Tumanaako was right. Her very young brother-in-law was an irresponsible scamp. ‘C-can't,’ his teeth chattered. ‘The wind blows us.’ Given his wild lurch for the pole, George Henry's duck in the face of a monster wave, and the sodden clumsiness of the old punt, the result was obvious. Down! Up! Over! An aeon while arms thrashed and clawed and lungs burst; Nuku struck out instinctively for the shore not more than a hundred yards distant; but something made him turn. Conscience? Family responsibility? Plain humanity? Whatever you will. George Henry was clinging to the upturned boat. ‘Stay there, Georgie. Hold on! I get help,’ The little fellow's big eyes were to haunt Nuku for years to come. ‘No use staying,’ he reasoned, flailing his awkward spashy overarm. ‘Must get help. Ooh!’ He quaked at the thought of facing Uncle, George Henry's mother and Mr Montague at school. Soon, however, all effort was bent on survival. Ah! friendly raupo heads. Not there yet though. ‘Get out of the way, you ol’ water-weeds! Want to strangle me now?” Feet touched the brown mud, hands fumbled for the sunken branches, and Nuku was ashore, choking up weed and green water and drawing great gulps of clean air. No rest yet though, for conscience, family responsibility or plain humanity were at him again. He screwed up his red eyes. Could he see the punt? Could George Henry hold on? Fear galvanised him. Nuku floundered two miles through the swamp to the nearest farm. In years to come he would exclaim, ‘That swamp…’ and turn incoherent. At 2 p.m. the Whaangas rushed to the aid of a desperate figure fumbling at their back gate. Nuku babbled his story and collapsed. Bill Whaanga rattled furiously at the manual telephone, his basic English vividly painting to the police the plight of a small boy. Constable Brogan was despatched to roar over thirty miles of hill and twisty road. Bill shouted to his wife, ‘Got to go. Scarce a man left in that kainga.’ Then he ran to the Chev., turned the key, and thrust his foot at the starter with, ‘Start this time, will you!’ She did. Bill enjoyed that ride. It gave him three things he loved — speed, power and a purpose. Shrieking to a stop at the meeting house, he flung himself out and set up such a jangle on the