The other was a low basin to the side of one of the paths, cylindrical in shape and indented at the top to hold water. The stepping stones leading to it, the placement of stones about it and the thick planting of greenery to the rear made it cool and inviting. My grandmother would go to it, dip her fingers in the water and touch her forehead and temples. Without asking why, I did the same.

Though there was much to see, the garden didn’t impose, didn’t assume. And though it was man-made and structured, you could have the same feeling of peace there as you did up in the bush where Aki set the eel traps and where your brain and your being became heady with the steam from mulch, green vapours, the damp of moss and lichen, fungi, breezes, running water. And isolation. Or at the beach and river mouth where we fished, speared flounder with a three-pronged wire spear, where we could see for miles in any direction, and where we were the only ones.

Our companions there were the sea birds. Each time we visited, there were plenty of them, plonking themselves down into the water and coming up with fish.

‘Serene and understated,’ I said to my grandmother as we sat looking out, sipping from our glasses.

‘And planned to be so,’ she said, ‘every inch planned. In consultation. My Chappy looked to his master. I’ll show you later. There’s a boxful. But now …’

Oriwia opened the album. On the front page she had pasted a newspaper item showing a photograph of the garden with a caption describing it as ‘an oasis of peace in our busy town’. It was one of a series of photos over a double-page spread, depicting local gardens. Although to the family it was known as Chappy’s Garden or Father’s Garden, after the newspaper item it became described by the people of the town as the ‘peace garden’.

It wasn’t long after this publication that a woman came from Wellington to talk about mystery tours for the elderly and an arrangement was made. This was timely.

In the album were photographs of seniors, all chiffon, chairs and paraphernalia – snapped in the parking area, snapped in various parts of the garden, or enjoying afternoon tea at the tearoom. In the background of some of the pictures, Chappy could be seen with his back to the camera.

‘All full of twitter and exclamation,’ Oriwia said. ‘Collapsed eyelids and smiles of unfitting teeth. Dusty face powder. Bandages. I lowered my charges. Bought new teacups with saucers and sideplates, gold-rimmed, country rose. I loved my senior citz. And the teasets.