Saturday, January 22, 2011

Dunedin again - the Edinburgh of the South

Following on from a post a few weeks ago, I've trawled and sorted and processed images from my recent trip to Dunedin [Edinburgh of the South it's said].

Brighton Beach...
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Back at the classic Dunedin Railway Station...
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Ticket windows...
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Upstairs...
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Tourist...
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From across the tracks...
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Enough said...
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Wikipedia has a good article on the Railway Station

Enough of train stations, so off to the place the cities pioneers have ended up in...
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Their substantial contributions are housed in the Hocken Library and here one of the staff welcomes in a researcher...
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Nearby the look is more contemporary...
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Further north again [for those of you aware of the progression] Signal Hill sports a monument to those pioneers...
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Looking across the city from Signal Hill to the sunset and Saddle Hill [I presume?]...
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13 Comments:

Blogger Kerry Hand said...

Yep. Saddle Hill. You have to see it from the sea or inland to get the full profile. Which is remarkable.

January 22, 2011 at 5:06 PM  
Blogger Donald said...

Hi Kerry

Thanks for that.

Yes, you're right it is quite 'the saddle' when seen side on. Walked up it once, but if I recall the view was not as good as viewing the hill itself!

Cheers

Donald

January 22, 2011 at 5:32 PM  
Blogger Bob McKerrow said...

That railway station meant so mush to me. Enjoyed your photos: This is what i wrote in 1968 leaving for Peru:

The dark gray stone walls of the Dunedin Railway station seemed to be gleaming. Shortly before midday the northbound train from Invercargill arrived. It was the 20th of March 1968.
Jill was there to say goodbye. The daughter of a Pukekohe onion farmer, studying physiotherapy in Dunedin, we had fallen for each other a month before. Ainslee, my older brother’s wife was there to farewell me. Two beautiful woman to say goodbye. My family, friends, a secure job : everything I had was in this City, but something was pulling. I had to leave. Dunedin, the mountains of Otago and Canterbury made up my world; I needed to cut the chain. The prison doors opened.

A mountain mule pack and a battered suitcase I inherited from my Grandfather pasted with rail and ferry stickers and a cheque for One Thousand NZ dollars in my back pocket was my world, my future......

A feeling of euphoria swept through me on the smoke filled platform. A great expanse of grey and stiffled light silhouetted Ainslee and Jill. The loudspeaker crackled, announcing the trains departure. I kissed Ainslee and hugged Jill and a thrill ran through my body. I heaved my mountain mule pack onto by back and boarded the train. I didn’t look back.

This battered pack was the symbol of movement and adventure. For three years the smell of its duck canvass and tarry waterproof oilskin top, evoked excitment everytime I packed it for another weekend trip into the mountains, or a three weeks pass hopping trip in the wilds of Fiordland, or a peak bagging trip to the Mount Cook region. Sometimes it might be an Otago tramping and mountaineering Club snow caving trip in the Old Man Range or a skiing trip with a busload of nubile young women, always a welcome interlude from serious climbing. I thought of Michael Cooper, my cousin who died last year climbing Mt.Awful at the age of 18. No wonder my mother didn’t want me to go to Peru. The year before that two other young Dunedin climbing friends of mine died; Richard Tilley and Howard Laing.

This was the station my father had departed from in 1941 for four long years in Egypt and Italy, and in the first World War my grandfather’s two brothers ( John Henry and Walter McNatty), and Stan Hodginson my grandmother’s brother left with his horse for the Boer war in 1898. John and Henry never returned, their bodies lie in Gallipoli and France.

As I sank into the leather seat, I fingered the cheque for NZ$ 1,000. If I lose this, I would lose my dream. Dreams are what drive me ! Gaston Rebuffat’s book which I repeatedly borrowed from the Dunedin Public Library until it became mine, said simply, ‘ I prefer dreams to memories. ‘

My eyes were fixed on the platform and I marvelled at the name. The platform to where ? The platform to what ? .A platform to a new beginning.

January 23, 2011 at 2:20 AM  
Blogger cragrat said...

I left from the railway station many times - taking the railcar up to Middlemarch etc and had a few pies - probably time I looked inside the building

January 23, 2011 at 4:52 PM  
Blogger Shirley Goodwin said...

They don't make buildings like that any more, more's the pity.

January 24, 2011 at 2:19 PM  
Blogger Deanna said...

Beautiful photos! Makes me want to visit!

January 28, 2011 at 12:08 AM  
Blogger Deanna said...

Beautiful photos! Makes me want to visit!

January 28, 2011 at 12:08 AM  
Blogger Donald said...

Dear Bob

>A mountain mule pack

Bevan would have been proud had he known of your dream!

Gaston too, I should imagine [I too took out his book from the Oamaru library many times, though I never ended up with it - the pretty librarians intrigued me].

And yes a platform to where indeed! I suspect had you known the details you would still have gone onto your inspirational Red Cross work.

That last comment also bought me a grin though: Harry Potter discovered the magic of platforms too!

Cheers

Donald

January 28, 2011 at 2:56 AM  
Blogger Donald said...

Dear Simon

Pies to Middlemarch on the railcar eh!

This sounds intriguing... like what was happening there? Crags?

Cheers

Donald

January 28, 2011 at 2:59 AM  
Blogger Donald said...

Dear Shirley

No indeed they don't! It's great to see it has been so well looked after.

If it was built like the old NZR teacups, then it'll be indestructible!

So was the tea they contained!

Cheers

Donald

January 28, 2011 at 3:01 AM  
Blogger Donald said...

Hi Deanna

Thanks for dropping by and the positive comments about the photos.

It appears you've come from 'Intersections' so I'm off there to see what you've written, and also check out all the blogs on your profile page.

Cheers

Donald

January 28, 2011 at 3:07 AM  
Blogger Marg said...

I was struck by the originality of the photos - the very reality of which are so present to me. Nothing like a fresh view.

January 28, 2011 at 6:50 PM  
Blogger Donald said...

Dear Marg

Yes, the fresh view idea is valid.

I'd actually been in there, thought I'd finished and then went back as the thought came into my mind that I'd missed the point.

On the second visit there were more camera totting tourists, and far from being judgmental [my mind was elsewhere as it related to the building], I did notice they followed a pattern, and it was not the one I'd defined for my second try!

All sort of on the edges of my consciousness, but interesting. We all perceive things quite differently, and that's part of the fun of life!

Cheers

Donald

February 2, 2011 at 9:13 PM  

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