Waltzing round the World... Part 2

continued...........

Before booking excursions, Irene Martin would check with the Shore Excursion Manager which tours I would be escorting and make a point of booking herself onto the same tour. On the tour, she would deliberately fall behind the other guests, knowing that I would have to stay behind with her, to make sure she wasn’t left behind or split from the group. This was a particular major headache when, knowing I was escorting the tour, booked on a three day overland tour to China.

In Perth, Australia, she even made her way, by taxi to a local television station to complain to them that the dance hosts on the QE2 refused to dance with her! The first we knew of it was when the television station contacted the ship saying they had one of our 'problem cases' in their office, asking to be interviewed. The Cruise Director, John Butt then had to take a cab to the TV station, collect her and bring her back to the ship.

The Captain and Cunard shore-side Management were all well aware of the endless problems this woman was causing, but were unable to take action as we were so far from mainland America, however, as we neared Los Angeles on our return leg of the cruise, the Captain summoned her to his quarters, telling her that he wasn’t prepared to put up with her constant complaining any more and that she would have to leave the ship in L.A.

Not being a party to the meeting I’m not sure how my name cropped up, but it was decided, the only way they could get her to leave the ship quietly, was if I was to escort her home, to which she had apparently agreed.

The Captain called me to his Quarters, said I was under no obligation to agree to the request and asked if I would be agreeable to escorting her from Los Angeles, to her home in Washington DC.

During the meeting, the phone rang. It was the Social Director, saying Irene Martin was looking for me to tell me she had been evicted from the ship and was threatening to throw herself over the side.  I left the meeting, met up with the Security Officers and headed towards promenade deck where she had been recently seen.

We stepped outside and there she was in the pouring rain, ranting that she had been evicted from the ship ‘Me’ she said ‘Evicted from the ship – and my husband, buried with military honours in Arlington Cemetery!’

I approached her to try to coax her back inside. By now, she was soaked to the skin and still ranting – ‘What do I want with these material things?’ and threw the contents of her handbag along promenade deck. (She could have thrown the bag over the side, but that would have been too final and less effective).
She finally agreed to come inside and was led by the Security Officer to her cabin, whilst I collected and returned the contents of her bag.

For the next twenty four hours prior to our arrival in L.A., she was confined to her cabin and her meals brought to her. Flight arrangements were made for the two of us and her belonging packed ready for departure.

Upon arrival in L.A., more problems arose when U.S. Immigration were reluctant to allow a non U.S. citizen (me) to escort the lady home. This caused several hours delay, during which time I had Mrs. Martin under threat, that if she started to ‘play up’ before we left the ship, I would about turn and leave her to find her own way home.

We were eventually given permission to leave; I was given the flight tickets for our flight to Washington DC, along with my re-joining details which were to be in Acapulco, Mexico four days hence.

All of our staff thought I was crazy for agreeing to take her home, but the spirit of adventure over-rode sensibility; I had never been to Washington DC or for that matter, Acapulco. The Cruise Director’s last instructions were, ‘When you get to Washington Airport, kick her ass into a taxi and leave’.
I listened and didn’t say anything, but thought, ‘What if something happens to her between the Airport and her home?’ No, I would have to see it through properly.


I loaded the slightly built Mrs. Martin and her ample amount of luggage into a taxi and headed for the airport. Because of the delay caused by Immigration and further delays due to heavy traffic we missed the flight and had to wait six hours for the next one, which was an overnight flight via Philadelphia.
I was fully aware of the problems she had caused over the past two months but at the same time, couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for her. I had asked previously if there was anyone we should contact to let them know she was coming home, but she had no-one.

After changing flights in Philadelphia, we eventually arrived in Washington DC and took a taxi from the airport to her home, a second floor apartment on the outskirts of the city.  Her apartment was small and dark, with basic, almost utility furniture, comprising living/dining room, one bedroom and a bathroom. Around the walls were dozens of unframed pictures of herself, taken on various cruises, a few framed black and white photographs of her husband and dozens of old pictures of her dog. Above the electric fire was a huge slate plaque, which read ‘In loving memory of Rex,’ (the dog!), ‘A Faithful Friend’.


Of course, there was nothing in the fridge and very little in the food cupboard, so I went to the local store and replenished her stocks with at least a few essentials to get her through the next couple of days. We had a bite to eat and then I told her I had to leave.
She asked if I could stay and offered me five thousand dollars if I would stay for the weekend. I declined the offer, telling her that I was expected back at the ship as they had delayed sailing until I returned. (Untrue, but she wasn’t to know any different).

Up to this point, since leaving the ship, she had been quite polite and almost humble, however, she now realized she couldn’t get her own way, nor could she buy me off – then she turned, as only she could.
‘Go! You don’t care, you are just like all the rest! You’re no better than that Captain Bennell who evicted me!’ ‘you have no respect! Don’t you know my husband was buried with military honours in Arlington Cemetary’.

I said I was sorry she felt that way but that I had to leave.

I left her apartment went down to the street and hailed a cab. As I sat in the cab, heading for the airport, it was as if a ton weight had been taken from my shoulders. I had been in her company for almost thirty six hours, humouring her, chatting with her, but never quite knowing how she would turn.
I took the flight and spent a welcome two days in the Ambassador Hotel on Acapulco Bay.
When I eventually re-joined the ship, I’m not sure why, but the staff, seemed surprised to see me! What they thought would or could happen to me, I’m not sure, but the whole scenario was the talk of the ship.

The passengers and particularly the single ladies asked jokingly if this was a new service offered by Cunard, that they could now be personally escorted home!


The post-script to the story is...... 

Some two months later when I returned to the ship after a vacation, Captain Woodall rang to ask if I, along with John Butt, the Cruise Director would go to his quarters. He asked about Irene Martin and the circumstances of her leaving the ship. He said there had been correspondence from Cunard’s Legal Department in New York saying that Irene Martin had made an official complaint to  Washington D.C. Police Department, stating that the person from Cunard Line who had taken her home had thrown her on the bed a raped her!
John Butt said ‘I told you, you should have put her in a taxi at the airport and left’.
Five days later, in New York I was summoned to a meeting with the head of the Legal Department, to take my statement of the sequence of events and said, ‘I must ask you this: ‘Did you rape Mrs. Martin?’
I had a photograph Mrs. Martin had given to me, which I passed over the table to the lawyer. As she viewed the picture taken outside the Mauritania Restaurant, complete with ill-fitting wig, kaftan and the medal around her neck, she looked up at me and said ‘She really isn’t your type!’
‘My type’ I said, ‘I couldn’t even have raised my eyebrows!’


That was the last I heard of the case, but not the last to hear of Irene Martin. A few weeks later we were anchored off Hamilton, Bermuda. During the late afternoon, when most people were returning to the ship, a sharp-eyed bandleader, Mick Urry spotted, lining up to get on the tender, Irene Martin. He immediately reported it to the Security Officer on duty who promptly obstructed her access and turned her away. What was her agenda? No idea! She had obviously taken a flight from Washington DC to Bermuda, knowing the QE2 was there, for whatever reason!.........and we'll never know!……….

Captain Bennell, a relatively young and active man, died shortly afterwards of cancer....

A ‘baptism of fire’ springs to mind, but thankfully, after this extraordinary introduction, ship life became a little easier…….but NEVER boring!……

The beachbum