Page 131 - Michael Frost-Voyages to Maturity-23531.indd

knots, which it was able to maintain with ease. My second observation was at
lifeboat drill; our initial view of the passenger list was correct; socially, this was
likely to be a dull voyage indeed.

But maybe not. On this ship, with so many more passengers, the coterie of
officers was much larger than I had earlier experienced. The higher ranks, 2nd
mate and above, had their own passenger tables, but we hoi polloi sat together
at larger tables at the unfashionable end of the restaurant. And more passengers
meant that sitting among our number was a good number of FAPs, three of
whom were noteworthy. Foremost was one of two two-stripers (they could go up
to three stripes), a gorgeous blonde who kept much to herself (I was told that she
was the Commodore’s secretary, having to spend quite a lot of time ‘assisting’ him
in his cabin), the other was Judith Smythe, a tall and severe lady but with much
charm, and lastly one Carole Orchard (known, of course, as Cherry Orchard), an
attractive and guileless young beauty.

But enough of leisure and pleasure; the same strictures about fraternisation
applied throughout the whole fleet (though perhaps not at the highest levels,
although it was hard to see this crusty Commodore being of much interest to the
comeliest FAP of all).
Early next morning we were in Gibraltar, but for only two hours. Again,
even though we took aboard a few passengers and a few people disembarked
(presumably travel agents who ‘required’ promotional events), it hardly seemed
worthwhile for the ship to visit this unrewarding port unless there were political
motives. The next leg of the voyage, to Naples, was undertaken at a lesser speed,
and, I think, the eight-hour stop there had no greater a motive than to break up
the voyage (our next sequence of ports was distinctly drab) and the Italians had
enough passenger ships going to Australia to render fruitless P&O’s attempt to
include transporting their emigrants. Personally, I had seen enough of Naples,
with its unfortunate experience, not to again go ashore.

I was still re-orientating myself with the ship’s speed as we steamed towards
Suez, at which we arrived two days later. The routine was as normal, but noticeably
there were far more bum-boats surrounding the ship than I had ever before seen,
and, of course, they were selling hundreds of pyramids, mummies, camel-stools
and Tutankhamen busts than seemed possible. However, I mused, this was a feel-
good and harmless transfer of wealth to a society that needed all the help it could
get. But, I noted, we then had a good dinner; trout, pheasant and strawberries.
Although the previous life wasn’t so bad, I appreciated at least twice a day how
little I yearned to get back to a tanker.

The difference between steaming from Suez to Aden at fifteen knots on Khyber
and twenty-seven on Oriana was manifest; the world had shrunk. And now that

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