A strange thing happened to me my first night on board the Vulcania. I had spent the day getting my cabin in order. I had unpacked my boarding trunk and hung my clothes neatly in the wardrobe. A deck steward who seemed magically to know that I was done came and whisked my now empty trunk into storage.

The compact bookcase/computer desk combination I had brought with me fitted well into the cabin décor. It was secured so that it wouldn’t move should we encounter rough seas. My books, several small volumes of Mary Oliver’s poetry, A Trail Through Leaves by Hannah Hinchman, WatercolorPencil Magic by Cathy Johnson, and Into your Digital Darkroom by Peter Cope, had been stowed and strapped in place so they would not come sliding out in the aforementioned heavy seas. My laptop fitted snugly into its compartment. To the right of it, there was room enough for my journal, colored pens and pencils, and other assorted paraphernalia.

I was tired after a full day of arrival and preparation so I slipped early into my bunk style bed. My body seemed to float beneath the colorful down quilt. The design was that of pale blue, tropical waters…a sea with silky wavelets where a myriad of small tropical fish left rainbows in their tiny wakes.

It didn’t take long for me to fall asleep. When I awakened it was dark, except for the moon spotlighting a path through the porthole and onto my pillow. I could not tell what had awakened me except that I thought I heard a voice, one that I could not identify. Out of habit, I looked for my watch but remembered that L’Enchanteur had suggested we leave all time pieces ashore. We would be sailing, she said, by Lemurian time; timeless time is the way she described it. An interesting concept to say the least.

I heard the voice again, or I thought I did. “Who is there?” Looking around, I saw nothing except a diffused green glow on the foot of my bed. I sat up quickly pulling the quilt with me and causing the glow to tumble off the bunk and onto the deck.

“Hey, watch out,” the voice said, “I’m not so young any more and my arthritis…well, it’s been a cold winter, even in Arizona.

What the heck? I was by this time getting a little nervous and beginning to question my sanity.

Much older now, but I remember so well the wonderment I felt on that first day in New York.  You can see it in my face in the picture above . I’m still full of wonder today as I embark on another ship in another time. When I left Liverpool all those years ago, I was to some extent naive.  Not so naive now though, and yet I want to retrieve some of that nativity, some of the wonder…child-like, perhaps, but something we all need in our lives.

America has been good to me. I didn’t expect to find the streets paved with gold, and they were not. I had to work hard all my life, but I have built a reasonably comfortable life for myself. I have a comfortable though small home. I found the love of my life in 1963 and have not regretted one hour of our relationship. There are things about America that I don’t like, like peanut butter, and boiled eggs that are served all slopped up in a bowl. I still like my eggs served in their shells and in an egg cup. So much more civilized.  And instead of that horrid peanut butter, I’ll take a Marmite sandwich thank you very much.

But enough already about reminiscing.  Today is a new day and I’m setting off on a new voyage, albeit a virtual one. The greatest technological invention of my life as been the personal computer. It has opened the world up to so many. For me, finding the Soul Food Cafe and getting to know Heather in all her alter egos is the miracle of technology.

I still have a lot to do yet in my cabin, but when I heard the ship’s horn, I was compelled to rush topside and watch our departure. That old excitement and wonder gripped me as I watched the sleek black hull slice through the water and, after we left the harbour, the dolphins playing tag with the ship.

We are on our way so Bon Voyage everyone. Life is good.

It was 1950 and nearing the end of July, a cold, rainy day in Liverpool, England. I was making my way toward the docks where I would board the MV Georgic for my one way voyage to the United States of America. It was a little too early to board so I stopped at a tea room near the docks. I ordered a cup of tea. Just the ticket, I thought, to squash my nerves.

I questioned my decision to leave my homeland and all that was familiar. You’re selling your birthright, I was told more than once. America is a land of crime, they said. You won’t like it at all and the people; they are a boastful lot who won’t care an iota about you. You think it’s like in the movies. It’s not, you know. I wondered if I should not pay heed to all the advice I was getting. They can’t all be wrong, I thought.

The waitress, a frumpy middle aged woman with dishwater blonde hair and an apron that had long been a stranger to soap and water, plonked a chipped mug down in front of me spilling some of the brownish liquid onto the counter. Pushing the mug away I paid the waitress with the last few coins of English money I had. My wallet was filled with bright new dollars, enough that is to get me to my destination and keep me going until the rest of my money was transferred. Not a lot of money, just what I had managed to save over the years. I have one more thing to say about that unforgettable cup of tea. Although I had been a lifelong tea drinker last cup of muddy liquid put me off the beverage for many years. I was in my fifties before I started drinking tea again.

That cup of tea squashed any misgivings I might have had. Without another thought, I gathered up my baggage and headed across the street to the dock where the Georgic awaited. She was an impressive ship and when I saw her waiting there for me, my misgivings lessened. Later that day, when the ship pulled away from the dock I stood on the deck, in the drizzle, and watched my homeland recede into the murkiness of that late July day.

Now, as I prepare to embark on a voyage aboard the Vulcania, I think back to another time when I excitedly boarded another ship…a ship with a history. The MV Georgic, a White Star liner, was to carry me away from my country of origin, from all I had known, westward to the New World and the unknown that lay there. I was young then and more than likely didn’t think much about what I might lose. I was going to America, that land of milk and honey and where, I had read, anything was possible. Family and friends informed me in no uncertain fashion that I was making a mistake; that America offered little but gangsters and guns. Sounds more like the present day doesn’t it, what with the state of the inner cities and all. But I’m not here to write about that. I’m here to tell of a voyage, one that changed the course of my life.

The Georgic was not huge like the Queen Mary and not as well known, but she’d had quite a history. I boarded her on June 30, 1950 after she had served as a transatlantic passenger liner and, during World War II, as a troop carrier. In 1940 she evacuated troops from Norway, and in 1941 was badly damaged in a German air raid. But, like the Phoenix rising from the flames, she was raised and towed until she finally ended up at Belfast for final repairs. She ended that period of her life as a troop carrier. After the war she performed her duty for the Australian Emigrant Service. In 1950 she returned to the Liverpool to New York service. Her first post war transatlantic voyage began on May 4, 1950. I boarded her on June 30 of that year and spent my first July 4th aboard her. She was broken up in 1956, a sad end for a ship that was for a few short days, my home.

I have since cruised Alaskan waters and the Caribbean on ships far more glamorous than the Georgic, but none have left the lasting impression the Georgic did. Now I am ready to begin another voyage, this time aboard the Vulcania. I wonder what wonders she will present me with, and what memories.

You can read more about the MV Georgic at:
http://www.geocities.com/White_Star_Liners/Georgic-II.html

Vi

I’m all of a dither

Can’t think what to pack…

My books and my paints,

My cameras,

Both with memory sticks

And batteries galore.

Cosmetics I’ll need,

Aw heck, I’ll just let the sun

Varnish my face,

My arms and my legs

And anything else I dare to expose.

Now let us see,

There’s that dingy

And life belt just in the event

Some crazy lady takes over the helm.

Then there are treats

For that little black stowaway.

My goodness, I’m sitting here

Surrounded by stuff.

Will I ever be ready in time,

Will I ever be ready?

Vi