BIRDS AND BEASTS

Press, Volume LXX, Issue 21355, 24 December 1934, Page 10 (Supplement)

BIRDS AND BEASTS

Often have I sat in the bush on Banks Peninsula, under the huge totaras and matais that lift their heads high into the sunshine. There ihey had stocd for hundreds of years. There they were before Captain Cook sailed slowly by and gave its name to Banks Peninsula; there they were when the Dutch navigator Tasman first made New Zealand itself known to the people of Europe. Year after year during all that time had the clematis hung its white garlands on the trees and the supplejack coiled its black ropes and hung its clusters o£ red berries; year after year had the tuis and korimakos and koknkos sung in the ferny bush and chimed their silvery bells. Yes, and in the cold snowy winters when our parents or grandparents were enjoying their Christmas in the warmth of winter fires, hearing the church bells ringing, their sound floating on the frosty air, here in New Zealand the birds were ringing their Christmas bells when summer wa's warm, and the only snow was the snow of petals from fragrant passion-flower, and ngaio. and heketara in the bush, and manuka on the open hill-sides. Those who know the bush know how beautifully it is decorated at Christmas time; it is the church of nature where song and praise go on all through the year. I remember one summer afternoon when I had left the cool bush to climb a little way on to the hillside above so that I could look down on the tops of the trees. At that time of the year the cocksfoot is flowering; you know how much of that useful grass is grown for its seed on the peninsula. You know, too, what a rough, uninteresting-looking plant it is in' ordinary times. But now, the antlers of its tiny flowers covered every bending flower-head with the softest colours of pink and pale yellow 7, and as the antlers trembled in the light wind in which the heads drooped and nodded, the grass looked beauitfnl: and with its nodding it seemed to be wishing me the compliments of the season. So I was careful how I walked. When in a few minutes I turned and sat down to look at the bush, I saw much more. I was on the north side of the peninsula, and far below me lay the bright blue waters of Pegasus Bay, with Mount Grey inland and the blue Kaikouras edging on to the water far in the distance. Sumner was hidden, but I could see the whole sweep of the beach past New Brighton, past the Waimakariri, the Ashley, the Hurunui, and far on to the Kaikoura shore, paradise for artists and holi-day-makers. And all along the curved beach was a line, half snow. half silver, where the waves of Pegasus Bay were breaking on the sand. , It was a little nor'-westery, and that means the air was clear, and distant things seemed much nearer, to that the Oxford and Puketeraki

THE DISTANT BELLS

(By Johannes C. Andersen)

and Waipara hills stood out clearly, range behind range, bathed in a pale green colour that, is the colour of magic, for the mountains looked like the entrance to a fairyland, Afternoon grew to evening, the beauty softened but did not disappear, and as the sun sank toward those distant hills and mountains —what was it I heard? A faint sound of dong, dong, dong, dong—now here, now there, now in several places—dong, dong, dong, dong. Looking away to those fairyland mountains, clear as if enclosed in a chrysolite, I bent to listen. Did the sound, so far away, come from the shining valleys of those hills? ■ —were there other world churches and cathedrals hidden away in those valleys?—in the valleys of the Okuku, and the Rakahuri, and. the Waipara, and other beautiful rivers I knew flowed there in crystal streams? In the green of the chrysolite were there other lands hidden than those we see in the ordinary day, lands that could only be seen in the strange soft green light of evening? Seen? —No, not even seen, though the faint bells could be heard—dong. dong, dong, dong. And here are three of the sets of notes sung by three different birds; soft bell-notes, the sound of which you may get an idea if you play them on the piano, the value of each note'being about a second, and the rest a second.

In fancy I saw the girls in their kirtles and their flowers, their laces and ribbons, the boys in their holiday clothes—dong, dong—what could those hills not make you fancy?— Were they going to some festival? Yes, no doubt, for worship too should have the cheerful happiness of a festival—dong, dong—else why do we greet one another with "Merry Christmas"? But the fairyland was not so far away. Looking down to the bush below me, I saw that on the tops of dead branches stretched above the _reen of the trees sat here a tui, there a korimako, and it was from these that came the sound of the dong, dong, dong, dong, that sounded so sweet and soft and far away. And I wondered how many thousands of years these birds had been singing and singing their worship in these green valleys and on the green hillsides of Banks Peninsula, before the settlers came, and most of the bush melted, away. This evening I realised, too, that whilst a fairyland may seem far and far away as the Puketeraki land seemed then, it may really be quits close to you — in your very heart