Day 30
Wednesday 8 February dawns with a grey sky and a battleship grey sea flecked with catspaws. If I didn’t have the chart display in front of me I would have said we were off Flamborough Head on a Bank Holiday. It is 24ºC with wind Force 5. The journey continues (the sun did come out later).
Another hour was added on last night, so we are now on Foxtrot time, 6 hours ahead of you. There is a sense of you getting further and further away from you with these time changes, as if we are travelling in space leaving the Earth behind. I am feeling a bit hung-over this morning – I think my stomach is beginning to revolt against all this rich food (Tournedos Rossini last night, washed down with two glasses of Shiraz). Will skip lunch today, I think.
Through Australian immigration this morning – a very sensible arrangement whereby the immigration staff were embarked in Mauritius and are processing everyone at sea in small batches on the way over. A good example of clever cooperation: the immigration staff get a free passage in a liner, we get a seamless entry into Australia, and everyone is happy. I presume Cunard paid for the air flights, but fair enough.
We attended the concluding lecture on the Dingo Baby saga today. My goodness, what a story! It has to be The Lecture of the Voyage. It is too lengthy to summarise here, but briefly it was found – by shear doggedness – that alleged blood spray in the car was actually overspray car noise insulation, present since manufacture; that ‘cat’ hairs found on the baby’s clothes were actually dingo hairs; that a positive blood result found in the car was triggered by copper dust from the copper mines where the family lived; that the ‘bloody handprint’ on the baby’s clothes was, in fact, a dirty sand mark; and that an Aborigine tracker had stated categorically that drag marks from the tent were from a dingo. Despite all this, and other new evidence, the Northern Territories Government would still not allow an appeal. Even when a Royal Commission was set up, the NT government tried to dismiss its findings. They finally tried to offer the mother a pardon, which she rejected: she had committed no crime to be pardoned of. A third inquest tried to return an open verdict. Finally, finally, after over thirty years the mother was acquitted and a fourth inquest returned the verdict of ‘death by dingo attack’. Several forensic experts (two from the UK) were discredited and one was found to have tampered with the evidence. And even today there are people who think that the mother still killed her baby. There was a film starring Meryl Streep about the incident, it might be worth watching in retrospect.
Our tummies were a bit upset today – something we ate last night, as we both had it – so we had a sparing breakfast and we skipped lunch. However, we felt well enough later to try some non- alcoholic cocktails: Jane had a rum-less Mojito and I tried a Tropicana (coconut and pineapple smoothie, basically) at lunchtime, followed by a Bananamama (a banana, coconut and cream milkshake) in mid afternoon. Looking back, I’m not sure how my stomach managed those, but they were very yummy and, being alcohol free, were entirely healthy.
Day 31
Thursday 9 February. It is freezing. I may be exaggerating slightly here, especially to people really freezing like yourselves, but the temperature outside has actually dropped to 20ºC. It is colder outside the ship than in. It is overcast, the sea is grey, and we are back off Portland again (or might as well be). I must say that the weather on this trip has been a revelation. It has been good, of course, but not at all as hot and unbearable as I thought it would be (Réunion excepted). I certainly didn’t expect 20 degrees in the Indian Ocean in summer. Today I am wearing long trousers, a long-sleeved shirt and a sweater; no-one is sitting out on deck chairs, though there are still hopefuls flip-flopping around the ship in shorts and singlets (more fool them). Jane, of course, is wearing a vest, thick shirt, trousers, seamen’s stockings, seaboots, submarine sweater, muffler and beanie. Or she would be if I hadn’t told her to take them out of the luggage when we packed. Strangely, I am not suffering as a result of this sartorial shortfall; Jane seems to have run out of adjectives and is going through a more benign period. I think she might be dreaming of those penguins again.
Situation at 1200F was: position 30deg 36S, 94deg 0E. Course 099, speed 19 knots. Wind Force 6 from E. Sea Slight.
A glance at The Grand Cruise Spreadsheet has revealed that we are significantly underspending against our onboard credited allowance and, if we are not more free with spending in the next 10 days, we will lose it. This is rather amazing: one of those rare instances when I have been too sparing with money, but demonstrating beautifully what a sensible financial planner I am (when you disregard boats, cars and expensive cruises). So I have booked a straight shave and haircut at the boutique ($65+12.5%) and Jane has done the same (negative shave) for $99 (+12.5%). I did consider having a facial as well, but they wanted to quote extra for doing the nose, so I passed on that one. These are extortionate amounts to someone who begrudges paying £5 for an OAP trim, but it is not real money because – as I say – it comes out of the allowance we were given. I did consider the purchase of yet another extremely sophisticated watch, with bells and whistles and with a shape and weight reminiscent of a submarine’s depth gauge, but this was vetoed before I even drew breath. How does she do that?
Our key lecture today was by our visiting geologist, this time on the unexpected subject of Chablis and the terroir. Geology plays a major part in the quality of wines, and he reckoned that Chablis was much underrated. I did not realise that the roots of vines travel down five metres, and they get their nourishment from the Kimerston (I think) and Portland stone formed by crushed oyster shells from 150 million ago. The topsoil is rather stony and rubbish, which is a good thing because it forces the roots down for their nourishment. So there you are. You heard it here first. Must try a glass tonight, purely for research purposes.
This reminds me of a story I once heard about the merits of coal in those days when we burnt Silkburn and other proprietary brands on our fires in the 1950s and 1960s. Apparently one chap was expounding about how good the brand of coal was that he had discovered, and it came from the coal fields of Woking in Surrey, a little known area for mining (it was certainly new to me, but then so were the coal mines of Somerset). The man said that his coal was excellent: high calorific value, almost smoke-free, and with little ash. His companion countered this argument with the type of coal that his coal merchant had provided, which was unique in that, instead of originating from the crushed rain forests millions of years ago, his coal was a lighter variety originating from vast areas of crushed marigolds millions of years ago, and this generated a much lighter coal that was so much nicer to use. Marigolds are one of our oldest plants, apparently. “Don’t be silly,”, said the first speaker, “That’s no different from mine. Don’t you know that Woking coal is a marigold coal?”
Well, after a light lunch, we set off around a virtually deserted deck for a bracing walk. Some hardy souls were still sitting out there, wrapped in towels and fleeces and clutching steaming cups of tea. Down aft, where it was sheltered from the wind, it wasn’t too bad and some people were lying on sun beds, so we resolved to climb up to the Grills Terrace via the various tiered decks. At the top it was relatively benign (think Bournemouth in May) and we lay for a bit in the watery sunshine, fully clothed of course, and decided it was warm enough to take a dip in the outdoor jacuzzi, that bubbled and steamed so invitingly there. So down we went to the cabin, changed into our bathing costumes, donned bathrobes, and set off back. Strangely, no one else was around except for a Filipino barman, who clearly thought that we had taken leave of our senses. We climbed up and into the jacuzzi and lay there like hippopotamuses, gazing at the grey seas, the scudding clouds and the spitting rain, laughing like the idiots that we were. Of course, all good things come to an end, and after fifteen minutes we were just about al dente. I climbed out stoically and unflinching, like the good North Sea boy that I am, to get madam’s towel. Venus’ emergence was a more dramatic affair, however, as her slim glistening body at over 45ºC met the Southern Trades at 20ºC and 19 knots. I am given to understand that the explosion of noise and subsequent shivering was detected by the seismic stations in Sri Lanka and Western Australia, triggering a false earthquake and tsunami warning for the whole of Oceana.
So anyway, I went for the shave and haircut and I may say I was very impressed. I thought the bloke said he was going to defoliate my face, but Jane says that that is what the US did to Vietnam with Agent Orange (“I think you mean ‘exfoliate’, Dear”). Must get this right. Exfoliation with some gizmo; then the application of what appeared to be paint stripper; hot towels; shaving cream; then an extremely painstaking shave with a straight razor that must have taken a quarter of an hour or more. Then cold towels, the application of something that felt like nitric acid on my face, anti-ageing cream (industrial strength)…then the shampoo and haircut, which was one of the best I have ever had. It was better than the one that I once had in Trumpers in London. Then came bill-paying time and I offered to sweep the floors instead, but that was rejected. The crunch came when I fell into the trap of asking about some of the anti-ageing cream, and he had to unlock the display cupboard and undo the padlocks to get some. I refuse to reveal the cost, but I think I may now have put the spreadsheet underspend back on track. Fortunately, I now don’t look a day over 65½; that cream works well and it was money well spent.
Day 32
One calendar month since we set off, and Melbury seems (and is) a long way away. Friday 10 February dawns with another grey day, 19ºC (19!), wind Force 6 from the east. Jane has gone back to her sensible winciette nightie and has stopped doing whatever it is she did to her legs. The news, when it is not banging on about Donald Trump, tells us that there is freezing weather in Chicago and thousands of flights have been cancelled. We moved the clocks forward, yet again, last night so we are now on Golf time, 7 hours ahead of the UK. I wouldn’t bother getting up if I were you: daylight is pretty awful. As I sit here in the Commodore Club, under the bridge, I can see the mottled grey sea, tipped with white horses, and the bow rising and falling gently in the swell. Patches of sunlight appear tantalising in the distance, and a faint ray glimmers through the windows occasionally but, on the whole, it is a bit dull. Never mind, we are on holiday.
Now here is a funny thing: see if you can explain it to me. We get a new daily programme every night (think Daily Orders, but with singing and dancing). There is a huge range of activities from basket weaving and embroidery to bridge and wine tasting, but also some specialist meetings – usually at noon in the conference room – such as ‘Serving & Retired Armed Forces’, ‘Freemasons’ and ‘WI’. But two of these specialist meetings have defied explanation. One is called ‘Friends of Dorothy LGBT’ and the other is ‘Friends of Bill W’. Is LGBT what I think it means and, if so, who is Bill W? Is Dorothy something to do with Oz? All suggestions welcome. I suppose I could go along one lunchtime and sit in, just to get a flavour of what it is about. Usually, I am too busy.
And now to that internal ship tour. Wow! If you don’t want to read about the tour, then skip eight paragraphs at this point. Do not pass Go and do not collect £200.
It took just under four hours and was well worth the money (I got an apron, a chef’s hat, a certificate and A Badge). There were fourteen of us in all – somewhat more than the stated maximum of ten – and perhaps just a few too many to be easily handled. Never mind. Two security personnel escorted us, one in front and one behind, just in case we went where we shouldn’t . We started on the for’d mooring deck, an enclosed compartment some way below the open fo’csle, and were hosted by the Deputy Captain. All the ship’s hawsers are stowed on enormous self-rendering winches, which hold the ship alongside at a fixed tension, taking up the slack or easing off automatically as the tide rises or falls; bollards are not used at all. Above the mooring deck was the cable deck, where the anchor windlasses are fitted. Having served in an aircraft carrier I was ready to see some big bits of kit, but these windlasses were huge – possibly six feet in diameter – and the links of the anchor cable would be about one foot in diameter. In keeping with normal merchant navy practice, by the way, these were windlasses (i.e. with their axes horizontal) not capstans (with vertical axes), which are usual in the RN. I have pondered throughout my career as to why the two maritime agencies have evolved differently in that regard; it is just one of those curious things.
We passed through a crew cabin flat (single and double cabins, each with an en-suite bathroom), then on to the main crew service passageway on 1 Deck that runs the length of the ship. This is called the Burma Road, just as it would be in a warship. It was very wide (maybe fifteen feet), very white, and spotless. This time, we were hosted by the head of the HR department. He explained that there are 1,260 crew, the biggest nationality represented being Filipino. Surprisingly, the next biggest nationality was British; the third was Indian. We were shown the officers’ bar (we could only look – it was more like a cocktail bar than a Wardroom) and a separate officers’ dining room/Wardroom that we did not see; opposite was a large crew dining hall (self-service like a works canteen); then the crew bar, called the Pig & Whistle, which we could not enter. The crew are allowed just one drink a day.
Onwards to the Engine Control Room (ECR), where we were hosted by the Chief Electrical Officer. It was a far bigger compartment than I have been used to: perhaps as big as a school classroom, with not a gauge or wheel spanner in site. Instead, there were banks of computer screens, rather like Mission Control at Cape Canaveral. Or maybe the Starship Enterprise. It was manned by a single Engineer Officer of the Watch who monitored both machinery and fire surveillance. Hmm, a bit thin on the ground, I thought. He rattled around in there like a pea in a drum. Reassuringly for those of us with old-fashioned standards, he wore white overalls and steaming boots though, alas, no cap. I have covered the propulsion elsewhere, so I won’t burden you further with it, other than to record that each of the four propulsive pods develops 21.5MW (28,820 horse power) and weighs the same as a fully laden Boeing 747. All four give the ship a top speed of 29.5 knots. There were many questions I wanted to ask, but I only managed to get in a few, partly because of time and partly because I didn’t want to get too technical in front of a general audience (or appear to be a Clever Dick).
There was a brief by the Environment Officer on gash disposal – absolutely everything is sorted by hand, compacted, and either incinerated or stored for proper disposal ashore. Even the incinerator ash was kept for disposal ashore. Sewage is processed biologically to the point where the discharge is pure water, then pumped overboard if beyond the twelve mile limit; as double insurance, Cunard will not discharge even the pure water in coastal waters. Grey water (from showers, washing etc) is processed and the clean bi-product is used to wash down the decks. I was intrigued to note that there was a separate bin just for banana skins; frustratingly I never got the chance to ask why they were special (and I suppose now I will never know).
On we went to the baggage handling area, where 10,000 items of baggage are shifted by fork-lift truck on every passenger changeover day. I would put the size down as half an aircraft hangar.
We had a good briefing by the Chief Officer aka the Safety Officer on firefighting, man overboard and other safety related matters. Their Standing Sea Fireparty is drawn from men otherwise employed on other duties, but mainly engineers, just like the RN. By the way, when there is an incident, the Main Broadcast on QM2 says, “Fire in the galley” (or wherever); apparently they don’t do that in many other cruise ships with younger people; they say “Code 15”, or whatever. This is because stating baldly what the problem is has caused panic in those ships with the younger generation in the past. One other interesting point to emerge is that, if there is a man overboard, they do not turn the ship using the traditional Williamson’s Turn (turning under full helm and designed to bring the ship back on an exact reciprocal course), instead they just slam on the brakes using the all-powerful pods. QM2 can stop from full power in about 2 kilometres. Speed has to be below 5 knots before the Rescue Boat can be launched.
Quite a bit of time in the tour was devoted, correctly, to food storage, preparation, cooking and serving. We visited one of twenty one deep freezes, each (again) about the size of a school classroom. Provisions are ordered for visiting ports three months in advance by HQ in Southampton from firms approved by the Carnival Corporation’s Public Health Department – so any films you see of the ship’s chef visiting local markets and choosing produce is PR hype. Exceptionally, they do sometimes buy local fresh fish. Presumably my wildebeest, springbok and warthog the other day were ordered in advance. There was a separate food preparation area on one deck, serving the galley above. There was a separate bakery. We visited the main galley, but there are seven altogether. It really was huge – perhaps as big as a cinema – and it was linked to the main restaurant by two escalators for waiters to use. A champagne tea completed the catering department tour (that is when I got my apron and chef’s hat) before we did a quick backstage tour of the ship’s theatre (all lights and stage controlled by iPad).
Finally, we visited the bridge. Traditional RN warship bridges (or more correctly, ‘compass platforms’) are quite tiny, perhaps ten feet square, if that. Merchant ship (and more modern warship) bridges are larger. This bridge was huge, stretched the full width of the ship, and (something that I found particularly remarkable – I don’t know why) it was fully carpeted. It had a very good view, as you might hope, and even had armoured glass panels in the deck of the wings to facilitate coming alongside. There were no open bridge wings and there was no access to the open air: the space was fully enclosed. Not easy to take star sights or sun shots to check the GPS then. The manoeuvring engine controls were particularly interesting, in that I thought that they would be computer controlled or assisted – a bit like a self-parking car or aircraft automatic landing system. Not so. It is all done by the seat of your pants, though with the help from bridge controls and two independent GPS systems that tell the Captain the speed (x and y plane) of the bow and the stern. For coming alongside, they turn the two azimuth pods inwards to face each other so that the two propeller thrusts cancel each other out, then they adjust the propeller speeds. Apparently, this gives them finer lateral control, down to 0.1 of a knot. For’d, of course, they have three bow thrusters of 3.2 MW each. There is a simulator on the bridge to train the officers in manoeuvring in various selected ports, and all the Captains additionally have to ‘do’ a week in a large simulator ashore every year. I chatted with the Captain about HMS NONSUCH, offered a few words of advice about tautening the signal halyards, and then I was given my Badge (which I shall wear proudly on High Days) and politely shown the door.
Exceptionally, we attended a show tonight as it featured a musician/illusionist. He was very good. Looking back, I think I have been unduly harsh about the entertainment onboard and you should disregard the earlier blogs in that regard. We have put our heads into the theatre on the odd night and the singing and dancing is actually very good; it is just that it is not our particular type of entertainment (think Sunday Night at the London Palladium, if you can remember that far back). The band is still too dominant, however, and the drummer drowns out most performers. Of course, it may be that we have not mellowed but, instead, are suffering from Stockholm Syndrome.
What a busy day.
Day 33
Saturday 11 February. We moved the clocks forward, yet again, by an hour and are now on Hotel time i.e. 8 hours ahead of you on GMT. We are feeling a bit bleary eyed again.
Blimey, what’s going on? The entire upper deck is out of bounds; visibility is at a quarter of a mile; there is a rough, sullen, grey sea touched by white horses and the occasional spindrift; wind Gale Force 8; wave height is about 5 metres; and the ship is lurching and creaking in the swell. Thankfully, and much to my surprise, I have not been seasick all voyage. I have been impressed by QM2’s seakeeping, for other ships would be all over the place in these conditions; the roll is no more than 5 degrees, though she is pitching a little. The temperature is now down to 18ºC and we have broken out the winter clothes, previously worn in January when we boarded. I am impressed by those still wearing shorts and sandals. We arrive at Fremantle at 0630 tomorrow and this does not bode well for our first visit to Australia. We have a ‘River Cruise and Two City Tour’ scheduled and we did not expect to be doing it in the cold, wind and rain. I wonder where I stowed my Guernsey sweater?
I attended a final talk by our visiting geologist who, this time, spoke about climate change. He explained how the earth has gone through cyclic climate change for millions of years. There have been warm periods, when Greenland was green and vines grew in Newfoundland, and cold periods when parties were held on the frozen River Thames. That last cold period ended in about 1850. Since then, we have entered a warm period, during which the average temperature has risen by 0.8 degrees Centigrade. Only 5% of greenhouse gas is CO2 (and man produces only a tiny percentage of that), and all the carbon saving by man will make no difference to the climate, even if you ignore the huge amount of uncontrollable CO2 spewed out by volcanoes. That was the gist of it all, with the added comment that there is no way that we will meet the set targets because of the projected energy demand and the unavoidable CO2 that comes with it, even with renewable energy. I agree entirely with the lecturer. We should certainly conserve energy and not waste the earth’s resources. However, we can no more stop climate change than King Canute could stop the tide. The weather will follow its usual cycle in the normal course, and Mrs Shacklepin will revel in vilifying it. Neither the lecturer nor I will convince the zealots, of course. (Oh dear, you might have the opposing view – I’ve done it again haven’t I – sorry about that).
Well, I am going to try to get this off tomorrow in Fremantle, so I will wind up now. Details of Fremantle, Perth and (maybe) Busselton in Blog 9.
"A Very Vintage Chap..." 