But it was twelve o’clock before we reached the docks at Grimsby. These appeared to be completely empty. We drove endlessly in and out of bridges, cranes and railway lines, until we eventually found the ship unaided.

A corpulent man in a uniform then emerged from a shed. He said that there would be no difficulty, no difficulty whatever. David’s grandfather, it appeared, owned most of the line. No sooner was his name invoked than we were treated with embarrassing deference. After emptying Diana of her petrol, we picked our way back to the Royal Hotel to lunch, where the waitress, on being asked whether the sole was fresh, drew herself up and replied that she was not in the fish trade.

We returned to find the car safely on board, roped to a kind of wooden tray. We were due to meet the customs man at two. He did not arrive until four. By that time the steward had gone on shore to tea, taking with him the key of the ladies’ lounge in which were locked our suitcases and the papers for the car. He was, therefore, unable to fill in the preliminary paragraphs of the Carnet, a sort of international motor pass – as distinct from the triptyque – which holds good for France, Italy, Czechoslovakia, and one or two other countries. That the validity of the form depended entirely upon the declaration of the customs of the country from which the motor had originally come, this man did not mention.

Our ship, by name the Accrington, a small and slightly squalid boat, was obliged, owing to the vagaries of the tide, to leave the dock about five. We went off in a tender, half-an-hour later, having taken a taxi and done some shopping in the meanwhile. David, having left London in a bowler, provided himself with a high quality Panama; Simon purchased a library of Oppenheims; and I bought a postcard of a view of the docks taken from the air. In addition, we took on board the Times, the Sketch, the Tatler, Vogue, John Bull, the Daily Express, the London Mail, the Methodist Times, and the Nation.

Once safely aboard, it was not long before David received a visit from the Dock Superintendent, a horsey-looking man in his anecdotage, with the usual grievance against the authorities. He hoped we were comfortable. At dinner we were ushered to seats opposite him, and he and David kept up a vivacious chatter about fishing rights off the Iceland coast. About half-past eight he left. We drank a little beer to settle the stomach and went to bed at eleven. David and Simon shared the state-room. I had an ordinary cabin to myself. The state-room had brass beds, not berths.

The morning of Sunday dawned sunny, but rough. The sea was a deep blue, flecked with white. For the moment I felt rather peculiar as I clung to my brass railings or fell heavily against the iron-studded side of the ship. At nine the steward, all attention, appeared with tea and toast. This enabled us to dress for lunch. The day passed without event. We went and lay up in the forepart of the ship, and David made offering to Neptune down the anchor-hole when no-one was looking. This may have been due to the nauseous odour of the fish manure with which the hold was filled. Fish manure, so the steward informed us, was the most flourishing export industry of modern times.