For sixty six years, the souls of 645 brave sailors have been lying with the wreck of their ship, HMAS Sydney, in her final resting place. The sands more than two kilometres below the surface in the cold depths of the Indian Ocean are now the site of her silent grave. 
  Today her men are still all dearly missed by those who were close to them and who were left to grieve after that tragic day; November 19, 1941. 
  Scattered amongst the debris of the once gallant ship are their personal effects, treasured items destined to remain on the ocean’s floor forever. Down there, somewhere within the confusion of passageways and dark compartments of the cruiser’s shattered hull, is concealed a roll of film that once bore the image of a little girl, posing for a photograph, as she sat smiling in the cockpit of the ship’s Walrus amphibian. Young Thelma Taylor was eleven years old when her big brother, 21-year-old able seaman Ken Taylor, and his mates were showing her over the ship. The cruiser was at her usual berth alongside in Fremantle. Thelma didn’t have to travel far for the visit, as the home where she and her brother grew up was also in the Perth seaside suburb. Even though Ken was much older than his sister, they were close soul mates. Thelma remembered that he spent a good deal of his spare time with her and taught her lots of things, including boy stuff like kicking the footy. 
  Kenneth George Taylor and several of his mates, who went to school together in Fremantle, all joined up at the same time in 1939. Eventually they were also posted to the same ship, the cruiser Sydney. Before entering the navy, Ken belonged to the Boys’ Brigade and worked as a telegram boy. 
  Another shipmate of Ken’s was able seaman Arthur Shiers, who joined from South Australia. Arthur was also 21 years old and had no family, so, it wasn’t long before he became an additional member of Ken’s. He soon found himself the fiancé of Ken’s other sister and Thelma’s big sister, Norma. Their house was on high ground near the beach in North Fremantle. From there they could see all the comings and goings of ships as they passed Rottnest Island and sailed into Gage Roads before entering harbour. 
  Thelma remembered that the Sydney always berthed in the same position at Victoria Quay, all ready to quickly move out again if required. Many of the boys from Sydney frequently came to their house, it being so close by. Young Thelma was invited onto the ship three times when it was in port, the last visit being the occasion when Ken took her photo, seated in the Walrus. As fate would have it, it was a photo she was never to see. 
  Another of the boys serving with Ken was John Ross. He became known as ‘Lucky’ John Ross. He was with Sydney right from the beginning, but was drafted off just prior to her final voyage. Some would say he was not so lucky though, as his next posting was HMAS Perth, soon to be sunk after a fierce battle in the Sunda Strait. But he managed to get through the war and live to a ripe old age, always remembering the Sydney and fortunately surviving to relate stories of the ship and his shipmates in an enlightening book. 
  Thelma says that she was only a kid when she met Ken’s messmates. She remembers that they were all really gentle men and even though she was only 11, they treated her like a grown up. Her mother had five children, all two years apart. Then, eight long years went by, and there was she. Thelma always seemed older than her years and reading was her main pastime. Ten months spent in bed with rheumatic fever when she was eight provided her with plenty of time for that. 
  All the crew idolised Captain Collins, Ken told Thelma. She said it was no wonder that the boys were so upset when he was transferred and Captain Burnett came to the ship as his replacement. After the ship was gone, she had the opportunity to meet him. He came over to Fremantle to attend a luncheon, given in his honour at the Town Hall. 
  Thelma went to the function with her mother and sister to see him. She said that she’ll never forget what a wonderful man he was. Right away she could understand why the boys were so disappointed to see him go. They claimed the ship was never the same. 
  Brother Ken kept the family abreast of the happenings aboard his ship as best he could, with due regard to wartime censorship restrictions. His narratives included stories about the ship’s cat, Middy. The lean tabby was aboard the cruiser during her service in the Mediterranean and was a cherished mascot. 
  Sydney’s crew believed that the cat had an uncanny ‘warning system’, alerting them to impending enemy attack. When the cat was on deck, they kept an eye on him. If Middy was calm and relaxed, everything was OK, but as soon as he ran for cover below deck, the sailors knew a call to action stations was imminent. They were convinced tabby could pick up the drone of enemy aircraft minutes before the ship’s own detection equipment could. 
  On the Sydney’s return to Australia the ship called in at Fremantle before heading around to the eastern states. Middy took the opportunity to take shore leave, and it was not until the cruiser was back at sea again that the sailors realized their mascot was not with them. 
  Following urgent radio messages back to the Fremantle Port Authority, word was received that poor Middy was found dead in one of the wharf sheds, probably poisoned after having eaten rat baits. The cat was the ship’s good luck charm and together they had endured much. Many of the crew looked upon their shipmate’s demise as a bad omen for the ship. 
  When Sydney left Australia, for what would tragically turn out to be the last time, Thelma remembers clearly the day Ken returned to his ship. She went to see him off at the railway station, where, for some reason known only to him, he insisted she take his lucky charm, a small elephant carved from ivory. 

  As the train moved out of the station Ken was waving ‘goodbye’ to his little sister so eagerly that his cap fell off onto the platform. Thelma ran to where it lay and flung it back in through the carriage window. Then he was gone. Ken’s cheeky grin as his train moved off that day has stayed with her ever since. That was the last time she saw her big brother. 
  As the years went by, Thelma married Cliff (Snowy) Gale. He had joined the British Commonwealth Occupation Force at 17 and spent two years with the force in Japan. After hostilities began in Korea he joined up again and spent 291 days in the war zone, surviving all the action including a close shave when an enemy hand grenade exploded nearby. 
  But the WWII cruiser Sydney and her brother were never far from her mind. To this day, she still treasures the little elephant Ken gave her as a keepsake and carries a photo of him in her wallet, taken when he was a happy, 19-year-old sailor at HMAS Cerberus. 
  To her great regret though, she never got to see the photo Ken took of her sitting in the Sydney’s Walrus; the photo that was lost when her brother and his shipmates went down with their battered ship.