My tale begins in Ireland on a small farm in West Cork about 1870. A poor farmer, John Walsh, in desperation takes his landlord to court after receiving a heartless rental increase. The first Irishman to challenge his landlord. His son Daniel migrates to Australia, by then Ireland was a dangerous place. He arrived in Sydney on a sailing ship and in time was accepted as a Police Officer and decorated when he was lowered into a large well to retrieve a man’s body. My own adventure began when I joined the Navy in 1970. There I did many sailing races, including Sydney to Hobart races. On discharge from the Navy, I joined Harry Long in sailing Sydna, his beautiful heritage sloop. Harry was a bomber command veteran and signified skipper from the old school. I served on The heritage fleet and served on the James Craig, instructing youth groups, which was great fun. Adventure on the Franklin was constant companion. I once hoisted besser bricks to the top of the mast at night to retrieve a required shackle. On the South Coast of NSW, Jury rigged a cracking haste saving the yacht and its crew. On a return voyage from Hobart, we encountered a black Nor’easters and had the return crossing of the Bass Straight – a living hell. No working motor or radio or batteries, no lights. It was a complete reliance on sail with a crew of 16 year old trainees. I lost 10lbs on the crossing. Of course, in the words of Edith Piaf: I regret nothing.