The MV Britannic was the largest motor vessel ever built when she was launched in 1930. She was the last liner to carry the livery of the White Star line until her final voyage to the scrapyard in 1960. She was also why I fell in love with ocean travel and the great liners of the 1930s.

On July 27 1957, as an 11-year-old, I stood at the foot of the massive hull of the MV Britannic docked in Liverpool. My parents and I had just finished the grand tour, and instead of flying back on the TWA Constellation, we were persuaded to sail instead to New York.

The trip had introduced me to the wonders of French cuisine, particularly the red wine and chevre. I had decided to smuggle a crock full of goat cheese back to the US in an old Fortnum and Mason jar. This was along with copies of Punch and a stack of British comic books from my cousins.

The Irish Sea was being battered by gale-force winds, so we stayed in port for two days (which was two extra days to explore the ship.) The captain had asked my father if he would like a tour of the engine room, and I remember scampering down the steel steps into its cavernous depths. 

We had booked a first-class cabin, which was covered in exotic wood. The beds had golden satin coverlets. Mine was a cot which magically appeared after dinner and then was whisked away after breakfast.

The A deck porthole was suitable for viewing the ocean if I stood on a chair. My favorite feature was the huge bathtub with faucets for fresh and saltwater. I was referred to by all the staff as Master Favus.

The ship’s interior was a combination of pre-war art deco and post-war English country club. The gym at the back of the ship was in a separate building, and the equipment mostly dated from the 1930s.

The muscular gym attendant fascinated me for some reason, and he would lift me onto the pommel horse or throw the leather-covered medicine ball. Most of the electric exercise equipment looked like items from a horror movie.

LEFT: One of several movie houses on the MV Britannic

The two-storey dining room was possibly my preferred spot. I discovered caviar and kippered herring, and a range of British and French classic dishes.

‘Would Master Favus like his kippers this morning?’ I was often the only person in the dining room for breakfast as the seas were extremely rough.

For some reason, I found I loved the movement of the giant floating hotel. If I closed my eyes, I could feel like I was riding the back of a dolphin.

The fact that I was alone in the dining room provided me with a multitude of waiters who all hovered, awaiting my reaction to the shirred eggs or English rashers.

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I’m sure the request for caviar at breakfast from this tiny gourmand, as the ship lurched and swayed, provided amusement for the wait staff.

The other passengers were mostly British. One in particular became good friends with us. She was Monica Dickens, the Granddaughter of Charles Dickens.

She was herself an accomplished writer and presented me with a Penguin paperback of her One Pair of Hands, which she inscribed for me.

I joined a pack of British lads, and we explored the ship together. We all wore our Burberry blue trench coats and thick woolly grey sweaters. I started to affect what I thought was a British accent.

My mother spent days preparing for the fancy dress ball and, of course, won first prize for her elaborately constructed paper bonnet. I spun the cage at bingo in the Main Lounge. The venue was also used for steeplechase when the rug was rolled up and the racecourse with wooden horses was staged. 

During a medical emergency on board, my father was consulted, and I accompanied him to the ship hospital where one of the crew was being treated for a broken leg. 

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Entering New York harbor, we passed Coney Island and the tip of Sea Gate where, when I was younger, I watched the great liners sail from the beach.

The lifeguards would call everyone out of the water because of the huge waves caused by the passing ships. I of course, assumed that those with three stacks tended to create the biggest waves and was always excited when the Queen Mary sailed past.

Seeing the view of the shore provided a totally new perspective. Passing the Statue of Liberty and docking at the Cunard Pier, I felt an overwhelming sadness that this perfect world was about to come to an end. I still have the farewell menu with signatures of all my friends whom I knew I’d likely never see again.

Strangely enough, on the voyage from Cape Town to Sydney on the QM2 two years ago, we sat at a table for lunch and I told the story of my first ocean voyage.

One of the elderly British gentlemen at the table laughed and told me he had served as an assistant engineer on the MV Britannic and was on the ship during the same voyage. He remarked how rough that particular passage had been.

When we moved to New York in 1959, we lived on the Upper West Side near the piers where the great liners still docked. It was the beginning of the end of an era.

I can still feel that great ship swaying under my feet and hear the creaking and moans as she battled the elements. The taste of smoked salmon or kippers brings back the grand dining room and the feeling that the world was a wondrous place, and I was just beginning my journey. Mark Favus. You can share this story on social media:

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BRITANNIC WAIVES THE RULES in this beautifully illustrated book, Michael Walsh, the last deck rating of the White Star Line (1845-1960) reveals incredible onboard and ashore experiences never to be repeated.  https://michaelwalshbooks.wordpress.com/