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Timaru Herald, Volume CXXXVII, Issue 19512, 10 June 1933, Page 13

DEAREST LITTLE PEOPLE, It was a perfect Winter’s morning, about the end of May, and as I leant out of my window and gazed at the shining road stretching away and away towards the hills, I felt that I simply could not spend the day indoors. “Let’s have a day in the country,” I called to my friend, who enthusiastically agreed. —She came from a far-away northern town, and as this was her first visit to Timaru, she was eager to explore the surrounding country. An hour later our lunch was packed, and our little car was running smoothly along the silver road that led towards the hills, through which the white peaks of Mount Cook gleamed in the sunshine. We descended the zig-zag, and drove slowly through Tycho, looking for a suitable place to stop for lunch. At length we brought the car to a standstill on a little hill, beside a small plantation of bluegums, and carried our rugs and lunch to the top of a grassy bank. How much better sandwiches taste when one eats them out-of-doors in the sunshine! How quiet everything was! Far away we could hear the monotonous chug-chug of a tractor drawing a plough—the first step in the preparation of the harvest to come. Near at hand an occasional cricket chirruped its song to the sun, and a solitary thrush sang on the top of a bluegum tree. Suddenly a mob of sheep appeared round the bend in the road. The leaders stopped for a moment, eyed us warily, and then plodded slowly on up the hill, wrhile the rest of the mob followed without a sideways glance. A young collie saw us and came leaping up the bank, baring her teeth in a doggy smile, and fawning at our feet. .We threw her a piece of cake, and, with wildly wagging tail, she picked it up and raced on after her master and the other dogs, who were already disappearing round the corner of the road.

Soon we were in the car again, and driving up past the limeworks towards the little Cave township. Here we stopped the car, and, after scrambling over gates and fences, began climbing the hill to the big limestone rock that is shaped like a huge dog s head. There are several small caves in this rock, and in them are quaint drawings, said to have been done by the Moriori. I had seen them before, but found them as interesting as ever. Unfortunately, many have been partly obliterated by the pencillings of thoughtless visitors. It is a pity that work that has lasted for hundreds of years is in danger of being destroyed by idle scribbling. We stood for a few minutes in the afternoon sunlight, and gazed across the township and away up the valley to Albury. The streams of the Te Ngawai river were thin silver ribbons, and the blue-grey smoke from chimneys ascended like incense, straight up into the quiet air. There was not a breath of wind, and although occasional black dots raced along the road in a cloak of dust, they were too far away to break the spell of silence that wrapped the country in a mantle of peace. —But the sun was hurrying westward, and the faint nip in the air was strengthening; so, with reluctant feet, we descended the hill towards our waiting car, leaving the Dog’s Head rock and its ancient drawings to Jack Frost and his gnomes and goblins.

Several weeks ago I told you about Kenneth Grahame’s delightful book, “The Wind in the Willows.” A. A. Milne took the story of the Wind in the Willows and turned it into a charming, humorous play, entitled, “Toad of Toad Hall.” This Play is shortly being produced by the Bank St. Ladies’ Guild, and I hope all Circlians who possibly can will go to see it. Don’t forget that the Birthday Competitions close Next Wednesday, sy J Af j little people. —Good luck to you LOVE, P.S. I wish to thank the kind lady who sent me the big parcel of fur for Christmai Ship Toys.—P.P.