Entertainment back the 1950s, sans television of course, came in many forms, not the least being, in the summer anyway, the weekly swimming sports at the Dixon Street baths. This public swimming pool was situated opposite Trust House Memorial Park. They were known as the “men’s baths” though both men and women were admitted. Demure and sensitive women could bathe at the gender exclusive “ladies baths” which were at the northern end of Dixon Street. Despite the fact that female bathing suits became more revealing, eventually these baths lost their allure and were transformed into what we now call the Hosking garden.
A full house ensued every Tuesday at the swimming sports, due in great part to the final item on the programme, the diving. Two young men in their early teens were the attraction. One was Rex Malmo, a superb diver with a perfect physique, and Tony Ball. Tony was the antithesis of the well-coordinated Rex Malmo. After Rex had executed the perfect running one and a half somersault (for instance) Tony would appear on the board in outrageous clothing which could be a woman’s dress or a man’s suit, and with amazing dexterity run along the board and repeat the dive in the worst possible manner and have the crowd in stitches.
Other antics might include riding a bike off the board with an umbrella held aloft, or he could pretend to absentmindedly walk off the diving board into the pool, fully clothed and reading a book. Whatever, between the two of them, both great friends I gather, with their diametrically opposed performances they ensured a full house every Tuesday night.
Although he looked awkward on the diving board, to get away with what he did Tony needed to have perfect timing and a degree of athleticism that was possibly unrecognisable. This was how he escaped injury, despite the contortions of his performance.
He then used this uncanny ability to race motorbikes. At seventeen he was fast becoming a future Aaron Slight.
When not performing on the diving board or on his motorbike he was an unassuming person. He was in my class at Wairarapa College and we all had great respect for him. We would eagerly read about his exploits in Monday’s daily paper as he successfully competed on the race tracks around New Zealand each weekend.
Then the unthinkable happened. At aged eighteen he crashed and was killed in at the annual Wanganui motor-cycle meeting on Boxing Day in 1957 on what was ominously known as the Cemetery Circuit.
The funeral service was held at St. Matthew’s church on a Saturday morning; standing room only as the town and the college mourned the death of this larger-than-life figure. There wasn’t a dry eye in the sanctuary; it certainly advanced the maturing process of his classmates.
Nearly sixty years on and many will have forgotten his legacy. Anthony Charles Ball was an inspiration, and he helped brighten and influence our young lives. He was one of those characters that our communities seem sadly devoid of in these bland times.
Television, the iPhone, the iPad and the internet have all got a lot to answer for.
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