My father Ray (possibly recognisable to older club members as he visited the club some 15 years ago on his trip to Australia, were he went on to fine quite a few of the Fellows for not wearing their badges. Not much has changed) and his wife Liselotte ( not my mother). She is now talking through a valve lodged in a hole in her throat. It allows for 5 -10 words per breath and it leaks a lot and stuff comes out. She is coming to terms with the situation and was improving quite a bit during the short period we were there. We hope to see her back to her old self next summer when Libby and I will visit again.
View from our house situated on a hill. If Eva – the neighbour in the red house to the right –could further find in her heart to cut down the tree to the left, then the view would be even more spectacular. Did I hear ringbarking?  
We did arrive late in the summer and the lawns was more like hayfields. Modern namby pamby equiptment was no good so I dusted off my grandfathers Ole Reaper. After that the whippersnipper had a go until it ran out of omph and then finally the lawnmover – on HIGH setting – and then it was time to shut up shop and fly back to Australia! For next year I’ve hired the neighbours boy to keep the grass at sensible hights until we get there. 
The first catch brought plenty of redfin perch but also a multitude of mört and id (from the minnow family) which is not good eating. Eva (the neighbour – and after we’ve handed over 15 mört for her cat which she - grudglingly - accepted) told us not to lay the nets over night but between  09.00 – 18.00. We did and got no more rubbish fish – but also a drop in redfin. 
Perch this size is good for smoking.
Rocksalt and juniper twigs for a hour an into the smoker they go.
Not even two hours old. It doesn’t come much fresher than that. 
The warm asphalt brings out our coldblooded friends – here a “snok” Not particularly deadly.
Me and my brother try to breakt the old family benchpress record but no – not this time. 140 kg came easy but 150 kg … not quite there yet.
Libby at the helm. Henrik – a friend of ours – is taking us on a picknick to an old pilot station: Kobba Klintar! 
Kobba Klintars engine room from were the enormous foghor, that still works and can easily be heard all the way to Sweden, draws breath. The main powerplant is a hot bulb engine outside – this is the compressor feeding into a tank behind me that takes up a quarter of the room.  
Lunch is served. After a while we got very very thirsty but Henrik saw our plight and went below for a bit. When he returned he was carrying a heavy black oldfasion doktors bag which contained all aspects of medicine. Always do what the doctor orders.
The inlet to Mariehamns harbour is pretty narrow - hence the need for the pilot station – and when three cruice liners meet it can get pretty tight.
Kobba Klintar has become a popular destination for both the natives and tourists alike. Luckilly we came on a weekday and in August – just when the big industry holiday in Europe was over.
Mariehamns harbor (Västra hamnen) It was picked because its deep waters allowed big four masted baroques to get close with their cargo without having to resort to the long jetties found in Australia. The windjammer “Pommern” - seen here moored - left Port Lincoln 1936 on one of her last trips from down under.
“Pommern loading at Brennans Jetty Port Lincoln January 1936”
Pommern, Pamir and Passat moored at their home port of Mariehamn in the 1930.
The Herzogin Cecilie left Port Lincoln in 1936 with Captain Sven Eriksson in command. He was determined to break the “grain race” record back to Falmouth, and he did – in 86 days - only to wreck the Cecilie on the cliffs off Hamstone just outside Salcombe. Possibly his judgment was compromised by the young lady who happened to be traveling along his side – and who – ultimately – stood by him and shared his misfortune.
The lady in question – Pamela Bourne Eriksson (yes - they did marry after all that)
Off these cliffs the Herzogin Cecilie would eventally be pulled - only to perish in an very unseasonal storm a few days later. Cursed?   
A real benchpresser. Kenta Sandvik – the former world champion, with a record of 371 kg under his belt, puts things in perspective and your fellow Rotarian back in his box.

We heard a familiar accent from the road below the house and rushed down. Fiona and Graig from Sydney is on a bicycle round trip of Europe and just happened to be pedaling along the road below us on their way to the church when we caught a wiff of their mother tounge. We invited them up for a beer and the latest from Australia as they haven’t been in contact with the old country for a while. They’re going to bicycle until January and are probably in Italy by now.  
Ruins left behind after the joint force of French and British battleships chased the Ruski back to Sibiria. This took place 1854 and the Russians hasn’t been back since ( Putin’s bit of a worry though).  
The land based artillery was no match the the allied firepower.
The mighty sea eagel with a wingspan over two meter was endangered during all of my childhood but has – thanks to the tireless involvement of the treehuggers of the day - al’a Rick Dawson -  is again soaring proudly. This one touch down just meters away – possibly trying to get his talons into Evas cat – but had already reached considerable altitude before I finally found my Big Lens (no comments Kelvin). A mature bird. You can tell by its white tailfeathers.
A group of pensioners has taken upon themself to recreate Mariehamn as it looked 1920.
Highland cattle has been brought in and is doing well on the islands.
It is not only the eagle population that is thriving as the levels of DDT is dropping off, the eggshells thicken and people in general becoming more caring about the enviroment. Crown crane, heron, swans and a variety of ducks sweep past our house every evening preparing for their night quarters. You do not need tv with such a spectacle is on your doorstep.  
My other brother Mark, here busy fitting the Volkswagen Jetta with fresh plugs. We have a deal were he buys us a car with my money for the duration of the holiday. When we leave we hand the car back to him and he sells it and what ever profit he makes on the original purchase price he keeps - the rest goes into my bank account over there until next holiday when history repeats itself. Everybody wins – exept the car rental companies. 
A genuine Aussie BBQ was in demand long before we landed on the islands so we drummed up all the expats we knew and but plenty of beer on ice.
A surprising (alarming?) number of Australians has actually made The Åland Island their home over the years and it was not hard to put bums on seats.

Freja Darby (nee Eriksson) the daughter of the ill fated Captain Eriksson and his ship Herzogin Cecilie. Yes they moved back to Åland and Pamela bore two children Freya being the oldest. Pamela herself lived into the 1980 and had no doubt many stories to tell. Here Libby and Freya have put their heads together and created a Pavlova with a local twist – fresh berries picked in the forest behind the house. It went down a treat and some of the most homesick expats got a bit misty-eyed.
So! Like the snowbirds for Florida – time to head for warmer latitudes.
Thank you for showed interest.
Kind regards