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The Third Son of a Duke

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I have been on an ocean voyage.

Once.

It might not seem like that when I say it was supposed to be an overnight crossing from Devonport to Melbourne in a ship called the Princess of Tasmania, and the stretch of water was Bass Strait, one of the top five worst stretches of open seas in the world.

I know that for a fact.

We had stabilisers and still corkscrewed while facing into the huge seas for eight or six hours before it subsided enough for us to continue.

Everyone was seasick.  It was a terrible crossing, and all I remember was wishing I were dead after dry reaching for hours.

So, here we are, March 1914, leaving Plymouth after a rather rough crossing from Tilbury and maintaining contact, just, with the southern British coastline, just leaving for Gibraltar, about to cross the Bay of Biscay.

Those passengers have no idea what they’re in for, but I do.  Rough seas, corkscrew motion, and questions why the Line said that the ship could handle this sort of ocean weather, and by day two, more than half the ship is down with sea sickness.

And, if you’re not, then good luck trying to eat in the dining room with the ship’s motion.

Four days later, off the Portuguese coast, a semblance of normality returns, though by this time a new benchmark for normal had to be set.  The sun is out, the weather is less blustery and wet, and the seas are calmer.

I have a copy of a seagoer’s diary for a similar ship at the same time.  For me, it would be fun.  I’m not so sure what those who had never been on a ship before might have thought of it.

At least in the second class, they were above the waterline.

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1785 words, for a total of 8010 words.