Page 92 - Michael Frost-Voyages to Maturity-23531.indd

Briefly put, our tour amply demonstrated that a recent description of the
city as ‘the anthill of humanity’ was not entirely misplaced. We saw no evidence,
of course, of corruption itself or of the Camorra, the Neapolitan version of the
Mafia, but the place was home to a great deal of garbage that was simply left to
rot where it lay, itself later a scandal of some national importance. Our trip was
not improved by the ‘beach’ which our driver suggested that we visit to conclude
our tour; it was simply a pile of bare rock and, to add insult to injury, we had to
pay to get onto it.

There were compensations, however. Arriving back on board we collectively
repaired to one of the bars and prepared for dinner. It had not really been
brought home to me before getting on the ship that there were some advantages
to being in our roles on such a ship, a major one being that, without many actual
responsibilities, we were in fact very privileged, being entitled to eat in the first-
class dining room and enjoy the run of the public rooms in both classes. I had
previously examined the differences between the dining choices of the classes,
and there was no questioning the quality of the fare from which we could
choose. I learned that frogs’ legs were more than edible, fillet steak was almost
permanently available, and that delicacies like whitebait – which I had never had
at home – could easily compensate for scrubbing out lifeboats. And then to repair
to the first-class lounge to sample a small brandy (our wine allowance was not
mandated only to assist with the entertainment of passengers, though we knew
that the mate did occasionally scrutinise such things) and perhaps to engage in
small talk with some perfect human being … well, it was difficult to complain
about an ostensibly miserable mate.

A slow overnight trip brought us to a very hot Palma, more properly called
Palma de Mallorca, a place of which I knew nothing. In fact, few did, as it is
the capital of the autonomous Balearic Islands, then under the rule of the fascist
Spanish government; only later did it become the popular spot for the young
and dissolute. Its location, superb weather and cheap property made it an ideal
destination for northern Europeans seeking a Mediterranean vacation.

But for us, it was twelve hours of constant launch operation; of the shore,
beach or otherwise, I saw nothing.

This was the effective conclusion of my first cruise, and I certainly had found
such a trip much more congenial than any of my prior experiences. But three
days later we were berthed in Southampton, this time directly astern of Canberra.
Although I had seen that vessel before, being so close made it all the more
apparent how things were changing in the world of liners. As I have said, one
could see a straight developmental line between the elegant Straths and Arcadia,
but it was a leapfrog to Canberra. With engine room and funnels located near the
stern (though not uniquely so, Southern Cross having already demonstrated the

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