AN IDYLL OF THE RIVER.

Otago Witness, Issue 3488, 18 January 1921, Page 54

AN IDYLL OF THE RIVER.

By

F. C. M.

I have on a previous occasion told about the old garden on the banks of the river, and the little white and grey house where we lived for many happy years. The river was the completemeut of the picture, adding a charm and an interest which never flagged. From the first day when we saw old John fishing for smelts and silveries from a stump by the bridge, the liver had a great fascination for us, so that a good deal of our spare time was spent roaming its banks or on its placid surface. That was before the ugly old river dredge stirred things up, spoiling the bottom of the river, and there was plenty of fishing to lie had—smelts, silveries, and great shoais of whitebait—even in the higher reaches, while I have seen herring by the hundred as far up as the city bridges. Eels there were in plenty, a few crayfish here and there, and some fine trout in the deeper reaches beyond the town. We learned to know every inch of the river, every hole and shallow and the best fishing spots for many miles. Later, when the fish got scarcer, we passed hours of our time in canoes and boats, mostly crazy concerns made by ourselves out of spars raid tarred canvas, taking fearful risks. When we had saved sufficient money we purchased the “’Dido,” and our joy was complete. The “Dido” was a tiny shallow rowing boat, discarded by one of the hiring sheds ; the wood was pretty rotten, but she had a keel, and this was our first keeled boat. We swelled with pride, especially when we could hoist a little patch of saii and heel over to the breeze up Kerr’s Reach. A year or two later we were again in funds, and bought the “Silver Star,” a light sailing and rowing boat, and from that hour we were kings of the river. The pride and paint we lavished on this treasured possession was tremendous. The old Dido was sold for 30s on condition that we delivered her to an address on the next river. The journey was fully 15 miles, but, nothing daunted, three of us boys started off one fine morning very early. We rowed all the way to the estuary, reaching it in flood tide. Here we hoisted our crazy sail, and as the Dido only drew about four inches we eschewed the marked out channel and simply sailed straight across the mud flats, one managing the sail and steering, the other two bailing for dear life, for the little white topped wavelets were lapping over the side pretty freely. -V special providence must have watched over us, for we delivered the old boat safely to the new owner about four o’clock that afternoon. For many a year the “Silver Star” reigned supreme, until, as smart young men, we forsook her for the elegant rowing boats of the clubs. During the hot summer months we bathed at Pratt’s Corner. Remember it?— deep on the bend, quite 20 feet I should on.-.- (before the dredge levelled it), with shallow water and hard sand on the near side. No costumes or towels my spoiled friends of the city baths. After our splash and high dicing from the big willow trees on the. bend, the sun dried us while lying luxuriantly in the grass of the adjoining paddock, keeping a sharp lookout for the local constable meanwhile. We had to make more than one wild scramble for safety when he paid ns a surprise visit; but lie never caught us. What joy it was to drift down stream, leaving the town far behind, past the little farms, with their neat white and red homesteads and clustering outbuildings; the kindly cows lazily flecking the flies away: —- A various group (ho herds and fkeks com|v>so; Rural confusion; on the grassy bank Some rummating lip, while others stand Half in the water and often bending sip The circling surface.

Just below the garden, where the creek unis into the river, the Hanks were very wiid and overgrown, with scrub running riot, and covered in places with wild convolvulus. i his was a sanctuary for wild creatures. The unlovely water rat had his hole under the banks, and we even saw a rabbit at times. Man’s feathered friends were there in their hundreds, those most trustful and winning of God’s created creatures, the dainty little fantails would circle fearlessly round our heads, almost within touch, uttering their low cheery chirp, and as one writer has said, “flitting bv our side from tree to tree, as if offering their own bright companionship and happy in ours. This was a favourite spot for the kingfisher, with his gaudy coat of many colours. He would patiently sit on a bough over-reaching the stream for many hours together, as if he had no serious business in life whatsoever. All at once ho, wakes from his apparent iethergy, there is a sudden dart as. with wings tucked in tightly, like a flash of rainbow light, he dives for and secures a fish. This is patience rewarded. \\ hen the autumn days were shortening into winter, the little waxevee would flit about in great numbers, pert, cheeky little fellows, very wide awake looking, and very busy searching for the insects on which they principally feed. Yes! I know ! they do tackle the cherries and plums a little, but they are dear little fellows and do much more good than they do harm. The blackie was here, too, hiding in the undergrowth, and the twilight” would always bring out the thrushes. Evening after evening one beautifully marked fellow would perch on the tip-top of a high tree and “pour forth the epic of his soul, full of mystery and power, filling the air with melody. The river sometimes had its tragedies, too, when morning’s light would disclose tlie white upturned face of some weary wanderer, who had decided that “Not to Be ’ was the answer to his questionings of yesterday. Or it may be that a little bundle, drifting with the tide, would disclose the tiny hand or foot of a wee infant. My God! that such things should be. Wordsworth here struck the right note when he sang : To her fair works did Nature link The human soul that through me ran, And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man. But that is a sad note to finish on. Let us rather remember the river, sparkling in the sunshine, gay with laughter and joy and life. Or wandering down the bank in the early morning, just after sunrise, you would see the great banks of bluebells, every leaf bejewelled with dew, shining and scintellating in the sunshine. And if you searched diligently among the roots you would come across dainty little ferns and shy wiid flowers awakening from their sleep. Everywhere there were thick piles of mosses, soft and fairylike if you looked closely into them, yet so enduring and strong, healing the wounds made by nature or by man. “The woods, the blossoms, the gift bearing grasses, have done their part for a time, but the mosses do service for ever. Trees for the builder’s yard, flowers for the bride’s chamber, corn for the granary, moss for the grave,” so sang Ruskin. Memory stores unexpected treasures for us, and the spirit of the river is strong on me to-night. And I think that men’s souls are like a river. Rising in mysterious response to the Unseen, they pass through life, becoming after a time either cataracts of death, or placid and full with the joy of life, until they return to the Sea which gave them birth.