It was a bit chilly tonight out on the end of the pier at Town Quay on the Southampton waterfront. But at least it was fairly clear, the moon was out. It was quite peaceful. (Remember all you snow-besotted back home in the Northwest, I'm eight hours ahead of you as we BLOG through this.)
As best I can tell, the tip of Town Quay provides one of the best vantage points from which to see the QM2 as she's abbreviated. I had walked up and down the waterfront. Over fences and buildings, I could see the top of the ship off in the distance, but that was it. So I wandered past all the shops and storefronts and ferry landings that make up quay and walked to the end.
I'd been waiting for this. I got more than I dreamed.
I wasn't alone out there. There must have been 30 or 40 of us and they just kept coming. Standing at the end of the pier, staring off across the water at the ship lit up like the - well, let's not use that analogy quite yet. It's in relation to another, tragic Southampton maiden voyager nearly 100 years ago now, not spoken of mainly - though you know in your socks that it's on the minds of a whole lot of people here, residents or not.
She sits at a dock a bit ahead and to the left of the end of Town Quay. Quite a distance away, though. Imagine standing at the end of Pier 70 in Seattle and looking south past Coleman Dock and the ferries, more accurately nearly to the sports stadiums. That's a rough idea of our distance from the ship.
In the darkness you could see tiny spots of light moving across the sky-black water, around the hull of the QM2. Like gnats. Smaller than gnats. They had to be security vessels, most of the onlookers explained. So small. This ship is damned big.
And you heard nothing. That's what got to me in the end. People just stood and stared. Others, cars full of them, simply pulled into parking places at the end of the dock where they could see, some hauling out sandwiches, but still just looking at the ship.
There were a couple of hankies. Trust me, they were not being used to stifle a sneeze of two. They were aimed at moist eyes.
Folks there said they just wanted to see her. They were proud. They were awestruck. This is part of what Southampton is. A couple of the guys talked about their ship-building families, about the ravages of World War II, even about Southampton's aircraft-building past. And here they were again - part of another chapter in their history. "This is just about the same spot where the Titanic was tied up before its maiden voyage," somebody said. "Right over there."
I stood with them for a while, and I have to tell you that if history doesn't sit on your shoulders like this, weigh you down, talk to you quietly, rivet you in the moment, then you're missing something.
I was lucky. I didn't miss it.
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