HOLD YOUR BREATH STORIES

Sun (Auckland), Volume 1, Issue 27, 23 April 1927, Page 24 (Supplement)

HOLD YOUR BREATH STORIES

THE BIRDS OF THE BUSH MEET THE BIRDS OF THE SEA _ No. 5 By H. T. G. The gannet began it. That sounds like poetry, but I don’t mean that the gannet began to make up a poem, for he merely began to boast. He fluttered his wings, strutted up and down and said, “I can dive higher and straighter through the air and deeper in the water than any other bird! I am the most graceful flier on New Zealand’s shores and I can fight any other bird on the coast. I have a soldiers name for many people call me the Grenadier Gull.” “Others call you a Solan Goose!” interrupted the weka with a laugh in which all the other birds joined, “and,” the gannet went on with a toss of his head, “as for beauty, look at the golden-yellow of my crest —”

“Pooh!” broke in a pukeko, rubbing the swamp mud off his toes “It’s nothing compared with the glory of my plumage! Look at the indigoblue of my neck, at the rosy tints of my legs, at the beautiful colouring of my beak—” “Ah! Ha!” laughed a godwit. “You stay at home land birds are fools to compare yourselves with us sea-birds. We are wanderers, travellers, explorers* I visit China, Japan and Siberia. I know my way across the Pacific. My speed makes the swiftest mail steamer look like a snail. Besides all this I can change my dress when I like; in Asia I wear my summer finery and here I wear my winter cloths although T visit j'ou during some of your hottest months. And I, too, have many fine names; some people call me godwit, others curlew, others snipe ” “I call you chatterbox!” laughed the Kakapo. “Bo you godwits know that we Kakapos hold a parliament every year? You sea-birds may have big strong wings but we land birds have big strong brains. Yes, we gather together every winter and hold our parliament. Ask the Maoris; they know all about it. We meet and discuss all sorts of things ” “And make such a noise all talking at once,” said the petrel,” that when I come ashore to rest in my cliff burrow, I can hardly sleep. It is useless for you land lubbers to boast. We sea folk live much wider and freer lives and can tell such a tale that ” “Tell a tale?” broke in the Kiwi. “Ha! Ha! I have no tail, but I can tell a tale that no sea-bird can. My family is the only one of its kind on this earth. My head is from one race of birds, my legs are from another, and my body is from another still. My forefathers were flourishing long before the present day coal was made. They were huge birds and they had big wings, but wings are useless if one never wants to fly, so my people gradually left them off and were more comfortable without them. I know many wonderful secrets that man himself cannot discover ” •

“But you do not know the great secret of silence!” gruffly interrupted the wandering albatross.” “And you know nothing of beauty, of space, of motion, of majesty as I do! I spurn the mightiest of wave-tops and I laugh at the stateliest of ships. The very fish of the deep seas fear me and my graceful flight inspires the genius of the poet, the skill of the artist and the envy of all mankind. As for secrets, ignorant men think that I sleep on the wing, so dignified as I float through the air, but they are wrong. I sleep on the breast of the waves ”

“But you haven’t a tail half as pretty as mine!” chirped the fan tail, preening her tiny feathers. “And who wants big finny fish for food when one can catch sandflies and gnats among the sweet scented flowers?”

“Oh, do be quiet!” cried the vulgar shag. “Sandflies and gnats indeed! who is there among you tree dwellers who can swallow a twelve inch eel as I can? Who can stay under or expand his throat like this?” “Horrible!” cried the tui. “who wants to do things like that? But who I should like to know is the most pious of all birds? Look at my sable and sombre attire; look at my neat white neck-tie and you will see why men call me the Parson Bird. And besides all this we land birds can supply a melodious choir, whereas you of the sea can only squawk. We tuis and the the bell-birds are the musicians of New Zealand. Come, friend bell-bird and sit beside me. Let us show these boasting sea-cousins of ours that Art is the very essence of living. We shall sing them a duet that will cany their wild natures from the realms of speed, storm and hunting into the domains of beauty, music and the poetry of the bush.” And at once there arose from the trees where the birds had gathered, such a wonderful melody, such a fullthroated volume of song that the very waves seemed to pause in their lapping on the beach to listen, the very wind seemed to cease its sighings in the caves and among the rocks and the whole circle of birds remained dumb, motionless, enraptured. . . The singing ceased but still the listeners sat motionless as though awaiting an echo, when suddenly, from out the sea there came a voice, rich and mellow and full of delight and wonder. “Birds!” said the voice. “Birds of the ocean and the forest, why have you thus met together on the borders of the tide and the shore?” “To argue!” replied the green and gold breasted pigeon of the bush as he fluttered his purple wings. “To argue about our value in the world, to find out which are the more worth while, the birds of the sea or the birds of land. But who are you that speaks. Pray show yourself!” And out upon a foam-washed rock there glided a shining mermaid, her hair falling over her glistening white shoulders, her face radiant with beauty, her smile sweet enough to charm a glum gargoyle to gladness. “Oh!” she cried. “But why argue? You are all lovely. Go forth, dear creatures, with all your gifts, all your talents, all your beauty, content that your kind may yet be born into the world. But look, the moon comes forth from the sea and, hark! Father Neptune himself is calling. I must go. Farewell! Gracefully she sank beneath the white, curling waves down to her palegreen home below. The birds looked at each other in silence, then the Tui spoke. “The mermaid is right,” he said solemnly. “The mermaid is right,” echoed the albatross. “We all have our separate values in the world.” And the hills and the crags and the seas answered back. “We all have our separate values in the world.” —H. T. G.