Station life revolved around the routine demands of your job and demands that arose simply because you were the go-to person for virtually anything untoward or unexpected that happened.

There was a bit of boozing and card playing and the odd dinner or barbeque but mostly it was a quiet life devoted to work or the necessary chores of domestic existence.

On patrol the entire day was consumed by the work required to keep up with the planned schedule and managing the inevitable complications arising when on the move.

These included injuries to carriers or other patrol members, enforced diversions when the chosen route became impassable for whatever reason and, if water borne, the trials and tribulations imposed by the vagaries of the weather or uncooperative mechanical devices (notably outboard engines).

In the wilds of Papua New Guinea the country truly was a 'land of the unexpected' and flexibility, pragmatism and a tendency not to panic were essential requirements.

Once acclimatised to the peculiarities and pleasures of outstation life, few of us had much desire for the bright lights of Moresby.

It was a place best viewed from the window of a Boeing 727 as you headed south on leave.

That said, it is clear that many people loved their time in Moresby which was, as Henry Sims explains, full of opportunities for socialising, sport and more than a little hedonistic feasting and carousing.

Whether living in Moresby or on an outstation, most of us were young and comparatively carefree. There were strange and wonderful things to see and experience, and adventures to be had.

Sure there were a few sweaty nights to endure and grilli and other exotic diseases could be unpleasant, but these were a small price to pay for a unique experience.

It was a privileged life in many respects and one we should be grateful to have experienced.