Tale of Southampton's most glamorous cruise terminal

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If you stand at Berth 46 in the Southampton Docks today, you will see a sleek, modern cruise terminal. It is efficient, clean, and entirely functional. If you were standing on that same spot in 1950, you would have been looking at something else entirely - a cathedral to the golden age of travel, a building so grand it was designed to match the legendary ships it served.

This was the old Ocean Terminal, the “Gateway to the World.” 

For 33 short years, it was the most glamorous front door Britain had — until the jet engine slammed it shut.

Britain was grim, grey and exhausted after the Second World War. 

Amid the rationing and bomb-sites, Southampton found the resources to construct a beacon of blinding optimism - The Ocean Terminal, which Prime Minister Clement Attlee opened in July 1950. 

It was conceived not merely as a waiting room but as an extension of the luxury liners themselves. 

The building was huge — more than a quarter of a mile long — and contained a whole railway station within its bowels. 

This allowed the rich and the famous to board the “Boat Train” at London Waterloo, quaff champagne for two hours and step from it onto the sumptuous limestone floor of the terminal without having to experience so much as a single drop of English rain.

Inside, it could not have looked more like a five-star hotel. 

The waiting halls were decked in blond burr walnut, lit by soft, concealed lighting that reflected off Art Deco lamps. 

It was designed as a place to impress and dazzle in equal measure, and to tell Americans disembarking from the Queen Mary or Queen Elizabeth that Britain was back in business.

But the terminal was not only beautiful; it also was a technological marvel. 

Before 1950, boarding a vessel typically required a passenger to lumber up a steep, unprotected wooden gangway.

The Ocean Terminal altered this by introducing the world's first telescopic mechanical gangways. Bridges of aluminium, futuristic in appearance, the gangways slid open and closed to meet the ships hull, enabling passengers to practically waft from the terrazzo marvel of the Art Deco lounge to the ships foyer in a flurry of comfort. 

It was a forerunner of the airport jet bridge a touch of science fiction added to this post-war port.

For 20 years it thrummed with movie stars, politicians and royalty, served as a backdrop for newsreels and provided a venue for casual goodbye kisses. 

But the seeds of its destruction developed in the sky.

By the late 1960s, Boeing's 707 and 747 had made crossing the Atlantic fast and affordable; why spend five days crossing the ocean when you could do it in seven hours? 

The great Cunard Queens were withdrawn in 1967 and 1968, and the terminal was suddenly a palace without a king.

Built in the "train-to-ship" era, the terminal was not built to accommodate the new cruising boom which saw passengers arriving by car and in need of parking space the terminal did not have. 

The great halls went silent and by 1980 the doors would be locked.

The building was built to Cold War standards of resilience, using heavily reinforced concrete. 

When the contractors arrived to demolition it, the building would not budge. 

It was reported that the building was so well built, it actually broke the contractor's wrecking ball crane. 

It was a gargantuan effort to finally render the site flat, leaving a vacant hole that continued to be used for mundane car storage use years after.

Today, the old Ocean Terminal exists only in black-and-white photographs and the recollections of those who once passed across its limestone floors - a building of sublime elegance, born just a few years too late.

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