The Hills of Home

Northland Age, Volume 1, Issue 4, 30 October 1931, Page 9

The Hills of Home

“She’s going to roll,” I heard a voice say close by my ear. Looking around, I found a smiling little man and at his side his smiling v little wife, her hands clutching a big bunch of garden flowers. We were crowded inside the covered wharf, waiting for the “Aorangi” to tie up at a dock in Victoria, on Van- » couver Island. “What makes you think so?” I enquired. “See all those red lines along her t side? That means she isn’t carrying much of a load. Yes, she’ll roll a bit going back.” “But we won’t mind!” exclaimed his little wife, beaming. “Glad to get back home, that’s all.” There was a hint of dropped h’s in her speech. “Are you sailing back to Australia on her?” “New Zealand,” cried the little man. “Auckland.” His eyes seemed to be seeing far-off places of happiness. “Probably the biggest load she’ll have on this trip will be the schoolteachers going back to their schools in Honolulu,” he smiled. Gently and silently the big ship glided into the wharf. Ropes were cast ashore. Through the wide doors we could see faces peering down at us, leaning over the ship’s railing far above us. The white hull gleamed in the setting sun. “Isn’t she a beauty!” I cried. “Not as beautiful as her namesake,” said the little man. “You ought to see Mount Aorangi. There’s a sight for you!” “ ‘The Hills of Home’,” I murmured. “A hill? No, sir! She’s the highest peak in New Zealand!” “How long does it take the “Aorangi” to reach New Zealand?” I ' asked. “Three weeks,” said his wife, “but the time flies by. It’s all interesting.” Looking at the eager, little old “couple, I could not resist asking: “How did you happen to come so far away?” “We decided to take a holiday. Wool and mutton that’s what we raise in New Zealand have been good to us.” “And it will be just three months since we left until we return,” said his wife. “We have been to all the principal cities in Canada.” They beamed at me. “What difference did you find?” I asked. “Well, the people don’t seem to , ride on the trains here like we do,” the little man replied. “At home an express leaves every morning for Wellington, and one leaves Wellington for Auckland at the same time. You have to get your ticket at least three days in advance or there’s no accommodation.” The little old lady giggled. “And they don’t seem to know how to cook over here.” “That’s right,” exclaimed the man. “Ten cents for this and fifteen cents for that; and, when you get it, it isn’t fit to eat. Why, at home for one and six you get a wonderful meal! I’m already i planning what I’ll have for, dinner when I get home.” He . chuckled. “It will be spring when we get there,” the little woman said, dreamily. “The hills will be covered with wild flowers and the makumaku birds “ will be singing.” “You almost make me long for a sight of Auckland,” I exclaimed. “A little more and I’m tempted to ship Aas a stowaway!” * They laughed delightedly. “Didn’t you go down into the States?” I asked. “No, we wanted to, but it was easier to remain in the Empire. And there’s plenty to see there, too.” “But we looked everywhere we went and nothing compares to Auckland,” she cried. “That’s right,” said the little man, beaming. “If you want to see a real , city, you have got to come to Auckland!” Chains clanked. The gangplank was run out. The crowd surged upon the dock.

The little man was grasping his two tickets firmly in his hand. The little old lady clutched her bouquet. She waved it at me as we were swept further and further apart.