Atlantic Crossing

New Zealand Listener, Volume 20, Issue 515, 6 May 1949, Page 14

Atlantic Crossing

| Written for "The Listener’ |

by

J. R.

MINOGUE

OMEWHERE about midnight on December 29 we went aboard the De Grasse at Southampton. She had come that day from Le Havre and there were not many more than a hundred passengers to join her in England. The ship was brightly lit but seemed deserted. It was very cold. I was gazing in a jeweller’s shop window in the main entrance when I met my first fellow passenger. "Say, have you just come on?" "Yes." "Wal, I hope you enjoy it, Boy, is this ship dead!" "Have you been-on since Le Havre? One day?" "Yup. " "You haven’t given it much time." ‘He shrugged. "Long enough," he said gloomily. "It stinks, I’m telling you. Wal, maybe Tl see you to-morrow." He went- below. Not long afterwards I followed suit. My cabin in the second class was far below and small. The other occupant was already in bed , ss

but not asleep. "Hullo." "Hullo. You’re in bed early."

"T thought I might be sick." "Oh, a bad sailor?" I tried to sound casual. ; "Awful," said the voice and its owner laughed lightheartedly. I raised by eyebrows and looked at her as she turned over. She was young, pleasant-looking, and the name on the suitcase was Miss Mafy O’Connell. We ‘said good-night, I undressed in silence and clambered up into the top bunk. Always the ruddy top bunk, I thought, and then it was morning again and we were heaving a little somewhere down the English coast. There was a storm over Europe and it-had already caught us up. Inside the ship it was hot-too \hot, and brilliantly lit; outside the wind screamed through the stays and hail lashed down upon the streaming decks while, oblivious to all

but their nausea, prostrate bodies moaned in deck chairs, wretched figures wove faltering paths along the corridors, and the lounge and bar were almost empty. : "Lucky thing, you can still eat," said Miss O’Connell, and she looked at me in wan admiration before turning her face to the wall. "\/ HERE are you from?" asked the ‘American at my table. He was peeling an orange delicately and looked like Robert Taylor. "New Zealand." "Been in Europe? What countries?" "France and Switzerland." "Which did you like best?" "I don’t know."

"What d’you mean, you don’t know? That’s ridiculous," "It’s impossible because they are both so different." He made a gesture of contempt and addressed his remarks to the Frenchman beside me. "France for me any time, Chamonix, That's the place. Give me a bit of honest Frénch dirt." "Ah, yes," said the Frenchman, "It is a pity about the Swiss." "What's a pity?" I asked. "What’s the matter with them?’ | He spoke deliberately. "They are too clean and too sad. No, don’t laugh, for it is so." "Why are they sad, I wonder?" "Because," he said, "they are too clean," and with a melancholy air he sliced open an apple. On the third day Miss O’Connell got up for lunch. She was soon back. "Oh, hullo," she said. "Isn’t it awful? I’m going to be sick- again." She realised her expectation with silent efficiency and sat down on,her bunk. "All that lovely fruit," she ~ said’ sombrely and then brightened. AS 4 "P’m sittine all

by myself with three men and they don’t say anything so I have to chatter all the time."

"Do they understand what you're saying?" _"T hope sé, Only one is a foreigner. A Czech. A beastly person." "A Czech sits next to me and he’s nice." "Oh, this one’s all right, really.. But, you see, I sit with my back to the din-ing-room and can't see a thing and I asked him to change places with me and he laughed and said that I must think, him a very, silly person and he was a Czech, not an Englishman. The others laughed, too, and I felt such a fool. The nasty thing can speak good English. Can yours?" "No, we've only French in common. He comes in and says Good-morning, Madame, and I say Good-morning Monsieur and he says you slept well? and I say Very. well thank you, and you? and he says I also, thank you, and then he says The sea is very calm and the weather is good, don’t you think? and I say Yes and feel cross because I was going to say that myself and he beat me to it." | ‘LEFT Miss O'Connell giggling and went to lunch, finding the Czech already seated. "Good .afternoon, Monsieur." "Good afternoon, Madame." "You are happy to be eerie the United States?" I said. "Pardon, Madame?" I tried it another way. "You are happy to leave Czechoslovakia?" (continued og next page)

(continued from previous page) "Yes, very happy." "You do not like the Communists?" "Communists! Pouf!" he said. "No, I do not like the Communists." There was a silence. "The sea is very calm and the weather is still good, don’t you think?" I said, "Yes," he said, and then we looked at one another and grinned into our soup. The voice of the American floated up from the far end of the table. "Why," it said, "There’s more money | in my father-in-law’s bank than there | is in the. Bank of England." He saw that I was listening and directed his last remark at me. "Why, if we liked, we could buy up the Bank of England." "So what?" I said, after qa suitable interval. ‘So what? So your little old England is finished, wiped off, dead. As dead as Greece and Rome." "That is not true," said the Frenchman, breaking off his conversation with an attractive French Canadian, "You are quite wrong." They argued bitterly for a few minutes until the American, looking sulky, left the table. The French- | man watched him go, then turned to me. and shrugged his shoulders, : "I would not take any notice of him," he said. "For he is a very foolish young man who talks very loudly about things of which he knows nothing, He should be more careful." Y now the weather had improved and Miss: O’Connell was seldom in the cabin. "Where do -you get to?" I asked her one afternoon. , "Oh, but I'm gay. I’ve just seen the film up in the first class with Tom and now I’m going drinking with the Czech." | *I hope he pays for you." ‘He'd better." | "You're just fast. There’s no other word for it." She chuckled. "That's just what I am. And giddy. For nothing’s certain, I know I’m not. To-day this, to-morrow that, so I take what comes." , "Aren't you sorry to be leaving England for ever?" "It’s not a thing to me," she said, "Not a thing," and she left the cabin singing "Killarney" in an uncertain key, We were due next morning in’ New York. The lounge was full of people smoking, drinking and playing cards, talking in a medley of languages. An immigrant clutched the arm. of a tall American. *Tell me," she said. "I am so un- _ happy. Is it true ‘that in your country everyone moves and thinks so fast, It frightens me. Perhaps I shall have to go back to Europe?" The American scratched his head and considered, "Say," he drawled at last, "Who’s been talking to you?" Up on deck. it ‘was bitterly cold but still clear. The nun only was in her usual place by the stern rail, silent, with the wind grabbing at her mournful garments, with her hands clasped about a book of prayer and her eyes staring towards Europe. That evening the Frenchman grew confidential. "The Americans are a very funny people," he said. "I am a business man

in New York during two years, and they have there big business conferences. And during them girls come in to dance. Bubble dancers without clothing. They say to us Oh, you French, you are so bad, but in France we would be shocked at this thing. I said also to a man, Don’t you get tired of seeing this same thing all the time?-for it is always bubble dancers. He was surprised and said Oh, but we have had always bubble dancers." The Frenchman made a gesture of despair. I was waiting to disembark next morning, having just parted from the Czech with expressions of eternal esteem, when a voice said "Hi." I turned and there she was with her bags, passport, X-ray photograph, the Czech and a serene smile. "You superior immigrants get off before me," I said, "so I’d better wish you luck now," ; "And the same to you. But I'll see you again, If you're lucky," said Miss O’Connell.