There were some old timers among the crew. One a big Scot, Dan Murchison, said to be a distant relation of the captain; an old Finn, a Swede and a young lad who was to write books on seafaring, Alan Villiers. The mate was a lanky Tasmanian, Jimmy Carver, who had been in sailing craft for some considerable time. He was a quiet spoken man but knew how to get things done.

We left Sydney quietly and made our way south towards Hobart. The run was good until we got close to Gabo. It blew a bit but James Craig soon slipped away from this well known bad weather spot and on down the east coast of Tasmania. She handled well and steered like a yacht and with favourable slants entered Storm Bay and up the Derwent River sailing right up to the wharf opposite Ocean Pier which is close to the big Henry Jones IXL Jam factory and preserving complex.

This was in 1920, the year HRH The Prince of Wales visited Australia. He had travelled in the battleship Renown and we were to be in the box seat as it were, to see him land from the barge of HMS Renown. The wharf where the ship was moored was crowded with sightseers, anxious to get a closer look when he stepped ashore, and a dozens requested to be allowed on James Craig in order that they get a good view. Before we could let anyone on board we had to get permission from the captain, all decked in his naval uniform and displaying medals he had won through his war service. He told us to let so many on board but we were to charge them two shillings each for the privilege. That was to be our beer money; we got enough out of it for a good party which we had by buying a few bottles of Cascade ale and some crayfish which could be bought then for one shilling each.

King George VI was the Prince of Wales in 1920.

The Prince was entertained very extensively by the authorities of the day, being called "Prince Charming", mainly by adoring ladies and the female section of the community. Of course he was popular with everyone but the ladies were the most ardent admirers. He was kept very busy attending functions in his honour and had little time to himself.

Our coal cargo had been discharged and so we lay for a few days at this berth. There was plenty to be done so we were kept busy on routine work. In the meantime, the ship's owners had been arranging for the ship to proceed to a little place o the Huon River and take on a cargo of timber for Port Adelaide. so under tow we were moved to the loading berth at a sawmill near Port Huon. The scenery was most beautiful as we were towed up the river with its apple orchards and well timbered hills and ridges.

There had been a few changes in the crew while we were at Hobart and we were sorry to see old Sandy McNab the bosun go. He was one of the genuine old sailors. There were not many of them left. He was replaced by a Tasmanian called Dimple Smart who had spent most of his time at sea in the roaring forties, and a young chap named Johnny Gleeson joined too. He had just returned to Tasmania after a voyage with Captain Finlay Murchison which took them to London. Finlay was our captain's brother and he had been awarded a medal for bravery during that voyage and afterwards became Harbourmaster of the Port of Sydney.

We loaded our cargo of hardwood, beautifully milled it was and a consignment of IXL jams and other preserves in tins. Well cased, it was all carried without undue incident and soon we were ready for another battle with the elements. so under tow again, we left the pleasant though sparely settled little village of Port Huon, leaving the schooner Amelia J still at the port and loading her cargo.

Tragedy struck this beautiful little craft some time later. She was lost with all hands. The Southern Cross had gone the same way, as did the Handa Isle all in the space of a few months.

It was a battle against the strong Westerlies to Adelaide, and the heavy seas they can kick up, but we finally made it through Backstairs Passage and on up to anchorage off what is called "Outer Harbour". The ship was not there long. A tug came and moved us to a berth just up river from the Jervois bridge where the cargo was discharged. It was while we were there that our cat had decided he'd had enough of seafaring so, after galloping forward and then aft to the taffrail and jumped overboard. we watched to see if he came up swimming again as we fully expected to effect a rescue but no, we never saw our cat again. One of our bright sparks chalked on the deck where Tommy had jumped from, "Missing--believed drowned".

The ship lay at this berth for some days after the cargo had been discharged, which gave us plenty of time to go to shows and visit the missions to seamen. We could also take a walk round the docks and see other ships. There was a big four-master at one of the wharves. It was Mariechen. She flew the Finnish flag, a pale blue cross on a white ground. to us she was a great ship manned by young men with blonde hair and they spoke a language that was strange to us. Her port of registry was Mariechamn, in the O'land Islands, the name on her bell was Glenericht--she had been a Scot. There were other sailing craft in port at the time, one the American schooner Elinor H whose captain was the notorious Dan Kilman. He always carried a gun but was not popular with other captains.

Our agents had been busy and had secured a cargo to New Zealand for the ship but we had to move around to Port Pirie in order to load it, so a tug moved our ship from Adelaide and then let us go just outside the river entrance and she was sailed from there and rounded Althorpe Island light to enter Spencers Gulf and on to Germein Bay.

When we arrived there a small tug came out and towed us to our loading berth. There was another sailing ship there Kirkcudsbrightshire, a full-rigged ship hailing from Glasgow. She had arrived from Norway with a load of timber. Port Pirie was a quaint little town with the trains running in the main street. There is a big smelting works there too.

After making the necessary preparations we started loading our cargo, and it was here that we got rid of the food spoiler/cook. He was a very poor cook by any standards, so one of the lads resorted to the old deepwater trick of stuffing an empty corn sack down the galley funnel. Of course, this blocked up the funnel would not allow the fire in the galley stove to "draw", and so, could not become hot enough to do the cooking and prepare meals for the officers and crew. Also, the captain had his family on board and they could not get anything either. It ended up with the cook being put in gaol for refusing duty, and one of the lads taking on the job as cook, on a temporary basis. so for a few days we had passable food to eat. We were lucky to get rid of the big Irish loafer.

A few days before sailing, the captain asked the stand-in cook if he would stay in that capacity. His answer was "I can't make bread". At that remark the captain nearly jumped off the deck and shouted "bugger the bread", give'em 'hard tack' (hard biscuits), but he could see that he had to find another cook. He was told there was a man looking for the job, so this man was found and brought to the ship, and interviewed by the captain, who engaged him.

He had made a wise choice, everything was made ready for the new cook. the galley was nice and clean, the coal bin full, the freshwater tank full, vegetables in the ready box, everything we could think of that would make him welcome. He came, and turned out to be a champion in that galley. He really spoilt us with good food, even to the extent of making hot rolls for breakfast, on all occasions, excepting in bad weather, and when the ship did a lot of rolling.