Thomas and Rose. John Aitkenhead

and I was privately hoping it would be permanent. Rachel wasn’t so sure; she was very protective of our father. She had taken up an accounting position at the local shire, similar to the position of my mother so many years before, and was now on her third boyfriend.

      Another hard part was leaving Skipper. One of our other dogs, Shep, had died the previous year, so Skipper had taken up the role of associate farm dog and loved it. My dad vowed to treat him and Max equally, but privately I had noticed that Skipper was far and beyond his favourite.

      I had said my goodbyes to Skipper the night before my departure as the bus was leaving at seven the next morning. I tried to explain that I would be away for quite some time, but I would come home during semester holiday breaks. Skipper cocked his head to one side and just sat quietly as I spoke to him. I felt foolish as a tear flowed down my face. One last scratch, a lick of my hand, and I left him but patted Max vigorously as I went. I had been to see the horses earlier in the day as I had done my final rounds of the farm.

      During the bus trip, I felt the same sadness I had experienced so often before, but this time, it was mixed with a warm satisfaction knowing that all was well at the farm and that I was getting on with my life. There was also a feeling of nervous excitement about the next three years and where that would take me. I had been very fortunate to receive the sum of five thousand pounds, and so had Rachel. The payout from my mother’s life insurance was twenty thousand pounds, and my dad graciously and generously provided half to the two of us.

      I had only been to Dunedin once before when I was quite young, but I remembered the Octagon in the middle of the city, so that is where I left the bus. My dad had arranged accommodation at a small private hotel in London Street, so I checked my UBD map and found the address. Fortunately, it was only fifteen minutes’ walk, as my suitcase was quite heavy.

      The Empire Hotel was situated behind a high wall. I went through the gate and rang the doorbell to be greeted by a matronly but friendly English lady, who was wearing a floral apron and had a very pink face and grey hair tied in a bun. I introduced myself, and I learnt she was Miss Wallis. She took me into a small reception area and asked me to take a seat as she was just busy for a few minutes.

      When she returned about fifteen minutes later, she was carrying a large glass of lemonade and a slice of carrot cake. I was delighted as I hadn’t eaten since breakfast at 5.30 am. I paid a week’s board and was given the key to room seven on the first floor with the advice that dinner was at six thirty and breakfast at seven. The room was rather bare, with just a bed, wooden chair, side table with a small plastic radio and a wardrobe with drawers, but spotlessly clean. On the back of the door, there were two notices: ‘What to do in case of fire’ and ‘No visitors allowed’. I lay on the bed and began reading another book by Charles Darwin, Origin of the Species. Then after an excellent dinner of corned beef and vegetables followed by peaches and custard, I went straight to bed and was asleep shortly after my head touched the pillow.