The Commodore & the Banana Boat

The allure of the sea is too strong for some mariners, such as the late Commodore Geoffrey Marr. His association with the Cunard Line ended after a lifetime at sea and he settled into a well-deserved retirement at his home in England.

But it did not last long. Captain Bob Arnott (most famously of the QE2) describes what happened in his book, Captain of the Queen:

When he retired, Geoffrey quickly became bored and generally disenchanted with life ashore. And after a Cunard career culminating in command of the great Queens, he signed on as second mate of a banana boat. His fellow officers on the West India freighter knew all about their second mate's illustrious past, and used to call him "The Commodore."

There may have been a reason as to why Marr chose a banana boat.

After graduating from the training ship HMS Conway in 1924, his first job was with a company called Elders and Fyffes - "banana specialists," as the Commodore called them. It seems possible that perhaps his new, post-Cunard assignment reminded him of his earliest days at sea. But this is purely speculation on my part.


References: Captain Robert Harry Arnott, Captain of the Queen: The autobiography of the most famous sea captain of them all. (London: Quadrant Books, 1982), 126.

Commodore Geoffrey Marr, The Queens and I: The Autobiography of the Captain of the Queen Mary and the Last Captain of the Queen Elizabeth (London: Adlard Coles Limited, 1973), 13.

Bogart "sure as hell showed us who was Master, and a mad one at that!"

Over their long careers, sea captains often obtain rather interesting stories and anecdotes from their passengers. Included among these were accounts from actors regarding their films and co-stars. The following was recounted in Captain Bob Arnott's book, just as QE2 was sailing from Hawaii:

Van Johnson came aboard to sail with us back to the States, and I chatted with him about some of the films he had starred in over the years. 'I really enjoyed your performance in The Caine Mutiny,' I remarked to him at my party the first night out after Honolulu.

'Well, as a master mariner you would,' he said, 'but I guess like many on that set I was a little overwhelmed by Bogey.'

'You mean Humphrey Bogart?'

'I do indeed,' said the tall, greying actor. 'D'ya know he learned his seamanship from Katie Hepburn in The African Queen?' I smiled, and Johnson went on: 'Don't get me wrong, Captain. Bogey was only half your size, but he sure as hell showed us who was Master, and a mad one at that, on the Caine set.'

References: Captain Robert Harry Arnott, Captain of the Queen: The autobiography of the most famous sea captain of the all. (London: Quadrant Books, 1982), 209.

"Now I met only memories."

The ocean liners' Golden Age faded away as jet airliners took to the skies in the 1960s and became the preferred mode of transportation. Valiantly (and perhaps vainly) the old ships continued on as best they could, but the signs of change were quite apparent by the middle part of the decade. Bob Arnott describes in his autobiography, Captain of the Queen:

I settled down to my career in a Cunard fleet that was being continually annihilated by the faster and cheaper giant jets. I did one spell on the Queen Mary in 1965 and wrote to Joan from New York, 'It's like working in a ghost ship.' On that voyage there were fewer than 200 passengers in a first-class section designed to take 750 in sumptuous comfort across the Atlantic. I walked along the companionways where, a few years earlier, people would have been bumping into each other as they hurried from one party to another. Now I met only memories. 'You know, sir,' I said to Captain Treasure-Jones, 'she's not sailing across the Atlantic, she's rattling across it like a great empty coffin.' Sadly, the skipper agreed.

The Queen Mary would operate for another 2 years before the City of Long Beach purchased her for use as a museum and tourist attraction. She was one of the very lucky few to survive; most of her contemporaries were broken up and sold for scrap as the tides shifted against those grand old ships.


References: Captain Robert Harry Arnott, Captain of the Queen: The autobiography of the most famous sea captain of them all. (London: Quadrant Books, 1982), 138-139.

"We're going in."

Docking a ship - any ship - requires tremendous skill, ability and resolve. Even more so when the weather is bleakly uncooperative. But master seamanship is what wins the day, as Captain Bob Arnott (later of the Queen Elizabeth 2) witnessed firsthand aboard the RMS Carinthia in 1960, under the command of the future Commodore Geoffrey Marr:

[He] was a great talker, words tumbling from his lips at an amazing rate, and his gift for rhetoric was superbly demonstrated in his lecture presentation on the sinking of the Bismarck. Geoffrey had served in the Royal Navy Reserve on one of the ships that sent the German battleship to the bottom on 27 May 1941, so his graphic descriptions were wholly authentic.

Yet I remember him not so much for his oratory as for a remarkable piece of navigation that brought Carinthia safely to the Pier Head in Liverpool when the Mersey was cloaked completely in blinding black fog. We were anchored in the river waiting for the solid blanket to lift; even the ferry boats across the Mersey were unable to move. Suddenly Geoffrey's fine voice called: 'We're going in.' He talked our tugs to us over the VHF radio and, with visibility down to zero, took the huge 22,000-ton liner cleanly into the landing stage. Passengers, already resigned to another night at sea, cheered in relief and delight, and the crew, anxious to get home to loved ones, were equally elated. It was a magnificent achievement by the Captain, considering the quite elementary navigational aids of 1960 in comparison to today's sophistication.

Captain Arnott then explains how he believes Captain Marr accomplished this feat:

It's a matter of record that some Captains have a sixth sense in fog; they can 'see' things quite invisible to the eyes of ordinary humans, and have often made apparently inexplicable decisions which, within seconds, have saved ships and lives.

Perhaps it is either ouf of modesty that many captains do not wish to talk about it. Perhaps it is due to the fact they themselves cannot explain.

In any case, Captains generally won't discuss the matter, and that includes the normally prolific talker, Commodore Geoffrey Marr.

References: Captain Robert Harry Arnott, Captain of the Queen: The autobiography of the most famous sea captain of them all. (London: Quadrant Books, 1982), 125-126.

"What, what, Arnott, what's that you're saying?"

Many people have interests that are wholly unrelated to their occupations, and sea captains are no exception. Commodore Sir C. Ivan Thompson, for example, was particularly fanatical (or devoted - it depends on how you view it) fan of the Liverpool Football Club. Bob Arnott, who later captained the Queen Elizabeth 2, joined the Queen Mary in 1952 as Third Officer. Of Commodore Thompson's obsession, he wrote:

Six days a week, Captain Thompson appeared an easy-going sort of fellow who loved a pint and a joke as much as any of his crew, but Saturdays it was different. Then, the Captain's mood depended
essentially on the success or failure of the Liverpool football club. He must have been one of their longest-standing members, and was certainly one of their most avid supporters. Towards tea-time on a Saturday, when the famous Merseyside club had no doubt just walked off the field after the final whistle, Captain Thompson invariably ordered: 'Go and find out how they've gone on.' Off I would troop to the radio room and wait until the British football results came over the air; the Master, meanwhile, paced the bridge in dire suspense. If the radio message was that Liverpool had won, I would hurry back at once to tell him the good news; if they had lost, I couldn't help but dawdle back to the bridge, for I knew that the normally genial face would turn a rich shade of purple at the sad tidings. 'What, what, Arnott, what's that you're saying?' was his immediate irascible reaction. And if the radio reported that the Captain's club had been really well beaten, it was a wise and immediate strategy to keep out of his way for a few hours, for by the next day, the thrill of anticipation over Liverpool's next game would have taken over, and our much-respected Commodore would again become an approachable human being.

It should be mentioned that Commodore Thompson was a Liverpudlian, which may help explain his devotion to that particular football club.

References: Captain Robert Harry Arnott, Captain of the Queen: The autobiography of the most famous sea captain of them all. (London: Quadrant Books, 1982), 95-96.