A tribute to Des Kirpatrick
DES KIRKPATRICK: 1932-2024
By Bill Miller
“His shell is just a shell. His spirit is free to travel again (and what he loved most)” from Angson Sim
How very fortunate: I knew Des Kirkpatrick for almost 40 years. He became a dear & cherished friend – and altogether was a most remarkable man. I’ve known many world travelers, for example, but very few as well traveled as Des – he’d been from Bombay to Bhutan, and from Angola to Antarctica. He also rode the great liners and tiny Arctic expedition ships, flew just about everywhere, rode trains & mountain jeeps (and, yes, camels too), and even made 2 trips on the supersonic Concorde. It was an extraordinary life, all beginning from a small, Depression-era village outside Manchester in the north of England.
But his grand journey came unexpectedly to an end on December 17th. Des passed away following a fall and an illness. He will be deeply missed – and altogether is irreplaceable.
(PS: And, by the way and just in case you might need to know, was there possibly any place still on Des’s bucket list? Well, yes – the ancient ruins at Lalibela in Ethiopia; the monasteries at Mount Athos in Greece; the lost city of Petra in Jordan; and the Copper Canyon in Mexico. Well, perhaps his next lifetime!)
In kindness, Des himself tells part of his story in his Foreword for my latest book Serving on the Big Ships, published by Fonthill Media over in the UK. And so and among other ways, he & his words & his life’s story will live on.
For me, life at sea, working on ships, has been wonderful. Growing-up outside Manchester and surviving the dark, austere days of World War II, my very first time outside the UK was over seventy years ago, back in 1950. I was eighteen, in the British Army and stationed in Austria. That posting ignited my interest in travel, to see the world, visit new places.
Before the Army, I had worked for the Manchester Ship Canal in their head offices. When I returned, I was re-hired, but to the harbormaster’s office in the Salford Docks. I would see all the ships, coming and going, and wondered where they had been and where they were headed. At lunchtime, I wandered along the docks, saw the ships at berth and even visited some of them. My curiosity about ships and travel was peaked further.
Later, I wrote to several shipping lines and Royal Mail Lines was the first to reply. I was summoned to London, interviewed and soon hired. I became the ship’s clerk (and later promoted to assistant purser and then full purser). My first ship was an elderly freighter, the Gascony, which then was the second oldest in the Royal Mail fleet and managed to survive the War. I had a little cabin just aft of the funnel. I earned 3 or 4 pounds a week ($25-30). The Gascony was very, very slow and made only about 10 knots at best. She just crept, it seemed. On one voyage I recall it took us three weeks to go from Kingston, Jamaica to London. We carried sugar and lots of rum.
I later served on Royal Mail’s luxurious flagship Andes and then joined the Furness-Bermuda Line and served on their Ocean Monarch. My interest in travel continued and grew steadily – and ships were the “vessels” to travel, to see the world. And life at sea is interesting and rewarding in itself and, especially on passenger ships, where you could meet all sorts of people.
I have been very fortunate to have had a life of travel, much of it in ships. I am therefore happy to write this Foreword to Bill Miller’s latest book of recollections of staff and crew of so many ships.
Des Kirkpatrick
New York City
Spring 2022
Former shipmate Dave Townsend from up in Canada wrote:
It was 61 years ago this month (December) that I first met Des, when I joined Furness-Bermuda liner Ocean Monarch in New York after my first jet flight. My BOAC 707 was hours late out of Manchester and I found the ship almost deserted, but the officer of the watch kindly led me up to what turned out to be Des’s empty cabin to wait for my new “family” to return from their evening ashore. The glass door of his liquor cabinet framed an aerial photograph of his almost eponymous Royal Mail cargo ship Deseado.
Less than three weeks later, we assistant pursers gathered in that same cabin, somewhere at sea, and toasted the New Year with what Des had magnificently mixed in a large silver bowl borrowed from the galley: the first and finest egg nog I ever tasted.
So this time of year always reminds me of Des. As usual, I’ll have to make do with the store-bought kind, but I’ll be toasting his memory with it this year.
After time on the New York-Bermuda cruise circuit (1966), Des went on to plan extensive tours & shore excursions for the mighty American Express Company in their Lower Manhattan headquarters, then did the same but uptown for the impeccable Swedish American Line and finally dabbled in exotic adventures & tours for select Lindblad Travel (including countless jaunts to Antarctica, stays in Indian palaces, a ride on the Trans-Siberian Express and even a lengthy stint in a guest house in the still-restricted Forbidden City in Beijing). He also hosted Lady Bird Johnson on a Nile River cruise, looked after Mr & Mrs Howard Johnson on a 125-night circumnavigation of the globe and charmed more than a few bejeweled dowagers. He rode in the cockpit of a small plane over soaring, roaring South American waterfalls, helped a navigating office to, well, navigate, off Venezuela and assisted the captain while getting the liner Kungsholm off a sandbar in the Caribbean. Yes, all in a day’s work – and Des had his many adventures!
But Des’s story doesn’t stop with travel and ships & the sea. He was also a remarkable, most learned and all but madly enthusiastic collector – mostly of very vintage, usually 17th & 18th century English porcelain And let’s throw in some select Chinese & Japanese pieces as well. And while collecting, thousands of pieces in all, he also amassed a vast knowledge of the same subject. Just days ago, he spouted off the lineage of some ornate English bowl, a gold-trimmed butter dish and a well crafted little jam pot. He also learned to spot, say, a 17th century Worcester teapot at a 1,000 feet – say in some Manhattan antique shop, Connecticut country flea market or even a roadside garage sale. His apartment, in Lower Manhattan’s East Village, was absolutely museum standard. Cups and saucers and plates were mounted, in glass-shielded display cabinets, like soldiers at rigid attention. But there was more – no, much more – crystal, glassware, paintings, unique “souvenirs & keepsakes & little treasures” from the likes of Afghanistan, Ghana, Uzbekistan, Pakistan, Upper as well as Lower Mongolia, and add some pinhead island in the South Pacific. And then there were shelves & cabinets of other diverse collectibles and of course books, 1000s of books. Saturday & Sunday afternoons in Manhattan were happy times for “Des the Collector”. His eyes & senses & intuitions were very keen. Other items made their way home from journeys, from the likes of Hong Kong, Sydney, London and Tokyo in carefully packed cases, aircraft overheads and under the beds in the staterooms of ships. Yes, Des also became a master at packing, safe & secure packing, at that.
From down in Bermuda, another Furness-Bermuda Line shipmate Allan Davidson wrote:
We shared our sea-going days without realizing that they were not repeatable. When Judi and I got married, Des took a voyage off, in Bermuda and he was the only Furness representative present! He also came to our 50th Anniversary!
After I went into the retail trade, I was the Smith’s [dept store] China Buyer and discovered that both Des and I shared a great appreciation for the artistry and beauty of the product. He certainly had some very interesting pieces in his collection!
From Shropshire over in England, Howard Franklin wrote:
I remember when he was staying with me here in Shropshire, I took him to the Coalport Museum. Coalport is a small village in the Ironbridge Gorge, and originates in Shropshire. He was like a child in a sweet shop! And so very knowledgeable on the exquisite pieces we were viewing, I can vividly picture his excitement at seeing such spectacular exhibits.
Des emigrated to the USA (to join a ship and for a future career in shipping) in the late ‘50s on the grand old Queen Mary and went on to sail the seas on dozens of great ocean liners: the United States, France, Michelangelo, Bergensfjord, Rotterdam, Kungsholm, Argentina, QE2 and Queen Mary 2. Years later, we took dozens of trips together as well – Australia, Siberia, South Africa, the Amazon, New Zealand, Alaska, the Norwegian fjords. As recently as this last month, he was thinking of yet another jaunt (next spring was the plan and “his final trip!”) over to his beloved Japan and maybe squeeze in a cruise to another favorite spot, Bermuda.
Des had many other useful skills & interests. He all but memorized the immense bus & subway system of New York City (it seemed he could get anywhere & all on a senior ticket), followed the City’s exhibition circuit (from themes such as Sudanese vases to antique Italian jewelry) and, in his otherwise small kitchen, whipped-up some of the very best deviled eggs this side of Cleveland. He was also always a fine, caring host – drinks & what he called “nibbles”. He also had some favorite neckties, always had his little camera in hand and was rarely seen without his blue Lindblad carry-on bag. He also much enjoyed documentaries on nature, classic old films, steam locomotives, the morning news and, rather expectedly, was totally loyal to weekly episodes of Antiques Road Show.
One of my great, good fortunes in life was to know Des. He was kind, interesting, funny, so very knowledgeable & on so many subjects – and so much more. Expectedly, I have a million memories & images of him. But one that springs readily & happily to mind was a suddenly showery afternoon in Southampton, England. We were walking to our hotel when the clouds opened. Quickly, we fled to a shop & bought folding umbrellas, if merely inexpensive ones. En route and while crossing a large park, gusts of wind formed and which soon ripped the black fabric from Des’s umbrella. There he was standing in the pouring rain and suddenly holding upright nothing more than 5 or 6 empty umbrella spokes. We just laughed and laughed!
The ever-beautiful Margo Singaliese penned an added tribute: I am so sorry for your loss of dear Des. Whenever we were in the same company, he had that rare gift of true interest in the other person. Never self-possessed, he always made me feel deliciously seen. Such a generous man! A bright light has gone out, but I’m sure you’re thankful for the many years of your friendship. I’m happy Michael is your angel. I am always here for you for a chat, a visit, a hug. Ahhhh, dear sweet Desmond, his spirit lives in you.
From over in northern England, Des’s niece Fiona sent this comforting selection:
Des has one sister in England, but herself struggling with dementia … the photo (above), from 2008 & seen in Alaska, is the one that she keeps by her bedside
And Below: Des & younger sister Jean in a long ago snapshot (early 1940s) & holding a wartime soldier’s guns
Conclusion: And from down in Florida, Sir Allan Duddle added: “I am so very sad. Memories, memories, memories! Des was a most wonderful and special person to me in all my cherished years at sea … a dear buddy … sharing our cocktails each evening before facing the passengers. We laughed, we joked, we enjoyed each day. Now I have just the memories!”
