The 2009 NZ Post Junior Fiction winner has just released another book, The Haystack. Jack Lasenby chats to Capital Times about his life and love.

RAMBLING vines that droop from the veranda of a darling little townhouse are an appropriatley storybook welcome into the Te Aro home of prolific writer Jack Lasenby.
The 79-year old, who has averaged at least one book a year since 1987, rouses from the upstairs loft-cum-study where he has been pondering over yet another novel that’s proving difficult.
“It could be age,” Lasenby chuckles. “I’m not having difficulty with writing it, but it’s intrigued me so much I’ve spent a lot of time going back and adding things. I’ve never taken so long – whether I’ll complete it, or go on writing it for the rest of my life, I don’t know.”
Lasenby’s latest book, The Haystack, will be out in bookstores this week.
It continues his semi-autobiographical series that centre on growing up during the 1930s depression in the Waikato township of Waharoa.
“I was born in 1931 a month after the Napier earthquake – I remember my mum calling it ‘the year of disappointments’, which I thought was in bad taste when I was old enough,” he laughs. “There was a huge dairy factory there, which produced butter, cheese and milk powder. That was virtually the reason for Waharoa.”
During the depression, Lasenby says children had to be resourceful, and “pinch and make do with what we had”.
“We were little savages, we ran wild around the farms. There was a creek down the back, which we made ours for eeling and canoeing. We made the canoes out of sheets of corrugated iron,” he says.
Another rite of passage in Waharoa was to sneak into the dairy factory.
“The factory went umpteen stories into the sky, and once or twice a year we used to make it past the man, and climb to the top and shout and scream until we got harried down,” Lasenby says. “It was a great accomplishment.”
His father died in the late 1930s, and Lasenby tributes the change of government from National to Labour for keeping his him and his two siblings in the care of his mother.
“Thank god, because [Labour] increased pensions and supported families. Without that we would have gone to an orphanage. I never underestimate that looking back.”
It’s probably also responsible for Lasenby’s keen interest and strong views on politics, which he regularly slips into conversation.
Another obsession is language, which he admits he carries to the point of “pedantry”. In The Haystack, words like “cockies” (farmers) and “snarler” (sausage) are common occurrences. For the sake of nowadays kids, he’s added a glossary of terms at the back.
“I’m fascinated about how much writing has changed since back then. There’s the danger of sounding old fashioned, but if I do I don’t give a damn,” he laughs. “Our politicians get away with a lot of the rubbish that passes for politics, because we’re not scrupulous enough with the language they use.
“Muldoon, funnily enough, was one of the politicians most capable of speaking plain English. He was cunning on another level though – God, did I loathe him.”
After high school, Lasenby went to Auckland for university, worked part time and got married. He acquired two stepchildren with the marriage, and also had a little girl.
Sadly, his wife died a year later, and in 1969 he brought his daughter to Wellington, and they settled in Paremata.
Lasenby’s experiences as a solo father are also outlined in The Haystack, where the central character – strong-willed Maggie, is being raised by her solo-father.
“In Paremata we were very happy with wonderful friends, but how the hell most solo parents manage, I don’t know,” he says. “I remember having difficulty with how to take my six-year-old daughter to get clothes. How do you fit a child in a changing room? I was suspected of being a dirty old man at times.”
By then, Lasenby had already developed a keen sense of writing, having edited the New Zealand School Journal, and taught at primary schools.
He’d taken a lectureship at Wellington Teachers College, and was telling his students of the tough life of a girl he’d taught years ago, when he was enlightened.
“One of my students said, ‘why do you tell us about this, why don’t you write about it?’ That inconsequential remark turned me, and I just knew I had a novel to write.”
The result was The Lake, which has since been published in Italian.
Lasenby became a full-time multi-award winning writer, and hasn’t looked back since.
“My intention is to keep writing until I go gaga. My book are a way of explaining my life – to myself probably more than anything,” he says.
An ending comment illustrates that this old man ain’t stopping anytime soon.
“I had an idea for another book a couple of days ago, I should really sit down and write some notes…”