Sandra-

Thanks for posting evidence that we were all aboard the Craig!

It was a wonderful evening. Those who were there early got to see John, Chris and I exercising the capstan on the foredeck, lustily singing Roll the Old Chariot. We were going to try a pumping shanty as well but some vandal had abused the pumping handle.

The weather was warm with a slight breeze up on deck by the main hatch where most of the singing took place. Across Darling Harbour were discordant sounds of several rock bands, wafting their way across the cove and bouncing off the warehouse adjacent to the Craig. But it was easy enough for me to sing my set of sea songs with banjo and concertina and still be heard by the twenty or so people assembled, and it was great to have folks pick up so well on some of the more challenging choruses. Barry Finn's version of "Roller Bowler" got a nice airing, as did his version of "Yangtse River Shanty." The Burt Franklin Jenness poem "Sea Dreams" got appreciative grins with its reference to hearing "the Roaring Forties day and night about your ears." And after my set there was light refreshments below and then more general singing on deck with songs led by some of the shipkeepers, John Dengate, members of the Roaring Forties (John, Margaret and Robin), JudyB, and a couple of other folks.

My special thanks to Mike for featuring me as main performer. He now has a full set of my CD's as well as one from Barry Finn and one from Roll & Go. We still have a few CD's left from our inventory of trade goods. We may leave a stash with John and Jenny.

I note with some bitterness that the Craig sails next Sunday, the day we are winging our way back home (while my banjo takes flight to Tanzania, no doubt).

I did find the pub crawl afterwards somewhat perplexing. There I was armed with banjo, a backpack loaded with a concertina and God knows what else, and it was my blue denim hat that drew the bouncer's attention. In retrospect I should have completely stripped in response to his demand for the removal of inappropriate apparel, but maybe not! Fortunately we did find a warmer welcome at the Quarrymen's Pub a block or so down the street in Prymont.

Today we are doing reconnaisance into Bob Bolton's neighborhood of Leichhardt, in search of a fabled Sicilian restaurant where we hope to dine this evening. We were there four years ago but C. Fox Smith's observation that "the ports I knew grown strange" may be an apt description of the urban neighborhoods of greater Sydney. But we have charts, cell phone numbers, and courage!

Cheerily,
Charley Noble