In Search of Violet

The Rainbow Hunters:

One Mother. Two Boys.  A trip around the world in search of seven colours, the first pigments, made by the first colour men, raising money for the charity War Child as they go.

 

image                   image

New Zealand

New Zealand is a green county, full of vast expanses of land, of snow crested mountains that hide in white clouds, of endless sandy shores and deserts of mallow and spinifex, of tropical wildernesses and deep glacial fjords. It is not a land with which you associate the colour that we are looking for, the colour violet, the last in the rainbow spectrum, the ending of the known and the beginning of the unknown.
We have come first to the lavender fields, small plantations dotted along North Island and South. We stand now amongst the trim, cultivated rows of bobbing purple flowers. Pacific Blues that sway in the rush of wind that comes down from the Blenheim hills, rolling down over brown parched grasses. The helicopter woke us up this morning, before the sun had come up. It flew low over the French Fields Farm House, hovered over the surrounding vineyards, warding off the frost by stirring up warm air with the whirr from its propellers. Now the sun is just up, lighting the lavender in swaying bands of white light and cloud cast shadows.
“Perhaps with a little lemon,” Ruth, the owner, tells us, “you might extract violet, but people grow lavender for its scented oil, not for its colour.”
Onwards then to the shore, to the rocky north coast of Able Tasman National Park, in search of a rock snail, the murex, the whelk, a sea snail that can weep violet tears. We swim out into deep icy waters of aqua and navy blue. A sting ray glides past, a snapper, green dots flickering on its scales. We dive down a metre and a half, our ears popping, aching, dig off the pale coiled whelks that stick to the undersides of the rocky shoreline. Back out in the open air, we squeeze them between our thumb and forefinger, and sure enough they secrete their violet tears, tears that do not fade, a pigment that grow brighter beneath a hot sun, even brighter against a gusty wind.
And still there is more violet to be found in this green land. We drive southwards, across valleys of yellow broom and purple swaying lupins, down to the very tip of New Zealand, to Midford Sounds, one of the wettest places on earth, where we stand on the bow of a white boat, tip back our heads as we glide beneath cascading waterfalls, drinking the clear icy waters, soaking our clothes and our faces. And it is here on the tree lined shores that we find a lichen, the sticta coronata, dried and leafy clumps of it that cling to silver birch and beech trunks, gold and autumnal tinted, before it is placed in a dye bath, soaked in vinegar and lemon, to extract colours of pale violet and deep purple. The last colour in the rainbow spectrum, the known and the unknown, which is apt, as we stand on the very edge of the world.

The Rainbow Hunters are raising money for War Child (warchild.org.uk) as they travel. War Child work in countries that have been devastated by armed conflict and help children suffering the worst effects of violence; child soldiers, victims of rape and abduction, disabled and street children. They provide vital care to a traumatised child and help them to rebuild their lost childhood. Their aim is a world in which the lives of children are no longer torn apart by war.
If you would like to donate something please go to http://www.justgiving.com/Lindsay-Hawdon.

Lindsay Hawdon’s debut novel, Jakob’s Colours, a story about a young gypsy boy during WWII, who uses a legacy of colour making, to survive, is out now with Hodder and Stoughton in the UK and with Quercus in the US.

 

Advertisements

About lindsayhawdon

Lindsay Hawdon is a writer of travel, adventure and fiction. She began travelling at the age of eighteen. After leaving school, she spent three years roaming around Europe, Africa and India, hitching rides and sleeping under canvass. Her travel column, An Englishwoman Abroad, began in The Sunday Telegraph in 2000 and ran for seven years. Throughout that time she travelled to every continent, ventured across every terrain, experienced every climate, writing stories about her experiences and the people she encountered along the way. She has since travelled to over sixty countries and writes regularly for The Sunday Times, The Sunday Telegraph, The Australian and The L.A Times. Her most recent column for The Sunday Times featured a fourteen month long trip around the Far East and Australia, accompanied by her two young children. Her debut novel, Jakob’s Colours, was published by Hodder and Stoughton in April 2015 and will be coming out in the US with Quercus in Jan 2016. She lives in Bath with her family. You can follow her on Twitter @lindsayhawdon
This entry was posted in Colours. Bookmark the permalink.

6 Responses to In Search of Violet

  1. Paul Sinclair says:

    Oh Lindsay, I hadn’t been homesick until now! I need to be in the bush! To smell the damp vegetation and hear my birds! What have you done…… 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Karin Van den Bergh says:

    I can smell, taste and feel the violet resonance through your post Lindsay. A lovely descriptive depiction!

    Like

  3. Thank you, Karen. That’s really sweet of you. Best wishes, Lindsay

    Like

  4. Hi Lindsay! Coming over for a visit urged by Karin Van den Bergh, as we’re sharing our favorite posts this month.

    Violet is one of my favorite colors, as I think it fits in all seasons and all types of weather. I have never been to New Zealand, although it is on my list of must-see places. I bet it is beautiful, not just with its violets, but all its colors. 🙂

    The work you do sounds incredible. We’re blessed to have people like you to raise awareness about those who are suffering. Keep up the great work!

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s