Page 134 - Michael Frost-Voyages to Maturity-23531.indd

on account of the building styles, which is to say, dull and stolid. We sailed that
evening, the remnant of which I spent canoodling enjoyably with Sandra.

We arrived in Sydney amidst pouring rain in the early evening of the following
day. It was not hard to see that this was perhaps the finest harbour I had yet visited.
Immediately obvious was the magnificence of the Sydney Harbour Bridge, at that
time the world’s tallest steel arch bridge. Beyond it lay the business end of the port
(where rude commerce ruled and cargo ships berthed) but we went alongside
the splendid Ocean Terminal almost directly under the bridge, opposite which
was sited the nearly-completed Sydney Opera House (the world is not that large;
the unique shell design of the roof was tested at Southampton University), itself
constructed upon pilings which had supported a tram terminal. The Terminal
itself was without doubt the finest that I had yet seen. Of those ports that I had
visited, undoubtedly the most magnificent from the sea was Cape Town (though
the harbour was commonplace), but I began to see that there was a reason why so
many P&O officers who had left England for finer economic opportunities had so
often chosen New South Wales; it looked dynamic and prosperous, quite different
from the rather drab and uninviting Melbourne.

That evening I went ashore briefly with Sandra, King’s Cross being close and
recommended by my compadres as a place for a drink, some life, and a view of
the more ribald side of Australian civilisation. I bade her farewell, not at all sure
whether we would ever again get together, but definitely feeling some considerable
warmth towards her, a positive soul who faced a challenging but promising life.

Next morning the passengers disembarked, but as we were due to leave Sydney
the following day, a busy twenty-four hours followed for the hotel side of the ship’s
complement as they discharged the old baggage and brought aboard the new
passengers’ appurtenances. I took the opportunity to see a little more of the city
and took a short harbour cruise; my appreciation of a splendid port only increased.
On the 8th, we began our cruise, a rather beguiling mixture of the exotic
and the very exotic. But firstly, there was the usual routine of lifeboat drill and
Captain’s Cocktail party to be endured. I noted that the Commodore did not
seem enthusiastic about these events, and except for the unusual company-
mandated Specials (such as Sir Harry, now disembarked) left the glad-handing to
the Staff Captain. But upon lining up, especially in tourist-class, I noted that this
cruise was not one so much to be endured as enjoyed; I had never seen such an
assemblage of young ladies, most of whom seemed to be travelling in small tribes,
parents nowhere in evidence. First-class was pretty good, but tourist was simply
amazing. I went to bed that night full of hope and expectation.

In the morning, we were anchored off Hayman Island, a developing ‘resort’
just off the coast of Queensland. This was a port where the crew was not permitted

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