What a lovely send-off for Gid. I found the poem by the grandchildren to be moving and apt. The Taieri Mouth memories two generations later mirror my own. I always put up my hand to go fishing on the boat in the morning, but somehow, when I got up at the appointed time, the boys had already gone! However, I caught my one and only fish in my lifetime at the mouth of the Taieri while Gid watched us from the crib with his binoculars. Even though the kai moana was bountiful, Gid insisted on using every piece of the catch. Hence, I recall gingerly eating cod's head soup for lunch and being conned by Rob into consuming the eyeball. Thanks, Rob, but the eyeball was not the best part of the meal. I preferred the burnt toast to the metallic-tasting gelatinous eyeball still staring as I swallowed it down, determined to complete the dare. I have such fond memories of first-footing around Taieri Mouth on New Year's Eve, enjoying the bonfire on the beach, and often ending at our bach on Riverside Road. Where, like little kids, only Gid and Dad let off the fireworks we had all saved from Guy Fawkes. The two boys launched them from empty bottles over the mudflats to oohs and aahs! (Gid's voice being the most vocal in this admiration.) Two generations and fifty years later, it seems burnt toast was still a trap for young players. Did Gid manage to hang on to the flip toaster at Taieri Mouth to inflict this rite of passage on family and friends? Fond memories and love to all "the Gid's" * * "the Gid's" are coming, is what my siblings and I shouted in frenzied anticipation when Gid, Ann, Alistair, Don, Sue, and Rob were on their way to visit us at Roto-iti farm in South Otago