MIGRANT’S STORY.

King Country Chronicle, Volume XXII, Issue 2516, 20 December 1927, Page 6

MIGRANT’S STORY.

LIKES NEW ZEALAND. "UNLIMITED OPPORTUNITY.’ ’ One immigrant who has no regrets about his pilgrimage from England to New Zealand, records his impressions of the land of his adoption in an article in the Spectator. He writes as follows: It was nearly dusk when we landed at Wellington. It was Sunday, too, and a strange city is still more strange if you do not know its Sabbath customs. A /desire for real shore-going food was uppermost in my mind. This seemed to be general, for as we went from restaurant to eatinghouse—and! sometimes back again—we met almost our entire company similarly occupied. On Monday we dispersed to our various destinations. My particular train went southward discharging on to the tiny back-country platforms, here a \wieapinfi| domestic, there a stolid north country ploughman, and perhaps a somewhat forlorn, schoolboy. Perhaps we saw them hoist their bundles into a farmer’s gig before the night swallowed them up. Friends of but six weeks’ acquaintance, but bound by the curious intimacies of a sea voyage, and by our common hopes for the future in this new land. My own destination was Christchurch. Tire Y.M.C.A. opened its hospitable doors to me and directed me tfo '"reliable’'’ lodgings, where a motherly person gave me a taste of real colonial kindness. I had decided on a short stay in the city to refresh myself and my small wardrobe, and hoped to find casual work to harden me up after the comparative inactivity of the voyage. I scanned the advertisement column of the daily papers as soon as they appeared, and would bo off after a "tomato picker” or odd job man” wanted, as fast as my legs could carry me. But always someone with longer legs was there first. I applied at employment bureaux; but temporary jobs for unskilled men thero were none. If I didn’t get fit working, I had plenty of exercise looking for work . The money brought from England to last me until I found a job began to run low; and, pleasant as it was to walk about in that most English and pleasant city, I realised that it was time to carry out my original intention, which was to retire to the back country and seek my fortune there. • HEADED SOUTH. One perfect morning I took the train southward. North or south, it was all th© one to me, but the south looked more exciting on the map, so south I went. At a little town on the coast I met a man who said: "You try the Mackenzie Country, they always want men there. It’s such a cold, wild spot no one will stay in it.” So to the- Mackenzie Country I repaired. An inn on the shores of the loveliest lake gave me a night’s lodging. But the next day I must find quarters elsewhere, for it was Easter time and tliere would be no room. I had heard much of colonial back-country hospitality, but, accustomed to English ways, it is not easy to- intrude oneself to the exteno of practically demanding food and lodging, upon complete strangers. However, there seemed no alternative. I had left the Canterbury Plains sweltering in heat. I came to the Mackenzie in a snowstorm and remembered the words of my friend] on the coast. But the sunset that evening was clear; and the next jday, Good Friday, as bright and sparkling as a winter’s tlay in the Swiss Alps. I chose at random a sheep station some 18 miles away and set off with a very light heart. The heat of the sun soon cleared the snow from the plains—miles and miles of rolling plains, not a tree to bo seen. Only the brown tussock grass and—most welcome sight to sea and pavemeiat-iweary eyes—a great circle of glorious snowy mountains. Leaving the lake and valley where I had lodged that night, I followed a rough road that led over slowrising ridges until an even more enchanting valley lay before me. There was a wide river bed down which the Tasman took its various channels. Beyond this the mountains rose steeply to 7000 ft or 8000 ft. Southward the river melted into a great blue lake. But it was the view up the valley thatleft me breathless. There were the monarchs of the New Zealand Alps, Sefton, Tasman, La Perouse, and above them all, mighty Aorangi. But this is is danger of becoming a description of scenery, whereas it is intended to be an account of an emigrant’s progress. A STATION BY THE RIVER. Towards evening I found Braemar Station, delightfully set among trees a little above- the river, and, inwardly trembling announced that 1 was looking for work—and could I have a- bed of any kind for the night? Almost before I knew what had happened I was provided with; soft shoes and a racket and was playing tennis as though I had lived there all my life The low white bungalow was that perfect colonial homestead I had read and dreamed about- Its inhabitants seemed to have no other thought than to make a stranger comfortable and at home. Six o’clock tea found me recovering from a kind of stupor. Thereafter billiards, and so blissfully to bed. The most amazing happening of that Good Friday was reserved, for late in th© evening when the owner of a neighbouring station came in and thero and. then took me on a “rouscy about.” The two miles’ walk next day proved to bo tho end of my pilgrimage. In default of other lodging an ancient hut in tho garden was allotted to me, my place laid at the la-mily table, and I had found my fortune on th© banks of the Tasman River, between the mountains and the lake. Tt> ono who, though no countryman, had been accustomed to tho various calls of life in the navy, most of the ordinary la cm and sheep work did not present insuperable difficulties. The care and maintenance of a team of draught horses devolved first upon me. Certainly their standing and running rigging was a- little hard to master —but then I was not brought up in sail. The second clay found, me harrowing with two horses. .Within

a week I was promoted to tlie “grubber” and a team of four. This was the job for me, for I would sit on the seat and smoke my pipe like any skipper on his own bridge. Autumn turned to sunny, frostbound winter, and now the boss’s activity in tuning up his ploughs and other implements is a sure sign that spring is at hand and real work toward. Perhaps I was born under a lucky star. I may have been. But I am quite convinced that anyone who comes here with health and strength and as few preconceived ideas as possible will find, as I have found, endless satisfaction with his personal and material surroundings, and unlimited opportunities for work and advancement.