A QUICK GLANCE AT THE REUNION WHICH BROUGHT US TO TASMANIA (21 - 24 OCTOBER 2017)

This is pure self indulgence, and I'll do my best to keep it brief. As I went through the photos to add to this missive I realised that most of them depicted a raised glass or two, and in fact that's it in a nutshell so to speak. 

But having made that admission of sorts, it is fair to comment that there was a lot a chat and the need to keep the vocal chords appropriately lubricated was critical.

Things kicked off with Registration at the Old Woolshed Hotel at the top end of Macquarie  Street, the reunion venue, late on the afternoon of Saturday 21 October. Liz and I had actually first gone to the airport to pick up my old mate Garry, one of the South Australian contingent. How could we not, we thought, we were right next door.

Once the formalities were completed it was off to the bar at The Woolshed for the first round of reunion drinks whilst we awaited the arrival of the stragglers or the appearance of those who were already here and had been out and about.

By the time the sun was setting the decision was taken by 'my' group that our stomachs needed something a shade more substantial than fizzing hops and malt. So we set off in search of sustenance, a quest which took us but one block south along Macquarie Street.


Here we found salvation and the answer to our quest in the shape of the Hope and Anchor Tavern.

Now I would not want you to think that we poured into just any old pub for this special occasion. Not a bit of it. The hostelry we chose to grace with our presence on this first night of revelry quite reasonably claims the title of the oldest continuously licensed pub in the country. It first opened its doors to the thirsty throngs in 1808 but not under its present name. 'The Hope' has traded under a raft of titles, 'The Whale', the 'Royal Alexandra', and 'Kelly's Taproom', to name but three.

It is indeed a grand establishment, not that we saw much of it on this occasion. It was getting on, we were starving, and there was dining to be done. But I have filched a couple of shots from the pub's website just to give you an idea of what is on offer here in Hobart.

Now what about this for a bar?

Or this? There is apparently an upstairs museum in which an array of memorabilia and other odds and ends associated with the pub's history are on display. Liz and I have this in our sights for our return to Hobart in the New Year (before dinner!)

But there were to be no historical tours for our jolly band as we rejoiced in the good luck which saw us all seated at the last remaining table in the front bar/dining area. Poor long suffering Liz held down four roles on this occasion....token female, official photographer, driver and seeing eye dog! 

The staff at 'The Hope' were marvellous, and obviously well used to dealing with a bunch of boys behaving badly! And the meal was equally good. I'll not go into any more detail about this opening joust other than to say it was a hoot.....'lend me a shoulder brother Garry!'

The following day found us again gathering at The Woolshed at the very sensible hour of mid-day for the reunion luncheon and briefing. By now all had landed in Hobart and there was much backslapping as the 'warries' began.

We were delighted to share a table with several members of the 'Fighting 8th' (Liz is sitting next to Sue and Les, a Tasmanian couple who now live in Devonport...Les served with me in Cyprus and we have plans to catch up with them both early in February)

This function also provided our President with the opportunity to formally welcome us all and give us a reminder brief on the schedule of events which were to occupy the next few days.

And then, of course, there were problems to be solved. My good mate Greg, with whom Liz and I have spent many a convivial hour in Darwin (several years ago) and in Perth in 2013 (he was involved in the organisation of that reunion...he and his delightful wife are great friends) can always be guaranteed to raise matters which require intense discussion (or incredulous laughter!).

And what better way could there be to finish off a fine lunch but with a stroll along the Hobart waterfront down to Salamanca Place where we though it highly necessary to discover if the interior of Irish Murphy's pub was as grand as its facade.

Well, let's be completely honest here....who cared? It was all perfectly adequate and most inviting,

with its quaint little booths and masses of memorabilia, but more importantly,

it dispensed Kilkenny on tap! 

Again, on this occasion, I was blessed to have a driver, but the following day Liz and I caught the bus into town. 

It seemed quite unfair that she should have to refrain from enjoying a cold libation or two whilst cruising the Derwent and beyond in this trusty red and white cruise boat which was on today's reunion agenda.

The day had dawned somewhat overcast, but thankfully the rain held off and more importantly, the winds were feather light. We drew away from our dock with great expectations of the views we were to have of Hobart from the water, and were not disappointed. I shall share these in a later blog dedicated more specifically to this wonderful city.

By the end of the afternoon we were cosying up to the skipper who was an absolute mine of information (as you would expect) and for those occasional few minutes during which we could keep Garry quiet, we learnt much.

Once we had returned to port, our walk back towards The Woolshed (and in our case, the bus stop) was rudely interrupted.

How could we possibly ignore the open and inviting doors of the dockside Customs House Hotel. There was more history on offer, surely!

I'm not sure about the history, but there was certainly more Kilkenny......The Three Musketeers were still on song!

But not for long. Liz and I had a bus to catch (which we did by a whisker I might add...and it was the last one for the day) whilst the others had to make a dash for their digs and a quick costume change for the formal reception that evening at Government House. Liz and I had decided that this was all just a tad too hard. Getting back to our van, changing and then returning to the city after our day on the water was all too much. So this reception went ahead without us. 

We were disappointed inasmuch as the formal residence of Tasmania's Governor is recognised as the grandest and most finely decorated and furnished in the Commonwealth (this is a shot taken during our boat cruise on the Derwent), but it was just too hard.

After the shenanigans of the past couple of days it was time to get serious and much more formal for a while. Tuesday 24 October is recognised now throughout the world as 'Peacekeepers' Day' and for those of us gathered in Hobart this meant a church service in the morning followed by a reception at the Hobart Town Hall to be followed by the climax of the bash, a formal dinner at the Wrest Point Casino that evening.

So bright and early it was on with the good clobber and gongs, and off to Hobart's St David's Cathedral which is situated on the corner of Macquarie and Murray Streets. In a sad break with tradition, we all made our way independently to the church. The town fathers considered the importance of Macquarie Street as a main city thoroughfare too great to allow us to formally march to the service, and I have say, having now seen the way in which Hobart city traffic operates, this was an understandable decision. We would have created gridlock in no time flat.

St David's is a stunningly beautiful building, of such size that it is quite impossible to capture it in a single photograph. 






I have therefore resorted to this shot of the cover of a book on the history of this magnificent building (courtesy of 'snipshot') to give you some idea of just how large it is. This building is one of a group on this intersection which, it is argued, represents the finest example of a Georgian streetscape to be found in the country. I would not disagree (we'll see much more of this during our Hobart ramble in due course)








At the appointed hour we duly took our seats inside for the service which was jointly conducted by the AFP Chaplin, Padre Neuhaus and the Dean of St David's, the Very Reverend Richard Humphrey, who presented an address of wit and style.




And then we had another of those extraordinary 'meetings on the road'. As we left the church I asked the good Chaplin if he had any relatives in Adelaide. Indeed he does. "I don't suppose it happens to be Peter Neuhaus by any chance?" It was....his cousin. So what, I hear you ask. Peter is a member of the Keswick Barracks Officers' Mess. Liz and I have shared a dinner table with him and his good wife at the Mess on several occasions. Small world!





After the service, several of us from the 8th Contingent gathered on the front steps for the obligatory 'team photo' before trouping off down Macquarie Street 









to the Hobart Town Hall, another of the magnificent buildings which are to be found throughout this city.











Here we assembled in the main hall of a building which was completed in 1866 and is another Hobart building of of significance in respect of its architecture and decor....a grand example of the neo-renaissance style.




After an address of welcome by the Deputy Mayor, the city fathers treated us to a right royal round of canapes and other delectables (and very wisely restricted the beverages to those of a non-alcoholic variety) 





before we managed to round up the remainder of the members of the 8th for yet another group photo,

followed by one with my good spouse














and a final photo of the 'Three Musketeers',  just to prove that we can all tart up and behave properly when necessary!





It was then 'back to barracks' for a rest and to prepare for the big night, which in my case meant battling to get my newly acquired Mess Dress jacket adorned appropriately with badges and gongs all in the right spot (there is a real protocol to all of this.....and I was decidedly out or practice).

Liz and I had decided that the Hobart bus commuters were not quite ready for the sight of us decked out in full bib and tucker. The Cab fare of $40 to take us to The Woolshed for the bus to Wrest Point seemed a small price to pay for privacy and comfort.





As always, this final dinner was a somewhat grand affair. The Wrest Point staff were most attentive and the meal and accompanying wines of a high standard (we noted with some degree of smug satisfaction that all but the bubbles were from SA). 







We were a little disappointed that for some reason the table settings did not allow for all members of the same contingents to be seated together, but at least we had the pleasure of the company of one of my old colleagues, Dennis Percy, and and his good wife Alexis (an Adelaide girl).





The after dinner speaker was an absolute stand out. Paul Field, who is the brother of one of 'The Wiggles', Anthony Field, has had a varied career to say the least. His life to date has seen him employed as a supermarket worker, teacher, rock musician, legal clerk, Royal Commission operative (the Wood Commission) and today, as the manager of The Wiggles. 



In addition to all this, Paul is also an author of note and his address to us tonight was an introduction to his latest work 'Gimme Shelter'. As noted at the beginning of the book, this a collection of 'Stories of courage, endurance and survival from the front line and back home'. In essence it details the experiences of soldiers and others who have had to battle with the aftermath of the trauma and hardships they faced on the battlefield and elsewhere.


John Watkins commented thus in his most compelling forward, 

"Gimme Shelter should be compulsory reading for every political leader and bureaucrat responsible for sending young Australians in to violent confrontations and those responsible for caring for them on return. This book makes clear that the trauma of violence, especially war, is never done with and that there are too many stories of Australia not living up to its responsibility towards those the nation has relied on to do its most difficult tasks".

I am the proud owner of a personally signed copy of this work, and now having read much of it, all I can say is "hear hear".

Paul spoke to an appreciative and understanding audience. It was one of the best addresses I have heard at functions such as this.

After the formalities had concluded, the very good band struck up and the dance floor was soon crowded with revellers of varying degrees of skill, including your scribe and his dancing partner (fortunately not captured on film).






But I did manage one shot of the most elegant young Liz as she chatted with Alex and took much needed refreshment before another bout on the dance floor. Belles of the ball, both!





This had been, as previous such functions have, one to remember, and provided a fitting end to what was a marvellous reunion.

Let me conclude how I began, with the comment that this missive is one of pure self-indulgence but will hopefully provide you with some idea of why we are keen starters for these reunions every second year or so. We were delighted to hear that our next gathering will see us returning to Caloundra on the Sunshine Coast. This was the venue of the reunion which saw us make our first long caravan trip in our old Coromal over eight years ago (when we still had a home which did not move!)  How things have changed since then.

BACK TO TASSIE - DEVONPORT TO HOBART AND THE 'CURATE'S EGG' WHICH IS THE HOBART AIRPORT CARAVAN PARK (19 OCTOBER 2017)

I recall commenting in my missive relating to our arrival in Devonport that we plan to return to this lovely town for a good look around prior to what I now know will be our very reluctant departure from Tasmania, but I cannot head off on our dash south to good old Hobart town without a couple of shots of something I suspect we may not see on our return....a very calm Bass Strait.

The day before we left we did a brief recce up to the heights of the Devonport suburb of Mersey Bluff on the eastern side of the town, primarily to check out the caravan park there (no good for us). 

Whilst there, we took the opportunity to drive up to the nearby lighthouse for a quick shuftie over the town and the coast (isn't this postcard stuff?)

and, believe it or not, this is what we saw looking north out over the feared waters of Bass Strait as they eddied benignly around the base of Hat Rock,

and further along the coast to the west towards Ulverstone. Seas as smooth as a baby's bum....a very unusual sight indeed, we suspected. 

We have since learnt that days like this, when the long streaks of icy cirrus clouds writhe high above a warm and sunny landscape, are to be treasured. They are decidedly in the minority at this time of the year.

Indeed, as we rose early the next morning for our 300 kms trip down the centre of the island to Hobart, the feathery fronds of cirrus had gone and heavier storm clouds were gathering in the west. The echos on the rain radar were not encouraging

and I scurried to hitch up before any rain fell. We quietly edged our way out of our park of the last three days under increasingly leaden skies

and joined National Route 1, which, for the 100 kms or so between Devonport and Launceston, carries the moniker of the Bass Highway. 

We had not travelled too far when the first spots appeared on the windscreen, and from this point on we were in a race to stay ahead of the cold front which was inexorably enveloping the entire island from the north-west.

By the time we had by-passed Launceston, turned south onto what was now the Midland Highway and driven through the tiny town of Perth, we had just begun to outrun the approaching weather. This allowed us a fine view down the South Esk River as we made our crossing of this well know Tassie stream, the first of many beautiful rivers we were hoping to see on the island.

The Midland Highway is also known as the 'Heritage Highway' which take travellers through some of Tasmania's oldest towns, towns such as Campbell Town, Ross and Richmond. We have every intention of roaming along here at our leisure after Christmas (when all the coastal parks will be seething with holiday makers) so today's pictorial presentation will be limited.

Notwithstanding that decision, I couldn't let this one pass. As we made our way south towards Campbell Town we came across this.....do you think they might have all been together?

We made a brief roadside stop in Campbell Town where we saw enough to seriously whet our appetite for a return visit, before pushing on with vigour south past the even more picturesque town of Ross. The highway skirts around this historic village and the larger town of Oatlands some 75 kms further south, but we were able to see enough from the road on which we were travelling to further confirm the wisdom of our plans to return for a detailed look around this entire area.

I now have to admit to a tactical planning error.  Many months ago, when the UN Forces reunion was confirmed as being in Hobart, we decided we had better ensure we had certainty as far as our accommodation went. After weighing up all the options (there is not a lot of choice in and around Hobart), we settled on the Airport Caravan Park as being the most suitable in terms of location and ease of access to the city.

The Hobart Airport lies just under 20 kms to the east of the CBD, officially in the district known as Cambridge. As I peered over our charts before leaving Devonport, I found what appeared to be a reasonably significant secondary road which would take us off the Midland Highway 10 kms south of Oatlands and thence directly south to our destination, thereby overcoming the need to cross the city of Hobart itself.

What a good plan, I thought. That was, until we actually left the main highway. By now the cold front had won the race south, and we were enveloped in varying degrees of moisture, ranging from misty drizzle to quite heavy downpours. And, although this shot does not really show it, my choice of a transit corridor was not a good one....this was a decidedly 'secondary' road.

At least the section which brought us into the tiny town of Colebrook was reasonably flat (this becomes a very relative adjective in Tasmania we now know!), and I have included this lovely town sign to remind me that at the bottom of it is the notation 'Formerly Jerusalem'. Just before we left the main highway we had been on the approach to the town of Jericho. 

With names like these we were now wondering just who had originally settled this area (and why the good folk of Colebrook had broken ranks). Another little mystery to be solved later.

But for now, I had more important things to occupy my mind, not the least of which was making sure we arrived in Hobart in one piece. Beyond Colebrook (nee Jerusalem!) we hit 'them thar hills' with a vengeance (again the photos do not do this stretch justice as far as the challenge goes...and to give her her due, 'The Navigator' was generally otherwise occupied as my second pair of eyes).

There was the odd period of respite when we could actually see more than 100 metres ahead of us before the next tight bend,

but by the time we were making our way through the pretty little town of Campania in the increasingly heavy rain, I was becoming a touch jaded and more than a little relieved that we had but 20 kms or so left to run.

This sign, confirming we now had just over 5 kms to go, was a very welcome sight, even if we did swap a narrow, somewhat torturous trail for heavy suburban traffic.

As you may imagine I was more than happy to finally arrive at the Hobart Airport Tourist Park (pictured on a different day)

and pull up at the office where by now, although the roadways were awash, the worst of the rain had passed.

But, dear readers, the past couple of hours were merely the prelude to stage two of today's travails. We had, as always when booking, made it clear how long we were, and had been told that the site assigned us would be more than adequate to accommodate our van.

Yeah, right.....once we were on that is. And now I must 'fast forward' a day or so later (as the skies above clearly demonstrate) to the park photos which show what I mean.

This was our site, very conveniently situated right across the road from the heads and the camp kitchen (about which I'll more to say shortly) and I daresay from this angle you would be wondering why on earth I had any complaint. 

Let me present this angle, where, if you look closely you will see black marks on the bottom of the large yellow post immediately opposite our site pad. This, and its neighbouring bollards, provide protection for the building behind it (the amenities block), but what they also do is make neigh on impossible to manoeuvre a rig of our length onto site 14B.

As you know, we are now pretty experienced and competent when it comes to mooring the landship, but getting onto this site demanded all of that accumulated skill. It was a bitch, and I was not in the least surprised to note (later...I was far too busy at the time) that many who had preceded us had had a close encounter with the yellow post. 

The sites in this section of the park are really designed to accommodate motor homes, which we were later to discover descend here in droves. This is completely understandable. Tasmania, like New Zealand, is a holiday destination to which many tourists fly and then hire some form of local transport to get them out and about. 

The park in which we found ourselves is ideally located to cater for the first and last nights of those picking up and returning their hired mobile homes, on arrival, and before winging their way off the island.  The site sizes are a reflection of that reality. We are shade longer and less agile than all but a very large bus, but eventually, after some considerable to-ing and fro-ing, we were properly positioned on our pad.

It was when we were settled that I realised we had another problem. Our site was not wide enough to allow us to park alongside the van nor was it long enough to be able to fit us across the front. After a quick visit to the office, I was told to park on the path which ran alongside our van. This struck me as less than satisfactory, but I did so initially until the folk next to us left and our new neighbours were more than happy enough for us to share their patch. Altogether not quite good enough in my view.

It was at about the same time we discovered the third oddity of these sites.....the cement pads of each were not wide enough to accommodate the width of our awning. If you look at the first site photo you can see that we did have a strip of the cement pad immediately below our doorway, but a good half of our 'annex' area was (so-called) lawn.

As this shot shows, the 'lawn' of the Hobart Airport Caravan Park was nothing more than an assortment of weeds, in this case flowering dandelions of a considerable height. We found that half our covered area was the equivalent of a country meadow. Never before in a caravan park have we had to look out for foraging bees as we moved to and fro under our awning.

Frankly, we took all this in our stride, but what did amuse us was the plea to be found in the park rules relating to car parking and I quote........"As our grassed area is new and still establishing, we would appreciate as much as possible if you could refrain from parking on the grass". Our only question was, where was the grass?

Anyway, enough sniping. We were on and established, and as we began to settle in we were soon to find that the general facilities here were at complete odds with the vagaries of the sites. The buildings which housed the camp kitchen and the heads were, as you can see in the shot showing the post, directly opposite our site, and they were both absolutely first class.

The ablutions were almost brand new, provided that joy of all campers, a strong, hot stream and even (wait for it) came with a heated floor. The adjoining laundry was equally well set up.

I have similar praise for the spacious and spotlessly clean camp kitchen, at one end of which were to be found all that one could need to prepare a tasty meal,

whilst at the other a small book exchange and wall mounted TV offered entertainment for those less well equipped.

Immediately behind the camp kitchen building was the park BBQ, complete with its own alfresco dining area. 

It too was gleamingly clean and well equipped, right down to the provision of all that was needed (and the instructions) to properly scrub the hot plates after use. 

Drop down clears at the windy end of the BBQ area made life more than comfortable when the not infrequent strong winds, which are something of a feature of this part of Hobart, were making their unwelcome presence felt.

Apart from the van sites, this park sports rows of cabins, extending along the entrance road beyond the park office

and on the exit road which we were facing. During out stay the occupancy rate of these was impressive, again, folk coming and going from the airport.

Finally, at the rear of this row of cabins, these much larger (grassed?) sites provided alternative accommodation for those who would prefer more room than a cement slab but here the downside comes in the form of complete exposure to any southerly or south-easterly winds

which howl unimpeded across this open area beyond the park boundary (as we soon discovered when we used this area at a later date).

So now you may well understand my use of the 'Curate's Egg' comment in the title of this blog. This is a park which is 'good in parts'....brilliant facilities but sites which are inadequate in size for big rigs, difficult to access by them, with no shade and surrounded by weeds rather than grass.

But it was convenient. Twenty minutes, maximum, in peak hour traffic saw us in the centre of Hobart where parking was, by the standards of a capital city, ridiculously cheap and accessible. All was now in readiness for the bash which had brought us to Hobart in the first place.