ALBANY COMES ALIVE - THE NAVY ALONGSIDE AND SOME TOWN SNIPPETS (31 OCTOBER - 2 NOVEMBER 2014)

And so it came to pass that, with heavy hearts and sore heads (mine at least....The Navigator was bright eyed and bushy tailed and did not fail to mention the fact more than once!), we farewelled the Cook Company as they left Denmark for their return to Perth. I have previously waxed lyrical on the subject, but it bears repeating.....what a wonderful few days it had been.

My head was not the only sore part of this ageing body on this fine Sunday morning.  My legs felt as though someone had whacked them with sticks from calves to thighs. I vowed on the spot that there would be no more climbing up and down the slopes of Albany today....it didn't work.

We had decided to make one last trip to see the fleet alongside in the Port of Albany, to try and acquire a couple of practical souvenirs (T shirts, caps of stubbie holders) from a shop in York Street which had been recommended to us, and to treat ourselves to a quiet luncheon.

What a different town greeted our arrival. All roads were again open and the traffic was back to almost normal, but York Street was still crowded with visitors and locals alike,

including, at one point, a number of Japanese sailors taking advantage of a spot of shore leave.

As we were wandering along York Street we spied evidence of the fact that we were not the only visitors from South Australia in town.  This was one of a number of these vintage Bentleys we had seen during the weekend. Wouldn't this be something to see coming across the vast open expanses of the Nullarbor....we assumed it had made the crossing on the Indian-Pacific.

One thing which did strike us this morning was fact that many of the store owners had embraced this weekend with verve. Shop after shop featured an Anzac themed display of some kind. Some had gone to considerable trouble,

others had involved themselves to a lesser degree, but there was hardly a commercial shop front devoid of some symbol or tribute. Everywhere one turned in the town there was evidence of the manner in which all had rallied to be part of the event, large or small.

Not to be outdone by any means, the local authorities had also been busy. Aside from all the redevelopment work done on Mounts Adelaide and Clarence, and the building of a brand new Anzac Centre overlooking King George Sound, this patch of land right next to the Town Hall in York Street had been nothing more than bare earth on our last visit.

It now presented as a paved and terraced open space in which another set of 'big screens' allowed those in this part of York Street to watch the major events.

As I mentioned earlier, my vow to avoid physical activity was knocked into a cocked hat....we were off to see the docked fleet which meant only one thing....another plod down York Street with the inevitable later return. I rationalised that it would do me good to work off the stiffness.....you're right...it didn't work!

Albany had spawned many peripheral displays in conjunction with main events of the weekend, one of which was this extraordinary feature in the shallows of Princess Royal Harbour between Anzac Peace Park and the Entertainment Centre precinct.

Each of these many statues came with an explanatory plaque. Some were somewhat esoteric in nature, and the odour from the bank of seaweed along the water's edge did not add anything positive to the viewing experience, but despite these minor setbacks it was an eye-catching display.

As I had been from time to time over this entire weekend, I was again a man on a mission. I had declined the invitation to all members of the public to take part in the Navy Open Day and take a tour of one of the visiting warships. 

All potential visitors had to acquire a ticket well before the event. Whilst there was no charge for this, it allowed the organisers to roster and schedule the timing of the visits to preclude a mad rush at anyone time. 

A shuttle bus operated to and from the Entertainment Centre, where we were both amused and just a little impressed to see the manner in which crowd control was managed. This bloke had everything under verbal control from his 'umpire's seat'.

Given that I had previously had the privilege of a personal guided tour from one end of HMAS Melbourne to the other at Fleet Base East just prior to Stu's departure last year, I had chosen not to go through all the rigmarole associated with obtaining a ticket for what I suspected would ultimately be a 'conga line' though only limited parts of the ship. I later heard that I had been right in my surmise.

In what proved to be a misguided venture, we first walked along Princess Royal Drive to the wharf area in the hope that we could at least wander along the docks. No such luck. And as could be expected given the current state of world events, security was pretty tight. To my disappointment, but not surprise, we found that the wharf was closed to the non-ticketed public. All those wishing to go beyond the checkpoint had to firstly present their tickets and then themselves for photo ID. 

Dashed....but at least I had the chance to snap the MRH-90 which was also open for inspection. I consoled myself at this stage with the memory of having crawled all over one these at the Avalon airshow a few years ago.

But this small setback did not mean I was not still keenly interested to see the vessels alongside. We trudged our way back to the small boat harbour where I knew that, short of being at sea in the harbour, the end of the breakwater wall would provide as good a vantage point as was possible.

It was worth the effort. What a sight this was. Here, where one normally finds the ungainly but practical bulk of the huge grain and woodchip carriers as their cavernous bellies are filled through the proboscis like gantries of the silos,

were instead the sleek grey hulls of warships. Arunta and Te Kaha were rafted up to make inspection easier.  Another of the FFH's was alongside (I think it was Anzac looking at the radar head) just astern Kirisame, and, tucked in between them, almost invisible against the bulk of the dock, was the low black hull of Rankin.

Beyond this area alongside the grain loading dock, the stern of Sirius could be seen where she was moored at the woodchip dock. 

It may come as no surprise to you to find that my scamper along the marina wall to take in this view was of no interest to Liz, despite the fact that she had been, at one time in the past, involved in the activities of the Naval Cadet training establishment TS Noarlunga where she actually held the rank of Sub-Lieutenant. Rather than brave the breakwater breezes, she took an elevated view at the shore end of the wall instead where she did at least strike an appropriate pose!

After all this reluctant plodding to and fro along the waterfront on decidedly protesting legs, it was definitely time for lunch. The Venice pizza parlour and cafe in York Street was our destination.

As we approached the Boatshed Market building our ears were assailed by  the unmistakable sound of blues music. Whoever was performing was very good. This warranted further investigation. 'Moondog J' was centre stage. I then remembered that he was to feature significantly in the upcoming Bridgetown Blues festival, and having heard this small sample of his skills, I could understand why.



Despite her odd, colourful dress, the lass on the dance floor was adding nothing of value to Moondog's performance, I can assure you. 

The same could be said for another equally garishly garbed girl, but at least she was not pretending to have any talent beyond an obvious penchant for dress up. We could not quite fathom the connection between the appearance of these two and the Albany celebration, and had never seen anything like this before in our Sunday morning Boatshed visits. We moved on, slightly bewildered and none the wiser.

Beyond the Boatshed, our return to York Street took us across the overpass which connects the marina precinct to Stirling Terrace.  From here we were able to see the many wreaths which had been laid during yesterday's service.

This lofty vantage point also afforded a great view of a function commemorating the significant wartime service of Australian and New Zealand nursing staff.

This impressive looking gathering, which we saw included a 'who's who' of visiting and local dignitaries, was one of a number of secondary events being held in association with the principal activities of the weekend. In addition to a major community concert on the Saturday evening, the stage on Stirling Terrace was the venue for a series of constantly changing and varied presentations. Here, by way of example, is a copy of the programme for the Sunday taken from one of the e-mails we received.

0900-2200	STIRLING TERRACE MESS HALL OPEN		Stirling Terrace, Albany
0900-1500	Naval Ship Open Day		Albany Port
1030 – 1050	Circa Southern Edge Arts Pierrot Act	Acrobatic Circus	STMH Stage
1050 – 1110	The Albany Caledonian Pipe Band	Pipe Band	STMH Entrance
1110 – 1150	About Face	Choir	STMH Stage
1210- 1250	Albany Wind Ensemble	Music	STMH Stage
1310 – 1330	Circa Southern Edge Arts Pierrot Act	Acrobatic Circus	STMH Stage
1630 – 1715	Pepperjacks	Music
1730 – 1815	Pepperjacks	Music
1645 – 1730	Adam Morris	Music
From Sunset	Projections & Story telling		Various
1745 – 1830	Adam Morris	Music

For any staying in the town over the weekend, the opportunities to be entertained in many different and interesting ways were endless.

But for us, it was lunch at the Venice which was as good as we had been told (thanks MD) and the return to Denmark.

And here the vagaries of the south coast weather tried to bite us. We had spent the morning wandering about the town in still, warm and overcast conditions. We emerged from the Venice into the teeth of a gale, blasting its determined way up York Street from the harbour. 

"Time to move quickly, Lizzie. This wind will be belting the hell out of our awning and we are only pegged into sand."  I could only but contemplate the reaction of the Insurance Company if we lodged a second claim for a new awning within three weeks!

To make matter worse, I had not taken the kayak off the roof. At 110 kms into the maw of winds gusting to at least 35 knots, I estimated that on a couple of occasions we had over 150 kph windspeed across the roof of the cruiser. There were a few moments, when the wind was abeam and unimpeded by any roadside trees, when I actually had to slow rapidly and hang on to the steering wheel for grim death to avoid being literally blown onto the opposite side of the carriageway. Remember, we weight in at over three tonnes!

And wouldn't you bloody well know it.....our site at the Denmark Rivermouth was being assailed by nothing more than a puffy breeze.  The surrounding hills and huge karri trees were acting as a very effective wind break. It had been a very tense twenty minutes or so, but we were in one piece, and, fortunately so was the kayak and the rack in which it sits. The 'Hullivator' had undergone a real baptism of fire and had proved its worth.

I have to admit things seemed oddly quiet now that we were on our own again, and I probably have little difficulty convincing you that this particular Sunday came and went as an AFD (alcohol free day) and ended with your battered scribe out for the count at a very early hour. What a weekend it had been. 

Next on our agenda.....a tour of the beaches of the Denmark area, the Valley of the Giants and some local wineries. Our life on the road is never boring.

ALBANY COMES ALIVE - THE POPPIES, THE SAIL PAST AND A FISH SUPPER (1 NOVEMBER 2014)

When I left you last, we were ensconced in our mini-bus whilst Cooky jousted with the hundreds of other vehicles on the crowded Albany streets, all intent on making it to the Middleton Beach area in time to watch the Navy sail past. 

From our previous experience here in Albany, Liz and I suspected that this would be the one time when traffic would snarl and timing could be tight. Parking is very limited in the Middleton Beach area, and although there was a park and ride station there, just getting to it was the problem.

Our crawl speed progress came to a complete stop some half a kilometre from the beach front. The approach roads were totally clogged. Every available parking spot, including many of a decidedly impromptu nature, was occupied. It was reminiscent of a scene from a disaster movie where fleeing crowds abandon their cars where ever they happen to stop. I was becoming more agitated by the minute. Eventually Liz suggested everyone would be better off if I baled out and hoofed it....she was right and that's exactly what I did. There's nothing like a bit of action to dispel frustration.

By now the time was 1350 hours.  I had ten minutes to reach the foreshore and then make the climb up Marine Drive as far as I could to gain a good vantage point. I had planned to take up a position overlooking Ataturk Passage, but that proved fanciful in the circumstances.

Needless to say I did not stop to take photos of the milling masses of Middleton at this point. But to give you some idea, let me here reverse the order of things, because I did snap away on the descent from the mountain.

I have no real idea of how many spectators clambered to various vantage points on the slopes of Mount Adelaide, but this is part of the throng making its way back down the boardwalk towards Middleton Beach,







where things were decidedly hectic.







Apart from those who had watched the sail past from the heights, many had come here to see the Middleton Beach poppy display. With one red plastic poppy representing each of the AIF troops who departed from Albany,30,000 were planted on the white sands of Middleton Beach. I did not even attempt to photograph these today, but did so when the hubbub had diminished and I could gain a vantage point on Marine Parade.  What a spectacular sight this was.


But back to the job in hand. Up the boardwalk I charged. By 1400 hours I had not come anywhere near my target location. It was a case of scouting around for as good a spot as I could find. I have no idea how many of the purported 40,000 visitors to Albany came to watch the sail past. What I can say is that they massed on Marine Drive to the extent that the buses scheduled to take folk up to the various lookout points could not make it through the crush. Thank goodness I'd not relied on that service to get me to the heights. The walkway below the road was equally jammed at the Middleton Beach end. 




I headed off the pathway into the scrub on the steep slope below the path. This will have to do...I could see out over King George Sound. The fleet was on the move and I only had one annoying impediment to my view.











From my chosen vantage point I could also see to the entrance of Ataturk Passage. At least that was something. 






I have always had a fascination for warships. In fact, had I not been accepted into the SA Police, I had decided that my second career option was to be to apply for officer training at the Australian Navy College, but as we all know, Fort Largs won out.

Could there possibly be anything more inherently menacing than the sight of these sleek, grey wolves of the sea as they prowl through the waves just waiting to strike?

The sail past had begun. Each ship (and boat!) took up a position of line astern as they steamed around the northern shore of King George Sound with the hump of Mount Martin the background. As they approached Vancouver Peninsula, the two lead ships, HMAS Arunta and HMNZ Te Kaha, were to break off formation and make their way through Ataturk Passage to come alongside at the Port of Albany. The remainder of the fleet would continue their circuit of the Sound before breaking formation and returning to their assigned mooring point.

Here we can see Arunta leading the way. Te Kaha is just out of the left of the picture. Behind Arunta is HMAS Anzac, followed by HMAS Stuart, both guided missile frigates, and bringing up the rear in this scene is the Japanese destroyer JDS Kirisame.

I was a little disappointed that this entire manoeuvre was carried out at very low speed. I would have loved to have seen a few decent bow waves and a churning wake or two, but that was just fanciful...notwithstanding the enormous expanses of King George Sound, common sense dictates that this would have been foolhardy and unnecessary. 

I have not bothered to count the number of photos I took in the next hour....let it suffice to say it has taken me over two hours to review, edit, cut and arrange them into something I hope gives some sequence and sense to the event without boring you to total distraction.

As Arunta neared the shoreline at the base of Mount Adelaide, HMAS Sirius, the large Australian supply ship, can be seen as she took up station at the rear of the fleet.











Throughout the exercise, the Fleet Air Arm was also represented in the form of one of the newly acquired replacements for the Sea King helicopter, the MRH-90. I suspect a navy photographer was on board and was very busy.











What a vantage point!






As they passed my lookout, Arunta and Te Kaha, accompanied by two of the fussy  Albany Port

tugs, began to change course to make for the Passage. 








Kirisame and Sirius were now much more clearly in view.

Between them, and out of shot in the last, HMAS Rankin was sneaking along stealthily, low, black and sinister.

Kirisame, a destroyer, is considerably larger than the Australian and NZ frigates, and, with her crew formally dressing the decks and her helicopter squatting on the rear flight deck, she was a sight indeed.










By this stage Arunta had made the entrance to Ataturk Passage,












closely followed (in a nautical sense) by Te Kaha. 

Whilst all this was happening, the remainder of the fleet had completed the southbound leg of their circuit and were turning onto an easterly heading. 

As they continued, line astern, all that could now be seen of Rankin was a white smear on the surface of the water.






By now it was time to break formation and make to each individual mooring point in King George Sound, for the time being. Most came alongside in Princess Royal Harbour later that evening in preparation for the 'open day' tomorrow.

Sirius, which was bringing up the rear of the formation, now took centre stage. She was by far and a way the largest of the assembled vessels, and has only recently returned to active service after an extensive refit at Fleet Base West.

As she changed course, with Rankin scooting off to her left and Stuart making off to the right, I was fascinated to watch Sirius' wake. Could that be sand she was stirring up with her screw? Surely not, this is a very deep water port. This remains a mystery but I suspect it was the result of the turbulent water coming off her propeller swirling over her rudder plate.

It was over. What an hour it had been. Now all that remained was the tramp back down the hill to Middleton Beach, and a rendezvous with our scattered group. I had no idea where anyone was, but with the aid of that modern wonder, the mobile phone, I joined Liz near the Surf Club and we regrouped with the others at a nearby park.  

I freely admit that by now, after having been on my pins for nearly seven hours, some of which had been pretty active, I was buggered. My seat in the mini-bus for the half hour commute  back to Denmark was welcome relief and the three 'coldies' I managed en route remain amongst the best beers I have ever drunk. What's a mini-bus without a large, well stocked esky in the rear?

My day, however, was far from over. I had promised to cook Carnarvon shark for the assembled multitude that evening, all eleven of us. Idiot....the things we promise when the boys get together late into the evening!  But a promise is a promise, and I was encouraged by the fact that a number of our group were particularly excited by the prospect....shark was their finned favourite.





So it was off with the good clobber, into standard park gear, out with the flour, beaten eggs and breadcrumbs and, after crumbing something like thirty pieces of fish, off to HQ, where the remainder of the troops were in a very relaxed state on the front porch.





Chef Pierre ignored the frivolity and the many proffered drinks (with some difficulty)...there was work to be done. As a good mate should, Cooky was on hand to offer his support as official taster










as the fish frying frenzy began. Two pans were soon on the go, the fillets were sizzling and I was beginning to relax. But not entirely. A matter of seconds of distraction can make the difference between a fine golden crumbed fillet or an offering which bears a remarkable resemblance to burnt toast.   



I am please to announce that all went well. Whomever it was who was dispatched to the local chippy, soon returned with mountains of hot chips.....we were away.

It was a great night, and a more than fitting end to three terrific days.  Needless to say the

 fish feed was well watered, and the evening progressed with increasing hilarity.








(I suspect the boys were playing up in the corner)






Despite the very good time she was having, Liz was clever enough to bail out before stumps, but by now your scribe had become a man on a mission....well, I did have some catching up to do. 

And catch up I did, as we all sat about contemplating our varying areas and degrees of sunburn and reflecting on just what a great show Albany had presented. The Cook entourage was heading back to Perth the following morning.....this was indeed a fond farewell and a fitting finale to a most memorable few days.

ALBANY COMES ALIVE - THE MARCH AND THE SERVICE (1 NOVEMBER 2014)

Saturday 1 November 2014. This was to be a big day for your humble scribe. I felt genuinely honoured to have been able to accept the group invitation to join the hundreds of serving military personnel and RSL members from all over the country in the commemorative march through Albany, one of the real highlight events of the weekend but one which had been mired in a deal of controversy as I shall explain later.

The march was to be followed by the formal service of remembrance and, that afternoon, the assembled fleet of warships from three countries, Australia, New Zealand and Japan, were to sail past in King George Sound as a re-enactment of the departure of the troop convoy. As many of you know, my younger son Stuart is a Navy helicopter pilot...I have a real affinity with this service. I was salivating.

I happily admit to having felt slightly apprehensive as I left the company of our group and walked up to the top end of York Street to the assembly point for the RSL participants. The march had been organised so that serving members would assemble at the bottom of York Street and march up the incline, do a 'U' turn and lead the remainder of us back down the hill to our dismissal point in Princess Royal Drive (and yes, 'The Good Old Duke of York' did come to mind!)

Where should I form up? Everyone seems to be behind a unit banner of some sort. At last, towards the end of the assembled throng, I spotted another Blue Beret. That will do me. What a good decision this was. I had no sooner taken my place when all around introduced themselves. My UN compatriot was a retired regular soldier who had completed his service in East Timor (hence the beret). Marching immediately in front of me was a 90 year old veteran of WW2, an airfield engineer who had served throughout the Pacific. He was an absolute champion. We were all still chatting away thirty minutes later when it was suddenly time to step off.

Obviously I had to rely on Liz to provide a photographic presentation of this event. Despite the crush of the incredible numbers lining both sides of York Street, she did a sterling job. Let's join the march here at the beginning as members of the Australian and NZ armies march north from the bottom end of York Street. 

I have another admission to make at this point. I was very glad that the gallop up the hill was confined to serving members only...York Street is pretty darn steep, particularly for those of us with dickey knees.

 By now the troops have completed the uphill leg and are returning along the other side of York Street, led by the Navy band. As this shot shows to some extent, the crowds lined up behind the barriers were many, many deep. By way of scene setting, the buildings in the background are on the corner of York Street and Stirling Terrace.

The colour party was right on the band's heels, followed immediately by.... 

....guess who?  Apart from their 'boy scout hats' with their distinctive red hat bands, which clearly distinguish them from Aussie troops, the Maori trio marching behind the unit officer dispelled any doubt that these were our ANZAC friends from across the Tasman. Who would want to tangle with the bloke nearest the camera?

I mentioned previously that the navies of Australia, NZ and Japan had all accepted the invitation to take part in the weekend. The inclusion of the first two is obvious, and, as I explained in my last, the presence of a Japanese destroyer was symbolic of the fact that the cruiser Ibuki had been involved in the convoy escort in 1914. 

Crews from each ship (and boat....our submarine Rankin was part of the fleet....and as anyone with a navy background will hasten to explain, a submarine is the only vessel in the fleet which is called a 'boat'....if you have a compelling desire to empty your wallet and shout many drinks, call any other vessel by that name in a navy wardroom!) took part in the march. 

In a few representative shots, here first are the sailors from HMAS Anzac looking resplendent in their summer whites

as did the Japanese tars who had stepped ashore from JDS Kirisame.

Although France did not sent a ship, it did provide a contingent of (presumably) navy personnel, 

whilst New Zealand was also represented by the crew from their frigate HMNZS Te Kaha. When I first saw this photo I was puzzled by the fact that the Commanding Officer seemed to be cradling something in his left arm. Indeed he is...what appeared on a blow up shot to be a small war club....this is obviously a NZ tradition of some sort and certainly make a change from the sword normally carried by officers.

The crews from all the participating ships (and boat) took part in the march including, in addition to those featured, from the frigates HMAS Arunta and Stuart, one of our much and unfairly maligned submarines, HMAS Rankin, and the large Australian supply ship, HMAS Sirius. It was a grand show by the crews who would do even better later.

Albany was the host to many dignitaries over this weekend. Liz freely admitted that she 'just snapped away', but in doing so she has managed to capture Rear Admiral Ken Doolan, the President of RSL Australia  

and the Chief of the ADF, Air Chief Marshal Mark Binskin, who was striding out with other high ranking military officers. 

And here is one of his predecessors, both in service and position, Angus Houston, in my view one of the finest and most intelligent officers to ever serve Australia. You may recall the most recent demand on his services has been as the co-ordinator of the search for the missing Malaysian aircraft.

And then there were the inevitable pollies. I do wish people like Bill Shorten, if they must join a march like this, would try at least to look as though they understand that it is not an opportunity to 'glad hand' the crowd. This is a march, Bill, not a pre-election campaign. At least pretend to be focused on the task at hand!

I know, I know, this is all well and good, but where's the really important bloke? Are you sure this has not been a big scam?  Nope, here is your trusty scribe in his Blue Beret (far centre of the photo),

caught in the act of trying to check that he was marching in some semblance of a straight file. I must admit that at this far end of the march, where there was not a band to be heard, keeping step was a challenge, but we managed to muddle along and the crowd didn't seem to care a jot.

I have now marched in probably thirty plus Anzac Day and other parades. Never before have I been one of the recipients of such an incredible outpouring of crowd thanks and support as occurred here in York Street on 1 November 2014. This was a day when I unashamedly had to exercise extraordinary emotional control and is one I shall never forget.

Before we leave the march, I did mention previously that it had been the subject of some earlier controversy. I am sure you will recall that, included in the departing convoys, were a large number of horses. In fact, from an Australian perspective, our great horses played a significant and integral role in our WW1 efforts. Sadly, of the total of 136,000 of these grand animals which left our shores, only one returned. 

You may well understand, therefore, that when the proposal to include a contingent of the local Australian Light Horse Association was rejected, there was an outcry. But, despite the presentation of a petition of 30,000 signatures, the event Chairman, Major General Dave Chalmers, remained firm in his argument that there was a public risk inherent in the participation of these horses and their riders. He added that this was "not a re-enactment and the marchers will only be current and former defence force personnel".

Given that the local group has participated without incident in twenty five previous marches and that a number of people were prepared to undertake a voluntary 'clean up' after the horses, I find the argument presented by the good Major General a little thin. Fortunately a compromise (of sorts) was reached. Four members of the Light Horse were allowed to stand on the intersection of York and Serpentine Streets, the assembly point for the RSL participants. 

In a display of what I consider to be high diplomacy, representatives of the Light Horse Association announced that they were satisfied with this compromise, but many locals to whom I spoke remain totally miffed by the stance taken by the Canberra based officialdom. 

Given that Albany is the only place in Australia where a monument dedicated to the Light Horse stands, high on Mount Clarence, framed by the magnificent backdrop of King George Sound, I can understand the ire of the locals.

But enough of controversy....it had been a wonderful event at the conclusion of which Cooky and I did later pose for posterity.

Following the march, the official Commemorative Service was conducted, again using the expanses of Anzac Peace Park. And, like the Navy Sunset, front stalls seats were but a dream for the hoy poloy. As we did then, we resorted to the Big Screen to watch the service unfold.

Here the big boys came out to play. The Prime Ministers of both Australia and New Zealand, premiers from a number of Australian States (SA sadly missing), diplomatic poobahs from allied countries, and a host of military top brass had all gathered for this keynote event.





And then there was us, all of us, thousands of us, again all streaming down York Street

to congregate on the lawns of the park. Some even went to the trouble to dress up in period costume. 







Others huddled under the shade of large umbrellas because, thankfully, Albany had turned on a supremely fitting day as far as the weather went......clear skies, bright sunshine and slight winds in the morning (it is never still here in the afternoon). Given the vagaries of spring in this part of the State, and indeed the howling winds of the following day, the organisers and all of us participating certainly dodged the proverbial bullet on Saturday.







By the time the service began, it was standing room only. (you can see the north face of the roof of the Entertainment Centre in the background....the 'screen' for the light show the previous evening)

We were very grateful for the big screens and the very smartly produced and highly informative 'order of service' brochure, provided courtesy of the Australian Government. Throughout the entire service, the images projected alternated between real time activities (here the first class Navy band is doing it's thing)







the keynote speeches (I noted with interest that Peter Goers reported on these in less than glowing terms in an Adelaide Advertiser article....I thought his critique was a little harsh),











and images of the activity in and around the harbour 100 years ago.













There were even projections of the current activity in King George Sound as the ships manoeuvred in preparation for the upcoming sail past, including this Australian FFH at speed.

Wreaths were laid along the base of the Peace Park wall, the ode was read, the Last Post sounded its well known sorrowful call for silence, the Rouse rang out to lift our bowed heads, national anthems were sung with varying degrees of gusto, and, after the final blessing by the Principal Chaplain Stuart Hall, RAN, it was suddenly all over. The official guests departed and the crowd dispersed.


From my perspective, this entire affair had been managed with appropriate dignity, a welcome lack of official pomposity, relatively brief speeches, and some fine work by the Navy Band and local children's choir.  This was more than adequately supported by the large screen projections and a very well presented order of service brochure. We all knew what was going on and could both see and hear it. Again, well done Albany! 

Now for the scurry.  We had but an hour and a half to make it back to our park and ride station, hop in our mini-bus and fight our way through the impossible glut of traffic to Middleton Beach, climb or be transported up Mount Adelaide and find a good vantage point from which to watch the sail past in King George Sound.

Within our group, I was probably the only one on a real mission in this regard. This was personal. Navy is in the family.  "Come on you stragglers, I'll be very grumpy if I miss this....seriously grumpy....in fact I'm prepared to be quite rude to make sure we get there on time."   Oddly enough, Liz was quick to agree that I had the last bit right.

But did we make it?