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QM2 Bridge wings


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Does anyone know why the QM2 bridge wings have been extended? The only reason I can think of is to improve the view of the stern whilst manoevering.

 

Consensus has it that the reason is exactly as you stated. After the accident in FL, they realised that they needed more visability of the stern of the ship

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Consensus has it that the reason is exactly as you stated. After the accident in FL, they realised that they needed more visability of the stern of the ship

 

 

Not quite true. The extensions are there so that the master and pilot can see the SIDE of the ship when coming alongside a dock wall. Before, the view was obstructed by the lifeboats which actually stand proud of the ship's side. The new wings are also fitted with a much large glass floor for downward viewing. In time there will also be additional changes to the layout of the bridge equipment and fittings. The original layout was less than ideal for watchkeeping, shiphandling etc.

 

Stephen

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I still think that they just look ugly. What's the use of the ship being able to see where she is if nobody wants to look at her when she's there?:(

 

Daaarling, for heavens sakes! what are you trying to ask here?

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My dear. Can't one queen bitch about another?:D I'm not a great fan of the QM2 and I think those wings make her look top heavy:cool:

 

Top heavy???? At least she hasn't had a bunch of prefabs dumped on her top deck or a 'boob job' on her funnel :D .... well, not yet!!

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Okay, Stephen and Peter- Enough, I say! I followed the French part. (although not quite where "ill" comes in)

Heck, I remember asking if Furanzu Maru was perhaps, Japanese (although for the life of me, I can't find that post- I don't think it was b/c!)

But I draw the knowledge line at "Claridon"

Fess up, Elucidate, young men!

 

Karie,

who does not understand the Claridon reference, being a "leftist" (side of the pond, that is, although I also lean in that direction politically)

I suppose I could google it to try to make the connection.

C'mon! Let us in on the secret joke!

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For Karie:

 

The morning of Thursday, February 26th, 1959, was cold and rainy

in Le Havre, yet by eight o'clock there were some four thousand

people at the waterfront, huddled miserably in a chilly, persistant,

wind-driven drizzle. They stamped numbed feet in soaked shoes and

they eddied back and forth trying to keep warm by moving; they

stared down at the sullen yellow-grey water lapping at the piles,

and off across the mist-shrouded harbour; and finally, almost

reluctantly, as though there were something to be morbidly ashamed

of, they looked up at the looming bulk of the great ship moored

alongside the quay.

She did not look like the elegant, luxurious pride of the French

merchant marine; she looked shabby, and bleak, and forlorn. The

white paint of her superstructure was streaked with yellow, and

there were rust marks on the dull black of her hull; her rows upon

rows of portholes were smeared and grimy and desolate, like the

curtainless windows of an abandoned house. She looked empty - but

there was a thin, ragged plume of dirty-grey smoke issuing

listlessly from her funnel, and the neat little Japanese sailors ran

busily back and forth on her broad decks, glistening wet in the rain.

The people in the crowd were silent, uncommunicative and

withdrawn, like people at a large funeral for a public figure; here

and there were the anguished faces of the real mourners, but most

simply looked wet and cold and miserable and sullen and a little

challenging, as though their reasons for being here were private,

and they would resent intrusion. Perhaps two-thirds of the crowd

were men; most of the women seemed to have children in their arms,

and they glanced at the ship only occasionally and in an abstracted

way - for the most part they were preoccupied with trying to protect

their children from the cold rain, and occasionally holding them up

high to stare at the ship with their round, bland, uncomprehending

eyes. The children, for some reason , were for the most part

silent, too.

There was a sentry box on the pier at the foot of the single

gangplank leading to the afterdeck, and a guard to keep people from

going aboard. A cluster of newspaper reporters hung around near the

sentry box, talking and laughing among themselves; they were the

only people present who did any talking, and they paid no attention

to the ship except whenever someone came down the gangplank, when

they looked up to see if it was anyone worth interviewing, and then

went back to their conversation, stamping their feet and cursing the

rain and the cold. Parked near the reporters was a station wagon

packed with radio broadcasting equipment, and a motion-picture

camera car.

The heaviest concentration of the crowd was near the stern of the

ship, where occasionally a small group of French sailors or officers

hurried down the gangplank carrying seabags or small suitcases -

there was still a scattering of French seamen to be seen among the

Japanese sailors aboard the ship. From time to time someone in the

watching crowd would draw someone else's attention to the ship's

vast rounded stern, where the Japanese had attached a modest-sized

and temporary looking banner lettered with the Japanese characters

meaning FURANSU MARU. The ship thus carried her new name as

required by maritime law, but the little banner had been carefully

so placed as not to obscure the large raised letters stretching

across the ship's stern and proudly reading ILE DE FRANCE. The

lettering had been painted over with black paint, but it was still

clearly legible, as the Japanese obviously meant it to be.

The Furansu Maru was to sail under the Rising Sun Flag of Japan,

too, but it was still the Tricolour of France that snapped and

fluttered in the chilly breeze from the ship's masthead as she lay

alongside the quay; there was so far no sign of the Japanese flag,

and here and there in the crowd someone drew someone else's

attention to this and nodded, murmuring his appreciation of the

courtesy.

It had been announced that the ship would sail at eight-thirty,

but it was nine-forty when the last of the French seamen hurried

down the gangplank followed by a group of officers, and the waiting

crowd was soaked through, chilled, and miserable. But there was a

stir as the French and Japanese Captains appeared together at the

top of the gangplank and shook hands warmly, and Captain Botrel

squared his shoulders and marched down the gangplank without looking

back. Captain Souhie then shook hands deferentially with a tall,

erect, very old man who followed Captain Botrel ashore slowly,

occasionally touching the gangplank rails with his hands, looking

sad and weary huddled in his civilian overcoat and hat. This was

Captain Joseph Blancart, the 'First Master After God', who had taken

command of the Ile de France in May, 1927, on her departure from the

shipyards in St. Nazaire where she had been built, and who had now

made the long journey from his retirement in Brittany to bid a last

farewell to his ship.

The gangplank was now hauled in and the last hawser cast off;

smoke billowed from the ship's funnels and yellow-white water

churned at her stern, and slowly she moved away from the pier. The

crowd, now suddenly alert, moved with her as she edged out into the

harbour to pass the gleaming white Antilles, moored just ahead. And

then the Antilles blew her whistle, three long hoarse blasts of

farewell, and another ship half-visible in the now rising mist

beyond did likewise. All at once the harbour throbbed with the deep

mournful sound of ships saluting the Ile de France for the last time

as she moved out towards open water; the mist lifted very suddenly

and a ray of thin winter sunlight glinted bright on her white

supersturcture, which in the distance no longer looked yellowed and

dirty.

For she was still the Ile de France as she left Le Havre for the

last time: the Japanese had run their flag up her masthead above the

flag of France as the law required them to do - but it was the

Tricolour that flaunted proudly in the February wind, for the Rising

Sun was tightly furled. It was a moving gesture, and the departing

ship was a beautiful sight, and the hoarse farewell of the other

ships was a stirring sound; many of the women in the watching crowd

were crying, and their children began to cry, too, without knowing

why. The faces of the men were wet also, and some of them looked as

though not all of the wetness, perhaps, was rain.

 

ILE DE FRANCE a Biography by Don Stanford

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Okay, Stephen and Peter- Enough, I say! I followed the French part. (although not quite where "ill" comes in)

Heck, I remember asking if Furanzu Maru was perhaps, Japanese (although for the life of me, I can't find that post- I don't think it was b/c!)

But I draw the knowledge line at "Claridon"

Fess up, Elucidate, young men!

 

Karie,

who does not understand the Claridon reference, being a "leftist" (side of the pond, that is, although I also lean in that direction politically)

I suppose I could google it to try to make the connection.

C'mon! Let us in on the secret joke!

Hi Karie

Take a look here:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_last_voyage

Cease wondering, and then go to the video store

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Okay, Stephen and Peter- Enough, I say! I followed the French part. (although not quite where "ill" comes in)

Heck, I remember asking if Furanzu Maru was perhaps, Japanese (although for the life of me, I can't find that post- I don't think it was b/c!)

But I draw the knowledge line at "Claridon"

Fess up, Elucidate, young men!

 

Karie,

who does not understand the Claridon reference, being a "leftist" (side of the pond, that is, although I also lean in that direction politically)

I suppose I could google it to try to make the connection.

C'mon! Let us in on the secret joke!

 

 

"After being sold to Japanese scrappers, the Ile de France was used as a floating prop for the 1960 disaster film The Last Voyage as the SS Claridon, where she was partially sunk, explosive devices were set off in her interior, and her forward funnel was sent crashing into the deckhouse. The French Line took the filmmakers to court, and succeeded in obtaining an order to have the funnels repainted, and barring the use of the Ile de France name."

 

Ken

who knew this, but cut and pasted Wikipedia to save time ;)

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