Boarding the Regent Voyager - New Zealand

When I reached fifty I had never been on a cruise. At that time I had no intention of ever going on one either.

There was absolutely nothing attractive about the prospect. I couldn’t bear the thought of being trapped on a vessel at sea, miles from anywhere, with people I didn’t know and, for all I knew at boarding, might not even like.

I need to clarify one important thing about me at this point. It was during my late forties that I was struggling to come to terms with my blindness, and the thought of socialising with friends, let alone strangers, filled me full of dread. My grandchildren call me Grumpy and, to be frank, there is a very good reason for this!

Then, one day in 2011 Jane noticed a special offer for a journey up to the fjords in late spring. All of a sudden, I could see the light, and not just the northern lights, my social life from that moment on took a complete u-turn. I came out of my shell and recognised that not all human beings wanted to humiliate the poor blind bloke in the corner. Sometimes, I wonder if I have embraced the sociability thing too much?

Although this cruise was not the best experience I have ever had, I was hooked. There was something special about waking up in a different port every morning. I have to say, though, it was unbelievably cold even for late spring. Snow still laid in the Norwegian hollows, right down to low altitudes, and we were quite often hammered by sleet! We have never been north for a cruise since. In fact, we have only headed north on a couple of occasions since and that, I am sorry to say, was down to our old friend, Covid! The weather in Scotland was, let’s be honest, appalling!

All subsequent cruises have been in sunnier climes, and this one would not break my rule, established after that few days in the North Sea in 2011.

After boarding our home for the next 22 days, the Regent Voyager, in Auckland, our cabins were not ready, so we were sent up to one of the open decks to mingle with other passengers. We sat down at an arrangement of bench seats around a coffee table. Jane decided to take herself off for a saunter, I think she was doing lady things, you know, finding the spa and hairdressers, that sort of thing.

All I wanted was a beer. Regrettably, I had to settle for champagne. Now, as far as drink is concerned, I always prefer to take quantity over quality but, I suppose, there were two glasses of fizz; Jane wouldn’t know, would she?

Now, what is it with me and attracting odd-bods when there are loads of empty seats available. A group of four Americans decided to sit down with me. Maybe my face is too welcoming or something, no idea. I was content sitting in my corner of the outdoor sofa, not wishing to bother anyone.

“How you doin’, sir,” asked the redneck looking one in the opposite corner on the other side of the table.

I had no idea he was talking to me. I wondered if he might have been addressing the other American bloke. They had arrived together but they might only just have met. That sort of thing tends to happen on cruises.

“Sir! You with the white cane.”

“I’m sorry,” I replied sheepishly. “I didn’t realise you were speaking to me. Many apologies, old chap!”

“Who else? I just got here with these good people so it can only have been you.”

“I didn’t realise. The clue is, sort of, in the white stick. I can’t see. I apologise again and hope I didn’t cause offence.” There was no way I was going to call the obnoxious tw*t sir.

“Awesome! I never heard that before. Anyway, I am Doug and this beautiful thing here,” I imagined he indicated the woman next to him, “is my wife, Laura.”

“Pleased to meet you,” I said, holding my hand out in the rough direction of his voice. “I’m Robert.”

He didn’t take it.

Ah well! Did I give an F? No, not really.

“And, what’s your name, sir?” he asked of the other man.

“I’m Chuck and this is my wife, Tennessee.”

“My word!” said the oaf from the backwoods. Jane later told me he had a knuckle duster on each of his four fingers on each of his two chubby hands. “I’ve been to Tennessee, so I have, but I don’t think I have been to you.” He laughed out loud. Doug was holding court now. “Maybe we should put that right on this trip, hey?”

She didn’t give him the satisfaction of responding to his lewd comment. It turned out that Chuck and Tennessee were from Arizona. And, very nice they were too, even though she was named Tennessee. I don’t know anyone else with that name. Please get in contact, I’d love to know. Maybe it was a nickname? Never found out.

A massive burger with fries was delivered to the table. No guessing who that’s for, I thought. I was right! No-one else was eating. I think he was starting the cruise at 18 stones or so, roughly 250 pounds, but he was only going to go north. I started to imagine that, just maybe, he might have a cardiac. Then I hoped not as that might delay the sailing!

The Arizonians took this as their cue to leave. Couldn’t blame them. Then, to my utter astonishment, Laura, you know, Mrs Redneck, decided to go and look for something more interesting. I was on my own! I couldn’t leave, Jane wouldn’t know where I had gone. Plus, there is always a good chance I might fall overboard if I became disoriented.

“Well, Robert, what guns do you own?” he asked with, I assumed, fat from the burger running down his front chin! And, I think, with absolute sincerity.

“I beg your pardon?” I knew I had heard right but was staggered by the question. “Guns?”

“Yeah. You look like you might’ve been a soldier at one time so you must have guns.”

I was tempted, oh, so tempted, to embellish things a little. Remember, I write stories for a living! But no. “Why would I want a gun?”

“To kill things.”

Ask a stupid question! “Never owned one.”

“Jeez! You’ve never owned a gun?” For a reason unfathomable to me, he burst out laughing, slapped his thigh, like Doris Day in “Calamity Jane,” singing “Whip crack-away.” “Have you never killed anything? Never killed a bear or a moose or a lion? I’ve even had the honour of killing an elephant. Darned thing never knew I was about to pull the trigger, even though it was looking straight down the barrel. I’ll be! Each one of these rings,” the knuckle dusters, “represents a different type of animal that I have killed.”

This was not comfortable.

He went onto explain that he only killed older animals as they didn’t have much life left and they were a drain on food resources. I supposed he was older than me and presuming that now I know the rules maybe I ought to go and get a gun. I argued that I would be doing the world a favour! “Maybe that is what we should do to older humans as well?”

“No sir. It is not. We have God to look after us.”

Then I had a slightly mischievous thought.

I could see he was now ramming the fries into his mouth and noticed from my side vision bits of munched potato, escaping the oral concrete mixer, falling to the floor. It was nearly as loud as the real thing too! I was beginning to form the view that I needed to avoid this misogynistic, racist cretin, he had also put women and blacks firmly in their place, at all costs for the next three weeks.

He picked up his napkin, wiped his mouth and belched.

Nice, I thought. Now for my bit of fun. “I do like killing, though,” I said.

“Aha! Good man! What do you hunt?”

“Nothing. Well, I suppose I trail humans and kill them or have them killed.”

“I knew it!” he exclaimed, slapping his thigh again. “You were in the army. Did you lose your sight in a firefight? Who’ve you killed? Iraqis, Afghanistanis? Good riddance to the lot of them. The only good enemy is a dead one. Isn’t that right? God, we’re really gonna get along.”

I don’t think so, I thought. “I even know the names of those that I have killed.” I didn’t elaborate that the only victims in my locker were fictional characters in my writing. No need. He was almost hero worshipping me now.

Saved by the bell. Jane reappeared. “The room’s ready,” she announced.

“Sorry. I have to go,” I said to my new friend.

“Good to meet you, dude. Can’t wait to catch up again.”

We walked away, through the door, negotiated some corridors and lifts and, eventually, found ourselves outside our cabin.

“Who was that?” Jane asked.

“You really don’t need to know. Hopefully, we won’t be seeing him again.”

I did tell her about the hunting thing. She was appalled. He also made it very clear that he was a disciple of Trump. In his opinion, he was the best thing to happen to America since it got independence. In fact, he was the best thing to have happened to the world. The most important man since Jesus himself.

He even considered that the Donald might well be the second coming. He was going to put women back in the home, round up all the blacks and put them on reservations and stop all the Dago immigrants from coming in. And, he added stop these wannabe God types using genetic messing about to cure people. After all, there is only one God!

Then, there was another thing, get rid of Obama’s treatment of the poor; tough as it is, they only need to get off their fat asses, pot and kettle came to mind, and pay for their own damned treatment. Rich people are what makes the world go round. Poor people should be put to death, specially them on welfare. That was what was wrong with the world.

When you think that gene therapy is probably the only hope for me and people like me. Wow! To be honest, I don’t think he was my cup of tea.

When I made up some of the characters in “Lionheart,” I thought that they might be unbelievable. I now know different.