March took me to Belfast with brethren from the Island, timed with no accident whatsoever for St Patrick’s Day. The city in full celebration is an experience in itself, green from kerb to rooftop, parades in the streets, and everywhere in tremendous voice.
The occasion for the crossing was a visit to Ark Lodge, and a fascinating one it proved. The lodges of Belfast work under the Irish Constitution, and seeing how differently our Irish brethren do things – familiar in spirit, distinct in nearly every particular of the working – was a genuine eye-opener. We were looked after royally and left among friends, with talk of making the visit an annual fixture, which I hope comes off.
The standout of the daylight hours, though, was Titanic Belfast. Built on the very slipways where the ship took shape, it tells the story of the vessel, the shipyard, and the city that made her with real power, refusing both cheap sentiment and cheap spectacle. It is one of the best museums I have visited anywhere, and worth the trip on its own. Best of all, the visit includes going aboard the SS Nomadic, pictured above: the Titanic’s own tender, which ferried her passengers out at Cherbourg, and the last White Star Line vessel afloat anywhere in the world. To stand on her deck, in the shadow of the giant yellow Harland & Wolff cranes, is as close as anyone will now get to walking a piece of that story.
I left the gift shop with a replica third class mug and a Titanic jumper, both of which I am delighted with and neither of which will ever be allowed aboard Sandpiper. I had owned her for roughly a fortnight at that point, my sailing experience stood at nil, and a novice skipper carrying memorabilia of history’s most famous sinking onto his first boat felt like inviting a review from the management. Superstition may not be rational, but neither is the Irish Sea.
Charlton Krentz 