Jarrow was a place that looked like it was still stuck in the 19th Century. A land that time had seemingly forgot in the midst of the plague that had been inflicted upon the world and its citizens. Normally, the days would go on in a sort of muddled mess of depression and crushed hopes, as men who had much of the will to work struggled to find any meaningful employment in order to feed the mouths of their families. However... today was different.
Today, their savior was coming. Sailing ever so slowly, as much as her old engines would push her, she came in like an old Olympian who's days it knew were numbered, but still kept strutting in pride.
People of all backgrounds lined the quays of Jarrow to catch a glimpse of her... the impressive superstructure, her powerful lines and tall mast. Yes, her final hurrah, before she would bring salvation towards the un-employed.
On that day, October 13th, HMS Centurion had sailed her way into Jarrow, being laid up next with the old liner Mauritania... awaiting to be scrapped and bring back employment to the depressed community that had welcomed her so well. Elsewhere, the last of the Olympians was being sailed towards Plymouth Dockyard, her engines sounder than when she was built all those years ago at Harland and Wolff.
Fluttering from her masts no longer flew the colors of the dying White Star Line and the Red Ensign of the Merchant Marine, but rather the White Ensign of His Majesty's Royal Navy.
The last of 3 sisters was sailing towards her new destiny, and in the midst of her triumph of a new-found life... somewhere up in the clouds, something not known to man, nor understood by man, was simply smiling at the sight of it all.
Old Reliable was finally sailing once again.