Quebec City to Southampton

When we arrived at the docks on the day of departure Dad managed all the paperwork for our freight, including the car. The dockers had gathered at the foot of the gangway making sure none of the crew came down and stepped ashore to help passengers. By the time we had got settled into our cabins and had watched our freight being loaded the dockers, fuelled by drink, had got ugly.

There was one trunk on the shore. It was owned by an elderly lady. One of the crew went down to haul it aboard but had to retreat after the dockers had roughed him up. Press photographers watching these scenes had their equipment taken and thrown in the water. Meanwhile the police watched all of this happening and did nothing. They were city police and the docks were the responsibility of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police who never showed.

We watched as the owner went down the gangplank, stepped ashore and started to haul her trunk on to it. The dockers jeered and heckled her and the crew watched on helplessly until the entire trunk was on the gangway which the strikers dare not step on. That was when the dockers started pelting the ship with lumps of tarmac smashing the upper deck windows while the crew hauled the trunk onboard.

Glasses near the sink tinkled into each other and we all had to adjust our balance slightly. The RMS Carmania slipped away from her strike bound berth and gently moved along the St Lawrence Seaway. Our cabin, A15, was on the starboard side. From the porthole I could see lights on the opposite bank which got further and further away as we started our journey along the widening seaway towards the Atlantic. We felt the ship get into a rhythm as it pushed its way through the water.

Dad kept teasing us that this was nothing compared to what we would experience when we reached the Atlantic and nothing like he had experienced on a troop ship in World War II that had to zigzag to avoid u-boats.

When were all settled in our respective cabins we went to the dining room for our first meal onboard. To my nine year old eyes the dining room was huge, well lit and an expanse of white linen. There was an aroma of warmth and comfort the likes of which I had never experienced in my so far short life. My first taste of luxury maybe?

Stewards in white jackets fussed over us and gave us menu cards to choose from.

Don't forget, this was in 1963 and my Mum could not help noticing and commenting on the length of the stewards' hair. In Canada the only hairstyle for men and boys at the time was a crew cut. First of all, she mentioned to us how scruffy they looked. Then when a steward came to take our order she couldn't stop herself from asking.

"Haven't you been able to get off the ship to get your haircut lately?"

"We have Mrs Russell and this is the style everyone has in England now. Just like The Beatles."

Back in Edmonton in Alberta, we had never heard of The Beatles. Maybe Bill Haley and his Comets, Elvis Presley and Perry Como but certainly not The Beatles.

I had roast lamb and with it came mint sauce. Wow! I had never tasted anything like mint sauce before and coated my lamb with it liberally. It was a taste explosion.

The first morning at sea my brothers and I were up early and explored the ship. Going over all the decks and through the lounges. We came across the 1st Class Lounge and a steward let us have a look around on the condition that we would only be in there for a few minutes. We even found the library where I was going to spend a lot of the crossing in between meals and walks around the decks.

My strongest memory of entering the dining room for breakfast that first morning was again of warmth and luxury but also the smell of freshly baked bread combined with the faintest of whiffs of diesel.

After that first breakfast and subsequent meals a routine was set. Dad and I would go to the highest deck next to the base of the funnel and exercise our dog "Skip". He was in good hands for the crossing as the crew member responsible for him was one of the chefs. He would bring cuts of meat from the kitchen for him. Left over steaks, chicken and yes, lamb but without any mint sauce. Dad and I would walk the length of this compound and Skip would walk beside us. Then one day well into the crossing Dad and I were so engrossed in our walk that we forgot about Skip. When we did remember him we looked around for him and there he was stretched out on a bench enjoying the sea breeze and watching us walk up and down his compound.

I am fairly certain that while we were doing these walks that whoever was on duty on the bridge could see us and would blast the ship's horn which made me jump out of my skin every time it went off.

My brothers and I used to try as much as we could from the menu as possible at each meal. To me it didn't matter what meat was on offer as I would always ask if I could have some mint sauce with it.

At one dinner the steward didn't hand around menu cards at our table. Instead he told us that the chef had prepared "something special" for our family. What came to the table was a family sized bowl of chili con carne and as big a bowl of rice. I think it was quite hot as my Mum kept having to ask for the water jug to be refilled.

Mid Atlantic the ocean did become a bit rough. So rough, that when we went down for breakfast the crew were securing the dining room chairs to the floor. Our usual steward came to the table and told us that there was something special for breakfast. When he returned he was carrying a glass bowl filled with "roll mops". That is fresh herrings soaked in vinegar. I am sure we could have eaten more but the sight of them slopping back and forth in the bowl in time with the rhythm of the ship punching its way through the waves was not appetising.

"Nothing like forty four when I came across on the Lusitania" my Dad reminded us.

It was probably on this same day that there was a sudden buzz of excitement amongst the crew and passengers. The Carmania's sister ship passed us going towards Canada. Passengers from both ships waved across the water to each other like long lost friends. Those dockers in Quebec City will soon wipe the smiles off of your faces. Both ships horns blasted out their mutual greetings. Luckily Dad and I were not walking Skip on the deck right under the horn.

There seemed to be something sadistic with the chili, the roll mops and their coincidence with the large swell rolling around the ship.

It was while my brothers and I were exploring the lounges before the rest of the passengers were up and about and before breakfast that we worked out a bit of a wheeze. What we would do is sit in the armchairs. Then run our fingers around the upholstered seats where we would quite often find loose change that had slipped out of pockets the previous evening. The change we found would often be enough to pay for soft drinks from the bar later in the day.

If I ever find myself in a hotel lounge or bar with this sort of comfortable seating even now I still, much to my wife's utter embarrassment, run my fingers around the upholstery looking for change. Mostly I find encrusted breadcrumbs but occasionally I do manage to pick out a coin.

Finally, the day arrived when we docked in Southampton.

It was the 11th October 1963.

In lots of ways, I was sad that the crossing had ended. The last few days had been one of adventure, fun and being fussed over by the crew. Most of the crossing was travelled under clear skies. The ocean was nowhere near as bad as Dad had teased us.

So here we were, in Southampton under a dank leaden grey sky. We watched as our worldly goods in the packing cases Dad had made emerged from the hold. Then the family car came through the hatch as vertically as it had gone in back at the docks at Quebec City.

My Mum's Mum, our maternal Grandmother had come all the way down from Maidenhead along with Aunt Carol. They were allowed on board ship to meet us and I had great fun showing Aunt Carol to our cabin and through the lounges. Especially the lucrative first class one.

We had arrived to start our new life in England.