Titanic Twelve Tales - A Short Story Anthology RMS Titanic (2 page)

“Yes Mum and there are some wonderful pictures. Of course, they’re only releasing a few of them at the moment and keeping the location very secret, but isn’t it marvellous, after all the years?”

I couldn’t sleep that night. I didn’t want to sleep if I slept then I’d be back on board, a nine year old child again, saying good-night to my mother and father. But this time I would know that good-night also meant good-bye. I took my scrapbook out of the desk. The large picture book I had kept all my life. Like Papa, I didn’t collect stamps or butterflies I collected cuttings about an event, my event, the sinking of
RMS Titanic
.

I had seen the films and read the books about White Star’s most famous liner, but I hadn’t been to any of the reunions, conventions or joined any of the societies. I had kept my story to myself and pasted the cuttings into a series of scrapbooks.

A few weeks after my daughter had telephoned with the news, she arrived on my doorstep with a set of newspaper colour supplements. “Thought you’d like these to add to your collection,” she said.

Slowly I flicked over the pages and stopped abruptly at one. My fingers trembled, my mouth dried, stunned I couldn’t tear my gaze from the picture. A ghostly white porcelain face looked up at me through empty dark spaces where her clear blue eyes had once been. Her blonde wig, made from real human hair, and her body had been taken by the sea. A tear rolled down my cheek. After 73 years I was looking at
Milly’s
face again.

I am…

The sea is my mirror, my vanity. I gaze at the ocean and see my glorious lines reflected. I am admired, chased by the press, photographed, written about, talked of and yes, I am everywhere. Nothing has been built or launched this year to match my luxurious form. From the bridge to the boilers I am beautiful. Gaze down at me from my crow’s nest, inspect my many decks, eat in the luxury of my First-Class Dining Room and relax in the Smoking Room after dinner.

How much did you pay to come on board?

That is important because I must know your class. We live in a monetary society. The Americans understand, my English owners only think they do because they are too refined to speak of money. They say it is vulgar to speak of money, especially “new money” made by those who have earned their wealth through their own endeavours, or sheer luck. I have three classes, like the society I represent. My first-class accommodation is very fine and many of the
world’s
richest will doubtless wish to take advantage of my luxury, if only to say to their friends or anyone else they wish to impress that, “I sailed on her maiden voyage.”

Still, you’ve not answered my question? Where will I find you?
In Second Class perhaps?
A difficult in-between category to find oneself, I sympathise, middle class, comfortable, regular income, but frugal. Yes, middle-class folks know they have to work, whether they are professionals, bankers, solicitors or doctors, or perhaps their fortunes have been made from trade? Do they aspire to the upper classes or feel their paths will always be barred because they lack connections? Some progress can be bought via marriage or political gain, but will true acceptance ever be granted? Perhaps for a short period aboard one of my regular passages across the North Atlantic.

I don’t call my lower class ‘steerage’ any more for my owners have opted for Third Class. As expected my accommodation is the finest afloat for Third Class passengers and it needs to be because those passengers are my bread-and-butter. Their fares will pay for my coal, my crew’s wages and keep me going as long as America sells her dream of the land of opportunity to Europe’s impoverished masses. I shall be content.

I am a dream, a very large dream. Everything about me is big – I am a giantess of the seas but like all vessels I need careful handling. They call me a ship of dreams, of which I have plenty. I am also a steamship, a triple-screw steamship. I am powerful. My equipment surpasses anything afloat and I cost one and a half-million pounds to build. My grand staircase is the finest ever constructed…

“Enough!”

“What did you say?”

“Enough, I have heard enough, who do you think you are?”

“I am
Titanic,
the largest and most luxurious ship afloat.”

“Afloat, excuse me, but haven’t you noticed something?”

“Noticed? Noticed what?”

“That your lights have gone out? That you are engulfed in darkness, that you are on the ocean floor with a broken back, or did those few facts just happen to slip your
notice
?”

“I am
Titanic,
the largest and most luxurious ship ever built.”

“That fact I cannot dispute, but there will be others, bigger, better, more beautiful, more luxurious and faster than you ever were.”

“So, what does that matter? I am still
Titanic
, I was famous whilst I lived and I shall be famous for ever more.”

“Ah, fame, yes I cannot deny, your fame will probably live forever, but not your hull. You are made of iron and slowly you will dissolve into the vast Atlantic Ocean and you will
only be remembered, but not before you have been plundered. Fragments of your structure will be chipped away and stolen to be held up for auction around the world. Many will bid for your tiny pieces; so they can collect even a small bit of what once was you. They will clamour to hold just a morsel of you in their hands. Yes, if that is what you want, some part of you will live.”

“I am
Titanic
, I will live forever but you have made me sad, by what authority do you speak to me so?”

“I am no one, but I am everywhere. I am vast, vast enough to hide many secrets.”

“Why do you speak to me in riddles? Your name, I demand to know
your
name.”

“You would not like it, you would not want to know me, but you cannot escape my clutches. You are here and now you are mine.”

“Still you speak in riddles, can you not address me with the respect I deserve? I am
Titanic,
I am the most famous ship in the world.”

“Of course you are and arrogant too! No wonder I had to claim you, bring you down, you challenged me, said you were unsinkable.”

“I never claimed that!”

“But it was said of you, wasn’t it?”

“Virtually unsinkable, would be nearer to the truth.”

“Ah, so we have arrived at that magical word truth. I will tell you the truth Titanic, you were too vainglorious, swamped by your own importance, so bathed in self-admiration that you failed to see me reaching out to you and bringing you down.”

“You sank me? Who are you?
A frozen piece of ice?”

“No, not I, that was a good friend from the north whom I called south and nurtured after he had done my bidding. You think yourself mighty, but still you haven’t guessed who I am and yet you languish here.”

“I am
Titanic
, you can never take that away from me but who are you, tell me please, I beg you?”

“Beg? Did I hear beg? My how the mighty have fallen, don’t you recognize me? I am Earth’s ocean and don’t ever you or any other vessel claim to be unsinkable again, or you will incur my wrath.”

“I am
Titanic
and…I am sorry.”

The Lace-maker’s Gift

“Be sure to show the best pieces first and ask a good price.”

“And you’re not for changing your mind and coming with me?”

“No
Bridie
, that new ship’s too big to berth. They’ll be using the little boats to take out the migrants and places for sellers will be scarce. It’s best you go. My eyes aren’t as good as they used to be and those rich folk are more likely to buy from a pretty face like yours.”

“Let’s hope they do, Gran. There’s been a lot of talk about this giant
Titanic
. I’ve heard she’s the biggest ship in the world.”

“Aye
Bridie
, but don’t believe everything you hear. Doubtless there are a lot of good Irish folks off to New York on her hoping to make their fortunes. Don’t you wish you were one of them?”

Bridie
wrapped another piece of the delicately crocheted lace in a square of linen and placed it in her basket. Then she looked back at her grandmother. “Seamus asked me if I’d go with his family, but I didn’t like the idea of travelling so far. I know he keeps coming around to our cottage whenever it takes his fancy, but I never encourage him.”

“Aye, I had noticed.”

“Seamus is a
friend,
I’ve known him all my life. He’s more like a brother.”
Bridie
bit her lower lip.

“So, you’ll not be missing him too much when he’s gone, then?”

“Looks like I don’t care, doesn’t Gran? But it’s not like that, I do care about him, honest I do, but I don’t want to marry him. I can’t spend the rest of my life with him.”

Mrs Glynn grasped her granddaughter’s hand. “No need to explain to me, you’ll find the right man, one day, just
be
patient. Now off you go, you mustn’t be late on the dock. But should you see Seamus tell him not to wait when he gets the chance of a boat.”

Bridie
thought her grandmother’s words were odd, she was about to ask what she meant when a knock came at the door.

“That’s your lift to the quay, now get on with
you
girl. Sell as much as you can.”

Bridie
grabbed the wicker basket, thrust her arm through the handle and hurried through the open door. She nearly ran into Seamus, who was waiting by the cart.

“Top of the morning to you
Bridie
,” he said. “I’ve managed to save a place for you next to me.”

Her mouth dropped open and her heart sank, was Seamus hoping to get some kind of pledge out of her before he left? She hoped not, she couldn’t allow him to sail across the Atlantic on a false promise that she knew she could never keep.

“I knew you’d be getting to the quay on Johnson’s cart,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind me waiting for you.”

“Won’t you be late for the embarkation?” She asked as he helped her up on the cart.

“No, don’t be troubling yourself about that. I asked what time we had to be ready. There’ll not embark us steerage passengers until the other classes have boarded. We’ll be the last, that’s for sure. I’m just hoping those
Frenchies
and other foreigners haven’t bagged all the best bunks.” He took the seat next to her, his knee nudging hers.

“I’ve heard the accommodation aboard is very good, so you’ll surely be very comfortable.”

“I’d be much more comfortable if you were coming too.” He edged closer to her.

“Now Seamus, you know what I’ve said about going to America. There’s Gran and her eyes are going. She can’t do the fine lace work anymore, just the raised roses. She needs me to finish the lace.”

“Aye, you and your Irish crochet. I bet they’ve got machines in America that can work
lace
as fine as any made in Ireland.”

“Seamus McFadden, I’m ashamed of you. To be saying such a thing. There’s no finer crochet lace in the world than that made by an Irish woman’s hand. Why even the great Queen Victoria had the Christening robe for her first born worked in Ireland.”

“I’m sorry
Bridie
, here I am saying all the wrong things again and firing your temper. Forgive me, I just wanted to ask if you’d consider...some sort of understanding between us, before I sail?”

She tried to swallow but her mouth was dry. She had been avoiding that question for weeks, ever since she had heard of Seamus’ plan to sail to New York. At first he had been full of the voyage, the experience of being at sea for the first time in his life. Then she had listened to his plans to settle in New York, where he had a cousin who could look out for him, but despite his tales of fortune and hopes for the future, she knew she could never give him the promise of her hand in marriage.

“Have you no answer for me?” he asked taking his cap off and wringing it in his hands.

“Seamus,” she grasped the handle of the large basket balanced on her lap until her knuckles were white. “I cannot make any promises. I have my work here and you are going to America. You’ll meet new people and you’ll need to be free to grab every opportunity that comes your way. It’s better not to be tied to a promise back home.”

Disappointment etched its way across Seamus’ face. He put his cap back on his head. “You’re a sweet colleen
Bridie
, to be sure you’ll be married to some rich man and living in Dublin when I come back with American gold jingling in my pockets.”

“I’ll not be going to Dublin, Seamus.”

“Why not?
All the rich people live in Dublin.”

“And the streets of London are paved with gold.” She laughed, but he wasn’t laughing.

“You’re turning me down, aren’t you
Bridie
?”