I have known them all my life. When I was a little boy, they stood together, stern, staunch and silent in my grandfather’s shed. Grandfather had been one of the first people in Auckland to own a motor car. 60 years ago, the tall skinny jack was frequently used as a control lever in the cardboard box rocket ships I built and commanded. The oil can lubricated my peddle car. In time they came to dwell in my shed. My own sons played at cranking their levers, wound the ratchet wheel on the tall skinny jack, enjoyed its “clack-clack-clack” sound, and used it as a pretending machine gun. The oil can ministered to their trikes and bikes. The jacks still live in my shed. Lately, as I’ve been looking at them more closely, their individual personalities have begun to emerge. They agreed to pose, though the sittings were lengthy, rather formal and for some reason I began to feel a little threatened. - Use your imagination and you’ll find they’re armed and dangerous. The Chrysler advert? - It’s a page from a 1928 National Geographic Magazine, typifying the elegance and lifestyle these stern, silent jacks helped to support. 

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