Hartley Neita, ContributorTHE FIRST time I travelled to England, I went by boat, the S.S. Matina. This boat sailed between Port Antonio in Jamaica and Southampton, a port south of London, carrying bananas. On this trip during early February, it had twelve passengers, Englishmen and women and children, and I. The journey took ten days.
I could have gone by plane. However, there were no direct flights to England then as planes could not travel that far without refuelling. So, the flight was via New York and I would have had to stay at the airport for a few hours, intransit.
The thought of sailing on the deep, blue sea was a greater magnet. Years before, my father had taken us to the Milk River Baths and while waiting to be accommodated he took us on a boat cruise on the river. This time, I would be on a bigger boat. It would be fun.
FELT WOOZY
We left Port Antonio in the late afternoon, just as the sun was sinking below the western horizon. It was a glorious sight. Shortly after, however, I felt woozy, wobbled my way to my cabin and into the bathroom where I emptied my breakfast and lunch.
It was the beginning of ten days of agony. I spent more time in that bathroom than I care to remember, except for a few moments of pleasure when I jogged around the deck with the sea spray blowing in my face. Sometimes, too, I played deck games with the other passengers. Each day, too, we participated in a gamble as to how many knots the ship travelled during the preceding 24 hours. It was one shilling for each bet; I lost ten shillings during the trip.
A spectacular sight which drew the passengers to the deck was the sight of scores of whales around us, spewing water in the air. Our ship was like a large whale among them. Another day we saw two waterspouts. It rained for two days and nights. Looking through the portholes we saw the rain, joining the sky with the sea.
It began to get cold when we were three days from England. It was no fun anymore playing deck games. Winter winds are colder at sea than in cities. At sea there is the loneliness of space where there is nothing in the expanse of sky and sea. On land the presence of buildings and trees and people and traffic gives a feeling of warmth which is really an illusion.
THICK FOG
During those three days of winter cold I wore a sweater, overcoat, a scarf, gloves and thick socks. Constantly. When we finally docked. I did not want to leave the warmth of my cabin. I wanted to return to the warmth of my home in Jamaica where the only times you felt chilly days were on my visits to upper Manchester and Clarendon. I had seen fog while driving through the Rio Cobre gorge and down the north side of Mount Diablo in St. Ann. There I could see trees and buildings, but in Southampton the fog was thick and hid the docks from sight.
I had forgotten real winter's cold from then until the past two weeks. It has been cold. My thermometer read 70 degrees one morning. I have been sleeping wearing my jogging suit and thick socks. I have not wanted to leave my bed in the mornings and from time to time I have worn a sweater during the days. And the birds which usually chirp me awake each morning have left my neighbourhood, seeking warmer sites. If I could only find where, I would join them.
