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.
As the little Cunarder passed the Ambrose Light, she was gradually surrounded by every type of small craft imaginable, all keen to see, despite the rain, the ship that had brought back the last remnants of the Titanic’s maiden voyage.
Their courage is a byword, especially as few pilots, if any, are athletic or young. Some pilots are getting on in years and can be portly. Nevertheless, their job often entailed living and sleeping for long shifts on a wind and rain-swept pilot transit boat.
• The violin was recovered from Hartley’s body, found in a leather case strapped to him. It was later returned to Maria Robinson, who preserved it as a memento of their love.
Finally, Cunard Line’s MAURETANIA and QUEEN MARY. At Pier 92, Cunard’s BRITANNIC, which had arrived days earlier, completed the remarkable scene. Together, these six liners carried approximately 9,400 passengers to New York in unparalleled mid-century luxury.
In what way could a winged sardine compare to ocean travel by superliner? Several generations of great ships on which one could live a lifestyle previously reserved for the super-rich and Hollywood’s greatest movie stars.
One by one, down the gangway she led them out of the ship.
I could now see the community churches and farms. I recall being able to make out figures on the shoreline and vehicles using the lanes of the Irish Republic who I imagined were gazing entranced at such an unusual spectacle.
The Klondike Gold Rush was a migration by an estimated 100,000 prospectors to the Klondike region of Yukon, in north-western Canada, between 1896 and 1899
Unsurprisingly, the officer of the watch came through the wheelhouse door like Batman on steroids. With the glazed-eye look of an unhinged madman, his eyes rolling and soundlessly mouthing, Michael gathered he was saying something along the lines of, ‘What the frigging hell have you done, you half-witted bastard.’
Michael Walsh Stories and Books 
Recent Comments