305
records of "old salts" who were happier "afloat" than when taking shore leave (Jones; 1985).
In 1955, Sydney Frank Barnsey occasionally used to drop into the author's home in Conduit Road for a mid-morning cup of coffee. He sometimes smiled and said, 'I shall leave my bones in Hong Kong.' The author did not realise at the time what he meant. In fact, in his will he requested that he be buried on Waglan Island where he had spent many, what he considered to be, peaceful years as a keeper. He had deep affection for 'The Rock.' When the last trumpet call sounded government approval was sought and Barnsey's ashes were interred at a lovely spot with a small garden,
49
His Malaysian Chinese wife visited his grave at appropriate Chinese festivals, such as at Ching Ming and Chung Yeung. But after Waglan was no longer manned, with no Marine Department boats going there on a regular basis, she had difficulty in visiting his grave. His remains were then exhumed and moved elsewhere. The author recalls the grave, but what was a tranquil spot is now overgrown.
How did life at Waglan over a period of years, mould personalities? Although it is an interesting question the author is not a psychologist and thus not really qualified to answer. But certainly, with a small group of men living together for 24 hours a day, one can speculate that there must have been instances of personality clashes although the author did not hear of any. But also many close friendships were, at the same time, forged.
It is relevant that Roger Parry told the author that Hong Kong lighthouse men were, 'a wonderful bunch of special people.' 50 Stories were handed down by word-of-mouth and there was a kind of mythology and history belonging especially to them.
A comparison: before and after automation
For a time, after Waglan was automated, the island retained some of its original glory.51 But since that changeover, in many respects, it has become rather run down. Every step, leading from sea level to the top of the island, is no longer clearly numbered in brightly coloured paint. What had been a garden has become overgrown. There is litter.
305
records of "old salts" who were happier "afloat" than when taking shore leave (Jones; 1985).
In 1955, Sydney Frank Barnsey occasionally used to drop into the author's home in Conduit Road for a mid-morning cup of coffee. He sometimes smiled and said, 'I shall leave my bones in Hong Kong.' The author did not realise at the time what he meant. In fact, in his will he requested that he be buried on Waglan Island where he had spent many, what he considered to be, peaceful years as a keeper. He had deep affection for 'The "Rock.' When the last trumpet call sounded government approval was sought and Bamsey's ashes were interred at a lovely spot with a small garden,4
49
His Malaysian Chinese wife visited his grave at appropriate Chinese festivals, such as at Ching Ming and Chung Yeung. But after Waglan was no longer manned, with no Marine Department boats going there on a regular basis, she had difficulty in visiting his grave. His remains were then exhumed and moved elsewhere. The author recalls the grave, but what was a tranquil spot is now overgrown.
How did life at Waglan over a period of years, mould personalities? Although it is an interesting question the author is not a psychologist and thus not really qualified to answer. But certainly, with a small group of men living together for 24 hours a day, one can speculate that there must have been instances of personality clashes although the author did not hear of any. But also many close friendships were, at the same time, forged.
It is relevant that Roger Parry told the author that Hong Kong lighthouse men were, 'a wonderful bunch of special people.' 50 Stories were handed down by word-of-mouth and there was a kind of mythology and history belonging especially to them.
A comparison: before and after automation
For a time, after Waglan was automated, the island retained some of its original glory.51 But since that changeover, in many respects, it has become rather run down. Every step, leading from sea level to the top of the island, is no longer clearly numbered in brightly coloured paint. What had been a garden has become overgrown. There is litter.
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