DID THE OLD NETMAKER KNOW?

Auckland Star, Volume LXX, Issue 201, 26 August 1939, Page 2 (Supplement)

DID THE OLD NETMAKER KNOW?

"Nothing ever happens," I complained, as I lay sunbathing on the golden sundrenched sands of a quaint seaside town. Two weeks preyiously my harumscarum cousin and I had come to visit our aunt, a tall, gaunt spinster, who owned the village tea shop. We had

8y.... Joyce Stanley

fully expected to have a few adventures while we were exploring, but nothing had happened—that is—nothing to speak of—except when we were lost in one of the innumerable passages that riddled the chalk cliffs thaj stood like grim sentinels on each end of the bay. True we had spent an uncomfortable- night in the damp passage, and were scared to death by the eerie sound the wind made in the honeycombed cliff. It was not till late next morning the anxious search party found us dejected and cold.

The leader of the search party was an old net-maker who often told us exciting yarns about smugglers and buried

treasure, as we sat on his lobster pots on the end of the quay. He ordered us home to bed and a steaming cup o' broth before we caught our death of colds, muttering to himself with a twinkle in his eye about daring young ragamuffins.

"Then there was the time we went Ashing. Aunt Milly had packed us a scrumptious hamper and Ave had started towards the rocks in high hopes of catching enough fish for a, week. Just as we were nearing tiiein, Eric, who was about ten yards ahead of me, started to sink, but I did not run to his aid. I realised he was caught in quicksand and that I would sink too if I went much furthet. The sand was up to his waist now, and the more he floundered and struggled the more firmly he became embedded. Not heeding his frenzied cries for me to help him I scanned the dazzling sands for something to pull him out with. Suddenly I saw an old oar, and without any hesitation, I ran back with it to the edge of the treacherous sands. Lying down I dug my feet into firm sand and stretched out the oar as far as it would go. "Grab hold of thi-s and pull yourself out," ll yelled as I prepared myself for a hard pull. Ten minutes later we both lay j on firm sand gasping and laughing. "You do lf)ok a sight," I cried, as I 1 looked at him caked with wet sand up to his chest. "You had better go back

and change." "A little bit of mud won't hurt and besides it's all in the day's fun," he scoffed and persuade as I would he stubbornly refused to go back. So off we started once again. "Where's the hamper," I cried suddenly, remembering that Eric had volunteered to carry it. "It's sunk," he said in a crestfallen voice, "for I had it when I started to sink, but I suppose we will be that absorbed in catching all the fish in the ocean that we won't* miss our dinner," he finished cheerfully, and we trudged on.

Half way round the rocks Eric stepped on a jelly fish, which caused him to sit down with a thump on top of an enormous crab, which quickly , took a large portion of Ms trousers. The wily old thing waddled away waving a piece of blue serge triumphantly in the air, a wicked look in its beady black eyes. Two hours found us sitting on the rocks patiently fishing and not one fish to show for our patience. Already we were feel-' ing the pangs of hunger, and our mouths fairly watered to think of all those scrumptious dainties at the bottom of the quicksands. "Aw J let's go home," he said disgustedly, and I fully agreed. But I could not wind up my line. "It must be caught in some seaweed," said Eric, for it would not move when I tugged it. "Oh, bother! I'll soon fix that," I cried heatedly, and I gave the line a vicious tug. Splash! Ow! as I hit the water, for I was unprepared for the silly line to give way so easily. I am sure I would have drowned if Eric had not pulled me out just as I was goin<» under for the third time. Wet, cold, hungry and crestfallen wtf made for home.

Then there was the time we went rowing in the dinghy, and lost one of the oars. We were picked up six hours later by a fishing trawler, which nearly rammed Us. And the time we were marooned on a narrow precipice, high up * ace the cliff, all because we climbed down almost a sheer face and couldn't climb up. Yes; nothing exciting has happened, I mused; now, if we could find hidden treasure or something— "Hi! Pat! Pat!" It was Eric's voice that interruptedmy meditation. "Do you know what I've found? Well, I've found a hidden path going up the cliff," he went on and he waved his hand vaguely behind him. "Come on, let's explore," I cried, springing to my feet, and I ran off in pursuit of excited, impatient Eric, r he had started for the distant cliff. Panting and puffing we arrived at the root of the grim old sentinel. "There it Sti. ga l ped i Er . ie ,' P osnt,n g at a narrow path about eighteen inches wide, that was scarcely visible to the human eye. _Is it safe? I faltered uncertainly, for there seemed to be no footholds. "Safe as liwv Eric retorted daringly. Come on, and he started upwards on hands and knees. Like a loval do<r I followed my master. It was hard work 1 °m SUch a fine ,la y- The sea gleamed silver and everything seemed calm and serene. Two or three times I lost my footing and would have gone >Hi*to«tl»-Tocks*belcwr if*

Eric had not grabbed me , but more often it was Eric that stumbled and landed in my arms. Abruptly the path stopped, for a large pohutukawa blocked up the way. Pulling the thick branches aside Eric gave a low whistle of surprise, for there was a large sandy bottomed ewe. As we walked about inside my foot struck something metal. "I say, ft looks like the top of a box or a treasure chest said Eric, as we started to dig feverishly. "It's coming," I eaid. "Hurrah! * for we had dug a small, riisty metal box dear of the sand. "I say, it's heavy!" exclaimed Eric. 'Terhaps it is hidden treasure the old - netmaker told us was buried somewhere in these cliffs by ancient smugglers." "I say, it isn't locked either," I cried with a whoop of joy; "open it quickly. Now we will bo able to have a bike and a wristlet watch and-—" Obi how disappointed our voices must have seemed, for, when Eric lifted back the lid it revealed the box. to be iull of I common sand. "Ugh! Tip the sand out, the treasure may be at the bottom," I suggested. Erie did so, and 10, there was no treasure, only a slip of discoloured paper. Wonderingly Eric opened the paper. It read:— To the honourable finder— You can bury worse things than sand, You can also bury better. Signed, Henry the Eighth. 1939. Ever Been Had. We had!