Open Writing

...When the ship was wallowing, somebody said the stabilisers had not been turned on, and we accepted this explanation. That night my head slid, bump, into the wall at the top of the bunk; and next I was sliding down to have my feet bang the bottom of the bunk...

Shirley Henwood and her family rode out the aftermath of a cyclone.

When my mother-law died she had, in a special account in the bank, the exact amount of money her father had left her when he died. She had always spent the interest over the years, but allowed the capital to stay the same.

Her father had been a well-known Auckland businessman, owning a building company, and was active in many different areas. Not least was the period when he was the Mayor of Onehunga, in Auckland, as well as President of the Auckland Trotting Club for years. The John Rowe Memorial Trotting Cup was named in his memory.

If she had used the money to buy a house at the time, she would only have had to borrow a very small mortgage, and would have died quite a wealthy woman. However, her father didn’t believe in mortgages, so she told us, and she refused to consider buying a house.

So when my husband inherited this money, he decided to spend it. That is how we were able to take the three children and my mother on a Pacific Cruise on the ocean liner, the 'Feodor Shaliapin', a Russian ship.

The day we were going, we were all so excited that it seemed we were high on something. I don’t think the family as a whole has ever experienced that heightened excitement on any other occasion.

Boarding the ship, we were shown to our cabins, my mother and eldest daughter in one, and Tom and I and the two younger children in one a few doors along. They were inside cabins, but we didn’t care. It was the thrill of the ship itself and all the different people that fascinated us.

We waved goodbye to the crowd, threw streamers, and held on to them until they broke. By this time, we were out of eye contact and being towed out into the harbour.

It didn’t take the children long to find their way around the ship. I think they must have worked out where everything was in about two days, whereas we adults had to be continually shown by them. much to their disgust, where something was. The children had a club run by Frankie, who gave them a great time every day. This meant that we could have some time to ourselves without worrying about them.

After leaving Australia for Noumea, we became aware that the sea was very choppy and rough. People were vomiting all over the ship. The only staff we could communicate easily with was the British Entertainment Group. The Russians spoke very little English, and understood less. This became very frustrating.

When the ship was wallowing, somebody said the stabilisers had not been turned on, and we accepted this explanation. That night my head slid, bump, into the wall at the top of the bunk; and next I was sliding down to have my feet bang the bottom of the bunk. It was impossible to sleep. Next thing, thump, my six-year old son landed on the cabin floor from the top bunk, which he’d insisted on having.

He slept the rest of the night in my bunk with me. The next morning we tried to get a workman to come and put a board across the head of the bunk. We hadn’t noticed it was missing until Peter fell. Do you think we could make ourselves understood? We spoke to the cabin attendant, who gathered, from my miming skills, that we were talking about the bunk.

'Your son has an accident?' she asks. Finally, we got hold of one of the English entertainment staff, who managed to get through to somebody what had happened, and the next thing a board was installed, much to our relief.

In the swimming pool the next day, the water sloshed over the children’s heads, and they were under water until it sloshed back in the opposite direction. They thought this was great fun, except that the six year old was a little frightened. We got them out, and then the pool was closed. The waves were huge, and we watched them in amazement. It was not until we reached our next port of call that we found out about the Darwin Cyclone, and we had been riding out the aftermath!

© Shirley Henwood

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Shirley writes for Bonzer! magazine. Please visit www.bonzer.org.au