Forget Me Not (14 page)

“Come on now,” said Bailey, “the danger hasn’t passed yet. Two people to an oar and row hard, or the suction will take us down with the
Titanic
.”

Two women in front of me whispered to each other.

Mr Bailey’s voice stopped them. “When the
Titanic
sinks, and make no mistake, she will sink, she will create a suction so great it will drag us under if we stay here.”

A rumble of voices filled our boat. People moved to take hold of the oars.

“Pull hard now, and in time. We need to create as much distance between us and the ship as we can. All together. Heave.”

I grasped the end of the oar. Mr Bailey called the time and we pulled for all we were worth. Evelyn showed me how to lean forwards and pull back, and how to use my legs and back as well as my arms when rowing.

The life jacket made it awkward, but I didn’t care, the discomfort and the hard work buried my thoughts about Father and Thomas. And Hugh. Something made me glance up, and there on the edge of the boat-deck they stood, waving. I wanted to stand and scream at them to stop wasting time. To go find a seat in a lifeboat. Now! But at the same time, I was relieved to see them together. I sucked in a lungful of air and pulled harder on the oar.

A distress rocket whizzed above us and exploded, lighting up the ocean.

From the ship, the sound of the
Titanic
’s orchestra came drifting across the water, making it all seem like one of my terrible dreams.

Another rocket ripped through the sky above Thomas’s head. The ship lurched beneath his feet. Screams sliced through the freezing air.

“Hugh. Thomas.” Thomas recognised Mr Worthington’s voice. “There are lifeboats up front.”

“But these are the last being lowered,” said Hugh.

Mr Worthington shook his head. “There’re two more, but we must hurry.”

Father slipped an arm under Hugh’s. Thomas took the other side.

“What’s wrong?” asked Mr Worthington, looking at Hugh.

“Just a sprain, Father,” he said. But Thomas knew when he saw the strange angle of Hugh’s foot that it was far worse than a sprain.

The four of them hurried as best they could forward of the boat-deck.

Panic rose in waves from the passengers crowded around the last lifeboats. People jostled, begged, yelled and screamed, all vying for the few remaining seats.

Mr Worthington led Father, Thomas and Hugh past, as though the mayhem didn’t exist, to the officer near boats that looked to have canvas sides.

“Step back from the lifeboat,” yelled an officer, his face strained. “Back I say.” The man fired a pistol into the air. The crowd backed away. Instead of following their move, Hugh, Thomas and their fathers moved forwards.

“Sir, is there room for our boys?” asked Mr Worthington, his voice low.

“Women and children. Are there any women and children?”

“Our lads.” Mr Worthington’s voice floated above the now quieter crowd. “They are but boys. Is there no way you could fit them in?”

The officer stared straight ahead, as though he hadn’t heard a thing. “Any more women?” He bellowed, puffs of white following his words. “Any more children?”

A young woman was shoved forwards. “I won’t go without you,” she cried, tears streaming down her face.

The officer nodded at two sailors who scooped the woman into the lifeboat. “Lower Collapsible D!”

“Please, sir, I beg you. Our wives and daughters have gone,” said Thomas’s father. “They’ll need our boys. We’re not asking for ourselves.”

Without moving his head, the officer glanced at first Thomas then Hugh. “There are two more boats above the officers’ quarters.” He gave a slight nod of his head to the bow.

“Thank you. Thank you,” said Father.

Again the sailor gave the slightest nod.

“Let’s go. Quickly now,” said Mr Worthington.

“No!” said Thomas, his feet planted on the boat-deck. “I will not move unless you promise you will be coming too.”

Father clutched his son’s arm and dug his fingers into Thomas’s flesh. “Move, Thomas.”

“I won’t.” When the tears streamed down his face, Thomas felt no shame. “I’m not afraid. I will stay with you. A ship will come.”

Father eased his grip. “Thomas, your mother, Eve and Bea need you. Please.”

“Thomas, for Eve and Bea,” said Hugh.

Thomas looked from his father to his new friend. “Father …”

“I know, Thomas, I know.” Father’s chin trembled. “Now come along.”

Think of me when you are lonely
Keep for me one quiet spot
In the garden of your memory
Plant this sweet forget-me-not
.
Mr Callum Thompson,
Southampton, 12/04/1912

“Tremendous effort, Eve,” said Evelyn, as we rowed.

The other people manning the oars gasped for air and grunted with effort. Sweat trickled down my back and brow, yet my legs and feet were still numb with cold.

“That’ll do for now,” said Bailey. “Stop rowing.”

Ahead of us the
Titanic
slipped further into the water, its lights still shining bright. I couldn’t bear to watch, so I focused on the ocean around me. Our lifeboat was surrounded by others and small icebergs. I began to shiver.

“Share my blanket,” said the lady beside me.

“Thank you, Miss …”

“Mary,” she said, tucking the blanket over my head. “Mary Sloan.”

“Take your feet out of the water, Eve,” said Evelyn, nodding at the water on the bottom of the boat. “That won’t be helping.”

Huddled in the blanket, I tried to think warm thoughts. My nose, cheeks and ears stung. I cleared my throat. “What now?”

“We wait,” said Mary.

Thomas was swallowed by the stream of people clambering towards the last two collapsible lifeboats. Sailors were trying to release the lifeboats from where they were stored above the officers’ cabins.

Without warning, the
Titanic
heaved and pitched further forwards. Screams and prayers filled the air. Thomas clutched the metal fence separating the boat-deck from the ship’s first funnel. Hugh slipped and crashed into the fence. He cried out in pain. Around them people stumbled and fell. Many lost their footing and tumbled from the ship, arms flailing, into the black ocean.

Thomas realised with shock that the
Titanic
’s bow was completely submerged.

“Go, boys, quickly,” yelled Father, who had fallen against the fence.

“Father–”

“There’s no time, Thomas. Go!”

Thomas collected himself and reached out to help Hugh. They’d just straddled the railing when the
Titanic
dropped again. A wave crashed over the bridge, flooding the deck, seeping through Thomas’s leather boots and woollen pants. He gasped. A rush of people surged past him for the remaining boats.

Hugh tugged Thomas’s arm. The noise of the ocean and panic around him drowned out Hugh’s voice.

To their right, men clambered over the sides of one collapsible lifeboat, now being lifted by the water.

Thomas gritted his teeth and charged for the closest lifeboat, pulling Hugh behind him. But Hugh wouldn’t budge.

“No, Thomas. The other one,” he yelled, his face twisted in pain.

“But …” Before he could protest another wave flooded the ship. The lifeboat he’d been headed to capsized and floated away, leaving men struggling in the water in its wake.

Hugh leaned on Thomas and they waded to the starboard side where the last lifeboat floated within reach. The water was up to their thighs, the bottom of their life jackets.

“Swim boys, swim to the lifeboat.”

Thomas recognised his father’s voice and threw himself forwards into the icy water.

The day which we fear as our last is but the birthday of eternity
.
Bernadette Tayleur-King, Southampton, 08/04/1912

I covered my open mouth with my hand. My brain couldn’t register what my eyes were seeing. The
Titanic
, the mighty unsinkable ship, was sinking. Its bow had slipped below the water and its stern was rising into the air. I stared at the water pouring from the tips of the massive propellers which were beginning to clear the ocean. Screams filled the air, the sounds soaked with horror, made my skin crawl.

It took me a moment to realise people were jumping from the ship into the ocean, their splashes so small in comparison to the enormous stern that they were hard to see.

“God help them,” muttered one of the men on the other side of the lifeboat.

Someone else began praying: an endless string of words I couldn’t make out, but the rhythm was familiar.

“Take up your oars,” bellowed Mr Bailey. “I fear we are still too close.”

Though numb from my toes to my fingertips, I forced my hands to grip the oars and pulled in time with Evelyn.

Black. Cold. More than cold – freezing. Thomas tried to force his arms to thrash the water and his feet to kick, hard, but the cold was numbing. The life jacket banged against the back of his head. Again he tried to move, but his frigid body’s only response was to shudder.

He willed his arms to move, but the water held him stiff as though frozen solid.

The pressure on the back of his head changed. He had the strangest sensation of being pulled backwards.

Words – jumbled. Thomas squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated.

Two words became clear.

Move.

Swim.

He opened his eyes and tried to kick, but couldn’t.

Ahead of him the
Titanic
’s proud bow slipped further beneath the water. The forward funnel, where he’d last seen Father and Mr Worthington, crashed to the ocean. The
Titanic
’s lights blinked then went out.

The noise around him was sickening – moans, screams, gasps and sobs. More screams. So much screaming.

Thomas closed his eyes again. Waves washed over him. The pressure on his life jacket eased and he was sucked under. Water stabbed his skin, eyes and ears with sharp fingers. The cork life jacket popped him back to the surface. He coughed and spluttered gasping for air, every part of him in icy agony.

In front of him the
Titanic
, that huge, luxurious vessel, snap in half like a twig. The bow disappeared into the black ocean. The stern, pointing straight into the air, floated for a moment.

The jacket slammed into his chin and he was being dragged backwards again. More words – chattering, icy words.

“Thomas, kick. For the love of God, kick to the lifeboat.”

Hugh.

“Move, Thomas, come on.”

When days are dark
And friends are few
Remember me and I will you
.
Mr Andrew Ballantyne, Gilmore Fine Jewellery, Southampton, 08/04/1912

Above Mr Bailey’s orders and the screams of terror, a rumbling, cracking, groaning sound filled the air, followed by the most frightening of roars. The foremost funnel snapped and crashed to the ocean.

The
Titanic
’s lights flickered a few times then the ocean was blanketed in darkness. We stayed our oars. A loud explosion ripped through the night, and though it was in the dark, I saw the ship’s silhouette snap in two between the third and last funnels. It was as though the
Titanic
was a child’s flimsy toy, not an enormous ship. The bow slipped beneath the water and the stern thundered down to float on the ocean once more.

For a second, hope surfaced in my heart. Perhaps the rest of the
Titanic
wouldn’t sink. Perhaps Father, Hugh and Thomas would be able to hold on to the railing or some other solid structure, now the stern had righted. The lifeboats would return and rescue them.

I had hardly formed the thoughts when the front of the stern slipped beneath the water. The rear lifted, water streaming from the giant propellers, before gliding beneath the ocean. The only traces of it ever existing were the cries swirling like a gale around us.

Each shriek and wail tore at my heart. I pressed my hands to my ears to block out the sounds, for fear I would recognise Father’s, Hugh’s or Thomas’s voices.

“Pick up those oars and row,” said Mr Bailey. His urgency had gone.

“Back to for the survivors?” I asked.

Bailey shook his head.

“But we have to.” I started to stand, but Evelyn and Mary pressed me back to the seat. “My father, Thomas, Hugh …” I searched the faces of those around me for support, but they avoided my gaze. “We can’t leave them,” I begged. “They are our families. Our friends.”

Mr Bailey shook his head. “If we go back, lass, they’ll swamp us and then we’ll all be doomed.”

I slumped in my seat, unable to grasp the oar to help Evelyn. Beside me Mary took hold and pulled.

I watched us draw away from the empty place in the ocean where the
Titanic
had been. The screams and cries for help slipped away, like the
Titanic
, to the bottom of the ocean.

My heart felt so sodden and bruised I thought it would break.

Thomas gritted his teeth and forced his legs to move. Pain seared from his toes to his hips. He dry retched. The water heaved with thrashing people and the air was filled with their cries. Icy hands seemed to drag him to the bottom of the ocean once again.

But a hand bit into his icy flesh, hauling him back to the surface. He gasped for air. More hands clawed at his shoulders, lifting him. Thomas landed in a sodden, squelchy heap on something hard and wet. He couldn’t feel his feet, toes, hands, fingers, in fact his body. His shivering had eased. He huddled into a ball and closed his eyes. The gentle rocking and the sound of the lapping ocean soothed him.

He couldn’t allow himself to think of Father, so instead thought about Mother, Bea and Eve.

He saw himself standing on the
Titanic
’s poop deck with Hugh, Meggie and Eve, laughing. Bea was there, patting that fluffy dog. She turned to face Thomas and smiled.

With a sigh, he let himself drift into a deep sleep.

Forget me not, forget me never
’Til yonder sun shall set forever
.
Thomas Gilmore, RMS
Titanic
, 12/04/1912