Today we passed along the coast of Ireland, the Isle of Man and other Islands. It was certainly beautiful. The Canadians thought the scenery was grand.
As we sailed up the Mersey to Liverpool there was much cheering (and) blowing of sirens and flying flags. It seemed so nice to be once again within sight of England.
As the tide was out we had to remain on board all night.
The Diary of the Eleventh, also recored the safe arrival of the convoy;
The following morning dawned magnificent, and the early riser was rewarded by a purple view of Ireland to the south. The ships meanwhile had put on full steam and, as if human, were literally bounding into port. The Irish Sea was calm and beautiful as a lake. A Distant view of Scotland was caught, then the coast of England itself, and almost immediately, as it seemed, the greyhound had slowed up in the roadstead of the Mersey.
Meanwhile the old “Empress[of Britain]” whom everyone had supposed the slowest craft of the three now put forth her strength and easily made port first, while Mistress Baltic, who had hitherto held the lead, was soon lost in view astern.
Good British cheers greeted the Canadians at New Brighton, and the salvoes returned from the “Adriatic” were no less hearty. The impatience to disembark was as great as it ever it, but another night had to pass on board before the lads from the West set foot on the soil of Mother England.