The Church itself is a curious structure; a tiny wooden nave, well designed, built by the first resident in Timaru, Captain Belfield Woollcombe, R.N., and his cousin, Herbert Belfield. Captain Woollcombe was, and still is, to a great extent, the factotum of the place; a typical naval officer, of ready resource; Magistrate, Coroner, Registrar, Harbour Master, Churchwarden, and Lay-reader. With his own hands he built most of the nave, so well, that it might last a century; to this was added at a later date a small transept and sanctuary, in stone, but of clumsy design and badly built. A certain amount of parochial work, with somewhat irregular services, has been maintained, but with the disadvantage of the clergyman's residence outside the limits of Timaru. "We want you," said Mr. Ormsby, the churchwarden, to me, "to get everything into working order." That, I thought to myself, will be a very large order for some time to come, for I find I am in the position of a settler on land which has been badly farmed, instead of having virgin soil to tackle, as was the case in Westland. But I am with people, of whom the larger proportion are Church folk, who give me liberal assurance of support and co-operation, so I have little doubt of the future. "The lot is fallen unto me in a fair ground; yea, I have a goodly heritage."
Come with me, and have a glance at the general contour of the place. A coast line, not unlike that of the Southdowns at home, with the Pacific Ocean in place of the British Channel; clay cliffs instead of chalk, buttressed by outcrops of dolerite rock; a sheltered bay, in which several ships are lying at anchor, with little risk, as the prevailing winds seldom blow on shore. The surf is not nearly so heavy as on
