In pre-European times it was the largest Māori pā in the region. It has seen long periods of occupation, fighting and cultivation for the rich, volcanic soil is highly fertile and proved excellent for growing crops. Just as the soil is highly fertile, so is the history rich in tales. Those aren't my stories to tell in this blog, but you can read them elsewhere.
The surrounding land became a public park in 1901 (more or less) through a circuitous route. This is the park I've known and the threads of my life have been interwoven with it at a number of points along the way.
As a child, I could see the top of the cone from my bedroom window at least until the neighbor's oak tree grew too high. We regularly drove by the gates in our maroon Cortina and then the sunshine yellow Datsun Sunny on the way to Sunday morning fellowship. Squeezed in the back with my sisters, we'd frequently clamour for a visit on the way home. At that time, our greatest interest was the playground which contained three important features.
Firstly, a mono-rail train that we sat in while some hapless adult pushed us around the rail circle, through a damp, mouldy smelling tunnel and out the other side to a "station". Given the effort required to propel this, the adult quickly tired of it and we'd be encouraged to move on to something less taxing.
The second point of interest was the slide. Painted an optimistic winter sky blue, this slide wound it's way around an oak tree and emerged at it's roots onto a rubbery type mat. The original planter of the oak probably didn't intend these venerable trees to be forced into such frivolous activity, but this wasn't one of the boring, safe slides you have today. This slide was actually a worthwhile ride.
Lastly, this park had a genuinely exciting flying fox on which you breathlessly swooped down to a hard braking bump, the momentum forcing you to swing joyously out over the path and back again. It is a bit tamer now.
A trip to the park often ended at Ollies, the ice cream parlour in nearby Royal Oak. Ollies seemed to have every possible flavour of ice cream including some exotic ones that adults liked and we did not, such as Rum and Raisin or Cassata. We would roll the wooden slider door back and press up to the counter, searching the menu board while breathing in the heady, humid mix of milky ice cream and cloying hot oil for the fry ups. Having obtained the cone of choice, we would seat ourselves at a sticky table, surrounded by the beeep boop beep of the spacey machines and continuous woosh from the cars outside driving around the round-about.
We often took overseas visitors to the park. From the top of the cone there is a 360 degree view of the Auckland isthmus showing both harbours. It was a picnic park of choice for family and church gatherings.
Fish-eye view from the top of One Tree Hill by Beth Wilson on Flickr
https://www.flickr.com/photos/mirsasha/40960237115
In the late 90's, it became the place of courtship for my husband and I. I would drive there in my rusty blue Mazda hatchback and meet him in one of the car parks. From there we would walk, earnestly talking about our hopes and dreams, forging connections and exploring if we wanted to spend our lives together. It was here he first grabbed my hand, startling me, as we walked along, a thing that became natural as the day wore on.
View from One Tree Hill, Auckland by Traveltt on Flickr
https://flic.kr/p/8knhde
The park was a place to escape the interested eyes of younger sisters and parents while we exchanged heated kisses and increasingly passionate explorations. On Waitangi Day 1999 we strolled along one of the lava spurs overlooking a crater where some teens were sliding down the slopes on old carboard boxes. He turned to me as I was avoiding clumps of olive green sheep poo and asked me, a little hesitantly, to marry him. Reader, I said yes. Six months later we celebrated our marriage elsewhere in the same park at a function centre.
It has been 20 years now. I have taken the children to the park a few times since.
2009 at Cornwall Park
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