NATURE—AND MAN

Southland Times, Issue 22378, 18 July 1934, Page 12

NATURE—AND MAN

THE GREAT DR. COCKAYNE. A WORKER FOR THE WORLD. (Edited by Leo Fanning.) Whether it be the wind upon the sea Marking its image with a cunning hand, Or writhing muscles of storm-torn tree, Or rib and run of water cut in sand,— The slow recurring theme, the flowing rhyme, Reveal a surge of music in file earth The beat of sound on substance, carved in time; The symbol of the song that was its birth. Tlie rippled river sweeping smoothly by And all the flames of cloud and wind that run Pronounce the leaf the brother of the sky And no thing isolate beneath the sun. Mountain and tree and rock beneath the sod Present the rhythm of indwelling God. Those verses of Dora Hagemeyer in “Art in New Zealand” could well be a dedication to the great Dr Cockayne, who died on July 8. His spirit of service will not pass away. His work for the world will carry on through centuries, and his name will be honoured by generations whose birth is far away in the future. Not many men or women have immeasurable gifts of mind and will-power to make their achievements perpetually helpful to the whole wide world. Such is the fame won unselfishly by Dr Cockayne in botanical research. Not as a pedant, but as a constructive philosopher, he devoted himself to this study, and gained a marvellous store of knowledge beneficial to humanity.

He was a warm lover of New Zealand’s beautiful forests and birds, a love impressively seen in his foreword, “The Cry of the Forest,” in the album published last year by the Native Bird Protection Society. “Were we gifted with magic hearing,” he wrote, “the cry of the trees, ‘give us back our birds,’ would fall upon our ears. So, too, the feathery kowhai would exclaim, ‘Why should I year by year display my golden blossoms with no friendly birds to visit them eager for their nectar?’ Shall we New Zealanders allow our few remaining birds to grow fewer and fewer until, as has happened to some, they will be gone forever? Shall we not rather, loving the forests as we do, seek to fill them again with the birds which should be so dear to us—birds, most of them pure New Zealanders, whose coming into the world dates back into the ages.” Unpunished Poachers.

The Animals Protection and Game Act, which is expected to assure peace for many species of native birds, is rather a dead letter in some districts. The protection is merely nominal; it is on paper, all right, but it is not in force. Reports of poaching come from many localities, but the culprits are not punished. They boldly flout the law, which they regard as merely cold print —a kind of ridiculous bogey. This defiant attitude must be broken up and swept away by a vigorous enforcement of the law, with heavy penalties which should prove really deterrent.

Other breaches of the law occur in the caging of certain native birds, including fantails, which are thus doomed to misery and death. Alas, despite the widespread, persistent educational campaign on behalf of the birds, there is still much vandalism, barbarism and thoughtless ignorance to be overcome. Nature-lovers, who see cases of this illegal caging should report them to the authorities. It seems that this evil may increase unless offenders are brought to court and properly punished. “Matcship with Birds.”

At a bargain sale the other day I bought a delightful book, “Mateship with Birds,” written by a well-known Australian nature-lover, Mr A. H. Chisholm. “The title is a particularly happy one, for it indicates the author’s fraternal attitude and methods,” remarks Mr C. J. Dennis (author of the famous “Sentimental Bloke”) in the introduction “Many a learned savant shoots birds with a gun and writes about them as a pedant. Mr Chisholm shoots them with a camera and writes about them as a human being. This title reminds me of a certain good mate of mine—a grey thrush who came to me regularly each morning for his breakfast. He ate confidently from my hand, and, having eaten, piped a song of thanksgiving. His name was ‘George.’ A prowling cat got him in the end. A book upon ‘Mateship with Cats’ would earn my hearty disapproval.” “Bird Day has become an institution in most of the Australian States,” writes Mr Chisholm. “South Australia makes it a movable arrangement—that is, allows each district to choose the time of the year that seems best suited to local conditions, but Victoria, New South Wales and Queensland usually fall into line on a day in October, what time our lady of the spring has got past her chuckles at the breaking of winter’s sway into a broad smile of serenity, and the nesting of the birds is in full swing. On that day practically the whole of the school hours is given up to bird study, the material side for this purpose being largely provided by bird-lovers in the form of articles, stories, verses and pictures in the school magazines of the respective States. In these attractive journals Queensland has specialized in recent years, and the result has been a marked stimulus in the fraternal study of the bird-riches of the great State which constitutes the north-east of Australia.”