THE Fingal Spit has, since 1898, been of great concern for those who were required to cross it.

Light keepers and fishermen were most at risk and all knew the dangers involved.

It was 1898 that the “Maitland Gale” whipped up a huge sea from the south which crashed through the narrow finger of land which served as a permanent connection between the Outer Light and the mainland.

In 1992 Rob Robinson shared memories of life as the son of a lightkeeper on Fingal Island shortly after the ending of WW1, including a harrowing experience with the Spit.

The following are excerpts from Rob’s writings.

“At the time of the incident I’m about to relate, I was seven years old in 1919 and lived on an island off the east coast of NSW.

“My father, ex-Royal Navy, had migrated to Australia and was offered a job as a lighthouse keeper.

“The lighthouse at Point Stephens is less than a mile from the mainland and our only access to civilisation was by way of a narrow sandspit, under eight feet of water at high tide.

“Mostly treacherous and unforgiving, it had a nasty record of accidents and was held in great respect by all who used it.

“Once every two weeks we rowed across the spit to collect the stores and mail.

“For two weeks a storm had raged and we were hungry for mail and fresh provisions.

“One morning we woke to find the wind had dropped and my dad and Mr Nelson, the keeper next door, decided to make the crossing.

“They had promised to take my brother and me on the next trip over, so, in spite of mum’s protests, we set off.

“With strong pulls on the oars, we rapidly approached the spit and the most dangerous section was just ahead.

“The seas were boiling where two opposing currents met and Dad looked worried.

“I knew it was because of my brother and me, but Mr Nelson urged us to press on – there was an exultant gleam in his eye that I had seen on other occasions.

“The boat hit the rough water and bounced and weaved as we reached the point of no return.

“Suddenly, a twisting, curling wave surged up on our stern quarter.

“In a second it slewed us broadside on and with a savage heave, the big boat rolled over.

“We were flung into the sea.

“Desperately, I pawed my way to the surface and looked around for the others.

“The boat was upside down and my father and Mr Nelson were swimming around in circles.

“With a terrible pang I realised my younger brother had vanished.

“My father repeatedly dived, surfaced and dived again.

“I saw him swim to the upturned boat and disappeared underneath. “Agonising seconds later he reappeared with Lindsay in his arms.

“The little chap didn’t look good.

“We struggled to the beach and started to work on Lindsay.

“After what seemed ages, he spluttered and coughed up a lot of water.

“We knew he’d be OK when he started to cry.

“By this time the boat had washed into shallow water and the two men were able to right her, the seas had dropped considerably and we loaded the stores.

“On the way home Dad said hopefully, ‘Now boys, we don’t want to worry your mother, so let’s say nothing about what happened. All right?’.”

By John ‘Stinker’ CLARKE