Not far from Christchurch is the glorious Banks Peninsula.
Before leaving Canada, I’d arranged to join Jeff, the local postman, on his 120 kilometre route.
This is the best of days. Not only tourist brochure sheep and scenery (the ship is in the far distance) ...
.., but introduction to New Zealand postboxes.
Here a microwave and spatula …
… and a little house …
… there one that’s not recently seen many deliveries.
Along the mail route, a quirky store operating for more than a century …
… village verandah …
… and empty beach.
In a lovely little Anglican church is a memorial to a young New Zealander who died in the disastrous Gallipoli campaign. He ‘fell fighting for his friends, his country and the Empire at Rhododendron Hill …’
Aside from another time’s language, I leave thinking of Gallipoli Rhododendrons - there is such a flower - shredded mid human carnage.
The following day, in Picton, a busy South Island port, I am scrutinized while walking …
… to a modest, but deservedly well reputed, pie shop …
… overseen by a lady I can only describe as a real character. Stuffed with pie and local gossip …
… I’m ready for another mail run, this one on a small boat serving remote locations inaccessible by road.
Not only is mail received and sent, but dogs know the mailboat means a treat from the postman.
No treat for the seal …
… or oystercatcher …
… or dolphins, which nonetheless companionably escort us back to town.
One last outing in Picton, a jaunt on the splendid Marlborough Flier with its 1915 engine…
… called Passchendaele, another futile Great War battle with an evocative name, one in which Canadians also died in their thousands.
Along with my pie shop acquaintance, train engineer Phil Wagener stands out as one of this trip’s characters.
Phil’s nickname, by the way, is ‘Teapot’. I’ll leave you to guess why.
Next post, New Zealand’s North Island.
