From Picton to Nelson by Coach.

New Zealand Illustrated Magazine, 1 June 1901, Page 693

From Picton to Nelson by Coach.

" coiviijsr 3 tjhlro 3 th:e ir^i"

By K. Ai.lkn

Sc^^vl^E had intended walking from l>icton to Nelson through the %\ Wll Hai Valle^ !Uld oV( ' r tlu> Ui!ti [Mftrj illul Wangiunon Saddles, but the projected feminine expedition leaked oqt, and there was such a clatter of opposition from the male portion of the different households, and such a putting down of number tens, that several of the

dismayed, nor vet of the hot's wife sort, to turn back for any number tens on the road. We simply altered our plans, and ivsolved to yo by couch instead of on " Shank's pony." Then 1 arose an outcry in I'ieton. Tho backsliders would all have accompanied us had they only known we were j^oin^ by coach. Of course sve enua^'ed box seats, and with

would-be-tourists drew in their horns meekly, and were "so sorry, but Torn "wouldn't hear of it, so please leave me out." By the time we had left out Tom's missis and Bob's two sisters, somebody else's daughters and another's wife, our party had dwindled down to four, but we four were of the new order of fcmi nines, not to be

ii rattle nnd a clatter, we loft the Criterion stables in the early morning of a glorious summer's day in January, having como up to Blenheim by train on the previous evening. Our Jehu was a real artist in the art of driving, and we could but wonder at tho glossy sleekness of the steeds lie drove and at his manner <if driving them. They

seemed to know his wishes by instinct, and neither word nor whip was required. They went along beautifully, stopped here and

there for the driver to pick up or leave a mailbag, a passenger, or a parcel, and then started off again. Morning tea was l'eady for us when we changed horses in the Kaituna Valley, then on we went again, varying the monotony of the numberless mailbags by shying the Marlborougli Express at every gate en route. Thus everybody got the daily paper, and was as well posted up in "Dick Seddon's " latest sayings and doings and the South African war as any dweller in cities could be. We only stopped in Havelock long enough to attend to the mailbag business and give the horses a drink. The driver, affectionately known all along the road as " Harry," was a strict T.T., and the pubs held no fascination for him. The Eye-Water Well, so long dandled before the public as a draw for sight-seers, had dried up after performing a few miracles, and as there was absolutely nothing else to see, there was really no necessity for us to climb down to see it, so •we sat on our perches and gazed at the inhabitants, who all came out to gaze at us. At Canvass Town — once the resort of the diggers who swarmed from all over the world to the famous Wakamarina gold-

presently we come upon a cosy camp snuggled in a bit of bush close to the Pelorus Bridge. Some Blenheim boys, whom we know, are in the camp, and the greetings between the occupants of the box seats and the queerly-garmented campers are truly original, and somewhat surprise the sobersided inside passengers. We barely have time to wave a frantic I'tde when we are on the Pelorus Bridge, with fairyland above and below it. We only get a glimpse of the beauty as we bowl along, red and brown and palest green ferns hanging down precipitous banks, overshadowed by great trees, bushes of yellow kowhai and creeping rata. In the riverbed masses of great brown and slate boulders, with here the water pouring over them in white foam, and there, lying in a dark pool. Across the bridge we approach civilisation once more : the beautiful avenue of trees ruthlessly cut down and left to dry for the all-devouring flames, telegraph poles stuck up, and again a sawmill, and then the only bit of civilisation we cared to see, the accommodation house, where the coach stops every day for half-an-hour, and the passengers lunch. We stayed there two days, and oar

diggings, and the abiding-place for a season of the hateful Maungatapu murderers and their unfortunate victims — we again changed horses, crossed the

Waka marina Bridge, and entered the Pelorus Valley, where the desolation, which follows upon sawmilling operations, lies all around in burnt and broken trees, withered branches and uprooted stumps. By - and - bye we wind round a hill and get into the shade of trees and

creepers, and

amateur photographers tried their brandnew camera on the Pelorus Bridgo, the camp, and the Rai Falls, which are just below the house. We lived (metaphorically of course) in clover during those two days on real delicious country fare, and revelled in beautiful scenery. We walked with our boy friends from the camp up the road leading to the Maungatapu Mountain, whereon the murders already mentioned were perpetrated, and we hunted for koninis and rare ferns in the bush. On Saturday our Jehu, Harry, told us there were fourteen box seats engaged, and was sorry to say we would have to perform the rest of the journey as insiders. We were sorry to hear this, but the three nimble ones of our party climbed to the top of the coach, and no one had the heart to turn them down ; the other, who

ho thought somebody had collared his blank bag. When that was found, wo started. They were musical inside and merry outside; at least those on top of the coach wove merry, but the box sealers proper woro inclined to hold learned discussions on bacteriology with Harry, the driver, whoso ears wero all alert to catch the witty remarks from up above, and answered yes and no at random to his box-sent passengers, which made them think lie was not half so intelligent after lunch as before. The inarch of civilisation was before us everywhere in the shape of burnt trees and clearings as we drove through the still wonderful Jiai Valley, which alas! the authorities are allowing the settlers to ravish and spoil. Up the Hai Saddle the horses toil ; at; the top there is a legend on a board warning cyclists to bo careful. We

had left her agility behind in the years that were past, meekly crept into the coach, and listened to a box seater swearing because

are not cyclists, so we go down at a good pace into the Wangamoa Valley. Afternoon tea at the Half- Way House, then on again

till we come to the Wfin.tra.mon Saddle, where the road winds round in such a wondeil'ul manner flint \te see 1 1 1 1 ; part of it we have just traversed down below us.

A look round was very satisfying, without the dinner, which we paid for but did not oat", anil then sought another place where the lnndh'.dy and the establishment were

In Happy Valley, on the Nelson side, we see — unique sight — a church with a chimney in it, and presently a man conies down a hill with strawberries. They are for the driver, but he passes them on up aloft, and the girls are happy and quiet till we reach Nelson at six p.m. It was holiday time in Nelson when we arrived, and all the lodging-houses bearing euphonious titles and a reputation for style were full. Someone told us of a place which boasted of having once entertained a "real lord," and we thought it would be good enough for us. The landlady must have thought we were somebodies, in spite of the dust on our garments, by the size of her terms and the manner on which she dilated on the highclass society which frequented her house.

more to our taste. In the meantime we had lost both dinner and tea, and were as hungry as ploughboys after our drive of forty miles. Fortunately we found a confectioner in Trafalgar Street, and compensated ourselves for our long fast. Nelson is a charming city, but peculiar. There's a man of the name of Jones there. It. seems to be the family name. We wanted to go to Cable Bay, and our landlady — who never boasted of fche high-class people who frequented her house, and whom we always trusted in consequence — told us to get Jones. We wanted some additions to • our wardrobe — " Oh, go to Jones !" We wanted some light reading for our' after-dinner rest — " Jones, in Trafalgar Street, has a library." Some picture frames — " Oh, there's Jones ; he lives in Hardy Street," etc., etc. We

believe it was a man of the name of Jones whom we found in the Public Library, and startled so terribly by our appearance so early in the morning, when Nelson is supposed to be asleep, that he forgot his manners, and ordered us downstairs. We didn't know that Nelson people only opened their museums in the afternoons, and we had heard of two red-rimmed soup plates which the Queen of Sheba and King Solomon had used centuries ago, and were naturally most anxious to see them, so finding all the downstairs' doors locked — except the front one — we walked upstairs and entered the first room we saw Jones — I ought to say Mr. Jones, because of course it was Jones — was stooping over a table covered with debris of all kinds. He seemed to be drawing something. " Is this the museum ?" I asked. " No, it's not the museum," said Jones. " Go downstairs." - We went later to see the plates, and if

name patched one of our shoos when we had nearly walked the solo off it. They don't like people to go shopping early in the morning in Nelson. At least \vhen we went early to the shops we never could get what we wanted. " They had not got it, and they were quite sure the article was not to be had in town." In the afternoon we could get the article at the same place where we enquired for it in the morning. People were awake then. We were always too early at the Post Oilice, and though we made three several attempts to seethe Suter Art (iallery, wo were always too early. The only time we were too late for anything was in keeping an appointment to go over Griflm's .Biscuit Factory. It was not our fault. We had always been so horridly punctual, and always had to wait till people woke up, that on this occasion only we did as Nelson did, and went to sleep. Mr. Griilin was a punctual man, rind though

saw everything worth seeing, and everything was worth seeing in Kirkpatrick's Jam Factory, clean and new and nice. We sampled a jar of marmalade, signed our names, and made tho sweetest remarks on the establishment. We also went over the Soap Factory. It is quite wonderful what a lot of dirt such a clean thing makes. They gave us a bar of hydrolene soap eacli, and apologised for having no paper to wrap it in. A gentleman, who boarded at the same house as we did, believes to this day that we carried four bars of yellow soap through the streets of Nelson. He was a little bit more wideawake than the generality of Nelson people,

bat he was not sure if we really thought that the Nelson Government put red sealing wax on the birds in the Queen's Gardens or not. We asked him why they did it. The Queen's Gardens are close by the Government Buildings, and if they would only keep open the Art Gallery and give strangers afternoon tea, there would be many worse places to spend a holiday in than Nelson. The City Council study thoroughly the city failing. You can sit down and rest everywhere on comfortable easy-backed Beats. The only wonder is that they do not provide air cushions and umbrellas, with a novel thrown in, but wherever you go —

Of course we went to church, but the vicar and most of the choristers were away camping, and the singing was not a success. We did our duty, and tried to persuade two gentlemen friends to go to church, but they told us that they went to church one Sunday at Westport, and they found the presiding genius far too personal for them. He — the P.G. — gave a lecture on back- biting and scandal, and after pouring out all the vials of wrath on the back-biters' and scandalmongers' heads, wound up with : " I hope none of my congregation will take anything I have said as reflecting on them. None of my congregation are back-biters or scandalmongers, and none of my remarks apply to

down the Port Road, up the Zig-zag, the Church Hill, the Queen's Gardens, the Recreation Ground, everywhere, in fact — there are shady trees and seats. Another peculiarity of Nelson is this: Any prisoners who may happen to be in gaol there are let loose every morning at nine to do as they like for the rest of the day. If they do not return by seven p.m. they are locked out. This is the woi'st punishment that can be administered, and very few ever run the risk of incurring it. No Nelson people ever go to gaol, the prisoners — if there are any — hailing from elsewhere. The climate of Nelson does not agree with the cultivation of crime. One policeman is sufficient for the

requirements of the city, and he would not be wanted only it gives tone to the place to have an officer in uniform, of whom strangers can inquire the way. You can prowl about the shops as long as you like, and no shop- walker haunts you like a shadow, tormenting you to buy a green sunshade when you don't paint.

any of them." The gentleman said he looked at his friend and his friend looked at him. They were the only two strangers in the church, and they arose and walked out. " Never again," said they.

Nelson people are very hospitable. It was entirely our own fault that we were not invited out to afternoon teas, etc. We did not advertise our advent. We wanted to prowl about and enjoy oui'selves after our own fashion. The neai'est approach we made to sociability was to find out where our friends lived, and then stroll round and admire the outside of their houses. Most of their houses are worthy of admiration.

Among the many fruitshops was one bearing above the door the legend " Eatmore Fruit." We walked in and ate what we wanted. When the man said " one and

sixpence, please," we drew his attention to the invitation over the door, but ho said the proper interpretation thereof was "E, Atmore, Fruiterer."

The Nelson country peoplo are peculiar, too. A gentleman was boarding in our boarding-house — a buyor for tho Freezing Company in Pioton — and ho got a letter one morning asking him to go eighty miles to buy one fat beast. It was a characteristic letter, and hard to deciphor, but we mado out that the beast was fat, " reddy for tho markit, an' 'ml loed ahint a trap like a lam." Fancy our friend driving oighty miles leading a fat beast!

We spent six glorious holidays in Nelson, and wo hope to spend sixteon next su tumor in that charming, eccentric, somnambulistic little city. We returned by coach, and have talked of nothing else ever siuco.

dust is any criterion, the plates must have he showed us over the factory and initiated belonged to Adam and Eve. us into the (open) secrets of chocolate Jones drove the bus in which we went creams, lie never offered us one. down to the port, and a man of the same We went over the Jam Factory too, and