Family History

The Drunken Duchess of Bedford

December of 1960 was the last time this “Drunken Duchess” would ever see the Ocean. But, it was time. She was old and she had a good run. She’d been all over the world, but she was finally home in Newport, South Wales.

She had been places most people could only dream of – Bermuda, Egypt, Somalia, Gibraltar, Bombay, Iceland, Sicily, Cape Town, Java, New York City, and Montreal – to name a few.

The Drunken Duchess has done more to connect my family together second only to the marriage of my own parents.

The nickname came pretty easily. She and her sisters were just not the type of gals who could gracefully handle life on the high seas. While others could hold their liquor (so to speak) when the waves were high, these ladies sloshed and groaned. They made people sick. They were called “The Drunken Duchesses.”

She had accomplished much in her full life of 32 years. In the late 50’s, she carried rich tourists on pleasure cruises. In the late 40’s she carried diplomats and officials trying to put the world back together at the end of the war. In the 30’s she carried immigrants – with all their hopes and dreams.

The Duchess is Conscripted into the War Effort

During her war career, she shot and sunk a German U-Boat, and even shot a German Condor out of the sky. The Duchess of Bedford carried over 170,000 Canadian servicemen. In late 1941, her passengers were mostly comprised of Canadian WW1 veterans on their way to fight, yet again, in the European theatre of WW2.

“Last time we were going to a shooting gallery,” one of them said, “but not this time. We’re going to a real war.”

One year earlier, a very special person to me boarded the Duchess of Bedford. A young father from Southern Alberta was mobilized to serve his country in the Royal Canadian Army, 20th Anti-Tank Battery. For 5 years he fought in Europe and wrote home constantly to his sweet wife and his young son, Freddie – my maternal Grandfather.

I don’t know what the Duchess of Bedford meant to my Great-Grandfather, Captain Bob Reagh. I can only try to picture in my own mind what it would mean for me to leave my own child and my own pregnant wife and go fight Nazis… and it wouldn’t be an exciting time to board that vessel.

I never knew Great-Grampa Reagh, but if he was anything like Grampa Fred, he would have boarded the Duchess with a sense of honor, resolve, and duty, knowing exactly what the sacrifice is for. He would have boarded that ship with the greatest kind of love a person can have.

“Greater love hath no man than this,” Jesus said, “than to lay down his life for his friends.”

Luckily for us all, he came home after the war, this time on the ship Aquitania – a frequent convoy companion of the Duchess. He would raise his family and would love his Grandchildren, which included my mom.

A New Canadian Home

Either just before or just after carrying Captain Reagh to the action across the Atlantic, the Duchess of Bedford made another heroic voyage. In May of 1940, she carried English children away from the bombing and the violence in Great Britain to Canada where they would be safe.

A 13-year-old girl on that trip of “Bundles from Britain,” remarked, after complaining of the sea sickness brought on by being on the open ocean, “Then we were traveling down the St. Lawrence River, where we really marveled at all the sites down to Quebec City.”

I don’t know this girl and I’ve never been to the St. Lawrence River, but this particular quote is very important to me.

It is important to me because, although I don’t know this particular girl, I do know another 13-year-old girl who was a passenger across Atlanticanic on the very same Duchess of Bedford, some 11 years prior.

In May of 1930, Owen and Mary Jane Griffiths made the decision to board the Duchess of Bedford with their son, George, and young daughter, Olwen, and leave their home in Wales to settle in Canada.

Thanks to the journal entry of that other little girl, I can capture some of the feelings for myself of what my paternal Great-Grandmother Olwen must have felt as she spent 7 days on the Duchess of Bedford’s voyage from Liverpool to Montreal on her way to a new home.

I was lucky enough to know her when I was a little boy. I remember she was always so happy to see my sister and I when we would come to visit. I remember the paper hats at holiday dinners; I remember the Licorice Bit candies in the glass jar on the counter; I remember the orange shag carpet; I remember if your eyes got too close to the carpet, they would start to burn from all the cigarette smoke. While most people hate the smell of cigarettes, every once in a while I will walk by someone smoking a cigarette that carries the same aroma as my Great Grandparents, and I smile.

My Dad has fond memories of his Grandma Olwen, and sometimes I get a little envious of how many more opportunities he had than I to love her and be loved by her.

Let’s recap:

May 1930: My paternal Great-Grandmother, Olwen Griffiths, and her family arrive in Montreal on The Duchess of Bedford.

May 1940: My maternal Great-Grandfather, Robert Reagh, boards the Duchess of Bedford after his unit is mobilized to be among the first Canadian soldiers to fight in World War 2.

Basically, your minds should all be blown at this point.

Until last night, I would never have thought I could have such strong emotional feelings for a boat – a boat that survived bombs, icebergs, uboats, and a world war; a boat with a crazy nickname: “The Drunken Duchess;” a boat that carried the precious cargo of an immigrant family and a young soldier.

Our boat. The Duchess of Bedford.