Is this what it's like to die? This was one of the thoughts drifting through sixteen year old Barry Watkins mind as he clung on to the edge of his brand new surfboard. In a story of terror and survival Barry recalls what it was like to come face-to-face with a great white - the fifth shark attack in Dunedin history.

Out in the ocean, a dark shadow lurks beneath the surface unbeknownst to the person swimming above. And what that individual doesn't know is that he's about to be caught in the teeth of an unwieldy, man-eating shark.

"The first thing I had to do was find out where the shark was...I was absolutely petrified."

The thought of coming face-to-face with a Great White is terrifying. And anyone who has ever seen Steven Spielberg's 1975 thriller, Jaws, will probably agree. The film (featuring a mechanical shark) terrified viewers on its release, and its impact made people afraid to go into the water.

But five years before that movie, Bryan Watkins would find himself staring into the eyes of this deadly ocean predator.

There had been five shark attacks in Dunedin between 1964 and 1971. Three had been killed, with one of the bodies never to be found again. And Bryan Watkins was one of only two survivors.

Not much was known about the habits of sharks around this time and people suspected they preferred warmer water. But if you were to encounter one, defending yourself was simple.

"Punch it in the nose, they don't like it," Watkins says of the advice on offer.

"But if anyone can put that into practice while they're being attacked, I would certainly congratulate them."

It was a Tuesday morning on the 30th March, 1971 when Watkins, then 16-years-old, headed out to St Clair Beach. He was skipping school with a couple of friends. An avid surfer he was keen to try out a new board.

"It was in a time when surfing was going through what was called the short board revolution. We were going away from surfboards that were in the 8-9 foot range and boards were getting shorter and shorter."

Watkins' brand new board was only 6-feet-long, and he says they were considered 'the perfect new design.'

There are 30 beaches within a half-hour drive from the centre of Dunedin, which is known for great surfing with its wide open swells from the South West to the North East, ranging from up to six metres or more during winter. And St Clair Beach was no exception.

Despite local residents' awareness of the previous shark attacks, Watkins wasn't deterred from getting in the ocean. …

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Rugby legend Sir Bryan Williams made All Blacks rugby history as the first player of Pasifika blood to play in Apartheid-era South Africa in the early 1970s. He talks to Sonia Yee about the cultural obstacles and challenges heading into the three-month tour, what it meant for Black South Africans and why he's advocating for Pasifika players today through Moana Pasifika.

Today, Pasifika players are commonplace in the All Blacks, and rugby in general. But that hasn't always been the case. During Sir Bryan Williams' time there were cultural barriers.

​Listen to the podcast to find out what it took for Sir Bryan Williams to alter rugby history

The year was 1970 when a shy, 19-year-old Bryan Williams was selected to play for The All Blacks. It was an exciting and daunting time.

"I was selected alongside many of my heroes - Colin Meads, Brian Lochore, Malcolm Dick, and a whole array of top players who I'd spent the 1960s absolutely idolising, and then suddenly I was selected alongside them, so I was terrified," Williams recalls.

"Coming into the All Blacks, you're always under pressure. There's the expectation that you live up to what the jersey stands for."

Williams was only just getting used to the spotlight in his rookie year, when he was selected for a three-month tour to play against the Springboks in apartheid-era South Africa.

While Williams was not the first Pasifika player to join the All Blacks - Walter Batty, and brothers Frank and Dave Solomon came well before him - Williams would be the first to travel there, but not without some anxiety leading up to the tour.

The system of apartheid, which translates as 'apartness' in Afrikaans was built on a legislation of separatism and racial segregation under a white-led National Government.

Formally coming into law in 1950, apartheid kept those of black and coloured skin completely separate from whites in the public domain. Designated areas were set up on the basis of skin colour.

'Whites Only' signs would be seen hanging in shop windows, on park benches, at entrance ways to cafes and restaurants, and even access ways to beaches.

Interracial marriages were banned and all South Africans were classified into four groups - black, coloured (mixed race), white, and later, Asian (for Pakistanis and Indians).

Previously, in 1960 Māori All Blacks were banned from touring to South Africa and New Zealanders were signing petitions opposing the exclusion and the tour.

Ten years later, Williams and the three Māori players - Sid Going, Buff Milner and Blair Furlong - would be admitted under a special pass, giving them what was referred to as 'honorary white status.'…

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Not much is known of the suburban zoo that was once situated in Christchurch's North Beach. But those who visited recall eyeing up a mysterious crocodile in a small glass enclosure. In this episode of Eyewitness, Sonia Yee uncovers some myths, and finds out why it has left many with a mix of wonder and bewilderment.

Roaring sounds of Suzy the lion would wake up local residents in an otherwise quiet suburb in Christchurch. The mini zoo known as North Beach Zoo was situated at 153 Beach Road. A former aquarium it was re-imagined by Bill Grey who bought it in the late 50s.

​Listen to the podcast to hear more of Miles Dalton's adventures with the animals and why the zoo leaves behind mixed emotions.

"It had a very special place in my heart," says Wellington-based Aaron Alexander.

Alexander visited the mini zoo many times with his grandmother who lived in the area. And to this day, the crocodile in a glass case near the entrance, remains firmly in his memory.

"As a little kid I wouldn't want to get any closer...it was a beautiful mix of terror and excitement," he says.

The zoo was established before Orana Wildlife Park, which didn't open its doors until the mid-seventies. So for many visitors, the mini zoo provided an opportunity to see large, wild animals up close and personal.

But what also made this zoo peculiar is that it was small - a stone's throw from the beach and across the road from a golf course, it was also surrounded by residential properties.

"It wasn't really aimed as a big money making venture," says Miles Dalton who worked there part-time as a student.

Dalton says the entrance fee for visitors was around $3 dollars for adults, and half that again, for kids.

During the summer months it was bustling with families and tourists, and visitors could buy cups of food to feed to the smaller animals. Although it seemed like an odd location for a zoo, it was established before the area became residential.

"There was a point where Bill used to take the lion for walks on the beach," says Dalton.

"But then it got too populated, so he couldn't do that."

Dalton refers to owner Bill Grey as a 'hard worker and a lovely man who really cared for the animals,' some of which, had been acquired not by choice, but because previous owners had mistreated them, and the animals had shown signs of neglect.

…

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At a time when women were embracing their femininity after the war years, Barbara Herrick wanted to change the way women felt about themselves through fashion. She speaks to Sonia Yee about Dior's New Look that took the world by storm, carving a path in Auckland's high-end fashion scene with her label, Babs Radon. And shares what it was like to meet Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II at The New Zealand Wool Awards.

"We risked everything for fashion," says Auckland designer Barbara Herrick of the celebration of femininity seen on the streets of central Auckland after the war years.

​Listen to the podcast to find out more about Barbara Herrick and Babs Radon

During the Second World War, women had entered the workforce in large numbers to help with the labour shortage. It was then that utilitarianism became the order of the day.

But the launch of Christian Dior's debut collection would reinvigorate the fashion industry.

Launched in 1947, just two years after the end of the war, Carmel Snow, former Editor in Chief for America's Harper's BAZAAR coined Dior's collection 'The New Look'.

It was an exciting expression of the female form, taking women's curves - and imaginations - to new heights.

Full skirts, curved collars, padded hip-lines and cinched in waists took a global hold of women's wardrobes, and New Zealand was no exception.

"Women suddenly looked so feminine after the bleak years of the war," recalls Herrick.

"You tried your best even if you might have a little cardigan on, which was the thing about New Zealand girls - always in their little cardigans."

Herrick wasn't one to don a cardigan herself. In fact, she loathed them.

Like many women, she was mesmerised by Dior's 'New Look' which signalled a social shift for women.

There was no longer any need to conserve fabric and leisure time was being brought back into everyday vocabulary.

But these new garments weren't always practical.

"The only problem was getting on and off trams because the skirts were quite long, and your heel would often catch in one of these layers. Very dangerous!" Herrick recalls.

Herrick, the daughter of a knitwear designer, was also studying fashion at Auckland's Druleigh College. She was determined to pick up the tools of the trade and had her sights set on starting a high-end fashion label.

After completing her course at Druleigh, she picked up odd jobs and also worked part-time for womenswear designer, Emma Knuckey, which would later set her up to go out on her own.

…

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Little is known about The Wizard of New Zealand who took centre stage in Christchurch's Cathedral Square from the 70s until the Christchurch earthquakes in 2011, which saw the city in a state of disrepair. A man who challenged political, social and cultural ideology, The Wizard posed provocative questions in this public space, much to the delight, and sometimes dismay, of passersby. But the background to why The Wizard was there in the first place has been something of a mystery... until now. Sonia Yee finds out more in this episode of Eyewitness.

Anyone who visited Christchurch's Cathedral Square before the 2011 earthquakes will know of The Wizard of New Zealand - an iconic figure and mainstay of the city centre.

Often dressed in a velvet kaftan and pointy black hat, the Wizard carried a wooden staff and performed on a step ladder that acted as his portable podium.

Listen below to find out more about The Wizard and the mark he made on the history of Christchurch:

These days, you'll find The Wizard, who refers to himself simply as 'Jack', living a much quieter life, spending his time between Christchurch and Oamaru.

But what many won't know is that the man formerly known as Ian Brackenbury Channell, was also part of a larger project that would see him become a living work of art.

"That means everything about you is created by yourself as an artwork," says The Wizard.

"Your identity is only one thing, but you need to have a whole lifestyle - your family and friends, the universe you live in and the way you see the world - has to all be turned into something aesthetic, rather than moral or rational."

The Wizard's transition to becoming a living work of art began to take shape while he was living in Melbourne.

It was 1969, and he was starting a new position in the Department of Social Science and Sociology at the University of New South Wales, where he specialised in religion and revitalisation movements.

During this period, he was looking into new ways to challenge social and political ideology. But he wanted to activate this by steering clear of violence, and instead, confronting people with what he refers to as 'unusually creative responses.'

For The Wizard, that was very much like street theatre. But he was keen to push the envelope further by creating a fully formed aesthetic.

To make this official, he and his partner, Alice, visited the National Gallery of Victoria. It was there they met with the director, Eric Westbrook, who was excited by The Wizard's proposal.

Becoming a fully-fledged living work of art was edgy and provocative. No one had ever conceived of something like this before…

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This year marks 100 years since the first radio transmission in New Zealand and the man behind it is also responsible for laying the foundation for the oldest radio station in the country - Radio Dunedin. Sonia Yee finds out why Radio Dunedin couldn't broadcast the weather during World War 2, and more...

Radio has always been a form of entertainment that takes you somewhere else. And when longtime Radio Dunedin presenter, Lyndsay Rackley was a teenager, it provided the ultimate escape.

'I'd go to sleep with the headphones on and listen to YA and ZB and Life with Dexter," he says.

Listen to the podcast to find out more

Rackley says he feels lucky that he's been around for the past 60 years at Radio Dunedin which is due to celebrate its 99th birthday in the coming months.

Considered one of the oldest stations in the world, it is the longest running station in New Zealand and five-weeks older than the BBC. And to this day has continued to run as an independent station since its inception in October 1922.

But the reason the first station began in Dunedin is its connection to the first radio transmission in New Zealand, which came out of an Otago University lab 100 years ago, headed by Professor Robert Jack, who was the Head of the Physics Department.

Together with some of his students he constructed a small transmitter with parts imported from Britain to create the first successful transmission on 17 November 1921.

Professor Jack was a legend, and without him, Radio Dunedin may not have come into being, at least not so early.

Gordon Paine who is the President of the Otago Radio Association and also a current presenter says in the early days Radio Dunedin, then known as 4XT, broadcast right through World War II. But there were restrictions in place.

"They weren't allowed to broadcast the weather forecast in case the enemy heard it and decided it was a good day to bomb Dunedin."

Paine volunteered for the first time at Radio Dunedin as a teenager. A big music fan, he says Radio Dunedin played the latest offerings from overseas, which other stations in NZ during the 60s and 70s didn't play.

"Back in the 60s the music industry in New Zealand was strictly controlled, so a lot of our famous bands and singers were not doing their own material."

Instead they were mimicking the big hits from overseas.

And because of this, the international record companies wouldn't allow these overseas hits to come in. Through an exchange - Radio Dunedin was playing religious programmes from the States, in turn, they supplied the station with the latest records.

As a volunteer, Paine also had a chance to meet one of his idols after he took over the Country and Western show…

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What Now is New Zealand's most successful and longest running children's television show and this year celebrated 40 years. Rex Simpson who founded it says it was a platform to grow new talent, and a place where kids were encouraged to get off the couch.

What Now is New Zealand's most successful and longest-running children's television show and this year celebrated 40 years on air.

Rex Simpson, who created the show, says it was a platform to grow new talent and encourage kids to get off the couch.

Listen to the podcast to find out more

Simpson, a former presentations director, started his TV career after making a sideways shift from live radio to state television in 1976, when there were only two channels.

"I was only 21 or 22 years old at the time. There was more of an opportunity to experiment and people were more prepared to take risks," Simpson says.

Experimenting is what Simpson does best.

During his early days as presentations director, he created what he refers to as a segue slot that bridged the gap between a couple of other programmes.

That was a show called Nice One Stu about a cheeky schoolboy who gets up to all sorts of mischief.

When the segment launched, Simpson hadn't informed the executive team who were in shock when it went to air for the first time.

But while they might have been thrown by Simpson's experimental programming, the show became an instant success.

"I recall one time we went to Gisborne and it was like we were The Beatles - we had to have security guards to ensure we weren't being trampled. It was just nuts."

Nice One Stu's popularity gave the executive team the confidence they needed to let Simpson do what he does best - create new content.

And later, that would lay the foundations for What Now, which launched on Saturday 9 May, 1981 from a Christchurch studio.

Starting out as a half-hour show, What Now was founded on Simpson's belief that children's television should be educational, informative, and entertaining. And more importantly, it would also provide children with inspiration and ideas of what to do once they turned the television off.

The irony of making a show that encouraged kids to get off the couch while also transfixed by the show wasn't lost on Simpson.

"It was an interesting conundrum," he laughs.

"By actually having a programme that was all about young people showing what young people could be doing, we actually garnered a large audience."

Getting kids moving, especially in those early days, was a high priority for What Now. At the time, aerobics was taking the world by storm, and for Simpson, it was a no-brainer to incorporate it into the show…

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It was the spirit of adventure that took teacher, Tony Washington and his family to Pitcairn Island. One of the most isolated communities in the world, Pitcairn is just over five-and-a-half thousand kilometres from Christchurch. From an outsider's perspective, it looks idyllic but was it the adventure Tony and his family expected? Find out more in this episode produced and presented by Sonia Yee.

From the early 2000s, Pitcairn Island caught international headlines relating to incidents of historic sexual abuse and assault on women and young children on the island.

These shocking stories emerged at least a decade after Tony Washington, a former teacher, lived there with his family.

Listen: "I learnt some things about my family, self-sufficiency and accepting what you had" - Tony Washington

"We had interviews with the Kent police who came out from England to interview a number of people including my wife, my children, and myself," Washington says.

As his family were outsiders, Washington believed the locals made sure they didn't know or suspect anything.

One of the most remote communities in the world, Pitcairn has a population of around 50, but in Washington's time, there were about 65 people living on the island.

He recalls one community dinner where a crowd of men aged between 16-25 years-of-age, surrounded his daughter.

Washington managed to fend the young men off. But there were other times when he felt things weren't quite right, but the family carried on none-the-wiser.

When the family relocated to Pitcairn between 1990 and 1992, the overarching decision was informed by a career opportunity - Tony Washington would be appointed as Pitcairn's School Principal and Government Advisor.

Another appeal was the simplicity of island life and an experience that would allow them to have some quality family time. They had been sent a home video made by one of the former education officers.

"They were zooming around on a rubber duck and having a great ball of fun, there were cricket and soccer matches," he says.

But although the video provided some insight into life on Pitcairn, Washington says it didn't give them the full picture."

The family would encounter new obstacles. There are no roads on the island, so they would get used to travelling by foot, and usually on uneven and muddy ground. They would also be living in isolation with little, or next to no contact, with anyone outside Pitcairn.

Washington says many an unrealistic view of life on Pitcairn and on a couple of occasions, visitors working on the island for a 6-month stint found themselves at the Washington home, a place where they could air their concerns…

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In this episode of Eyewitness Sonia Yee takes a look at why The Great Crunchie Train Robbery was a runaway success at a time when the advertising industry hit a turning point.

What do an old train carriage, a chocolate bar, a guitar and a lawn mower have in common?

The answer: They were all involved in the making of one of New Zealand's most iconic and longest running ads, The Great Crunchie Train Robbery.

Listen to: New Zealand's most iconic ad - The Great Crunchie Train Robbery

The commercial was made in 1975, and according to its director there were a number of components that contributed not only to its longevity, but also its success.

"I think it was the storyline ... the way that it develops and builds and goes into the surreal," says Tony Williams from his home in Kangaroo Valley, New South Wales.

Set in the Wild West, the story was bursting at the seams with distinctive characters, interspersed with black-and-white, World War II footage and scenes from old westerns that Williams had sourced through an industry friend working at Paramount Studio in Hollywood at the time.

"I got it for next to nothing," he laughs.

The story was also action-packed and filled with the kind of suspense that kept its audience hanging on.

As for the location, it couldn't be further from the Wild West, but was filmed inside an old train carriage in Lower Hutt, just outside of Wellington.

"We put tracing paper on the windows and had lighting outside," says the veteran filmmaker whose job it was to keep the action moving.

But the hardest task fell into the hands of the helpers and assistants outside the carriage who had to bring it to life.

"Every time we were about to do a take we'd say, 'rock the train,' and these poor guys were out in the middle of the night in the freezing cold, rocking the train with their crowbars."

Williams recalls a fun, party-like atmosphere on the set with a cast that included young actors Bruno Lawrence and Stuart Devenie, who were in the early stages of their careers.

"You couldn't get the guns off the guys during the morning tea breaks ... they were in their characters of cowboys and were practicing their fast draws," laughs Williams.

The commercial ran in New Zealand for more than two decades and was also a runaway hit overseas, winning lots of awards.

But when the director moved to Australia in 1980, industry insiders struggled to believe that this very successful ad had been made in New Zealand.

Williams remembers visiting an ad agency and handing over his showreel. The Great Crunchie Train Robbery was right at the top of his list…

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An epic train journey for a game of rugby marks the end of an era. Produced by Julie Benjamin

My father Harry Benjamin came from Westport, and after finishing high school in 1946, he started a pharmacy apprenticeship. He soon purchased a new camera and began to click away on black-and-white film.

When I went through the pile of photos and negatives from dad 's youth, one photo stood out: three rows of well-dressed, young men smile at the camera.

It had been taken inside what looked like a pub. Dad's in the middle row, laughing as he squeezes in between two of his friends. All of them wear medallions with long white streamers.

What was going on?

Because dad died young, I couldn't ask him to explain. So I showed the photo to Brian Collins, one of his closest friends from Westport.

Brian immediately recognized the faces.

The image had been taken in 1949 on a rugby trip, and most of these lads played for Westport's Old Boys Rugby Football club. They were there to support Buller, a minor union, in their attempt to take the Ranfurly Shield off Otago. They had travelled for 17 hours on an overnight excursion steam train to Dunedin, as few people in Westport owned cars back then.

Buller supporter, Jim Kissell, was 19 and worked in the Forestry Service in Invercargill with Brian. Together they met their weary Westport friends as they alighted at the Dunedin railway station around noon on Saturday 30 July. They then gathered at a nearby pub.

A young woman, 23-year-old Vera Cooper had also been on the train trip with her fiancé, Bill Cargill, and five others. She grew up in Millerton, a coal-mining town outside Westport and knew many of the Buller players who had gone to Granity High School with her.

During the long and noisy journey from the west to east coast they got little sleep. Instead, they had singalongs 'and there were lots of laughs'.

Vera had packed her make-up bag, scarf and gloves, as well as a warm 'brown coat with velvet trim... all rugged up for the weather.'

On arrival in Dunedin, Vera and her friends freshened up at the Central Hotel, then walked to Carisbrook. It was there that a photographer snapped the attractive Buller women entering the ground. The photo later featured on the front page of the Sports section.

The game turned out to be a tense battle, particularly in the second half of the match.

Jim Kissell says the stand-out players for Buller were the 'country' boys,"They were rugby players, probably brought up playing soccer up on the mines."

"Old Geordie Anderson used to have a few pints before he played."

Hear more about the epic journey, and the match, in the latest episode of Eyewitness.

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