating that Neave felt he “had taken on far too much”, “no longer felt capable of carrying on the responsibilities that had devolved upon him”, and regretted the “heavy burden he left Mr Wanklyn to carry”. None of this suggested any different reason for the suicide, but then the Coroner revealed something utterly intriguing in light of the aftermath of the events of 2010/11 in Christchurch. On the outside of the envelope of the Wanklyn letter Neave wrote “The earthquakes finally maddened me”.

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Neave’s final comment is significant on its own, but there was more. Wanklyn and a close friend had both given evidence to the effect that in the days before his death Neave’s demeanour had been entirely normal, with no suggestion of any suicidal, or even depressive thoughts. Then Neave’s butler, one Frederick Brown, gave evidence to the effect that he “had not noticed anything unusual about Mr Neave lately, except that he appeared to be worried over the earthquake. There had never been anything in his demeanour to suggest suicide”.

So was this a man who was depressed by the financial situation of the times, overworked, and stressed, but not necessarily suicidal for those reasons? That thought led me to research the earthquakes over Neave’s lifetime. Neave entered Christ’s College in 1888, either as a boarder or a day boy, which is unclear. At 4.10 am on September 11th of that year an earthquake, estimated to measure 7 to 7.3 on the Richter Scale, occurred close to Hanmer Springs. The earthquake was felt very strongly in Christchurch with heavy shaking which “lasted for 40 to 50 seconds”.

The top section fell off the Anglican Cathedral spire, and both the Normal School in Cranmer Square and the Durham Street Methodist Church suffered substantial damage. Many homes had broken windows and fallen chimneys, and the damage was worst in the North and the North-West of the city. Whether in one of the original boarding houses at Christ’s College, or at home, it would have been an indelible experience for the young Neave.

The next significant earthquake generally acknowledged is the Murchison earthquake of June 1929. Doubtless this was felt in Christchurch, but there are no reports of substantial damage except in the Murchison area, and in Nelson and Westport. What seems to have been generally forgotten, however, is that in March of that year there had been an earthquake, measuring 7.1 on the Richter Scale, centred in Arthurs Pass. The initial shaking lasted for four minutes, and there were then “continuous tremors for over an hour”. Many will remember the effect in Christchurch of the 7.1 Inangahua earthquake of 1968. Arthurs Pass is much closer to Christchurch than Inangahua and so one can reasonably assume that the March 1929 earthquake was very frightening indeed.

Then came the 7.8 Napier earthquake which was felt throughout the country. This occurred on February 3, 1931. Two days later Neave wrote “the earthquakes have finally maddened me”. Then he shot himself. Perhaps it was just as he wrote – he was insane. Perhaps he saw the earthquakes as yet another threat to his already threatened world. The clear answer will never be known. It is likely, however, that without the earthquakes his suicide may not have happened.

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Property For several years after I was first in partnership there was no question of my owning an interest in residential or rural property other than my interest in one heavily mortgaged house property. Ever increasing interest rates from the mid 1960s to the late 1980s, not to mention school fees and other family expenses, ensured that was the case.

Had I been more affluent the position would probably have been little different.

Throughout much of this period my father remained a significant influence in the firm, even if his vice-like grip had relaxed to some extent. His clear view was that we were primarily property lawyers and that we must remain independent, and be seen to be independent. Our advice must always be objective. Direct investment in property could well put that independence and objectivity at risk. For example, one might find oneself in the position of competing against a client, possibly unwittingly, to purchase a desirable property. There was no room to argue with the principle.

In more recent times that puristic view has failed to find acceptance with the majority of practitioners, and even I have to admit to having owned, for several years, a onethird share in a substantial North Canterbury farm property. My farm ownership was no apparent detriment to any of my rural clients; in fact they seemed to feel that my personal involvement increased my understanding of their plight. Perhaps it did.

Thomas Ingham Joynt’s views as to the rights and wrongs of property investment are unknown, as there is no evidence of his having owned property other than his home in Papanui Road. My suspicion is that if he had wanted to be a property investor, even a speculator, he would have been, but that his dedication to “the Law” and therefore his clients, was such that he gave it no thought.

John Holmes, on the other hand, was no purist from the outset. The Crown Grants records held in the Archives reveal that as early as 1872 he and his brother purchased Rural Section 15327, with an area of 1,500 acres, for £3,000. This block of land was the core of the property known as Holmeslee, situated on the Rakaia-Methven Road, and much of it remained in Holmes family ownership until very recently. In 1874 the brothers purchased a further 1,957 acres in the same general area for the sum of £3,900. These substantial purchases were made within the first six years of Holmes

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having set up legal practice which suggests he was as much a farmer, or investor, as a lawyer. Further purchases were made with the result, as already noted, that the official 1882 records of rural freeholdings established that the brothers owned 11,699 acres of land in Ashburton County with a value at the time of £57,812. Today those landholdings would have a minimum value of $175 million.

At this point one could readily conclude that Holmes may well have retired from legal practice, and decided that his interests in farm land were sufficient. Not so. He continued in legal practice, until 1889, but then in December 1893 he purchased the Waihaorunga Estate of some 18,000 acres inland from Waimate. “The Waihaorunga Story” published by the Waihaorunga School Centennial Committee in 2002 records that at the time the property was carrying some 22,000 ewes, 7,000 lambs and 62 head of cattle. The purchase price was £82,500, plus livestock at valuation, and a deposit of only £5,000 was paid, with the balance of the purchase price being “on terms” as to £27,500, and on mortgage as to the remaining £50,000.

Those were volatile economic times. In 1879 the owners of Waihaorunga had been offered £130,000 for the property, but the offer was rejected. The purchase price in 1893 must have seemed a bargain. Again not so; or so it appears. The depression of the 1880s is a matter of historic record, and by the late 1890s Waihaorunga was taken over by the Bank of New Zealand. When the Bank itself had difficulties, the Government of the day formed the Assets Realisation Board in an endeavour to resolve the Bank’s problems. Thus in 1900 Waihaorunga was put up for sale in some 50 lots. What then happened is another story, but obviously it was not a happy outcome for Holmes.

By then of course Holmes had retired from the law to live on his property of 2,860 acres on the North-West boundary of Methven township. Fortunately this was a very successful farm, and when he eventually sold the property in 1904, it was famous for the quality of its sheep, and produced wheat of quantity and quality as good as any similar property. Thus, Holmes retired to live with his wife in Christchurch. The property was in Webb Street off Papanui Road, and the codicil to his Will suggests that the house was of comfortable proportions as he left a substantial legacy to his “housekeeper” and the codicil was witnessed by an “attendant” and a “domestic servant”. Those were the days!

Although John Holmes was a very substantial farmer he could not compete with William Acton-Adams, at least in my view. Molesworth Station today (including the

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St Helens and Dillon Runs) is substantially bigger than the property Acton-Adams owned, but in the 1890s it still comprised over 150,000 acres, and at its peak in 1892 carried some 46,000 sheep and replacements. It was, and is, the most magnificent tussock country, akin to the MacKenzie Country in many respects. Doubtless the fertile Holmes land on the South bank of the Rakaia River is wonderful farming country, but there is a mystery and sense of romance about the back-country which is unique.

The Molesworth and Tarndale Runs represent the very best of New Zealand backcountry. I remember in graphic detail a day in March 1969 fishing two of the lakes at Tarndale. There was little or no wind, a sky and lakes of matching blue, golden tussocks, and in the background, but seemingly in the foreground, the wondrous sight of Mount Tapuae-o-uenuku, one of our finest alpine peaks. Had I been ActonAdams in 1883 I suspect I would have deserted “the Law” at first sight of that country.

When I was a teenaged boy we lived on a 3-acre property on the outskirts of Christchurch.

Our nearest neighbour was a retired farmer from Cheviot by the name of Norman Wilkinson whose family is still well-known in North Canterbury farming circles. Every mid-May he would leave Christchurch to spend nearly three months in Queensland. He very much preferred Queensland to a Christchurch winter, and one day I suggested to him that he should perhaps live in Queensland permanently. He looked at me for a moment, then said: “John, if I were unable to see the Omihi Hills in Spring I would rather be dead”. The rolling hills of North Canterbury may not have the grandeur of the Molesworth country, but many times in subsequent years I have remembered Norman Wilkinson’s comment. In September and October there is a gentle, fresh greenness about this country comparable only perhaps, with the Sussex Downs or the fields of Somerset and Wiltshire. Tipapa, the 13,000 acres of Tipapa purchased by ActonAdams in 1892, was slightly North of the Omihi Valley, but was very much part of the country Norman Wilkinson could not desert. It was not a property of the scale of the adjoining Glenmark and Teviotdale Estates, but it was a property of substance in the epicentre of what is still regarded as the very best of Canterbury farming land. ActonAdams was a good lawyer, I suspect, and certainly an astute landowner and farmer.

Turning to city property, in 1890 Beauchamp Lane leased a property of nearly an acre, at 8 Wood Lane, which he purchased in 1895 and named “Kilrea”. The property was, and is, surrounded by over 100 yards of the Avon River, and even today it has only one residential neighbour. It has been described by more than one land agent as “the finest property in town”. That may be an exaggeration, but it is certainly rare to find a river-bounded property of that size within genuine walking distance of the central city, through Hagley Park.

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“Kilrea” (No. 8 Wood Lane) owned from 1895 to 2002 (with the exception of four years in the 1980s) by Beauchamp Lane, his wife, Sam Maling’s uncle, and the author and his wife.

Lane lived in “Kilrea” until his death in 1924, and his widow remained there until her death in 1937. In 1956 the property was purchased by Dr P. B. Maling, whose nephew Sam was a partner of the firm from 1970 to 1999. Dr Maling lived in the property until 1984. Four years later, in 1988, my wife and I became the owners. For the next 14 years we were privileged to live there, privileged not only because it was a beautiful property, but also because it was a property of history, a history of which Lane Neave had already been a part for 75 years when we arrived there. On the wooden inner walls of the tack room, which appeared to have been unchanged since it was built in the 1870s, were several old paper cuttings and writings including “New Horse 1905 – Grogany” clearly in Lane’s hand. Happily the tack room remains unchanged today, but sadly the house was severely damaged in the 2010 earthquake and has largely been rebuilt in more modern form.

The Neave family is possibly best known for its ownership of “Okeover” the last university building on the right of University Drive, if travelling from Clyde Road to Ilam Road. Built in the 1860s by Alfred Creyke, and substantially enlarged in 1875,

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it was purchased by F.D.S Neave in 1900, together with some 10 acres of land.

F.D.S. Neave died in 1913, his widow in 1922, and the property then came into the hands of the two unmarried Neave daughters, Adelaide and Eleanor, who lived there until it was purchased by the University of Canterbury in 1949. The University’s own brochure points out that “the renovations (over the years) have created something of a silk purse out of what was undoubtedly an architectural sow’s ear”. Nevertheless in 1993 “Okeover” was awarded a commendation by the Civic Trust which read: “The Civic Trust congratulates you for appreciating the worthiness of Okeover, not only for being kept and restored for its own sake as a building but also as a visible reminder of history on a totally new campus. The building now speaks a ‘colonial’ timber primeness in contrast to many of the faculty buildings that make up much of the campus. This building is an education all in itself.”

“All in all, the renovations have created something of a silk purse out of what was undoubtedly an architectural sow’s ear. Now sound in walls, piles and roof, Okeover should stand for another hundred years at least before major repairs might again be needed.”

In light of recent events in Christchurch the building is perhaps even more of an education, but despite the acknowledged worth of “Okeover”, in my view the Neave property which should be best remembered is the double brick house built by Ken Neave in 1922 on the corner of Helmores Lane and Desmond Street. Designed by the renowned architect, Cecil Wood, in Georgian revival style, it was perhaps less well-known than the “Weston House” in Park Terrace subsequently designed in the same style by Cecil Wood for Neave’s close friend, George Thorngate Weston.

“Dagnam”, then “Number 1 Desmond Street”, may have been less well-known, but it was certainly its aesthetic equal. Intriguingly both houses were originally designed to accommodate bachelors (living with a butler and maid, of course), but the Weston house had to be re-designed in part, because George Weston became engaged to marry between the time of original planning and building completion. Neave, however, remained a bachelor until his untimely death in 1931, so that the Desmond Street home stayed in its original form until the late 1960s. Subsequently several alterations and additions were made, and some of the symmetry and external charm was lost. If that were sad, then the ultimate sadness was that the house was so damaged in the 2011 earthquakes that it had to be demolished. So much for what we used to be encouraged to believe were “permanent materials”.

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“Okeover� owned by F.D.S. Neave or his unmarried daughters from 1900 to 1949 - a sketch by Rodney J.P. Wells

Dagnam (No. 1 Desmond Street) built by Kenelm Neave in 1922 and occupied by him until his untimely death in 1931.

- another sketch by Rodney J.P. Wells

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More Early Partners During the period from 1890 to 1931, the period of the partnerships of Loughrey and Lane, of Lane and Neave, and of Neave and Wanklyn, there were several different partnerships in the Ronaldson Averill strand of the firm. Acton-Adams remained a nominal partner of the firm until 1904 but he had returned to England some years before and had probably taken little active interest in the firm well before that. In 1887 Acton-Adams had been joined in partnership by Philip Kippenberger, an uncle of the famed World War II soldier, Sir Howard Kippenberger. Charles Henry Franks became a partner in 1904, followed by William John Hunter in 1908, Eric Lyon in 1916, and Robert Lindsay Ronaldson in 1924.

Philip Kippenberger was born in 1855 in a rural Bavarian village and came to South Canterbury in 1863 with his parents, who were for many years a married couple at Orari Station then (and still) owned by the Macdonald family. Educated in Timaru, Kippenberger was first employed as a farm worker, and was then articled to John W White, the Timaru Crown Solicitor for many years. Having completed his articles, he moved to Christchurch, was employed by Joynt and Perceval as Common Law Managing Clerk, and was eventually admitted to the Bar in 1883. He joined ActonAdams in partnership in 1887, and was apparently in formal partnership with ActonAdams until 1904, but it seems clear that he practised largely on his own account for most of that time. In 1904, however, he was joined by Charles Henry Franks, and they were in partnership, if briefly, until Kippenberger’s early death in 1907.

There is little or no reliable record of Kippenberger’s years in practice. It is rumoured that at one stage in the early 1890s, when legal work was scarce, he acquired a two-year contract from his partner Acton-Adams to reduce the rabbit problem on Molesworth. Not surprisingly, being a city-based lawyer, he subcontracted the contract to a number of skilled rabbiters, and apparently over the period of the contract he made more profit than the legal partnership, much, of course, to the irritation of Acton-Adams. L W MaCaskill alludes to this story in his 1969 publication “Molesworth”, but some minor doubt is cast upon it by his reference to “Peter” Kippenberger.

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Another story relates to an occasion when Kippenberger hired a hansom cab from a line of cabs awaiting custom. Because he knew the driver, Kippenberger chose the second cab in line. The driver of the first cab remonstrated with Kippenberger, but to no avail. “You are no gentleman, sir” called the frustrated first driver.

Kippenberger’s response was to issue proceedings for defamation. He apparently won the case and was awarded damages of one farthing – clearly a Pyrrhic victory. This story may well be true, and, if so, shows that Kippenberger was a man to whom his honour, and pride perhaps, were of the utmost importance.

My only reservation is that I have been unable to find any Court record of the proceedings, but that may simply reflect my research shortcomings.

A fine legal draftsman, highly regarded by his colleagues.

Stories of minor doubt to one side, there are two aspects of Kippenberger’s legal practice of which there can be no question – he was respected and trusted, and he was a fine legal draftsman. By pure coincidence the recent search of an inner Fendalton riverside property unearthed an eight-page 1896 Deed of Conveyance relating to more than 12 acres of property now forming parts of Mona Vale and Christchurch Girls’ High School. The vendor was John Deans, of Canterbury’s best known settler family, and the purchaser was Richard Allan, a flourmiller from Timaru who moved to set up one of the city’s more successful mills. The deed contained both the creation and retention of complicated water rights, the retention of an annuity provision in favour of Jane Deans, widow of the first John Deans, and indemnity provisions with respect to any action which might be brought by William Derisley Wood, the other established flourmiller in the area. It was a very complicated document requiring sophisticated drafting skills. It was drafted by Kippenberger, and he was sufficiently well-regarded to have acted for all parties. By today’s standards that may seem to have been foolhardy, but I suspect it was common in 1896 if you were held in sufficient regard.

Moving to Charles Henry Franks the records become even more murky. The Christ’s College School List establishes that he was a pupil from 1877 to 1878, but thereafter little is known of his doings until he joined Kippenberger in partnership upon the final

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retirement of Acton-Adams in 1904. At that stage he must have been at least 40 years of age, and had clearly acquired a law degree and presumably practised elsewhere. Kippenberger died in 1907 and the next year William John Hunter joined the firm, followed by one Eric Lyon in 1916. Franks continued in partnership until 1918 when he apparently retired to spend several years travelling, before finally taking up residence in Sydney. His obituary in the Press in early 1937 simply recorded him to be “a skilled conveyancer and adviser”. Doubtless he was, but there is no obvious evidence.

William John Hunter was in his twenties when he became a partner and was presumably influenced by the much older Franks. Politically his leanings were to the Left, and consequently he acted for a number of trade unions, which became a political force over that period. His experience with the union movement, led, in the 1930s, to his eventual appointment as a Judge of the Court of Arbitration. As to the rest of his career I can find little concrete. It is said, however, that he did the regular debt collection work for J Ballantyne & Co Ltd because the company’s legal advisers in all other areas, Duncan Cotterill & Co, were reluctant to sue their own clients – a good story, which may well be true, at least in part.

A good lawyer, but one not always held in the highest regard by his colleagues, despite his presidency of the local Law Society.

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The general impression of Hunter gleaned from subsequent Ronaldson Averill partners is of a man of some legal ability who lacked the common touch.

He was apparently not a man with whom it was easy to be in partnership, and it is well known that his unpopularity on the Arbitration Court bench was such that he was eventually removed from the position and appointed to the Price Tribunal. That said, he was sufficiently well-regarded by his peers to have been President of the local Law Society in 1927-28. He also showed an element of generosity in his character by donating a cup to be presented to the winner of the profession’s annual golf competition. The Hunter cup is still being contested today; as it was in 1966. Today neither Colin Averill nor I would extol our golfing skills, but in the 1966 competition, by some mysterious chance, Colin and I were tied at the head of the field.

In what Colin still regards as a very dubious process,

I was awarded the cup on a countback. At the time, having no knowledge of the source of the cup, I regarded the process as entirely fair, and clearly beyond possible appeal. Now, however, I must admit that Colin had good reason to feel aggrieved in light of the historical connections. And now, happily, Colin can laugh about it – just!

Eric Lyon was so briefly a partner of the firm that he can have had little or no effect on its direction. That said, his New Zealand Law Society obituary records a life worthy of record. Born in 1889, he won a scholarship to Wellington College in 1903, which was followed by a scholarship in 1907 (with the seventh highest marks in New Zealand) to Victoria University College. Admitted to the Bar in 1911, he joined a partnership in Otaki in June 1911, left Otaki in 1912 to practice on his own account in Tauranga, and then in December of 1912 moved to Waverley to run the branch of a Wanganui firm.

In 1913 he moved to Christchurch, and in January 1916 he joined the partnership of Kippenberger Franks and Hunter. In December 1916 he enlisted in the armed forces, and on September 29 1918 he was killed in action at Havrincourt, France aged 29 years. What an extraordinary and brief life!

Robert Lindsay Ronaldson fits happily into the next chapter.

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Milner’s Boys Frank Milner, known as “The Man”, was headmaster of Waitaki Boys’ High School in Oamaru from 1906 until his death in 1944. He is probably the only secondary school principal in New Zealand to have acquired a substantial international reputation, and his ambition was to produce young men who would be leaders in what he saw as the best British tradition. I suspect it is no accident that three of the most influential men of the firms which merged in 1983 were educated at Waitaki Boys’ High School during the time of his headmastership. Douglas Endell Wanklyn was a pupil in the earliest years of Milner’s “reign”, Robert Lindsay Ronaldson in the mid-1910s, and my father in the early 1920s.

Douglas Endell Wanklyn left Waitaki in 1909 and then spent five years at Melbourne University, graduating with a BA and LLB in 1915. Three years in the 1st NZEF in Europe followed, during which time he was exposed to gas which severely affected his health in later life. Returning to New Zealand, and being about to marry Lane’s niece Kitty Lane, he was employed by Lane and Neave in 1919 and joined Ken Neave in partnership upon the death of Lane in 1924. Obviously Wanklyn was the junior partner until Neave’s death in 1931, but from then until his health began to fail in the early 1950s he was very much the driving force of Lane, Neave and Wanklyn.

Wanklyn’s obituary in the Press in 1954 noted: “Although an infrequent visitor to the Courts, Mr Wanklyn was among the legal fraternity, highly thought of as a conveyancing, trustee, and commercial lawyer. His reputation was nationwide, and his work was respected throughout New Zealand and Australia.”

The obituary also noted that he was Chairman of the New Zealand Cricket Council from 1937 to 1949, Chairman of the Judicial Committee of the Canterbury Jockey Club for many years, Chairman of the club itself for the maximum term permitted, Chairman of J. Ballantyne & Co Ltd, and a director of New Zealand Breweries Ltd. Here was a man who fulfilled the essence of Milner’s ambition.

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There was, however, more to Wanklyn. In combination with Sir Arthur Donnelly, knighted as the revered Crown Solicitor for many years, he owned and raced several horses of note. One “Revolte” apparently won seven races and had many more places. If not Milner, at least our Queen would have been proud.

Wanklyn also had the reputation of being an autocratic, aloof man adept at dealing with the traditional English cricket authorities, for example, but with little interest in the “man in the street”, nor, seemingly, in the activities of the children of his partners. By early 1951 Wanklyn’s health was deteriorating and he was no longer Chairman of the NZ Cricket Council. Nevertheless he was still the leading administrative light of cricket in Married to Lane’s niece, a highly Christchurch, and in that year the English cricket respected lawyer and company director whose reputed aloofness team, after a four-month tour of Australia including is not the author’s memory. several state games and five test matches, played a further series of matches against New Zealand, with the final game in Christchurch.

The English team were invited to an evening party at the Wanklyn house at the conclusion of the game, as was the 10-year old wicketkeeper of the Medbury School 1st X1. Possibly with his wife’s assistance, Wanklyn knew that the young boy’s idol was Godfrey Evans, the great Kent and England wicketkeeper, and that for the boy to meet Evans would be a dream come true. The young boy duly attended, and he can still remember with clarity being greeted by the beaming smile of the aristocratic Freddie Brown, captain of the English team. He can still see the wonderful blazer and cravat. As for Godfrey Evans, there was no sign until he was found asleep, and beyond immediate rousing, under the grand piano in the corner of the room. The relevance of the game having finished shortly after lunch only became significant to the young boy some years later, and he can remember only the effort both Endell Wanklyn and his wife took to explain that wicket keeping on a long tour was very, very different from wicket keeping for the Medbury 1st X1, and how sorry they were that “Godfrey was so very tired”. Years later the young boy can only attest that this “autocratic” and “aloof” man was certainly not without a soul. That again would have pleased Milner.

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One further story adds little to an understanding of Wanklyn’s character but is certainly a part of Lane Neave’s saga. In the late afternoon of the 18th of November 1947 the committee of the Christchurch Club held their usual monthly meeting, and the minutes of the meeting noted, at the outset, the unadvised absence of one committee member, Endell Wanklyn. The note was made with veiled irritation. Later in the minutes the meeting unanimously accepted Wanklyn’s absence. The reason for his absence had become obvious throughout the city within minutes of the beginning of the meeting. This was the afternoon of the catastrophic Ballantynes fire, Wanklyn was Chairman of the company, and there was only one place for him to be. The very worst of Milner’s pupils would have done the same.

The second of “Milner’s Boys”, Robert Lindsay Ronaldson, was born in 1900, attended Waitaki in the late 1910s, and graduated with an LLB from Otago University in 1922. There is no obvious record of success at school, but Colin Averill confirms that he often spoke of his high regard for Frank Milner. One can therefore assume some element of success and, in any event, his elevation to partnership in 1924 at 24 years of age suggests he was not without some early talent.

His partnership with Hunter lasted until Hunter’s appointment to the Arbitration Court in the 1930s.

Reduced to sole practice, Ronaldson’s career burgeoned. Two factors were crucial to his success – his father was the Christchurch manager of the Another highly regarded lawyer, primarily in the commercial field, National Bank of New Zealand, and both Ronaldsons who practised with success for were loyal Rotarians. As a result he acquired the 46 years. legal business of two well-known baking firms, Ernest Adams and Stacey & Hawker, of brewer and soft drink manufacturer Ballins Industries, and of several successful farmers. Nevertheless, it was inevitably a comparatively small firm until he was joined in partnership by Ralph Wylie in 1956, and by Colin Averill in 1961.

“Ro” Ronaldson, as he was known, became a director of Ballins Industries, remained an ardent Rotarian all his professional life, and was well-known in the golfing

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world, if not as a top level player. On brief professional acquaintance as a much younger man, I recall him as an able, polite, even kindly man, but not one who was immediately engaging. In modern parlance, he perhaps lacked charisma. In general, Colin Averill confirms that superficial assessment. Colin was an employee or partner of Ronaldson for over 15 years, and Colin found him to be a good mentor, a very competent commercial lawyer, and a man of sound common-sense. He was a man of deliberation, rather than flair, but a man always respected by his clients, and one who was clearly the senior partner until his death in 1970. On balance, Milner would have been happy.

The third of “Milner’s Boys”, my father Ernest Everest England, universally known as “Jock”, joined Lane Neave and Wanklyn in 1929 as a fledgling solicitorclerk, became a partner in 1936, retired from the partnership in 1977, but remained a consultant to the firm until his death in 1983. Once again little is known of his days at Waitaki but he also spoke in glowing terms of Frank Milner, and his subsequent sporting record suggests that he must have been a success, at least in that area. At various times after leaving school my father was a senior grade cricketer, a senior grade rugby player, featured on the Canterbury tennis ladder, was Canterbury shot put champion and New Zealand Universities heavyweight boxing champion. I suspect that it was to some extent because of these talents that he was recommended as a potential employee to Endell Wanklyn by Wanklyn’s friend Arthur Donnelly, who was himself a successful sportsman and noted sports administrator.

“The boss” in less than fearsome pose in his later years.

My father’s employment coincided, of course, with the start of the Great Depression.

To be employed, especially with no experience, was to be one of the lucky ones. There is little record of the firm’s activities during the Depression years, and the practitioners of the time subsequently revealed little of the period, rather like returning soldiers asked to discuss “the war”. Nevertheless I have recently located the 1934 minutes of a group of young lawyers who met once a fortnight to discuss the important legal

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issues of the moment. I will write briefly of the Kekewich Club in the next chapter, but for the moment it suffices to record that several of the major issues arose from the Mortgagors Relief Act 1931 and subsequent legislation in that area. Lane Neave and Wanklyn had a substantial rural practice, and many farmers were severely affected by the economic conditions of the times. The firm also acted, if not exclusively, for the then State Advances Corporation which held mortgages over many farm properties.

There was clearly a potential conflict of interest, but these were not times in which work was turned away. Consequently it was the function of the junior solicitor, my father, to appear on behalf of the Corporation before the appropriate board to ensure that mortgagor relief was not granted, or at least minimised. This less than pleasant role had two effects – shortly after my birth in 1940 my father eagerly volunteered to train as an artillery officer and fought in Egypt and Italy from 1942 to 1945; and although he later established a thriving, personal following in the rural area, years later there were still some farming families who resented his role in the 1930s.

Despite any lingering resentment, my father’s return to legal practice was followed by the Wool Boom of 1950-51, and subsequent rural affluence, and then by Arnold Nordmeyer’s Black Budget of 1958, which established crippling death duties, especially for successful farmers. My father devised a scheme, involving the combination of a company and a trust, which enabled death duties to be avoided, but control of the farming assets to be retained. His rural practice blossomed. At the same time his friendship from army days with Reuel Livingstone of the property company, H.G. Livingstone Ltd, enabled him to develop a successful commercial practice based on the new shopping malls built from the early 1960s in Auckland and Christchurch.

My father was rarely an advocate, but he often spoke of the occasion in 1935 when he defeated the doyen of barristers, C.S. Thomas, in a High Court trial of unknown nature. I also recall that in 1960 he represented the United Wheatgrowers in the Wheat Enquiry which lasted for several weeks that year. The enquiry was convened to endeavour to establish why the perceived quality of New Zealand bread was not as good as Australian bread. The wheat growers blamed the flourmillers and the bakers, the flourmillers blamed the growers and the bakers, and it takes little imagination to guess the stance of the bakers. Not surprisingly the result was inconclusive, but I well remember at the time the delight of Sir Walter Mulholland, President of United Wheatgrowers, that his group emerged unscathed.

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My father was not one who cared greatly for the social graces. His sense of humour was not enormous, although on occasion he would laugh uproariously, particularly at one of his own jokes. His employment style would probably find little favour today – fearsome to the uninitiated, at times aloof, very clear in pointing out any errors made, and sparing in his praise of good work. Alister McDonald, subsequently a partner in the firm for several years, recalls that, after nearly two years working primarily for my father in the 1979-80 period, he looked up one afternoon to see my father standing in the doorway holding a document between thumb and forefinger. “Good to see you got it right this time, boy” was the only comment, and the only commendation Alister can remember.

Despite his forbidding manner at times, my father was respected by all his clients, and revered by many of them. It was always a challenge for me to match up when dealing with any client who had previously dealt with him. He was highly successful in a financial sense in his heyday, but nevertheless insisted upon the highest professional standards. Upon Wanklyn’s death he refused the offer of a New Zealand Breweries directorship, because he believed there could be a conflict between the roles of director of a company and solicitor for a company, not to mention the potential of increased liability. As already mentioned, he believed that property lawyers should be independent and should avoid property investment.

Most importantly, however, he was a leader. As senior partner, he listened to advice, for the most part, but ultimately he was without any doubt, the boss. Frank Milner would have approved.

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The Kekewich Club I have already suggested that there is little, if any, record of the activities of the two strands of the firm during the Depression from 1929 to 1939.

Obviously the conduct of any business during that period was difficult. There are stories of lawyers being outside their offices in Hereford Street touting for business from total strangers passing by. Investments failed, money was lost, and for many the future seemed bleak. Earthquakes aside, the economic gloom was, at least in part, a reason for Ken Neave’s death in 1931.

Doubtless, however, life continued without significant change in many respects.

New Zealand cricket teams toured England in 1931 and 1937, a seven-man team (including the victorious Jack Lovelock) went to the Olympic Games in Berlin in 1936, and the Springbok tour of 1937, a team including the legendary Danie Craven, is regarded as one of the greatest tours of all time. And recently I have found some evidence of the professional lives of at least one group of Christchurch lawyers.

In early 1934 a club known as the Kekewich Club was formed. How long it remained in existence is uncertain, as the formal minutes found among my father’s personal papers in the last year relate only to 1934. The purpose of the Club from the outset was to meet on Friday nights to give, hear and discuss papers on legal issues of significance. There were eight members of the Club, mainly lawyers of several years’ experience, and there was supper at the end of the meeting, but certainly no alcohol.

This was serious business, as I eventually found the name of the club conveyed.

The members of the Club, in hindsight, were a fascinating group. They were: My father, whose career I have already covered at sufficient length.

M.P. (Max) Eales, who by then was an employee of Lane Neave & Wanklyn and was a partner of the firm for 30 years from 1939. More will be written of Max Eales in a later chapter.

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T.A. (Tam) Leitch, who became an expert in commercial finance and was the driving force of Cavell Leitch and Pringle until overtaken by the inimitable Ian Pringle in the 1960s.

J.T. (Jack) Watts, who became a noted commercial lawyer, then a Member of Parliament, and successively Minister of Industries and Commerce and Minister of Finance during the 1950s. Leaving Parliament after the election defeat of the National government in 1957, he founded Watts & Patterson, the first “boutique” corporate and commercial firm in New Zealand. He died in 1970, but the firm continued to become Rudd, Watts & Stone, the first so-called “mega firm” in the country. The name now survives in the large Australasian firm Minter Ellison Rudd Watts with which the modern Lane Neave formed a loose alliance in 2012 – an historical coincidence some 78 years in the making.

A.C. (Allan) Fraser, who for many years was the senior partner of Rhodes Godby & Fraser and a highly respected lawyer in Rangiora.

G.N. (Noel) Holmes, well-known as an expert in liquor licensing and as a partner of Sargent, Connal, Holmes & Godfrey, a firm which still exists as Godfreys Law. H.W. (Hugh) Hunter, who in 1934 was in partnership with Jack Watts but in 1939 joined Austen Young to form the firm still known as Young Hunter. Hugh was renowned as a lawyer able to unravel the mysteries of the most difficult legal documents, and as an expert in all aspects of licensing, be it petrol, taxis, road transport or whatever else the government of the day deemed it necessary to regulate. Justice Peter Penlington, a partner of Young Hunter for many years, recently told me that, in addition to his recognised skills, the firm would have been lucky to survive without Hugh Hunter’s administrative skills.

K.J. (Kevin) McMenamin, whose early career is a mystery, but who certainly assisted Max Eales to run Lane Neave & Wanklyn during the war years when Wanklyn was involved as an officer in the local army and my father was an artillery officer in Egypt and Italy. My father was very disappointed upon his return in 1945 when Kevin indicated his intention to leave to establish his own firm specialising in “the transfer of unencumbered properties in Fendalton and Cashmere” and “divorces based on written separation agreements” – i.e. a highly profitable firm avoiding any difficult legal problems. He did establish his own firm, and from my own dealings with Kevin

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in my early years, I suspect that he was in fact little concerned with profit but that there were few, if any, lawyers in the city more able to handle a difficult legal problem (and that he was willing to do so).

As to the matters discussed by the group, some were topical but others would be equally relevant today. Not surprisingly, my father gave two separate papers on applications under the Mortgagors Relief Act, a subject upon which he had become a reluctant, but captive, expert, and a subject only relevant to that period. Hugh Hunter spoke on Deeds of Composition (with creditors), a subject occasionally relevant today but probably of daily concern in 1934. Tam Leitch discoursed on the Restitution of Conjugal Rights, a subject perhaps not greatly affected by the economic times, but one which passed into legal history many years ago. And Kevin McMenamin gave papers on “Claims under the Workers’ Compensation Act”, a subject which disappeared with the advent of the Accident Compensation Commission in the early 1970s.

Other papers related to solicitors’ undertakings, the transfer of landlocked land under the Land Transfer Act, the assessment of income tax in continuing estates, the formation and winding up of companies, and legal practice regarding hotels. All of these subjects would be of relevance today, and they also established that, despite the economic conditions, a variety of legal work still existed.

And so to the name of the club. It seemed to me that “Kekewich” must have been a name contrived from some combination of the members’ names, but I could not have been more wrong. I mentioned the conundrum to one of my more learned colleagues, and he was astounded that

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The Hon Sir Arthur Kekewich

“A hasty Judge” according to Vanity Fair in 1895.

I had never heard of, or could not remember, the late 19th century English judge, Sir Arthur Kekewich. Sir Arthur dealt primarily with intellectual property cases in the Chancery Division, and he was famed for the poor quality of his decisions.

One commentator suggested that he was “foundering, out of his depth, in a sea of intellectual property law which he was unable to navigate”. In fact it became a well-known joke that in his opening address on appeal one counsel began “This is an appeal from a judgement of Mr Justice Kekewich, my Lord, but there are other grounds of appeal”.

Obviously, then, the club members were intent on avoiding the acquisition of reputations similar to the Judge. One may well ask how this affects this story. Possibly it is peripheral, but it does at least establish that two of the firm’s members, my father and Max Eales, were determined to provide high-quality legal service. They were both integral members of the firm for many years, and so one can only hope that some of that determination continues today.

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Early Characters Possibly for the reason that four of the early partners of the Ronaldson Averill strand of the firm did not practise full-time for substantial periods, or perhaps because Ronaldson was in sole practice for nearly 20 years, it appears that there were no long-term employees of that strand during the early years. Certainly there were no “characters”, or so Colin Averill has assured me. That is not the case with the Lane Neave strand.

The dates say it all.

Thomas Jenkins Hill was born, the son of a farmer, in Papanui in 1854. Interestingly, but perhaps not surprisingly, Papanui was then a farming area quite separate from Christchurch. In 1870, at the age of 16 years, Hill became a law clerk to John Holmes, and he remained an employee of the firm until his death at the age of 88 years in 1942 – a period of 72 years. One can only speculate as to his responsibilities over these years. One imagines that in his early years, if not the majority of his period of service, much of his time would have been taken up with the laborious task of writing out in long hand the lengthy documents which were then very much a part of legal practice. Whatever the case, 72 years of service in any business was an incredible achievement. I doubt many future employees will show such “character”.

Francis Henry Bruges, apparently known as “Scrooge” during his years in the firm, was born in 1851 in Wiltshire, England and eventually died in Christchurch in 1941.

There is no evidence of his having been admitted to the Bar in New Zealand, and one can therefore assume that he completed a law degree in England before his emigration. By 1887 he was practising law in Christchurch, and he was certainly mixing in the right circles, as at his marriage that year in St Barnabas Church two of the witnesses were the famed explorer and surveyor Sir Julius Von Haast and his wife.

Over the next 19 years his practice thrived, and he was active in Law Society affairs

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and various legal matters of public interest. Then, in 1906, his halcyon existence, if such it was, crashed around him. He was charged with misappropriating clients’ funds, convicted, declared bankrupt, and inevitably disbarred. He was also banned from future employment in a legal office.

My understanding is that the view of many practitioners at the time was that the loss of funds was due to neglect rather than dishonesty, a situation which arose because Bruges had a fine legal brain which ignored day-to-day practicalities. Lane and the young Neave could obviously see an opportunity, or perhaps simply wished to help a colleague in misfortune. Whatever the case, in 1910 the local Law Society agreed to Bruges being employed by the firm provided he was not involved with trust funds in any way. As a result, when I first arrived in Lane Neave & Wanklyn in 1958, the firm had precedent documents in almost every legal sphere that were envied, and copied, by many other firms. They were all drafted by Bruges. Today the language may perhaps seem old-fashioned, but it remains concise and precise, and thus the meaning is clear. How long Bruges worked in the firm is unclear, but I know that he was a force for some years after my father’s employment in 1929. Francis Henry Bruges may have had a sad life in some respects but one can simply hope he understood the legacy of draftsmanship he was to leave. As an aside, the official records of his death establish that the Archbishop of Canterbury was more forgiving than the legal authorities, as he was still described as a Notary Public at the time.

Walter Stewart Somerville joined Lane & Neave as a qualified accountant in 1917.

He remained for 52 years until his retirement in 1969, and died some four years later. I know from my discussions with him that in his early years he was responsible not only for the accountancy relating to a number of continuing estates, particularly farming estates, but also the internal finances of the firm. Neither Lane nor Neave were good with figures, nor greatly concerned by profitability. That, as he told me, changed with the death of Neave in 1931, upon which Wanklyn, eagerly assisted by my father at the end of that decade, took control of the office finances. In that area Somerville’s influence was greatly diminished, but the era of continuing estates was growing inexorably. The firm had many wealthy farming clients and it was still regarded as entirely inappropriate to leave capital to widows. In any event the death duty regime made it advantageous to leave only a life interest to widows.

Subsequently trusts or companies combined with trusts formed during the farmer’s lifetime appeared more effective, but in the meantime continuing estates, with the inevitable widows involved, burgeoned.

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Ian Menzies, in “The Story of Menzies Bay” already mentioned in an earlier chapter, chose to devote a chapter of that book to Walter Somerville. The reason was obviously his high regard for Somerville who administered the continuing estate of his father-inlaw for the benefit of his wife and her five sisters.

The father-in-law was in fact Percy Moreland ActonAdams, son of William Blakeway Acton-Adams, but that is but an interesting coincidence. The essence is that Somerville was involved with many similar estates, neither Wanklyn nor my father were much interested in “passing the time of day” with widows, or in this case daughters treated as widows, and so Somerville performed what was then a vital role in a very profitable aspect of the firm. He also produced, A fine accountant, a loyal “servant” or in later years oversaw the production, of accounts for 52 years, and a true gentleman. of faultless accuracy. From my own observation I can add that he was a man of breeding, a gentleman and a gentle man, and a man of presence and charm. Sadly, there would probably be little room for such a man in most firms today.

Henry Arthur Smith, universally known as “Harry”, was born in Christchurch in 1904, employed by Lane & Neave in 1921, and remained very much a part of the firm until shortly before his death in 1987, a period in the Pacific Islands during World War II excepted. He was first employed as an “office boy” and the memories he often told me of that job were twofold. In premises in an old building on the site of what later became the New Zealand Insurance Company offices in Hereford Street, his first morning task for much of the year was to light four coal fires. During the day he was expected to maintain those fires, and that fundamental task remained until the firm moved in 1930 to the building next door which boasted oil-fired water heating – a miracle. The second memorable aspect of his day from 1921 until the death of Lane in 1924 was that Lane habitually left the office at 4.30 pm to attend the Christchurch Club for an hour, returning to sign his mail, probably of two or three letters, at 5.45 pm. Harry was generously allowed to leave the offices from 4.30 pm to 5.30 pm but had to be in attendance to collect and post the mail before Lane strolled back home through Hagley Park.

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Over subsequent years Harry played many roles.

For several years he was the stamping, registration and search clerk, a role I will discuss in more detail in a later chapter. He was then in turn the senior accountancy clerk, office manager, and stationery purchasing officer but, most importantly, for many years, he was the central pivot of the office. With what now seems a very primitive diary system of adhesive paper strips, he kept a record of every file in the office. Eventually he costed every file, a system which was a godsend in the event of client complaint, as there was a clear element of expert independence in the process.

Harry was small in stature but certainly not a man to be taken lightly. There was a place for everything, The ultimate character for 66 years! and there were boundaries. If he felt he was being asked to complete a job too quickly, or if he felt the job was outside his brief, he would be quick to say “Crikey George, my name’s Simpson not Samson”. One would back off, but inevitably the job would be completed, and in general it would be immaculate.

As for what he described as “stationery stooges”, they always had to wait at least ten minutes before endeavouring to peddle their wares. Harry knew his place.

As to his war service, Harry was an infantryman who eventually reached Green Island, some seven degrees from the Equator, and was there for several months. He described the conditions to me. Apparently there was a tropical storm most afternoons or evening, and during the night attack by Japanese aircraft was inevitable. The prescribed drill when the arriving aircraft could be heard was to roll out of your camp stretcher into the adjoining trench which on most occasions was half-filled with water.

It is perhaps no surprise that after several months Harry was diagnosed with shellshock and then spent several uncomfortable weeks in a Fijian hospital before his return to New Zealand. The effects of this experience were that on two occasions in the early 1960s I can recall his diving under his desk when an aeroplane flew low over the city and, secondly, that the idea of anyone choosing to visit Fiji for a holiday was beyond his comprehension. “Crikey George, it’s a dirty, stinking, flea-ridden…..etc.”.

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Harry, like most of us, was very much a product of his times. Once again, there would probably be no place for a Harry Smith in the modern legal firm.

On the other hand, he left school at the age of 16, neither he nor his parents had the wherewithal to fund a university career, or for him to be articled to an established solicitor. His path was inevitable, but he was a man of natural intellect and, had he been born not so many years later, he would doubtless have acquired a tertiary qualification.

Another product of his time was Ernest Frederick Greenaway, known as “Ginger” by the partners and staff but always addressed as “Mr Greenaway”.

Born in 1914, he remained a bachelor until his early death in 1973. He was a large man, prone to sweating profusely, and he smoked incessantly. The door and windows of his office were always closed, and consequently one avoided, at all costs, entering his office on a hot summer afternoon. My understanding is that he was first employed in the 1930s, and he was certainly still a staff member at the time of his death.

The length of Greenaway’s employment was not what distinguished him in any way; it was the two, and only two, functions he performed. Death Duties played a major role in legal practice of the period, and all the major estates in the office were administered by Greenaway until Inland Revenue clearance was received, even if he was rarely permitted to interview clients. His negotiations with the Inland Revenue Department were relentless, if somewhat old-fashioned. “Appertaining to our telephonic communication of the 1st inst.” the letter would begin, and it would continue in similar vein for several pages. I suspect many estates were cleared simply because to have continued the department’s battle would have been too wearying.

Greenaway’s second function related to the collection of hospital fees for the North Canterbury Hospital Board which then administered all public hospitals in the Christchurch area. In those pre-Accident Compensation Act days all motor accidents of substance were subject to High Court insurance claims which had to be brought within a limitation period of six years. Statute required that the hospital fees be part of those claims, whether or not the claims were settled or litigated, and the fees would be lost unless a claim were duly made within the required period. Greenaway’s task was to ensure that the claim included the hospital fees and that the time limit was met. Greenaway was meticulous. Every claimant’s lawyer

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was advised of the outstanding hospital fees on a regular basis. As to the matter of time limits, a passage in Hamish Kenworthy’s “Wynn Williams & Co – Origins of the Firm” is fascinating. Brian McClelland, for many years a partner of Wynn Williams & Co, was one of the clique, for such it was, of litigators who acted for the insurance companies which were on either side of the accident claims. Hamish Kenworthy wrote – “McClelland had such an accurate memory that he had a knack for beating time limitations by the most slender of margins”. I doubt the accuracy of that statement. Brian McClelland was one of the most charismatic, humorous, mercurial characters, but was he a man to apply his fine memory, if such it were, to time limitations? On several occasions he told me – “Thank God for Greenaway”.

The equally talented Gordon Leggat made the same comment. I suspect that these were men who could sway any jury but for whom the mundanity of time limits was a bothersome chore. Greenaway harassed them on a regular basis to ensure the time limits were met. Thus the claims were duly made, the hospital fees recovered, and the firm made a very satisfactory percentage return.

The Mechanical Age. The support staff required (circa 1960) for three partners, three qualified solicitors, two accountants, and two law clerks. Miss Ellen is at the left in the front row.

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My final character of the early years is a woman who was, as I was always led to believe, the first woman to fulfil a role which will never again be seen in a legal office. Dorice Ellen, always “Miss Ellen”, was one of three spinster sisters – Dorice, Alice and Gladys – who lived together in a neat Edwardian cottage in Rhodes Street, very close to Hagley Park. I well remember making Wills for them.

They insisted on my taking their instructions separately, despite the fact that, not surprisingly, the instructions were identical. That aside, it was a known, if perhaps unproven fact in the office that Dorice Ellen was the first female legal shorthand typist in Christchurch. Whether that be true or not, she was certainly in that role for over 50 years, and that in itself was a remarkable achievement. She was a quiet, gentle person and, if she had a fault, it was that she was too accurate and that it was not in her nature to be assertive. The result was that she typed exactly what was dictated and she could not bring herself to correct any errors of dictation, no matter how obvious – a minor limitation one can forgive some 50 years after she finally retired. With sadness for those committed to spending their days staring into screens, I note that there will never be another “Miss Ellen” unless the electronic miracle of our age is somehow reversed. That, I fear, would take an even greater miracle.

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The Law Clerk Today there is no stamp duty, no gift duty, and no estate duty. All land title searching, land registration, and filing of company documents, is completed electronically, and only the filing of Court documents remains a physical task. It is hard now to imagine the role played by the junior law clerk when I was employed in that position on a fulltime basis in November 1958.

In 1958, and for many subsequent years, all legal documents were subject to stamp duty of varying amounts. In the case of agreements relating to the transfer of land, duty was payable at 2% on an ad valorem basis (i.e. based on the sale price) with the effect that valuable properties attracted substantial amounts of duty. Many interfamily transactions attracted large sums of gift duty, and Arnold Nordmeyer’s “Black Budget� of that year ensured that estates of the most modest proportions were subject to duty, and that any estate of real substance had to pay duty of 40% at the marginal level.

Thus the first morning task of the junior law clerk was to gather up the various documents subject to potential duty and to proceed to the Duties Section of the Inland Revenue Department housed in the ground floor of the elegant and imposing Christchurch Press Company building in Cathedral Square, tragically lost in the earthquake of February 2011. Here the Duties Section, comprising several dozen employees, was of much more importance than the Income Tax section which was largely located in Wellington. The documents were presented over a public counter together with a trust account cheque or cheques to cover the estimated duties, and there was inevitably a clerk on the other side of the counter eager to prove the calculations incorrect. The kindly, but very thorough, Frank Rigby and the redoubtable Miss Jory spring to mind, their roles overseen by the ever-gentlemanly Andy Wilson. The major arguments related to estate duty, and those arguments were, of course, conducted by letter at a higher level. Nevertheless it was seen as a distinct failure for the junior clerk to return to the office for morning tea with any rejected documents, especially if presented for stamp duty purposes.

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Morning tea was always relaxed, and always highly entertaining if John Burn, the senior clerk, or possibly by then the junior solicitor, was present.

A man of consummate wit and charm, he was the first real conversationalist I had encountered, and morning tea was always to be attended, if possible.

Inevitably morning tea ended, and court filing in the Magistrates (now District) or Supreme (now High) courts followed. It was always an enjoyable walk from Hereford Street along the Avon River to the Magistrates Court in Armagh Street, and filing documents in that court was without problem. Filing documents in the Supreme Court could be more challenging, however. The Supreme Court was only a little further down the river, but one made that journey with some trepidation if the sealing of John Burn a Probate, the final document involving a copy of The young conversationalist. the Will and authority for the trustee or trustees to administer the Will, was involved. In 1958 no photocopying was accepted in any official situation, for the very good reasons that it was often difficult to read and it was usually impermanent. As a result the often lengthy documents had to be typed out, a laborious process, and no erasures were allowed. If a mistake was made, the typist started again unless the mistake could be corrected without future detection.

Obviously many such attempts at correction were made. For some reason it was incumbent upon the Registrar of the Supreme Court to police this matter personally.

Having waited an inevitable ten or more minutes for the Registrar to appear, the junior clerk would then be required to read the document to the Registrar, who held the document to the light to ensure its perfection. John Louis Wellbrock Gerken, the Registrar in 1958 and a fearsome, almost autocratic man in many respects, seemed to take delight in this process.

Sometimes the registration of Land Transfer documents and the searching of land titles began before lunch, sometimes not. Whether before lunch or otherwise, it constituted the rest of the junior clerk’s day, apart from the boring completion of records upon return to the office. Registration of Land Transfer documents – transfers, mortgages, easements, caveats, whatever – was always a challenge. Filing of Probate documents may indeed have been a challenge, bur registration of any document at

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the Lands and Deeds Registry Office was the ultimate challenge. Every document was presented, once again over an open counter, and every document had to be perfect in every respect as to the formal description of the land and the detail of the relevant easements and other encumbrances. Any numerical or descriptive error, no matter how insignificant, would ensure rejection of the document.

Behind the counter were several worthy opponents who seemed determined to find some reason for rejection of the document presented. There were several different characters – the fearsome Len Huston who became much less fearsome once he learnt you would not be cowed; Dewar Brown, one-time national tennis player, who often gave the impression you were simply an irritation, keeping him from the coaching classes he took most evenings; and the genial Jimmy O’Connor, of Irish stock, who nevertheless could reject documents with the best of them. They, and others, were all experts in their field and life must have been miserable for any clerk too timid to hold his ground. Once again, life was certainly miserable if you returned to the office with rejected documents.

Registration completed, title searching was the final major task of the day. This was indeed a major task. There was no photocopying, and in any event, the titles themselves were in bound volumes and would have needed modern photographic techniques to copy. Many of the other documents, especially the older easements, would have been equally difficult. Consequently it was the junior clerk’s job to make a précis of all the salient details of the title or titles relating to the relevant property, and of all encumbrances registered against it. If, for example, it was a Cashmere Hills property there were always horrendous water and drainage easements which may, or may not, still be relevant. Documents, often of ten or more pages, had to be summarised with precision. It could be a painstaking task upon which the partners relied without choice, and the consequences of a major error are obvious.

This daily routine was interrupted from time to time, particularly on Fridays, by the requirement to complete the settlement of property transactions, if the settlement was to take place out of the office. The senior lawyers were happy to complete settlements personally if they acted for the vendor, no mortgages were involved, and thus no trip outside the office was necessary. If an outside trip was required, it was often the junior law clerk who was sent to complete the task. It essentially involved obtaining all the relevant documents, which in turn was dependent upon the title search, completed some time before, being accurate in every respect. All settlements

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made one nervous, but in the course of those settlements one came face-to-face with almost every senior lawyer in the city – often a nerve-racking experience, but one which made one immediately part of the profession as a whole, and one which rarely, if ever, happens today.

By now you may have gained the impression that my two years as the junior law clerk in Lane Neave were onerous and unenjoyable. Certainly there were challenges in most spheres, but looking back they were two of my happiest years. One appeared to have been thrown in at the deep end, but in fact it was at a depth at which one soon learned to swim. There was the camaraderie of the twelve, or perhaps fifteen, clerks from the other legal firms whom one met every day and who were always prepared to help. Several of those clerks went on to become judges in either the District or High Courts, and one became one of the most respected legal academics in the country.

I could not have chosen more fortunate company. That said, there is another reason, and perhaps the most important one, that they were the happiest of days. There was a freedom which was lost from the moment I was promoted. The “stamping” as we knew all revenue matters, the Court filing, registration and title searching had to be done, but there was rarely any time pressure. There was time, almost always, to “compare notes” with one’s fellow clerks. And of primary importance, every function required a trip out of the office. One was tied to the office desk only for brief periods.

Those were indeed the days, and I write with sadness that I knew, even then, that to be tied to any desk was in many ways anathema to me. To be tied to a computer screen, as most now appear to be, may well have had desperate results.

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The Post-War Years and Three More Partners During the latter years of World War II and for some years afterwards there were severe restrictions on property transactions in an endeavour to ensure that returning servicemen were not at a disadvantage. Land prices were controlled, and parts of many of the larger farm properties were taken by the Government, with minimal compensation, to enable some of those servicemen to be settled.

In fact, for many years afterwards existing farmers were barred from purchasing additional farm land, although as is so often the case, there were usually ways of circumnavigating the statutory provisions. In almost every area of business activity, similar restrictions applied.

With the Wool Boom of the early 1950s, the economy improved dramatically in the rural areas and in the cities. Having joined Endell Wanklyn and my father in partnership in 1939, and having “carried” the firm through the war, Max Patrick Eales was very much a part of the new urban affluence. Max acted for two companies which became very influential at that time – N.Z. Breweries Ltd and the Apex Ice Cream Company. Well before the days of taverns, with large carparks, and of supermarkets, hotels and dairies were to be found on many street corners.

The hotels sold little other than beer and that beer was provided either by N.Z. Breweries or by its arch-rival, Dominion Breweries. The companies competed fiercely to finance the purchasing publicans, success ensuring that the hotel was committed to selling only the brand of the successful company. The same applied to the corner dairies where Apex competed equally fiercely with its arch rival, The Perfection Ice Cream Company. This environment lasted only for a matter of years, but while it did, it promoted a stream of regular work for Max who became an expert at providing the necessary security documents at a moment’s notice.

Max remained a partner in the firm until his death in 1969, but his active practice was curtailed by a severe stroke in early 1965. On the surface he was a jovial man. It was suggested more than once that he would have made an excellent publican. Maybe he would have done, but that would have been a waste of his

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“A jovial man” but highly competent in several fields.

legal skills in every aspect of the liquor industry, and in most areas of property and commercial law. Jovial he may have appeared, but I suspect he took his profession very seriously. He was, after all, a member of the Kekewich Club in the 1930s!

Nevertheless it has to be said that at the time of his stroke in 1965 a number of his files were in less than perfect condition. I attribute that to his being in a poor state of health some time before the stroke. Whatever the reason, of one thing I am certain – his clients saw him in a very clear light. On one particular occasion I recall that I suggested to clients, the four trustees and sixteen beneficiaries of an estate, that no steps had been taken by Max for nearly a year, and I was simply disbelieved.

Eventually I managed to overcome the problem, but the fact remained that “Mr Eales” could not have erred. Quite an epitaph!

When Endell Wanklyn’s health began to fail in the early 1950s it was felt that the firm would need another solicitor, of partner potential, upon his death. Wanklyn, as already noted, was a member of the Christchurch Club and many of his clients were North Canterbury farmers and fellow club members. I know that my father felt uncomfortable with some of those people, or simply found some of them tiresome.

Thus young Garth Hamilton Gould who came very much from the right background, was lured from Wynn Williams & Co and became a partner in 1954. It was an inspired choice, as being educated at Christ’s College and being part of the Gould family of Pyne Gould Guiness Ltd, then the largest South Island stock and station agency, he was known, at least by name, to most, if not all, of the established Canterbury farming families. An articulate man of charm and wit, Garth quickly built up a loyal following of clients from within and outside the firm. By the time of my employment in 1958 it seemed as though he had been a partner for many years.

Garth remained a partner of the firm until 1981 when he decided to resign and join Meares Williams, a smaller firm, but one of similar age. I will canvass the reasons for his departure in a later chapter. Suffice it to say at this stage that his going was a sadness. Garth had a mercurial quality which the rest of us lacked. Much of his

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Garth Gould

In later years, but still the ultimate raconteur about to deliver one of his invariably witty speeches.

work was in the property field, but he was happier arguing the merits of a subdivision with a local council than completing an undisputed transaction, no matter what the size. Westmorland, now a wellestablished Christchurch suburb, may not have existed without Garth’s joyful confrontation with the head engineer of the then Paparua County Council.

He could draft as good a Will as any solicitor in the city, but he much preferred the challenges of a disputed Will, drafted by another solicitor of course, or an acrimonious matrimonial case. Although he was not often in Court, he relished being there and was a formidable foe, if the cause captured his imagination. On one occasion he had an appeal to the Privy Council of the House of Lords, with complete success – a rare achievement for any litigator of the time.

On the other hand, Garth hated administration in any form, found it hard to tie up the loose ends of any situation he thought mundane, and appeared to regard it as essential to be late for office appointments. He could be frustrating, even infuriating, at times. That said, if any attempt were made at criticism, especially in a meeting, the would-be criticism would soon be quelled by Garth’s charm and humour, and the would-be critic would feel very much in his place. Garth was indeed a special man, an excellent lawyer at his best, and a major loss to the firm despite any failings.

During World War II and for some years afterwards “Ro” Ronaldson continued solo practice. The clients provided by his National Bank and Rotary connections doubtless provided more than sufficient work for anyone practising on his own account. Then, in 1952, he employed the newly qualified Ralph Edwin Wylie, who had been a law clerk with Harper, Pascoe, Buchanan & Penlington, another of the early legal firms. Ralph was educated at Christchurch Boys High School, rather than Christ’s College, but otherwise the educational paths of Ralph Wylie and Garth Gould were very much the same. They both left their respective firms within months of each other, if for different reasons, and it is intriguing that if they were both influential in those firms for many years, it is probably their respective departures in the same year that has had more effect on the Lane Neave of today. I will canvass that theory in a later chapter.

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Colin Averill was a law clerk at the time Ralph Wylie joined Ronaldson in partnership and became a partner himself in 1961. Colin remembers Ralph Wylie as a man of high intelligence; although brought up as a strict Presbyterian, a man with a very good sense of humour; an excellent commercial lawyer, and an expert in liquor licensing; an excellent mentor in Colin’s early days; a successful commercial litigator, but perhaps more a clear thinker than an advocate; a man who more enjoyed wrestling with a tricky legal problem than dealing with the client or clients; and a man of the highest integrity who believed that the best ethical standards must be maintained at all times.

Personally I can add that for a number of years in the late 1970s Ralph Wylie and I parked in the same Company director, Law Society carpark at the Western end of Hereford Street. Many president, Queens Counsel, High Court judge, a man of times we walked together between the carpark and courtesy and the highest intellect our respective offices. Despite my being ten years who sadly died at the age of 62 younger and very much the junior practitioner, one could not have had a more personable companion – interested in my views, naïve as they may have been, never opinionated but with ideas, and always courteous and encouraging.

Ralph Wylie’s formal achievements were many. He was a director of Ballins Industries Ltd and a Board member of the Nurse Maude Association. He was President of the Canterbury District Law Society in 1972/73 and Vice President of the N.Z. Law Society from 1979 to 1982. Having become a Barrister Sole in 1981, he was appointed a Queen’s Counsel in 1985 and then in 1986, a High Court Judge. As a judge he became respected for his intellect, courtesy and decisionmaking ability, but this aspect of his career ended with his premature death in 1992 at the age of 62 years. A very sad loss.

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Two Decades of Comparative Calm Despite the threat of the United Kingdom joining the European Economic Community, a threat which existed from 1961 and became a reality in 1971, despite the oil price and energy shocks of 1973 and 1979, and despite the resistance to the country’s involvement in the Vietnam War, the years from 1960 to 1980 seemed to be years of stability. Certainly the progress of Lane Neave & Co and Ronaldson Wylie and Averill through those years would largely suggest that to be the case.

During those years Hereford Street was the hub of professional and financial activity in the city. All of the major insurance companies had offices in the city, and most were in Hereford Street. The same applied to the major banks, and most of the more significant legal and share broking firms and many of the accountants. There were even surveyors, engineers, dentists and architects, but they could perhaps afford to be more imaginative in their location because they relied less on daily communication.

The cream of the medical profession were to be found in one building a block away.

Communication was by telephone, letter, or personal contact. Much of the communication was personal. The law clerks, as I have already described, were up and down Hereford Street all day. The share brokers attended the “call” at the Stock Exchange twice a day, and that required a walk to Oxford Terrace. Lawyers completing property settlements were carrying bank cheques, if they acted for the purchaser, either to the office of the vendor’s solicitor or to the office of the solicitor or trust or insurance company holding the first mortgage over the property. Most solicitors for the vendor needed to present themselves at the office of the first mortgagee. The bank and insurance company managers could generally remain in their offices, their roles were indeed important, but they were regularly visited. The same was true of the better accountants, as I recall. And the Court lawyers, of course, were to be seen heading to the Courts, much as they are today. As a result of these daily routines, after a period all the professionals tended to know each other personally.

Within the offices, most dictation was completed by face-to-face dictation with a shorthand typist, but tricky letters and difficult documents were drafted by hand.

Eventually the dictaphone took over, but I always preferred dictation to a shorthand

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typist, if possible, because that process required one to order one’s thoughts in the hope, perhaps vain, of being concise and precise. The dictaphone seemed to encourage a rambling stream of consciousness, or sometimes worse. That said, by the late 1970s in the search for economy, several firms experimented with centralised dictation to a typing pool, and that system demanded the use of a dictaphone. The system was short-lived.

For much of this period typing of letters and documents was completed by typists using mechanical typewriters which produced a wonderful clatter when the office was busy. The mechanical typewriters were then superseded by electric typewriters, which still produced a satisfactory buzz and were, of course, much easier to operate.

For some years copies were made by re-typing, if required for Court purposes, or by the use of carbon paper, an irritating and messy process. Happily, photocopiers improved dramatically during the 1960s and the use of carbon paper, and the laborious typing (in full) of Wills, Probates, trust deeds and other formal documents became a thing of the past. Even land titles or other relevant land documents could be photocopied.

In 1960 many legal firms still completed their trust and office accounts by entry in a hand ledger probably little different from those in use in the time of Charles Dickens. Ronaldson, Wylie & Averill was one of those firms. In Lane Neave & Co, as Lane Neave & Wanklyn became in 1965, we were the proud owners of a Burroughs, and then an Addo-X, bookkeeping machine. The first machine appeared to require a hammer to move the keys, and when in full swing its noise, from behind a closed door, was sufficient to block out the joyous clatter of the typewriters and to ensure that the closing of one’s own office door was essential if a telephone conversation were to be had. Nevertheless it was an accurate machine, and much speedier than any handwritten system. The second machine was considerably quieter and faster and I would still argue that the card system devised by me and the senior accountancy clerk for that machine was superior to the early computerised system which followed at the end of the 1970s. The trust account was never a problem and, most importantly for an eager young partner, the firm’s profitability could be seen at a glance on a daily basis.

In this environment my father, Max Eales and Garth Gould continued in practice until 1965 when they were joined by Tony Stackhouse, who had been a solicitor-clerk in the firm for 10 or more years, Wayne Wilson who had recently been hired from Young

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Hunter & Co to fill a perceived gap in the litigation area, and me. Tony Stackhouse and I were still partners at the time of the 1983 merger and I will comment on all the merging partners in a subsequent chapter. Wayne Wilson, however, was only a partner for a little over two years. In an unfortunate error of judgement he decided to take flying lessons during office hours. My father, still very much “the boss”, took the view that a junior partner should be in the office, or at least engaged in firm business, at all times. It would be very different today, but as I recall, Wayne had departed before I was fully aware of the situation. Wayne practised briefly on his own account in Christchurch, and then, I am happy to record, had a successful judicial career in Samoa and in Hong Kong. It was a sad event, but it hardly ruffled the surface at the time.

In 1968 Nick Clark, who followed me as the junior law clerk and who, from 1965 bore much of the brunt of Max Eales’ sudden illness, became a partner. He was followed in 1970 by Sam Maling who fell naturally into the gap in the litigation field, or the potential of that field, left by Wayne Wilson. Two years later Garth Gould announced at one of the very rare partners’ meetings we then had – “Its time we had some bright young men”. The three of us who still regarded ourselves as reasonably young were slightly taken aback, but remained silent as my father appeared to nod in agreement.

As a result, early in 1972 John Matthews and Richard Burtt joined the firm as solicitorclerks. They were indeed bright, and it was a unanimous decision that they should become partners in 1974, if the local Law Society would agree to relax the requirement that any partners in a legal firm should have practical experience of at least three years. The Law Society refused, the decision was appealed without success, and so it was April 1975 when John and Richard became partners. Life in Lane Neave & Co continued without disruption, or even potential disruption it seemed, until the end of the decade. However, it should be recorded, as Garth Gould so suggested at the time with some apparent pleasure, my father retired from partnership at the end of October 1977, the month of his 70th birthday.

As noted in an earlier chapter, in 1961 Colin Averill joined Ronaldson & Wylie in partnership. Ralph Wylie was by then building up a very substantial reputation in the commercial area. Colin Averill, whose paternal grandfather had been Anglican Archbishop of New Zealand, and whose father was a highly respected gynaecological surgeon in the city and Chairman of the local Hospital Board, quickly built up a substantial practice of private and commercial clients. The partnership thrived through the 1960s. Then, early in 1970, Ro Ronaldson died aged 70 years. His death

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was unexpected, but it created few difficulties for the remaining partners, as by then he had wound down his personal practice to a substantial extent. It also coincided, or nearly so, with the recruitment of Philip Taylor, who was soon to become a substantial influence on the commercial side of the firm. He joined the firm as a partner in 1974, and in 1975 when Ralph Wylie suffered a reasonably brief, but very severe illness, Colin Averill would have had difficulty, despite his abilities, in coping with the situation without Philip Taylor’s assistance.

Over the remaining years of the decade Ronaldson, Wylie & Averill consolidated steadily. At the end of 1975 Mark Abbot was employed, and he became a partner in 1978. Mark had been Head Prefect of Shirley Boys’ High School and was a man of enthusiastic charm, a man one had to like. Thus, he too, soon had a significant following. At the same time as Mark joined the partnership John Brandts-Giesen was employed as a solicitor. A very competent lawyer in many areas, John had been educated at St Bede’s College and was of Dutch descent. This background added further diversity to the firm, and this diversity, coupled with his considerable presence, ensured that he, once again, became an important element of the firm. He joined the firm as a partner as the decade ended.

I imagine it is now clear that these were years of little change. Photocopying made a substantial difference, and computerised accounting and word processing were emerging, but emails, electronic settlements, internet banking, “smart phones” and the ability to do almost anything without moving from one’s desk, or “work station” if you will, were years away. They were also years when the Law Society conveyancing scale ensured the profitability of most property transactions. Any attempt to undercut a colleague was regarded with contempt. Advertising in any form was prohibited.

Many firms had substantial pools of mortgage money available to clients, and the commission gathered on the interest payable (at rates which moved over the period into high double-digit percentage figures) was a very substantial boost to profits.

Some things, however, have remained much the same. Contact with accountancy firms, real estate agents, banks, insurance companies and other professional and commercial firms was vital to success. That is equally true today. The simple difference is that it used to happen naturally on a day-to-day basis. There was no need for client entertainment by way of cocktail parties and lunches, regular personal contact couldn’t be avoided. And that leads me to perhaps my happiest example of that personal contact.

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Late in 1967 and in early 1968 I was acting for the eldest of four children of a very successful farmer who had died earlier in 1967. For various reasons the provisions of the Will were such that there was potential for a very ugly legal dispute. One afternoon in February 1968 I had the germ of an idea for settlement which I conveyed by telephone to the solicitor for the estate’s trustees, Crowley Weston. Crowley had been a decorated officer in World War II, a Rhodes Scholar, and an Oxford University golfing Blue. He was the senior partner of Weston Ward & Lascelles and a man of many years’ legal experience. I conveyed my idea with some diffidence. The next morning Crowley telephoned me. “John, I lay awake last night thinking about your idea. I think it will work, so I’ve written you a letter. May I read it to you?”. Resisting the temptation to suggest he post it in the usual way, I listened dutifully. He had set out my suggestion, if not with brevity, then with absolute clarity. The conversation came to a cheerful end. Despite it being February, it was a miserable, wet morning, but half an hour after our conversation I had a message from our receptionist indicating that Mr Weston was at the reception desk and wished to see me. And there in the reception area was Crowley, beaming under the wide-brimmed (dripping) hat he always wore. From under his voluminous raincoat he produced an envelope which contained, obviously, the original of his letter. “Thank you, John. This matter had been really worrying me” was the essence of what he said before proceeding out into the rain to deliver copies of the letter to the solicitors for the other children. Within a week the potential dispute was settled. Crowley, of course, was a remarkable man, the quintessential gentleman, perhaps even an exception to the rule at the time. Be that as it may, it is a sad fact that today it is very unlikely that a young practitioner would have the chance to see an older practitioner in that light.

There is a corollary to this story. As a result of the settlement my young client was able to proceed with the purchase of part of the estate’s farm and two other adjoining pieces of land. Three separate settlements were involved, and “the money follows the documents” of course. Three ventures from the office would normally have been a happy escape, but the settlement day was the11th April 1968, the day the Wahine Storm moved South down the Canterbury coast. I was a very bedraggled camper by the end of the day. I may even have been an advocate for electronic settlements!

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Two Departures and a Merger The year 1981 proved critical for both Lane Neave & Co and Ronaldson Wylie and Averill.

In Lane Neave & Co, after my father’s retirement in 1977, there had been a movement towards equal profit-sharing. Garth Gould, having played second financial fiddle to my father for nearly 20 years and having many more years’ experience than the other partners, resisted this movement, despite his fee production being regularly less than at least two of the other partners. Then, in 1980, Garth had the exclusive assistance of a very talented young solicitor, Peter Williamson, who was able to complete all of Garth’s day-to-day work, providing Garth with time for the more apparently sophisticated and remunerative work at which he often excelled. The end result was that he was the top fee producer by a significant margin and that he proposed a profit distribution for the next year very different from the distribution envisaged by those proposing equality. After limited discussion, and no obvious sign of resolution, Garth gave notice of his intention to leave the partnership on the 31st March 1981. He could not be dissuaded.

Doubtless there were other reasons for Garth’s departure. John Burn in his obituary for the New Zealand Law Society suggests that Garth left the firm because mergers were being suggested, and he had no taste for growth. In fact there was no suggestion of merger before Garth’s departure. That said, a trend was then emerging for all professions to become more business-like and thus more structured.

Individual performance was becoming judged by financial achievement rather than by professional excellence, with kudos being given to what Garth would have seen as mundane. Although at the time of his departure he endeavoured to use his own financial achievement of the previous year as a lever, I suspect he had a philosophical aversion to the changes which were inevitably occurring. I suspect, too, that after 25 years of partnership with one England who cared little for the social graces, the prospect of perhaps 15 more years in partnership with the son, and those who might support him, was bleak indeed. Perhaps that is paranoia, but whatever the case, his departure was probably inevitable for one reason or another, and was a loss for the firm in many ways.

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In Ronaldson Wylie & Averill the same situation was arising, if for very different reasons. By 1980 Ralph Wylie was spending much of his time out of the office in company board meetings. Much of the commercial work within the office was being completed by Phil Taylor. Ralph Wylie was sensitive to the situation and suggested to Colin Averill that it may be best if he retired from the partnership and become a Barrister Sole. The two men had never had any disagreements as to any aspect of their partnership, but Colin had himself concluded that Ralph’s situation had changed.

Colin agreed to Ralph’s suggestion and at the end of that year Ralph Wylie retired to have the very successful, if sadly brief, career recorded in an earlier chapter.

The departures gave rise to feelings of unease in both firms. Colin Averill felt that Ralph Wylie had been an integral part of the strong commercial side of Ronaldson Wylie & Averill for so many years that there had to be a risk of the loss of important commercial clients. In hindsight I suspect that Phil Taylor’s attributes ensured that the risk was minimal, but that may not have been apparent at the time. Sam Maling’s grandfather was a renowned Managing Director of Pyne Gould Guinness Ltd during the 1930s and consequently the connection with that firm was important to him, irrespective of it being a very significant client. Upon Garth Gould’s departure, Sam also felt the risk of loss.

In 1982 Nick Clark became President of the Canterbury District Law Society and Colin Averill was to follow a year later. Both men were then on national committees which met regularly in Wellington, and in Wellington there was regular discussion about the drift of corporate and commercial legal work to Auckland. The solution of a number of the larger Wellington firms was to merge with Auckland firms. Merger was a fashionable expedient. It is not surprising, then, that the possibility of merger arose in discussions between Nick and Colin, nor that Sam Maling was eager to pursue the matter.

Discussions began. Our “cultures” appeared to be similar, the perceived risks would be reduced by the scale and diversity of the new firm, there had to be savings in overheads to be made, and questions of choosing banks, accountants, auditors, insurers, etc. could be overcome. Colin, always positive, was the driving force through several meetings of the selected negotiators of the two firms, of meetings of all partners, and of two meetings of all firm members at which the two “sides” eyed each other with suspicion. My approach was fatalistic – “que sera sera” – but the majority of partners of both firms were in favour of the merger proceeding. It did so on the 1st November 1983.

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The merger brought together twelve men and one woman. Colin Averill was very much the senior practitioner, very much the natural leader, and so it was the unanimous decision that he be chairman of the new firm. Colin was a more than competent lawyer in every aspect of the law, excluding perhaps litigation. He was charming, utterly reliable, had a substantial following of clients, and was respected by all who knew him. He was the perfect leader.

I suppose I was next in line. One should never judge oneself, and I will not, except to acknowledge that I had a loyal clientele, particularly in the rural area, but that by 1983 I was chairman of a private company founded by my wife’s grandfather, and that that role was becoming increasingly more important personally. Possibly I was less involved in endeavouring to make the merger a success than I should have been.

Number 3, Nick Clark, who had joined the Lane Neave & Co partnership in 1968, was simply Nick – the ultimate “safe pair of hands”, the man who cheerfully, but determinedly got the job done. Had he been a member of an America’s Cup yacht

“Full of hope. The 13 merging partners of 1983.”

Back Row – John Matthews, Richard Burtt, Mark Abbot, Ed Wylie, Phil Taylor, Sam Maling, John Brandts-Giesen, Alister McDonald Front Row – Nick Clark, Tony Stackhouse, Colin Averill, John England, Rosemary Aitken

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racing team, he may well have been a grinder, (or cyclist perhaps) but one you would have consulted about weather conditions, tactics, and whatever else might affect the race. Nick was, and remained for many years, the ideal core of the firm, as he would have been of any legal firm.

Fourth on the list was Sam Maling who closely followed Nick Clark into partnership.

If Lane Neave & Co needed a trump card to bring the merger to fruition it was Sam. By then he was an experienced litigator with great legal ability, flair, and excellent connections – a rare beast indeed. Sometimes I suspected the flair masked much hard background work, but maybe that is very often the case. Be that as it may, Sam was perhaps the most persuasive personality of the merger, and no-one worked harder to make it a success.

Phil Taylor left the firm in early 1987 to become a partner in Bell Gully in Auckland, and eventually became one of the most successful commercial lawyers in that city. At the time of the merger he had acquired a reputation of some note, but it was not until I worked closely with him, perforce, in 1985/86 that I fully understood why his eventual success was inevitable. More of that joint situation later, but in the first months of the merger Phil appeared to be a competent lawyer who loved a party. He did in fact love a party, but the truth is that when he was working there was no-one more dedicated; and he was much more than competent. Phil, was definitely a unique ingredient of the merger, and it was sad, if inevitable, that he had little choice but to depart after a short period.

Somehow, I have so far overlooked Tony Stackhouse. Even if he only joined the Lane Neave & Co partnership in 1965, he was admitted to the Bar some ten years before.

By the time of the merger Tony was slowly becoming a victim of his era. Tony was a man of little or no pretension, but one of the most likeable and honest men I have ever known. He was a man happiest, perhaps, in the South Island back-country, and on the one occasion our paths crossed there it was as though he was in his spiritual home.

However, a living had to be made, and he became an expert, truly so, in residential property transactions funded by the (then) State Advances Corporation at very modest interest and repayment levels for first home buyers of little means. Through the 1960s and 1970s he had a thriving practice, even if it were less impressive in terms of fees produced. By the time of the merger most mortgage lending had been taken over by the trading banks, and the State Advances Corporation, by then the Housing Corporation, was fading into non-existence. Tony, in his quiet, accepting way, very soon became an inevitable victim of a changing world, but I suspect it was a happy release.

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John Matthews and Richard Burtt, the two “bright young men” of 1972, were older but still equally bright. Both were men of sophistication, in the best sense of the word, of flair, of style, and of presence, and both had acquired substantial client followings.

John had a bent towards litigation, and loved the sale and purchase of cars and houses. Richard had a more commercial bent, certainly when it came to the sale and purchase of property, but was less obviously interested in motor vehicles. Both had much to offer the new partnership.

I have already alluded to Mark Abbot and John Brandts-Giesen in the previous chapter. They were both young men of talent and of great potential in their different ways. In light of the fact that Colin Averill, Nick Clark, Sam Maling, John Matthews, Ed Wylie and this scribe were products of Christ’s College, and that Phil Taylor and Richard Burtt had a similar educational background at St Andrew’s College, Mark and John’s respective schooling at Shirley Boys’ High School and St Bede’s College added another dimension the new firm clearly needed.

At the time of the merger Ed Wylie had been a partner of Ronaldson Averill & Co for only a brief time. He was indeed the son of Ralph Wylie, but he was yet another product of Christ’s College. More of the same one might imagine. Not so. Ed had a doctorate degree from Cambridge University, and doctorate degrees are not acquired without aspiration, dedication, and obviously, the necessary intellectual ability. Ed had all those qualities “in spades”, as they say, and he was an influential force at the time of the merger, and thereafter. More importantly, Ed added yet another dimension, and at a level of academic achievement which had to add to the firm in every respect.

The final members of the merger were both, as I recall, made partners at the time of the merger, or briefly before with the merger in mind. Alister McDonald, another St Andrew’s College pupil, had joined Lane Neave & Co upon graduation in the late 1970s and was building up a substantial commercial and corporate practice. Yet again, he was a man of sophistication, of intellect, and of wit and charm. Rosemary Aitken, or Rosie Linterman as she became out of the office, was charming, of a background to which none of us could aspire, and even by then, of obvious legal ability. And she was a woman, obviously yet another dimension.

There, then, are the essential elements of the merger – the people. Garth Gould and Ralph Wylie may have departed, but the combined future could only be a success with such material, or so it seemed.

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The New Firm and Departures Again All the merging partners knew that it would take time for a cohesive entity to be created. It soon became clear that we were all compatible. We enjoyed each other’s company, and our occasional partner lunches created a genuine camaraderie.

The regular partners’ meetings were a tedious necessity, but everybody spoke with freedom and there was no evidence of rancour. Very much helped by Colin Averill’s positive leadership, a cohesive entity was in fact created in a shorter time than imagined.

On the other side of the ledger, it was logical that the melding of the two different entities would provide opportunities for an increase in the work available, and thus in fee production. That did not happen to any obvious extent. It was expected that the merger must see a reduction in overheads in a number of areas. Any reductions were minimal. I suspect, too, that several of the younger partners expected that the larger firm would provide opportunities to expand their horizons. In fact the more structured nature, as it necessarily was, of the larger firm possibly contained those horizons.

The expressed goal of being “the pre-eminent law firm in the South Island” was never beyond reach, the firm was a ship sailing on the right course without any sense of mutiny, but somehow the “pot of gold” seemed elusive.

At the outset of the merger there had apparently been a suggestion that all merging partners should commit to the law firm for at least five years. It was never a formal commitment and one to which my fatalistic view of life could never have committed.

My views aside, it was an apparent act of disloyalty, when towards the end of 1986 John Matthews announced his decision to retire from the partnership to become a Barrister Sole. By accident there was a firm dinner some days before his departure, at which it was obviously appropriate that something should be said, at least to wish him a successful future. Within minutes of the appropriate moment for those words to be spoken, I was told that Colin Averill would be highly unpopular in certain quarters, if he said anything in approbation, or supportive of John in any way. Having had great admiration for many of John’s qualities over the previous 14 years, I retired to

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the ablutions area for two minutes, to return and deliver a brief, embarrassed, and inadequate few words. The honeymoon was over.

Why, then, was John the first to depart? The answer is simple. John was intelligent, and over his 15 years in the firm had acquired experience in many aspects of the law.

He could well have built on that experience, but, as noted in the last chapter, his bent was towards litigation, and much of his other work simply bored him, or so it seemed to me. With Sam Maling firmly in the senior litigation position, the future looked frustrating at best. The final catalyst for his decision arose from a brief overseas trip he made with Richard Burtt in mid-1986. He commented to Richard that away from the firm he felt a sense of freedom. Two colleagues who had recently set up as Barristers Sole had indicated a similar feeling on making that move. John’s move was inevitable; and it was no surprise that his career as a Barrister was a success both here and in Queenstown and that he is now an Associate Judge of the High Court.

The period from 1982 until the sharemarket “crash” of October 1987 was one of frenetic commercial activity. Ballins Industries, Phil Taylor’s principal client, had been taken over by Magnum Corporation, run by the dynamic Bob Matthew, and in early 1987 the decision was made to move the headquarters of the business to Auckland. There was a partnership available to Phil in Bell Gully Buddle Weir in Auckland, and the business would be lost to him unless he moved. Once again the move was inevitable.

The second departure of 1987 was perhaps less expected. At the time of the merger Mark Abbot had a substantial following of mainly private clients who clearly held him in high esteem. At times Mark appeared to have difficulty coping with the work he attracted, but he seemed to enjoy his work nevertheless. It was, then, a surprise to most of us when Mark gave notice of his resignation from the firm, and of his intention to give up the law to join a wholesale travel business for which he acted, and which was growing at speed. In fact Mark returned to the legal profession some two years later, but not to the firm.

The final departure of 1987, from the partnership if not the firm, was my own. The private family company of which I had been chairman since 1982 was a happy beneficiary of the commercial boom of the mid-1980s. The sales, profitability, and value of the company had increased dramatically over that period. Private companies often reach the stage where they cannot fulfil the expectations of all shareholders, particularly if different generations are involved. I felt this to be the position in this case, and so towards the end of 1986 I reached the conclusion that either the company should

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be listed on the Stock Exchange, or it should be sold. The family agreed, preferring sale to listing, and by mid-1987 a sale was completed at a figure no-one envisaged even months before. My modest personal investment in the company was sufficient to warrant some action being taken for its protection, at least from the dangers of business partnership. I could have chosen other steps but, when considered in light of my growing dislike of the formalities of the larger firm, particularly partners’ meetings, the simple decision was to retire as a partner and become a consultant. I did so.

Rightly or wrongly, I felt some disloyalty in reaching my decision. I had not been an eager participant in the merger, but nevertheless I was a willing party. My retiring meant that four of thirteen partners had retired within the first four years of the merger.

Internally it cannot have made it easier for the remaining partners, especially for Colin Averill at the helm, and to the outside world, especially the ubiquitous critics in the rest of the profession, the merger must have seemed very fragile. More was to come.

1988 was a comparatively peaceful year. There were no departures, and at the end of the year an additional partner was admitted. The previous year had seen changes to the gift duty ramifications of agreements under the Matrimonial Property Act with the effect that happily married couples could rearrange their affairs without fear of duty, provided the end result was an equal sharing of assets and both parties had separate legal advice. There was a flush of agreements, and several of us used one Geoffrey Cone, an employee of another legal firm in the building, for the purposes of separate advice. He was clearly intelligent, thoughtful, diligent, and had a manner of polite charm. He was a family man with two young children. When, towards the end of 1988, he expressed an interest in joining the firm, he had unanimous support. There lies a story to be told.

The following year began in similar vein. Colin Averill had retired as chairman of the firm after more than five years of what can only be described as valiant effort in difficult circumstances. He had maintained a positive attitude throughout, and that must at times have been very difficult. His successor, Sam Maling, was as much a leader as Colin had been, but with his own style. Sam had strong views as to the future direction of the firm which were not to be denied. Among other views, he had the clear belief that the future success of the profession as a whole lay in diversification into specialised areas of the law. The reliance on the simple division between conveyancing, (elementary property law) and Common Law (basic litigation) would not be enough.

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Sam’s views had a major effect on the direction of the firm over the next four years, but the pressing decision the firm had to make that year was whether or not to move to the new PriceWaterhouse building due for completion the following year. The premises in Amuri Courts were adequate but were certainly less than glamorous. They represented, after all, the conversion of part of a carparking building to professional offices. The move would involve a considerable increase in rental expenses, but several of the partners felt that a move to the more impressive premises was vital for the future success of the firm, especially in the corporate and commercial areas. For better or worse, the decision to move was made, subject to agreement as to various details.

As the year came to its last three months, the move to the PriceWaterhouse building seemed more certain. The substantial rental aside, the term of the lease was to be fifteen years and it was unclear whether or not a retiring partner would be released from his obligations during that term. Ed Wylie, who was always destined to follow his father to the Bar and on to the High Court bench, as he has now done, then gave notice that he would soon retire. This was a blow for the firm, but once again it was inevitable sooner or later. At roughly the same time, perhaps earlier, Richard Burtt gave notice to retire at the end of the year. Richard contends that after 15 years of partnership he felt the need for a new challenge, and that there was no other reason.

I suspect Richard is too canny for that to be entirely true, but perhaps I misjudge him.

Whatever the case, it was yet another major blow for the firm, as Richard had built up a substantial practice.

Finally, on the debit side of the ledger, at least from a firm perspective, during the course of the year Rosie Aitken had announced that she was pregnant with the baby due early in 1990. At that time nobody would have expected Rosie to remain a fulltime partner, even after a period of matrimonial leave. That proved to be the case, although Rosie remains a valued consultant to this day.

The result at the end of the decade, after the first six years of the merger, was that seven of the thirteen merging partners had retired, or given notice to retire, from the partnership.

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Consolidation then Night Flight The depleted partnership began the new decade with the prospect of the move to the PriceWaterhouse Centre. To move any business enterprise of size requires planning, effort, and dedication, but there is always an element of excitement which has a morale-boosting effect upon partners and staff alike. Such was the case when the move took place successfully towards the end of 1990, even if by then the partners knew that the agreed rental may well be considerably more than a market rental for some years to come.

During the course of that year there was the takeover, at reasonable price, of Murchison and Wood, a legal firm then owned and run by Andrew Everist.

Donald Sinclair Murchison, from the well-known Lake Coleridge farming family, started legal practice on his own account in 1923 and was joined in 1928 by Peter Hallows Wood of the long-established milling family. It was a small, but successful practice with a number of individual clients reflecting the backgrounds of the original partners, and several successful commercial clients. Andrew was a very competent practitioner, with a background entirely suited to the traditional Murchison and Wood clients, but with a natural personal leaning to the commercial side of the practice. He was a partner in the firm for a number of years and then became the sole proprietor upon the retirement of Sinclair Murchison’s son, Neil. After several years of sole practice, Andrew found the need to escape the strain, or building stress, of being a sole practitioner. Size aside, there were many similarities between the two firms, so after brief negotiations the purchase was made, and Andrew became a Lane Neave consultant.

1990 also heralded the appointment of four new partners to the firm. Adrienne Edwards was an able litigator with a strong leaning towards family law. Sally Cantrell had a successful general practice but had also acquired an expertise in banking law.

Julie Hutton had a similar practice but with expertise in a number of areas arising from the Building Act and allied statutory and local body provisions. Paulo Kundig, with a degree from the USA, and a fascinating personal background from Europe and both the American continents, had begun practice in the firm as a commercial lawyer but was ideally suited to his speciality in immigration, which even by then was his primary

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area of practice. All four partners were vibrant, outgoing, and very capable, and all four had the specialist talents Sam Maling believed vital to the firm’s success.

In April 1992 two further partners were admitted. Glenn Jones had been a young litigator in the firm since graduation in 1985, worked primarily with Sam Maling, and had gained considerable experience in the civil litigation field. Michael Howard, the second partner admitted, had several years’ experience in commercial law in a major firm in Auckland before proving his abilities in his brief time in Christchurch prior to his admission.

During this period it became apparent that the PriceWaterhouse rental was well above current market rates and that this was a major reason for the profitability of the firm being less than hoped. It was also clear that the Murchison & Wood purchase was not providing the boost expected. Andrew Everist was becoming more and more involved with his manufacturing business, and thus his special “street-wise” quality was lost to his major commercial clients. Those clients were thus lost to the firm, as were several of his more substantial farming clients, who probably found the larger firm impersonal. Also during this period Tony Stackhouse decided to retire as a partner, but he remained a full-time consultant for several years, with a loyal, if aging clientele.

In 1993 Sam Maling decided it was time for him to retire from his role as chairman of the firm. He did so, having done much to achieve less fragility in many aspects of the firm, and most importantly, having driven the need for specialisation. Every legal firm of size, in any city even of modest size, has based itself on specialisation, if it is successful today. Sam may not have been a consensus chairman, but he was very much what the firm needed at the time, and perhaps not surprisingly, almost every partner of the firm today is a specialist in one area or another.

Sam’s retirement as chairman produced, for the first time, an element of competition for appointment to the vacant position. The two competitors were John Brandts-Giesen and Geoff Cone. Upon the basis of seniority John should have been appointed but he perhaps lacked the so-called “star” quality because he chose to practise in several areas, rather than specialise. Geoff, on the other hand, had an enigmatic quality about him, but could exude charm whenever required. He was charismatic, and at times he could produce outstanding results. He became chairman.

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Geoff Cone’s appointment as chairman had little immediate effect upon the firm.

In early 1994, however, John Brandts-Giesen gave notice of his intention to retire, and he did so at the end of May that year. I always felt that John was, at least to an extent, aggrieved by not having been appointed chairman, but he has assured me that was not the case. Obviously, and with some clairvoyance, he felt Geoff Cone was the wrong choice, but his primary reason for departure was the realisation that he was in the wrong place. The drive in the firm was to create specialties, but John had talents in several areas and he wanted to remain a general practitioner. The end result was that he began practice in Rangiora, and for more than 20 years he ran one of the more successful firms in the area, culminating in his recent well-deserved appointment as a District Court Judge. His departure was yet another significant loss to the firm.

I took no part in the chairmanship decision, but at the time I felt that Geoff Cone was the right choice. Within perhaps a year I had my doubts for various reasons.

The partners of 1993 (excluding Adrienne Edwards) at the dinner that year marking the 10th year of the merged firm.

Back Row – Colin Averill, John Brandts-Giesen, Sam Maling, Nick Clark, Alister McDonald, Sally Cantrell, Geoff Cone Front Row – Paulo Kundig, Julie Hutton, Michael Howard, Glenn Jones

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A fine 1993 study (at the same dinner) of the four senior partners surviving from the 1983 merger.

Colin Averill, John Brandts-Giesen, Sam Maling, Nick Clark

These doubts were confirmed by the extraordinary events of the partners’ weekend “retreat” in 1995 at Okuku Lodge in North Canterbury. “Retreats” of this kind are always planned with serious intent, but usually end up being largely social events.

That said, on this occasion the dinner on Saturday night was to be followed by a serious session on the Sunday morning lead by the chairman, Geoff Cone. At some point on the Saturday night Geoff spoke to Colin Averill, still a dedicated partner in every respect, of various suggestions he proposed to make the following morning.

Subsequently that evening Colin indicated to Sam Maling that he had been speaking to Geoff and that he thought many of Geoff’s ideas were “very interesting”. Sam and Geoff were “rooming” together, and eventually both were in their beds. I doubt that Sam was tossing and turning awaiting the morning’s revelations, but that aside, he woke well before dawn feeling cold. There was a breeze in the room and it soon became apparent that the window was wide open and that the other bed in the room was empty. The morning came and went and early in the afternoon a message was received advising that the chairman was in Fiji. That was the last connection of the firm with a remarkable talent, if inspired, and one can only speculate as to the ideas which may have been revealed that Sunday morning.

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The End of a Millennium The sudden departure of Geoff Cone was yet another blow. The method of its happening was stunning in fact, but there were still enough wise old heads to keep the ship afloat, if not on an entirely even keel.

One of the obvious effects of the departure was that there were a number of files left unattended. Alistair Bowers, a talented litigator, had been employed some three years before. He was assigned to these vacant files and did a very good job of completing what was required. It is always difficult to take over any file mid-stream, as Nick Clark and I had learnt upon Max Eales’ stroke 30 years before, and it was no surprise that Alistair was eventually offered a partnership, which he accepted.

I recall little of 1996 but 1997 was immediately notable for the employment as an associate of Bill Dwyer. Bill Dwyer had been a school teacher for a short period, decided to complete a law degree, and then worked as a commercial lawyer with Phil Taylor in Bell Gully & Co in Auckland. Subsequently he was employed in London with the legal giant Freshfields, and he then worked for a period in a London merchant bank. Thus, recommended by Phil Taylor, he came with eight years of very impressive experience, and he was a partner by the end of that year. In fact his legal talents, Liverpudlian charm, and strong personality were such that he was a very influential part of the firm almost immediately.

The changes which occurred in the last three years of the decade were such that it is difficult to remember the precise chronology. Many records were lost in the 2011 earthquake, of course, so please forgive any vagueness of timing. Having made that plea, it was some time in 1997, as I recall, that the decision was made to employ a Chief Executive. For some years there had been a Practice Manager, but his (and later her) role was very much subservient to the partners. The Chief Executive’s role was to direct the partners, a very different proposition.

The man chosen as Chief Executive was Nic Cooper. Nic was an accountant by training, and doubtless a very competent one, but most importantly he had impressive management qualifications. He was a pleasant man in every respect, but inevitably he

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was imbued with the management theory of his training. The writings of one Joseph Juran, a renowned quality management consultant who had advised Otis Elevators, Xerox, Toyota and many other similar companies, were the essence of this theory.

Juran was his guru, or so it seemed.

From the outset it was obvious to me that Nic and a number of the partners may be on a collision course, even if major damage could be avoided. The essential problem of the firm was not quality management. In fact my impression was that despite the comings and goings of the firm since the merger, the quality of work produced was generally very good. All the traditional areas of law were well served, excluding major criminal law which had never been a strength, and specialists had emerged in the new areas of Resource Management, Employment, and Immigration law. Although dramatic change was in the wind, our systems worked well, and the staff were generally hard-working and happy. The essential problem, at least as I saw it, was that the movement of partners had created a feeling of instability among the partners, and that the moderate profitability and consequent debt levels failed to discourage further partner movement. There was an element of chicken and egg in the situation, and it was a situation which could not be rectified without the firmest resolve. That was to come, but not for some time.

Another aspect of Nic Cooper’s reign which surfaced in his first four months was his use of language. The so-called “management speak” of the American business schools prevailed. In my boyhood days I had been used to the delivery to our home of coal, firewood, fish, meat and milk, but I had never envisaged the “delivery” of professional services. Nor did I expect that our clients would be told on a regular basis that these services we were about to “deliver” would, without fail it seemed, “exceed one’s expectations”. There were several similar expressions I cannot now recall. It is all commonplace today but at the time it was soon obvious that a number of partners, if not a majority, were having difficulty “buying in” (an expression I have remembered in the course of a sentence) to the new regime. Very simply, Lane Neave Ronaldson was not Xerox or Toyota. The structural hierarchy of those companies, as I imagine it must have been, was very different from a law firm of a dozen or so lawyers who saw themselves as equals. In many ways I have sympathy for Nic Cooper. He was a man in the wrong place through no fault of his own.

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If Nic’s efforts to impart the benefit of the teachings of Juran and of modern management theory were doomed to failure, he nevertheless made a major change which was of critical benefit to the future of the firm. On several occasions I recall him propounding the view that we must have what he described as “desk-top facsimile”. My view was that the walk to one or other of the facsimile machines dotted about the office may well have been beneficial, but in my Luddite way I doubtless misinterpreted what was intended. Nic was in fact referring to desk-top computers capable of what we now know, and take for granted, as email. I suspect many of the partners questioned the substantial expense. Nevertheless the computers were installed in 1999, and the firm was equipped to face the 21st century and the electronic age. Had that step not been taken, the firm may well have lagged behind its competitors with disastrous results.

That was Nic Cooper’s lasting legacy.

As what now seems to be a frivolous side issue, it should be recorded that throughout the last years of the millennium the business world became more and more fearful of the electronic disasters which would occur when the clocks struck midnight on 31st December 1999. Electronic chaos was predicted, and we in New Zealand would be the first to succumb. Having driven the introduction of the new electronic equipment, Nic Cooper was highly sensitive to the situation. Thus the Y2K committee was formed, and no stone was left unturned. Every imaginable problem was considered and a solution found, or so the committee hoped. As it transpired, the millennia changed, nothing happened, and the committee disbanded in relief.

It will be no surprise that during the last years of the decade, there were several changes in the partnership. In 1998 Monica Ryan, a Trusts and Estate Administration specialist, and Amanda Dewar, an expert in Resource Management law, joined the partnership. In 1999 four more partners were added – Andrew Shaw, a specialist in Employment law, Gerard Thwaites and Mark Tavendale both specialising in Rural law, still a strength of the firm, and David Goodman, skilled and experienced in the Commercial field.

As always, it seemed, the admissions were to be matched by departures. In 1993 Sally Cantrell and Alistair Bowers had become partners, in a personal sense, and they had their first baby some time later. At that time the inevitable result was that Sally retired from the partnership to become a consultant, but for some years she remained one of the more efficient and productive elements of the firm, even if working from home for much of the time.

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From the time of his joining the partnership in 1992, Michael Howard had shown much promise as a Commercial lawyer. He perhaps lacked natural charisma, but he was able, reliable, hard-working, and occasionally showed flashes of real humour. Then, over a period of months, even a year perhaps, his behaviour became increasingly erratic and the quality of his work diminished considerably. It was suspected that he was unwell, but the true situation was not revealed at the time. Michael was asked to leave and unfortunately within months he was dead. It turned out that he had an incurable brain tumour, and if the true situation had been known, the partnership may have reacted very differently. Times have changed in some respects, but Max Eales was “carried” as a partner for nearly five years in the 1960s. As it was, the firm was vilified in one of the eulogies at Michael’s funeral. Whether that was fair or not, it was a tragic chapter of events.

If the circumstances of Michael Howard’s departure were a tragedy, the next departure in early 1999 was a body blow to the firm. Sam Maling, who for years had formed the backbone of the firm with Colin Averill and Nick Clark, had become a director of Pyne Gould Guiness Ltd, the major local stock and station agency company with which his family had been involved since its inception. His grandfather had been the managing director of the company through the Depression and was revered by the company’s farmer clients. It was not surprising that the intention was for Sam to become Chairman of the company, and when that duly happened it was inevitable that Sam would leave to become a Barrister, in light of the time involved in the chairmanship role. His departure was indeed a body blow to the firm but, after 30 or so years of dedicated partnership, he could not be blamed in any way for taking the step he did. Sam’s departure was followed in the last year of the decade by those of Paulo Kündig, Adrienne Edwards, and Julie Hutton (if from the partnership to consultancy, rather than from the firm).

During the course of a “retreat” at the George Hotel in Park Terrace, Paulo Kündig resigned because he thought the partnership would be discussing the core issue of profitability rather than management issues he regarded as peripheral. He was also concerned as to the effect of Sam Maling’s resignation upon the future of the firm.

No-one could argue with Paulo’s decision. He was, by then, solely an Immigration specialist, and the firm as such had little to offer him.

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Adrienne Edwards had joined the firm as what I understand to be described as a “mature graduate�. In other words, in her specific case, she had completed a law degree after having brought up four children. Her mentor in the firm had been Sam Maling, but despite that, her practice had become almost entirely in the Family Law field, with emphasis, not surprisingly, on the rights and best interests of children.

Income, if not irrelevant, was not the dominant influence, and so to take the spacious spare room Sam had in his new chambers must have been too attractive to refuse.

So it proved.

As to Julie Hutton, she remains a consultant in the firm to this day, if in the limited area of Notarial verification, but in 1999 she was a vibrant, charming, productive partner.

She was, however, the wife of a successful share broker, and at that time the mother of a young son. To retire to consultancy was an obvious choice.

So to the new millennium.

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Another Merger I should perhaps by now have acknowledged that for most of the last three years of the 1990s I was Chairman of the firm. At the request of Sam Maling and Alister McDonald I had agreed to accept the role, unaware at the time that a Chief Executive had been appointed. Had I been aware of that appointment, I suspect I would have refused. One of the roles of a Chairman is to support the Chief Executive whenever possible, which puts the Chairman of a legal firm in the middle of the sandwich, if any of the partners are antagonistic to the Chief Executive’s ideas. That, of course, proved to be the case, and as a result the drama of Michael Howard’s departure, the body blow of Sam Maling’s inevitable decision, and the subsequent departures were all events over which I had much less influence than I would have liked. Without wishing to seem unnecessarily self-deprecating, perhaps I, too, was a man in the wrong place.

The firm staggered into the new century. For three months there was little of excitement but then came the Thursday of Easter week which produced the final drama, or perhaps melodrama, of my period as Chairman. On the morning of that Thursday Alister McDonald appeared in my office to announce his resignation to become a partner of Chapman Tripp, one of the major legal firms in the country. Despite the emergence of Bill Dwyer, Alister was still the senior Corporate/Commercial lawyer in the firm, and he had two very substantial clients of obvious attraction to any suitor.

Subsequent history has proved both clients to have been more attractive than the most astute analyst could then have envisaged. In fact, one of those clients would now rank amid the top few clients of any New Zealand legal firm. Obviously, then, Alister’s resignation was yet another blow to the firm, and it set in motion a series of events which ended up less dramatically than may have perhaps been intended in some quarters at the time, but which eventually led to the firm which exists today.

At this stage I should explain that the firm had, and probably still has, two levels of partnership. Most partners on first admission were paid an attractive salary but had no financial interest in the goodwill or assets of the business. Known, less than surprisingly, as “salaried’ partners they were indemnified against any business risk by the full or “equity” partners. After some years of probation they were offered full

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partnership which required a contribution to the assets and working capital of the firm, attracted substantially more remuneration, at least in a successful year, but brought exposure to the business risk. Several partners then chose, and have subsequently chosen, to remain salaried partners. Not so David Goodman and Mark Tavendale.

By Easter 2000 they had been salaried partners for little more than a year, but they were eager to progress to full partnership as soon as possible. Their talents probably justified that progression. However, despite their eagerness to progress, they were less than eager to make any contribution of substance to the finances of the firm, perhaps justifiably. In normal circumstances that stance had to create an impasse.

Late in the morning of the Saturday afternoon of that Easter I had a telephone call from David and Mark indicating they wished to see me urgently, clearly in my role as Chairman. I agreed, but took the precaution of calling in Glenn Jones who was then acting as Managing Partner, the Chief Executive’s term having expired. At the meeting of the four of us later that afternoon it soon became clear that there was evidence, from whatever source, that Alistair Bowers had been having discussions with another firm with a view to moving to that firm. Unlike David and Mark, I viewed this as less than treasonous in light of the recent history of the firm. Nevertheless I could see the potential for disaster, Alister McDonald having given notice of his resignation but two days before. Any more drama and the circumstances may well have become catastrophic. As it was, I convened a meeting of all partners, excluding Alister McDonald and Alistair Bowers, for the Easter Monday afternoon, and I like to think that I had some part in the decision to take no precipitate action. It was agreed that a “wait and see” position should be taken. I suspect that was not the decision for which David and Mark had hoped, but I may well be unfair in that suspicion.

Over the next few weeks it became clear that one or more partners had spoken privately with Alistair Bowers and, that as a result those partners and Alistair had had further discussions with the outside firm, presumably with a view to merger. When I became aware of the situation, on an unofficial basis, I breathed a sigh of relief.

Despite being Chairman I had been excluded from important discussions. I was, as they say, “out of the loop” and consequently I had no compunction in resigning.

Possibly it was a relief to all concerned.

The firm involved in the discussions was Wolfe Stone & Langhams, whose roots lay in a practice founded by Clarence Vivian Quigley in the early 1920s. The practice was based on conveyancing and was clearly very successful. Both sons, Hugh and Paul, who joined their father in partnership in the early 1960s, showed elements of

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affluence from an early age. The two sons were two very different men – the one outgoing, confident, even pompous; the other charming, self-effacing, and, dare I say it, possibly too gentle a man to enjoy a lifetime practising law. Despite their differences, both sons were able lawyers, and after the death of the father in 1975 they continued the practice very successfully. In 1982 they employed a young lawyer, Michael Wolfe, who became a partner in 1985. His early days of peaceful partnership were short-lived. In 1989 Paul Quigley was diagnosed with life-threatening cancer, and his days as a partner were soon at an end. At roughly the same time Michael realised there were serious anomalies in the operation of the firm’s trust account. He concluded that the Law Society must be alerted, even if that implicated his senior partner, the much older Hugh Quigley. He did so, a brave, if essential move, and eventually Hugh was convicted of several offences of dishonesty, and imprisoned.

A corollary of Hugh Quigley’s activities was that the firm owed a very substantial sum of money to a national finance company. It is a principle of partnership that all partners are liable for the debts of the partnership, even if the debts have been created by only one of the partners. Hugh was in no position to repay the finance company debt, thus bankruptcy proceedings were brought against Michael Wolfe and another young partner, Andrew Cadenhead, who had become a partner just as these events were to unfold. The proceedings came before High Court Judge Allan Holland, later Sir Allan Holland. Justice Holland was noted for the clarity of his decisions and of his opinions on most matters. Be it discussion or formal hearing, one soon became aware of the view he was likely to take. Some years later the managing director of a trading company listed on the Stock Exchange was in little doubt well before the end of the hearing that there was no escaping being a party to the publication of misleading financial accounts. In the case of Wolfe and Cadenhead, it was soon apparent that Justice Holland had some sympathy for two innocent young practitioners whose legal careers would be destroyed by bankruptcy. I suspect he had rather less sympathy for the corporate money lender which could well absorb the occasional loss. On at least six occasions he found reason to adjourn the proceedings. On the last occasion he was about to take three months’ sabbatical leave. He not only adjourned the proceedings but directed the Registrar not to re-instate them until he was able to preside in person upon his return. My understanding is that the finance company then gave up what seemed to be an uneven battle. Whatever the case, two young legal careers were saved.

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Sadly, in May 1992 Paul Quigley died. In the meantime, Michael had retained Paul as a consultant, as he and Andrew Cadenhead started to re-build the firm. They were subsequently joined by Bevan Stone, a very capable general practitioner in the traditional sense, and then by the mercurial Geoffrey Langham, who brought with him Simon Clay, a litigator of many talents. Before discussions with Lane Neave began, Andrew Cadenhead decided to start a separate firm concentrating on Accident Compensation law, but the remaining four were all part of the mix.

From Lane Neave’s viewpoint, Michael Wolfe, by then a highly regarded commercial lawyer, would fill, perhaps more than fill, the gap left by Alister McDonald. The combination of Geoffrey Langham and Simon Clay would be very different in style from Sam Maling, but might well fill that gap more than adequately. From Wolfe Stone and Langham’s perspective, Michael Wolfe had one particular client, a substantial public company, which was obviously very important to the firm. As is often the case with public companies, the client had indicated, or at least implied, a desire for the perceived safety of a larger firm.

The advantages to both parties were obvious, and the merger took place in December 2000. So began the path to the very different firm which exists today.

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The Last Seventeen Years The first two years of the newly merged firm gave the impression that little had changed.

David Goodman and Mark Tavendale remained ambitious for advancement and the merger had probably disadvantaged their respective causes. At the same time I suspect they were cynical of the prospects of the new firm. Early in August 2001 they announced their intention to leave to form their own firm at the end of August, taking with them two associates, Pru Steven and Kelvin Reid. In true Liverpudlian style Bill Dwyer’s immediate reaction was: “No you’re not, you’re leaving now”. One or other of the leading absconders was frog-marched to the lift, and by the end of the day the four were desperately trying to find temporary premises and to obtain signed authorities to enable documents and files to be uplifted.

There was an element of comedy about the departure, but the reality was that the merged firm had lost four experienced practitioners within its first year. As for Goodman and Tavendale, it is probable that their talents and ambitions would have been satisfied only by the step they took. It would have happened sooner or later almost certainly, and maybe the sooner was the better. As for Pru Steven, a highly respected lawyer in the Resource Management field, she probably saw her path as blocked by the incumbent Amanda Dewar, a very different personality, but held in equally high regard. Kelvin Reid’s reasons are less clear to me, but I imagine he too, as an ambitious young litigator, could envisage more opportunities in the new firm.

As it transpired, Goodman Steven Tavendale soon became a very successful firm, but somehow they always seemed a disparate quartet. They were drawn together by the apparent need to leave to achieve their respective ambitions, but I had the feeling from the outset that those ambitions would lead them on their separate ways sooner or later. Perhaps it was later rather than sooner, but after some years Pru Steven left to become a Barrister Sole, and has since been appointed a Queen’s Counsel. The firm became Goodman Tavendale Reid, but after some further years Kelvin Reid left, also to become a Barrister Sole. Then finally, after some fourteen years, the inevitable split between David Goodman and Mark Tavendale occurred.

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David Goodman joined the Dunedin-based legal giant, Anderson Lloyd, as a partner, and Mark Tavendale formed Tavendale and Partners. Doubtless David has fulfilled his ambition of becoming a partner, and doubtless a senior one, of one of the more respected legal firms in New Zealand. Mark now heads what is probably the most influential firm in the South Island concentrating on rural law. I imagine all four are happy with the end result.

Returning to Lane Neave, the first years of the merger saw the slow breakdown of the marriage of Alistair Bowers and Sally Cantrell. Probably the process had begun some years before but, that aside, the eventual outcome was that in 2002 they both left the firm and moved to Queenstown in an effort to repair their relationship. It was indeed sad that that effort failed, but the sadness for the new firm was the simple fact of their departure. Less than two years had seen three partners and three associates depart.

Nevertheless it is perhaps the ultimate sadness that within the last year Alistair died in a tragic car accident. He was an unusual man, a man with a bizarre and inescapable sense of humour, a man, at times, of charm and sensitivity, but a man who perhaps could not order his many talents.

Despite the defections, there were signs from the outset of the merger that the two “strong men”, Bill Dwyer and Michael Wolfe, were determined to make the new firm work. If changes were needed, they would be made. Although by then my knowledge of the inner workings of the partnership had diminished, it was clear that the Wolfe Stone partners were surprised by the level of debt the old Lane Neave had brought to the merger. Dwyer and Wolfe, presumably with the concurrence of all partners, resolved to reduce the problem.

Debt can obviously be reduced, if a percentage of profits is ruthlessly applied to its reduction at the expense of partner drawings. Equally obviously, this process is more palatable if profit can be increased. For some years Bill Dwyer had acted for one Stephen Collins who had masterminded the conversion of a small but highly regarded Wellington real estate business, Harcourts, into the leading real estate company in Christchurch. He was an expert in “branding”, franchising, and in business generally.

To me, he seemed a strange personality to be appointed as Chairman of the firm, but as it transpired he was the ideal choice. His direct, no-nonsense, almost brash business style was exactly what the firm needed at the time. It seemed to strike the right chord with the majority of the partners, and with the staff. A legal practice was a business like any other business and had to be run like a business. That began to happen.

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With Stephen Collins at the helm, Meryll Waters, who had been Practice Manager since 1997, was appointed General Manager in 2002. Meryll became an integral part of what was the start of a new phase in the firm’s history. I will write more of Meryll but in the present context it should simply be recorded that she was at the centre of the turnaround in the firm’s fortunes which then occurred.

There were, of course, further changes in the personnel of the firm. After some years Geoffrey Langham decided to leave the practice of law to pursue a career in business.

In one respect this was a major loss, as Geoffrey was a very able litigator, a man who could “pull the rabbit out of the hat”, as Michael Wolfe recently put it. On the other hand, Geoffrey was very much an individual who had strong opinions and who did things in his own way. Individuals are difficult to accommodate in any partnership, and I suspect Geoffrey’s resignation was accepted with relief in some quarters.

Some time later an event occurred, the details of which I have never fully understood.

I imagine it was a legacy of the drive for greater production and profitability, but that may only be part of the story. Whatever the case, the result was the departure of Monica Ryan and Bevan Stone. As Monica Ryan has subsequently returned to the firm in a position of equal, if not more influence, one can assume that her worth was recognised, and the situation rectified. Bevan Stone’s departure, however, has proved permanent; and it is a loss, even if one which I suppose was inevitable. Bevan was, as I have already mentioned, a general practitioner in the traditional sense. He was conscientious, reliable, and always dignified. Thirty years before, perhaps even more recently, he would have ranked among the best of his genre, a genre which then constituted more than fifty percent of the profession. Sadly, times had changed and Bevan was a victim of those changes.

During the first seven or eight years of the merged firm I remained in reasonably close touch with the partners who were driving the firm, and with the management team.

For some years I worked, if on an ad hoc basis, with Simon Clay on several trust and family law issues which kept me in touch with the firm, and with the law in a general sense. Simon Clay, clearly intelligent, apparently “laid back”, but in fact diligent and highly sensitive, was a delight to work with, and with whom to share the occasional Friday lunch. Much of that work came from Perpetual Trust which was then owned

by Pyne Gould Corporation, essentially the same company with which the firm had been associated since 1919, but now very much dependent for success on one of its finance company subsidiaries. With the so-called Global Financial Crisis of 2007-

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2008 the financial world was thrown into turmoil, and Perpetual Trust was partially dismantled, and then sold to Australian interests. Thus my diminishing usefulness went into steep decline, and with the earthquakes of 2010-2011 my role was reduced to that of a trustee of a small number of trusts and continuing estates. My Lane Neave days were effectively over.

In light of my reduced role in the firm it was perhaps little more than an accident that I was in the office shortly before lunchtime on the morning of 22 February 2011, the day of the major earthquake in which 185 lives were lost. The firm was then located on the 14th and 15th floors of the 20-storey PriceWaterhouse Centre, and to be at that height in a major earthquake was a terrifying experience. Nevertheless, if there was panic in several parts of the city where buildings collapsed, our building swayed alarmingly but remained intact, enabling an orderly evacuation down the two stairwells, one of which was unlit. Certainly screaming accompanied every aftershock, especially in the unlit stairwell, but the execution of the whole process was a tribute to those responsible.

There were several immediate effects of the earthquake in relation to the firm. All partner motor vehicles were parked, together with those of many other building occupants, in the basement of the building. The underground streams in that part of the city were well-known, and within minutes of the first shake the basement began to fill with water. Almost all vehicles were lost, including a Bentley and a Porsche, with the only vehicles saved being the four-wheel-drives of Simon Clay and Matt Maling who surreptitiously managed to enter the basement before the flooding was prohibitive.

The building itself was unable to be occupied (and was eventually demolished) and new premises had to be found. As a result of the Wolfe Stone merger in 2000 the firm had acquired a branch office at the beginning of the Main North Road in Papanui.

This office was largely unaffected by the earthquakes, could accommodate some additional people, and enabled the trust account to be kept in operation, a critical factor. Additional space was created by the temporary use of partner and staff homes, a very inconvenient situation for all concerned. After a brief period offices were found in Addington, Victoria Street and Burnside and a car was purchased to keep some semblance of contact between the separate entities. Eventually the Addington and Burnside premises were replaced by two further offices in Victoria Street – a great improvement, but still a situation which was less than ideal.

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Over recent years the world has become more and more reliant upon electronic information. This is true of lawyers, but lawyers remain, at least to some extent, dependent upon documents and “hard copy� files. For many weeks after the earthquake no access to the PriceWaterhouse building was possible. Irrespective of the state of the building, the inner city was behind a cordon manned by the army. In time, however, restrictions were relaxed and Gerard Thwaites has described to me how some of the younger, fitter and stronger partners, armed with special security passes, climbed the many flights of stairs required to reach and recover most of the essential documents and files. No lift was available, of course. The star climber was one of the most athletic of the partners, Stephen Jeffery, who made 14 ascents of the building over a period of weeks, descending with mountaineering packs full of files and documents both back and front, using the handrail as support. On his final descent he decided to add two handbags to an already remarkable load, thus losing the handrail support. The result was perhaps inevitable. Early in his descent he lost his footing, at the least spraining an ankle. His fellow partners having recovered the packs and handbags with reluctant grace, and Stephen having hobbled to the ground floor, he eventually sought medical advice to receive a diagnosis of no serious injury. Stephen struggled on for several weeks, realised the pain was not diminishing, and then sought further medical advice to learn, for the first time, that he had a spiral fracture, which was nevertheless healing satisfactorily. They were testing times.

So to the last seven years and the firm today. There have, of course been departures.

In 2011 Bill Dwyer, one of the strengths of the corporate/commercial arm of the firm, was asked to join the then highly successful, state-owned enterprise, Solid Energy, on a full-time basis to prepare it for listing on the Stock Exchange. He did so, but returned to the firm when the listing was aborted upon the catastrophic fall in the price of coal in the Chinese market in 2013. By then, however, the firm had learnt to live without Bill, as it had to do, and his return was brief. Duncan Webb, who almost overnight became the leading insurance law expert in the city, or at least the one most exposed in the media, left the firm in 2016 to pursue his political ambitions, an inevitable step. At much the same time Glenn Jones left the firm to become a Barrister Sole, but that was a natural progression for a litigator who had been a partner for over 20 years.

On the other side of the ledger, the firm’s website shows that there are now 25 partners and 81 other legally qualified staff. It is a firm of roughly double the size it was at the time of the earthquake. There have been a number of reasons for this growth, and I am indebted to Andrew Shaw, Simon Clay and Gerard Thwaites for the insights they have given me in this regard.

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From 2011 to late 2015 the firm remained in four separate offices, in itself a management nightmare. At the same time the Queenstown and Auckland offices, created before and just after the earthquakes, both grew substantially. The earthquakes themselves created new opportunities, insurance and construction law being obvious examples. Meryll Waters, by then Chief Executive, struggled with the management pressures which arose and eventually in 2015, to use her words, “hit the wall” and she resigned. Possibly the firm had grown beyond Meryll’s management skills, but she nevertheless had to have been a major part of keeping the firm together in the most difficult of circumstances.

Meryll’s resignation led to an inevitable change in the management system. The partners recognised that they were not managers, and that good management, especially financial management, was vital for the firm to thrive. Led by Bryan Pearson, a businessman of considerable experience who had then been Chairman of the firm for some years, and Michael Wolfe, whose difficult role as Managing Partner over many years had been vital to the firm’s survival, formed a management committee together with the new Chief Executive, Peter Dwan and the new Finance Manager, Tania Webb. In addition, a board was formed which included several of the established partners together with the core management team. The personnel changed in 2018 with Andrew Shaw replacing Michael Wolfe as Managing Partner, but from the outset the new structure was successful, and continues to be so. Very importantly the majority of partners were freed from management responsibility, and the financial controls and overall management systems were greatly strengthened.

Managing Partner hand over – “Retiring Managing Partner, Michael Wolfe, handing the Lane Neave Managing Partner mere to Andrew Shaw.”

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For many years after the 1983 merger there was a feeling of instability about the firm, a feeling obvious from previous chapters. Michael Wolfe, Andrew Shaw, Stephen Jeffery, Amanda Dewar, Simon Clay, Monica Ryan, Gerard Thwaites, and two of the firm’s consultants, Rosemary Aitken and Julie Hutton, were all part of the firm upon completion of the 2000 merger. Michael Wolfe’s stellar career may soon draw to a close but it is encouraging to see that these “old faces”, if such they can be described, are still practising successfully in their respective areas of law. Equally encouraging is the emergence of “new faces” – Gerard Dale, whose commercial acumen and ability to attract clients have become almost legendary; Ben Russell, who has become highly respected in the dispute resolution and litigation field; Mark Williams, who leads an incredibly successful immigration team with flair and drive; Matt Maling, whose pedigree and charm are faultless and who is probably the most qualified construction lawyer in the country. All of these partners are “stars”, or potentially so, and I could readily add Fiona McMillan in the field of employment law, and Claire Evans, Sam Nelson, and Ashley Taggart all of whom practise in the corporate/commercial or commercial property fields. The website, of course, reveals several more partners whom I have either not met, or have done so only in passing. It would be inappropriate of me to comment on them, but that said, I have no doubt as to their abilities. They would not be there without talent and personality.

If the changed management structure was essential to the success of the firm today, the partners and their talents were the ultimate key. However, two other factors must not be overlooked. The partners could not have achieved what they have done without the loyal support of so many staff, qualified and otherwise, who worked for several years in circumstances which were often uncomfortable and frustrating. And that leads me to the second factor – the new offices. To me the building, even if it has a view to the Southern Alps on the West and the Avon River on the East, a living green wall of “eco” significance, and much airy open space, is one of brutality with its vast exposed steel structure apparently establishing that it will happily withstand any future ground movement of magnitude. I also dislike its “open plan living” but I am told that encourages “team building”. All that aside, the building has brought the majority of the firm, those in Christchurch, together. Although the specialisation which Sam Maling always envisaged is vital to success, it is equally vital that there is a unity within any business. The new building has achieved that.

So there it is. Lane Neave has gone through many trials and tribulations over 150 years but it has survived and grown to be a legal force of which many can be proud.

There have been times when I feared for the firm’s survival, occasionally I doubted its integrity. Now I have no fears or doubts.

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The exterior of the Christchurch premises of Lane Neave today regarded by the author as marginally less ‘brutal’ than the interior.

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Random Memories It is now over sixty years since I was first employed in the firm. I have many memories of those years and some have already been recorded in the context of previous chapters. Others are random, without any particular context, but may be worthy of record.

During those two wonderful years of freedom as the junior law clerk there was the very odd occasion when the required afternoon registration of Land Transfer Act documents and searching of titles would be completed before 3.00 pm. To return to the office before 4.30 pm would simply invite delegation to some unwanted task.

Thus, on a few occasions, I whiled away the time in the Mayfair cinema which was on the other side of the street from the Lands and Deeds Registry. On the last occasion I did so – and this story itself explains why it was the last – I returned to the office at 4.30 pm to be told by the receptionist that my father wished “to see me”. I could tell from the receptionist’s demeanour that this was not the usual summons. Upon entering his room, my father rose slowly and deliberately from his chair, holding between thumb and forefinger, as was his wont for dramatic purposes, a duplicate certificate of land title. In those days, of course, a certificate of title was the most important of documents. I was asked if I recognised the document. I didn’t. I was asked if I could guess where the document had been found. I couldn’t, but even then I sensed a feeling of doom. It transpired that the certificate had been found on the floor of the Mayfair Cinema foyer just before 3.00 pm. The cinema manager, realising the importance of the document and seeing the name of the firm pencilled in the margin, had telephoned our office. The document was in the hands of the senior partner by 3.30 pm. To add fuel to the fire, it related to the recent purchase of a substantial piece of land by one of my father’s more affluent clients. My father, having explained the circumstances, then enquired as to whether or not I could imagine how the document came to be on the floor of the cinema foyer. I could have suggested I was buying a ticket for the evening session, but that risked having to account for the ninety minutes from 3.00 pm to 4.30 pm. I decided to “come clean”.

Oddly, my father simply laughed briefly and said “Don’t do it again”. I didn’t.

From the time of my entry into partnership in 1965 my father managed to convince many clients, especially if they were younger than he was, that I would make a more

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appropriate trustee than he would. Thus in 1966 I found that I was one of two trustees of the estate of a young farmer who had committed suicide, leaving a widow and two young children. The widow, as was then customary, was given a life interest in the income of the estate subject to her remaining a widow, and the second trustee was the farmer’s father, a man more than twice my age. The age difference alone may well have been a problem, but the situation was compounded by my co-trustee being a devout Roman Catholic, and my being at best, a lukewarm Anglican. It was clear from the outset that my co-trustee believed the widow to have been responsible, at least in part, for the suicide, and that he intended the estate to be administered in such a way as to show as little generosity as possible to the widow. There was in fact a provision in the Will enabling income to be augmented from capital, if appropriate, and other discretionary provisions, but they were to be ignored.

For eight years we argued, if politely, as to the administration of the estate, and occasionally I managed to convince my co-trustee to relax his rigid stance. Then, in 1974, the widow announced her intention to remarry. It was as though this was the ultimate insult; and the suggestion I made one Friday afternoon that we exercise our discretionary power to apportion income to the widow’s benefit was regarded as heresy.

Arriving in the office the following Monday morning, the telephone rang within minutes. It was my co-trustee who had clearly been working himself into a fever over the weekend. He commenced upon a diatribe which eventually triggered a reaction which I had been stifling for eight years. I began a tirade in return which had lasted less than a minute when it was interrupted by a deep gurgling sound from the other end of the line. Then there was silence, and the telephone went dead.

After a shocked minute or so I rang back, the call was answered, but all I could hear was: “Speak to me, Michael, speak to me…” What had happened seemed obvious, and later that morning the situation was confirmed – my co-trustee, then in his eighties, had had a massive heart attack, and was dead. Even if the family doctor assured me that an exciting television programme may have had the same result, it was an horrific experience. Now, over forty years later, I may well be the one at risk in similar circumstances, but at the time it took some weeks for me to convince myself it was worth continuing a legal career, and the lesson of remaining in quiet control has never been forgotten.

Some two years before that unforgettable day in 1974 I had become a trustee of the estate of a successful North Canterbury farmer who died in a tragic fire and

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explosion in the farm workshop. The beneficiaries of the estate were the widow, with a life interest as to income, and four daughters ranging in age from the early twenties to the mid-teens. Continuing farming estates are notoriously difficult, and the makeup of the beneficiaries suggested this estate would be more so. In fact for most of the estate’s 35 or more years’ existence my trusteeship was a delight. That said, the first few years established that the property was indeed difficult to farm successfully, certainly so as an estate. After five years the decision was made to sell, but for a year the property languished on the market with extremely inadequate offers being received. Then an acceptable offer was received, and late one afternoon the offer was officially confirmed. With me were the real estate agent, two of my co-trustees, two family members, and one of my partners. I suggested we all have a celebratory drink. By then it was well after normal business hours, the telephone receptionist had left at least an hour before and I would often have ignored an outside telephone call even though it could be heard throughout the office. For some reason, when the telephone rang almost immediately after drinks were poured, I answered the call. It was the wife of a mechanical engineer for whom I had acted for some 15 years and who flew a small aircraft throughout the country in the course of his profession. The reason for the call was that the husband had crashed fatally to the West of the city, his body was in Christchurch Hospital, and the widow could not bring herself to identify the body. Would I do so? Before or since, I cannot remember a more dramatic change of mood, but I could not refuse the request. Leaving my partner in charge of the farm sale celebrations, I eventually identified the body, but only with difficulty, such were the injuries. As it transpired, it was the beginning of another lengthy and very happy trusteeship, but it was an experience I am pleased to record has not been repeated; and one which proved that one can never be sure what is around the next corner, even in the mundane world of estate administration.

By now you may have the impression that my indelible memories are those I may wish to forget. In fact the one I most wish to forget is one which involved a veiled, but very real death threat delivered by a well-known Auckland Barrister, and one which I dare not record in written detail. I resisted the threat at the time, and survived. The Auckland Barrister is now dead, and the story should be told, but I look forward to the years I have left! So to happier memories.

In light of the happiness of my first two years as the junior law clerk, years of freedom from the bonds of the desk, it will be no surprise that my happiest memories are mainly of times out of the office. As a trustee of several farming estates and trusts I always looked forward to trustees’ meetings on site, especially if a farm inspection

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were involved, and even more so if a trout stream were nearby. Looking back, I happily grasped any opportunity to be away from my desk.

In 1971 the partnership made the decision to move from 90 Hereford Street, the firm’s home for 40 years, to new premises being built at 79-83 Hereford Street by the Guardian Royal Exchange Assurance Company. It was also decided, rightly or wrongly, that the firm should have new furniture, and it was the advice of the architect, Miles Warren, now of course Sir Miles, that the new furniture should be purchased from Sheraton House in Auckland. As the partner delegated to oversee the move, I will never forget the two wonderful days I spent in Auckland visiting several furniture factories and sundry modern professional offices. The salesman, or consultant perhaps, assigned to my care was one Jim Hines, a charming Australian with a kindred love of cricket, wine, and song. Auckland was, and remains, an exciting city, and to the regular strains of the just-released “Horse With No Name� we drove for two days from factory to factory, to lengthy lunch, and from office to office. It was magical.

The purchases made and approved by the partners, Jim Hines arrived to oversee the installation of the furniture in the new offices on 13 July 1972. That evening he came to dinner at our home before returning to Auckland early the next day. In mid-morning of that day a dozen red roses arrived at the front door and my wife Margie was ecstatic until she read the card. She was still pleased, but 14 July was our wedding anniversary and the roses were not from me!

During the latter part of the 1970s it became fashionable for partners of most professional firms to take sabbatical leave for periods of up to three months. At the end of 1978 I was the first of the Lane Neave partners to do so and I will never forget the sense of freedom, the feeling of being unshackled. Returning to the office in March of 1979 was very difficult, and when it was suggested that I should do a week-long legal practice management course at Lincoln College in May of that year, I jumped at the opportunity. Anything different was irresistible. The course itself was fascinating but, inevitably I suppose, on return to the office endeavouring to get cynical partners to put the theory into practice was utterly fruitless. However, I was not to be deterred, and the obvious answer to the situation was to enrol for an advanced course of similar length to be held that September at the University of New England in Armidale, Northern New South Wales. Once again the course was fascinating and was enhanced by my visiting several of the more modern legal offices in Brisbane.

This time I can claim that the trip resulted in our acquiring a more sophisticated trust accountancy system and our first word processing system, but, more importantly, I met one Peter Crommelin.

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Peter Crommelin was a young and very successful commercial lawyer in Brisbane.

We became friends during the Armidale course, and met again during my Brisbane office visits. By pure accident, and a very happy one, at roughly the same time I became the sole trustee of an estate which owned two properties in nearby Noosa on the Sunshine Coast. Over the years 1980 to 1982 several Queensland trips were, of course, required, and I met Peter on all of those trips.

Peter’s practice burgeoned, and during the same period, he was asked to act for a Japanese construction company, Daikyo Kanko, which had agreed to fund the construction of Jupiters Casino on the Gold Coast. This was the first overseas venture for Daikyo International, as it soon became, and was a very successful one. When, in the mid-1980s overseas funding was sought for the proposed Parkroyal Hotel to be built on a site adjoining Victoria Square in Christchurch, it was no surprise that Daikyo was approached and showed interest. Peter asked me, or our firm, to act on Daikyo’s behalf.

My intention on the morning of the first meeting with the Daikyo executives had been to introduce Phil Taylor, very much our corporate/commercial expert, and then to retreat, possibly after lunch. Before the formal meeting began I was having a faltering conversation with Mr Abe, the senior Daikyo representative, when he noticed a brass nameplate on the wall which related to my father’s time as senior partner. Pointing to my father’s name, he enquired: “You?” “No, my father”, I replied “A…a…h” said Mr Abe in long, deep throated acknowledgement, his head held back but with his chin then slowly dropping to his chest. Then he saw our current nameplate, confirmed that mine was the second name, and noted that Phil Taylor’s was two below me. In an out-of-character flash of understanding, even sensitivity, I knew there was no retreat.

My father had been the senior partner, and the importance of heredity was obvious.

Phil Taylor was my apparent inferior. Despite Phil’s much superior abilities in the commercial field it was clear that my withdrawal would have constituted a serious loss of face.

Thus began perhaps the most fascinating period of my career, unintended as it was.

The initial meeting was followed by several toll calls on speaker phone from the Tokyo boardroom which established that we could not understand the questions, making our attempted answers an inevitable nonsense. We quickly convinced our partners to purchase one of the first facsimile machines in Christchurch, at least in a legal firm, and this problem became manageable, if not entirely solved.

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Over 18 months we had three meetings of three consecutive 12 hour days in Christchurch followed by two meetings in Auckland just before and after Daikyo’s involvement had been confirmed. Briefed by Phil Taylor, who did all the real work, I merely had to “front”, much of which involved more the explanation of New Zealand business customs than of the law. Occasionally Phil, sitting beside or even behind me, had to correct me, but generally the arrangement worked smoothly. For me it was, as they say, “a cakewalk”.

One of the driving forces behind the Parkroyal development was the long-serving Christchurch Mayor Sir Hamish Hay, who had been knighted in 1982. He was very much involved in the process from the outset and attended all our meetings at one point or another. Two aspects of his involvement stand out. First, the Daikyo executives simply could not grasp that “Mr Hay”, upon having been knighted should be addressed as “Sir Hamish”. “Sir Hay” they repeated to themselves despite my remonstrations, and eventually we settled for “Sir” or “Mr Mayor”. Secondly, the only New Zealand construction company known to the Daikyo hierarchy was Fletchers, and it was a lesson in local body diplomacy to watch and hear Sir Hamish convince them that a Christchurch company should be included. The hotel was built by a Fletcher-Luney consortium, and the Luney inclusion was entirely because of Sir Hamish’s subtle skills.

The first three-day meeting in Christchurch was largely a discussion of the conditions upon which Daikyo would, or would not, proceed. Often they would break into several minutes of discussion between themselves in Japanese, an irritation every time it occurred, and it soon became obvious that, if we understood little or no Japanese, their understanding of English was much better than they would admit. The real fascination of that meeting, however, was to see the company hierarchy at work. The least important executive spent several hours tabling at least a dozen conditions, which were trivial in the extreme. The next in line produced perhaps half a dozen conditions which were relevant, if not vital. Then Mr Abe, the leader produced the essential conditions relating to title, finance, and future profitability. None of the conditions could be met by discussion at that meeting, but every executive could return to Japan able to convey their having made the points required of them. Face saved.

At the next meeting the conditions were discussed ad nauseam. Every minor matter was resolved, but the major issues remained unresolved, even if it seemed very likely

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that they would be. In the meantime Sir Hamish Hay announced to the media that the development would proceed. It was an uncomfortable period which ended one evening when my wife and I decided to go with our children for a meal at the White Heron Hotel, as it then was, at the airport end of Memorial Avenue. As we sat in the dining room, Hiroshi Kanagawa, the financial man of the three Daikyo executives, appeared at an adjoining table. His visit to Christchurch was unannounced, and he was clearly embarrassed that he had been uncloaked almost as his visit began. On the other hand, the presence of our family in the dining room resolved the very matter that had precipitated his secret visit. In Japan, as I understand it, hotels are used for marriage ceremonies or by businessmen and tourists, but not by local families.

The Daikyo board found it difficult to believe that the Parkroyal would be so used, as they were told, and it was a simple coincidence that our presence in the White Heron appeared to have overcome the final stumbling block. Sir Hamish’s announcement may have been premature, but seemingly accurate.

At the third meeting all the fundamental issues were indeed resolved without difficulty, but still we had no instructions to give final confirmation. By then we understood that it was always better for Japanese executives to make no decision, rather than to make a bad decision, or so it seemed, but there was a reticence we did not understand.

Eventually Hiroshi Kanagawa, a delightful, straight-forward man who was best able to express Daikyo’s viewpoint, revealed the remaining concerns. Would there be a signing ceremony? Would the television cameras be there? Would Mr Fletcher and Mr Luney be present? Would “Mr Mayor” be there? Would he wear his robes and chain? After a few brief toll calls we were able to confirm all points. With beaming smiles we were instructed to give final confirmation. This was much more than the saving of face.

I have many other happy memories of my days in the firm. I have already referred to the lunches which occurred from time to time, and in the next chapter I mention a number of partner parties which were usually happy affairs. Lunches and parties aside, even amid the departures of the late 1980s and 1990s there was always a camaraderie between the partners. I like to think that none of my partners (nor of my employers when I became a consultant) ended up as enemies. I still regard many as close friends despite any age differences. One could ask for little more.

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The Stories which Must be Told In my early years in the office there was no alcohol to be found other than the bottle of whisky kept in my father’s desk and the moderate quantities of beer and sherry provided late in the afternoon of the last working day before Christmas. That changed with the move to the Guardian Royal Exchange building in 1972. The furniture purchased for the new premises included a so-called “credenza”, essentially a drinks cabinet, which was kept fully stocked and did sterling service for many years.

Over recent years office parties have seemed to be carefully structured, such are the modern morés, but in the 1970s and 1980s parties occurred, if sporadically, with little or no planning, but with the joy that often comes with spontaneity.

I recall, in a blur of silly stories, laughter and general joie de vivre several parties over the years. Perhaps the best were those at Christmas in the G.R.E. building when we were inevitably joined at some point by convivial colleagues from Young Hunter & Co and Wood Hall & Co, firms occupying floors below. With equal inevitability, they were joined by us at some point. The lift in the building was a busy mechanism on such occasions, and the lift on our floor opened directly into our large reception area in which any parties of substance were held. Forty or more years later one moment remains etched in my memory. During one of those Christmas parties, probably well into the evening, the doors of the lift opened to reveal an hirsute practitioner from one of the lower floors, certainly less than fully clothed, and holding the pose of a lion rampant. The pose was held for perhaps five seconds, then the doors closed and the lift descended – an unforgettable moment, if not one necessarily to be regarded as an aesthetic gem.

The Christmas parties, if unstructured, were to be predicted, and involved all the practitioners in the building, in one pose or another. The occasional parties, usually confined to partners, which simply evolved within the partnership were perhaps less memorable in specific detail but were the happiest of occasions. There was a bonhomie which was very much a part of the late seventies, was enhanced by the merger in 1983, and managed to survive the subsequent departures. From time to time these occasions lasted longer than the wives at home felt appropriate, and their impromptu nature dictated that any wife beyond contact in the early stages might well remain completely in the dark. And the word “dark” leads me to the famous, or infamous occasion on which one of the partners arrived home in the company of at

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least one other partner to find the house in complete darkness with the exception of one spotlight in the kitchen shining on an upturned plate on the bench. It was no surprise that under the plate was the partner’s evening meal which had been ready several hours before. I can see that plate and the single spotlight as though it were yesterday, but after many arguments I have eventually had to accept that I had been left at my home, very hostile territory I might add, some five minutes before.

Even if, for me, it was but a trick of the mind, there can be no doubting that the wife concerned made a very graphic point.

Having opened Pandora’s Box, I must avoid leaving the wrong impression. Partying was not one of the regular aspects of the firm. There were indeed parties but they were few and far between and were outnumbered many times by serious partner discussion, and even formal partnership meetings, dare I say it. Nevertheless, perhaps the ultimate story which must be told has remained untold for over 120 years.

There is in existence a deeds box which contains over three hundred letters written to Beauchamp Lane between 1891 and 1895 by a woman, a very attractive woman, who was married to a man who was then, or later became, a Member of Parliament and a Cabinet Minister. One of the first letters is addressed to “My Dear Mr Lane” and closes “Yours very Sincerely”. The last letter written in 1895 opens “Goodbye, my ever dear and sympathetic friend” and finishes with a simple “yours truly”. The letters in between are slightly more enthusiastic – “My dearest lawyer” and “Your ever affectionate friend” as examples – but still remained very guarded. For a period I thought it was perhaps just a friendship based on their mutual love of horse-riding, but three hundred letters over a four year period did seem a little excessive. Delving more deeply, clues emerged. Photographs sent in December 1892 were sent “with deeper meaning than 18 months ago”, and this was followed with the admonition “not to forget the lesson of the gorse, and may it recall many a golden hour”. As they spent much of their time together riding in the country, it is possible that the writer was referring to the golden colour of the gorse flower, but somehow I felt there was more to it. If I was still in doubt, a letter written some months later removed that doubt. In that letter she wrote “I want you to stay and ride with me tomorrow morning. Can you? Then I shall tell you, without making you angry I hope, how thankful I am that you got safely out of the stables last night”. And in a note written in 1895 Beauchamp Lane referred to “my dearest and best friend” and to his “deepest love and affection” for her. So there it is. There is no evidence of any meeting in the office, but all the letters were posted or delivered to the office, and they remained in the office strong room, untouched to the best of my knowledge, for over 100 years. They have to be part of the firm’s history, proving, of course, that very little happens that hasn’t happened before.

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In Retrospect from Remenham Farm to Minterne Magna In the first chapter I indicated that my interest in the history of the modern firm was first sparked by the merger of Lane Neave & Co and Ronaldson Averill & Co in 1983, but that I had given it no detailed thought until I began to write this story. That is not entirely true.

My father died in 1983, some six months before the merger. At that time I had wondered for some years why Garth Gould had chosen to name his family trust the Remenham Trust but had received no clear answer from Garth upon enquiry. My reason for interest was simply that one of my wife’s aunts lived at Remenham Farm, perhaps a mile downstream from the bridge over the river at Henley-on-Thames. The farm contained one side of the famous regatta course, and the farmhouse was the centre of Remenham village, with the local church next door. Shortly after my father’s death I found among his personal belongings in the office a notebook of unpublished writings which revealed that one Caleb Gould, the grandfather of the first Gould to come to New Zealand, had been a lock-keeper at Hambledon on the Thames River. I was fascinated, but the connection between Hambledon and Remenham eluded me.

That was to change less than a year later.

In 1984, encouraged by the new sabbatical scheme created by the merged firm, we took our two children overseas. At Easter of that year we stayed at Remenham, and on a hot Easter Saturday afternoon I walked with my teenaged son down the Thames, past Temple Island, the start of the regatta course, to a lock. “Hambledon Lock” was emblazoned on one end of the main building, and immediately the possible Gould connection with Remenham was obvious. Returning to the farm I enquired as to our host’s knowledge of the Gould family. By the happiest of accidents she had acquired a bachelor’s degree in history in her youth, had taken a keen interest in the history of the Thames Valley during 50 or so years living there, and had even written a brief history of the immediate area. Thus I learned of the eccentric lock-keeper who

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always wore a long brass-buttoned frock-coat, and who was remembered for baking bread and making porridge (or potato cakes in another version of the story) which he sold with consummate charm to passing bargemen. He was also reputed to have walked to Remenham every day and walked around the church the number of times indicated by the day of the month. Whether or not the story of this odd ritual be true, it is certain that he attended the church at Remenham at least once every Sunday and was buried in the churchyard over 200 years ago. That Easter in 1984 I was directed to the headstone immediately to the left of the main entrance to the church and was intrigued by the epitaph: “The world’s a jeste And all things showe it I thought it once And now I knowe it”.

The headstone typified the whimsical humour which I had seen in Garth Gould, but perhaps had not fully appreciated. In many respects I wish I had seen that headstone before Garth’s departure from the firm some three years earlier.

Possibly there is little more to be written of the Gould family history as it relates to the firm, with one exception I will come to shortly. That is certainly not the case with regard to the Neave family history, which connects the firm with several famous figures, and perhaps many more. The names “Kenelm”, “Digby” and “Spencer” are the keys (you will recall that Kenelm Neave’s father was Francis Digby Spencer Neave.)

In 1995 a biography by Mary S Lovell was published entitled “A Scandalous Life”.

It told the extraordinary story of Jane Digby who married at the age of seventeen to become Lady Ellenborough, had affairs with an aristocratic cousin and an Austrian Prince, was divorced very publicly on the grounds of adultery at the age of twenty three, had a further affair with the King of Bavaria, married, if briefly, a German Baron, had yet more affairs with a Greek Count and an Albanian brigand general, then finally met and married a Bedouin Sheikh, twenty years her junior, with whom she lived happily until her death nearly thirty years later, often camping for months on end in the Syrian desert. I read this book some years ago and noted that she wrote often to her brother Kenelm. The possible connection with the Neave family was obvious, but there seemed to be no good reason for further research at the time.

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In 2015 my wife and I were in England, and driving North from the Dorset coast I decided I wanted to see once again the famous Cerne Abbas giant, etched in the limestone hillside behind the village of the same name on the road from Dorchester to Sherborne. The giant was as impressive as ever, and driving further North we came to Minterne Magna, a small village attached to Minterne House, a grand stately home and garden. As the garden was apparently best known for its rhododendrons, which would have flowered some weeks before, we decided to confine ourselves to a brief inspection of the small Saint Andrew’s church to one side of the gates of the stately home. Our “brief” visit lasted nearly two hours and, once over, my only disappointment was that it was then too late to visit Minterne House itself.

Google proclaims Minterne House to be “the home of the Churchill and Digby families since 1620”. Within minutes of our entering the church the truth of this statement was apparent. The lectern was dedicated to the 9th Baron Digby in the 19th century and other items of furniture were donated by the two families. Many of the stained glass windows and brass plaques and plates which colour the walls and parts of the floor date back to the 17th century. Among the memorials are those of John Churchill, father of the first Winston Churchill, General Charles Churchill, brother of the first Duke of Marlborough, and of Ellen Churchill, the Duke’s sister. Of more recent interest is the memorial of Edward Kenelm 11th Baron Digby, who was the father of Pamela Digby, later known as Pamela Churchill Harriman. Pamela Harriman’s exotic romantic exploits over many years with many famous men, Prince Aly Khan and Frank Sinatra included, rivalled those of her great, great aunt, Jane Digby. Then, as a result of her third and final marriage to the US diplomat and politician, Averell Harriman, she became an influential member of the US Democratic party, and ended her career as a very successful U.S. ambassador to France under the presidency of Bill Clinton during the mid-1990s.

What then was the Neave connection with the Digby family other than the use of the names “Kenelm”, “Digby” and “Spencer”. The answer is simple. In 1791 Sir Thomas Neave, the second Neave baronet and the great grandfather of Kenelm Neave, married Frances Caroline Digby, a granddaughter of the 5th Baron Digby. The family connection is clear.

Possibly the connections can be taken further. The names of the Churchill and Spencer families have been linked for generations. Could the use of the Spencer name by the Neaves suggest a connection with both the Churchill and Spencer

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families, even with the tragic Princess Diana? Among the plaques on the walls of the church at Minterne Magna was one dedicated to “James Gould of Dorchester, Gentleman”. At least two generations of the Gould family, to whom Beauchamp Lane was connected by marriage, have the name “Churchill”. Could this be yet another connection, even if it is known that the name derived, in the first instance, from their ancestor Churchill Julius, the first Anglican Archbishop of New Zealand. And finally, one of the children of Sir Thomas Neave, a great uncle of Kenelm Neave, had the middle name “Lyttelton”. All this I leave to the next chronicler, whom I hope gleans as much enjoyment as I have in piecing together Lane Neave’s story so far.

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John England John England was employed as a law clerk by Lane Neave from 1958 to 1962, and then as a qualified lawyer for the next three years. In 1965 he became a partner but retired from partnership to become a Consultant in 1987, remaining in that role until his final retirement, to the relief of all, in 2014. He regards his career as having been undistinguished with the possible exception of his series of seminars for the New Zealand Law Society in 1992 and his joint editorship of the 2005 edition of the “Will Drafting Handbook”.

In his youth he was a New Zealand Colts and Canterbury representative cricketer.

He even claims to have been the youngest wicketkeeper to play for Canterbury in a first-class match. That said, his sporting passion has always been fly fishing, and the angling book “Black Gnat”, written by him in 1989, remains highly regarded by many anglers.

Perhaps most importantly, in 1948 he received the “Form 1” (in modern parlance Year 3) Medbury School prize for English.

He hopes this prize was justified.

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