The Daily Telegraph - Saturday - Travel
INTO THE UNKNOWN
How was New Year’s Eve for you? Benedict Allen recalls a ‘romantic’ Hogmanay crossing of the Atlantic that was stormier than he’d hoped
Let me be honest here, and say that I imagined it quite differently. Come New Year’s Eve, we would be alone together on the promenade deck, I thought, and there on bended knee I would ask for her hand in marriage. She would giggle softly, and I would proffer the ring – and next the champagne, stowed in an icebucket nearby. And all by the light of a silvery moon.
This was not how it worked out. For though I’m meant to be an explorer by profession, and – you would have thought – believe in attending to detail, I hadn’t counted on the weather cutting it up rough.
Also, the QE2 wasn’t really built for the exacting cruise passenger of today. No wonder it was her final voyage.
Things started off well enough. At our port of embarkation, Madeira, we were treated to a dazzling display of offshore Christmas fireworks – spoiled only because (was it just my imagination?) there seemed to be quite a swell out there on the explosive-lit waters.
We boarded the good ship in a state of considerable excitement. Faithfully, she had served as an ocean liner for almost 40 years; she had also served her country, ferrying our troops to the Falklands. And now her last sacred duty: safely deliver a proud crew and 1,700 overly festive passengers to the New World.
I do so fondly remember our first romantic meal together. It was our last. The ship rolled. It heaved. So did I. Eventually I was confined to my cabin – while my sweetheart dined on alone, apparently oblivious to the shifting crockery and dwindling number of revellers. Already, most travellers were seeking solace, like me, somewhere down below.
Never mind. There was still a day or two in hand before New Year’s Eve, and first the unenviable prospect of having to deliver – as we all pitched drunkenly to port and starboard – a couple of “motivating speeches.” For, sad to relate, any future Mrs Allen would not be marrying a rich man and the speeches were helping to pay for this trip.
Several members of my depleted audience had sick bags. These they filled. Even dosed with heaven-knowswhat medication from the on-board doctor, I barely made it to the end.
But at least my potential spouse was happy. Presently she was hopping up
and down, trying to get my attention as various green- faced passengers lurched back to their rooms. She thrust a paper napkin into my hand. “I’m pregnant!” it read.
After a brief stop at Southampton – just time to stock up at the chemist – we were heading across the Atlantic. The weather deteriorated further.
New Year’s Eve came and went. I lay in the WC, grimly clutching the ring I’d bought along – just a piece of colourful plastic, my intention having been to choose something special on arrival (the famous diamond market on 47th Street). At one stage, the captain cheerily made an announcement “for all those interested” that here was where the Titanic went down.
Every storm comes to an end, however, and I woke one morning to find the “voyage of a lifetime” – as it was advertised – over. We were nearing New York City, slipping through the
soft early light past the Statue of Liberty and then Ellis Island; we thought of those for whom this journey from Europe meant a fresh start.
No time to waste: this evening, straight to the Empire State Building. Perfect place to ask a young lady to marry you – so you’d have thought. Only, it seems that these days you’ve got to do a guided tour. Also, they’ve erected barriers, because so many people want to commit suicide up there. Therefore, despite my dearly beloved wanting a night in, she was dragged onward to a piano bar. We’d gaze at the spectacular Manhattan skyline – and I’d at last pop the question.
The bar was found to be a languid place, the waiters intrusive and the piano player evidently suffering from depression. Only outside did I find my moment. Rather miraculously, it was beginning to snow. And, just like in a Richard Curtis film, next thing a convenient horse carriage drew up.
Reader, I married her. Here was our new chapter, our new beginning. Through the falling snowflakes the horse went trotting and, quite suddenly, I understood what Wordsworth meant: bliss it was to be alive that dawn but to be young – this was years ago now – was very heaven.
Even dosed with heavenknows-what medication from the doctor, I barely made it to the end