by Nancy Carson
The boat train pulled slowly into its special platform alongside the Ocean Dock, prolonging the anticipation. As they spilled out onto the platform carrying their hand luggage, Maxine’s first thought was to catch a glimpse of the ship. It was soon in view, dwarfing the transit sheds and towering over the dockside cranes as if they were built from a Meccano outfit. They stood in awe of the three red funnels that crowned the huge black hull and white superstructure that looked far too large to float, let alone achieve high cruising speeds.
They hurried towards the ship. Stewards, smart in their immaculate uniforms, dealt with the increasing bustle and excitement at the quay. They trundled large trolleys stacked with expensive-looking luggage towards the conveyors that would transfer it all inside. Everything was tagged with the owner’s name, cabin number, deck and class.
‘I’m going to wait till I see my double bass appear,’ said Charlie Holt, lingering. ‘I don’t trust this lot. What if it didn’t get put on the boat?’
‘Ship,’ Ginger Tolley corrected pedantically. ‘Don’t let anybody hear you calling this monstrosity a boat else they’ll have you walking the plank.’
‘I’m inclined to wait as well,’ Kenny agreed. ‘I want to see my drum kit appear before I go inside.’
‘Before you board, you mean,’ Ginger said. ‘On board ship you use nautical terms.’
‘I ain’t inside yet, so I’ll speak landlubber language if you don’t mind.’
Maxine and Pansy tutted patiently.
A steward approached them. ‘May I see your tickets, please ladies?’
‘We’re in the band,’ Maxine confessed proudly. ‘The Owls and the Pussycats. Do we have to go in the same way as the crew?’
‘You’re part of the entertainment?’ the steward asked.
‘We are. So do we have a choice?’ Pansy asked, tongue-in-cheek. ‘Can’t we pretend we’re First Class?’
‘We call it Cabin Class, ma’am.’ He gave Pansy a cheeky wink. ‘You’re tasty enough, I grant you. If you all keep together – lads as well – I don’t see why not. We’re not that busy yet. This gangway, if you please…’ He waved to a purser waiting by the entrance to the ship at the other end of the gently sloping, covered gangway.
The girls looked at each other, signalling their approval of him.
Inside the ship, they were all instantly taken aback by the Cabin Class’s sumptuous main entrance with its ultra-smart shopping arcade. Fine wood panelling surrounded them, they were ankle-deep in soft carpet and everywhere was brilliantly lit. Never had they seen such splendour.
‘Good afternoon,’ a steward said. ‘Welcome aboard the Queen Mary. My name is Thomas. This is the main entrance. As you can see, it extends the width of the ship and exits on both sides onto the Promenade Deck.’
‘So which way to our cabins, Thomas?’ Brent enquired brashly. ‘We’re on Deck C.’
‘May I see your ticket, sir?’
‘We’re the band,’ Maxine said helpfully.
‘Ah! So you are Tourist Class. You should have boarded by the Tourist Class entrance.’
Pansy winked at him. ‘Your mate at the bottom said we could come in this way,’
‘Did he now?’ He smiled amiably. ‘Then we’ll soon have you sorted out.’
Winking seemed to be a useful device on this ship, Pansy thought. It seemed to get you anywhere.
Thomas scrutinised the clipboard he was holding and flipped over some typed pages. ‘Ah, yes, seven of you…In three cabins. The misses Hemming and Kite…’ He met their eyes keenly. ‘You occupy a two-berth cabin. Messrs Shackleton and Wheeler occupy a two-berth cabin and Messrs Holt, Randle and Tolley, a three-berth. If you prefer to shuffle that arrangement…’
He picked up their keys and they all trooped behind him.
‘The cabins that artistes and entertainers occupy are equivalent to Tourist Class,’ Thomas informed them. ‘They’re situated in the Tourist Class area, aft of Cabin Class.’
‘What’s Tourist Class?’ Maxine asked, keen to know what she was getting.
They stopped at a lift and Thomas pressed a button to call it, then turned to her. ‘Tourist Class is sort of second class but, to be honest, it’s only slightly down the scale from Cabin Class as far as accommodation and facilities are concerned on this ship. Moreover, it’s better than first class on most others. Third Class passengers occupy the forward part and even that’s luxurious compared to other ships.’
The lift arrived and they piled in. As it descended, Thomas asked them about their music and told them that in New York there were great places to hear jazz. He had actually been last trip to a place called the Hotel Pennsylvania in New York and heard Benny Goodman and his Orchestra in concert.
‘I’ll make a point of coming to listen to you,’ he said, ‘since I’m a jazz fan. And by the way…if you didn’t already know, there’s a rehearsal room aboard ship – the Studio – specially soundproofed for private practice by our musicians during the voyage.’
‘Brilliant!’ Maxine said. ‘Is there a piano in there?’
‘A grand, I believe.’
‘Crikey! They’ve thought of everything.’
The lift stopped and they all piled out.
‘This is Deck C. Your cabins are this way. Your luggage should arrive any minute. I suggest that once you’ve settled in, you explore the ship and its facilities. As artists, you have no restrictions. You are free to enjoy everywhere…As long as you are appropriately dressed. Are you booked for a long stay?’
‘Eight weeks,’ Brent replied.
‘You’ll be here for Christmas, then. There are some great things planned.’
‘Well, at least we’ll be home soon after,’ Maxine said, reminded of Howard.
‘So…Here we are. Your cabins.’ Thomas opened the doors to each and allowed them to enter. He informed them briefly of sailing time and eating arrangements and answered their questions. ‘I do hope you enjoy your time aboard.’
‘Thank you, Thomas,’ Maxine said, looking round at what the cabin offered. ‘We’ll look out for you.’
‘Bye!’
‘D’you think we should have given him a tip?’ Pansy asked when he had gone.
Maxine shrugged. ‘Maybe. I don’t know…Well, here we are, Pansy. Home for the next eight weeks. Which bunk do you fancy?’
‘I don’t mind. You choose.’
So they chose and inspected the wardrobes and drawers. The cabin was larger than either had anticipated. Its white walls and ceiling were relieved by high quality, dark wood furniture and the carpet under their feet was thick. Blissfully, the designers had thought to provide a sink with hot and cold taps, a mirror and even a couple of armchairs. The view through the porthole, which presently overlooked Southampton Docks, would soon yield a vista of the grey, winter Atlantic.
Their luggage arrived and they set about hanging up their dresses and stowing underwear and things in the drawers that they allocated themselves, chatting about this and that, laughing about little incidents that had happened on the journey. Pansy was aware that Maxine was smarting over Howard and she was careful to avoid any reference to him. She knew her friend would open up about him when she was good and ready.
‘I wonder where we’re playing tonight?’ Maxine asked.
‘I thought I heard Brent mention something called the Verandah Grill.’
‘Till what time, I wonder.’
‘Till everybody’s had enough, Brent says. Oh, well, we don’t have to get up early next morning, do we? Come on, Maxine. Let’s go and mooch around. I’m dying to explore. Aren’t you?’
‘Course I am.’
‘Let’s see if Toots and Brent are ready.’
Chapter 20
The Verandah Grill, situated at the rear of the Sun Deck, was the most beautiful room any of the Owls and the Pussycats had ever seen. A wide bay window faced aft, overlooking the steely Atlantic and the swirling wake of the ship. Every table wore a gown of crisp, white damask ornamented with lea
d crystal goblets, sterling silver cutlery and crowned with fresh flowers. A grand piano stood, lid raised, on a dais and adjacent to it was a small dance floor laid in shining parquetry. The band felt it was a privilege to play there on their first night. If you were Cabin Class and didn’t want to eat in the main restaurant you could enjoy an à la Carte meal in The Verandah Grill, but you would pay an extra premium for the privilege. Meals were served till ten o’clock but it stayed open for as long as passengers wished to revel in the music. The subtle lighting was forever changing colour, enhancing the party atmosphere for it was also the ship’s night-club. The Queen Mary, of course, was still berthed at Southampton and was not due to sail till next morning, but some of the passengers already on board were enjoying the facility, and more would embark tomorrow.
The band gave a good account of themselves but it was a long night. While passengers dined, they played music that was subdued but, afterwards, livened it up with some sparkling jazz and swing. Several new shipboard romances seemed to blossom, with recently introduced couples dancing close to the tender love songs Maxine sang. Some people, at least, were finding romance, however fleeting.
After the show, Maxine was melancholy, having witnessed all this frivolous romance and casual innuendo. She needed to be alone to mull over anew her emotional turmoil. She grabbed the wrap that she had taken up with her and exited the Verandah Grill for the Sun Deck. While the others congratulated each other and chatted to the passengers that were still up, nobody noticed her withdrawal.
She shivered with cold as she walked towards the stern, yet that bitter November morning was no colder than the chill she felt in her heart. She looked up at the sky. The stars shone like pinpricks of light piercing a backdrop of blue black velvet. Oh, Howard, what have we done? She adjusted her wrap and leaned on the biting cold handrail looking out into the night. The remaining lights of Southampton, no brighter than distant candles in the darkness, failed to warm her. The moon, hanging low over the Solent, seemed as heavy as her heart, like a yellow blob of molten lead poised to drop into the icy sea and be instantly quenched. Howard, Howard, just what have we done?
Tears stung her eyes. She must be more than a hundred miles away from him already, and by this time next week it would be three thousand. He might as well be on the moon that looked all hazy now through her tears. She felt in her handbag for a handkerchief and blotted them up.
Eight weeks apart. Eight desolate, lonely weeks. How on earth would she endure it? And she would not be able to collect even a letter from him until they returned to Southampton in two weeks. Already, she was wishing she had not been so impetuous, and had forgiven him. Already she was wishing they had become reconciled before he had left her on Monday night.
She walked slowly over to the other side of the ship. On the quay below, people were still arriving. A boat train was disgorging more passengers, even at this hour and stewards were stacking luggage ready to be transferred to the ship. The cold night air was alive with chatter and laughter and introductions made as people traversed the ramp that gave access to the main entrances. What if Howard suddenly took it upon himself to book a passage? Her heart leapt at the thought. Oh, God, if only he would. If only…
Another tear formed and quivered for a moment on her eyelashes before running unchecked down the soft curve of her cheek. Then, she felt an arm around her and was startled.
‘Here you are,’ Pansy said gently. ‘I wondered where you’d gone. You must be freezing.’ She saw the tears in her friend’s eyes and wrapped her in her arms consolingly. ‘Oh, Maxine…Try not to upset yourself. Everything will work out fine.’
‘I’ve only been away from him five minutes and already I miss him like hell,’ Maxine blurted. ‘What will I be like when I’m on the other side of the Atlantic?’
‘Don’t think about it.’ Pansy turned Maxine around to guide her back inside, into the warmth of the ship. ‘He’ll still be there for you when you get back.’
‘Yes, in Norfolk.’
‘But don’t you think he’s missing you just as much as you’re missing him?’
‘I imagine so. God, I hope so. Monday, I was so angry with him. Just one day later and I’m all weepy and sorry and pathetic…and I just want to be with him.’ Another burst of weeping. ‘I think I should get off this ship now and go to him, Pansy. I swear I’ll do it first thing tomorrow.’
‘Telephone him.’
‘At this hour? He lodges at the vicarage, remember.’
‘Sleep on it. Do it in the morning. Before the ship sails. There’s a telephone exchange on board.’
The thought brought relief to Maxine’s tear-traced face. ‘Think I should?’
‘Yes, I think you should. Clear the air. Tell him how much you love him. Tell him you forgive him. Forget all this stupid nonsense that’s making you so unhappy. Swallow your pride.’
‘But if I telephone and the vicar answers…I don’t think he approves of him going out with me.’
‘He doesn’t have to know. Pretend you’re a parishioner he’s helping. Pretend you’re a relation. Pretend you’re God’s wife…’
Maxine dried her eyes and they walked through the Verandah Grill. She felt happier at the prospect of talking to Howard. By this time, the Verandah Grill was empty except for people clearing up and a maintenance electrician replacing a defective light bulb.
‘Where’s Brent?’ Maxine enquired as they approached the lifts.
Pansy shrugged. ‘Gone to bed, I imagine.’
‘Did he send you to find me?’
‘No. I came looking for you off my own bat. I was concerned about you. I know how upset you’ve been.’
She felt an illogical pang of disappointment that Brent might not have even considered her. ‘And Toots – has he gone to bed as well?’
Pansy nodded.
‘Are you and Toots okay?’
‘Yes, we’re okay. You don’t have to worry about us.’
‘I hope you realise how lucky you are to be together, Pansy.’
‘I suppose we,’ Pansy acknowledged. ‘I hadn’t thought about it. It’s funny how you take some things for granted.’
‘Don’t…You mustn’t ever.’
It was after ten when Maxine finally awoke. Maldwyn, her teddy bear, was warm beside her. For a second or two, she was disoriented waking up in that strange room. She looked at the strange clock on the strange wall opposite and realised where she was. God! Was that the time? She looked at Maldwyn and immediately thought of Howard. She was going to telephone him; she must do it now. She was going to leave the ship and go to him. At once she sat up in her bunk and grabbed her handbag to look up in her diary the telephone number of the vicarage. It was not a number she remembered, or even needed to, for she had agreed never to telephone him there except in an emergency.
While she fumbled in her handbag she felt a slight movement, almost imperceptible, and stood up in her nightdress to look out of the porthole. Outside, it all looked different. Land was slipping away from the ship. A peculiar sensation. A town fronted by docks and cranes was sliding rearwards. Portsmouth, perhaps. They were leaving the Solent. The English Channel and Cherbourg beckoned.
Maxine picked up the telephone handset by her bunk and a female voice announced the ship’s telephone exchange. Maxine asked to be connected to a Birmingham number, which she recited. It would cost her one pound sixteen shillings for the first three minutes and twelve shillings for each additional minute. Did she still want to make the call?
‘Yes, please,’ she answered. It would have to be short, though. Eventually, she was connected and it was a very crackly line.
‘Hello, hello?…Oh, hello. May I speak to Howard, er…to Mr Quaintance, please?’
‘I’m terribly sorry,’ a terribly formal male voice replied. ‘The Reverend Quaintance isn’t here at present. He’s out on parish business. Who is calling?’
‘It’s a Miss Kite.’ Maxine’s heart sank.
‘Does he know you?’
‘Can I give him a message when he returns, Miss Kite?’
‘If you would just tell him I telephoned – from Southampton…to say sorry…Thank you.’ She replaced the receiver gently, burdened with disappointment.
‘No luck then?’ Pansy mumbled from beneath her bedclothes. Her face then appeared over the sheets, her dishevelled hair half covering it in random red strands. She stretched and yawned.
‘He’s out, Pansy…I can’t afford to call him again, either. D’you know how much it costs? One pound sixteen for three minutes.’
‘Blimey, that’s a week’s wages, Maxine. No, you can’t afford to call him again. You’ll be broke.’ She looked around her, puzzled. ‘What’s that rumbling noise?’
‘The engines,’ Maxine responded apathetically. ‘We’re moving. Look out the porthole.’
‘Crikey, we’ve left Southampton? Oh, smashing! I’m going up on deck to see. Are you coming, Maxine?’
‘No, I’m going to stop here and cry myself back to sleep,’ she answered in a small voice.
‘Aren’t you going to have any breakfast?’
‘I don’t want any breakfast. I want to go home.’
While Pansy prepared herself to face the rest of the ship’s company, Maxine snuggled down in her bunk with Maldwyn, feeling deeply sorry for herself. Her last chance to speak to Howard had been thwarted. Her only hope was that the vicar would not forget to tell him she’d called and that, given the message, he would realise why. She could not cry, however. Her thoughts were only of Howard and how much she regretted she was not with him now.
After a while it struck her that feeling morose and melancholy was not going to get her anywhere. She was on board the most luxurious transatlantic liner ever built, whether she wanted to be or not. She might as well shape up and enjoy it. Time would pass infinitely faster if she did. Better to involve herself with life on board and take advantage of everything it offered. Better put a smile back on her face. She was a member of The Owls and the Pussycats on a fantastic, once in a lifetime voyage that she would remember for the rest of her life. What was the point in hiding away and nurturing the blues? Make the most of it, enjoy it, exploit it to the full, meet new people. As Pansy had said, Howard would still be waiting when she returned home. What was wrong with enjoying herself, even though she was missing him? She just had to make an effort to push him to the back of her mind. It didn’t mean she didn’t love him.