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Titania - A London Duck amphibious vehicle

Posted by Michael Skorulski (Cigel, Slovakia) on 5 March 2008 in Transportation and Portfolio.

General Motors Corporation built more than 21,000 amphibious DUKWs (pronounced ducks) during World War II. An original six-wheel-drive DUKW ran on water at 6.4 mph and tooled across land at 55mph.The craft hauled troops and supplies ashore during the D-Day landings in France. Sixty-four years ago, our DUKW bumped ashore on a perilous Normandy beach. I feel undeserved pride, knowing that where I now sit, nervous but determined men once huddled waiting for that jolt on a dangerous coast and hell to break out around them.

It costs $200,000 to convert an original DUKW into a tourist duck. Ours is called Titania, at least that's what large script on the outside proclaims. Inside, on the dashboard, the duck's name is spelled differently. The final "a" is replaced with a "c." I find myself suddenly interested in the instructions for lifejacket use pasted in front of each passenger. They are so simple even I can follow them: "Put head through center opening."

As we set off, the jokes are immediate.

"Our driver, Sam, is a little hung-over today because he's been celebrating. Yesterday he became the proud father of twin baby girls," our guide, Tony Merrick, tells us as we roll across Westminster Bridge. "If his wife finds out she'll kill him." Merrick, an ex-stevedore on the Thames, is tough-looking and stern-faced. He has the gritty air of a man who can handle himself in a pub fight. I laugh, just in case he turns unpleasant.

The road portion of the tour ticks off the major sights in the City of Westminster. As we skirt the Houses of Parliament, Merrick discloses the bell in Big Ben weighs 13 1/2 tons. By comparison, our blue and yellow duck tips the scales at a puny 9 1/2 tons.

We proceed down Pall Mall, thoroughfare of traditional gentlemen's clubs.

Addressing the women, Merrick provokes: "You've made it, ladies. After 400 years of being kept out, you're now allowed into the gentlemen's clubs. If I were you, I'd tell them what to do with their clubs." Murmurs of mock anger issue from the females.

In popular precincts, tourists on foot pause when they observe us in this gaudy whale of a vehicle with a dapper duck in tie and top hat emblazoned on the side. They smile, wave, snap photos.

"I've seen some people get so caught up in watching us they bang into lamp posts,"
Merrick laughs. "Now you know what it's like to be famous."

Grinning broadly, I gesture back with my El Presidente wave, a feeble judo chop I knew would come in handy someday.

As we swing into St. James Street, two guards outside St. James Palace shoulder their rifles. Merrick informs us that one sentry on duty means Princes William and Harry aren't at home. A pair of soldiers means they are.

"So are the princes at home?" he quizzes.

"Nooo," I sing out, just to see what Merrick will do.

"You want your eyes and ears examining, mate," he counters, annoyed with my mockery. "You always know which is Prince Harry's room," he continues. "It's the one with the fag smoke billowing out the window and the case of beer on the balcony." I'm interested to learn the younger prince has a rakish reputation.

Tooling past New Scotland Yard, the famous police station, Merrick divulges that somebody recently broke into the building and stole all the toilet seats.

"They've got nothing to go on at the moment but they're looking into it," he quips. I crack up and gaze around noting that Titania doesn't pack a privy, an observation that inevitably causes me to feel the need.

As we blow past Buckingham Palace, our guide's wit targets the Queen. A tiny tent stands in one of the Palace yards. "I understand the Queen had a leaky bath above her apartment this weekend," Merrick tattles. "So she moved into that little tent."

Near the Vauxhall Bridge, a barrier across a private parking area swings up and Titania motors in. Sam, our driver, disembarks and Joe, a qualified river pilot snags his seat. A quick radio check and he guns the engine down a steep ramp.

"No brakes, folks," Merrick bellows as Titania plunges into the Thames splattering the windshield with spray. The switch from land to liquid is seamless; our jolly craft takes to the Thames, well, like a duck to water.

"If anyone's nervous, we've got life jackets in overhead compartments," Merrick informs us. We peer upwards at the bulging yellow masses. "And there are rubber boots under every seat," he continues with a big conspiratorial grin. I know he's fibbing but I mock check under the seat anyway. Merrick pounces: "I always catch at least one with that story." I throw up my hands in helpless surprise really getting into the part of dumb passenger.

Merrick tells us the Thames has become a very clean waterway. Once if you fell in, you needed an immediate tetanus shot, he says. Now there's no more sewage and dolphins as well as seals regularly cavort in the river.

"It's so clean our friends from the USA replenish their water bottles in the river," he grins. The remark is aimed at Mr. and Mrs. Martin Theophilus from Cedar Creek, Texas who occupy the seat in front of me.
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