HIS COCKSFOOT CHEQUE

Dominion, Volume 27, Issue 70, 15 December 1933, Page 6 (Supplement)

HIS COCKSFOOT CHEQUE

An Adventure In Hutt Valley

WHEN THE STORM' SWEPT DOWN

(By

A. W. Stuckey)

Life in a tent under summer skies and stars is an alluring prospect, but there are occasions when a canvas home has its limitations. This amusing tale of a Hutt Valley adventure is a case in point,

jfajLr E were discussing the depress*on an d hard times. “I am WWI thinking, Jack,” I said, “of ITTH camping up the Hutt Valley and cutting. Cocksfoot for seed. In the Trentham Camp days I remember seeing some good patches of Cocksfoot up that way.” “A good idea,” said. Jack, “there should be plenty of Cocksfoot in the valley. I wish I could come with you. I hope you get a good cheque.” ♦ * ♦ I pitched my little tenb in a gully opposite a river flat where I could see there was Cocksfoot. At day-break next day I was at it. I was feeling in the pink and full of pep and ginger, the Cocksfoot fell fast before my reaping hook. I didn’t knock off until dusk. It was a lovely evening—not a breath of wind. The full moon rose over the hills into a clear starry sky. As I sat by the camp fire waiting for the billy to boil I thought how good camp life was after all. The moon was like a harvest moon—in fact, I suppose it was a harvest moon. I thought of the people who had no chance to get out into the great wide out-of-doors —to get right close to the great) big heart of Nature—to get in tune and commune with her. To hear her voice whispering in the trees—in the babbling brooks—in the rustling grasses and the sighing reeds. I felt sorry for those people. If we could but understand her message—how limited and uncertain was our knowledge after all. I looked again at the harvest, moon then I retired thinking of the harvest I would reap from the seeding, and nearly fell asleep before I got into bed. ’ '

I dreamed that I was swim; ming in the air just like I could in the water but much faster. It was a lovely sensation—over the top of the hills and trees with the wind rushing past me. Then I heard loud flapping noises and I woke up. The wind was

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rushing past mo all right and the tent was flapping too. It was freshening into a gale. ■ “Oh bother—it will be all right,” I thought, and soon was asleep again, but I was awakened almost immediately by a rushing roaring sound and very violent flapping. Half asleep I got up to secure the tent but I was too late—with hurricane force the wind carried the tent off the face of the earth and wrapped it round a tree trunk nearby. My goods and chattels went flying away in the same direction. I had no time to grab them. They were quick starters. In fact I stood for a moment —stunned, flummoxed, flabbergasted. I thought I must be still dreaming, but the raging gale dispelled that idea. My boots did not go far find I secured them. I could not move in that gorse infested grass barefooted. Clad in my boots and shirt I ran to get my clothes, which were arrested by a big patch of gorse. Bracing myself for the ordeal—there was nothing else for it, as I had to have my clothes at any price— l rushed in where an armoured angel might fear to tread. My clothes were pinioned and held by the long thorns. So was I—several times. I was wide awake by this time. I survived and recovered with my clothes on. But alas my pants were minus my last few shillings. The gale was still raging—no hope of erecting the tent. I rolled myself up in it and lay down behind the tree until morning which came at last with the gale going strong. Shivering like a leaf I could only wait for help, which came in the shape of a milk cart. “Great Scott, you must have' had a rotten time last night. Where's your camp?” said the driver. I couldn’t speak—not on account of his kind words and sympathy or any emotion like that. My voice had gone —gone on the wings of that wind. I touched my throat and beckoned to him. Seeing at once what had hap, pened he said, “You will be a case for