Less familiar is Greenore, a tiny village on the lough’s south western side. When I first read about the port in a book on the history of Irish Sea passenger ships1, my reaction was, “huh?” But when I looked into it more, it became clear that this village of 900 people punched well above its weight, leaving a mark on history far larger than its size suggests.

While the neighbouring town of Carlingford, was founded by the Normans, Greenore’s history is a shorter, but it is extremely rich.

Unlike many towns in Ireland, Greenore didn’t grow organically over history, it was architecturally planned in the 19th Centry. Built in the 1860s, it claims to be the first purpose-built tourist resort in Ireland. Its Irish name, An Grianfort, derived from Grianán, meaning “sunny place” sort of channels the holiday vibe.

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A recent report for the History Show, a programme on national broadcaster RTE, visited the County Louth village. Report Elaine Keogh observed: “you feel like you are stepping back into Victorian Times”.

Greenore origins date back to when the London and North Western Railway Company’s (the LNWR) searched for a new port along Ireland’s east coast. Surveyors deemed that Greenore had the best natural characteristics, with deep and sheltered water that were easily accessed.

The village was developed when the railway connecting Newry and Dundalk to the port of Greenore was first opened. It consisted of five different types of workers houses, a police station, a school, a schoolmasters house, a co-operative building and a magnificent Grand Hotel.

From 1873 until 1951 there was a ferry service between Greenore and Holyhead in Wales. This formed part of LNWR’s seamless service from Euston, with onward train services to Dublin and Belfast at Dundalk and Newry. Visitors could stay at the hotel to fish, play golf or take a boat trip on the lough.

‘Monied people’

In an interview with Keogh local historian Brian Larkin, says that photographic sources, suggests that Greenore attracted “monied people”. He describes a poster from 1911 advertising the resort and its easy access from London Euston and other English and Welsh stations to tourists in Britain.

There was also a weekly service to the Isle of Man. “They had joined-up thinking back then,” said Larkin.

After the partition of Ireland - with the border crossing both the lough and the railway - both rail and ferry services went into decline,. From 1926 ,cargo ships ran three times a week with some passengers but from the outbreak of World War II services were cut and no passengers were carried.2 After Irish independence, the railway still operated outside the auspices of the nation’s own railway companies.

Both the ferry and rail service had ended by 1951. In transport writer Laurence Liddle’s book on Passenger Ships of the Irish Sea he observes that the ferry service “had never been a great success”, even before partition3.

But after the ferry went, a new chapter opened in Greenore’s history. In 1964 the port was used to fit out ships used for pirate radio stations, notably Radio Caroline and Radio Atlanta, (previously the Fredericia and the Mi Amigo) which helped to transformed UK radio and pop music.

‘World famous’

The Port had been purchased by Aodhogan O’Rahilly in 1959 whose son Ronan was co-founder and mastermind of the floating radio stations, which were fitted out in one of the berths at Greenore port. When the renamed MV Caroline left Greenore for the North Sea, she gatecrashed the UK airwaves and became world famous. She launched the careers of DJs such as Tony Blackburn, Johnnie Walker and Tommy Vance, eventually leading the BBC to launch Radio 1, in part to compete with the pirate radio upstarts.

By the 21st century, the port had new owners having been acquired by Doyles Shipping Group in 2014. It is now the only privately owned deep water port in the Republic of Ireland and plays a very significant role in the Irish economy.

Since the 1970s Greenore has become a focus for freight shipping with cargoes including bulk animal feed, feed chemicals, fertiliser, rock, steel, woodchip and general cargo such as wind turbines. An Bord Pleanala, Ireland’s strategic planning and appeals body, has described the port as one of Ireland’s “critical infrastructure assets”.

Alas, the new century spelt the end for Greenore’s magnificent hotel which was demolished by the current owners of the port, despite recommendations from both An Bord Pleanala and the County Louth conservation officer that it be put on the Protected Structures List.

But Greenore’s location at the tip of the Cooley Peninsula with spectacular views of the Mourne and Cooley Mountains, along with its unique architecture, would still offer a lot to visitors. The approach into the lough after a crossing from Holyhead must have been stunning.

And according to the History Show, a new cross-border car ferry will be opening soon. This journey from Greencore to Greencastle on the opposite shore will hopefully offer visitors a glimpse of times past.

With these new transport connections, it’s looking like the “the sunny place” has a bright future.

This post is the start of a mini series covering four of the more unlikely historical embarkation points for journeys across the Irish Sea.

In the course of my research, I have come across some surprisingly small places that have hosted ferry services over the years. Many of these have sadly been short lived.

In the course of this series I will cover ports in England, Ireland and Scotland, but I will start in Wales.

Mostyn (population 1,800)

The ‘Quay of Mostyn’ (now the Port of Mostyn) has had an eventful history, according to the Port’s website. Located on the River Dee in North Wales, with easy access to the Irish Sea, it has been strategically important, from the War of the Roses to the 21st century.

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In 1485 Henry Tudor eluded capture at Mostyn Hall by Richard III, escaping by boat using Mostyn Quay before going on to defeat his foe at Bosworth Field.

Later, the Flintship port played a role in the English Civil War and by 1800s it was well positioned to support the industrial revolution. Keen to start iron production, Lord Mostyn commissioned the renowned engineer Thomas Telford to plan the quay’s modernisation. The combination of a colliery, iron works and a dock made the whole enterprise extremely successful, employing 1,900 people in its heyday.

The ironworks closed down in 1965, but the Port has continued to modernise progressively to accommodate larger and longer vessels. In 2001 / 2002 a 170m long roll on – roll off berth was developed. This allowed it to win the P&O passenger service contract, which switched from Liverpool in 2001.

With the fastest conventional ship on the Irish Sea serving the route, it cut one-and-a-half hours off crossing times to and from Dublin. Up to 405 passengers and their vehicles could cross the Irish sea in less than six hours.

‘Dredging situation’

But in May 2003, P&O announced it was to sell its routes and vessels at the ports of Liverpool, Fleetwood and Dublin to Stena Line. This was blamed on a lack of dredging of the port making services unviable.

“We needed to provide a regular timetabled service which hasn’t been possible because of the dredging situation,” P&O spokesman Stuart Walker told BBC Online at the time.

Around the time the ferry was axed, a chapter also closed for another ship associated with the town - Mostyn Fun Ship, which was moored just down the road from the port. The Fun Ship was formerly the Duke of Lancaster, which carried passengers and cars on the Holyhead - Dun Laoghaire route until the early 1970s1.

After a long planning battle with the local authority, the Fun Ship was finally abandoned by its owners. This put an end to a variety of attempts going back to the late 1970s to redevelop the former ferry as a leisure attraction.

Since then, it has featured in the BBC’s Coast in 2011 and its hull has attracted graffiti artists from around the world.

As of last year it was owned by the The Duke of Lancaster Appreciation Society and is still out of bounds to visitors and sadly rotting away. Some 50 arcade machines from the ship were sold in 2011 to collectors, a travel blogger reports.

‘1970s time capsule’

But according to this well-researched post, urban explorers who succeeded in boarding the boat have found its patterned carpets, padded bar and red velvet armchairs still intact, describing it as “a 1970’s time capsule”.

Despite the closure of the passenger ferry - and the failure to create north Wales’ answer to the Tuxedo Princess, -Mostyn’s port has remained in-demand. Since 2004, extensive areas of hard-standing have been developed in the port to allow it to serve offshore windfarm construction projects. And Mostyn also ships the wings for Airbus aircraft which are manufactured at Broughton.

Our next port of call will be across the Irish sea to a tiny coastal community with a big place in radio history.

It's wonderful to discover that so many people share an interest in ferry crossings that are gone, but not forgotten.

I got the inspiration for this project a few years ago, when I discovered that the Ostend ferry I had travelled on as a teen had vanished. It got me thinking about how many other routes I’d taken over the years that were now gone or rerouted. Scanning travel forums, I soon realised I wasn’t alone in thinking about this and this newsletter grew out of that realisation.

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I’ve spent the past couple of months embarking on what is, as yet, an unnamed project retracing historic ferry routes by public transport. I have now completed the first two journeys, which I am now writing up.

This newsletter is a companion to the project, a place for work in progress, interesting diversions, and conversations with people who share a passion for the ferry routes we’ve lost. If you’ve just found this Substack here’s what I have covered so far:

In my first post, I explain the origins of the project; the planning, the personal motivation to return to research and writing, and why I want to build something that involves other people’s stories too.

The Tuxedo Princess tells the remarkable story of the Caledonian Princess, a vessel that transformed the Stranraer to Larne route in the 1960s before finding a very different second life as a famous floating nightclub on the River Tyne.

Then we visit Ardrossan and Stranraer, two ghost terminals, and explore what’s left behind when the ferries go. This post also introduces some of the wonderful people I’ve met along the way.

A Very British Transport Disconnect explores how disjointed public transport can be when you’re trying to follow a historic ferry route without a car… a discovery that almost led to me missing the boat.

These posts might be a little less frequent over the next few weeks. But I am not idle, I am focusing on the main narrative of this project. I will also be thinking about a name for this newsletter, something I hope you’ll have a say in. A reader poll is coming soon, and I’d love your input.

If any of this resonates with you, whether it has got you thinking of route you once travelled or a crossing you wish still existed, please leave a comment or reply to this email. I love reading about your memories.

The woman from County Antrim looked at me with pity. I had just told her I’d paid almost £20 for the bus from Ayr to Cairnryan. She, like almost everyone else on that bus, had a through ticket from Ayr or Glasgow all the way to Belfast.

Unlike them, I was travelling on P&O’s service to Larne, which offered no such ticket. This bus would only drop off at the Stena terminal before continuing to Stranraer. It wasn’t the first time I’d wondered if choosing P&O westbound and Stena eastbound had been a mistake.

But worse was to come.

“How are you getting to the P&O terminal?” she asked casually.

“I was thinking of walking,” I replied. “It’s not far, is it?”

“It’s about a mile,” she said.

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One mile? I could do that in half an hour, though I was slightly surprised at the distance. Surely Cairnryan was a small place? Once on the bus, I checked Google Maps and quickly realised I’d underestimated the walk. It was closer to 50 minutes, leaving very little time before check-in closed.

I expected some transport hiccups on this project. After all, the idea was to retrace historic ferry routes using only public transport. But I didn’t expect quite so many problems on the first two legs. It quickly became clear that, on these routes, public transport is far from joined up.

Of the two, the journey from Ardrossan to Larne was by far the worse. Once linked by a single ferry, it now takes around seven hours, involving two trains, a coach, a ferry, and, unexpectedly, a car, which I’ll come to shortly.

When planning, I focused on two things: booking the ferry and making sure I could physically reach it in time from Ardrossan. But as I looked more closely, I realised I’d been a little blasé about the land portion of the journey.

I chose the 4pm ferry so I could reach my accommodation in Belfast at a decent time that evening. The recommended route from Ardrossan took just 2 hours 16 minutes, getting me to Cairnryan for 2:30pm. It involved a train to Ayr, changing at Kilwinning, followed by a non-stop coach to the Stena terminal.

However, changing at Ayr required a 10-minute walk, and the connection interval was only 20 minutes. While a bit of urgency might add drama to the story, I didn’t want unnecessary stress, or to miss the bus due to a delay.

After more research, I opted to travel from Ardrossan South Beach rather than the Harbour. That gave me nearly an hour in Ayr to transfer and grab lunch.

‘Punished’

With the route sorted, I went to book the coach, only to find it cost £17, plus £2 for a seat reservation. Had I been travelling with Stena, I could have bought a “Rail Sail” ticket all the way to Belfast, a legacy of the old Sealink integration with British Rail. (And while we’re on that subject, why aren’t there more direct trains to Stranraer from Ayr or Glasgow to meet ferry shuttle buses? It’s no surprise that Stranraer was once described as “one of the most punished towns in the UK, in transport terms”.)

With everything running to plan, I arrived in Ayr on time and walked straight to the bus station. The shops were tempting, especially a market stall selling delicious-looking cherries, but I resisted. The bus station itself was depressing, with broken information screens and a locked toilet, so I grabbed lunch instead of waiting there. A very appealing Italian gelato shop also tested my resolve; again, I resisted.

I waited at the assigned stand. Several local buses came and went, along with a long-distance service to Glasgow. It was here that I spoke to the woman from County Antrim, who was returning from Gleneagles. She worked for a university and regularly used the Belfast ferry, despite living closer to Larne. Given what I was discovering, I could understand why.

Despite arriving almost 20 minutes late, I couldn’t fault the Citylink 923 service to Cairnryan. It’s a beautiful coastal journey, passing golf courses, gorse bushes and bluebells. We also passed Trump’s resort at Turnberry.

We were late arriving at the Stena terminal, where I made my first attempt to secure onward transport. I asked the driver if he could drop me opposite the P&O terminal on the way to Stranraer.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I used to do that, but now we’re not allowed. There was… an incident.”

He suggested calling a taxi using numbers posted inside the terminal, but when I tried, nothing was available until 3:45 - just before the ferry departure. The bus was due at 3:15, and although the journey was short, it felt too tight. My half-hearted attempt to persuade some Rangers fans waiting for a pre-booked taxi didn’t go well either.

What I was experiencing was the opposite of joined-up transport. Until 1973, both the Larne and Belfast ferries departed from Stranraer, just a short walk from the station. That arrangement continued for Belfast passengers for almost another 40 years. Now both terminals sit miles away, requiring a bus from Stranraer station, or the 923, which, as I’d discovered, is no use if you’re travelling with P&O.

Put bluntly, the P&O service is not set up for foot passengers. Local bus timings don’t align with the ferry, the 923 won’t stop there, and, unlike Stena, there’s no integrated ticketing.

This kind of disconnect is common in rural transport, and it’s exactly what proposals for a “Mini Switzerland” aim to fix. The concept, developed by transport policy expert Thomas Ableman, is based on the Swiss model: buses connect with trains, trains connect with buses, and everything meets at the same time each hour. A demonstrator project in Derbyshire’s Hope Valley shows promising results.

(It’s worth subscribing to Ableman’s Freewheeling substack which also covers his own transport passion project A History of Europe in 75 Train Journeys.)

But what about my ferry?

With just over an hour until departure, I set off towards Stranraer, heading in the direction of the P&O terminal. It was a beautiful day, with clear views across Loch Ryan. Had I not been in a rush, I’d have stopped for photos.

About ten minutes in, I reached the village of Cairnryan. Passing a pub car park, I saw a woman getting into her car. As it pulled out, I noticed she was turning right - the same direction I was heading.

I hesitated, then hurried over. She lowered her window.

I asked if she was passing the P&O terminal - and, slightly pathetically, if she could give me a lift.

To my relief, she agreed.

The driver, Lauren, was heading home to a village near Stranraer. The journey was short, barely enough time to explain what I was doing, and I hadn’t expected her to take me all the way to the terminal. But she did.

I thanked her for being part of the journey, and we went our separate ways.

She got me to the ferry. Minutes after I boarded, I watched the bus pull in below. The ferry left ten minutes early.

If I’d waited for it, or walked, I’d have missed the boat - literally.

Where once there were queues of cars, now there are weeds and a bottle of urine. But compared to travel writer Sarah Baxter, I got off lightly. In an article for the Telegraph she recalled having to step round a dead seagull, “splayed like an unsubtle metaphor for coastal decline”.

This platform was my final destination, marking the completion of the first two stages of my ferry project. Stranraer was one of two ‘ghost terminals’ I visited on that trip. Both were defined by a similar decay; with time turning metal fences into orange lace and weeds slowly eating their way through the concrete.

The first leg took me from the “Irish Quay” in Ardrossan, Scotland to Larne in Northern Ireland, retracing a route that closed in 2001 after a relocation to Troon. The following day, I returned to Scotland from Belfast. This brought me to that platform at Stranraer, a space that feels eerily quiet compared to what it would have been like before 2011, when the Stena terminal relocated to Cairnryan.

This project, as yet unnamed, has occupied my thoughts for over a decade. What sparked the idea was researching a holiday to Belgium. I discovered that a ferry route I had previously considered, via Ostend, had simply vanished. It made me realise how many crossings I had taken in the past are now defunct, or downgraded, including routes serving mainland Europe like the Croatian coastal ferry I travelled on in 2004. After browsing travel forums and reading similar comments on various blogs, I realised I was not alone in this sentiment.

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A full-time job and the demands of parenthood made it difficult to begin this project. But this year, I realised it was now or never and started planning in earnest. Part of my motivation was professional: I missed the research and writing I had abandoned after leaving journalism over ten years ago. I currently work in university communications supporting researchers. While a journalist’s work is rarely as rigorous as academic research, I often found myself longing to apply those skills to my own independent project.

Another motivation was more personal - I wanted to escape the cycle of doom-scrolling and reduce my screen time. The irony of pursuing that goal by writing a newsletter is not lost on me.

One month in and this project has already pushed me out of my comfort zone and introduced me to fascinating people. I spoke with Sharon, Robin, Chloe, Sean, Maureen, Paul, Jim, Jamie, and Heidi. I am particularly grateful to two strangers, Lauren and Marina, who offered me lifts and saved me from missing a ferry and a train.

Beyond the interviews, I spoke to a lot of fellow travellers who were fantastic company. Some were interested in the project but do not use the same social media platforms I do. That realisation was a major factor in my decision to start this newsletter. It is now becoming a space to connect with others who have their own memories of these lost routes, and it is clear that people hold deep, personal connections to these transport links.

While there will certainly be nostalgia and a little sadness in exploring these places, I also want to shine a light on some green shoots of revival. Speaking to Robin and Chloe in Ardrossan, there is a lot of pride and optimism about the area, although there is still concern about the future of the Arran ferry. And Stranraer is in the midst of a reinvention with a popular annual Oyster festival and as the centre for Scottish curling.

This spirit of reinvention is exactly why I want you to be involved. My plan is for subscribers to have some influence over at least one or two of the routes I am considering and I hope this project will evolve to include some of your own stories.

Do you have a personal ‘lost route’? A journey you used to take that no longer exists? Or a ferry service that holds a specific memory for you? If you do, reply to this email or leave a comment below. I want to build this map of forgotten sea journeys with your help.

And I am also planning a poll to nail down a name for this project, and this newsletter. More on that soon.

I am talking about “The Boat”, the famous floating nightclub moored on the south bank of the Tyne close to the Tyne Bridge from 1984 to 2007.

“The Boat” was actually two boats - the Tuxedo Princess and the Tuxedo Royale. Together they became a famous landmark on the Tyne and etched in the memory of many Geordies who braved their wobbly walkways after a few drinks.

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Over the years they hosted celebrities, from Freddie Star to Frederik the Crown Prince of Denmark, featured in a Maximo Park video and was where Auf Wiedersehen Pet’s Tim Healy proposed to Loose Women’s Denise Welch. Cheryl Tweedy used to work on board before finding fame with Girl’s Aloud.

Luxurious touch

But although both boats are culturally significant to Geordies, this post is mostly about the Tuxedo Princess and its previous life. Originally the Caledonian Princess, she was built by Wm. Denny and Brothers of Dunbarton and at the time was seen as “a showpiece of Scottish shipping”. 1 Launched in 1961 she was known for the luxurious touch that other ships on Irish Sea routes lacked.

Ordered by the British Transport Board’s ferry arm (later known as Sealink) for the Stranraer - Larne route, the boat affectionately known as the ‘Caley P’ replaced the Princess Victoria which went down eight years earlier with the tragic loss of 134 lives off the Antrim coast2.

The impact of the Princess on Irish Sea passenger shipping is arguably just as significant as its impact on the culture of Tyneside. It was the ship that changed the Stranraer - Larne route’s fortunes. Traffic had declined during the 1950s on the route. At the end of the decade it was announced that British Rail was considering abandoning Larne and running the service to and from Belfast instead. It made one final throw of the dice to boost traffic with a new purpose-built roll-on-roll-off vessel. The Caledonian Princess brought an immediate transformation of the short sea route, which helped to increase its popularity over the next 35 years until the move from Larne to Belfast in 1995.3

‘A revolutionary ship’

Within two years of launch the profit on the ship had almost doubled to £370,000. By 1967 it had risen to £616,000.4 In his book Stranraer - Larne, the Car Ferry Era, Miles Cowsill described the Caley P as “a revolutionary ship” with innovations like a revolving car platforms. Meanwhile, Glasgow Herald hailed her as ‘a modern passenger liner’.

In the 1970s the Princess was used as a relief vessel on various routes including Holyhead to Dun Laoghaire, Heysham to Belfast. In 1981 she was withdrawn because she was steam powered, which by that time was uneconomical to run.

That’s when Michael Quadrini stepped in. The owner of the Newcastle nightclub the Tuxedo Junction, he snapped up the Princess after attempts to sell it for use in Nigeria failed. Lagos’ loss was Gateshead’s gain. Newcastle City Council wouldn’t grant a license so he took it across the river.

After a lick of white paint and a glow up, including converting the revolving car platform into a revolving dance floor, she made her debut in that high profile spot under the Tyne Bridge. And there she stayed, apart from a few years in the late 1980s and early 1990s when the former cross-channel ferry (also formerly Sealink) the Dover took over as “The Tuxedo Royale”.

‘Slightly naff’

Thousands of people could fit on the boat making it one of the biggest water-bourne leisure attractions in Europe at the time. In an interview for National World - Local TV, Dr Martin Farr. Senior Lecturer in Contemporary British History at the University of Newcastle, said the revolving dancefloor was considered “slightly naff”, but he said it was “a selling point”.

By 2007, the former car ferry was starting to look distinctively tatty on Gateshead’s regenerated quayside, now with a concert venue and an art gallery. The quayside area vacated by the Tuxedo Princess was to be redeveloped into a leisure, restaurant and office complex. At the time of writing there is a brewpub and bikeshop inside repurposed shipping containers on the site. The boat itself was removed and later scrapped.

I never boarded ‘The Boat’ while it was a nightclub. As an adult, I wasn’t into the commercial dance music that rocked the revolving dancefloors. I don’t ever remember any of my friends suggesting we go there - on nights out we mostly stayed on the Newcastle side of the river. But ‘The Boat’ was a familiar sight for most of my childhood and well into my 20s. Even now, it makes me think of home. That white boat seen through the eyes of Daniel Craig walking across the bridge to a soundtrack of Oasis symbolises the river Tyne to millions around the world. Long after it departed the river, The Tuxedo Princess’s place in Tyneside’s cultural folklore is well-earned.

This story began 39 years ago almost to the month. At spring half term of 1987, I was driven to Tyne Commission Quay in North Shields from our home in Gateshead with my sister and parents.

That holiday was one of many firsts. In the boot were two brand new suitcases for me and my sister Lizzie, our very first. We packed with great excitement for the five night holiday - our first one overseas. Until now, all our holidays had been fairly local. Apart from the occasional trip to relatives in the Midlands, we stuck largely to Scotland, Yorkshire and the Lakes.

Our school friends’ holiday destinations were positively exotic in comparison. At the start of term, they’d share sweets from Yugoslavia or show off their Tenerife T-shirts. Even their cars left tell-tale traces of European travel: GB stickers and the yellow tinting of the headlights required for driving in France.

But now, our Citroen Visa had its own GB sticker on. We were heading for Esbjerg on the west coast of Jutland, an unusual destination compared with my classmates.

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Our holiday got off on a bad start for my Mum. I remember her catching her pocket on a chair in the ferry waiting room and tearing her new trousers. It wasn’t her last misfortune that holiday as she left her camera on a bench in Aarhus and was not able to recover it.

D for Denmark?

We returned to our car, boarded the ferry via the loading ramp and once parked, got out onto the windowless car deck. I remember a distinct smell, like cold tinned spaghetti - the smell of diesel. I looked around at the cars and lorries, and saw few GB stickers. They were mostly D... for Denmark? The number plates all had two small circles stacked in a gap in the registration. The diesel smell slowly disappeared as we climbed the stairs.

Out on the deck, we enjoyed the views of the banks of the Tyne, very different to the ones you get now. At Tynemouth we passed the harbour walls. Then we looked back as they disappeared into the distance along with the Priory and St Mary’s Lighthouse.

The journey with DFDS was an overnight one. We had an inside cabin with bunks, which was exciting for us both. There was a hint of that diesel smell in the cabin. We spent the first few hours exploring the decks. There was a cinema - although no kids’ films were showing - and a red and white furnished cafe, where I had some decent chips.

On the viewing deck, I tried to befriend a blonde girl who was about the same age as me. She smiled but didn’t respond. At the time I took it as a rejection, but in reality we probably just didn’t speak the same language.

I remember staying awake most of the night. The loud hum of the engine, that smell and general excitement put paid to any sleep. The next morning I saw Denmark for the first time, wind turbines strung along the coastline. By 2026, the sight of wind turbines along the coast of the UK would be a familiar one, but in 1987 it was a novelty.

My memories of Esbjerg itself are hazy. We left the ferry to drive across Jutland to our chalet on the Baltic coast for five days of pearly white beaches, old wooden towns and Legoland. Meanwhile, the D stickered cars headed south. Not to elsewhere in Denmark, but to Hamburg, Dusseldorf and beyond. I soon learned that the “D” was for “Deutschland, not “Danmark”.

For the next 15 years my international holidays would involve a ferry trip. I only took my first flight in my early twenties. Now, a parent myself, my holidays still involve ferry journeys. But the route travelled in 1987 is not one I can share with my daughter, because it was axed 20 years ago. In 2014 the final ferry route from the UK - from Harwich - to Denmark sailed for the last time.

Severed links

Sadly, these routes are not the only ones lost over time. Many more of Britain’s passenger links to Europe have been severed. In the early 2000s, you could reach Bergen and Zeebrugge directly by ferry. Now, no more.

And the decline of Britain’s international ferry network has also affected the destinations they served. Ports from Stranraer to Ramsgate, have lost regular services and are seeking a new role. This is mirrored in former destination ports like Ostend and Dun Laoghaire whose international routes have either been axed or relocated.

The loss felt for these vanished ferry routes ignited a passion in me which wouldn’t be subdued. That passion inspired an audacious project.

In May 2026 in Ardrossan, Scotland, I began an exploration of these ghost crossings and the haunts of their former passengers. During this project, I will write about my journeys and the people I meet on the way, sharing some of those stories here. I would love to hear from anyone with memories of these lost ferry routes and the destinations that they served.

I have no idea where this journey will ultimately lead, but I hope you will come along for the ride.

Rosie Niven is a former journalist whose specialisms included urban regeneration, transport and local government.