To translate this page use this Google powered translator.  Thank you. 3.  My Grandfather's story continues to Auckland. I am well aware that I look back through the rose colored glasses of hindsight.  I have no real comprehension of what it must have been like to turn out on a freezing cold black winters night, the seas running mountains high, ice on the rigging, inadequate or no footwear, thin worn clothes; leaving what was probably a soaking wet bunk which had, very likely, only been seen for a matter of minutes since the last cry of  "All hands on deck".   But, I honor their memory with respect and admiration.  They were the last of the "hard men".  Men with the "bark on";  men whose only reward was the pitifully low wages, poor food and unbelievably rugged living conditions, that made up a sailors lot.  They had no old age pension to look forward to, in fact, more often than not, their life was brought to an early end by being washed over the side one dark night or falling to their death from a wildly dipping yard while wrestling hopelessly with hard, rain wet, half frozen canvas.   Some few lucky ones found the chance of a new life ashore after doing their trick at sea. Grandfather was one of those.  He washed up (having survived being washed overboard - thank goodness!) in Wellington, New Zealand about 1908 or 9 and studied to be an electrical engineer.  He went on to work on some of the first power stations in New Zealand before migrating back with his young family to England.  Eventually my father returned home to New Zealand bringing his family with him. Grandfather never did return. To continue click here ... [Page Top]