THEY ARE THE SMALLEST

Auckland Star, Volume LXVIII, Issue 7, 9 January 1937, Page 6 (Supplement)

THEY ARE THE SMALLEST

ABOUT RIFLEMEN. By E. G. TURBOTT, B.Sc. The tiny riflemen, bush wrens, or titi-pounamu, are three inches long, which makes them the smallest bird in New Zealand. I think this comes just too late to help those fortunate persons who might find a rifleman's nest, because the laying season i« over. The dates at wlijch eggs are laid are generally understood to be from August to December. The nest is found anywhere in heavy bush, especially among the mountains, but also down to sea level. The rifleman stuff* a

tiny crevi-ee in a tree with feathers and some binding material; or, more often, instead of feathers, uses sticks, grass and roots. I must not. however, write too much about this part of its life, because it is the part whicli I have not yet been successful in seeing. * At this time, however, young riflt men should be about. Although I used to laugh to think of there being anything smaller than an adult rifleman, the juveniles are there to be seen by those who live in the right places. Tiny as they are, older riflemen make a good deal of noise.

I have noticed a continual "zee" note every time 1 have met the rifleman. On the occasion of meeting this bird you feel that yon are not intruding into his everyday life. This is far from being the case with many birds. What a fuss a tui makes if you come too close at any time of the year! Riflemen stick to their business. There was one T met at the edge of the Tongariro National Park — for the tiny bird likes to dwell together with the biggest mountains. This was a hen rifleman. Her head and back were striped with brown on a light background,' as compared with her mate, who is green-backed. We splashed down in tbe car on the

road through damp forest to a bridge. It was very cold down here, and wherever water had collected on the road it had formed sheets of ice. Through the trees we could see Mount Ruapehu. The first birds to arrive after we stopped were some white-breasted tomtits, which flew across the road. Then came up that remarkably small bundle of feathers, the rifleman, "zeeing" all the time

as she moved about. I followed her for some distance, and I am sure no minute insect or spider escaped her notice. She did not stop her passage through the trees because I was interested, but kept on with her 'work.

When I saw some riflemen in the South Island I noticed that they were equally unconcerned. I nearly took photograph* of them, for this was in the open cloisters under a southern beech forest, very different from the heavy undergrowtlied rain forest of the north. However, the tall beech trees shut out a great deal of light, and riflemen have too much of that endlessly repeated wink and twinkle of wing to lie properly photographed at any time. This, too, wa« in the heart of a mountain region, on the side of Arthur's Pass. I remember '.t a»> a delightful forest picture, in which the riflemen worked over the mossy beech trunks just in front of

The constantly quivering wings and faint, persistent call are characteristic of the rifleman. Both were noted at a nest observed by Cuthrie-Sntith:—"When approaching with food the birds flew in short stages from shrub to shrub, zee, zee, zeeing as they came in. The halting place occupied immediately prior tit the plunge beneath the bole—where the birds always for a moment paused, though never for an instant ceasing to flinch their wings—was a rootle_t detached from the peat and swinging loose in the air, low and parallel to the log. With an effort tl.at ahyavs set the loop aswinging, an upright dart was then made, and a moment Inter, from the sharper 'zee. zee. zee.' we knew that the act of feeding was in progress."

WHEN one is 17 or so life is full of happiness, and things are

very good indeed. So it was with Hazel Pendlebury and so it was with her twin, Allan; so, too, it was with their parents, who, though long past the joyous age of 17, still retained that enviable quality— youth of spirit. Well, when one is. like the Pendleburys, happy all the year round, one is naturally exceptionally happy at Christmas time. The very fact that they were preparing for Yuletide was to the Pendleburys a jollity on its own; their preparations were probably very much the same as you are makins now for the joyous festivity. A row of Christmas puddings hunjr in the kitchen, plum puddings that were not a week old, and that gave one quite an appetite to look at them. The Christmas cake, iced and splen

did, cent the most exciting of spicy aromas through the room, and the decorations that had taken so much trouble to put up transformed the dining room into a wonderful place, where anything might take place.

It is Christmas Eve now, tea is over, and the great heat of the day has merged slowly into the blessed

cool of the evening. Hazel has slipped out by herself for a few moments, and after a short walk comes to her favourite nook among the pohutukawa trees. Seating herself on a low branch she gives herself up entirely to her thoughts. She wonders for a moment if she would feel strange in an old English Christmas of snow and holly berries, but comes to the conclusion that New Zealand weather is so exactly Christmassy that she couldn't do without it. After all, she ponders, the Magi journeyed into the heart of the very first Christmas in great heat, and towards evening came a great cool, just as it comes in New Zealand after the day's fierce heat. The first shimmered now upon the broad, clean stretch of 6ky —clear-cut stars, as vivid and impressive as the tinsel stars on the Christmas trees when Hazel and Allan were children. That seemed bo long ago, Hazel thought. When one is 17 one is so immensely grown up. Hazel could just see the chimneys of Widow Brown's cottage from where she sat. Was Widow Brown having a happy Christmas? Hazel knew the answer was "No." Widow Brown had been so lonely since little Jackie, her six-footer sailor-man son, had left her five years ago. Hazel was so happy herself that it was rather hard for her to imagine anyone being actually unhappy at

Christmas. But into the midst of her musings burst a wild little Irish terrier, followed closely by his owner, Allan. Of course, this put an end to solitary peace, but it was not an unwelcome interruption, and Hazel laughingly consented to help play Santa Claus to the ragged little Connor boys and girls. The fact that Father ,Christmas, with a feminine edition of himself, whom he introduced as Mother Christmas, had arrived a day too soon did not affect the enthusiasm of the children in the slightest. Indeed, this small piece of originality received a warm welcome, and things went right merrily. It is about half an hour to midnight now, and the Pendleburys are walking to midnight Mass. Mr. and Mrs. Pendlebury have met some

Whereat they both laugh heartily, and having drawn near to the church they are met by several friends. Hazel is delighted to meet Carmelita, an old companion who has been away for some time, and having exchanged many pieces of newe, they both seek their respective parents and enter the church. Allan comes in a moment after them, his face very red and shiny, like the face of a boy scout who has just done his pood deed for the day. As he tells Hazel afterwards, he has just met an old Scots bird fancier, a hardened enemy of hie (the fact being that Allan had purchased a bird from him and, as the old Scot swore, paid for it with a 'dood half-croon!). Anyway, to quote Allan: "I saw the old fellow glaring at me, as per usual, so I went up to him and said. 'Tammas, letVs be friends on it,' and