Chapter 18

The Registrar, once recovered from the coughing fit, asked us if we wanted to obtain our Doctorates from Otago.

“Not exactly. We were in Dunedin a couple of years ago and liked the place. Could we pay fees for there here?”

That stumped him ... for about a second. “Yes.” He paused and snatched up his phone. While he was dialing, he said, “I’ll just check.”

So, we twiddled thumbs while he checked. Conversation over he smiled and asked, “Non residents?”

That meant a call to Immigration.

They wanted to know why The University of Otago was interested in political refugees.

“We have to go to school. Your laws make no exception for smart. We have nearly a half year before we’ll be fifteen. And you told us we had better be in school come Autumn. It’s January ... we’re trying.”

Then we were ushered out of the office ... taken to a vacant classroom and told to stay put. They were polite about it so we played with the chalk and blackboards. The math ... for fun ... stretched to two full boards and then we were trying to prove it wrong.

The classroom door opened and students started taking seats. One look at the boards and out came notebooks ... one kid came down, took out a camera and took pictures. That started a rush. And arguments. The Japanese and Chinese students and were at the boards defending the math against the ANZAC’s ... the Australian and New Zealand students.

Then ... from a door off to the side ... emerged the lecturing professor ... his classroom.

“What the hell?” he shouted. “What’s going on?” And he caught sight of the math. In seconds he was as deeply involved as the students.

The Registrar opened the door and shouted over the noise, “Flintkotes? Come with me.”

We left, two days later, the tumult had taken over the Math Department. Both sides of the argument had come to blows over our playtime math.

“Okay, You can register here for classes in Dunedin. How are you getting there? Immigration tells me you are Domestic as far as student status. Neither Australian nor New Zealander. Domestic ... like a student from one of our Island Dependancies.”

“Boat.”

“You have a boat?”

“Two ... and a pile of little ones.”

We immediately started a discussion about which to take and which to haul for the hard. The monohull was in the water ... but the cat was more roomy and we planned to live aboard.

Headmaster Scott volunteered to take Sailbait to Hobsonville and have her winterized ... thank you very much. Our cat was in the water at the refiters. They were waiting on us ... we didn’t owe ... I’d paid.

A cab to Titan and a call to General and we were provisioned for four weeks. Plenty.

If we ran out of fresh there were harbours along the way. No worries about money ... both boats had stashes. I wanted my 3.7 ... which meant Cyn and JW wanted theirs. Plenty of deck space meant we could take all three over the bow. Upside down and heavily lashed they should survive.