Moon Magic—at Milford

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 252, 14 January 1928, Page 22

Moon Magic—at Milford

(Written for THE SUN by

CONSTANCE GILBERT.)

Plump girls, slender girls, Solid girls and lender girls, Alt kinds of jolly girls lining out to dive. When you see the little beauts Tripping in their bathing suits. You'll be glad it's summer You'll be glad that you’re alive. From “The Belle of New York,'

TT is a far cry from Coney Island to Milford, but if “beauty unadorned is adorned the most” Milford far outshines the famous beach at Narragansett, because it has no embellishments such as promenades, band rotundas, amusement parks, side.shows, donkeys—or even bathing sheds. Milford in a state of unadornment is

like a beautiful nude Hgure, set in a garden of surpassing loveliness. Narragansett, with all its fripperies, is like a wax model in a drapers window, changing its appearance with the whims of fashion, looking out on a restless, bustling, indifferent throng. But, like the real and artificial figures, the two beaches have many points in common. Old Mother Ocean, ebbing and flowing, is the same the world over. Ever crooning her ceaseless lullaby ‘to the shore; ever holding out limpid, refreshing arms to her votaries. The wet, shining sands are the same; the cooling sea-breezes, the warm sun-kisses. The bathers are identical. Here, as there, are the plump and slender girls; also the solid and tender ones, all wearing the gay costumes of Coney Island. Far down New York harbour gleam the searching beams from the beloved Statue of Liberty, but equally dear to Aucklanders is the ghost-like beacon blinking beneath the looming bulk of Rangitoto. The popularity of Milford is due to its natural beauty; Narragansett’s to the artificial lures of man’s agency; but each, in common, is imbued with the spirit of youth eternal, which calls siren-like to those with ears to hear. To such, I say: “Come to Milford Beach at the rising of the summer moon” Across the waters of the Hauraki Gulf stretches a panorama of amazing beauty. To the left lies the long outline of Whangaparaoa Peninsula, darkly purple in the fading daylight. Nearby is Tiri, faithful sentinel, and in the distance Coromandel, almost invisible, with Waiheke and Rangitoto completing the picture—all seeming to float upon a dark grey sheet of water. A growing brightness lights the sky above Waiheke. Suddenly a shining disc appears and a shaft of brilliant light flashes, to make a silvery pathway. Slowly, slowly, the ascepding moon rises above the hills, its lambent rays flickering in widening beauty across the; surface of the water, which shimmers and sparkles in ecstasy Behold! A joyous company comes skipping, skipping, from sparkle to sparkle. Their dresses are of green seaweed and white foam, with girdles of brown sea-berries and coronets of pink shells. (Continued on Page 23,£