Photo essay: Fighting the wind to fly the flag

The House: If you've been in Wellington on a windy day (which is most days so the odds are good), you may have noticed a flag bravely dashing itself to pieces way up above the Beehive. It's a cruel thing to do to a piece of cloth but, fully extended in the capital's gentle zephyr, it is at least easy to identify the blue ensign.

The House staff have visited the Beehive roof recently, together with some of those precinct staff who leave flags out to rage uselessly against our caressing breeze.

In August when Kiingi Tuheitia died, Parliament's Speaker Gerry Brownlee decreed that the precinct flags should be flown at half mast. It was a pretty good wind day for Wellington, so there was barely a gale.

Wrestling with the flag is Locky Lockington, who has the necessary muscle to fight both Hauraro and Tonga ten floors up.

Parliament's acting facilities engineering manager Steve Barron displays one of the blue ensigns that fly atop the Beehive. The flag is approximately five metres long and you could eat dinner off one of the stars.

And yet, seen from afar, the flag looks small. Previously there were three sizes, employed according to the likely wind conditions. They were referred to as the handkerchief, the tea towel, and the tablecloth. In recent years a Speaker (I've not determined which) requested that the tablecloth alone be used.

The smallest flag, commonly raised for stormy weeks, did look a bit absurd-like a tiny hat on a huge man, but it had the distinct advantage of coping better in the wind.

The flags get damaged and need repairing often. To allow for this, there are usually four or five of them at any one time: one on the roof, one or more in repair and some waiting in the wings, just in case. Sometimes they last for months, but a punishing spring week can do a lot of damage in just a few days.

It's not just the flags that take a beating. The pole also gets punished, often by the flags.

The pole is made to pivot at its huge base, for repairs and repainting. At the edge of the Beehive roof is a cradle for it to rest in when it is in maintenance repose. At rest, the pole points squarely at the Ministry of Defence. I wondered idly if the direction the flag points makes the uniformed staff next door consider pivoting their own flagpole down to aim towards the Beehive in response. A Wellington stand-off.

Parliament and the Beehive (the Executive Wing), sit geographically in the centre of government, like the hub of a wheel of power. Most of the main ministry offices are within a block or two.

A view southwest takes in the financial twins of the Treasury and the Reserve Bank, beyond which can be seen the former Ministry of Education base and the Ministry of Defence. Behind Defence are Waka Kotahi and Primary Industries. Smaller entities also share buildings. For example the Parliamentary Counsel Office is among those residing in the Reserve Bank building.

It's not just government in close proximity either; east and southeast you can see District, High, Appeal and Supreme Courts.

Behind Parliament House a new Parliamentary Precinct building is rising, after a nearly three decade delay. The new building will largely be wood and easily reconfigurable for MP and ministerial offices.

The view north from the roof shows Te Ahumairangi Hill (which rises to the west of the Prime Minister's residence and the narrow winding lanes of old Thorndon - out of shot). Along Hill Street, behind the Parliamentary Library, the Catholic Cathedral is the meat in the sandwich between the British High Commission and the Anglican Cathedral. Across Molesworth Street from the Anglicans is the National Library, along with a number of embassies and other ministries (Justice, Environment, Archives etc).

If you want to look back in time, look east towards Wellington harbour, where you will find the largest wooden building in the Southern Hemisphere - the early government office building which is now the Law School for the Victoria University of Wellington.

Watching it all is the brave little blue ensign that almost could, flapping itself into an early grave with joy and abandon.