dramatically excavated out of the cliffs a few miles up the Derwent.
Peeling off the main road, I cross a car park and scramble down towards a stretch of railway line running parallel with the water. My companion, Alison Alexander, fount of all knowledge on the history of Tasmania, and clutching her handbag, beckons me to follow her onto the track. It’s not used that often, she assures me, as she holds back a wire fence for me to squeeze through. A little way down the railway line, we turn off and cut through a small grove of newly planted trees to the waterside. ‘This is Ross Cove,’ Alison tells me. ‘They chose to moor up here because’ – she turns and points up to a flagpole on some turreted rooftops, which I can just see peeking over the trees – ‘it was the closest they could get to Government House. For unloading everything.’ And for getting Ross and Crozier to their dinners, no doubt.
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