Can My Pony Come Too?

  When Georgie stood next to her Peterswald forebear up in the fourteenth century castle on the hill overlooking the chateau in Buchlovice there was a remarkable resemblance. Georgie’s daughter, Eleanor, carries on the name, although sadly the buildings have long since gone out of the Peterswald family. We went back again this year with Charlotte when we were staying in Vienna, where amongst other things (opera and a Mozart concert) I went to the Spanish Horse Riding School and spent a couple of hours in horsey heaven. Although the chateau was closed we cherished a wonderful two hours ambling through the gardens, with the lawns a Monet painting of spring wildflowers. As there were no other tourists around, it almost felt as though we were the custodians of this magnificent piece of family history. Later, we headed up to the castle on the hill where a happy group of schoolchildren raced up the cobblestoned avenue, just like centuries ago, Rob’s, Charlotte’s and Georgie’s ancestors had once ridden their battle-weary horses.

  When we were in Piezyce in Poland, the local mayor was beside himself when he thought a Peterswald had returned to reclaim the castle and do it up, entertaining us in grand style in his mayoral offices in the centre of Piezyce. On discovering we were only doing research on the family history, his attitude changed in an instant and we were soon politely ushered out. But standing in the grounds of the castle that Otto Wilin von Peterswald, Heinrich von Peterswald, Arnold von Peterswald, (Governor of Richenbach), Heineman, Johan and many other Peterswalds had lived in and fought for many centuries before was an emotional time for both of us.

  From a remote hillside in the Czech countryside I did an interview by telephone for Telstra Business Woman of the Year. It seemed so strange to be sitting in this wayward spot discussing my business experiences back in Tasmania. After a few weeks in Ireland with my mother at Cloneen and Georgie and Simon in Dublin, we returned home to take up the reins of the business once again.

  Chapter 35

  The Next Generation and Oceania

  Before Georgie and Simon went to live in Dublin they were married at Elizabeth Street Pier on the Hobart docks one balmy evening during the Tall Ships Regatta in 1998. We were delighted Simon was to become part of the family and that his parents, Geoff and Josie, who had become good friends of ours, were now to be our in-laws. Simon’s sister, Sarah was Georgie’s bridesmaid together with Charlotte, and his brother, Marcus, was Simon’s best man. Rob gave a speech that brought a tear to everyone’s eyes.

  And he did it again when Charlotte married Stephen Auld, a dark-haired, dark eyed, good-looking fellow countryman of mine, a couple of months later. Stephen was brought up mostly in South Africa, arriving with his father to Tasmania when he was fourteen. He is a talented builder, having constructed a number of homes, showrooms and offices around Tasmania, plus doing his and Charlotte’s own developments both in Australia and overseas. We are lucky, for like Simon, he is a great father to his gorgeous, but boisterous three sons. We held the marriage ceremony in our apartment in Brooke Street overlooking the docks where we’d moved the year before. Stephen’s mother, Marion, came from South Africa and his father was his best man.

  Within walking distance of thirty restaurants, and a short stroll from the fish punts, where we can buy local oysters, crayfish and scallops, the apartment is situated almost right on the finish line of the Sydney to Hobart yacht race, giving a bird’s eye view of the yachts as they arrive into Constitution Dock. And below the deck is the busy working port of Hobart, where huge cruise and container ships from all around the world tie up to the wharf. To the right are the picturesque gardens in front of Parliament house and beyond that the thick row of plane trees and sandstone buildings of Salamanca Place. Each Saturday a colourful market bustles with locals and tourists, and the melodious sound of buskers wafts across the park.

  Each week, when I’m in Hobart, I love to stroll to the market to wander amidst the stalls and buy fresh flowers, fruit and vegetables, crusty breads, herbs and spices. Most mornings I walk around the waterfront, stopping to admire whatever boats are in the docks or anchored in the river, sometimes meeting a friend for a coffee in one of the many restaurants and coffee lounges spilling onto the street.

  At night we often dine out, as the restaurants in Hobart offer an amazing variety of cuisine. The seafood and other produce, particularly cheeses and berries in Tasmania, are world renowned, as are the wines grown and produced in many picturesque vineyards dotted around the island. Although Tasmania, particularly Hobart, has always been a popular spot for tourists from near and far, MONA, David Walsh’s magnificent, if slightly controversial, Museum of Old and New Art, on the site of what was one of the first wineries in Tasmania (Moorilla, established by Claudio Alcorso in the 1950s), on the shores of the Derwent, has brought Tasmania a vast amount of fame and kudos. As have many other award-winning Tasmanian tourist ventures established by talented entrepreneurs.

  Later in 1998 we were blessed with the arrival of our first grandchild, Hubert, known as Hubie. Sadly, Poppy was no longer with us to meet him, for he had passed away at the age of ninety-three. We were all devastated that he was not with us anymore, for although when he first came to live with us I thought he’d be lucky to last more than ten years or so, he amazed us all and before we knew it nearly twenty years had passed. Most of the time we all got on famously; however, with three generations living together for such a long time there was understandably the odd occasion when we could all have happily killed each other. Poppy’s brother, Keith, also came and spent the very last part of his life with us in Hobart. Unfortunately the brothers, just like at Windermere years before, didn’t always see eye to eye, which was a bit tricky to say the least.

  At the time of Hubie’s birth, Charlotte was making an enormous success of the property management section, which she eventually bought and moved to new premises across the way in Magnet Court. For the first few months of his life Hubie lived in his bassinet, beside either Charlotte’s or my desk at work, where the rest of the staff fell madly in love with his laughing brown eyes and wonderful sense of humour.

  After over a decade of being together at Peterswalds, Rob decided he wanted to take time off to write, and possibly do more sailing. So in his absence I took three of the women working with us on as partners. Yet with Rob gone, much as I enjoyed working with the other partners, who were highly competent and good fun, it soon lost some of the shine for me. Although I was the Managing Director, I now had three other partners to consider (and quite often their partners as well), in any decision making. This was fair enough, but I missed having Rob as a sounding board.

  So after eighteen months (and close to thirty years in the real estate business) I too decided to embark on a change of direction. Rob was biting the bit more than ever to go sailing and I was keen to join him. A couple of years before we had sold Tasman Isle, for we were finding we didn’t have enough time in our busy work schedule to use her as often as we should have. Plus she was taking more and more money to keep up to scratch.

  The saying goes: ‘A boat is a hole in the ocean that you constantly pour money into.’

  This was certainly the case with Tasman Isle, for although we’d totally refurbished her, including laying a new deck, she still required more and more work. Often this is the case with a wooden boat, shown only too clearly when we entered her in the Tasmanian Wooden Boat Festival and we could see all the other wooden boats needing work, despite others gleaming from bow to stern with years and years of tender loving care.

  When we received a good offer to sell, we did.

  Yet as soon as we sold we regretted dreadfully not having a boat. A year later, whilst on a Leading Agents of Australia conference in Brisbane, Rob and I took a side trip to Mooloolaba where we found Oceania 11, a William Gardner designed fifty-two foot ketch sitting at the yacht club marina. With her sleek lines and long bowsprit she was one of the prettiest boats we’d ever set eyes on. Later we learned that when she was at anchor in Sydney Harbour before we bought her, the super model Claudia S
chiffer had supposedly demanded to be taken out on her. After one look inside we decided Oceania had to be ours. We soon made an offer to Mark and Rem Towers, who’ve since become wonderful friends, accompanying us on many sailing adventures.

  So after selling Peterswalds to my partners we headed north to bring Oceania back to Hobart. Simon and Stephen sailed with us from Mooloolaba to Sydney, where we dropped anchor in front of our friends, Jill and Dave Henry’s house in Birchgrove and next to their beautiful Buizzon yacht, Sweet Chariot, which they’ve since travelled across the world in and joined us at anchorages alongside Sea Dreams on the wonderful island of Elba in the Western Mediterranean and Split in Croatia. From Sydney Mark joined us on the trip to Hobart (I think he’d regretted selling Oceania), and Rob’s brother, Dick, came on board in Ulladulla. After being holed up in Eden for over five days we eventually heard a good forecast and ventured out. Yet the forecast was way out, for around midnight the weather turned incredibly nasty and it was one of the roughest crossings we’ve encountered in Bass Strait. I remember huddling in the cockpit listening with terror to the roar of an angry sea and with monstrous waves crashing over the stern. Despite my safety harness, I was knocked to the cockpit floor where I banged my head hard against one of the lockers.

  At times I’ve wondered if it’s worse to be in a huge sea with waves crashing over the bow or the stern. That long night, with Rob and Mark taking it in turns to valiantly hold onto the wheel, I decided I’d prefer to be bashing into it, rather than waiting for a huge wall to come up behind. And then there was always the chance of a rogue wave that could make us disappear without as much as a whimper. There are a number of boats that have vanished without a trace in the middle of Bass Strait. Pam Corkhill, a partner at Peterswalds, lost her husband and father-in-law, who were on the yacht The Charlston travelling to Sydney for the start of the Sydney to Hobart yacht race, many years ago. The entire boat disappeared off the face of the earth with all on board presumed dead. Was it a whale that hit them? A lost container off a cargo ship? Or maybe it was a rogue wave. Who would ever know? For although there have been many enquiries and endless searches, not a thing has shown up that could give any clues as to their fate.

  A few years ago on Sea Dreams we were sailing from Menorca to Sardinia when Rob pointed out a dark bulk ahead of us, moving slowly. As it was just on dusk it was difficult to see. At first we thought it was a huge log. On closer inspection it appeared to be a massive whale.

  ‘Wow, look at that! I didn’t know they had whales in the Med,’ I exclaimed in amazement.

  ‘Looks like they do,’ Rob said, turning the wheel to avoid a collision.

  We watched it pass our bow and then head along our starboard side almost close enough to pat. Soon another one came into sight and it too nosed closely to our hull and then continued on its way. As we had a long dark night ahead of us before reaching the coast of Sardinia I was a smidgen anxious. After all we weren’t in Oceania now. She was twenty-four ton. Sea Dreams is just on twelve. Hitting a whale could do a lot of damage to the keel and the hull. Fortunately, when the sun rose the next morning and the towering sandstone cliffs of Sardinia came into view, we hadn’t encountered another one. After referring to our sailing guide, we discovered that there are a number of Pilot whales in Mediterranean waters, though as yet we haven’t seen any more.

  At first I found I was missing real estate a great deal, particularly conducting the auctions and the interaction with clients and other staff. I still held my licence and remained on the Auctioneers Board, so was able to keep up to date with what was happening in the industry. As time went by I missed it less and less as I became more involved with writing and sailing. Rob pointed out to me one evening when I was procrastinating about whether to leave work or not, ‘Do you still want to be selling real estate in ten years’ time. Or would you like to have more adventures?’

  Sitting here writing this on Sea Dreams in a stunning bay on the beautiful island of Poros in Greece, below the sun-washed ochre Villa Galini where Henry Miller wrote The Colossus of Maroussi, I’m more than glad I settled for the adventures.

  Unfortunately, after a year or so, the three partners at Peterswalds disbanded. In the meantime Charlotte went from strength to strength, working under the banner Charlotte Peterswald for Property and I think it would be fair to say that her firm has become one of, if not the leading agent in Hobart and we are extremely proud of her achievements. And so for Rob and me, another part of our life began. For the next six years we sailed Tasmania and then the east coast of Australia on Oceania, producing two coffee-table books on sailing, seafood and wine, From the Sea and Beyond the Shore.

  For the first time we discovered the magnificent waters of Port Davey in the South Coast Wilderness of Tasmania where we spent a month or so with Jill and Dave Henry as they undertook a maiden voyage on Sweet Chariot. It was a magical sail across the foot of Tasmania in the unpredictable Southern Ocean. Amazingly, we were able to hover off the notorious Maatsuyker Island in a calm blue sea chatting to Sue and Don on Cascades before continuing on to Port Davey; one of the most stunning and remote sailing wonders on this planet.

  As Sue told me once: ‘Port Davey is almost spiritual.’

  And with its windswept waters abounding in abalone and crayfish, towering rugged mountains covered in native bushes, heather and wild flowers, horseshoe bays of sparkling white sand, secretive Aboriginal middens and mysterious coves of dark fathomless waters and hidden caves, I’d have to agree with her. In a way it reminds me of Connemara on the West Coast of Ireland or even the magical Kornati Islands in Croatia where we spent a month on Sea Dreams, yet in many ways it’s far more dramatic and soul grabbing than either of those ethereal places.

  After a couple of weeks of brilliant sunshine, just as Charlotte, Stephen and Hubie flew in to join us in Bathurst Harbour, the wind started to howl and the skies opened up, with rain pelting down for days on end. As the light plane was unable to weather the conditions to come back in to collect them, they had no option other than to sail back with us.

  When we set off to round South West Cape the mist was so thick we could hardly see an inch in front of our bow and by the time we hit the Southern Ocean all hell let loose with an unforecasted forty-knot gale and huge seas breaking over the deck. At aged just two, Hubie sat up in the cockpit like a gallant little soldier for most of the whole fifteen hours as we continued to battle the howling gale on the nose, whilst Charlotte, now pregnant again, was violently ill down below. When Hubie wasn’t sitting up in the cockpit he was holding a bucket for her to be sick into. I thought for a moment she would have the baby right there and then. Eventually we reached the fishing port of Dover where Georgie was there to join us for the run up to Hobart, allowing Charlotte and family to drive the rest of the way. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone get off the boat with such relief, apart from Honey Bacon after our Bass Strait crossing ten years before.

  Three months after this episode, Rufus, known as Ru, was born. A bundle of mischievousness since the day he arrived, he’s kept us entertained and on our toes ever since. Then Georgie and Simon had the delightful Joseph, followed eighteen months later by the beautiful Eleanor Poppy, (so called after Poppy who Georgie had adored so much). Finally the larger-than-life Ferdi joined the Auld clan in 2006 and so far that is it.

  When we came back from Port Davey, and after Jim Bacon, as Premier, had launched From the Sea, showcasing Tasmania’s sailing waters, seafood, restaurants and wine, we headed north again across Bass Strait. For five days we were holed up at Flinders Island in almighty winds of over forty knots. Once again a few friendly Tassie fishermen (who were holed up as well) came to our rescue, arriving each day to Oceania with a couple of delectable crayfish or a huge fresh fish, which I’d cook down below. Normally we barbeque on deck, but the winds were such that it was difficult enough for us to put our noses out into the cockpit, let alone try to cook anything on the barbeque. However, on the fifth day when we were going a bit stir
crazy with cabin fever, the winds abated and we headed across the strait in almost glass-like conditions. On board with Rob and me were Sue and Don and our friend from Canberra, Peter Knight. Sue and Don came with us most of the way to Cairns, although we would sometimes leave Oceania in a marina or on a mooring at various ports and come home for a few weeks here and there to catch up on things. Then Rob and I would go back to Oceania again and travel further north with other friends joining us, ending up at the spectacular Cape York on the tip of far north Queensland. I think it would be fair to say that Beyond the Shore showcases the ever-changing moods of Australia’s spectacular east coast and the incredible array of restaurants, seafood, wine and amazing people as has never been seen in a book before or since. As with From the Sea, the restaurants were marvellous, inviting us into their kitchens to watch the preparation of meals and showering us with hospitality.

  When one of our tenants in Salamanca Square went bankrupt we had little option than to take over the business. And hence Maro Boutique was born. For the first year Rob and I ran it, together with a few staff, then Georgie joined us as Manager, allowing Rob and me to continue sailing. For seven years Georgie did the most wonderful job in managing, plus sourcing out new labels and handling publicity. Through her guidance Maro came to the forefront in Hobart fashion.