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THE ATLANTIC BY SEA

Last February I returned to England by the France. On a snow-swept afternoon, it was difficult to find a taxi in Manhattan, and by the time I had checked in, the loudspeakers were already announcing “All visitors ashore.” I went to the main hall. It was very quiet. There seemed hardly any visitors to go ashore. I looked at the passenger list. On the world’s longest ship, there were only 160 first class and 460 tourist passengers. How different it would have been forty, thirty years ago.

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Alec Waugh

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THE ATLANTIC BY SEA

Last February I returned to England by the France. On a snow-swept afternoon, it was difficult to find a taxi in Manhattan, and by the time I had checked in, the loudspeakers were already announcing “All visitors ashore.” I went to the main hall. It was very quiet. There seemed hardly any visitors to go ashore. I looked at the passenger list. On the world’s longest ship, there were only 160 first class and 460 tourist passengers. How different it would have been forty, thirty years ago.