The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 13, Issue 11 (January 1, 1939)

The Magic Island

The Magic Island

( Concluded.)

Chapter X.
Happiness Cottage.

Where could Gobby have got to? The children looked under the beds, underneath the chairs and behind the pictures on the walls, while their Mother sat with an amused smile on her face.

“Happiness Cottage.”

“Happiness Cottage.”

They were just giving up the search in despair, when a little voice said, “Here I am!” and out popped Gobby from the vase on the dressing-table!

“Oh, you naughty goblin!” cried Barbara. But Gobby was not listening. He took off his tiny cap, bowed low and said very politely to the children's Mother, “How do you do?”

“Are you really a goblin?” asked their Mother.

“Of course,” answered Gobby. “I look like one, don't I?”

“I don't know,” replied their Mother.

“I haven't seen a goblin before, so I can't say.”

“Your education has been neglected, then,” said the goblin cheekily, “if you haven't seen a goblin.”

“This is really amazing,” said their Mother. “I must see your Father straightaway, and I must take you home at once, Peter. Your parents are very worried about you.”

That night Barbara and Michael related the story of their adventure over again to their Father. Their Father was very amazed to see the goblin, who was dancing joyously round the room. Peter also told the tale that night to his parents and June, his sister, was very jealous that she had not had the adventure, too.

The police were notified that Peter had returned home, and soon the newspapers heard the story of the adventure. When Barbara and Michael woke up one morning two days after their return home and looked out of their bedroom window, down below in the garden they saw a number of young men, holding large notebooks and pencils tucked behind their ears, standing in a long line from the front gate to the front door. The first young man had his rather inky thumb pressed heavily on the bell, and its insistent pealing rang through the house.

Barbara and Michael dressed quickly and scampered downstairs. Barbara threw open the front door. “Good morning,” she said.

“Good morning,” said the first young man, “I am representing ‘The Nosey News,’ My card.” Barbara gazed at the piece of white pasteboard he thrust in front of her.

“May I request an interview. My Editor is very anxious to hear the story of your exciting adventures, and so are our readers. Of course,” he coughed discreetly, “we are prepared to pay for your story.” He smiled, and he had rather a pleasant smile, thought Barbara.

“How much?” she asked.

“How much?” The young man was a little taken back by the sudden question. “Well—er—” he coughed again—“shall we say fifty pounds?”

“F-f-fifty p-pounds!” stammered Barbara.

“Gosh!” exclaimed Michael, “What a lot of money! Let him in, Barbara!”

But Barbara's brain was working at a furious rate. She brushed past the young man, stood on the doorstep and looked down the long line of young men.

“Are you rep-sent-ing papers, too?” she asked.

“Yes,” they answered in chorus.

“Well,” she went on, “We have been offered fifty pounds for the story of our adventures by this young man,” she indicated the first man. “Are you going to pay us, too?”

“Excuse me,” put in the first young man, “but my offer was for exclusive rights. That means the story is to me, only.

But Barbara appeared not to hear.

The young men grouped themselves into a formation called a scrum. There was much whispering and nodding of heads. Then the men fell quickly into line again. The second man nearest the door said, “We are willing to offer you ten pounds each from our respective papers.”

“Ten pounds,” said Barbara, “Not much, but it will do, seeing that there's —” she began to count the long line—“thirty of you. You may all come in.” And the clever little business woman
“Out popped Gobby from the vase.”

“Out popped Gobby from the vase.”

led the way into the house. The first young man was indignant. “Oh, I say, here! That's not a fair—” but the words were taken out of his mouth as he was pushed unceremoniously into the house by the force of the young men behind him.
“The Captain”—Mr. P. Hinge's champion Labrador in his old school tie.

“The Captain”—Mr. P. Hinge's champion Labrador in his old school tie.

Inside the not over large drawing-room, the young reporters gracefully drooped themselves over the table, settee and chairs, and lounged against the walls like wind-blown hollyhocks.

While the young men scribbled industriously, Barbara and Michael in turns told their story and Gobby had a wonderful time, pulling the reporters’ hair, and flicking their ties in their eyes. It was a most exciting morning.

Barbara and Michael flung themselves down on the settee and kicked their legs high up into the air, after the young men's departure.

“Ten multiplied by thirty is three hundred pounds!” Michael giggled with joy. “Gosh! What a lot of money!”

“Don't forget,’ said Barbara, “we will have to give a share to Peter.”

“Oh, I forgot him,” said Michael.

“And me,” said Gobby, as he landed with a bound on Michael's chest.

“Oh, you don't get anything,” laughed Barbara. “And you really must be good, you know. You were naughty this morning.”

“Some of those funny men wanted to ‘snap’ me, they said,” went on Gobby.

“‘Snap’ you!” exclaimed Barbara.

“Oh, he means having his photo, taken, I suppose,” said Michael.

“And did they ‘snap’ you?” asked Barbara.

“Oh, they thought they did!” laughed Gobby. “But they didn't, you know!”

And with that mysterious reply he ran out of the room.

And Gobby was right. For though his photograph had been taken many times, when the photographs were developed, Gobby simply wasn't there! I don't think anyone has ever taken a photograph of a goblin, for they are very elusive little creatures.

The newspapers came out with great headings—

“Children's Amazing Story.

Adventure on Magic Island.”

For many weeks the children were the centre of all interest in their little township. Children came from far and near to see the goblin. Gobby was enjoying life to the full. He would get into the kitchen and when the cook wasn't looking, he would empty a pot of pepper into the soup, and pour vinegar into the milk, and wipe soap on the floor of the kitchen for the cook to slip on.

Occasionally, Barbara and Michael would take him to school with them. But he was so naughty, pulling the children's hair, writing queer sayings on the blackboard, jumping into the inkwells, that the teacher would not let him come to school any more.

Barbara and Michael had told Peter about the three hundred pounds they had obtained for the story of their adventure. Between them they agreed, with the consent of their parents, that with the money they should build a cottage on the site where the Crazy Cottage used to be. This cottage was to be for the use of poor children, who could come and have holidays there.

And if at any time you visit the town in New Zealand, where Barbara, Michael and Peter live, you will see this cottage with a bright nameplate on the front gate with the words, “Happiness Cottage” the name bestowed on it by the children, and you will know that the cottage has been aptly named, for the money that built it came from a happy adventure, and happy children's laughter, at certain times of the year, rings through its rooms.

A glimpse of Lake Te Anau from the balcony of the hotel.

A glimpse of Lake Te Anau from the balcony of the hotel.

And if you look very carefully, you will see Gobby, the goblin, playing in the cottage, for he had been too naughty to stay with Barbara and Michael.

But Gobby doesn't mind, for he still sees the children and he plays with the little boys and girls who come to stay at the cottage in their holidays, and he often tells them about the wonderful adventures Barbara, Michael and Peter had on the Magic Island.

( The End.)

Neil Edwards

( Continued from p. 49.)

ures and retirements elevating him from ninth place. At the end of the season he had succeeded in reaching Number One position among Wellington players! He was chosen as Number One in the Wellington team to play Canterbury in the Wilding Shield contest, but lost both singles—to Angas and Barnett. In the Wellington open championship he was defeated by the veteran Don France, and in the New Zealand championship tournament lost to Bobby Pattinson (runner-up to A. D. Brown in the final). He won his club championship, but lost the final of the Wellington Champion of Champions to Denis Coombe. Playing in the Easter tournament he lost the final to Noel Bedford. Not altogether a successful season, but Edwards was in a transitionary period—he was remodelling his stroke equipment and preparing for better things to come.

So we come to the present season—Edwards's best to date. In ranking matches he has lost to Ferkins and Roussell, but in championships he has won the Wellington Open title and the New Zealand title.

Although “seeded” last season, i.e., so placed in the draw that he would not be called on to meet those considered to have the best chances of reaching the finals until the quarterfinals had been reached, Edwards was not among the select eight “seeded” in this year's national tournament. To win the national title he defeated four “seeded” players, a unique feat in New Zealand tennis history. Edwards, in the vernacular, was “a rank outsider,” according to those who “seed” the players, but his form warranted him being given a better chance of success.

In many of his matches, Edwards came from the back to win. Here I think is the secret of his success: he does not allow himself to get worried, no matter which way the tide may be running. Spectators at the national tournament recently concluded are unanimous that Edwards did not vary the tempo of his play; he allowed the other man to do the worrying and make the mistakes. Of such calibre are champions made. Instead of straining to produce something better when in arrears, Edwards realised that his play was good, and a continuation might see his opponent fall into an error. His psychology was correct. In each case, Edwards came from behind, without extra effort, to win the match. Would a younger player have shown the same common-sense?

With only three years of “big” tennis, Edwards has had few opportunities of meeting oversea players. His biggest match was against Stedman, the New Zealander, immediately after Stedman's return to New Zealand. Edwards won only three games in two sets, but learned plenty about the game.

“Stedman proved to me that our tennis is not fast enough,” said Edwards. I could not match him for speed and was all at sea. However, I met him in a friendly—non-competition—game later, and did much better. Were New Zealand tennis players given the opportunity to meet leading players at more frequent intervals—and allowed to play a series of games in succession—I feel sure our standard would improve.”

I asked him if he had ambitions to play at Wimbledon. He smiled when he answered: “I have ambitions. I would like to play at Wimbledon, if only to get experience and improve my game; but tennis is only a game and I have work to do. If ever I get the honour of being chosen to represent New Zealand abroad, and can get leave from employment, I would be thrilled. But, work will come first, and tennis next.”

There you have the true sportsman. He sees sport in its proper perspective. Win or lose, Neil Edwards will always remember that tennis “is only a game,” and when he goes down to defeat he will do so without any theatricals.

Using a 13 1/2 oz. racquet, Edwards has never been coached. He has not knowingly modelled his style on that of other players, but admits that, unconsciously, he may have developed a composite style based on strokes used by many star players. He has experimented with his strokes, and grips, and this season has changed to a partial “Continental” grip, instead of changing his grips when playing backhand or fore-hand.

His best stroke is the smash. “A natural stroke,” he explains. “I just hit the ball with all I possess.”

At the Newtown Club, Edwards plays on hard courts, but in inter-club and ranking matches plays on grass courts. He has a liking for the grass and finds that better stroke-control is possible. The hard courts do not produce the same tricky shots as are possible on grass and do not assist to speed up the game.

Edwards has not had the same success in doubles as in singles. A modest champion, he will not blame his partners for this lack of success. It has been said that Edwards is just as capable a player in doubles, but is in need of a partner. Such a statement could be made about any singles champion. Doubles play calls for two players with thoughts alike; two players who will help each other, encourage one another when things are not going right, and two players who prefer not to get the limelight. Neil states that the ideal doubles combination in New Zealand is Roussell and Ferkins. Two players with common interests and solid play. They may not be as good individually as others but, as a team, they are outstanding.

From the New Zealand Railways has come many outstanding New Zealand athletes. At the Festival of the Empire—the forerunner of the British Empire Games—Mr. W. A. Woodger, recently retired Railways District Traffic Manager, Wellington, was elected as New Zealand sprinter. Unfortunately, at a time when he was showing brilliant form, he contracted a chill, later developing into pneumonia, which prevented him from competing.

At the Olympic Games in 1928, the Railways were represented by Alf Cleverley, light-heavyweight boxer, and also had representation at the British Empire Games in 1938. Cecil Matthews, famous as the most outstanding distance runner in the British Empire, is a son of a Railway employee.

In golf, too, a Railway employee came near winning the prized Amateur Championship, Bill Riley, of the Locomotive Superintendent's Office, Wellington, being runner-up to Pax Smith in the national tourney played at Dunedin.

Neil Edwards must be added to this list—a list by no means complete—and New Zealanders will follow with interest the future sporting career of a champion who waited until he had developed a body to stand the strain of competitive play before embarking on strenuous sport. Edwards is not a veteran player—either in years or in actual play. He is a mature player, and there is need for such players in New Zealand representative tennis.