A SOLDIER POET GOES SOUTH

Camp News, Volume 3, Issue 112, 6 March 1942, Page 4

A SOLDIER POET GOES SOUTH

OBSERVATIONS & IMPRESSIONS

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... I shall never forget the scene as we slipped out of Wellington Heads to tread the Tasman Sea. Everything everywhere had the touch of sunset on it: clouds,, fading landscape shone out, clear-cut, like a jewel. Along the Heads, Fort X’s heavy guns, swung in position, looked , menacing; and then there was a little Naval Examination boat bobbing | up and down, like a cork in the water, 'that flashed us the signal: “Pass on Friend.” Yes! It all seemed serious and yet so funny. Coming into Lyttelton was dull nothing like leaving Wellington. Here, there was just steep, shaggy hills, partly clothed with wild growth, -stunted scrub, etc. ... and then the train journey to Christchurch. This I enjoyed after having passed through the tunnel. There is a cleanness about the railway tracks here and the coun-try-side that elsewhere I have missed. These people down south do take a real interest in all thifigs beautiful. CAXTON PRESS. • It had been my intention, for some considerable time, to call on the Caxton Press and so it was not many minutes before I found myself outside 129 Victoria Street, Christchurch. To look at the Caxton Press from the outside is disappointing and unimpressive. It is a modest building painted a deep green; once, I am told, it was an engineering workshop. The scene inside, however, it much more lively and interestig. The atmosphere smells strongly of printer’s ink. . . . There is a good deal of noise as the belts on the machine hum and the leaflets, whirling round, are automatically stacked. Certainly, it is i lively.

Soon I spotted John Drew — that persistent printer — wiping the sweat off his forehead. He is a pleasant chap and showed interest in everything I had to say. Moreover, he was kind enough to explain several small

matters about which, sadly enough, I had known very little.

I met Leo Bensemann, a director of the Caxton Press too. He is another interesting person and is the proud possessor of an unusual sketch-

• ing talent. Some of his work has won high, critical praise from various circles. However, he is so absorbed in his work that it is difficult indeed to get him into conversation; but, . mentioning the name of William Blake soon changed his apparent surface shyness. A keen discussion then took place.

THE CANTERBURY PLAINS. I am on the way to Dunedin at last. The train has arrived at Timaru and is about to leave south again. As we sped past, I noticed the green fields were no longer green, but bleached and brown-bare by the summer sun. This journey is very impressive if you want to get away from the feeling that New Zealand is a small, narrow country.

i The' Canterbury Plains seem end- ; lessly to spread themselves about 1 everywhere, like a great brown blanl ket; and you then realise that out lit- , tie country is quite big, after all. j We are now leaving Timaru and are > passing through steep escarpments; : the sea, occasionally appears and disappears behind low-lying tussocks. Just now, we have passed fields of • wheat; the sheaves neatly gathered and stacked into stocks. A lighthouse on the coast has come into view on the edge of the wheat-field and it reminds you of a sentry guarding some valued ammunition. One thing: unlike most train journeys, this train simply flies along the rails as if in a hurry to reach DunI edin, the city of the south. Here we have the sea again; and will have its company, 1 am told, for many miles. Some seagulls have flown over the train, screaming aloud their call. Daisies grow all along the line here. Just now, I saw the Canterbury Frozen Meat Works. There are many bridges on this journey, some being quite long. One, in particular, is a mile and a tenth in length. it is only by travelling south you discover for yourself the immense value of the Canterbury Plains: wheat fields, endless, spread everywhere. Occasionally we see a windmill too. 1 left Christchurch this morning at 8.35 by the express south. The fare is 11/- return for a soldier; it costs, for the same journey, a civilian £2 25., so 1 could not think of a better way to spend my money than by travelling south.

(To be continued)