This blog, begun in 2004, is crammed with world voyages, ships of all kinds, Tahitian sunrises, Persian Gulf sunsets and other such nautical material. I don't want to test readers' patience, but, as the RMS is a vanishing kind, perhaps you'll briefly indulge me.
First, I'll have some RMS coffee in my Shipley Do-Nuts cup from Texas (unpaid plug for their excellent, made right in front of you, Apple Fritter do-nuts).
I spotted three vessels our first morning out from Cape Town, but we're now well away from the main shipping lanes. Indeed, it merits an article in the St. Helena Sentinel or Independent (I've been reading both on the Internet) when a ship is sighted off the island's coast.
Quiet in the sun lounge, which looks out onto a little pool. In about half an hour, other passengers will start arriving for coffee or tea.
Aboard are thirty-four Saints on an excursion advertised in island newspapers:
RMS Shopping Trip - Cape Town Special
ONLY £500.00 PER PERSON
Shop early for Christmas or simply enjoy a getaway to Cape Town. This special trip is for a return sea fare between St Helena and Cape Town and includes accommodation and breakfast on board the RMS St Helena whilst in Cape Town. Book early to reserve the best available cabins.
£500 is about a sixth of my round trip ticket price, but normal tourist numbers are low and most Saints can not afford full fare rates. That didn't stop a buying spree as prices in Cape Town are much lower than St. Helena; cabins are bulging with purchases.
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News item: My cabin attendant has asked that - quite legally - I take ashore vodka and red wine for her. Quite by accident, I find she's also tasked other passengers to similar missions. She probably buys alcohol at shipboard duty free prices and then, by having passengers declare the goods, avoids heavy St. Helena taxes. A nice little earner. A sweet, grey-haired English lady is calling me an 'alcohol mule.'
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Here's my cabin - normally for two - looking unusually tidy.
Entertainments are of a different era. Tug-of-war, sack racing or, as here, a skittles tournament.
Cricket is also popular.
Among the spectators (left in the front row) is The Reverend Jack Horner, one of St. Helena's Anglican priests (and coroner and magistrate).
It's 19 degrees Celsius, so only young Saints, used to the ocean, test the much cooler pool.
In the dining saloon, tables are still being laid for lunch ...
... on a good day, curry (another Empire holdover) is sometimes served on deck.
A pleasant routine of early tea brought to your cabin, substantial meals punctuated with mid-morning beef tea, then tea, sandwiches and fruit cake at 1600. Their cheese tray is excellent and I'm overdosing on Stilton. The captain's cocktail party was a sea of gin and tonics.
The bridge is much as any bridge, but I enjoy the stuffed animals.
People read ...
... the Africans are finding their sea legs ...
... I venture to the exercise room, but only for a picture.
Despite cozy passenger comforts and dated (but entertaining) diversions, the RMS is, at heart, an essential cargo ship. The word 'lifeline' is no exaggeration. When the ship's been delayed by repairs, I'm told there was near panic on St. Helena. Stores resembled the empty ones of Soviet times. One tends to forget this supply role unless looking for'ard.
Planes carry people, not standard shipping containers. Heavy goods will continue to arrive by sea. But the lovely, old RMS - with her 'Merlion' funnel, officers in Red Sea Rig and Mess Dress, deck cricket and Stilton - will live only in photos.
