The Beachqombers.

Auckland Star, Volume LXVII, Issue 253, 24 October 1936, Page 5 (Supplement)

The Beachqombers.

By RUTH PARK,

TIMOTHY claimed vehemently that he had smelt it first; I was equally sure that I had. We hoth sniffed the air like dogs. The Wicked Puppy sniffed too, but merely a 6 a matter of form. The air was so full of different scents and odours that he hadn't the slightest notion which one our more obtuse noses were trying to define. It was a decidedly oceanic smell, rising triumphant above the already strong briny odour of the abating sea. "All kinds, of queer things come in after storms," observed Timothy. "Dead things, too." "This isn't dead," I said scornfully. "It's not half sticky enough." We moved slowly up the beach, the Wicked Puppy yelping with infantile delight. The shingle was crusted white with salt, and littered with seaweed and shellfish. The sea was a sullen grey, flecked and marbled with foam, and even now one coukl hear in its manifold voices an undercurrent of wrath. The gulls seemed to blow out of the mountains across the gulf; riding the wind they came, in a wild, mad ecstasy of flight. They fought and screamed overhead, and several times I saw one swoop upon a mussel and dart away into the air with it. I was not long left in doubt as to the motive, for a mussel came whizzing past my ears, to smash with a luscious, scrunching sound upon the rocks. A second later the gull was tearing at the revealed flesh and squabbling stridently with. his brethren. "Dad wouldn't believe me when I told him gulls did that," observed Timothy. I received this in silence. The incredulity of adults was well known to me. There was nothing you could do about it. They seemed to grow into the habit, just as they grew into other incomprehensible mannerisms and complexities. The smell was undeniably stronger now. Even the Wicked Puppy noticed it. He cocked one absurd ear, and, wrinkling his nose, assumed a knowing expression. This was received with the scorn his youth deinanded. He lapsed into mournfulness. The beach curved sharply into a little half-moon bay. Here the teatree ran down the slope in bronzygreen battalion, small prickly leaves uptlirust in shrill defiance. During the storm the bushes had been almost engulfed by the ravening sea, but still they stood, white with spindrift, but indomitable yet. "It's here!" announced Timothy decisively, and-indeed there was no denying the fact. The Wicked Puppy staggered a second, then with a sudden surge of gallantry plunged into the manuka. We saw his quivering tail, fraught with excitement,

and heard his pompous snufflings, then we, too, pulled away the branches and investigated. It was a large slab of greyish substance, veined with brown, and from it emanated the most powerful and unique odour we had yet encountered. "Good heavens!" T choked, and made to leave for fresher atmospheres, when something in Timothy's

attitude struck me. He was far from being a handsome boy, but just now lie looked almost beautiful. His eyes were lucent with dawning knowledge, his topknot of fiery hair vibrant with excitement. Es'en his attitude was strange, standing as he was with rapt >and sidebent head as though listening for beatific melodies. The Wicked Puppy dropped his role of arrogant hound and crept whimpering to the feet of his liege lord and master. Timothy shut his eyes and drew several deep,' slow breaths of that quintessence of oceanic smells; Then he opened them, and said, hushed and reverent: j "It's ambergrease!"

"What sort of grease?" asked I, uncomprehending. He bent on me a glance eloquent of an age-old scorn for all womenkind, and then went on solemnly, "It is worth pounds and pounds fin ounce, and there be jioiuul* and 'pounds in that piece. I heard clnu describe it once, and 'specially the smell —" "It is awful," I admitted. *He turned on me fiercely, v.ach freckle glowing with zeal. "Don t vou understand that we're rich I he cried. "That stuff's ambergrea«e, what they get from whales, and it s terrible dear to buy."

Like a thunderbolt it struck me. Realisation ran through me like a flame in dry wood, lighting me here and there till my whole being was aglow. Then a tremor shook me. "Are you sure?" I asked Timothy. He stood a second in doubt, and then, "We'll ask Peter Ryan. He knows. He's been a sailor. But," he added fiercely, "it is! I know it is." Peter Ryan was working in the' paddock immediately above the beach. We could see, his humped old figure bending above the spade. As we rati,' my mind leaped and staggered at the stupendous' thing which had befallen u's. Riches —I saw visions, dreamed dreams in the fleeting space of seconds. I glanced at Timothy,

forging ahead, lips set, eyes fixed, strange ecstasies evident behind the blanknees of his face. "Peter! PeteiM" I screamed. He turned his wrinkled,' brown pippin face towards us, and rested a moment on his Bpade. "Well, what yoti be wanting, acushla?" he queried. Tri 11 minute even Mr. Ryan was excited. "Ambergris, is it? Well, jt'H u hit far north is the Coromandel Quit, but Htill—wait a minit, childer —" and he and we were soon racing hack to the beach. • *" With hushed and tremulous hearts we pulled aside the bushes. It was a great moment. Mr. Ryan closed his eyes'as a wave of that indesciibable effluvia smote him, then he went nearer. There was deathly silence. The Wicked Puppy ventured a bark, but a glance from his lord's awful eye extinguished him. "It's a bit of stingaree, that's what it is," said Mr. Ryan crossly, "that even the sharks wouldn't eat. Ambergrease, bedad! Be off now, and stop your shenanigans!" and he climbed muttering back to his paddock. The day died slowly, and the dark was creeping out of the bush when we neared home. Our abysmal gloom, had affected even the high spirits of the Wicked Puppy. All the weariness of untold years was in his shamble, his drooping tail eloquent of unutterable sorrow. I stole _ a glance at Timothy. He stared stonily ahead,' but suddenly I saw a. gleam of hope flash into his stern countenance. Something had evidently penetrated , the sombre clouds which shrouded his soul. , . "Gosh, I do believe that mum's got sausages for tea!" said Timothy, and quickened his pace. SUMMERTIME GAMES. CAUGHT BY THE TIDE. One player is Father Neptune and one is the Tide. The rest are just themselves. When Father Neptune calls "Tide in" the Tide runs and touches as many of the players as he can before Father Neptune • calls "Tide out." The last player to be caught by the Tide becomes the new Tide, and at the end of the game the Tide that has caught the most number of people is the winner. SUNNY SEASIDE TOWNS. One player represents the sun and holtls a ball. He gives the name of a different seaside town to each of the other players who stand in a circle round him. Suddenly he calls out a name and throws a ball, beginning to count quickly as he throws. He continues to do this while the owner of the town runs after the ball and brings it back. He gets it as quickly as possible because the number the sun cormts represents the number' of hours the 6un is- away from that particular town. As soon as the town hands the ball to the sun he is told his number of cloudy hours.," When everyone ; has had a turn, the new sun: is the. towii which has had the, most sunshine; in other words the one with the lowest'number of cloudy hours. The game then begins again. •' \ v