relieve himself, so took cover behind a bunch of scrub. Imagine his friend's surprise and amazement when he returned carrying a set of twin lambs! The next concerns our own village and the perfect cone-shaped hill overlooking us. A big hui was being held in Rapaki. The problem of providing a suitable pudding was discussed. It was decided to make a big plum duff. The fire was made ready, and the biggest pot produced. This could contain the two hundred pound bag of flour. All the ingredients were added, including one large tin of baking powder. After vigorous stirring, all was ready, and the lid placed on the pot. The men then returned to the hall, but not for long; the children saw the lid fall off the pot and the plum duff rising and spreading rapidly. They called the men, but nothing could stop that pudding from completing its destiny. Thus we have our cone-shaped hill watching over us—Tamatea, erroneously known as Mahuraki. Johnny loved his drop of beer and on ‘pension day’ he would harness up his old white horse to his trap, and off to Lyttelton they would go. Late on these afternoons they would be seen slowly walking home with Johnny in his seat, reins in hand—fast asleep. His good friends in Lyttelton, including the publican, would successfully manoeuvre Johnny aboard his trap, turn the horse about, and set them for home. The horse never once failed him. The Koskela brothers were two Lyttelton fishermen who fished into our beach for many years. I remember them first with one rowing boat, then a motor was installed and, later, with two boats. During the rowing and one motor boat era, Johnny would always be on the beach to collect the unwanted fish—rig, elephant fish, red cod, and sometimes a feed of flounders. Johnny would clear the beach of rocks and seaweed where he estimated the net would finally land, or he would take over the pulling in of the net. If not at school, I would sometimes be on the beach too, and, like all boys, not being satisfied with the red cod, I would try to sneak a flounder and would cover it with seaweed, or hastily dig a hole in the sand with my feet. If the tide was coming in and the reloading of the boat took too long, I would lose my flounder. Size mattered little to me in those days. Quite frequently, I would accompany Johnny along the foreshore at low water in quest of sea foods. He always carried a gaff to be used on any unwary conger eel or paua too deep to be reached by hand. I learned of many conger holes during these excursions. He loved to go fishing at night. If a boat was available, he would take the older boys out, often crossing Quail Island or the Lighthouse Reef. Mum would sometimes allow me to be in the party if it was on the rocks handy. How I loved this experience. We never returned empty-handed. When the rigs—toothless sharks—were particularly active on the mudflats in Governors Bay, Johnny would lead a party armed with spears, gaffs and gorse knives into the attack. Should a dogfish—this possessed teeth and was unpleasant to the taste—or stingray venture too close, it would be in danger of losing its tail. The rigs would be brought home, the centre bone removed, cut down the middle to within an inch of the tail end, salted and peppered to combat flies, and thrown over a wire fence to dry for winter food. It was tough, but I enjoyed chewing “dried shark”. All the travelling was by horse and trap or bicycle for the younger men. In his younger days Johnny was a first class shearer. He was well-known in sheds owned by Gardiners of Purau, Mortons (later Scotts) of Heathcote, Kinloch Station of Little River, Dick Morton of Motukarara, McAlpine of Craigieburn and Mt White Station. I think Johnny loved Dick Morton's of Motukarara best as it was so close to the big swamp we so often visited, being sure of a good supply of eels. This swamp has now been drained and turned into productive farm land. I must tell you of two more stories both connected with this part of the country:— Johnny and his team of shearers were on their way to Kinloch Station when, on approaching the corner which is the turn-off for the seaward end of Lake Forsyth and the big straight into Little River, the taipos