Thursday July 20, 1922 - Part 1

Thursday July 20.

Called at 6.0am. Dressed and visited the S.S Albertville and had our cabins allotted. Returned to the Queens Hotel for breakfast.

About 8.30am we collected our remaining kit and crossed the road to the wharf and went on board.

A Large number gathered on the wharf to bid us Bon Voyage from the distance; a lesser and more favoured company – armed with special permits, came on board to inspect the ship before saying farewell. Four officials examined these permits one after the other & the bearer then went on board with what remained of his ticket!

An inspection of the Party’s cabins; a walk around the ship, one or two blasts on the hooter & all too soon the time arrived to say Goodbye.

The deck is not an altogether happy place at this moment: I was glad I had no relatives to bid farewell as I watched other family circles for a greater or lesser time destined to be broken….

                “May there be no sadness of farewell when I put out to sea”.

All visitors have now left the ship. A Workman on the quayside is busy finishing the painting of the ship’s side with the aid of a brush fastened on a long pole. A part far below him has been omitted! He reached down to give it its white paint.        An official or two – evidentially feeling his own importance acutely – paces up and down the wharf; whilst the crowd remains at a respectful distance not daring to come beyond the limits of their roped enclosure. A merchant is however permitted to come quite close to shout some final instructions to some employee or partner of his on the top deck.

A sign from the bridge and the gangway is pulled ashore: our only connection with land now is a rope – and this soon disappears. On the other side of the ship two tug-boats are manoeuvring into position one at each end of the ship. A stout hawser passes to each and all is ready for the pilots’ word.

The old clock of Antwerp Cathedral chimes out 9.0 o'clock: the tugs receive their signal & the ropes gradually tighten and gently the big ship is pulled away. Quite imperceptibly: but gradually the gap between the ships side and the wharf begins to widen and we know we are moving.

The old painter on the wharf with his long brush becomes quite animated: he sees another tiny patch unpainted and almost runs to give a parting dab of paint where he feels it is needed. He gives his last poke… the gap widens, now even his pole is too short to reach the ship. Handkerchiefs wave: many are the shouts of Bon Voyage. A photographer on the quay is doing a good trade in taking groups along the ships side… and gradually we move out into the stream. Individuality of those on the wharf now becomes lost in the crowd, waving handkerchiefs agitate more violently as the distance increases. Cranes and other dock maintenance now comes in between us…we are really off.

        “We break new seas today –

  Our eager keels quest unaccustomed waters,

 And, from the vast uncharted waste in front,

The mystic circles leap

To greet our prows with mightiest possibilities;

Bringing us – what?

Dread shoals and shifting sands?

 And calms and storms?

 And clouds and biting gales?

 And wrecks and loss?

And valiant fighting times?

And, may be, death! – And so, the larger life.

And, maybe, Life,--Life on a bounding tide,

And chance of glorious deeds;--

Of help swift-born to drowning mariners;

Of cheer to ships dismasted in the gale;

Of succours given unasked and joyfully;

Of mighty service to all needy souls.

 So--Ho for the Pilot's orders,

Whatever course He makes!

For He sees beyond the sky-line,

And He never makes mistakes.

 For each man captains his own Soul,

And chooses his own Crew,

But the Pilot knows the Unknown Seas,

  And He will bring us through.”

 John Oxenham