"SHIPS THAT PASS"

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXII, Issue 22142, 22 June 1935, Page 6 (Supplement)

"SHIPS THAT PASS"

A GLIMPSE OF HUMAN REALITY SEEN IN GRAFTON GULLY BY GELIS GRAY Tlie sunlight ,filtered through the great tall trees, their thick arms spread above the ground with a masculine air of protectiveness, their gnarled trunks reared like sentries, still and watchful, but their leaves, in the wintry sunlight, like the gold and brown of their spouses' hair, caressing the toil-worn bodies. A gentle breeze floated the gold in the air, until the grove seemed bathed in a mystical translueeney, through which the sunlight shimmered, like the twinkling of stars in a blue-black moonless sky. Most of the trees had already shaken loose their tresses of Titian leaves, strewing the ground beneath them, until the dank earth appeared as a carpet of variegated and intermingled gold and russet and red. It w.as a lovely spot, redolent of a quiet peace. Here and there echoed the twittering, trilling song of a bird; even the roar of traffic which resounded in the streets above was muffled and unreal in the gully; and the grey, lichencovered tombstones kept silent vigil. A little old woman approached with noiseless footsteps, descending into the sanctified seclusion of this corner of Grafton Gully. As she came, slowly, steadying herself on the downward incline with her stick, her faded blue eyes noted; the red-gold carpet beneath her I

feet, flaw the dancing shafts of silveryyellow percolating through the maze of intertwining branches overhead. Her footsteps continued until they brought her to rest beside a little white painted cradle, half obscured from the pathway by tall grass waving in the slight breeze. She filled the. small, white china vase with fresh water from the bottle in her bag, and then, carefully, lovmgly, arranged the bunch of early, perfumed narcissi, replacing the bowl gently. Bending over,- her worn fingers slowly traced the half-obliterated lettering on the little tombstone. . Regularly,- for forty years now, in rain and sunshine, wind and storm, she had made her daily pilgrimage to this lonely little grave in the big gully. For forty years she had remembered. She recalled the wonder, the mvstarv, the happiness of it all, when she had told her young husband that there would soon be a baby, the agonising pain of her travail; and then the mystical comfort of a tinv body against hers, nestling warmly, confidingly, in her arms, its doivny head pillowed on her breast. For a' few months chubby fingers had clutched her, baby lips had smiled, blue eyes had followed her about the room. Then, one day, she herself had died—when her baby had been buried here.

she had known no other physical only the pain of an empty heart which time, although it could assuage could not heal. Forty years ago—it was a long time for a yearning heart; but somehow, in this quiet haven of rest, her baby still seemed very near to her heart. Its body might be beneath the russet-covered earth, but the spirit was yet with her. . . . And soothed, consoled, she retraced her homeward steps.