A few nights ago we were stood on Seacombe promenade on the shore of the Mersey Estuary. As we watched, at about 11pm, the bright white lights that were the last visible sign of the Cunard liner Queen Elizabeth II slipped out of sight beyond Fort Perch Rock and she was gone - this time for good. We had joined the throng for the official farewell - an impressive firework display that was heralded and acknowledged by the vessel' s deep throated whistle, but it was the more personal and poignant salutes that made the event for me:
Starting with the tugs that helped pull her off Liverpool's new landing stage, each vessel in turn sounded 3 blasts, and each was echoed in turn by the departing giant as she made her way downstream for the final time. Her blast is deep and mournful, audible for miles I'm sure, and it continued as she slipped gracefully past Liverpool's docks, escorted by the 3 operation Mersey Ferries, which added their salutes as they turned back for home, as indeed did every vessel in the docks. Goodbye old friend they were calling. Goodbye.
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