Page 198 - Michael Frost-Voyages to Maturity-23531.indd
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About half way across the Southern Ocean, when Christey and I were
                discussing some completely unimportant titbit, we became vaguely aware that
                the ship had begun an unusual vibration. Normally this could be caused by
                changing the engine revolutions or by the decrease in the depth of the ocean
                beneath us, the latter of which was hardly likely in our location, where there was
                at least 2,000 feet of watery nothingness. Looking forward, we saw a group of
                passengers peering over the bow and gesticulating to us on the bridge. I was sent
                forward to see what was happening, and upon looking over the railing saw that
                a whale had become trapped over our bulbous bow. It was letting out copious
                amounts of blood and was probably either a bowhead or right whale. After being
                hit by 45,000 tons of steel travelling at twenty-six knots, it was plainly dead. I
                remained on the bow, and Christey reduced speed, altered course a few times,
                and eventually, after many manoeuvres, the poor cetacean rolled off to its grave.

                   Such excitement was rare. I continued with my pursuit of the glorious
                Virginia, but as it became evident that she regarded me as some kind of dork
                (and, indeed, as did I in such circumstances) I spent more time reading than
                normal given the ‘possibilities’ on such a ship. (I always brought with me some
                of my own books, as the ships’ ‘libraries’ with which I became acquainted were
                obviously selected by the illiterate and ignorant.)

                   We duly arrived in Fremantle, where, having by then been at sea for quite a
                few weeks, the only relief being the brief Cape Town stop, many went ashore to
                stretch the legs. I was not entirely surprised to find that the port proved as dull
                as expected. However, there was a surprise for me in the shape of a letter from
                Sandra, from whom I had not heard for months, and to whom I had not given a
                schedule of ports. I could only surmise that she had located me from the Sydney
                office, the second biggest of P&O’s homes.

                   Three days later, we arrived in that city. I soon located Sandra, and our
                stay being set for a few days, forthwith brought her aboard for some comfort.
                Firstly, however, I bought a paper; there on the front page was a picture of
                Virginia posing on Bondi Beach! I could plainly see what I had missed; I
                needed some compensation.

                   I am pleased to be able to say that I received a lot more than my fair share
                of compensation. We had a good dinner on board, and upon repairing to my
                cabin found to my untrammelled delight that this was very much a changed girl.
                She had, I suspect, been somewhat restrained by society’s values in Ceylon, but
                the considerable freedom permitted, nay mandated, in Australia had changed
                her to a very affectionate young lady. These were the months that followed the
                scandalous trials in England of ‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover’ and ‘Fanny Hill’, wherein
                much more explicit depictions of love, sex and lust than hitherto permissible in
                polite society were now commonplace, but as I could not express the experience


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