Returning to his dormitory to have a quick wash before the lifejacket inspection and preparations for dinner service, Harry stopped just short of the Scotland Road passageway as he saw two men, deep in conversation at the top of the D deck staircase. He recognised them as Mr Ismay of the White Star Line and Thomas Andrews the ship’s designer. Harry leant against the wall of the corridor which ran at right angles to the staircase, making sure he was well out of their eyesight. He listened carefully. They were discussing the incident and sharing a much-needed smoke out of the sight and earshot of their first class passengers.
‘Bloody hell Bruce, that was a bit too close for comfort. There can’t have been four feet between them before that tug pushed her aft.’
Andrews rubbed his hand anxiously through his hair and loosened his tie as Harry observed from his vantage point. He seemed to Harry to be a nervy-looking man, although no wonder, Harry thought, when the ship he’d spent the last few years designing had almost been grounded within minutes of raising its anchor.
‘My God man, imagine the shame if we’d had a bloody collision in Southampton harbour,’ Mr Ismay replied, taking a long drag from his cigarette. ‘We wouldn’t have had much of a maiden voyage to celebrate then would we, never mind breaking speed records for crossing the Atlantic.’
Andrews nodded in agreement. ‘We’d have been financially ruined, never mind the field day the press would have had. Things like this just can’t be allowed to happen. Not on this ship. Not on this voyage.’
‘Well, let’s just consider it a very fortunate escape from an untimely and embarrassing disaster then,’ Mr Ismay whispered, lowering his voice as two Officer’s walked past them, ‘and let’s get on with the business of making sure this ship lives up to its billing for the rest of the journey. We’re already behind schedule for our stop in Cherbourg. I’m going up to the bridge to encourage Captain Smith to increase the speed.’
The two men dispersed then, Andrews heading up the companionway corridor, Ismay taking the elevator to the boat deck.
Harry already felt strangely at home on this massive ship. He was impressed with the facilities provided for the Third Class passengers, being far superior to any he had encountered before. He was perfectly happy to work here and settled into his duties easily, despite the Second and First Class steward’s taunts to the Third Class stewards that if they weren’t careful down there among the rats and the nit-infested, clap-riddled steerage folk, they’d be arriving in New York with a lot more than their duffle bags.
He was minding his own business and setting out the cutlery for dinner when a familiar voice behind him made him jump.
‘Well, Lucky Harry strikes again.’
Lucky Harry was a nickname he’d been given by some of the other lads he knew in Southampton due to the endless amounts of good fortune he had whenever they played a game of cards. He recognised the voice straightaway.
‘Billy? What the hell are you doin’ down here? You nearly gave me a heart attack.’ He carried on laying out his place settings. ‘I thought you were too posh now to be slummin’ it down ‘ere with us steerage lot. You’d better get back upstairs before you catch something!’
Billy laughed. ‘Yeah, I am too posh. But I need you to come and help me upstairs. We’ve stewards laid up and are short of hands to help out with evenin’ dinner. The Officers are panicking that the dinner service will be late and they don’t want people to start complainin’ before we’ve even got to Ireland. I suggested a few names to the Officers to come and help and you’re one of ‘em.’
Harry thought his friend was pulling his leg being partial to a practical joke as he was. ‘Ah, bugger off Billy. You’re ‘avin me on. Get lost will ya, I’ve a proper job to do.’
‘I’m not kiddin’. Honestly. They want you to come up now and get your First Class uniform on.’
After a little more cajoling, Harry was convinced and left what he was doing to go with Billy up the staircase to D Deck where the First Class dining saloon was located. He quite liked the idea of the all-white First Class steward’s uniform.
‘Oh, and I forgot to tell ya,” Billy added as they ran up the stairs two at a time, ‘there’s some fancy woman fussin’ about ‘er dog upstairs. She needs someone to take it for a walk and I thought you might be able to help ‘er out.’
Harry stopped. ‘You absolute bastard, Billy. So, that’s what you really got me up here for?’
‘Ah stop moanin’ will ya. I thought you might like a snoop around up here and the ladies aren’t bad lookin’ either y’ know. Thought you might like to check out some new girlfriend material seeing as how you’ve tried just about every lass in Southampton and scared her off with your rubbish chat up lines and your interfering mother.’
Harry laughed, despite his vague annoyance that Billy had tricked him. He actually did quite fancy having a look around the First Class decks and if it meant taking someone’s dog for a walk to do it, then what the hell.
Vivienne Walker-Brown reclined on a deck chair, enjoying the warmth of the late afternoon sun on her petite face and the gentle sea-breeze in her smooth, dark hair. She was glad she had tied it up loosely, having noticed how quickly the dampness and salt in the air can wreak havoc with a hairstyle. Edmund, her Pekinese dog, sat quietly under the chair enjoying the same warmth on his face and the same sea-breeze in his dark fur. Robert, her fiancé, had gone below decks to fetch her fur stole, her neck being a little too chilly and threatening to give her a nasty cold. He returned quickly and handed her the garment.
‘Now darling, you can sit here as long as you like without worrying about catching a chill,’ he announced, ignoring the dog which had curled its lip slightly at him. Robert Isaacs didn’t care for the animal at all. He would have quite liked to give it a sharp kick with the toe of his shoe but resisted and sat down in the seat next to Vivienne’s. ‘Anyway, it will be time for dinner soon. I think the bugler calls at seven pm sharp.’
Vivienne wrapped the stole around her neck, snuggling into the instant warmth it provided. ‘Well I have to wait for our dog-walker to arrive first,’ she said curtly, ‘bugler or not. They’ve gone to see if it might be possible to hire a lad from the steerage crew. I doubt they’ll miss one steward at dinner. They probably have to make the meals for themselves down there anyway!’ She laughed at her own joke. ‘Ah, this must be him now,’ she exclaimed, relieved to see the First Class steward she had spoken to about her predicament walking towards her with another young man. He introduced him as Harry Walsh, a reliable lad from the steerage crew who would attend to the needs of her dog and anything else she might need assistance with.
‘Wonderful,’ she enthused, standing up to shake the man’s hand. ‘Edmund needs his daily constitutional you know, just the same as we do, don’t you sweetheart.’ The dog raised its head and patted its tail enthusiastically on the deck. ‘And since my aide is suffering with the seasickness, we had to find an alternative arrangement, didn’t we Edmund? Yes we did, didn’t we?’
Robert winced at the ridiculous affectations Vivienne added to her voice whenever she addressed the dog, as if it was a small child who may one day talk back to her. The raised eyebrows between the two stewards didn’t go unnoticed by him.
‘Well, I’ll leave you to it then,’ the First Class steward said, turning to leave. ‘I must go and start preparing for evening dinner service. It wouldn’t do to keep the First Class passengers waiting now, would it! Good day to you.’
Vivienne laughed at the joke. ‘Oh, yes. Very good.’ She turned to the other steward. ‘Right then, Mr….’
‘Walsh,’ Harry prompted, already taking a dislike to the woman and her dog. ‘Harry Walsh.’
‘Yes, indeed. Well, Mr Harry Walsh, Edmund would be very happy if you could take him twice around the ship,’ she continued, passing the dog’s lead to Harry. ‘The exercise is good for his legs you know. I would take him myself but we shall be called to dinner soon and I have some business to attend to with my ladies. C
ome along then Robert, I think I’ll die of thirst if I don’t have a gin and tonic before dinner.’
Robert gave Harry a simpering, half-smile before following his fiancée inside to the reception area at the bottom of the Grand Staircase where pre-dinner drinks were being served.
For his own part, Harry was quite pleased to have the opportunity to stroll around the First Class decks and have a proper look at the luxury which had been talked about and boasted about by the ship’s designers. He also knew his mother would be very keen to hear all about how the other half live, so he paid attention as he walked along, the small dog trotting along beside him.
It was everything he had imagined it would be, and more. From the boat deck, standing between the first and second funnels, he could look right down through the massive wrought-iron and glass domed skylight onto the spectacle of the Grand Staircase, which swept in graceful arcs down to the lounge and beyond, all the way down to E Deck. He watched the passengers walk down the staircase, dressed in their finest dinner outfits, greeting each other and congregating in comfortable looking chairs at round, mahogany tables where they were served a drink before dinner.
Walking down to the promenade deck a similar scene of opulence was repeated. He gazed into the ostentatious gentleman-only smoking room, admiring its sumptuous leather chairs and heavy wooden panelling. Further along the desk, he caught sight of the Palm Court with its delicate wicker chairs and dainty vases of flowers. He glanced into the Reading and Writing room as he strolled past, the huge bow window affording him a good look at the interior, painted in elegant white, luxurious curtains draped around the windows and a fire blazing in the centre of the room. This room alone was bigger than the entire downstairs of his own house.
As he strolled, he passed several other passengers walking their dogs. In all the twenty three years of his life, it had never occurred to Harry that people might take their pet dog on a trip across the Atlantic, but as he was starting to realise, there was very little about this ship and its occupants which didn’t surprise him.
Taking a second circuit of the decks, as instructed, he passed the rows of lifeboats which hung, covered in their white tarpaulins, suspended on ropes from the huge, steel davits. They were a strange, awkward, bulky sight amid all the lavish luxury and elegance. Harry almost wondered that they hadn’t been carved from a dark, mahogany wood and embossed with ornate carvings to be more in keeping with the opulence of their surroundings.
Walking down onto the port side, he almost forgot he was on a ship; almost forgot entirely about the silly little dog trotting along behind him he was so caught up in the elegant atmosphere of the place. The delicate sound of a piano drifted across the starboard side of the ship and the gentle melodies of a string quartet came from the port side. Nothing had been overlooked; the passengers were even entertained and soothed as they walked their dogs or strolled with parasols, or sat about with their aperitifs and their cigarette holders.
He was glad Billy had given him the chance to see all this. Even though he’d been impressed with the standard of accommodation given to the steerage passengers, the furnishings of the General Room and the Third Class dining saloon now seemed unnecessarily sparse when compared to the grandeur he looked on now. Never in his life had Harry seen such a stark demarcation of class in one place and for all of its jaw-dropping elegance, it turned his stomach slightly.
His mother was right; he would take extra special care of his steerage passengers now and do everything he could to make their journey as pleasant as possible. The First Class toffs and their silly little dogs could get well and truly stuffed.
CHAPTER 8 - Private journal of Maggie Murphy
RMS Titanic, 11th April, 1912
Day 1 at sea
We are finally sailing! I don’t think there are enough words to describe this amazing ship or how it feels to be floating on top of the ocean (a fact I don’t like to think about too often) – but I will try!
First, I’ll explain how we came to be here.
Our day started early, Kathleen rousing us all at some ungodly hour of the morning with a brusque shake of the shoulders or a hard rap on the door. I’m used to her no-nonsense ways – some of the others aren’t and I don’t think they took to the rude awakening too well.
When we were all up and dressed, we attended Mass in St. Colman’s Cathedral. After Peggy’s tale of the odd stranger, I paid more attention than usual to the prayers. The Priest offered a special blessing to those in the congregation who would be departing Irish shores that day. There were many; many more than our fourteen, in fact almost the entire congregation seemed to be heading to America that day.
It was then time to assemble at the White Star Line wharf at the Deepwater Quay where we had to wait for a tender boat to take us out to Titanic which was anchored some miles offshore. I asked Jack Brennan why we had to take one boat to get to another when a friendly gentleman standing nearby explained that Queenstown harbour isn’t wide enough, deep enough or equipped with the right facilities to manage such an enormous ship as Titanic. I told him I thought the harbour looked very big. He laughed and said it still wasn’t big enough. He wished me a pleasant journey and went to join a pretty lady who wore a hat twice the size of Peggy’s. I saw Peggy admiring the hat and adjusting her own. I think she might care for that bloody hat more than she cares for her own brothers back home!
We stood for a while among the other passengers outside the offices of James Scott & Company, shipping agents. I enjoyed listening to the conversations; hearing accents from other parts of Ireland which I haven’t heard before, and watching people arrive from the train station or by cart and gather, with the rest of us, on the wharf side. Some were dressed like ourselves; others in finer clothing and with grander luggage. I thought it funny that we would all sail on the same ship, no matter how fine our case or how shiny our shoes.
Queenstown harbour was a much nicer sight in the bright, morning sunshine than it had been the previous night. The colourful houses lining the seafront looked pretty and we could see the Cathedral we had just prayed in, standing out on the skyline. Although we were all still a bit jittery and anxious now to get going, there was a much happier mood about us. Dear God, nothing could be worse than that terrible maudlin feeling which had hung about us all a day earlier. Katie said that she feels so far away from home now that it’s almost impossible to be sad about it. I think I know what she means.
The two tenders ‘Ireland’ and ‘America’ were moored alongside the wharf. They were nice-looking boats themselves. We stood together, the fourteen of us, some talking, some thinking of home and some, like me, watching the piles and piles of mailbags being loaded onto the boats, the red flags of the White Star Line and the colourful bunting fluttering in the breeze. It must have been quite a spectacle for the newspaper reporters and the crowds who had gathered to see people off
It was a bit of a struggle to get us all and our luggage aboard the tender ‘America’, but once on board we huddled around the front of the boat, I think it is called the bow. It felt a bit odd swaying from side-to-side as the boat rocked in the water. We had to wait for a while as a late-running train from Cork had just arrived into the station carrying more passengers. I thought how lucky they were not to have missed the tenders altogether, or Titanic itself for that matter! Ellen Joyce went a bit green while we stood there – I think she was struggling not to get sick.
While we waited for the delayed passengers, a young photographer from one of the local papers climbed from the other tender ‘Ireland’ onto ours, saying it would give a better viewpoint for his pictures. I thought him a bit reckless jumping from one ship to the other; I hope his pictures are worth the risk of falling overboard!
All the passengers seemed to be in good spirits. We talked among ourselves and to strangers, sharing stories of the journeys we’d already travelled and talking about where we were headed to in America. I spoke to a friendly, nervy-looking girl who told me she was also from Mayo.
We didn’t know of each other or our families. She was travelling alone to join her five brothers who were already in America. I said she should look out for me on board the ship and to come and chat or play cards if she was feeling lonely.
‘All 113 third class aboard sir,’ I heard someone call.
With the ‘Ireland’ in front of ours, the two tender boats left the wharf then, chugging back along the waterfront of Queenstown, passing the White Star Wharf again. We each blessed ourselves with the sign of the cross as we sailed past the Cathedral and a tall man standing just near to me began to play ‘A Nation Once Again’ on his Uilleann pipes. He played well and the gathered passengers sang along and clapped when he finished. He smiled at me and played ‘Spancil Hill’ then, a sadder tune which made some people cry. I didn’t look at any of our group, afraid that I would take to weeping again if I did.
As we moved further away from the wharf, the boat became quieter. The men shuffled their feet and the women cuddled their children into them or stared into the distance. Everyone had their own private thoughts at that moment; mine were of Séamus and the time we had danced at Maura and Jack Brennan’s wedding. I wondered if he was thinking of me at all.
The boats then turned a bend in the channel, and that was when we saw her.
All that could be heard were gasps. The piper stopped his playing altogether.
Not one person spoke, stunned into silence by the towering mass of this ship which was anchored in the waters before us. I have never, and doubt that I will ever again, witness a sight so astonishing.