Memorable Holiday

C Edward Munyard

1936

I firmly believe that I was particularly fortunate with the parents I was born to, as they both felt there were two things of the utmost importance in the upbringing of their children. The first was that if history was being made, we should, if at all possible, somehow become involved. The second was to get away from London, where I spent my childhood, for an annual holiday, preferably by the sea. Occasionally, these two imperatives would coincide and then we had all the time in the world, or so it seemed, to observe history being made.

For several years we visited Southsea, a pleasant seaside resort near Portsmouth. I vaguely remember the narrow streets of small terraced houses fronted by the pavement, where we stayed with a lovely lady who just loved children and, consequently, spoiled us to bits.

According to Mum, she had one failing: if one admired any of her possessions small enough to be picked up, she would most certainly give it to you with an authoritative, "You must have it then."

"Now remember," Mum would say, "don't say you like anything unless it's your breakfast."

Most of us treasure our possessions for the memories they evoke but Mrs Southsea got her pleasure from giving things away. Her "You must have it", meant just that. There could be no argument. As a child, to find someone who would give you anything you asked for was oh so hard to resist, even with the constant reminders of "Don't say you like anything," ringing in your ears. To this day I remember Mrs Southsea fondly when I end up with something I earlier admired, as a gift.

Being on holiday was so different to our usual routine. We would leave Mrs Southsea's house after breakfast and set off into town or to the sea front, wondering what the day had in store for us. But there was something special about this one day, even more special than usual. We could tell we were going somewhere different by the knowing looks Mum and Dad gave each other, but where? And when? And, especially, why? Mum and Dad always made a game of such things and loved to keep us guessing.

At lunch we were warned, "Don't make a pig of yourself. We don't want you being sick." The question was why would we be sick? This was answered as we made our way to the little pier where the boat trips were as Dad hurried us along with "Don't want to be late."

There was a queue at the pier by a big notice saying "Trip around the Queen" in big bold letters. Brother Bob confirmed what it said, as my reading wasn't so hot. Well, I was only eight, I would complain when I couldn't do something.

"Why do we need a boat to see the Queen?" I thought as we were ushered onto the boat with the customary "All aboard!"

"Which is the best side to stand?" Dad asked the man with the peaked cap.

"Won't matter, gov'ner," said the man. "The Queen's so big you can't miss her."

We had been sailing for about ten minutes when all became clear. "Here she comes," the crown seemed to say all together.

Somewhere, a man said "Cor blimey!" Another, "What a size!" A lady almost sung, "How beautiful!" Everyone seemed most impressed, except me that is.

"Where's Mum?" "Where's Dad?" I couldn't see anything. What were they all looking at? I was almost in tears as Dad came to the rescue. He swept me up in his arms and I was soon a 'flying angel' on his shoulders.

"Over there son" he said pointing west between the mainland and the Isle of Wight.

Then I saw it, smoke billowing from the funnels, the white bow wave breaking at the prow. What an amazing sight as The Queen Mary steamed toward us, slowly and majestically, everything about her gleaming and new, exactly as it should be for a Queen: for this Queen on her Maiden Voyage.

Today was the 27th of May in the year of 1936 and we were watching the Queen Mary as she steamed down the Solent on her maiden voyage to the United States of America and I was there with my family, once again privileged to see nautical history being made.

As the ship sailed closer, our tiny boat, a toy by comparison, bobbed about like cork. We came alongside at a safe distance where we could appreciate the enormity of this beautiful vessel. Once can truly appreciate the size of the Queen Mary when looking up from sea level.

It seemed a never ending wall of black and white, patterned by row upon row of portholes, and as she sailed by we could now look along her length. She was so long, in fact, one could not take her all in at one glance. She had to be almost read like a book.

I will never forget how small and insignificant our little boat seemed against this graceful giant, or what a tiny unimportant speck I was.

When our boat returned to the quay, we were amazed to find it moving up and down, by about one or two feet. It was like a ride at a funfair and it was taking a lot of timing for people to jump ashore.

I found it too difficult to even attempt and it was the man in the peaked cap who finally carried me ashore, no doubt kicking and screaming under his arm.

All this movement was, of course, caused by the wash of the Queen that arrived at the quay at the same time we did. The displacement of a ship of that size is enormous.

What an exciting finish to an amazing day for a tiny boy of eight years old. I also was on the maiden voyage of the eighth year of my childhood. What a wonderful way to spend a birthday, a day remembered long after the birthday present I must have been given that day has been long forgotten.

Thanks to Mum and Dad.