The beauty and freedom of Queenstown made for a day that has stayed with Fred Fox.
My best day was unquestionably December 29, 1945.
Ken and I awoke from our sleeping bags on straw palliasses on the floor of the Queenstown District High School classroom, had a quick wash, dressed, grabbed tennis racquets and leapt from the top of the stone wall (as you do when you are 17) to the street below, where we were joined by sisters Frances and Joyce, then proceeded to run all the way to the tennis courts in the beautiful Queenstown Gardens.
Played doubles (hilariously) for an hour in glorious mountain air, adjourned to adjacent tearooms for strawberries and cream, and then walked back to base in the school for breakfast.
There we were introduced to newcomers to the Presbyterian Bible Class Camp; John, Jack and Keith (all from Christchurch), Marion, Arch and Keith (Invercargill), Scottish girls Betty and Moira (now resident in Gore) and the lovely Nola (from Nightcaps) who proceeded to purloin my MCC cricket cap for the day.
We moved to the kitchen to prepare lunches for our trip to Elfin Bay, near the head of the lake.
In those far-off days, TSS Earnslaw was the road, or train, to take you to Glenorchy and it called at Walter Peak, Mt Nicholas, Elfin Bay and Kinloch before stopping at Glenorchy for two hours and then making the return trip to Queenstown.
At this stage of my life I had never been further from Dunedin than Milton or Ranfurly; to say I fell hopelessly in love with the beauty of this area would be the understatement of my life.
We alighted at Elfin Bay (what a beautiful name) and proceeded to walk through forest and native bush to the lovely little Lake Rere.
The place was a visual and aural paradise, with native birds singing their little hearts out.
We spent a couple of delightful hours there before hiking back to Elfin Bay, boarding once more "The Lady of the Lake'', and, once on board, forming into a large horseshoe in the stern and singing all the way home.
That night, after an impromptu concert and sing-along, about 30 of us descended on the town's solitary milk bar and then walked to the Captain Robert Falcon Scott memorial in the gardens and by torchlight we read his famous last diary entry.
On this magical day I took the hand of a lovely young lady that I had only met for the first time that day, and we walked back through the beautiful gardens in the warm, still Central Otago air, and sat on a bench and listened to the dance music floating across the bay from a band on the deck of Earnslaw.
And then we began to talk, and talk and talk about everything.
Prior to this evening I had never been capable of this.
I knew instinctively then and there that his was the beginning of my first true friendship, and a momentous breakthrough in communicating with people on a one-to-one basis.
This day, 70 years ago, was the most joyous and carefree and magical day of my whole life this far.
Whenever I think of it, two quotes from famous poets come to mind (both horribly out of their original context): "For oft when on my couch I lie in vacant or in pensive mood, they flash upon the inward eye, which is the bliss of solitude'' (Wordsworth) and "But the tender grace of a day that is dead will never come back to me'' (Tennyson).
Your best day
Tell us about your best day. Send submissions to odt.features@odt.co.nz. We ask that you don't nominate the day you were married or when a child arrived. But any other day is fine.
