“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free…”
Day 1 – Sunday 28 April 2019
Aha! I bet that surprised you. We’re back. Here we are again on QUEEN MARY 2, this time heading for New York and back on a two week round trip, that takes in seven hours of the Big Apple on an intensive excursion. I know: not long enough to appreciate that huge city, but it was all we could afford as the alternative would have been two weeks’ stay before QM2 returned. No, we would not travel back by air.
Amazingly (in a pessimistic world in which everything that can go wrong usually seems to) we travelled down to Southampton without a hitch. We drove straight up to the terminal, off-loaded the luggage that was whisked away immediately by a porter, handed the car keys to the valet, and swept into the terminal building. I did not have my cashmere overcoat hung carelessly around my shoulders, but the sentiment was there.
“Princess Grill? Of course, sir, check in here. You are priority boarding”.
We immediately joined a very short queue for the check in desks, watched by a large audience who were waiting, seated and sullen, for checking in for accommodation in the Fore Peak, the Stokehold or Steerage. Our boarding cards were different enough for the check in staff to comment on them and we scrutinised them accordingly. Of course, that was it: Platinum Club members, because of the many days clocked up previously. Gosh. There is only Diamond Membership and God above this. Thank heavens I am unmoved by these trivia, that’s what I say, or it would go to my head. We were through airport-type security without delay and, in the drop of a marlin spike, we were onboard.
Dear reader, I struggle to describe the feeling of being back onboard QM2. Perhaps putting on a well-worn pair of comfortable (but monogrammed calf leather) slippers sums it up. It was absolutely fabulous to gaze around at the familiar decor, the bulkheads, the layout again. It was like coming home. Brushing politely aside the guidance of the welcoming staff in their red uniforms and pillbox hats, we immediately dived down a familiar obscure route and headed straight for our cabin, number 10021 on the starboard side of 10 Deck. And there it was: larger than our last cabin (we thought), brightly lit, immaculate, and decorated with two bottles of bubbly in an ice bucket. As if to say “Welcome”, our iPads and iPhones automatically logged into the ship’s WiFi system after doing some handshaking of their own. Ah, this is it.
After the last voyage we reckoned that we could not afford any more cruises and, indeed, that was the prudent course. But with a bit of shuffling around the assets, selling the shares in RTZ, ICI and Virgin (I wish), remortgaging the house (that’s an idea!), creative accounting and putting Jane back to scrubbing steps and taking in laundry, we somehow have managed to do it. We were, as you know, slightly disappointed by QUEEN VICTORIA and the Dogger Bank, but QM2 has become very special after our epic voyage to Australia and back, and I have to say our return has not disappointed.
First stop, after cracking the bubbly and tucking in to the chocolates, was lunch in Princess Grill on 7 Deck. To my further amazement, we were ushered to a special table right next to a window overlooking the Promenade Deck, there for us to watch – in due course – the healthier passengers taking their exercise as they march round the deck and they – in due course – to watch us demi gods eating our food and demonstrating how to use knives and forks properly. For the moment, in Southampton, our view comprised a rusty bucket dredger and a concrete multi-storey carpark, but never mind. I lunched on Broccoli and Stilton soup followed by Breaded Plaice, new potatoes and spinach; Jane had the healthy option of Baked Salmon and Coconut Rice (without the coconut, she said). What was particularly nice was to mention to the staff our previous waiters and waitresses, and to discover that many were still onboard – we made a bee-line to find them after lunch and they actually remembered us very well. Astonishing, and very heart-warming, that they should recognise and remember Olive Oil and Popeye after so long.
I would like to say that we spent the afternoon touring the ship and examining the scuppers, stays, davits, radar aerials and halyards, but the fact is that [a] we were already very familiar with the ship, [b] Jane refused to go outside without a thick coat, scarf, sheepskin boots and [c] there was half a bottle of bubbly still on ice in the cabin. So we repaired to the latter, there to imbibe and unpack, not in that order. And, outside our cabin as we returned, we found two little purses containing those hallowed emblems of privilege, affluence and staying-power, our Platinum Badges. I immediately pinned mine to my oiled Guernsey seaman’s sweater (as issued to all Naval Cadets circa 1969), and was promptly ordered to remove it again by the memsahib. ”Get that off. Don’t be ridiculous”. She can be so cruel sometimes. She wouldn’t let me keep that miniature submarine from the cornflakes packet either.
I was bracing myself for the all-important safety brief at 1630 and wondering if Jane would bag, yet again, the un-oil-stained lifejacket as she did in Singapore. However, the briefing (and sailing) was postponed owing to the non arrival of some passengers. Very poor. I would have sailed without them. It was ingrained in me at Dartmouth: The Ship Sails On Time. Be There Or It Is An Aggravated Offence Of Absence Without Leave. These civilians, honestly. They will be saying next that the dog ate their e-ticket.
Speaking of which, QM2 is one of the few (might be the only) cruise ships that takes dogs, though – thankfully – they are kept in onboard kennels. One of them was making a heck of a racket in the terminal building, reinforcing Shacklepin’s Theorem that there is simply no escape from dogs and children. I haven’t seen any of the latter yet, but they’ll be there somewhere – trust me – they’ll be lurking in a lifeboat or ballast tank or wherever. They follow me around you know. It’s a conspiracy. Oh, I have just seen five of them, including a toddler as I write (I am finally at the safety briefing, postponed yet again to 1715) – excellent to have one’s forebodings verified.
We finally sailed at 1800, which was in daylight: a rare treat for us. A mild sun shone as we steamed down Southampton Water and round the Isle of Wight. We, for our part, took an early dinner of Steak Au Poivre washed down by an Argentine Malbec, both of which were excellent. Portsmouth was on the port beam as we tucked into this feast and it gave me much pleasure to watch it as we passed by. We watched a film, Can You Ever Forgive Me after dinner, which was the reason for our early meal. Let us just say that it was beautifully acted and was so interesting that I fell asleep. Afterwards, we retired to bed early, utterly shattered. Clocks retarded one hour tonight despite being just south of Portland Bill at about 2200BST.
Day 2 Monday 29 April
Dong… ding… dong…”This is the Captain speaking. This is not an alarm, I repeat this is not an alarm. The time is 2.40 in the morning….”.
So began the 29th April. For a moment I thought I was twelve years old again and staying at Butlin’s holiday camp in Filey: “This is Radio Butlin calling all First Sitting Campers. The time is 7 o’clock and breakfast is now being served…”. No, it was the QM2 and it was in the middle of the night. It turns out that some poor soul was seriously ill and was going to have to be evacuated by helicopter. We were steaming towards Falmouth for the rendezvous and we had been woken up to tell us not to go on our balconies or take flash photography of the helicopter when it arrived. Curiously, we were not told not to go onto the helicopter deck itself, but I suppose that was axiomatic. I looked out of the window but there was nothing in sight except the loom of a lighthouse; I returned to the grumbling Mrs Shacklepin and tried to get back to sleep. Just like turning in after the Middle Watch, it took me ages. Vaguely I heard the beat of rotors, but then finally drifted off into a twilight world. It is, of course, ironic that if we had not been woken up and told about it virtually everyone would have remained ignorant of the event; now, some fool would have been bound to go out there and take a picture. But the Captain did have to formally warn us. No doubt we will be meeting him at one of the cocktail parties scheduled.
The real day dawned on an overcast sky with a little haze, wind Force 3 from NW, sea Slight, speed 23 knots, course 254, temperature 12C at noon. We were pitching gently in the Western Approaches and had just cleared Bishop Rock and the Scilly Isles. Breakfast in the Princess Grill was interrupted by yet another announcement from the Captain: another CASEVAC, and please clear the upper deck and balconies. These people are dropping like flies and we have only just cleared the English Channel. We caught a quick glimpse of the HMCG helicopter over the bacon and coffee, then that was gone – hope the patient is OK.
Two lectures in the forenoon, one on Ruses and Deceptions in WW2 and the other on the History of Coroners and Forensic Science. Both were good, but the last was the most interesting. Apparently the concept of inquests and coroners in England started about the time of William the Conqueror, when serious penalties were imposed on a village if a dead Norman was found (nothing for an Anglo Saxon). Consequently there was an incentive to hide bodies found overnight, dispose of them at sea, or dump them in the next village before day dawned. This was not entirely satisfactory, so a system was derived and refined in the 12th century at the time of Richard I. It did not start out terribly accurately because it used a system of old crones to count the bodies found daily and record their causes of death; there was a certain amount of double accounting as well as somewhat speculative and ill informed causes of death recorded. Eventually, the system of juries came in and they were required to view the actual body before coming to a verdict. Inquests and post mortems were often held in pubs, which must have done wonders for the steak and kidney pie on offer for the pub lunch. It was only in the 19th century that it was decreed that coroners must be doctors or lawyers, and later still when inquests were banned from being held in licensed premises. The Chinese had been conducting forensic investigations as long ago as 200 BC but, of course, it came much later to the Western world. It was interesting, as well, to be reminded that fingerprinting only came in in the 1890s, and DNA in 1986.
The cinema was packed for these lectures, which was impressive, though the cynical Jane pointed out that this was probably because there was no one sunbathing. People at these events never cease to amaze me. They trundle in, late, then just stand there in the middle of the aisle, frozen, like a robot that has suffered a power cut. A variation of this is the bloke (and it usually is a bloke) who does the frozen statue act right in front of the projector, so we get the shadow of half his head on the screen – yet he never seems to cotton on that it is he who his spoiling the presentation. We met another example of irritation personified this morning, and that is what I shall call The Sentry. This was a woman who came in late, could not get a seat, so walked right down to the bottom of the cinema to where the emergency exit was. She then spent the entire hour pacing to and fro across the exit lobby: three paces this way, three paces back. Even when someone vacated their seat later, she stayed where she was on sentry duty. This may sound trivial, but her constant pacing back and forth in the corner of one’s eye was quite distracting. I have added her name to The List.
A general early impression of one’s fellow passengers is, perhaps due. These people are slightly different, again, from the clientele on the Australian trip and the Hamburg trip. They are mostly, how shall I put it, ‘of a certain age’, but perhaps with not quite so many of the halt and the lame as on the Australian trip: slightly fewer wheelchairs, though plenty of walking sticks. For obvious reasons there are quite a few more Americans, some returning from a tour of Europe but also some doing the round trip, like us, but in reverse (I think about 450 of those). Overall, I would say the mix is much more international. Reassuringly, some behaviour remains common from the previous trips – I refer especially to the men who wear baseball hats indoors (is it raining?) and those carrying full rucksacks around the ship (what on earth do they keep in there?). We met a nice American couple in the check-in queue, both from St Louis, he a navy veteran (said so on his hat) but we have not seen them since. Of course, they might have baled out and gone Celebrity after meeting us. The rich tapestry of cultures makes for entertaining people watching though, of course, what appears eccentric to our eyes is almost certainly normal to theirs. I was particularly impressed by the lady who came in to dinner last night wearing a broad brimmed Spanish hat and cape, and hence looked like a label from a bottle of Sandeman’s port. More of this scurrilous gossip later, though I have been banned from comment on a large range of social groups by my sponsor, who intends to edit the script before dispatch this time.
We skipped lunch and took a couple of turns round the deck in the afternoon (after a little snooze in our cabin). This blew away many of the cobwebs and nearly took Jane as well. Amazingly, a hearty soul was swimming in one of the outdoor pools. We weakened mid afternoon, and took afternoon tea in the Grills Lounge. Most satisfactory and almost guilt-free in the absence of lunch. We finished the afternoon with a game of Scrabble in the games area, low down in the ship adjacent to the theatre, with the sea rolling by just a few feet away outside the large picture window.
I reckon the sea state deteriorated as the day progressed and certainly the Captain confirmed that we we diverting south slightly, on a rhumb line, to avoid some dirty weather. The highest deck was out of bounds owing to the wind, which had increased to Force 6 by late evening, with catspaws forming on the sea. Jane commented on a few green faces, but I reckon the ship is still pretty steady, with a little motion, but no serious rolling or pitching.
Black and White Ball tonight and we have ordered lobster, in advance, from the à la carte menu. Jane has threatened dancing after dinner, so best I hit the wine. Perhaps a little dry Riesling? Clocks are retarded yet again tonight, bringing the time to GMT – 1.
Day 3 – Tuesday 30 April
The day dawned with high cloud, sunny intervals, sea moderate, 11C, wind Force 5 from W. Course 254, speed 21 knots. Position at 0700: 41deg 27.3 N, 18deg 22.1 W. We were lurching. I am hard-put to describe it better. QM2 does not have the slow roll of most ships, but rather moves a few degrees, then stops jerkily and moves back. I put it down to the stabilisers in action. It felt like a bit of a rough night, with creaking woodwork and the howl of wind, but this was not reflected by the sea, which had lost its catspaws and appeared relatively calm, though there was some swell. It calmed down significantly later. We woke early because of the daily retarding clock and even Jane could not squeeze any more zeds out of the bunk.
Last night went well, though quietly. The lobster was a nice treat but not brilliant, and we had a good chat with our neighbours, who were from Tampa. There was a USN Captain in uniform with lots of medals at dinner and I wondered briefly if I should have brought my own Mess Undress for black tie nights. But no, I am getting far too long in the tooth for wearing uniform now; I would look like something out of Dad’s Army. Besides, I have no medals: 33 years of selfless sacrifice and privation, which I seldom mention, without earning a single one. We did go down to the ballroom, but the four couples on the dance floor were far too professional for us (the smooth flowing movement, the female head thrown back and looking sideways in pure rapture). One man was dressed in a white dinner jacket, but wore a pork pie hat, which I thought a trifle eccentric. No way were we parading our clumsy footwork in front of an audience down there. So we strolled to the atrium to do a little people watching. To our surprise, there was hardly anyone there – I would guess that most people were in the theatre, where some woman was belting out a song with great gusto. In fact pretty much all there was in the atrium area was an older man wearing a polo shirt, jeans, sand shoes and no socks, and a younger man, about 30, wearing calf-length builders boots with reinforced toe cap, jeans, thick sweater, no shirt, and a beanie hat. Has the world gone mad? Were they left over after the last refit? The older bloke looked somewhat introspective as he sat there and I suspect he may have been seasick. The younger man, however, just had attitude. He was blowed if he was going to change for the evening or keep to the restricted public areas, which begs the question – raised so many times before – then why come on QM2? I am sure he could have worked his passage on a Panamanian tramp steamer for no fee at all.
We took a leisurely breakfast as our first serial was not until 1100. The sky cleared and it actually looked quite sunny out there. The prison exercise yard that is the Promenade Deck was back in evidence and it was heartening to see those incredibly keen people battling against the wind. One girl passed wearing full anorak, climbing kit and an enormous rucksack that the Royal Marines call a Bergen, which I thought was taking things to extremes, but Jane pointed out that she was probably carrying it in order to practise for that climb up the Rockies. We tried walking round the deck ourselves later and it was annoying, after two years, to find that the great masses continue to walk counter clockwise round the deck when we want to walk clockwise. Why weren’t they told? It would have saved them from having to jink left and right to get out of our way.
Our first serial was a lecturer on the subject of terrorism, similar to the one we had received on passage to Australia. It was a good lecture, but still a bit depressing. Lunchtime found us in the Grills Lounge (no riffraff) drinking pre lunch cocktails: a Bellini and a Mojito. I think Jane’s tummy recovery has gone to her head – I for my part would have had a sensible glass of tepid water, but felt I should keep her company. We toured the Kings Court – the self service canteen – after a light lunch, in search of an elusive waitress from the first voyage and I wondered, yet again, why on Earth you would eat there instead of being served in the grand splendour of the Britannia Restaurant. Jane could not resist helping herself to an ice cream cone and I could not resist gawping at a bloke in full Scottish rig, kilt, sporran, the lot, standing at the self-service buffet. Bet he wasn’t a Scot. The rich tapestry of life, as I said earlier. We were going to ‘do’ the planetarium after lunch, and procured tickets accordingly, but we found that the queue to get in (even with tickets) stretched forever and there was still 15 minutes to go. Stuff that for a game of soldiers; even Jane wasn’t prepared to wait. So on to the next serial, a talk on the History of Impressionism and introducing Sheree Valentine Daines in the art gallery. Who says I am uncultured? We liked the artist’s work, but didn’t have £50,000 to spare. The free prosecco was good though, and the blue sea rolling past the large round windows in the gallery provided a perfect backdrop to the event.
The final lecture of the day was about Atom Bombs and the end of WW2 and it examined the reasons and effectiveness of the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombers. A cheerful topic, but worth examining. The lecturer gave a good summary of the atomic bomb development and put forward some very even-handed arguments. In summary, though, he explained that the USA intended to blockade Japan into surrender and not invade it; the effect of the atomic bombs left the maniacal Japanese leadership completely unmoved; and that it was the USSR’s decision to break its five-year non-aggression pact with Japan and invade Japanese-held Manchuria that tipped the balance in favour of surrender – and that only after Emperor Hirohito’s direct intervention. Personally, I followed the arguments, which were compelling, but I still think the Japanese had it coming: a controversial view, but an honest one.
A relatively quiet night tonight, with nothing planned, ordinary smart evening rig, and Dover Sole for Jane. A convenient time, perhaps, to fire this off before it gets too unwieldy. As I conclude today, it is just after 1700 local time, the sea is blue and calm, the sun is shining, and we are sipping tea from our Wedgwood cups. Things could be a lot worse. More soon.
"A Very Vintage Chap..." 