SYDNEY’S SENIOR SIGNALMAN.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXXVIII, Issue 3573, 24 February 1914, Page 8

SYDNEY’S SENIOR SIGNALMAN.

AND THE WEIRD SIGHTS HE SEES. When it was announced that Alt' Gibson, signal master at South Head, was about- to take a six-months’ holiday, it was feared that it was the beginning of the end) of his service—that it was the courtesy holiday given to long-service men prior to their retirement. But (says the Sydney “Sun”) Alf laughed the idea to scorn and all his friends will agree that he is good yet for at least 20 years’ service, by which time he will have earned another holiday. The six-months’ leave is in recognition of 25 years’ service, and his activity is either an excellent advertisement for fresh-air life, or else he entered the service when liis trousers were very short. He stood sentinel of the cast for the last time for half a year on Friday afternoon, and as he stepped down from his post he might have been excused if lie felt regret upon leaving a position—even temporarily—which had become almost his whole existence. Ho intends to go to the mountains to loaf, and see his children grow strong and healthy. He doesn’t want any buikling-up, but he will appreciate the change, and ho will miss his ships.

Alf, usually so voluble, strangely enough, had little desire to become retrospective. He has had his career told before, and if anybody wants to hear all about him he will give them the date of his last “write up.” It is nevertheless interesting to know that he joined the service in 1889, and that he was connected with the telegraphic branch until 8893, when he was, appointed assistant signal master. It was fitting that he should aspire to the highest office, because his father, who died in 1893, was master for thirty years, and his grand..father was one of the finest pilots on the coast when the journey outside the Heads had to made in an open boat. Alf has seen wonderful changes, both in the types of craft ho let in and out, as well as the growth of Sydney. From his lookout he commanded a wide view of the harbor, and. he has seen the northern shore rise out of the bush into a charming suburb, the home of thousands of people. Besides changes Alf has seen many sensations, and all the rough weather that has reached the coast line. He has known the wind to blow so hard as to make it impossible for him to go out on the platform, and he has seen the sea lashed into such fury as to break about the eyes of Blackfelloe’s Head, an immense wall of rocjf a few hundred yards on the Bofuli side of the station. The Black’s gfes are over 100 ft from the water. JEFalking of big seas compelled Alf to say that the biggest he ever saw was when the Mongolia went out one Saturday, alone, and was swamped by three huge green waves, one after another, just as she was passing the Heads. That was the most sensational thing he ever witnessed, and he considers it established the mongolia’s reputation as a thoroughly seaworthy vessel for all time. But while there are majestic views of furious seas at South Head, there also tragedies, and the signalmaster sees more of them than does anybody else. Every person who walks to the edge of the cliffs is under the gaze of the man on watch, and Alf has experienced terrible sensations, as he has, powerless, watched men fling themselves into the sea. Once he saw a young fellow take a running jump over the highest point, close to the station, where there is a- drop of 270 ft, and he explained that he felt as though his head was lifting off as the man leaped to his death. On another occasion he saw a man go to the edge of the cliff, throw his hat and his coat over, and stand as though about to plunge after them. Alf went down to him. “Stand back!” shrieked the man, “if you approach me I'll jump.” It was an awkward situation, but he took the man at his word, and coaxed him away. That man, so far as Alf knows, is still alive. Altogether he has been the unwilling witness of doens of suicides, and he says that it is the’ kind of experience that would unnerve the strongest man. He has had <o many experiences that he could talk for a weey and still leave a let unsaid. One which he has not told before hefel him a few weeks ago. The barquentino Alexa was entering the heads, and was carried in a squall so efbse to the rocks that he feared she would be dashed to pieces. Alf fired two rockets —distress signals for the lifeboats —and ho had the third ready. Something went wrong and the rocket burst in the socket. The socket which was made of brass, was splintered as though it was a paper bag, and the explosion blew the galvanised iron side of the platform a foot out of position. If the explosion had been towards Alf the results would have been serious. “I wouldn’t have needed a holiday,” he added.

While Alf is away, his brother, F J. Gibson, will carry out his duties.