‘GINGER’ Tarrant, a fisherman from Wallsend, worked the waters outside Newcastle before moving into Nelson Bay in the early 1900s.

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So began a long line of fishing Tarrants that continues to this day.

Bobby ‘Old Mouldy’ Tarrant, Ginger’s son, was as tough as teak and became legendary in the growing fishing community.

The men were hard, strong, tireless workers and possessed an uncompromising attitude and fierce determination.

To really confuse the issue, Bobby Tarrant was in fact Alfred George Tarrant.

The confusion with his name made it difficult for certain agencies to find him – exactly how he wanted it to be.

Mouldy had six kids, all boys: Ron, Calvin (‘Doc’), Eric (‘Tekka’), Colin, Glyn and Howard.

During the 1940s, the war years, things were rough and Mouldy, like many others, was making a quid any way he could.

It was during the time when Tomaree Head was an army camp that Mouldy was on the dole, doing a bit of work for the council and a bit of fishing on the side, hand lining for snapper outside the heads in his boat the ‘Cady’.

This particular night he was coming back into the harbour late as the fish had been biting.

As he motored past Tomaree Head in the dark of night the Yanks hit him in the eyes with a powerful search light.

“Halt! Come ashore!” was the order from the sentry.

Mouldy, blinded by the light, stumbled ashore in the corner of Shoal Bay.

Under gun point, still not sure what was going on, Mouldy was frog marched into the watchtower.

The fisherman was told that he needed to be identified by members of the local community otherwise he would remain a prisoner under the suspicion that he may be a spy for the enemy.

Fortunately Harry and Arch Blanch made their way to the lockup at Tomaree and found Mouldy sitting there.

The bewildered fisherman immediately put both his arms in the air and declared “I’m a prisoner of war! Get me out of here.”

The Tarrant men would live for three months of the year in Murdoch’s hut on Narrowgut, Fingal, chasing lobsters.

They lived on a diet of fish, lobsters, shellfish, stale bread and tea with milk provided by an old milking cow that Steve Blanch left for them on the island.

When the season was over the crew would pack up and head north following the lobsters to Broughton Island.

Bill Tarrant, Mouldy’s brother, was from Adamstown and did some cooking for the crew on Broughton Island.

Bill wasn’t a fisherman and he wasn’t much of a cook either as told by ‘Tekka’.

“The old dampers he made 40 years ago are probably still washing around on the island,” Tekka said.

“Kick your toe on one and you broke it – your toe, not the damper.”

The Tarrants had many boats – one with a car engine that continued to break down.

“That’s meant for the road, not the water,” Mouldy would growl.

The ‘Cady’ was their first boat, a 16 foot lifeboat with a 5hp Clay motor.

A reliable fishing vessel used for trapping lobsters, towing dinghies and hauling in the port.

Cady started having mechanical problems after a giant shark circled the boat and chewed the propeller off it.

The ‘Battler’ followed, an 18 footer with a 6hp Clay motor.

The boat literally shook itself to pieces.

It was during a fierce westerly gale, towing lobster pens back from Broughton Island, that the boat was bashed continually by the heavy sea.

‘Ekka’ bailed flat out for five hours just to keep afloat as the nails loosened and, in some cases, popped out.

More cracks appeared and the water rushed in.

Unable to be repaired, the Battler was burnt on Nelson Bay Beach.

The ‘Valerie’, a 16 footer 5 hp Simplex, came and went before the Tarrants bought the ‘Betty Lou’ a 36 footer with a 14hp Frisco Standard motor, an ex-sailing boat which worked for a few years trapping, catching sharks and set lining.

Forever on the lookout for another boat, the ‘Esperance’, a 22 foot double ender with a 10hp Simplex, was bought off Frank Nicholson’s brother and arrived from Port Macquarie.

This boat proved to be too awkward for lobstering around the rocks and was sold to Joey Hyde who worked the Hunter River for prawns.

The next in a long line was the ‘Toddy’.

This boat, run by an Acme, was originally owned by George Todd and seemed to have a mind of its own.

When the motor was kicked over it would backfire and take off – backwards!

Always unpredictable, Toddy finally broke from its moorings on Broughton Island and washed up on the rocks to be broken up by the pounding sea.

The ‘Randy Mussel’ followed.

This boat was firstly tagged the ‘Pandy Rose’ by Jimmy Tarrant, who crudely painted the name on the side with black paint and a dry paint brush.

A very poor sign writing job indeed.

On passing, an elderly, poor sighted lady stared at the name painted on the boat.

She turned to Jimmy and said: “What a funny name, Randy Mussel.”

How she managed to get Randy Mussel from Pandy Rose remains a mystery, however the new name stuck.

The ‘Maggie Punchwater’ was next.

A 22 footer driven by a three cylinder, air cooled 28hp Lister built by Norm Laman at Government Road in Nelson Bay.

The boat was stolen from Salamander in 1975 and hasn’t been seen since.

Finally the Tarrants bought the ‘Anola’ off Max Catsicas.

A family of characters, there is a story to be told about the Tarrants wherever they went.

I initially encountered the Tarrants and most of the other fishermen in the Bottom Bar at the Nelson Bay RSL Club, which certainly was an eye opener for a young school teacher like me.

Fishermen and tradies simply walked off the street and ordered a schooner with no sign in book at the door and having no concern for any dress regulations or codes of behaviour.

The Bottom Bar, down in the cellars on ground level, had a musty smell of cigarette smoke, sweat, fish and booze.

Plumbing pipes which serviced the upper floor of the club hung down from the ceiling and occasionally sprung a leak.

The bar was popular as the beer was excellent and the atmosphere was great.

The bare footed fishermen gathered in one corner of the smoky bar room without a care in the world, until it was time to leave.

The entrance to the Bottom Bar was through a door off the car park, the only problem was that occasionally at closing time the door was locked and all the remaining patrons were forced to leave the club through the Members Lounge and the front foyer.

To satisfy the dress regulations relating to “suitable footwear”, one fisherman would exit the club wearing a pair of borrowed thongs, then return to the car park and toss them through the window for his mate to wear.

Up to eight fishermen would leave the club wearing the same pair of thongs.

I don’t know if it is true, but on one occasion I was told that there were no thongs available, however the fishermen managed to get a pair of diving flippers.

By John ‘Stinker’ CLARKE