Autobiography

to America in 1966. Because of my then wife
Beryl’s fear of flying, we crossed the Atlantic
on the Queen Elizabeth, travelling second
class, but returned to Southampton first class
on the Queen Mary because I couldn’t bear
being told I couldn’t go in that restaurant or
walk along that deck or drink in that bar. The
leap up from second to first class was
immense, rather like the difference between
the Championship and the Premiership.
On board the Queen Mary there were first,
second and third classes plus steerage – the
Premiership right down to the equivalent of
League Two. Steerage was down in the bowels
of the ship, where there were no portholes,
and it was very noisy and hot. It was mainly
occupied by American teenagers, early day
backpackers, coming to explore Great Britain
and Europe.
The film Titanic brought back memories of the
Queen Mary with its wealth and splendour in
first class and the poor in steerage. The ship
was quite simply amazing; the grandeur and
opulence of it all being a great experience for a
young man of 29. I had never even been in a
glamorous hotel before, so I found the
trappings of wealth breathtaking. I was in my
early twenties before I even went into a decent
restaurant, but this was a quantum leap; even
the ceiling in the dining room was 40 feet high.
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