It was a bright but not a warm morning in May, for the east wind, so fertile in catarrhs, coughs and influenzas, was blowing, as it has been for several weeks, when the scene with which we wish to associate the reader, for the nonce, was presented by the Southampton Docks. . .

Looking at a small steamer which lies against the side of the dock, and in which a few persons are bustling about, the ears are assailed by a lumbering, grating noise; and the cause is clear, for it is produced by the passage along the iron rails of several huge caravans, drawn by horses, and accompanied by a crowd of persons. . . They contain packages of letters for the outgoing mail.

What is about to occur is well worth observing, so, my friend, I will bear you harmless if you will step into the steamer at which we were intently looking.

On deck then we are, observing the movements that are taking place on the quay-side. Just in front stands the post-master of the town, who has come hither in the discharge of his official trust. At his side are two lieutenants of the Royal Navy, in full costume of dark blue coats, gilt buttons and epaulettes, with their lower integuments to match, and swords by their sides. An hour hence, you may see one of them, as he moves about his vessel, with a round hat; but now nothing less than the cocked hat will do for him and his associate, the slightest variation from etiquette not comporting with their present service as 'Admiralty Agents'.

If we turn round for a moment we may descry, about half-way distant from Calshot Castle, the Orinoco - a noble vessel; her crew and passengers are already on board, and it only waits the completion of what these officers and their assistants are now doing, to start on another voyage. In the interval of our glance, progress has been made; a succession of leathern bags about four or five feet long, each one being made perfectly fast, has been taken by persons in attendance from the vans, and duly examined by the two naval officers. They are both provided, as you see, with a printed form and a black lead-pencil; the one ticks off a package, the mark of his delivering it in due form, while the other ticks it off on his paper, the corresponding mark for its reception. . .

And now, the leathern packages, as they are duly delivered and acknowledged, are sent down a slide into our little steamer, to be heaped up, for their brief transit, on its deck. Affixed to each bag, you perceive there is a thin brass plate about the size of a dollar, and on it is engraved the name of the place to which it is consigned, as St Thomas, Jamaica, Demerara, Barbados, Chagres, Tobago and St Nevis. The sight may well awaken various emotions. . .

A new process is also taking place; some larger packages are being opened, and each one contains a bundle of smaller packages. . . Each one of these cases has to be transferred and accepted like a bill of exchange, with the same degree of scrupulously official attention that is paid to a larger package; some of the more minute being perhaps of far greater pecuniary value than the larger. . .

Smoothly as a boat over the surface of a river, does our little vessel glide along. Before us is the port of Southampton; to the right the village of Itchen appears on rising ground, with its floating-bridge, which has long succeeded the ancient ferry-boat.

But let us now turn round, and gaze on what may appear on the opposite side. There is our splendid vessel, the Orinoco, every moment enlarging on the field of vision. It is the second new ship of the West India line, resembling in size and some other respects the Amazon, whose fate wrung many a heart with agony. . .

What a length does the Orinoco appear! How lofty is her rig! What a spread of canvas will there be, when all her sails are set! while her low funnels give her the appearance of a steam frigate of the first class, rather than one of a line of merchant steamers. . .

Our vessel is now close alongside the Orinoco. Let us climb up to it at once, making the most of the limited time we shall be allowed for its inspection. Many persons are pacing backwards and forwards on deck; packages of all shapes and sizes are carried along; here come the mail-bags in due order, to be stowed away in their proper depository; men, women and children are eagerly rushing up from, or down to, the cabins; here ropes are being hauled, there a barrel is being rolled along; everywhere energy and activity are apparent; while the fowls are stretching their necks between the bars of their hutches, evidently bewildered, of which that subdued cluck, cluck, cluck appears to be the expression. . .

We go down for a moment to the orlop-deck. With a lantern to guide us along a narrow passage, we have on one side the bullion cabin and on the other the mail-rooms, lined with zinc, where all the packages taken in at Southampton, and brought hither by the steamer, are now deposited. . .

The bell has been ringing some time - there is a stream towards the gangway - we make our way into it - pass down the side of the Orinoco, and are again in the steamer. . .

As we look, the bustle on the deck of the Orinoco appears to increase; many of the crew rush into the shrouds as if every inch of canvas were about to be spread; but they stop - standing on their ladders of rope, to the higher part of which each one clings with his left hand. Their eyes are directed towards us; an officer bares his head, and all on board join him in three successive cheers; the crew of our steamer instantly respond; and amidst hearty aspirations for her safe and prosperous voyage - see how gallantly the Orinoco cuts her way through the waters!

The Orinoco (I)

The last mail voyage was made by Aragon, which left Tilbury on 4 January 1969. Discharging cargo from the previous voyage continued until sailing because of time lost over weekends and Christmas. Export cargo totalled 915 tons and there were 1,415 bags of mail. The ship was closed down at 6pm on 3 January, and at 10.30 she left her berth in King George V Dock for Tilbury Landing Stage, being all secure by 1.20am on 4 January.

A mixture of mist and hazy sun in the early morning gave way, by 11am, to dense fog. Visibility on the river was virtually nil. Departure time was 2pm and passengers were embarked on schedule. By lunchtime the familiar scene in 'C' Deck square was in evidence - tears, hugs and kisses; a wall of trunks and cases; the abstract babble of voices; children excitedly pushing through a forest of grown-up legs; stewards, officers and purser's staff sorting out endless problems. Away from this vortex of life the ship maintained its usual level of peace, and from the starboard rails one could quietly gaze out at the impenetrable wall of fog. . .

There was confusion as sailing time approached, for the fog remained thick. Just off the Stage the Soviet liner Alexandr Pushkin lay at anchor, awaiting Aragon's departure so that she could embark passengers for a cruise. We couldn't see her, but the occasional boom from her siren told us how close she was.

A launch was to take me on the river to photograph the liner as she sailed. At a quarter to two an optimistic Gravesend boatman came on board and asked if I was ready. We cruised along the length of the ship and cut the engine under Aragon's bow. Her bridge wasn't even visible from there. As we rocked gently, the slight swell drifting us out into the river, we were surrounded by a grey vacuum, listening to the throb from the diesel of an unseen passing coaster. Visitors were asked to leave at 2.30. The shore telephone line was taken down, then hurriedly replaced. At 2.45 the pilot boarded. At last the fog began to disperse and at 3.30 Aragon moved away into the river, Alexandr Pushkin slipping in almost before she was away. A glint of winter sun broke through the mist like burnished gold, and dozens of seagulls wheeled overhead in silhouette, screaming around the ship as she moved forward at 'dead slow'.

The Aragon (II) leaving Tilbury, 4 January 1969,
for the final mail ship voyage.

20 February 1969 - Aragon reaches Southampton in atrocious weather to end the Company's mail operations. There were presentations to mark the end of a very long era, and then. . .

At length all business was completed. The tugs Chale and Calshot were attached forward and aft respectively by 10.30, waiting for the Isle of Wight ferry to pass. Still the rain lashed down - pools of water and slush were everywhere, and the gulls, delighted with the whole occasion, stood in regimented lines along the forward ropes. One by one the ropes were released, the last at 10.55, and the ship edged away from the quay. Calshot parted company first, whistling thrice in salute to Aragon and receiving a booming acknowledgement. In Southampton Water Chale released her hawser and there was a more distant exchange of farewells wafting across the water. The rain stopped, and for a minute or two a watery sun peeped through the clouds, took a look at the scene and disappeared.

On board Aragon (II) at Southampton, 20 February 1969. Captain W A Kennedy (left) receives a plaque from Southampton's Dock and Harbour Master, Captain E J Kirton, to mark the end of Royal Mail's final mail voyage.