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The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 13, Issue 6 (September 1, 1938)

[section]

Thanks to a central location, a mild climate, and its claim to possess “the safest bathing-beach in New Zealand,” Timaru holds especial favour with holiday-makers. In between their tennis and their bathing, most visitors find time to stroll to the summit of the Benvenue Cliffs. These once rugged cliff heights, now thoroughly tamed by trim lawns and elegant shrubberies, command a superb view of the spires and the towers of Timaru, and look down upon the long, lazy rollers that trail a fringe of lacey foam on the white sands of Caroline Bay.

But there is another view from the top of these cliffs which is missed by most people. Just peer over the edge and look down on to the rocks below. See how the rocks are stained a rusty red: see how the waves are lapping a tangled mass of old iron which looks like the ribs of a ship—they are the ribs of a ship. That chaos of seaworn iron tells more eloquently than any book why a harbour was built at Timaru; why the safe beach of Caroline Bay came into being; why these cliffs received the name “Benvenue.” For fifty long years and more, those iron beams have withstood sea-erosion, rock-pressure and sand-encroachment—stolidly resisting the forces of obliteration as though determined to abide there as the stark memento of a far-off, fateful day in May. I pointed out this debris to a distinguished Cambridge historian once, at the same time telling him the story. He replied, “I have been all over New Zealand, and I have been charmed with the scenery, but this is the first time that I have had anything like an historic thrill in your land.”