by Mark Rice
Alice sat with Derek in a window seat of the restaurant, her unseeing eyes oblivious to the endless white topped waves that rushed past. Her old thin fingers struggled to find the teacake on her plate. Derek gently moved them into position, and she gathered the cake with her shaking hand and raised it unsteadily to her lips.
“So when I retired in 2014,” Derek told us, “we found ourselves rattling round this six-bedroom detached house which was far too big for us, now the children had grown up and gone. We suddenly realised we were slaves to the house and the acre of garden that went with it. Frankly, it all became too much to maintain so we sold it.
Alice added: “I mean, with all the children now in their forties and owning their own places in far-flung parts of the world, we knew they had no interest in keeping the place.”
“So we put the money in the bank and have been cruising ever since.” said Derek.
“My only regret is that we didn’t do it sooner. There is a time in life for everything and we overstayed our time in that house. We had to move on. I mean, you can’t take it with you, can you?”
“Now we can visit the kids and stay over for a few weeks before picking up another cruise or flying back to Old Blighty,” chipped in Alice. And so we left them discussing their next cruise and enjoying each other’s company and the freshly made cakes.
On Deck 13 we played a game of tennis on the netted court before the cricket gang arrived for their scheduled session. The racquets and balls were freely available and left out in a plastic box for anyone to use. Behind the court, three netted golf driving ranges were in use. We may well be travelling across the Atlantic Ocean in winter, but the ship stabilisers keep the decks on an even keel.
However, an enjoyable tennis session was spoilt by the arrival of a very pushy entertainments team member who marched onto our court ten minutes early and evicted us mid-game.
I didn’t protest at the time, but I was burning with rage inside.
“Sorry, Margaret, it looks like we’re done for today” I said.
She nodded her head in agreement and we returned the equipment to the nearby box.
I stared long and hard at the short arse with a clipboard. Richard Chad, his name according to his badge, had just qualified for an entry on a most unwanted list. I left him setting up the cricket stumps and picking two teams to battle it out over the next two hours.
Down a level, we finally found the table tennis table deserted, with the daily competition over. We got three games in before quitting for a walk around the ship.
15:00. Ballroom Dancing - Intermediate Foxtrot
We had practised our dancing during lunchtime in our cabin and I had not improved. In fact, I think I was now more confused and left-footed than ever. Exasperation and terror had set in. However, I agreed to attend the afternoon class as the dance instructors did say they would reprise the morning steps before advancing to add another dance. So we found ourselves back amongst a slightly smaller but still considerable number of couples. I'm sorry to say the outcome for the afternoon session was almost as disastrous as the morning’s had been. Margaret, God bless her, tried hard to help me and was as sure-footed and supportive as ever. She cut a graceful figure while this wretched limpet hung onto her shoulders and tripped her up at every opportunity. You see, after three steps, my mind freezes and I lose any recollection of what I've been taught. I then cast glances about the room trying to copy what other men are doing, indeed what the instructors are doing, what Margaret is doing until finally I suffer sensory overload and stop processing anything at all. It’s truly pathetic but I will persist until she decides enough is enough.
The cruise had its first change to the published sailing itinerary within an hour of boarding yesterday. The captain announced that the US authorities had refused us permission to dock overnight in Fort Lauderdale so it’s only one day there, not two. However, today he announced we now have an extra stop to enjoy, with a visit to Cape Canaveral. So, a visit to the NASA Kennedy Space Centre is on. We booked the excursion immediately and threw in another excursion, this time to the Everglades marshes via airboat for the next day.
In the Imperial Restaurant it was a full complement of diners for the first time. Craig and his wife, Mary, turned up to add a bit of sparkle to the table. They'd started their journey from the Scottish Highlands at 02.30 and, as suspected, after arriving worn out, had skipped dinner last night.
Craig was a tall well-built man whose face showed the weathering effects of being out on the land all year round. His wild white hair was a stranger to a comb, as much as his strong white bushy eyebrows were to a pair of scissors.
Mary, a short stout woman with sparkling blue eyes and an easy smile took a seat next to her husband, flipped out his jacket pocket flap and straightened his tie. It was clear from the off that she was the boss in this relationship, a benign dictator.
“So, Craig, tell us about life in the Highlands?” ventured Frank.
“You’re a farmer I believe,” said Roger.
“Aye, a farmer I used to be, but I’m retired now. My two sons have farms nearby and they now work my land too.”
“He didn’t stop farming until he hit eighty,” said Mary, “and only this week I had to climb up the Shelly Mountains after him, to get him to come home for his dinner.”
“He keeps you fit then,” said Rose with a smile.
“We’re on this cruise so I can stop him working himself to death.” Mary smiled. “And yes, he keeps me on my toes. We live in an isolated part of the Highlands and the emergency services would take hours to reach us, so I’ve done a first aid course myself. We even have a defibrillator in the yard,” she bragged, “and I know how to use it. Please God I’ll never have to”
Craig nodded.
Our new dinner guests fitted in easily and by the end of the meal we were a single homogenous group. Margaret left the restaurant drooling over Craig and Mary’s soft Scottish accents. We took our seats with Brian and Anita, the Irish couple, whom we bumped into again on the walk to the theatre.
In the Gaiety Theatre, the star turn tonight is Richie Rowe, a singer who won a TV talent competition in the 1970s and managed one hit single during his fifteen minutes of fame. At that time, there were only two TV channels in the UK and this show, Big Chance, attracted weekly audiences of twenty million viewers. Richie won it fifteen weeks in a row, an unheard of and never repeated achievement. He’s made a career as a cabaret artist out of a fifteen-week phenomenon that occurred forty years ago, but more power to him. He seems a lovely guy and was applauded off the stage.
Afterwards, there was just time for a whiskey in the Hawks Inn perched on the front of Deck 13. The ship’s seven-piece jazz band played some George Benson and Lee Morgan standards before we retired to bed, our cup overflowing with food, drink and music to feed the soul.
Day 3
Thursday 5th January.
Somewhere beyond the Bay of Biscay.
We rose early, having slept well for the first night in a long time. We caught breakfast in the Palace buffet restaurant which required a walk across the open wet decks in windy conditions. We ate well and popped down to the library to collect some books for Margaret who reads detective and murder novels by the dozen.
10:00. Beginners Bridge Class
This class was one where we were left to play on our own. We actually completed four hands in the allotted time, and I felt good progress had been made. I’m beginning to like both Jennifer and Jimmy who make up our table of four. Jimmy plays a mean hand of cards quickly while Jennifer takes ages to play her cards but invariably plays the correct card and wins her contracts.
I am becoming aware of the next bridge class, the Intermediate players, who are gathering prematurely around our table and are beginning to annoy me.
Why haven’t people any patience anymore?
Everything has to be right now. I gazed at them with bemusement.
Aren’t they the same generation as us?
D
id we, not all learn basic manners when at school?
Back in the day, we grew up respecting everyone older than us. God help you if you didn’t doff your cap to someone you met. You’d get a clip over the ear or something stronger.
How did this lot not experience the same?
I resumed my concentration on Brendan’s words, but one elderly lady stood just to my right and spoke loudly to her partner as if he was standing half a mile away. On and on she droned about their presidential suite and the complimentary flowers that had greeted them when they boarded. My hopes of following Brendan’s final instructions evaporated completely when she suddenly sneezed violently and loudly. I felt a layer of spittle spray across my bare neck and head.
“For Christ sake woman will you kindly cover your mouth when you sneeze?” I heard myself shout as I leapt out my seat. “The contents of your nose have just landed on the back of my head!”
I reached up to feel what had actually landed and theatrically removed my hand to display what I had found to a stunned gathering. My palm was now coated in a wet, glistening mass of clear phlegm.
The old dear had the grace to look mortified and chastened before she managed a whimpered, “I’m so sorry.” She then burst into tears and was led away, comforted by her equally frail partner. The old witch had played this game before. One hundred eyes followed their progress to the door and then switched back to staring coldly at me.
“Well really?” I stuttered “I mean–who got sprayed with bacteria just now? Me or her?” I swiftly realised I was now public enemy number one. I sat back down in my chair.
Margaret came to my aid and handed me a large tissue which I used to mop up the phlegm and Brendan declared the class over.
I was now grateful for the mindless chatter which resumed with gusto. I was aware my face was the colour of beetroot but I could do little about it. That’s how my body reacts to stressful situations. I’m sure my blood pressure had gone through the roof. I left the room conscious that I’d lost the sympathy vote. “Well, fuck ‘em all” I muttered under my breath.
11:00. Ballroom Dancing - Beginners Cha Cha Cha
Here was a fresh start on a new but fast dance, so I could safely forget all that I had learned or failed to learn yesterday. I mastered one step and Margaret reckoned we should quit while we were ahead, so, before I got confused, we left the large class to proceed without us. If I can master yesterday’s four steps and the simple cha-cha-cha start, Margaret will be happy.
Later that morning, we met another couple who were struggling with the dance steps too. We all felt the instructors had pushed on far too fast and should have spent longer bedding in the basics.
What didn't help was having the experienced dancers attend our beginner’s class. They gave the instructors a false impression as to how well the class was coping with the speed of learning. This man had dropped out at the same point as me, but still, being eager to learn, we all stood by the table tennis table as Margaret ran through the basics again.
I feel useless and, if I’m honest, I believe the instructors, Roxanne and Thomak are failing us—the real beginners. I’m toying with giving them two slots on my list of offenders purely because they are crap teachers. It’s a hypothetical list of offenders and I enjoy toying with the idea of taking the law into my own hands.
I’m sure they have spotted me on the crowded dancefloor stumbling about and just decided to do absolutely nothing to help me. I decided to give them one last chance to avoid the executioner's noose.
12:15. Ships Choir
Almost one hundred souls gathered for day two of the choir rehearsals and we settled into the same seats and partners as we had yesterday. We ran through three new songs, Sunrise Sunset from Fiddler on the Roof, a complicated Lightning Tree and Bye, Bye Love. My two singing companions were already seated when I arrived and had saved me the lyric sheets.
“Sung any of these before?” I asked Arthur, as I settled in my seat.
“Oh, yes, only the Lightning Tree is new to me” he replied. “I’ll have to concentrate when Lorcan gets to that one because I like to be note-perfect when I sing and I don’t even know the tune,” Arthur answered.
Our Welsh companion, whose name continues to escape me, knew all three songs so I was the odd one out in not knowing any of them. Since he knew the Lightening Tree, he sang it through, and I could see Arthur coming to grips with the complexity of the tune. Within minutes the session started and my colleagues sang with heart and brilliance.
The songs that were strangers to me a few minutes earlier have now been indelibly absorbed into my brain. Lorcan, our choirmaster, also proclaimed his surprise with our speedy mastery of the songs but again, being cynical, I think it’s just one strand of his clever motivational strategies. I, for my part, was left quite choked up by the beautiful singing and the lyrics of Sunrise Sunset. What a moving piece of music. I’ll never keep it together on stage when we perform publically. I’ll just stand there sobbing my heart out.
A quick lunch was taken before we again nipped onto the tennis court and played for half an hour before the cricket team arrived. Richard Chad was again in charge and once more pushed his luck by lowering our net while chatting to other cricketing passengers, apparently oblivious of our presence.
“Hold on a minute” I shouted and advanced towards him.
He glanced over his shoulder as if suddenly aware of my existence for the first time.
“Yes?” he uttered.
“We are not finished…” I said, squinting at his name tag, “…Richard. I’ve got 13:52 on my watch. There are another eight minutes before the cricket is due to start.”
He had the good grace to look at his watch. “Well, I need time to set up the area for the cricket, so you’ll just have to finish up now.”
He proceeded to lower the tennis net and turned his back on me. I stared helplessly at him and became aware of the amused look in the eyes of the on-looking cricketers.
“C’mon, Margaret, we’ll get lunch,” I said, but in my head, I was halving Richard’s odds of walking off this ship. We left the netted court and descended to the open deck where Margaret beat me soundly in the table tennis. In truth, my mind was still distracted by Richard. I hadn’t envisaged wiping out crew members but sometimes you just have to go with the flow and this guy was clearly being brought to my attention. It was time for a cup of coffee and a bite to eat.
15:15. Harmony Twist in the Pacific Lounge.
It was raining lightly out on the deck but here in the lounge, it was time to remove cardigans and coats. Several hundred passengers had gathered to enjoy the first classical concert of the cruise. Peter Row, a prize-winning pianist from Cornwall, and Olelandi Hala, a brilliant violinist from Ukraine, played some pieces composed between 1755 and 1980. The duo earned the prolonged applause that followed their performance.
We chatted away with more passengers before returning to our cabin to change for the first of fourteen formal dress nights. As an extra bonus, we had an invite to meet the ship’s captain. It wasn’t a private gathering, but one we were to share with several hundred others, as it turned out.
Margaret visited the toilet before showering. She was a few minutes in the shower before stepping out into a flooded bathroom. The toilet cistern's overflow pipe was pumping out water. Thinking quickly she realized the toilet bowl was full to the brim so pushed the knob and this time it worked. A loud whoosh and the vacuum driven system sucked the water away in a nano-second. She threw down a pile of towels to soak up the water that threatened to overflow onto the bedroom carpet.
We hurriedly dressed and stopped for a few pictures by the foot of the atrium's staircase. Up two flights we climbed before walking along the inner promenade, a carpeted walkway until we reached the Imperial Lounge.
We entered a room sparkling with bright lights, sharp suits and glamorous women. The ship's officers decked out in uniform formed a welcoming line just inside the door, with the captain standing at the end. We
shook hands with all in turn and then took a glass of sparkling wine from the nearest waiter.
Looking around at the smartly dressed passengers, I noticed a fair number of them had been in the armed forces, their jacket breast pockets glittering with rows of braid and silver. White-jacketed waiters floated by circulating through the crowd with trays of drinks. It was a scene that could have been played out in any one of the last hundred years.
Finally, Captain Peter Cox took to the stage. He may have been short in stature, but he carried an easy confidence as he spoke off the cuff to the gathered throng.
“On behalf of Octavian Cruises and the ship's officers and crew, I’d like to welcome you all on board the SS Azara, on this her first voyage into the Amazon Basin. This cruise has been in the planning for almost a year and I am delighted to be on board this maiden voyage to Manaus. I was last in charge of the SS Azara fifteen years ago and I must say, following the recent refit, she looks better than ever.”
A small ripple of applause greeted these words.
“We are delighted to have you on board and will endeavour to ensure that you have a safe and very pleasant cruise. I checked the weather forecast before greeting you this evening and am delighted to say, we departed just in the nick of time, as heavy snowfalls and blizzards are forecast for Scotland overnight and they’re expected to spread across the whole of the United Kingdom by noon tomorrow.”
A childish feeling of na na na na na na rippled through the passengers as they felt a certain smugness about their decision to book this cruise in the first place and a distinct lack of sympathy for the poor sods left behind.
Captain Cox went on: “The sea conditions for us over the next few days are forecast to be moderately rough, but I will do my best to navigate around any storms that should head our way. Thank you for your patience and I wish you a very happy voyage.”
