London   I like historic railroad stations. When driving in London in 2001 and finding the major stations I had never seen, I saw how attractive Liverpool Street Station had been restored, as well as the historic Great Eastern Hotel adjoining it, so that's where I booked us into for our one night in London this trip before going on to Southampton the next day.

Helmets and Gherkins   Lord Norman Foster is a major British architect whose work we've followed. Although he submitted one of the eight final designs for Ground Zero, it wasn't the one accepted. However, he did the new glass dome to the Reichstag building in Berlin, which we went to the top of. He's done the new Millenium Bridge in London that we walked across to the New Tate last year. So far we've missed his re-do of the Great Court at the British Museum, but there were two things I knew we could easily see on this trip and we did. On the way from the station to the hotel I told the taxi triver to stay on the south bank and go past the new Greater London Authority Building, which is essentially the new London City Hall. I had heard it had been nicknamed "The Helmet", and the reason why was obvious. It looked like layers of round helmets one above the other. But the most controversial one was near our hotel in The City, the tower built for the Swiss Re insurance company. We saw it already when crossing Tower Bridge, since it's hard to miss. It's quite tall, round, like the Helmet all glass and steel. It has a double reverse-spiral shape around it, which gives it a diamond pattern all around. It's new this year, and has been nicknamed "The Gherkin". Since it does come to something of a point, I think "The Cigar" would be more accurate. Or a sexual reference wouldn't be out of order, either.

Beginning a New Phase: QM2   I choose to give the following information as part of this trip, since it's been a natural development of it. The way in which this has developed as part of this trip also makes it easier to adjust to.

Beverly is spending this trip in the ship's hospital. On arrival in New York, she will continue to be hospitalized, then probably enter a nursing facility. There are two separate factors, which in the long run, blend together.

The factor that compels the matter is the ulcerous sore. I explained earlier that even before we sailed from New York on June 19 she had developed a bed sore from sitting, and part of it had become necrotic. We got antibiotics on the ship then, and then had the doctor’s visit in Prague to tend to it. Over time, it first improved, but then declined. On arrival at the ship on Thursday, July 22, 2004, we first went to the cabin. I got some lunch to go with the bottle of champagne Cunard provides us as frequent travelers. That meal will be the final one we will have spent "together at home". Our dinner in London the previous night, July 21, 2004, at the Aurora restaurant at the Great Eastern Hotel, which was fortunately very pleasant, is the last restaurant meal we will have had together. That hotel stay is also our last time together living in the same room, and this trip will be Beverly’s last.

Right after eating we went back to the medical facility down on Deck 1. The same doctor and nurse tended to it, and decided that Bev should be admitted immediately. She's on an air mattress, and they turn her from one side to the other every two hours. Other than that, they're treating it as a minimum care facility, as I go and feed her lunch and dinner. They have given blood tests and such, and everything else is fine. It is ironic that, on the trip eastbound, we were sitting at the Doctor’s table, and got to know the medical staff.

They have connections with St Luke's-Roosevelt Medical Center in Manhattan, and Bev will go there when the ship comes in. A sore like this will take time to heal, during which time she needs medical care to change the dressing and so on.

As I said, there is a second, and probably more important factor working here. Even back in the spring, Bev started to lose more mobility. She couldn't stand well any more, which made tooth brushing, dressing and undressing more difficult. Even our little in-place slow dancing was cut back.

But moreso in the last couple of weeks, she's been declining. Eating is good again, but needs prompting. On the assumption that this is a trend that will continue, the home care I've been able to give will become overly difficult, if not impossible.

Things may go differently, but that's how it looks right now. We'll have to see.

If this New Phase had to start at any time at all, I am happy it started here and now, rather than with me sitting at home and wondering on my own where to find a proper medical facility. She's getting excellent care, and everyone around is extremely supportive. That includes passengers we know (also some we don't know), crew, officers.

I will add that Bev has done a lot of sightseeing with me, maybe 80%, but not totally. She saw all the cities, but at some points it just wasn't practical to take the wheelchair, so she stayed in the room and watched TV or dozed. In Amsterdam we got her on the boat ride, but the streets weren't appropriate for her to go with me on a walk downtown. But I know she’s enjoyed the parts of the trip she’s been able to participate in.

Helga Reiss   I had earlier mentioned Helga Reiss, the band singer in the Queens Room. She had remembered us on the trip out of New York from previous trips on the QE2. On the first night of this trip, I went into the Queens Room where she was performing. Singing from the bandstand, she looked at me there by myself, and walked over in a pause between verses to ask where Bev was. Later we set up to have a talk the next afternoon.

The next night in the Queens Room she came over to me during a band solo and danced me around the room. Later she publicly dedicated her last song to Bev. I invited Helga to be a dinner guest out our (Engineer's) table one evening.

John Martin   You may remember John as the English comedian who told some very funny jokes on the Caronia. The other night I came back to the room and saw his picture on the next day's program. I called his room immediately, and we got together the next day, as a matter of fact at the same time as with Helga. John is of course also supportive. He's given two great shows. I invited him as well to to take Bev's seat at dinner the last evening.

Frau Doktor Ursula Sadighpur   We found out that a friend of friends from Germany would be on the Mary this crossing with her son. On board we made contact, and got together for tea in the Queens Room. Frau Doktor Ursula Sadighpur (her married name is Iranian) was afterwards, as a physician, the only person who accompanied me down into the Medical Facility to see Bev.

Planetarium   This time I got to visit the planetarium. There are two theaters, the Royal Court, which has the most amazing state-of-the-art stage (revolving, rising up and down in sections, everything), and Illuminations, which serves as an auditorium and lecture hall. However, the center section of Illuminations, the part that has red seats, is under the planetarium dome, which is lowered for the shows. I went to see one of the four shows just to see what's it's all about. Interesting, but not my field of interest.

Veuve Clicquot   There's a champagne bar on the QM2, one that sells Veuve Cliquot exclusively. Although it's strange doing all these things by myself, I've sat down twice there for a glass of champagne.

Bill Miller   Returning from Germany in 2000 on the Deutschland, we first met Bill Miller lecturing on liners and cruise ships. He grew up and lives in Hoboken NJ watching ocean liners on the Hudson and has become a world authority on passenger ships. On the Deutschland his main thrust was emigration from Europe to America. On the QM2, he's lectured on ocean liners in general, the development of the cruise industry, and New York harbor. One fact I just learned from him was that the Nordic Empress we took to Bermuda has been refurbished and now goes under the name of Empress of the Seas, to match the other "of the Seas" ships on that line.

I've said before that I'm a member of the South Street Seaport Museum, a longish walk from home. It preserves old maritime streets and buildings and has a several sailing ships. I've mentioned that Bev and I have enjoyed their Christmas parties, including caroling outside near the ships. Bill Miller was recently appointed Adjunct Curator of the Ocean Liner Collection at South Street. On the Mary, he had some great stories.

Heated Safe   He had spoken to a woman once who was gushing about the ship they were on. There were so many special services! She especially liked the fact that they provided her with a heated safe. When she put her diamond necklace on in the evening, it felt so nice and warm around her neck. What a wonderful service! Upon investigation, it was determined that by chance, the heat exhaust from the cabin's mini-refrigerator let out right below the safe, warming it, but the woman was convinced it was an exceptional special service.

Clout   You've heard about Bea Muller, "the lady who lives on the QE2". Bev and I met her, twice, at Ward Room parties. She's a nice, middle-class lady who sold her house to be able to afford an average-sized cabin on the ship. But Bill had once met a very wealthy woman who often travelled onboard--I'm not sure which ship. She had a deluxe suite, and had enough clout with the line that, on a weekly basis, she invited the Captain to cocktails in HER cabin, not the other way around. And he came.

It seems on one occasion when the ship pulled into Southampton and was not turning around immediately, her schedule was such that it would be convenient for her to spend one additional night onboard before leaving. She asked, and her wish was granted. However, it seems that under British maritime law, if even one passenger is on board, no more than half the crew can leave, so for that one night in Southampton, she was onboard with 300 crew members. You often hear about crew-to-passenger ratios, but that one night there was a 300-1 ratio, which remains a record.

Stacks   Pre-World War I, shipping lines did a big business in steerage passengers. I think I might have heard that steerage passage might have been as little as $20 per person to cross the Atlantic. If it was more, it wasn't much more. There were dormitory facilities for men, for women and children, and for couples. Passengers did their own cooking, and had limited deck time. If you saw the film Titanic, you got a glimpse of what life in steerage was all about. Even Cunard felt it could boast the positive fact that it had one toilet per 500 steerage passengers. If they felt they could make that into a boast, you can imagine what conditions elsewhere were. Yet the biggest profits for the lines came from steerage, since so little had to be provided.

Everyone's concerned about safety, and a superstition developed among potential steerage passengers in the pubs and taverns across Central and Eastern Europe. It was believed that the more smokestacks a ship had, the safer it was. One or two was OK, three was better, and four was ideal. This was not lost on the shipping companies. Even though coal was the fuel in those years, no ship needed four stacks, yet three- and four-stack ships were regularly built in those years to attract steerage passengers. Bill shows a picture in his lectures of a ship of the era puffing black smoke out of the two forward stacks, with the two aft stacks, being dummies, producing nothing. On another ship, the bottom of one of the false stacks was used as the kennel for passengers' pets.

Accents   In a totally different vein now, the delight of a Language Person is hearing the variety of accents when on shipboard. This is not meant in any way to be a putdown of anyone. We had a delightful group at the dinner table, but at one point a British-American dialect impasse was reached, and I had to come to the rescue.

Peggy and her husband were from South Carolina. He, a retired surgeon, had only a mild drawl, but dear Peggy's voice was dripping with magnolias and Spanish moss. One evening, the officer at the table, who had a very mild Scottish accent, said something, and Peggy turned and told him: "Ah jus' luuv yo' acsaynt!". I couldn't resist. I can't do Scottish, but I can fake Southern, so I turned to Peggy and said "Peggih, dawalin', Ah jus' luuv YO' acsaynt!", and we had a good laugh.

Now on the last evening, John Martin, the comedian, joined us. John is from the north of England, but there's only one pronunciation from his area that I see as particularly unique. For turn he says tairn (with a rolled R), learn is lairn, burn is bairn, world is wairld, and so on. To make conversation, John turned to Peggy and said "I understand your husband is a sairgeon". Peggy smiled a big smile, but her eyes were like a deer's in the headlights. "Mah husband's a whut?" "A sairgeon, a sairgeon!" Smile. "A whut?" There was a total impasse in communication. To Peggy's relief I laughed and came to the rescue: a surgeon! I had to keep British-American relations on track, but it was a lot of fun.

Oxford University   Cunard has contracted with the continuing education program of Oxford University for onboard lecturers from both the UK and the US. I went to all three lectures by Prof. Kenneth Jackson of Columbia on the history of New York City, and all three by Dr Annette Davison of the University of Leeds on music in cinema. Most interesting was the Busby Berkley lecture, also the use of jazz as background music, and MGM musicals.

Another speaker in the Oxford program, but one that I went to listen to only once, was the most famous of the group, PD James, the author of the Dalgliesh mysteries. She is now Baroness James. The talk I went to was one in which she was encouraging writers, mostly of fiction, but also nonfiction. Of the nonfiction, she said autobiographies, biographies and diaries are popular, and she emphasized the importance of one's developing one's own style. I of course couldn't resist, and went up to shake her hand afterwards. I told her I write a sort of travel and language journal that I self-publish on e-mail to family and friends. She gave me some supportive remarks. I know nothing will ever come of it, but it was fulfilling to feel I could talk "author to author" with someone of her caliber.

The Captain's Table   I'd never sat at the Captain's table (I want to say "we", but have to force myself to say "I"). I started making arrangements on the trip over. I eventually found out that one has to be invited, ostensibly by the Captain, but actually by his secretary. I spoke to David Dance, the Food and Beverage Manager, and got an invitation one evening.

At the Engineer's table there is room for nine. (By the way, I knew the host got a "cheat sheet" with the names of the people at the table so he can prepare himself, but now I've found out they also get pictures. They get copies of the pictures taken on embarcation for our passenger cards.)

Anyway, the Captain's Table is a big round one in the center of the room. It seats exactly twelve, and one is seated via a seating chart, boy-girl. The captain sat in the 12 o'clock position, that evening the Security Officer was at 6 o'clock; I was at 8 and Bill Miller at 2.

It was very pleasant, but in a different way that I expected. I talked to the Captain once; he's from Cornwall, and I told him how well we liked driving out to Land's End. Although he chatted a bit with the people next to him, the Captain offered no great amount of repartée. On the other hand, the rest of us chatted away. To a large extent, Bill Miller and I led a conversation on Broadway musicals (Sunset Boulevard, Dirty Blonde) and classic cinema (Busby Berkley). I was able to bring up The Third Man. It was a pleasant evening.

Being "Single"   It was different on the ship doing everything by myself. I visited Bev 5-6 times a day, everyone was very supportive with inquiries, yet I was alone in the cabin, I went to lectures alone, I went alone to the Captain's Table even though both had been invited, and Bev was missing at the dinner table and at dances. When we get off tomorrow, June 28, 2004, an ambulance will bring her to the hospital, and I'll get off regularly, with the luggage and an empty wheelchair. I'll have to get a taxi and drop off our stuff at home and then run up to the hospital to see how things are going. This will be the second phase of being “single”, where we’re no longer even physically in the same location.