MEMORIES.

Auckland Star, Volume LIX, Issue 261, 3 November 1928, Page 7 (Supplement)

MEMORIES.

A' MARVEL OF THE DAWN.

AN IDYLLIC EXPERIENCE.

CURLEW'S CHOICE OF A BREEDING PLACE.

(By NEVILLE FORDER.)

I often wonder if in any other spot than Auckland outskirts, as they were in my early youth, such tenderly, gorgeously, ravishingly beautiful mornings can be noted and enjoyed; and I've seen some lovely day-dawns in various parts of this naturally beautiful world, too. That was one reason why I never haggled about leaving my comfortable bed to go forth and hunt for an errant horse or cow that had taken "French leave" overnight and had to be reclaimed immediately if not sooner. I loved the decoy fragrance of the first blush of day; and for any able to appreciate this exquisite condition of nature, there was no better place to find it than the country immediately surrounding our home. One morning excursion of this nature is indelibly imprinted on my mind, and has often recurred as I turned the yellowing tablets of memory. I was awakened this heavenly late spring morning and informed that our cow had got out of the "stock yard," and there would be no milk for breakfast if she wasn't found and promptly returned to duty. All that was needful in the way of preparation was for me to jump into my knickers, fasten my braces, and "hit out." Ten minutes after leaving our own back gates I was "Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, j To meet the sun upon the upland lawn." And hurrying down the spur I saw one of the strangest and intensely interesting sights probably ever vouchsafed to the pakeha. Maoris may have seen its equal, but it could only have been by a fluke. I know it held me spellbound, scarcely | daring to breathe. Right opposite me, on the opposite' shore near to where the lowness of the \ bank had lured to his horrible death that poor fellow I have told about, who tried to cross the creek in the dark, got engulfed to his waist by the treacherous mud and was slowly drowned by the increeping tide, grew a good-sized patch of rushes right out of the sea-soaked sand. Next there was a tiny sandy beach, and backing this a Btraggly, distorted kowhai tree, its lower branches, only about three feet from the sand, stunted, no doubt by the fierce winds that, in winter, had for centuries howled up the creek, shrieked around this lonely bend, and expended their rage on the low shores opposite, ere sweeping on across Arch Hill's eastern slopes. Well, the sight that entranced me was one to interest even a Sydney hoodlumblind and oblivious as that creature is to all that is beautiful and elevating —and it held me in chains of rapture. The first thing noticeable was several fullsized curlew —the shyest, most timorous of wild birds. They were running about on the strip of sand, from the overhanging branches of the tree to the fringe of the patch of rushes, and all the while uttering anxious little calls. Presently I noticed that these were answered in weaker strain from the tree, still mostly in shadow. Then the sun burst the light bondage of the clouds of dawn, and the thick, outreaching lower limbs of the tree were suddenly visible. The "Cheep, cheep" and the harsh "Come on, it's full time for your morning bath," got more insistent, and along those shiny green-black branches baby curlew began to run, one after another and to plop, plop to the sand below, till at least fifty little birds had plucked .up courage and made the fluttering jump to terra firxna. Then the mothers got busy, and every one in turn was ordered into the nearly motionless water, each, as he or she emerged after a fluttering and splashing in the shallow wavelets, getting well up on the sand, and making the water fly off its feathers in a shower, as it ruffled and shook its plumage. As soon as their young charge* had dried themselves, the mothers took charge and escorted them into the sparse cover of the rushes; there, no doubt, to pass the dangerous hours of daylight and grow the wings and tail so necessary for flight. and safety; till dusk would find them once more making their laborious ascent to safety and sleep. They certainly could not take flight, ill-equipped as they were, and the mothers had evidently chosen that cosy corner as possessing, as near as they could discern, almost all the' requisites of a safe breeding place. It was a wonderful sight and an experience to be thankful for. The cow? Oh, the dear creature took herself home, and I found her "mooing" impatiently outside the big gate when I came in sight of it. I led my father to understand that she had bolted home the moment she sighted me, and left me to follow as best I might. And I told neither him nor anyone else about the curlew. I did not want them to be disturbed.