John Mason & Sarah Ann Paine

According to an entry in the 1851 census of England reproduced below, John Mason, my 3rd great grandfather, was born about 1819 in Stepney, London, England.

1851 England census return taken 31st March 1851

The certificate recording John’s first marriage to Elizabeth Brown shows that John’s father was a “Carpenter (deceased)” on 20th May 1839. It therefore seems that the most likely candidate for his baptism is as follows:

Baptism record of St Dunstan and All Saints, Stepney, London, Middlesex: “Baptism on 10th May 1818 of John, son of John, Joiner, and Hannah Mason. Born 23rd February 1818.”

Further research has revealed at least two further siblings to parents John Mason and Hannah:

Baptism record of St Giles without Cripplegate, London, Middlesex: “Baptism on 2nd March 1817 of Henry William, son of John, Carpenter, and Hannah Mason of Fore Street. Born 23rd September 1816.”

Baptism record of St Dunstan and All Saints, Tower Hamlets, London, Middlesex: “Baptism on 27th January 1822 Hannah MASON daughter of John, Joiner & Carpenter, and Hannah MASON; born 26th March 1821.”

The most likely marriage for this pair is that of John Mason and Hannah Doe at St Alphege, Greenwich, Kent:

“John Mason, Bachelor, of this parish and Hannah Doe, Spinster, of this parish, were married in this Church by license this 29th day of June in the year 1814 by me, J. P. George, Curate, in the presence of Ann Smith and J. S. Smith.” [Note: the witnesses were the same as the ones on a marriage following this one in the same church on the same day and therefore I doubt they are related in any way.]

Confirmation of this marriage as the correct one comes from the 1851 census of England, placing the widowed Hannah Mason née Doe, living with her brother in Reading, Berkshire.

1851 England census return taken 31st March 1851

Further confirmation of the link is provided by the names given to the progeny of John’s first marriage to Elizabeth Brown, daughter of Timothy Ishmael Brown and Sarah. Elizabeth was baptised on 18th October 1820 at St Mary’s in Reading. John and Elizabeth were married on 20th May 1839 at the St Marylebone Parish Church at which time John’s occupation was described as “Upholster”. This ties in with the occupation of “Hair Worker” in the 1851 England census as this latter occupation reflects the upholsterer’s use of horse hair. The witnesses are “T. Brown” and “M. Wheeler”.

John Mason and Elizabeth Brown had four daughters together: 


i. Elizabeth Sarah Mason born 2nd March1840 at 9 Charles Street, Marylebone, London
ii. Emily Mason born 19th September 1841 in 2 George Court, Marylebone, London
iii. Sarah Brown Mason born 3rd July 1843 in 2 George Place, Marylebone, London
iv. Hannah Maria Mason, born 14th June 1845 at 106 Broad Street, Reading, Berkshire

Their fourth daughter, Hannah Maria Mason was baptised at St Mary’s, Reading on the 9th December 1845. The use of the name Hannah adds support to the theory that John’s mother was also called Hannah. They had certainly given Elizabeth’s mother’s name (Sarah) to their first-born daughter. The evidence for their total progeny being four daughters is on the birth certificate of a subsequent son of John Mason, James Vickers Arthur Mason, in Australia. It states that John Mason had “4 females [daughters] by former marriage”.
The table below contains an extract from the 1851 census of England that explains the whereabouts of the other two daughters:


1851 England census return taken 31st March 1851

We know that Elizabeth was alive on the 31st March 1851 from the entry in the 1851 England census. By the time John married for the second time on 3rd June 1852, he was described as a widower. I therefore assume that Elizabeth died between these two dates although no death record has yet been identified.

John’s second marriage was to Sarah Ann Paine at Old Church, St, Pancras, Middlesex on June 3rd 1852 at which time John’s occupation was described as a “Commercial Traveller” living at Hartland Road, St Pancras, London, as per the 1851 England census. His father is named as “John Mason, dead”. Sarah is described as a spinster living at College Street in London and her father is named as “James Paine, painter”. The witnesses to the marriage are “Annie Eppy” and “James Paine”. This “Annie Eppy” is presumably the same individual who was recorded as visiting in the 1851 England census.

From her death certificate, we know Sarah Ann Paine was born about 1826 in England. The 1851 England census confirms her place of birth as Bishopsgate, London.

1851 England census return taken 31st March 1851

James Paine was born about 1802 at Bethnal Green, London, Middlesex, England, and married Sophia Mary Caroline Hinksman in 1824 at St John’s, Hackney, Middlesex, England. Sophia was born about 1796 in Cripplegate, Middlesex and baptised on 23rd November 1798 in St Martin’s, Birmingham, Warwickshire, England (aged 2 years).

The next time we find solid evidence of the whereabouts of John and Sarah is at the baptism of their first daughter and my 2nd great grandmother, Annie Rebecca Mercy Mason. She was baptised at St James in the County of Cumberland, Sydney, Australia, on the 17th April 1853 and her date of birth is stated as 17th March 1853. The family is recorded as living at Clarence Street in Sydney and John’s occupation is once again “Upholster”.

Definitive evidence about the journey from London to Sydney of John Mason, Sarah Ann Paine and their four daughters has been difficult to find. There is one reference to a ship arriving in Sydney from England that seems an excellent candidate, mentioning as it does, “Mr. And Mrs. Mason, four children”. This is the ship Windsor that arrived in Sydney on the 4th November 1852. Taken together, the following articles and letters from publications of the time build up a timeline that corroborates this evidence.

“ENGLISH SHIPPING. The following vessels were advertised to sail from London and Plymouth for this port:- Windsor, July 21st” The Argus, Monday 11th October 1852

“SHIPPING INTELLIGENCE. The Windsor, Emily, and another full-rigged ship were at the Heads yesterday, waiting for Pilots.” The Argus, Thursday 21st October 1852

“The Windsor is originally from London, having merely called at Port Phillip for the purpose of landing passengers, who on their arrival were unanimous in expressing their acknowledgements in a handsome address to Captain Tickell, who has succeeded, in this his first voyage, in securing the esteem of all classes on board, as a proof of which, with only one exception, he has retained the whole of his crew, who have stuck by the vessel despite the attractions of the gold fields. The following is a summary of her cargo: 394 casks 4 cases brandy, 192 casks rum, 10 cases gin, 62 casks beer, 48 casks bottled beer, 6 cases perfumed spirits, 58 cases l8 casks Spanish wine, 160 cases Geneva, 60 cases porter, 15 cases whiskey, 59 cases French wine, 10 cases currants, 10 barrels 1 case 50 bundles raisins, 4 bales 1 case almonds, 4 cases plums, 300 sacks malt, 10 cases olive oil, 550 bags salt, 49 packages ironmongery, 5 barrels ginger, 5 cases cured fish, 23 coils rope, 1 case gloves, 1 cart, 1 case cordials, 415 packages sundries, sighted Mary Ann, at Gabo Island on the 31st ultimo. The Wild Duck and Emma cutters were in Twofold Bay on the 3rd instant; also sighted the Margaret, hence for Melbourne, off the Bay, same date.” The Sydney Morning Herald, Thursday 4th November 1852

“PORT OF SYDNEY. ARRIVED. November 4.- Queen of the South, schooner, Stevens, from Gabo Islands. Windsor, ship, Tickell from Melbourne. Cheapside, barque, Lewis, from Melbourne.” The Argus, Monday 15th November 1852

“Captain Tickell.- To the Editor of the Age. There were two Windsors. Captain George Tickell commanded the ship Windsor, 800 tons, which sailed from Plymouth on 24th July 1852, and arrived at Melbourne on 22nd October, 1852, 89 days. She had a full complement of saloon passengers and seventy-six in the ‘tween decks. She left Melbourne on 27th October 1852 for Sydney. The other Windsor, ship, 1099 tons, made three voyages to Melbourne in the years 1853, 1855 and 1856. In the 1855 voyage she brought the 40th Regiment to Melbourne.” The Age, Saturday 4th August, 1934

This series of articles combined with information we already know about the family provides a useful timeline outlined below:

Event	Date
John Mason married Sarah Ann Paine	3rd June 1852
Windsor departed London	21st July 1852
Windsor departed Plymouth	24th July 1852
Windsor arrived Melbourne	22nd October 1852 (89 days)
Windsor departed Melbourne	27th October 1852
Windsor arrived Sydney	4th November 1852
Annie Rebecca Mercy Mason born	17th March 1853

We also know from their presence in the Australian records that John’s four daughters by his first marriage to Elizabeth Brown travelled with John and Sarah. While this evidence is compelling, it is not definitive. The passenger report for the Windsor in Sydney does not name steerage passengers. There may yet be a list of names as the article from The Maitland Mercury & Hunter River General Advertiser of Wednesday 10th November 1852 may have gleaned their information from an official source. The following is some additional information about the ship Windsor taken from Lloyd's Register:

Source	Lloyd's Register of British and Foreign Shipping
WINDSOR	1851-1854
Master	Captain Pryce (1851-52); Captain Tickell (1853-54)
Rigging	Ship; sheathed in felt and yellow metal in 1852
Tonnage	676 tons
Construction	1835 in London
Owners	R. Green
Port of registry	London
Port of survey	London

From Robert Talbot’s memoirs, I believe the Mason family established General Stores, initially in Clarence Street, then progressively at Towns Wharf, the Rocks, Palmer Street, Wooloomooloo and Glebe Street, Glebe. It is certainly true that John’s occupation is recorded as “Storekeeper” from about 1858 onwards. Records at St James Church of England, King Street, Sydney, show the children of John and Sarah as: i. Annie Rebecca Mercy MASON, born March 17th 1853, Sydney  ii. Charles John MASON, born January 9th 1855, Sydney iii. Lydia Sophia MASON, born March 30th 1857, Sydney  iv. James Vickers Arthur MASON, born October 12th 1859, Sydney v. Clara Emily MASON, born January 23rd 1862, Sydney Only a few short years after the birth of Clara, we find John is admitted to Gladesville Hospital for the Insane. Gladesville is a suburb of Sydney located 9 kilometres north-west of the Sydney central business district. A major milestone in the development of the suburb was the establishment of the Tarban Creek Lunatic Asylum in 1838 on the banks of the Parramatta River. It was the first purpose-built mental asylum in New South Wales. In 1869 it became the Gladesville Hospital for the Insane. The medical casebook for John Mason shows he was admitted on 25th September 1868 aged 52 years. The following notes accompany his admission: “He is an Englishman a Protestant residing lately in the Glebe Sydney as a storekeeper married nine children the youngest seven years of age, he suffers from paralysis caused by injury to the head many years since, he is very melancholy and quickly frustrated and his position is one of the most critical, he is also ruptured.” Improvements in his health and strength are recorded over the following months but, in spite of this, the following is recorded in his notes on 31st January 1869: “His family have taken no steps to remove him, as it is quite impossible for him to ever regain a livelihood again - they perhaps avoid the burden of his maintenance.” There are sparse notes regarding his more or less stable condition in the following months until he is discharged to the care of his family on the 7th October 1869. On the 12th August 1870, John is once again admitted to the Gladesville Asylum with the following entry in his notes: “This is his second admission into this Hospital. The date of the former Warrant was Sept 25th 1868. Vide Ref 19. Folio 199. On admission his health has not improved by his residence at home, he becomes more feeble from general paralysis, he has much emaciated since he left this Hospital, he is cleanly and quiet.” His notes record that he regains weight but that his symptoms of “paralysis” do not improve. On the 19th August 1871, his notes indicate he is transferred to Parramatta Hospital. It is possible he may have been transferred via Parramatta Hospital but in fact we see him admitted to Newcastle Asylum for Lunatics and Imbeciles. Newcastle is situated 162 kilometres north north-east of Sydney. In 1867 the military barracks at Watt Street, Newcastle was converted to a Reformatory for Girls. In 1871 after much community protest the reformatory was closed and by 1872 converted to an institution for the intellectually handicapped. The first 120 patients came from Gladesville and Parramatta Asylums. From the patient numbering system in the admission records below, it seems likely that John Mason was one of these patients. Newcastle Asylum, Register No. 1 of Admissions, August 1871

Patient No	58
Name	John Mason
Admission date	1871 Aug 6th
Sex	Male
Age	55
Social condition	Married
Occupation	Nil
Nativity	England
Residence	Gladesville
Religion	Protestant
Mental Disorder	Paralysis

The Newcastle Asylum medical casebook shows John Mason admitted on 19th August 1871, aged 55 years. Extracts from his notes reveal a progressive worsening of symptoms.

“Not so well, appears more demented.” 28th February 1873

“During month St Vitas dance has been very severe...” 30th November 1873

“Though weak and feeble is much better, the attacks of Chorea have subsided...” 31st March 1874

“Is emaciated though his appetite is ravenous.” 31st August 1874

Finally on 28th February 1874, following a prolonged period during which he is bed-ridden, the following is recorded in relation to John’s death:

“As usual until 13th at 8.20am was seized with a kind of fit and appeared dying. Sent for Medical Officer who then ... but died at 8.50. John Mason suffering from Chorea was suddenly attacked with brain disease and died this day February 13th 1875.”

On the death certificate, the cause of death is described as “(1) Disease of heart (2) Unknown”. He was buried the next day at the Christchurch Burial Ground, Newcastle, New South Wales. The informant was the Superintendent of the Asylum. There is no evidence from the records that either Sarah or her children attended the funeral in Newcastle. Of course, I now know the unknown mental condition was certainly Huntington’s disease and with that knowledge, it is clear that John’s deteriorating behaviour and physical symptoms would have appeared like a form of progressive dementia or “paralysis”.

Sarah Ann died on the 17th April 1914 at 28 Mount Street, North Sydney, New South Wales, Australia, aged 87 years. The cause of death was given as “Senility”. Her father was recorded as James Paine, a Church of England clergyman, and her mother was listed as “Unknown”. The informant was her son Charles John Mason of 28 Mount Street, North Sydney. She was buried on the 20th April at the Gore Hill Church of England cemetery in Sydney. Witnesses to the ceremony were George W. Turner and Charles John Mason. She is recorded as having been born in Reading, England, married at St Pancras, Middlesex, England to John Mason at age 25, and living in Australia for 62 years. The death certificate lists two of her daughters as deceased and her living progeny as follows: “Charles J.” aged 59, “Lydia S. (Turner)” aged 56 and “James A. V.” aged 54.

Robert Francis Talbot, 1842 - 1935

Robert Francis Talbot, my second great grandfather, lived a long and full life, first travelling the world with the Royal Navy and later living a pioneering existence in Australia where he left his mark on history by naming the town Swansea in New South Wales near the city of Lake Macquarie.

Robert Francis Talbot wrote quite extensive memoirs, much of which are taken up with describing his time in the Royal Navy. From research, it seems that he was in the Royal Navy as a steward to senior officers for much of his early career.

A search of the pay list for HMS Imaum for January 1851 to 1862, revealed reference to one Robert Talbot who joined the ship in Jamaica on 5th October 1860, as a Commodore's domestic servant. He gave his place of birth as London, Middlesex, however, this was later to change to Tumavara, Tipperary, Ireland, when he became an Ordinary Seaman 2nd Class on 10th October 1860. This place and date of birth is recorded by his name in subsequent paylists. His description is given as 5 feet 6 inches, pale complexion, blue eyes, light brown hair and single. In a further pay list for HMS Imaum, January 1860 to 1861, his name is recorded as “R. W. Talbot”. In a description book for HMS Clio which covers the period from 22nd March 1870 to 1874, I found a fuller overview of Talbot's naval career reproduced in the table below:

Robert Talbot had not signed continuous service engagements, which is why there is no continuous service record for him in the conventional sense. However, it is a matter of record that HMS Clio was appointed Flagship to the Australia Station from 1870 to 1873.

Robert's memoirs record that, during the ship's stay at Port Jackson, he met a Sydney family of free settlers named John Mason and his wife, Sarah Ann Mason née Paine and fell in love with their eldest child, Annie Rebecca Mercy Mason. By this time HMS Clio and her crew were concluding their three year stint of duty as Flagship to the Australia Station and Robert was to return with them to England. Robert and Annie decided to marry on the 4th September 1873 at St Philip’s Church, Sydney. Robert left Australia soon after and on completing his contractual obligations with HMS Clio, secured a position as Emigrant Storekeeper on the barque Jerusalem and sailed back to Sydney from Portsmouth on the 5th April 1874. The journey took 78 days and was thankfully uneventful.

On reunion with his wife, Robert and Annie moved to Catherine Hill Bay, in 1874 known as New Wallsend, near Newcastle, New South Wales, Australia. His initial employment was as a miner at the New Wallsend Colliery until sometime in 1875 when he gained employment as a Lands Surveyor. It was around this time that he built a hotel. The local history of Catherine Hill Bay records the following:

“The New Wallsend Company began coal mining operations from a tunnel just above the beach near the jetty during 1873 and the first shipment was made from the newly constructed jetty on 17th December 1873. The mine employed some 70 men in 1874, but was closed for economic reasons in March 1877, resulting in many people leaving the area.” 

“Charles Albert Boult was the storekeeper and became the first Post Master in 1874. In 1875 Robert Talbot became the keeper of a hotel, and Mr. Trevillion the keeper of another hotel in 1876. In 1876 Mr. Caldwell was a storekeeper. Ah Hee was a Chinese gardener.”

The ‘New Wallsend Hotel’, as it was originally called, was later renamed ‘Warallah Hotel’ and it still stands today. By 1876 Robert Talbot also owned the main town Store. In early 1877 the local Postmaster, Thomas Caldwell, resigned his office and in an application to the Postmaster General, Robert advised he wished to apply for the position of Postmaster, Catherine Hill Bay, and supported his claim by advising them of his stability of residence as the local Hotel and “Mainstore” owner. He indicated that there was adequate spare space off the Store to serve as a Post Office and according to the records, Robert was appointed the 4th Postmaster in that area.

On the 3rd September 1879 Robert wrote to the Postmaster General’s Department as follows:

“The New Wallsend Colliery at Catherine Hill Bay and other works being permanently closed, I am about to remove my residence to Lake Macquarie Entrance, five miles distant North from Catherine Hill Bay, where a large population have settled down and extensive works are opening up. 

The improvements to Lake Macquarie Entrance will employ over 150 men, £20,000 having been granted for this purpose. Messrs. Lamb, Knox and Parbury are opening a Colliery and large Saw Mills which will also employ a large number of men so that in a very short time, in addition to the settled population, we will have something like 300 men on the ground, when a Post Office will be absolutely necessary. 

I would therefore humbly suggest that you allow me to continue the position of Post and Money Order Officer at Lake Macquarie Entrance where a large business is to be done.”

A petition supported Postmaster Talbot’s request, the petitioners claiming that “the mining works having collapsed, the township of Catherine Hill Bay was deserted.”

In October 1879, Robert Talbot advised that his wife and their three children, Hugh, Ethel and William, had moved to the settlement of Lake Macquarie Entrance. Robert remained at the Catherine Hill Bay Post Office advising “only one family still live at Catherine Hill Bay”. He further reported that the mailman, John Gordon, serving the new settlement could use Boyd’s Ferry which meant five miles less travel.

The Postal Inspector verified the above report by Robert Talbot and recommended that the Post Office be removed from Catherine Hill Bay to the new settlement area on the South side of the sea entrance to Lake Macquarie, where extensive quarrying had commenced to feed a steam tramway line to convey rock for the breakwater construction and deepening of the channel for expected shipping-out of coal, sawn timber and local products.

The Postal Inspector also reported that:

“The settlement area is known locally as Pelican Flat which should be the name of the Post Office. The Postmaster, Robert Francis Talbot of Catherine Hill Bay, who has built a general store and also a nice place for a Post Office, might be appointed the Postmaster. The removal of the Post Office from Catherine Hill Bay to Pelican Flat will shorten the mail line from Charleston by five miles.”

The Postmaster General’s approval was granted to close the Post Office at Catherine Hill Bay, transfer and reopen it at Robert Talbot’s new site at Pelican Flat. So it was that the first Post Office in Pelican Flat was opened on the 1st December, 1879, and Robert Francis Talbot appointed as Postmaster. Mail was conveyed from Charleston via Belmont each Tuesday and Saturday with returning mail the same days.

In 1883 tenders were let for the construction of an extra telegraph wire from Newcastle to Raspberry Gully and poles and wire to extend from Raspberry Gully to Pelican Flat. Postmaster Talbot considered the Post Office section of the General Store would not adequately contain a Telegraph Office so he offered to construct one to adjoin the South side of the General Store to measure 22 feet by 12 feet with a centrally located bedroom. This new building was sufficient to house both the Post Office and the new Telegraph Station. He offered it to the Post Master General at a weekly rental of eight shillings and it was accepted and commenced operations as of October 1883.

On the 25th August, 1883, in a survey of the new settlement, the publication Town & Country reported that, “Mr. Talbot, who acts as Postmaster at Pelican Flat, may be regarded as one of the leading men in the district in the industrial development and prosperity in which he takes a great interest.”

The South area of the entrance to Lake Macquarie was originally known to the early settlers by its Aboriginal name of Galgabba meaning ‘a good place to rest’. With the settlement of Europeans on the South side, the area became known as Pelican Flat because the lake abounded with pelicans, black swan and myriad other waterfowl.

The Post Office History of Swansea states that “the most historic event of the year 1887 was the official adoption of the name Swansea for the Pelican Flat township, and the man who influenced the alteration was the pioneer storekeeper, Mr. Robert Talbot.” On October 8th, 1887, Robert Talbot wrote to the Honourable R. Stevenson, Member of Parliament, as follows:

“At a public meeting held here on the 7th instant, it was unanimously carried that the name of this rising township should be altered from ‘Pelican Flat’ to ‘Swansea’. 

As you are aware Pelican Flat is situated on Lake Macquarie Entrance, as Newcastle is on the Hunter. As soon as there is sufficient water on the bar to admit Steam Colliers (which cannot be very long) this harbour will become one of our most important commercial centres and coaling ports. It has advanced rapidly within the last few years. 

We have a Post and Telegraph Office, Public School (average attendance of sixty), a Teacher’s residence, Police Station and residence, a Resident Engineer for the Harbours and Rivers Department, Pilot Station, besides hotel and other businesses and many private places. 

We would therefore kindly ask you to use your influence with the Post Master General to have the name altered. 

And shall ever remain, your obedient servant, 

Robert F. Talbot
For the Residents”

Subsequent to this submission, the name was changed by the Post Master General to take effect as of the 1st November 1887.

However by 1888 it was clear the Post Office and Telegraph facilities were not receiving sufficient use to justify the running costs and the Post Master General decided to reduce the status to that of non-official Post Office. Robert Talbot was appointed non-official Postmaster and resumed control.

On the 16th March 1894 Robert’s wife Annie was appointed Post Mistress, however, by the year 1897 she had tendered her resignation due to failing health. Robert decided to sell the entire business to Thomas Boyd and in 1898 the family moved to Sydney in hope of finding some cure for Annie.

By this time, Robert and Annie had the following children:

1. Ethel A. J. TALBOT, born 1876 in Swansea, New South Wales
2. William H. TALBOT, born 1878 in Swansea, New South Wales
3. Robert Edward TALBOT, born 1880, in Swansea, New South Wales
4. Hugh TALBOT, born 1883 in Swansea, New South Wales
5. Lillian Jean Stella TALBOT, born July 31st, 1886 in Swansea, New South Wales
6. Leslie James TALBOT, born 1894 in Swansea, New South Wales

Annie’s health progressively worsened and at the age of 58 on 20th July 1911, she died at 23 Berry Street, North Sydney. On her death certificate the causes of death are given as “Fatty infiltration of the heart (2 years)” and “Chorea (30 years)”. Her death certificate confirms her parents as John Mason, a General Storekeeper, and Sarah Ann Payne (sic), and that she had married Robert Francis Talbot in Sydney, New South Wales, when she was 20 years old. The informant was her widower, Robert F. Talbot also of 23 Berry Street. She was buried the next day at Gore Hill cemetery in Sydney at a Church of England ceremony.

The following notices were published in The Sydney Morning Herald, Friday 21st July 1911:

"TALBOT.- The Friends of Mr. ROBERT FRANCIS TALBOT and FAMILY are kindly invited to attend the Funeral of his late beloved WIFE and their MOTHER, Annie R. M.; which will leave their residence, Berry-street, North Sydney, THIS AFTERNOON, at 3.30 o'clock, for Gore Hill Cemetery. WOOD and COMPANY, Funeral Directors." 

"TALBOT.- The Friends of Mrs. SARAH A. MASON are kindly invited to attend the Funeral of her late dearly loved DAUGHTER, Annie R. M. Talbot; which will leave her late residence, 23 Berry-street, North Sydney, THIS AFTERNOON, at 3.30 o'clock, for Gore Hill Cemetery." 

"TABLOT.- The Friends of Mr. and Mrs. CHAS. J. CARNEGIE are kindly invited to attend the Funeral of their late beloved AUNT, Annie R. M. Talbot; which will leave her late residence, 23 Berry-street, North Sydney, THIS AFTERNOON, at 3.30 o'clock, for Gore Hill Cemetery."

"TALBOT.- The Friends of Mrs. JAMES CARNEGIE and FAMILY are kindly invited to attend the Funeral of her late beloved SISTER, and their AUNT, Annie R. M. Talbot; which will leave her late residence, 23 Berry-street, North Sydney, THIS AFTERNOON, at 3.30 o'clock, for Gore Hill Cemetery."

Following his wife’s death, Robert found a quiet haven of retirement at Berowra Waters in Sydney and lived out his life as a Justice of the Peace and a member of the League of Ancient Mariners of New South Wales.

Robert corresponded with his surviving children and grandchildren until his death on 3rd January 1935, at the Royal North Shore Hospital at the age of 92. His death certificate records his previous place of residence as Berowra, New South Wales. The causes of death are noted as pneumonia (4 days) and chronic nephritis (6 months). Robert’s father is recorded as William Talbot, farmer. His son, Leslie James Talbot of Sodwalls, New South Wales, is the informant. His two surviving children, Mrs Ethel Tartakover and Leslie, laid him to rest on the 4th January 1935 at Gore Hill Cemetery, Sydney, in a Church of England ceremony, beside his late wife and beneath the epitaph he had recorded for her:

“We saw her suffering day by day
It caused me bitter grief
To see her slowly fade away
I could not bring relief
Not dead to me who loved her dear
Not lost, but gone before
She lives with me in memory still
And will for evermore.”

Old Buckets

The 'bucket list' is a an example of crass sensory consumerism. Not only are we urged to be more productive in our work, but we're now being compelled to do likewise with our leisure time. Indeed, what does living life to the full really entail? Are we just tourists, collecting sensory trinkets to adorn our otherwise lonely interiors? Perhaps there is more; something about deepening into the quality of life through stillness. Presence to 'what is' rather than desire for 'what will be' or nostalgia for 'what was'. Finding more in less. My 'north of forty' compass tells me that I could tick off every one of 1001 items on a carefully considered bucket list without growing one iota as a human being. The experiences that really touch us so often emerge unplanned from the tangled web of life. Which reminds me...

At the beginning of June, my partner and I gleefully hauled our backpacks onto a train for the journey to Cornwall. We were to rendezvous with the good ship Keewaydin at Penzance for a week atop the waves, blown (hopefully) in the direction of the Isles of Scilly. Alas, inclement weather prevented Keewaydin from reaching Penzance from her home port of Falmouth and so a last minute detour was required, detraining at Truro and following the branch line to its coastal limit. Arriving in Falmouth, we wandered down to the dock, a little anxious about how shipworthy an 80 foot Lowestoft trawler built in 1913 could be.

Personally I will also admit to being more than a little concerned about the company we were to keep over the next week. This was the typical 'friend of a friend' group where one is wholly dependent on someone else's judgment on the sanity or otherwise of the invitees. I wouldn't have been so anxious if it were not for the fact that I knew it would be difficult to escape from unwanted company without engaging the services of the coastguard.

My fears were thankfully unfounded and the next morning we set sail in a forceful but tolerable breeze. Learning the ropes was straightforward although the weight of the sails and booms was impressive. The skipper, being an authentic type, had not added in any modern accoutrements such as motorised winches. It was all hands on deck and haul up the main brace (or something). I could go on at length about the vast emptiness of the sea, the stark reality of our relationship with the elements etc. But let's cut to the chase...

It was Thursday and we were on our way from the largest of the islands, St Mary's, to a stretch of water between the smaller islands of Bryher and Tresco. It was important to arrive more or less at high tide because without the tide, well... there was very little water at all. A motor launch had been weaving around us for half an hour or so, apparently taking footage for an upcoming TV programme. We were trying to sail nonchalantly, posing for the camera only as absolutely necessary. We were preparing dinner, with half of us on deck cutting up vegetables and the other half down below in the galley. I was doing neither - for good reason.

For the past 10 minutes, I had been at the side of the yacht, looking down into the water and marvelling at how clear it was. The bottom was easily visible. A little too visible, perhaps. Little hairs were starting to stand up on the back of my neck. I looked off to our left (‘port’ apparently) and saw a small motor boat speeding towards us. The next few minutes all seemed to pass in seconds. Firstly, I noticed some rocks below us which seemed to be startlingly close to the surface. Secondly, the man in the motor boat reached us and started to shout and swear, triggering somewhat indignant looks from the crew. Thirdly, there was a sickening grinding noise and the slow progress we had been making ceased entirely. We had grounded.

It is worth saying that the skipper had sailed this section of water some considerable number of times before. Perhaps enough times to become complacent. Whatever the reason, he had misjudged the channel and allowed the strong ebbing tide to push us too far to port, causing us to ground on a notorious rock called the 'Queen's Ledge' off of the island of Bryher. In the minutes following, there was an impressively quick response. The chap who had (as it turned out) tried to warn us what was going to happen, sped off. Moments later we saw first one large ferry, and a few seconds later, another one. In an ebbing tide, every second counts. Tow ropes were made fast and, with roaring engines and seething foam, they tried to dislodge us. It was not to be.

The concern now was to evacuate all sixteen of us to the shores of Bryher, a distance of only 25 metres or so. As the water level fell, the Keewaydin started to list noticeably. Not knowing whether we'd be back on board - whether she'd make it through the night - we packed everything and departed, women and children first (along with dinner). It is true to say we were never in any danger. The Keewaydin and the skipper's livelihood on the other hand, were in great danger. As the tide rushed out at an alarming pace, I was presented with views of Keewaydin's under-charms by the soft light of the evening sun as we ate dinner on the pier. Beautiful as she was, this was not a pleasant experience for any of us.

If our spirits were lifted at all, it was by the generosity shown to us by the community of Bryher - all 83 of them. 'Campsite Pete' - a self-appointed moniker - appeared like a Big Friendly Giant, be-bearded and benign. He arranged for us to stay at the newly completed Community Hall and pointed us in the direction of the island's sparse but delightful amenities, including the local pub, the Fraggle Rock.

To call the Fraggle Rock a 'pub' really doesn't do justice to its unexpected sophistication. The food was exceptional, the atmosphere delightful and the service overwhelmingly friendly. The following evening, when fourteen of the ship-wrecked crew rolled up for a bite to eat (doubling their expected clientele in one shot) they couldn't do enough for us. The daughter of the landlord was also a fire-woman on the island and had left a little note on the notice board when she was called out (see aside). I had the feeling everyone on Bryher was something else too.

So back to our tale. As the tide and night both fell rapidly, we were gratified to see that Keewaydin was not going to roll off the rock and break her back or indeed any other part of her anatomy. She settled at a disquieting angle but seemed steady. The skipper and a few of the crew set to, working frantically to 'cork' the more obvious cracks before the tide returned. With the water so far out that we could walk from shore to ship, it was clear - by torchlight - to see that damage had been done. The rock had torn parts of the keel ragged. In other parts of the hull, cracks in the boards had appeared through the sheer weight of her as she came to rest. The question was simple: when the tide refloated her, would we be able pump the water out faster than it came in?

I mentioned a fire-woman. Well, she and two of her colleagues turned up at some point in the middle of the night to assist by lending us one of their pumps. This industrial strength pump would add some muscle if required. There came a point about 1am when there was little more to be done but wait. We traipsed back to the community hall for a few hours shallow and turbulent sleep. High water was to be around 5.30am. At around 4.45am I found myself wide awake and saw the skipper and a few crew had vanished into the night. I decided to follow suit and walked the mile or so down to the site of Keewaydin's troubles. Dawn was gently prising open the darkness, and in the misty half-light, I saw Keewaydin all but afloat as I rounded the corner. Even as I looked on, she seemed to start drifting, the only sound, that of the pumps buzzing angrily. The plan was to float her off the Queen's Ledge and take her round to a spot we'd identified so she could be beached on sand for further repairs. The plan unfolded without drama and soon Keewaydin was secured, once again awaiting the ebb tide.

The following day – Friday – was filled with a combination of exploration, recuperation and reparation. By some astonishing good fortune, there was a sailor on another wooden yacht moored off Tresco who had the very rare expertise required to ‘cork’ Keewaydin’s boards. He rolled up and offered his services for the day, thus doubling at a stroke the speed at which we could work. Meanwhile various groups of us split up to enjoy the most charming island of Bryher. I will not say more of Bryher other than: visit the island. You will not be disappointed.

During the Friday, the jungle drums were beating hard and news spread of the Keedwaydin’s misfortune. We had a steady stream of curious well-wishers. One less welcome visitor due later in the day was an Inspector from an agency responsible for assuring the safety of Keewaydin as a passenger-carrying vessel. He duly turned up and following inspection set the conditions for her journey back to the mainland. Had I mentioned the skipper’s wife was 5 months pregnant? The Inspector insisted that Keewaydin needed to stay afloat for 24 hours and that a crew of only 3 could sail her back home, excluding “the pregnant lady.” So it was that we spent another night on Bryher, sleeping on the floor of the community hall, and enjoying the hospitality of the residents.

Come Saturday morning, we arranged to return by ferry to Penzance, via St Mary’s. We were lucky to find places as there was quite an influx onto the island for a visit by the Queen that day. The irony of Keewaydin’s flirtations with the “Queen’s Ledge” was not lost on us. Campsite Pete was on hand again to transport out kit with his tractor and to see us off for the last time. Bless him.

The rest, as they are wont to say, is history. As a collective we were minor celebrities for a few days, reported in a newspaper or two. The trip back to Cornwall on the ferry Scillonian was marked by a sighting of Keewaydin, making the same voyage albeit some distance north of us. We arrived in the afternoon and she arrived back in Penzance around 10pm, before darkness fell (another of the Inspector’s conditions if I remember).

I would never have put ‘shipwreck’ on my bucket list (if indeed I had one – which, you will be unsurprised to hear, I don’t). Yet, the combination of fear, excitement, despair and elation, were shared experiences that created ‘us’ as a group. We all took something away from that adventure, kids and adults alike, that is meaningful beyond the immediate experience. I think it was the sheer ‘now-ness’ of it. It all just happened. Beyond our control. And we just reacted. Together.

Ten Principles to Live by in Fiercely Complex Times

By Tony Schwartz.

I've included this referred post in full, in part because you'll avoid the annoying ad preview designed to waste precious moments of your life, but in greater part because there are some sensible ideas in these ten principles that, unless you're north of forty (in which case you'll nod sagely), you might find niggle at the periphery of your conscious mind, gently tugging you towards a distant wisdom... Or not.

1. Always challenge certainty, especially your own. When you think you're undeniably right, ask yourself "What might I be missing here?" If we could truly figure it all out, what else would there be left to do?

2. Excellence is an unrelenting struggle, but it's also the surest route to enduring satisfaction. Amy Chua, the over-the-top "Tiger Mother," was right that there's no shortcut to excellence. Getting there requires practicing deliberately, delaying gratification, and forever challenging your current comfort zone.

3. Emotions are contagious, so it pays to know what you're feeling. Think of the best boss you ever had. How did he or she make you feel? That's the way you want to make others feel.

4. When in doubt, ask yourself, "How would I behave here at my best?" We know instinctively what it means to do the right thing, even when we're inclined to do the opposite. If you find it impossible, in a challenging moment, to envision how you'd behave at your best, try imagining how someone you admire would respond.

5. If you do what you love, the money may or may not follow, but you'll love what you do. It's magical thinking to assume you'll be rewarded with riches for following your heart. What it will give you is a richer life. If material riches don't follow, and you decide they're important, there's always time for Plan B.

6. You need less than you think you do. All your life, you've been led to believe that more is better, and that whatever you have isn't enough. It's a prescription for disappointment. Instead ask yourself this: How much of what you already have truly adds value in your life? What could you do without?

7. Accept yourself exactly as you are but never stop trying to learn and grow. One without the other just doesn't cut it. The first, by itself, leads to complacency, the second to self-flagellation. The paradoxical trick is to embrace these opposites, using self-acceptance as an antidote to fear and as a cushion in the face of setbacks.

8. Meaning isn't something you discover, it's something you create, one step at a time. Meaning is derived from finding a way to express your unique skills and passion in the service of something larger than yourself. Figuring out how best to contribute is a lifelong challenge, reborn every day.

9. You can't change what you don't notice and not noticing won't make it go away. Each of us has an infinite capacity for self-deception. To avoid pain, we rationalize, minimize, deny, and go numb. The antidote is the willingness to look at yourself with unsparing honesty, and to hold yourself accountable to the person you want to be.

10. When in doubt, take responsibility. It's called being a true adult.