LONDON: THE END OF THE VOYAGE

Te Ao Hou, September 1960, Page 41

LONDON: THE END OF THE VOYAGE We have passed Spain and are now nearing the end of the journey in our isolated, yet intimate world of boat-life. The main topic of the day is now the English weather and people shiver at the thought of the damp, foggy London winter. There is also gossip about concluding flirtations and there are sighs and tears amidst laughter and merriment. We have arrived in the harbour of Southampton; it is midnight, the second of February. People had waited all day for the mail to arrive. At long last it was here. There were looks of surprise, of delight, of disappointment. Yes. nothing is more heartening than to receive letters at the end of a long journey, good news from the friends and relations far, far away; letters of welcome from the friends you are going to meet. People make a country. You feel that you will be able to put up with much hardship if you are made welcome. I well remember that Tuesday night before our arrival. From about midnight till 2 a.m. there were transport and luggage officials on board—friendly English people in cloth caps and dark overcoats, standing at tables, helping, caring for the passenger who is worried about his luggage, who wants to send a telegram, who wants to book a rail ticket. They have a confidence and assurance born of years of dutiful labour. It was a drizzly grey morning when we stepped on land. For some reason unknown to me I was terribly excited as I set foot on English soil. It is not that Southampton is an especially attractive port. No, it is the sense of tradition you feel and see in the cloth caps and thick overcoats, the friendly faces of the porters, and the old stony houses; the trees, and the black, rich soil of the carefully tended fields which you pass on the train journey to London. Then we reached Waterloo Station. From there we took a tube to the heart of London—Piccadilly. We walked down the streets which are worn with age and we saw people. There were women wearing the most elegant fashions and those like myself, in flat heels. Men in bowler hats swung elegant umbrellas elegantly, wore tapering trousers and knee-length coats; everyone hurried hither and thither. The weather? Not very cold—just like a Wellington winter. London on such a day? Grey. Smoky, dirty, sprawling. Streets grow up out of the earth for little rhyme or reason. Is it a wonderful city? Yes. It is impersonal, yet friendly. You can walk down the streets and lose yourself. You can always stop someone for help if you get lost in the criss-cross of streets. I like to see the people walking, people who are walking to a place I know not, people I did not know. And now it is Spring and the greyness is going

and the trees are green and the birds sing and everyone with a garden goes out to dig. I feel warmth and gayness. Maybe, I'm all inside out too, for I love Tahiti—a far cry from London—and I still like London too. And I shall come back to New Zealand where the grass is greenest—where I can take off my shoes.