FROM THE WATCH TOWER

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 855, 26 December 1929, Page 8

FROM THE WATCH TOWER

By “THE LOOK-OUT MAN ” CHRISTMAS TREES Pohutukawas are flowering on all tlie island beaches of the Hauraki Gulf. The best showing of all is on the Little Barrier. Where the scarlet buds are breaking; In a wind that’s wet with spray I shall cleanse my heart of aching And pursue a care-free way, Far from credits, double-entries, And the town’s depressing fees. Underneath those stately sentries, The pohutukawa trees. On a beach that’s paved with treasure Where the stone-white pebbles shine, I shall ponder at my leisure Private mysteries of mine; Peering in the rock pool’s bowers, Or inertly stretched at ease, Wondering why these brave red flowers Bloom upon such gnarled old trees. THE PENSIONERS Amid all the discussion of the Harbour Bridge and the speculations about the fate of the large ships of the future if a bridge is thrown across from the City to Shoal Bay, no one has yet told us what will happen to the old ships that are at present domiciled there. Perhaps they will still be able to creak idly at their moorings, even if they do so in decayed contrast to the painted steel work of the latest monument to progress. Or perhaps they may be tucked away in some other forgotten corner of the harbour. After all, what use is an old ship? Little use, perhaps, except that at least the pensioners swinging on their anchor chains are a good index as to whether the tide is ebbing or flowing. OIL, ABOARD

All the ships that swing at anchor for more than a few days at a time are not pensioners or crippled veterans awaiting the shipbreaker. Even liners and serviceable freighters—yes, and men-o’-war, too—sometimes have to submit to the indignity of swinging idly in the stream. As the last flickers of sunlight touch the grey hull of the naval tanker l4ucula, and turn her for the moment into an elegant thing of silver grey, she appears an ornament to the harbour. We shall always preserve an admiration for the Nucula. Thrust out into the stream whenever a warship comes to port, she can never protest against the bristling cruiser’s peremptory demand for berthing space. The handmaiden of the navy does not bristle with guns. She makes her way inconspicuously to the servants’ quarters. Yet gunfire would not be much use without oil to feed the furnaces. Even a Rolls Royce must visit the bowser

* * * A CALL AT COATESTIIjLE

Lastly, there is Coatesville, and although Auckland in its gross ignorance may be unaware of the fact, Coatesville is quite a near neighbour. It is only ten miles or so beyond Birkenhead, so that quite a brief motor run is sufficient to expose to the questing motorist the delights of this salubrious locality. First of all, there is the public hall, which has a benzine advertisement painted on the roof. Secondly, there is the post office, which is a palatial affair, but nevertheless not quite commodious enough to garage a “baby” car. This is the extent of Coatesville’s present building development, but it should not be inferred that Coatesville is stagnant or unprogressive. The fact is that Coatesville may have quite a distinguished urban career ahead of it. A filling station will be the next milestone on its upward path. Then maybe there will be a store, and perhaps ultimately an hotel, which, after all, is just a filling station of a different kind. SHADED STREAM If in the meantime the attractions catalogued seem insufficient to warrant a social call upon Coatesville, it may he added, and by no means as an afterthought, that In the vicinity flows the Rangitopuni Stream, which not only is worthy of fame because along its banks are some of the choicest picnic spots within many miles of Auckland, but also because the elegant little river is the actual and authentic parent of the Waitemata. Here at Coatesville it is just a characteristic backblocks stream, its leisured current idling along in a tunnel of cool greenery. It is liable to sudden floods, too, as the knots of a recent high water mark on trees and fences show. But then, what respectable stream would not show a tendency to rise in protest against some of the recent specimens of weather? Ordinarily, the Rangitopuni is thoroughly well-behaved, and the broad meadows that flank its dappled glades are uncommonly attractive. Nearer Riverhead the banks become steeper and the river less accessible. It is just in the neighbourhood of Coatesville that it inspires a summer lyric. So here is evidence that one statesman, at any rate, has not lived in vain.