Our ship was big and fast.
And the name of our ship was The Golden Vanity.
Our ship was so low, one mistake and it was over.
I didn't get back to the States until the fall of 1944, and then it was only for six weeks, while our ship was being overhauled in Oakland.
While the federal government was giving us our ship, was it also snatching a large segment of our population, at least on paper?
Here we drove ashore (our ship was returning south) and headed to the Prince Rupert RV Campsite, where we set up our tent trailer for two days' stay.
On this day, our ship was to take us through the spectacular glacier bays to a reliable whale-watching site by late afternoon.
A surgeon buddy of mine, Mike from Massachusetts, thinks an attack on our ship is a near-given, with a fifty-per-cent chance of success.
'Civilised peoples of the world,' begged one last broadcast, 'we implore you to help us in the name of justice, of freedom... Our ship is sinking.
'The problem is,' said Fiona, exhausted, 'is it ever not going to be this interesting?' In the end we never made it to the Circle (even our ship was forced to give up later that night) - though hardly anyone seemed to mind.
