148. Writ In Water

As my taxi was pulling up to the front of Penarth Pier, I saw the PS Waverley sliding up to the pier’s far end. We arrived simultaneously. This cloudy day, which promised not to rain, I had a booking for a five-hour excursion up the River Severn to view the bellies of bridges. This sleek white ship, with two red, white, and black stacks, and stained wood housing on the promenade deck, looked the antique it was. She is the last of the seagoing paddle steamers, with big paddle-wheels on each side. She was built in Scotland in 1946.

While the majority of the passengers were positioning themselves on deck to observe the casting off, I rushed through all the possible rooms below deck while they were still mostly unoccupied. Once I had full knowledge of the area, I took a position in the engine room where the shafts, wheels, cams, and gears of the still engine gleamed and rested. This gorgeous monster sat in a well in the hull of the ship, laid bare to be admired, with observational platforms on either side. Soon I was joined by others, middle-aged men with bulky cameras. While most passengers waited topside to see the ship pull away from the pier, we below waited for this beautiful machine to come to life.



This was the best part of my adventure, the engine room and being able to watch the giant begin its rhythmic pumping. The mechanism was simple enough for me to comprehend, the way its power was both released and constrained. It was neither too loud nor was there any significant vibration. I remained there until its beats were steady, unvarying, a good heart, and then I made my way to the upper decks.

The view was of the Severn Estuary. The islands Flat Holm and Steep Holm were declared the arbitrary marks of the ever-shifting threshold where the River Severn ends and the Bristol Channel begins. I meandered about the decks attempting to see every facet of the ship from every angle, and all the details of woodwork, rope, and brass, as well as to see the pleasure-seeking passengers. I also found my friends, Andra and Sara. Sara was content to find a seat on a bench and not abandon it for the entire voyage. She wanted me to keep her company, but I was not finished seeing everything.



There is a lot of water. Even on the wide river, miles from the ocean, I again became awestruck by the immensity of water that sits on our planet. I can only see the surface, the sudden divide. I was looking at the roof of the hydrosphere in which life began, where my earliest ancestors thrived. I now exist in the atmosphere above that original home. I carry the ocean inside me, rivers of blood like seawater constrained in this leather suit, permitting me to live in this atmosphere. I could not see beneath the glare all that was living in that ancient realm, while we lived in the younger world above it.

The passage through water is mesmerizing, watching the river's surface form into shapes and dissolve. The ship disrupts the surface, but it quickly heals. I looked past the stern at the Waverley’s wake, the way information is lost in homogeneity. The ship’s wake was extending the Waverley’s influence, written on the water for a brief spell longer. I thought of Keats and: “Here lies One Whose Name was writ in Water.”

The weather was fine for me, but I'm sure the others would have preferred more sunlight and heat. Cardiffians take vacations to Spain or Florida.



The destination was a bit silly, to pass beneath the Prince of Wales Bridge and the Severn Bridge - fantastic displays of engineering. We squeak out an existence in this narrow band of biosphere and feel pride inside a film on a planet’s surface spinning around a small star unseen by telescopes in other galaxies. After the Severn bridge, we turned around.

We were nearing the end of our trip. I worked my way to the rear observation deck behind the two funnels. It was not crowded. Folks were feeling the cold. Many were queuing to leave the ship. Penarth Pier was straight before us. I made my way to an empty corner where the wood railings joined at right angles. The wood had been polished and varnished until very smooth, with the exception of a small lump of what might have been excess varnish that got overlooked until it dried hard. My hands grasped the railings where they joined, and the smooth wood brought a tactile pleasure and steadiness in the wind and rocking.

I watched the silhouettes of the buildings growing in Cardiff Bay and the City Centre behind it, but they were dark smudges without identifying features. The setting sun was directly behind the city. The exceptions were the strange wing or sail or wave that sits atop the Saint David Hotel, and the whale-like hump that was the roof of the Wales Millennium Centre. It is a city I’ve come to love more than any other place. The sun poured a white bridge across the pewter water towards me. Was it not for the water’s constant dancing, I felt tempted to walk home.

“PIZZAZZ!!!” someone shouted behind me.

He was handsome and she was beautiful. They were a match in size and spirit. With broad grins, they kept saying “pizzazz” and I smiled back. I didn’t know who they were, but they were happy and bouncing. As we neared the dock, they were jumping up and down, waving to somebody on the pier, or maybe anybody. Cheerful and laughing, they went away.

The tide had been going out. The Waverley was lower alongside the dock. For the elderly and disabled, it was a steeper climb to depart. The PA system asked all the passengers who weren’t being put ashore first, to stand on the starboard side in order to raise the port side for those first disembarking. This we did, crowded together, almost shoulder to shoulder, but with a lot of laughter and camaraderie.

I had a lift home. I strolled slowly towards the landside of the pier. There was that young couple again, ahead of me, dancing joyously. Strange, yes, so youthful and popping with revelry. They made me feel old, but the sight of them cheered me.

Where the pier ended at the street, Sara was waiting for me. I sat with her as we both waited for Andra to retrieve the car and bring it around. I don’t know that I gave good conversation. I was still drifting aboard the Waverley. Like music, it put me into a reverie that when I reached home, I still felt adrift on the river.

The next morning – well, afternoon – I awoke with the sudden knowledge I knew who the happy young couple were. Nor were they saying pizzazz. They were saying pizza. They were recently met neighbors during a brief elevator ride in our building. We had discussed the best place in Cardiff for pizza.

Mr Bentzman will continue to report here regularly about the events and concerns of his life. If you've any comments or suggestions, he would be pleased to hear from you. 

You can find his several books at www.Bentzman.com. Enshrined Inside Me, his second collection of essays, is now available to purchase.