“A FORTNIGHT'S HOLIDAY.”

Star (Christchurch), Issue 18946, 17 December 1929, Page 19 (Supplement)

“ A FORTNIGHT'S HOLIDAY.”

“ A Shingle Short,” the Chronicle Of a Camp on Banks Peninsula.

(By

Mrs S. D. Curry.)

[First Prize, ladies.]

WE were in at last, seven of us, blankets and all, and the car sped off. We sang as we flew, for after long hours in the office we were like birds freed from a cage. We were going to Akaroa—we were going to the hills. Our road led across sunny plains and hemmed the blue-green mere. It sped through W T airewa, it climbed and sank again, it danced through pretty valleys and around silvery beaches, it grew lovelier as we journeyed on. The driver stopped at Duvauchelles to thread his way through a flock of sheep. “There’s a sou’-wester coming,” he said. “It’ll be dark when you get

there and mighty cold.” We gazed curiously out. Big puffs of mist raced past Wainui, around us sea-gulls fluttered, above towered a bush-clad cliff, and before trailed the road, now wet and pink, like satin ribbon. The car left us at the gate, cold and hungry. Six pounds it had cost us, but it had carried the whole of our outfit. We had warm coats and cardigans on, but the driver seemed to think we were quite insane to camp alone upon the hill-tops. On we went, gipsy-fashion, down the steep, grassy track, while the moon peeped over a big, black rock as the sky cleared, and soon we saw the softly-glowing windows of the little, lonely house, where to our surprise we found two glorious fires to welcome us. We had plenty of fun after that—the joy of camping in the old house and cooking oiir own meals, our morning toilet at the creek (Nature's own

beauty parlour), bush-flowers, sweet scents and sweeter sounds. The house was lent to us. It was a shingle short, but its heart was warm and sound, and we loved it, for it sheltered us in our hour of need. Its friends the trees loved it, too, and strove to hide its eccentricities. Pink roses caressed its verandah, and ivy held its old stonfe steps together, while many an old sweet-scented flower sheltered beneath its hedge of holly and ake ake.

We boiled our billy above waterfalls and in bush-fringed hollows, where the ribbon-woods embroidered their starry gowns. We found lovely little secrets hidden in the hill’s blue creases. We spent a day where Mr Ell’s summit road comes to a pleasant ending, where breezes sing through the . toi-toi and flax, and where one can view the limit-

less ocean and contrast it with the serene loveliness of Akaroa’s .blue bays and smooth beaches.. “Horns of elf-land, faintly blowing.” Molly found an old book of poems, and her sweet voice mingled with the lark's songs as she read to us on the hilltops This trip could be done very easily in any hill-climbing car, and the roads are good, if steep. Once we roamed to Long Bay, a blue arm of the ocean that is often lovely and always grand, but we longed for an old car to ride home in. Twice the sweet-toned old church bell called us, and we climbed home ‘n the moonlight, tired but happy. Take strong shoes and a pair of warm stockings and bathing costume, and a book or two, and fruit is always useful. Don’t forget the camera and fish-ing-line. We spent several days in and around Akaroa taking snaps and visiting the tiny bays close to the town.