RANDOM REMINDER

Press, Volume C, Issue 29712, 4 January 1962, Page 14

RANDOM REMINDER

HEARTS OF OAK

There is a certain magic in the long, warm summer nights; a full moon, with a soft breeze whispering through the trees, is an invitation for even those of mature years to spend the evening out of doors.' And on such a night, a barbecue party is a particularly pleasant occasion. The tall trees and placid waters at the Groynes provide an excellent setting for a barbecue, especially when the assembled company has at its disposal a rowing boat in which to paddle leisurely about the little islands, where the willow and flax trail their tendrils in the calm water. Just before Christmas there was a barbecue at the Groynes which had all the props —a lovely night, a moon, a rowing boat, endless supplies of chops and steak and sausages, and a generous supply of that which is necessary to ward off the effects of any sudden drop in the temperature which might occur later in the evening. The barbecue had reached a community singing stage, and had descended to things like Nellie Dean, when two of the gentlemen decided to exercise in the boat. They set out, and after a little while those about the glowing fire at the base camp could hear

the oarsman busily catching crabs and splashing his companion, and a plaintive little debate about whose turn it was to row. They went out of sight, and their dear ones safe by the fire knew nothing of the drama about to unfold. The passenger insisted that he should sit on the stern, above the seat, although it was clear from the moment they set off that it was an unsatisfactory arrangement, for the amount of freeboard could have been measured only with calipers. It was when they were in midstream that tragedy struck. The man in the stern, who has a university education but whose knowledge of mechanics is fragmentary, flung back his head, perhaps to savour the beauty of the star-stud-ded sky, perhaps in response to a strong presentiment that the weather might turn cold at any time. The backward movement was enough to alter a balance extremely delicate to begin with. The boat filled swiftly, and sank with a dignified gurgle, in about five feet of water. The passenger, clinging to his liquid sustenance as if it were a lifejacket. set off briskly for th* shore. The cap-

tain, sitting stiffly at attention, went down with his ship. It was a moment for something by Elgar to be faded in. The passenger, with the stoic courage of the British, had hardly reached the safety of the shore and placed the jar in a secure place before he called out to his skipper to ask if he wanted any assistance. This ready response was answered by the spouting noises characteristic of Moby Dick in similar moments of stress. The passenger, carelessly disregarding the danger involved, put his right foot clean back into the water and extended a hand to help his skipper ashore. It was a moment neither of them will forget, as they stood there in the moonlight, hands elapsed in the fashion of true Britishers, w’ith the water running off their clothes in fascinating little rivulets. And on the riverbed the torch they had carried still shone, a single, unwinking eye. the only witness to yet another small chapter in the heroic saga of the sea. It was a sharp reminder of the truth of the words of RearAdmiral Peter Phipps, when he had said, just a few weeks earlier, that New Zealand had the sailors, but was without the ihip*.