By Roselyn Fauth
There is a great history hunt that tells the time, and links us to stories of people and place across time. Chances are you’ve walked past more history than you realise. I know I have. so this trail is a gentle nudge to slow down, wander a bit, and really look at what’s around us. Timaru might be small, but it punches well above its weight when it comes to sundials. They’re not tucked away in museums. They’re out in the open. On walls. In school grounds. In parks. Just sitting there, waiting for someone to notice.
You can make each sundial hunt a separate adventure, or make a big afternoon of it and visit them all. The last stop takes you out into the countryside. This isn’t about keeping perfect time, or even knowing how to use one, I think it’s more about noticing how time has been read, remembered, and memorialised.
I think it is amazing to ponder that every culture that worked with the sun added something to it. Geometry. Mathematics. Craft. Belief. Place. By the time a sundial appears at Caroline Bay in 1929, it carries thousands of years of human observation with it. A simple shadow, doing ancient work.
Let's go on a sundrial history hunt.
For a small city of its size, Timaru has an unusually rich collection of sundials. I reckon a hunt for them, will lead you on all kinds of free fun funding and side quests.
Timaru has a tradition of civic pride, education, and volunteer-led improvement. Memorials here were often designed to be useful as well as symbolic. Schools valued practical learning. Public spaces were shaped by associations, committees, and individuals who believed knowledge should be shared.
Sundials sat perfectly at the crossroads of these values. They were scientific, educational, dignified, and quietly beautiful. They marked time without noise. They taught without lecturing. And once installed, they asked very little in return.
When Did Time Start Telling Us What to Do?
Stand by the sundial for a moment and notice something odd. It is not rushing you. There is no ticking. No alarm. No countdown. Just a shadow moving at its own pace. If you are used to being chased by time, this can feel almost unsettling. So here is your side quest.
Ask yourself: Who decided what time it is?
For most of human history, time was something people watched rather than obeyed. The sun rose. The sun set. Shadows stretched and shrank. Morning in one place was not the same as morning somewhere else. Time belonged to where you stood.
Sundials come from this world. They tell local, solar time. They care about latitude, season, and sunlight. They only work when the sun shows up. In other words, they tell the truth of the day you are standing in. Then things changed.
As towns grew and work became more regulated, people wanted time that behaved. Water clocks, candles, and hourglasses appeared. They could measure duration, but they still drifted. Nothing quite agreed.
The real shift came with mechanical clocks. When gears and weights entered monasteries and town squares in the late medieval period, time became something that could be controlled. Bells rang. Hours became fixed. Eventually minutes and seconds mattered. Time stopped being local and started being shared.
I think railways probably helped seal the deal. Trains could not run on sun time. Time zones were invented. Noon stopped meaning the sun overhead and started meaning the timetable. By the time atomic clocks arrived, time was no longer something you could see at all. It lived in laboratories and satellites, quietly telling the world what to do. And yet, we still come back to the sundial. It does not argue. It does not update. It does not care if you are late. We were prepared to learn to use them again if our Y2K fears came true... sundials though tricky to create and impliment, simply shows you where the sun is right now.
So here is the final step of the side quest... Stand still. Watch the shadow. Ask yourself which version of time you are living in today. The one that counts every second, or the one that lets the day unfold.
1. War Memorial Wall Sundial at Caroline Bay
Location: Caroline Bay, midway along the First World War Memorial Wall, Timaru
This is where I suggest starting, and is Timaru’s most prominent sundial. You’ll find it halfway along the Memorial Wall at Caroline Bay. Park near the paddling pool and walk south, or come down through the rose garden and steps if you’re on foot, or from inside the loop road carpark.
This sundial was created to honour the eleven Victoria Crosses awarded to New Zealand servicemen during the First World War. It was made by James Stewart of Invercargill, a man who crafted around 200 sundials across the country.
Look closely and you’ll see Roman numerals, signs of the zodiac, and a Latin inscription that translates as “I count not the hours unless they be bright”. There’s a small catch though. The dial doesn’t include the longitude correction needed to read the time accurately. You have to know that part yourself.
HISTORY
The Victoria Cross Memorial and sundial at Caroline Bay were conceived and built in 1929 as part of a major reshaping of the Bay, and as a deliberate act of remembrance following the First World War. Between 1914 and 1918, New Zealand, then part of the British Empire, was drawn into a global conflict that saw more than 100,000 New Zealanders serve overseas from a population of just over one million. The effects of the war were felt deeply at home, in cities, towns, and rural communities like Timaru, where loss, anxiety, and absence became part of everyday life.
In 1929, as Timaru looked for meaningful ways to remember that experience, roads and pathways at Caroline Bay were sealed, lawns were laid, and a new memorial sea wall was constructed. On 30 April 1929, bronze plaques naming major First World War battlegrounds were installed along the pillars of the wall. These included land and naval engagements across Europe, the Middle East, and at sea, connecting this local place to the global scale of the conflict. On 30 May 1929, it was proposed that a sundial be erected near the centre of the wall to commemorate New Zealand servicemen who had been awarded the Victoria Cross for acts of exceptional bravery during the war. By 25 July 1929, the project was being described as a “unique sundial memorial and wall”.
The sundial forms the centrepiece of the memorial. Its plaque lists the eleven New Zealand Victoria Cross recipients from the First World War, men who were recognised for actions carried out under extreme danger, often saving lives or altering the course of an engagement at great personal risk. None were from South Canterbury, reinforcing that this memorial was intended to look beyond local loss and place Timaru within a national and international story of service and sacrifice.
When the wall was built, it marked the edge between land and sea. Before the port was constructed, waves reached the base of the cliffs at Caroline Bay. Harbour works later altered the movement of sediment along the coast, trapping fine sand and causing it to build outward. Over time, this created the broad, artificial bay used for recreation today. The memorial wall, including the sundial, now sits many metres back from the shoreline, a physical reminder of how both the landscape and the community have been shaped by human decisions over time.
Together, the wall and sundial honour New Zealand’s involvement in the First World War, acknowledge the impact of the conflict on places like Timaru, and invite reflection. They remind us that history is not only written in books, but embedded in public spaces, where remembrance, landscape, and the passage of time meet.
The sundial was created by James Stewart – New Zealand’s “Sundial King”
James Stewart was a New Zealand sundial maker based in Southland. He is known for designing and constructing more than 200 sundials throughout New Zealand, a legacy that earned him the nickname “the sundial king.”
Stewart’s sundials were individually calculated for their locations, taking into account latitude, longitude, and the position of the sun. His work reflects a deep understanding of astronomy, geometry, and the relationship between place and time.
In 1929, James Stewart built the main sundial at Caroline Bay in Timaru. When it was designed, New Zealand time was set at eleven and a half hours ahead of London, which aligned with traditional sundial calculations. Later that same year, the New Zealand government standardised the time difference to twelve hours, a change that affected the accuracy of many sundials created under the earlier system.
Despite these changes, Stewart’s sundials remain valued for their craftsmanship, scientific basis, and historical significance. Many still stand in public spaces, schools, and memorial settings across the country, offering a reminder of a time when the passing of the day was read from sunlight and shadow.
Building a sundial was not a single formula exercise. Each one required bespoke calculations for its exact location, meaning Stewart could not simply repeat a design from town to town.
Because of this, Stewart likely spent as much time measuring sites, checking bearings, and calculating angles as he did physically constructing the sundials themselves.
Many of his sundials were installed in schools, public parks, memorial grounds, and civic spaces, reflecting a belief that sundials were educational objects as well as functional ones.
Sundials were often used as teaching tools, helping children understand astronomy, geography, seasons, and the movement of the earth long before digital timekeeping.
Stewart’s work sits at a fascinating crossroads between science and craft. He was part mathematician, part astronomer, part engineer, and part artisan.
His nickname, “the sundial king,” suggests he was widely known and respected in his lifetime, even if his name has since faded from popular memory.
Ironically, the 1929 time change that affected the accuracy of his sundials means that today they act as historical markers of how New Zealand once measured time, rather than simply timekeepers.
Because sundials rely on sunlight, Stewart’s work is inherently weather-dependent, meaning his creations only “work” when conditions allow. In a very New Zealand way, clouds always have the final say.
Every surviving Stewart sundial is now effectively a fixed record of its era, capturing a moment when time, place, and the sun were aligned by hand rather than synchronised by satellites.
2. Robert Heaton Rhodes of Bluecliffs Sundial at Caroline Bay
Location: Lawn behind the rose garden, near the Caroline Bay paddling pool, Timaru
From the Memorial Wall, wander to the paddling pool at the Caroline Bay playground. This sundial was commissioned in 1919 to commemorate Robert Heaton Rhodes, a local leader, Deputy Mayor, and generous benefactor to the Bay Association. It’s already had a few lives, having been moved twice before settling here.
It’s been restored and still works well, with a plaque added to help people read the time. Old photographs show it was a popular gathering point in the 1940s, which I love to think about. People standing around, checking the hour, talking, waiting. I had to laugh, when I translated the latin that appears on the sundial, it basically said, it only told the time when the sun was out.
HISTORY
The sundial dedicated to Robert Heaton Rhodes of Bluecliffs. Rhodes was a prominent South Canterbury runholder and a generous public benefactor. At a time when Caroline Bay was being actively shaped into a civic recreation reserve, he left a substantial bequest of £2,000 to the Timaru Borough Council. His gift was specifically intended to support the ongoing improvement and beautification of the Bay for public use.
In recognition of this generosity, the Caroline Bay Association commissioned a sundial in his memory. Erected in late 1919, it formed part of a wider programme of landscaping and amenity building that was transforming the Bay into a place for families, leisure, and community life. The Association itself was a volunteer body, driven by public spirit and local pride, and the sundial reflected those same values.
The choice of a sundial was conceived as a “useful memorial”, something that blended remembrance with everyday experience. It invited people to pause, notice the movement of the sun, and linger a little longer in the landscape Rhodes had helped improve.
This is not the sundials original locaiton. It was positioned in 1919 to overlook the bay, across the beach and the developing recreation reserve. It sat within the early landscaped areas of the Bay, among paths and gardens created during the first major phase of civic beautification, rather than within a formal memorial precinct. Its later relocation in around 2006 to a site near the paddling pool brought it closer to daily family activity, ensuring it remained part of lived public space and not lost as a distant historical object.
The Rhodes sundial reminds us that Caroline Bay was shaped by a team effort of council planning and engineering works, and the community-led effort including individual generosity.
3. Waimataitai School Sundial
Location: Waimataitai School, Trafalgar Street, Timaru
When I was a stiudent the sundial was on a stretch of lawn by a driveway to the school hall and office. It has been relocated to outside the schools office on the from the south to the north side of the building in a rose bed. This is a public school, it is better to visit outside of school hours, otherwise visitors should check in at the office first.
Despite years of trying to find out, there seems to be little informaition known about the sundial. I wonder if it was part of a memorial effort for the boys and girls linked to war.
HISTORY
Waimataitai opened with a role of 60 in 1882 in temporary and over crowded 'quarters' bon Raiteweka Street. Since the opening day 10s of thousands of children have gone through the gates and into the world. Thanks to the determination and self-sacrifice of the schools founders buildings were established to educate. The men who, pioneered the idea of a school for the area of Maori Hill and Belfeild Hill, assembled in the Lukey home under the chairmanship of the host were: Messrs T. Pringle, J.Blackmore, W. Ivey, J. Bargfrede, T. Allen, T. Farrant, Philpott, W. Jeffries, R. H. Bowie and H . N. Hiskens. They secured the use of Mr Rutherford's house on Maori Hill, previously used by the Rev. Mr Brown as a private school, for a temporary school while the Waimataitai School District Committee met and, planned made arrangements and advocated.
On Monday august 14, 1882, 61 youngsters formed the new school under Mr T. M. Wilson who was assisted by Miss Pearson as a pupil teacher. T. A. Walker of Wai-iti was appointed headmaster. 1884 Robert Allan became the schools first DUX, followed by Saxby Turnbull in 1885.
They quickly grew the role and exceeded their capacity, sometimes turning away students due to lack of space. There was a limit of 75 pupils, and exceeding this threatened closure to the school for not complying to the rules. By 1910 the school had a record attendance of 425 students.
During the period of the Waimataitai School's history, two major wars have taken their toll. Waimataitai ex-pupils bore their full share of the conflicts and 96 of them made the supreme sacrifice. Their names are recorded on War Memorials. The First World War, 1914-1918, on a marble tablet on the front of the main School buildings; the Second World War, 1939-1945, on an oak panel in the School Hall was unveiled on Sunday, 25th August, after the Jubilee Memorial Service 1957.
I was a student at Waimataitai including my three siblings. We remember classrooms arriving by truck in the early 1990s. I remember being told our school was one of the largest in the Southern Hemisphere. One year our teacher squeezed 42 of us into her classroom for the year. I remember the sundial at school as a child.
4. Craighead Diocesan School Sundial
Location: Craighead Diocesan School, Wrights Avenue, Timaru
This stop needs a little planning. As this is a private school with a boarding house on site, permission is required before visiting, and you’ll need to report to the office when you arrive.
The sundial here carries the words “Only be thou strong and very courageous”. It is said that years of people resting their hands on the stone have smoothed it over time.
5. Timaru Main School Jubilee Sundial at Bluestone School
Location: Bluestone School playground, Hurdley Street, Timaru
This sundial sits in the playground at Bluestone School and is easy to reach. As always, it’s polite to let the office know you’re there.
It was erected in 1935 to mark a series of school jubilees. When Timaru Main School was destroyed by fire in 1989 and schools were merged, the sundial stayed on, becoming part of Bluestone School’s landscape.
6. Claremont School Sundial
Location: Barton Rural School, Fairview Road
The hunt for this sundial will take you out of town. This sundial was designed in 2003 for the Claremont School’s 125th jubilee. When the school closed soon after, the sundial was moved to Barton Rural School.
The brass plate was computer-milled and sits on a block of volcanic bluestone formed around 2.5 million years ago. Teachers say it’s reliable to the minute and a great teaching tool.
7. Timaru Botanic Gardens Sundial in the Herb Garden
Location: Queen Street, Timaru
This sundial was donated by the Timaru Herb Society in 2000.
The Timaru Botanic Gardens were first reserved in 1864, with planting beginning in the late 1860s. Many distinctive features of the gardens were added well after the original establishment, often through community or volunteer initiatives. The herb garden, and by extension the sundial, fits a broader pattern of late-20th-century interpretive and specialty garden development, alongside projects such as the Shakespeare Trail (1988).
Likely aligned with the Herb Federation of NZ movement. Across New Zealand the Herb Federation of New Zealand has existed since 1986 to support local herb groups throughout the country by providing: education, events and workshops, networking between regional herb societies. While the Timaru Herb Society is not listed currently online that I can see, there is a pattern of local herb groups being present in many regions under the federation umbrella, such as the Canterbury Herb Society and others. This suggests the Timaru group may have been part of that local-enthusiast culture around herb gardening.
When our girls were really little, they used to pretend the sundial was a microphone and give me some interesting acapella concerts. Lots of people will find meanings in every day and special things. For me, this is my special memory.
Gardens are places where time is felt rather than counted. Seeds do not rush. Leaves open when they are ready. Harvest comes in its own season. Long before clocks were common, gardens measured the day by light and shadow, and the sundial became their little companion.
In medieval monastery gardens, dials marked the hours of prayer and labour. In physic and herb gardens, they helped determine when plants were gathered for medicine or food. In later English gardens, they became focal points, placed at crossings of paths or at the heart of parterres, where visitors could pause and orient themselves.
By the Victorian era, sundials were no longer strictly necessary but carried meaning. They spoke of patience. Of continuity. Of time that belonged to the land rather than the machine.
When British garden traditions travelled to places like Aotearoa New Zealand, sundials came too. They appeared in botanic gardens, public parks, and later in themed spaces such as rose gardens and herb gardens. Often they were gifts. A society’s thank-you. A volunteer group’s way of saying, we were here, and we cared for this place.
So when you find a dial nestled among herbs or flowers, remember it is more than an ornament; it is part of a long story between gardens and time. A reminder that growing things moves at the pace of the sun.
WAIMATE Sundial
If you wanted to venture a little further, there is a sundial at Waimate. This is a memorial to William Giddes, J.P., to the district as a citizen, chairman of the Waimate Hospital Committee for 17 years and a member of the south Canterbury Hospital Board. He was born in Aberdeen in 1851 and died at Waimate in 1932. The gunmetal face of the sundial is set five feet above the ground on a turned pillar of Kaituna restone which sites on Balmorial granite base. From the base four low walls radiate out to mark the four points of the compass.
Why I Love This Trail
Sundials can ask us to do more than stop and tell the time. they can encourage us to pay closer attention. So this trail isn’t about rushing from one place to the next. It’s about noticing details, asking questions, and realising that Timaru’s history is right there, in public spaces, waiting to be noticed.
So take a wander. Go on a history hunt. And look closer.
How to read a sundial
A sundial tells the time by using the sun’s shadow. It looks simple, but there is a lot going on beneath the surface. Here is how to read one.
1. Find the gnomon. The gnomon is the raised pointer or blade on the sundial. It is the part that casts the shadow. The shadow, not the pointer itself, is what tells the time. Tip: On most sundials, the gnomon is angled, not vertical. That angle matters.
2. Look at where the shadow falls. Watch where the edge of the shadow touches the numbered lines or markings on the dial face. These lines usually represent the hours of the day. Read the time where the shadow edge crosses the hour line.
3. Remember this is solar time, not clock time. A sundial shows solar time, which is based on the actual position of the sun in the sky. This means: It may not match your watch exactly. It does not account for daylight saving. It reflects the natural rhythm of the day. Think of it as sun time rather than phone time.
4. Allow for where you are in the world. Sundials are calculated for specific locations.
In Timaru the sun is not directly overhead at midday. True solar noon happens later than 12.00 pm on the clock. The sundial is aligned to true north and south, not magnetic north. This is why the sundial can feel slightly “off” but is actually doing exactly what it was designed to do.
5. Notice the season. The sun sits higher in the sky in summer and lower in winter. This can change the length and sharpness of the shadow. Short shadow means summer. Long shadow means winter.
Some sundials include seasonal markings. Others ask you to simply observe.
6. Check the sky. No sun means no shadow. On cloudy days, a sundial rests.
7. Use it as a starting point, not an answer. A sundial is not about precision to the minute. It is about awareness. Ask: Is it morning or afternoon. Is the day moving fast or slow. Where is the sun right now. In a world of alerts and countdowns, a sundial invites you to slow down and look up.
Sundials are some of the oldest scientific instruments humans ever made. They connect us to astronomy, geography, and the shared human need to understand time.
I love that a sundial can tell us the story of the sun, the earth, and our place between them.
Side Quest: Who Invented the Sundial?
The sundial is one of the oldest scientific instruments in human history, and it emerged gradually rather than being invented by one named individual.
Ancient Egypt.
The earliest known sundials date back to around 1500 BCE in ancient Egypt. These early devices used shadows cast by obelisks or simple T shaped stone markers to divide the day into parts. Time was linked closely to ritual, agriculture, and the movement of the sun.
Mesopotamia.
The Babylonians contributed mathematical understanding, particularly the division of the day into units. Their work helped shape how time was measured and recorded using astronomical observation.
Ancient Greece.
Greek scholars refined the sundial significantly. Around the third century BCE, mathematicians such as Anaximander are often credited with introducing sundials to Greece. The Greeks developed more accurate designs and explored the geometry behind shadow casting.
Ancient Rome.
The Romans popularised sundials across their empire. Public sundials were installed in forums and town centres, making time a shared civic experience rather than something private or elite.
The Islamic Golden Age.
Between the eighth and thirteenth centuries, Islamic scholars made major advances in astronomy and mathematics. They refined sundial design to improve accuracy and align it with prayer times, latitude, and seasonal variation.
Medieval Europe to the Modern Era.
Sundials continued to evolve across Europe, often appearing on churches, monasteries, schools, and civic buildings. By the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, makers like James Stewart in New Zealand were still designing highly precise, site specific sundials grounded in centuries of accumulated knowledge.
Side Quest: Time Before Sundials
For Māori, time was not counted by hours but understood through patterns. The rising and setting of the sun. The phases of the moon. The return of birds. The flowering of plants. The movement of tides. This knowledge was held in the maramataka, a lunar calendar that guided planting, harvesting, fishing, and rest.
Time was observed, not enforced. It was local, seasonal, and responsive to the environment.
When sundials arrived with European settlers, they brought another way of reading time, one that also depended on the sun, but through geometry and measurement. Standing beside a sundial today, it is worth remembering that it joined an already ancient conversation between people, place, and the sky.
Side Quest: Why Sundials Use Roman Numerals and How to Read Them
Most sundials use Roman numerals to mark the hours of daylight. This is because sundials predate modern number systems. When the first sundials were created, Roman numerals were the standard way of recording time and were widely understood through public buildings, monuments, and inscriptions.
Roman numerals were also practical. Their simple, straight-line forms were easier to carve into stone or metal and easier to read as shadows than modern numerals. For this reason, they remained in use on sundials even after clocks and watches became common.
On a sundial, the numerals represent solar time rather than modern clock time. XII usually marks midday, when the sun is highest. VI often appears on both sides of the dial, indicating around 6 am and 6 pm, the approximate limits of daylight. Four may be shown as IIII instead of IV, which is historically correct and helps with visual balance and quick reading.
To read the time, look at where the shadow from the gnomon falls and note the numeral it touches or sits between. Sundials give an approximate reading and do not account for daylight saving, reminding us that they measure time through the movement of the sun rather than minutes and seconds.
Side Quest: Who invented the clock
For most of human history, time was measured by the sun. Sundials, first developed in ancient Egypt more than 3,500 years ago, used shadows to mark the passing of the day. These early timekeepers divided daylight into broad parts rather than precise minutes and were closely tied to place, season, and the natural world.
Mechanical clocks appeared much later. The first true clocks were developed in Europe in the late thirteenth century, around 1280 to 1300. These early devices used gears and weights and were designed to strike bells at set hours, often to regulate prayer times in monasteries. They had no faces or hands and were not very accurate by modern standards.
Clock faces with hour hands began to appear in the early fourteenth century, usually on church towers and civic buildings. Minutes were not measured until the invention of the pendulum clock by Christiaan Huygens in 1656, which greatly improved accuracy. Portable clocks, watches, and eventually wristwatches followed in later centuries.
Sundials and clocks therefore represent two very different ways of understanding time. Sundials measure natural, solar time, shaped by the movement of the sun and the earth. Clocks measure standardised, human time. When both appear in heritage places today, they tell a larger story about how our relationship with time has shifted over thousands of years.
Side Quest: How is time measured today?
Today, time is measured with extraordinary precision, but it is presented to us in ways that still feel familiar and human. Behind the scenes, time is scientific and exact. In daily life, it is softened into something we can live with.
Modern time is measured using atomic clocks. These clocks do not rely on the sun, the earth’s rotation, or mechanical movement. Instead, they measure time by tracking the vibrations of atoms, usually caesium. One second is officially defined as a specific number of these vibrations. Atomic clocks are so accurate that they lose less than a second over millions of years.
This precise time is coordinated globally through systems such as Coordinated Universal Time, known as UTC. UTC acts as the world’s reference clock. Time zones are then set in relation to it, allowing countries and regions to share a common framework while still having local time. Technologies such as GPS, mobile networks, banking systems, aviation, and the internet all depend on this shared, invisible timekeeping.
Although time is measured scientifically, it is presented in much simpler ways. We see time on analogue clock faces, digital displays, phones, computers, watches, appliances, and public screens. We read hours, minutes, and seconds, often without thinking about the complex systems that keep them aligned. Alarms, calendars, notifications, and countdowns shape how we experience the day.
We also present time socially and emotionally. We talk about being early or late, having time or running out of it. We divide life into work time, free time, family time, and personal time. Even with perfect measurement, time still feels different depending on mood, place, and experience.
In contrast to a sundial, modern time is standardised and constant. It looks the same everywhere, regardless of sunlight, season, or weather. This makes modern life possible, but it also distances us from the natural rhythms that once shaped daily life.
Today, time is measured by atoms, coordinated by satellites, and delivered through screens. Yet our understanding of it remains deeply human, shaped by habit, memory, and meaning.
Sources:
https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/THD19450130.2.37
https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/THD19331226.2.33
https://www.timaru.govt.nz/__data/assets/pdf_file/0004/673870/Historic-Heritage-Assessment-Report-HHI47-Public-Trust-Office-Category-B.pdf
https://www.timaru.govt.nz/__data/assets/pdf_file/0010/673885/Historic-Heritage-Assessment-Report-HHI62-Former-Timaru-Public-Library-and-Borough-Council-Municipal-Offices-Timaru-District-Council-Offices-facade-Category-B.pdf
https://www.timarucivictrust.co.nz/blog/clock-tower
https://teara.govt.nz/en/photograph/20095/sundial-invercargill
https://teara.govt.nz/en/photograph/6696/public-clocks
https://www.stuff.co.nz/southland-times/features/2520415/Shadows-and-light
https://www.waymarking.com/waymarks/WM75WG_Stewart_Family_Headstone_Sundial_Invercargill_New_Zealand