Brilliant Congress Play

One of the brilliant highlights was the reading of Peter Cape's play, "Under the Wooden Mountain." Closely modelled on Dylan Thomas's "Under Milkwood," it was a colourful chronicle of congress, vigorous, extravagant and witty.

Sample quotes: "Kahikatea mountain, Kike-a-teer mountain, the wooden mountain, butter-box slab-side steep, stone bone-browed like a lecturer's skull. ..."

"... the sea slick as a cat in a morning coat nuzzles its paws and waits for the wind. . . ."

". . . the afternoon is full of flash and sunshine, beetroot bodies and sea-water. . . ."

" . . and the sun like a pat of butter slips down the frying pan sky. . .," . . o such a clattering and a shattering, a piecemeal pellmell brain-belting brawling of sound, berating and bedevilling the breakfast tardy boys of hut 18. . .."

In spite of the fact that there were seven days this year instead of ten the congress did not seem to suffer from truncation, It did lack, however, the stimulating intellectual atmosphere of some earlier gatherings.

The discussions were good as far as they went, but they never reached great heights. This could have been partly due to some of the subjects, interesting certainly, and well presented, but not the sort of stuff you get wildly enthusiastic about. The theme of New Zealand, after all, has most definite limitations.

But this is a question largely of comparison. There have been better congresses, I think, but no one went home from this one dissatisfied. Intellectually, socially and in every way it was—as it always is—the best holiday for everyone at university. If it sometimes fails to reach the heights one has known, one does not complain. Each one has its special attraction that makes it unique, and for that we must be thankful.