MEMORIES OF THE SS WORTHING

My First Channel Crossing

By Derek Longly

Many of my ship memories date from about 1950.  At that time my parents had moved their home from Eastbourne to Seaford with the port of Newhaven, to which I had first been introduced by my Grandfather, only a short distance from my Father's workplace.  Whenever I had the chance I used to climb on a bus or train and travel to Newhaven, ostensibly to see my Father but in reality to be able to wander around the harbour there.  At just 11 years of age it was a completely new world to me and I used to be full of awe watching the Channel ships arrive and depart - for in those days France seemed a very long way away and I could never visualise myself actually being a passenger on one of those, to my young eyes, huge ships, which carried as I imagined, the rich and famous across the water.  The excitement of seeing the boat train arrive - at that time with a massive steam engine at its head and a Pullman car or two amongst it's long line of carriages, was something that always gave me great pleasure.

That was in the days before the regulations preventing smoke pollution and many of the ship's funnels belched great black sooty clouds into the air. The Channel ships were run at almost their full speed of 25 knots into and out of the harbour and would create huge waves with their wakes on the beach near the West Pier at each arrival and departure. The sonorous steam whistles sounding on the air from these ships as they sailed added to the magic and excitement of their comings and goings.

Then at Easter 1952, just after my 13th birthday, came a moment when what had previously seemed the impossible happened and which event was to confirm my passion for ships for life.  I was to be sent to France to stay for a holiday with a French family in Paris.  I remember the event as though it were yesterday. The day before I was due to leave I remember I was so excited I could hardly eat and on the preceding night sleep was out of the question.

The appointed morning dawned bright and sunny and the entire family took the train to Newhaven to see me off. At the quayside the steamer Worthing, a veteran from 1928, lay with smoke trickling from her great buff, black topped funnel.  All was noise and confusion, falling over cases, getting in everyone's way, the thrill of having my passport inspected and stamped, the steep climb up the wooden gangway to the ship's deck. Then finally to be installed in a big blue leather seat beside a blue curtained window high above the quayside, where my family seemed to have become like marionettes as they waved me farewell.

Came a blast on the ship's whistle that seemed to reverberate through the entire vessel, much banging and clattering as the gangways were pulled clear then very slowly a gap appeared between ship and quay. I waved wildly, my family did likewise, there came another blast on the whistle then we were moving and the little group on the dockside steadily grew smaller, became a distant blur. The deck beneath my feet throbbed urgently as power built up and order was restored after the chaos of departure.  The sea proved to be calm and blue and the Worthing's bow sliced through the waves with nonchalant ease as she left a creamy white wake behind her.  Soon I wanted to explore this wondrous transport and with boyish curiosity wandered off to see what I could find. The decks were full of people all jolly and windblown, there was saltspray in the air clinging to one's lips to give a tang of the sea and the lovely big funnel pumped a long streamer of smoke skyward that stretched back to the horizon.

After departure one of my older companions became uncomfortable owing to the crowded conditions in the 3rd Class part of the ship and we moved into 1st Class, which was almost empty.  Below decks I wandered around dumbstruck as I inspected the 1st Class accommodation - deep buttoned plush moquette seating in autumnal colours in the saloon, leather in the smoke room, which was redolent of cigars and whisky and soda.  The dining room was a picture of polished, fluted, wood columns, acres of immaculate table linen and gleaming silver ware set on the tables, with pretty chintz curtains swaying at the portholes, through which the sun glittered.  The galley into which I was able to glimpse was preparing for lunch, an old range with pots and casseroles bubbling on top of it and a gorgeous smell permeating the area.  Below still further and being extra venturesome now, I found the wood panelled sleeping lounges under the 1st Class accommodation, more plush and buttoned moquette in serried rows, whilst aft, racks of neat blue and white draped bunks served for 3rd Class sleeping quarters.

Everywhere there was polished woodwork, companionways leading to one knew not what and staircases wide and narrow covered in polished linoleum to take one between the various decks.  If I had been fascinated by the harbour before now I was utterly captivated by this beautiful, powerful, living piece of luxurious machinery. 

The wonder remained with me throughout that journey, the incredible excitement of arriving in France, the huge steam trains in the streets of Dieppe, puffing clouds of oil scented steam, panting like thoroughbreds ready for the off; the foreign tongues, the exotic smells, the unusual clothes, the gesticulations and racing voices, the long sticks of bread.  Everything sank into my brain and has remained there as a vivid picture of an era now sadly long gone.

The passage of the years found me travelling more and more by sea.  I came to know all the Channel ships running from Newhaven, the sumptuous Brighton, the rather more utilitarian Arromanches and Londres and the elegantly swish Lisieux.  None of them, however, ever surpassed my love for the wonderful old Worthing.