John says it has been like ‘Driving Miss Lazy Daisy’ all around the Northlands, and I can only agree! He has been perfect, avoiding all the crazy motor bikes and getting us from A to B with lots of little stops to have coffees and ice cream and all the other necessities of life.

We drove up the Hibiscus highway to Whangaparaoa and had coffee and some of the Bishop’s Cake with Kate and Gray (friends from days in Hanoi) and as I sat and listened to gossip of friends flung here and there, in Baku, Prague, Doha, and all around the world I had a vision of Kate and I walking the paddy fields in Hanoi never imagining that one day we would sit on her veranda overlooking the glorious Pacific ocean.

I love Blake’s lines, from the ‘augeries of innocence’:

‘To see a world in a grain of sand,

And a Heaven in a wild flower,

Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,

And eternity in an hour.

and I love this picture:

We are such global beings.

We zoomed north and came to a Mini Scotland, with the Gaelic welcome, ‘Ceud Mile Failte.’ We screeched to a halt… for we are never prepared for what we may see, (preferring to read the guide books later) so it was quite a special visit to Waipu. A monument made of Aberdeen granite with the rampant lion aloft marks the spot, and a large portrait of the Scottish preacher, Norman McLeod, stands proudly over the museum.

Portraits of the settlers line the walls, survivors of an amazing journey.

Norman set sail from Ullapool and made for Nova Scotia in 1817.  He arrived in Waipu in 1853.

I think it was around 1998 that our minister, Donald Beaton in Glenelg, organised a pageant involving the whole community to re-enact the Highland Clearances. It was a beautiful day, and as we stood on the beach we watched local women dressed in plaid cloths cook fish over a fire, and barefoot children play in the grass. Three houses had been built to look like old crofts and the scene was timeless; a page from a history book come to life. The minister dressed in a long white wig, and carrying a staff, acted as the story teller, ushering the people to leave their land and their homes. Sheep were coming to replace the highland way of life.

When the people dared to fight the authorities, their homes were burnt and I remember that summer’s day, feeling a lump in my throat as I smelt the fire and watched the smoke and walked to the water’s edge and stood as Calum Ian started to sing. It was a psalm and his voice was strong. I remember crying when I heard the people join him, the sound was so raw. And then it was over. We watched the women clamber into the boats and their children were helped in and finally the men. We watched as they rowed away. We, the audience, stood in silence, only the crackling fires and the splash of the oars breaking the quiet. It was a powerful reminder of how so many were forced to emigrate and never saw their homeland again.

Now here I was in Waipu, looking at the faces, and I read their stories of how they nearly starved to death in Nova Scotia and had to sell their ships to buy another to take them to Melbourne (but that was an ungodly place, with the gold diggers and the bush rangers and the like) so they sailed on to New Zealand. 940 made it. There was even a doll.

We drove on, and stayed briefly in Whangarei, then headed on round the coast to pretty Whale Bay

and finally up to the Bay of Islands. We didn’t linger as the place was so full of tourists and trippers and boaties. Instead we headed north to Manganui in Doubtless Bay and felt like Mary and Joseph as all the rooms were gone and we looked quite forlorn. A kindly motel lady offered us her attic and we nearly bit her hand off in gratitude. In fact it was more palatial than the ordinary rooms. Pretty bay with long beaches and shady pohutukawa trees and we ate fish and chips and watched the sun set.

Next day we drove on and on and on right up to the tip of New Zealand to Cape Rienga. Here is where the Tasman and the Pacific dramatically meet and we watched as the waves of the two oceans intermingled.

The blues were smoky and breathtaking, and we looked for whales in a bay where they are rumoured to come and rub against the rocks to remove their barnacles.

In Maori legend, Cape Rienga is where the spirits of the deceased leave the land.

Walking back up the steep track back to the car, we passed a newly landscaped rockery. I saw a woman with a trowel, and a boy bending over, removing one of the plants. John just strode on, but I lingered and saw that they were shovelling in an urn of ashes! Obviously a good place to be once the spirit has departed!

That night we ended up in Opononi… such a beautiful bay, where once a dolphin came in and stayed a year and befriended the children. There is a statue commemorating this happy event that took place in the summer of 1955! When we got there the power went off and all the restaurants were shut. We had to sit in our room and eat nuts, apricots and bananas. We were like chimpanzees.

Later went to the beach and amused ourselves. Well John did!

Our landlord had a photo of himself beside a giant marlin that he had caught just last year. Prize winning it was. I was so jealous, and asked if he had to be strapped in to catch it, but he said seats were for ‘woosers’ and he just fought the fish at the end of his line like a real man! Quite. Here is his number plate!

The big deal as we drove away next day was the Waipoua forest. Oh my.

We stared up at a kauri tree that has stood for 2000 years, planted probably when Jesus was a lad. Beside this king were his four sisters. It was awesome. We had been to see where the gumdiggers hacked out a living in their nasty sack built shacks…

What a vile life, digging for nuggets of gum out of the earth, and then it was sent back to Birmingham where it was turned into varnish which among other things was used to varnish coffins and sent back down into the earth. That is irony.

And now we are back in rainy Auckland and the news is full of sadness. Five families bereaved from the ballooning accident at the weekend.

I only have a week left before returning to the Bonny Land. I shall have to stock up on possum socks and gloves and get ready to fight the jet lag in time for ‘The Wedding’.

After that, who knows?  So from New Zealand it’s farewell.