DUNEDIN IN WINTER DRESS

Otago Daily Times, Issue 22610, 29 June 1935, Page 18

DUNEDIN IN WINTER DRESS

By Barbara A. Kerr.

Winter brings to Dunedin, the lovely city of hill and valley, a charm peculiar to the far south. In the north where the seasons merge imperceptibly into one another, one misses the definite change from summer to autumn, from autumn to winter. From the Peninsula Hills one sees, with a stirring of the heart, the resemblance to old Edinburgh accentuated by the smoke-haze which hangs over Dunedin on these cold winter days. Half-smoke and half-mist, so ethereal is its effect that far from detracting from the beauty of the streets and buildings, it rather gives to the city a particular charm. Someone has said that the smoke cannot rise very high because of the coldness of the air, and as it drifts to and fro it becomes permeated with mist which lends it a peculiar quality ot " other-worldliness." We are not so concerned with the cause, however, as with the effect created. The Botanic Gardens, justly called the pride of the city, while comparatively bare of flowers at this season —with the exception of the begonia house, which is always well worth visiting—are by no means deserted. The peace of the Sabbatn afternoon is enjoyed by the many who wander along the level stretches or climb the winding paths to the ' top Gardens. In autumn the hill was a glorious sight with its plantations of deciduous trees, robed in , the pageantry of crimson and gold, russet and brown. Now the bright colours have drifted away and the silvertoned boles and trunks are bleached with every frost. Every leafless twig etches a lace-like pattern against the misty sky. The water-lily pools are still and mysteriously filled with shadows, sometimes with a coating of ice which is like a pane of glass laid there overnight to keep out the cold. For the air is cold, cold. One looks at the rushing waters of the noisy Leith, now a river worthy of the name, and shivering, raises one's eyes to Mount Cargill. But the cap of snow he contrives to wear in such a rakish manner only serves to intensify the coldness, and it is with pleasant thoughts of glowing fires and hot buttered toast that we turn towards the town. The ends of the streets are lost in the pale grey mist of early evening. One almost feels that it is imperative to walk on tip-toe through the hushed silence. Street-lamps glimmer out in a jewelled chain, the nearest ones shining with a blue light while those glowing through the mist are topaz and rose-coloured. The fine old grey buildings sacred to religion and learning are touched by a hidden hand that gives to them a spirituality beyond man's making. Mists are kindly, enhancing every beauty and hiding every deficiency, wreathing so closely that solid things seem no more substantial than a half-remembered dream.

We pause awhile by the riverside to watch the trout so gallantly fighting their way upstream. Their efforts to overcome the obstructions in their way are an inspiration to those who take time to "stand and stare." Students and others may see in the never-failing and unswerving tenacity of purpose of these fish an illustration of the fact that "difficulties are made to be overcome." And so we, in company with others homeward bound, pass on our way, for the cold becomes colder when one lingers by the waters. Frost-silvered, rain-clouded, or mistenshrouded, Dunedin weaves an indefinable charm around the hearts of her people whether they are hers by birth or by adoption. We cannot explain it better than by saying, "It is just Dunedin in her winter dress."