Spirit of the Titanic (3 page)

“Dada! You play with me?”

“It's nighttime, Samuel. You have to go asleep now.”

Apparently I agreed with him readily enough, explaining that “Grampie Peter says I have to be a good boy.”

Peter was the name of my mother's father, who had died when I was a few months old.

* * *

Jim and his family were down below in their cabin, in steerage, the location of the third-class cabins, thoroughly enjoying themselves. His wife had tears in her eyes as she took in the freshly painted walls and the brand new furniture. Jim and Joseph watched her indulgently, while the baby slept through all the fuss, including the heavy thud-thud of the ship's engines.

“Oh, my, I've never seen anything like it. I just can't believe it. Even the sheets and the pillows are brand new, just for us.”

Jim took the baby from her, so that she could inspect the linens more closely. Like me, he was more familiar with the ship, thanks to his helping to build her.

“And this is only where we sleep. There's also a huge dining room and then there's a sort of common room where the children can play and we can meet other people like us who are setting out for a new life. You never know, Isobel, we might make some friends who could become our neighbours in America.”

His wife beamed at him. “I have a good feeling about this now. I was so nervous about leaving Ireland for God knows what, but this marvellous ship has put my mind at ease. I think it's a sign that we're definitely doing the right thing.”

H
ow I longed to feel the wind on my face. I only understand now that it's the small, seemingly insignificant events — wind blowing through your hair, lifting it in uneven tufts or every pore on your body opening up to that first warmth of the morning's sun — that makes a person feel truly alive. Sometimes I thought that this was the best thing ever, to be able to go where I liked, unseen and unheard, from the first-class smoking room to the tiny room that was home to Jim's family, but other times it made me sad. For instance, here I was looking out over the railings of the Promenade Deck at the miles upon miles of blue water around me and I couldn't even remember what the sea smelled like.

Isobel would surely understand my situation if I could only talk to her. I felt her frustration when the shopkeepers got on
Titanic
at Queenstown, County Cork, to parade their wares before the passengers. Taking Sarah with her, Isobel told Jim that she just wanted to look at what was on sale. Naturally Jim didn't understand the point of
just
looking, when she knew for certain that she couldn't afford to buy anything, but, equally, he had been married long enough to know when to keep his mouth shut.

Meanwhile Joseph had his own worry. “Do I have to go?” he asked.

His father laughed and suggested that they leave the women to it while they go and feed the seagulls some bread.

I followed Isobel and Sarah. Having spent the previous hour watching two men whack a small ball, with wooden racquets, against the wall of the squash court, in first class, I felt in need of more interesting company, and I certainly found it in the crowd on deck. The traders, mostly women, spaced themselves out to set up shop with their goods, hoping to attract some of the wealthier passengers, in particular the Americans, who were known to love all things Irish.

There was great excitement all round as the locals came out to see the biggest ship in the world. A brass band was playing on the Cork docks, while over 100 more passengers queued up to come on board. An impressive mountain of mail and parcels, destined for America, waited to be loaded. Sarah's head twisted this way and that as she took in the hustle and bustle; her mother concentrated on being thrilled by the items for sale. Of course, the hard-nosed businesswomen took little notice of her, guessing that they weren't going to make any money from her. Instead they lavished all their smiles and efforts on the better-dressed passengers, who gathered around the lace, cheeses, pots of jams, and other knick-knacks, in sedate groups. I must admit, none of it appealed to me, but I could feel Isobel's huge longing to be able to buy something. First it was a fancy tablecloth, next it was some sort of lace blouse, and then she hankered after a few yards of shiny material from which, she reasoned, she could make whatever she wanted.

She couldn't help herself; she was annoyed with her husband.
He might've offered a few pence. I wouldn't have taken it, but he could have offered it!

Shifting Sarah onto her other hip, she watched enviously as two American women, in expensive hats and coats, attempted to haggle with the fierce little woman who was selling the blouses. They ended up buying one each, with no discount, both thoroughly convinced that they had got the best deal for their dollars. Isobel smiled in spite of herself.

It was almost 1:30 p.m. The new passengers had been checked in and the hundreds of postal bags stowed away on board. I spied
Titanic
's captain watching the proceedings as the traders packed up and were sent on their way back to the mainland. Only then did Isobel realize for certain that she wouldn't be buying treats for either herself or the children. She surprised the both of us with her brief, silent outrage at the unfairness of her situation — too poor, as usual, for the price of the smallest item available. As much as she wanted a lace blouse, as much as she could clearly see it before her and clearly see herself wearing it, in her mind's eye, she just couldn't have it, no matter what. It was the same, I felt, about my wanting so badly to feel the wind on my face.

Titanic
sounded her horn three times, in farewell to the Cork crowd, who waved their handkerchiefs and parasols in reply. The brass band played on as the anchor was raised and
Titanic
's mighty engine sounded out in earnest.

I remained on deck while Isobel and Sarah went in search of Jim and Joseph. Two stewards, who had been sweeping the deck clean, after all the visitors, stopped to watch the coast slowly recede into the distance. One of them waved just once to the onlookers, saying to his companion, “Well, now. That's the last bit of land we'll see for a while.”

His friend shuddered, causing him to look up in surprise.

“What's wrong with you?”

The friend's face was a picture of confusion.

“I, I don't know. Just felt a chill, or something.”

“C'mon, let's get this done and we'll go get something to eat. What we both need is one of Cookie's special pies and a nice, big mug of tea.”

I wished I could join them, because I suddenly didn't feel right either. As I stared over the railings into the ocean, I noticed the ship's reflection bubble up and down under the water, constantly changing in shape and colour. Nothing lasted forever or stayed the same. Where did I hear that before, in school or in church? That's why, I supposed, we had to keep moving forward and try our best not to look back. At least I think that was the solution.

Either way it was time once more to leave Ireland behind and begin at last, the real journey, the real voyage, across the Atlantic Ocean to the New World of America.

T
here was so much to do and see. I never had a dull moment, but that's not to say that I didn't find some things less exciting than others. For instance, I decided that I wouldn't bother watching any more squash; it wasn't nearly as interesting as watching soccer. Also, I got bored in the gym and the Turkish bathroom with its fussy towels and constant steam. I couldn't see the attraction of either of them and reckoned that perhaps having lots of money made you less imaginative about how to fill up your day. It was much more fun following the passengers around as they toured the decks, listening to their conversations.

I must admit, I had been impatient for the passengers to board the ship, to see if their reactions to her glorious interior matched how I felt about her. Even though I had watched everything being built from scratch, I still felt delighted all over again as I made my way through her different sections and compartments.

I was also struck by all the different work that went on throughout the day and the night. Down in the belly of the ship the fires that kept the engines going were kept burning by the stokers and greasers, who worked in shifts and were permanently covered in soot. There wasn't a lot to see, but it did remind me of working at the shipyard and hanging out with Charlie and the squad. Most of these men slept in small dormitories in third class, well away from the sensitivities of the richer passengers. I overheard two of them talking as they made their way back to their room, having shovelled coal for eight hours. They were filthy and their faces were shiny with a grimy sweat.

“So, you think we've the worst job on the ship?”

“Yep.”

“But we also have the most important?”

“She'd still be sitting on her backside in Belfast if it wasn't for us.”

“Hmm, that's a fair point.”

One of my favourite places was the third-class common room. It was nearly always full, crammed with all types of people who determined to enjoy themselves on such a beautiful ship. This was just the first part of their adventure. The real work began when they arrived in America and had to find themselves jobs and accommodations. A mixture of accents could be heard throughout: German, Italian, French, Swedish, and, of course, English. In the evening, just like in first and second class, there was music provided by a few musicians, who, unlike the band in first and second class, made a point of beckoning onstage anyone who cared to perform in whatever manner they could. Consequently, rowdy dancing and much singing was the norm after dinner, especially among the young single men and women.

There were many children too as third class was mostly made up of people, like Jim and Isobel, who were emigrating to America with their entire families, in search of a new life. Jim was rather like my mother, in that he didn't overtly push himself to get to know strangers; Isobel reminded me of my father, who had always considered strangers to be friends he hadn't made yet.

On the first afternoon, after we left Queenstown, while her husband refereed a slow, stumbling game of soccer for Joseph and some boys his age, Isobel shyly introduced herself to two girls who had joined the ship in Cork and had been giving the sleeping Sarah the fondest of smiles.

“She's beautiful. How old is she?” It was the older of the two, a friendly looking girl with thick brown hair that matched the colour of her eyes.

A beaming Isobel replied proudly, “Fourteen months today. That's her brother over there, Joseph; he's six years old and the man doing his best to keep all the boys in line is my husband, Jim. I'm Isobel, by the way. And you two, if you don't mind me saying so, must be sisters. You're the image of one another.”

The girls laughed.

“Yes, I'm Maggie and this is my little sister Kate.”

Isobel was delighted. “I was right! So, you're heading to America in search of fame and fortune … or maybe a rich husband?”

The two sisters giggled and looked at one another, raising their eyebrows. A nod passed between them and Kate spoke, glancing around as if she was about to betray a promise of some sort. “Well, the truth of it is, we sort of ran away from home.”

Isobel's eyes widened. “Whatever do you mean?”

Maggie, the older girl, decided to take over. “We're here with some neighbours from Longford. When they were buying their tickets, we asked them to get two for us, in secret. Then we told them, at home, that we were only going to Queenstown, to see our friends off. Since we had to leave so early yesterday morning, nobody was up in time to see us bringing our bags with us. All we had to do, then, was board the ship.”

Isobel looked from one to the other. “But won't your parents worry?”

“No. Well, not really. We're actually going over to family; we've two sisters and a brother already in America, and we've been wanting to join them for ages.”

Kate butted in, wanting to supply all the important details. “Our da died a few years ago and, after having 13 kids, Mam is always sick, so our brother, who is the eldest, took charge of us all, but he's much too strict and won't let us go anywhere or do anything we fancy. He won't even let us go to the local dances in the town.”

Maggie nodded. “We just want a chance to live a little. I'll write to Mam when we reach New York. She'll understand. I know she will. And there's plenty left at home for himself to boss around. We won't be missed.”

Isobel looked like she completely agreed with them. “Well, I think you're both very brave and you're doing the right thing.” Then it was her turn to look secretive. She leaned forward and lowered her voice, “The thing is, Jim and I are also making an escape of sorts from our home.”

Naturally the girls were immediately intrigued, while Isobel checked that Jim was safely out of earshot. I also moved in closer, eager to hear what she had to say. As I hovered beside the sisters, Kate shivered slightly but was too focused on Isobel to question the sudden chill in the air around her.

With a slightly guilty look in the direction of her husband, who was still busily coaching the amateur soccer players, Isobel felt that she had no choice now but to continue. Her listeners and I were waiting.

“We're both from Belfast, Jim and me. But from
different
parts.”

Here, she sat back again, obviously expecting her listeners to understand what she was telling them. Instead, the sisters waited politely, unsure of what they were supposed to say. Of course, I understood immediately, but even I realized that, for anyone who grew up elsewhere, a bit more information was needed.

Isobel tried again. “Jim is from west Belfast, but I grew up in east Belfast.”

Riotous clapping started in a group a few tables away. A red-faced man stood up to sing some sort of ballad that involved lots of winking and face-pulling.

Still the two sisters looked blankly at one another, so that Isobel was obliged to throw Jim one last furtive look before blurting out as fast as she could, “He's a Catholic and I'm a Protestant.”

“Oh, I see,” both sisters said simultaneously, causing the three of them to burst out laughing.

I, for one, was slightly shocked. I didn't think there were any Catholics in my neighbourhood, not that I had anything against them particularly. I just never knew much about them nor do I remember them ever being mentioned by my mother or father. There were some Catholics working at the shipyard, but I always assumed that they were nowhere near me.

My uncle told me that they were usually
very
good at whatever trade they specialized in. “They have to be or they'd be sent packing long before lunch.”

He also told me that they sometimes got a rough time from the others: “Ach, sure it's bound to happen. Gangs of neighbours who have known each other for years, going to the same schools, churches, pubs, and then along comes a stranger, from a different part of town, with whom they have little or nothing in common.”

When I asked Uncle Al why, he shrugged. “They're just ‘different,' that's all. We're proud to be part of the British Empire, while they prefer to follow the old pope in Rome. Doesn't make sense, really. One thing is for sure, though, you can always spot them coming. There's just something about them.”

I certainly hadn't suspected anything different about Jim; he looked no different from any other man I had ever met. Then again, maybe I was a bit soft about this sort of thing. Neither Ed nor Charlie had been friendly to Jim when he approached him that rainy afternoon. Could it be that they recognized he was one of “them”?

“Was there much trouble for you?” asked Maggie.

“Not really, but we did our best not to draw any attention to ourselves. We lived in east Belfast. You never know how people will react, so it made more sense to pretend we were like everyone else on the street. Joseph was sent to the local school and Jim came with us to church on Sunday. He felt we had to be seen to fit in, for our peace of mind.”

Kate looked over at Jim — who was blissfully ignorant of the attention he was receiving — unable to stop herself from saying, “Oooh, how romantic!”

Isobel giggled, shaking her head. “I wouldn't call it that, but I think I know what you mean.”

Maggie hadn't finished with her questions. “What about your families, they must have known?”

Here Isobel took a second to remove an invisible loose thread from the cuff of her sleeve. Maggie became embarrassed as she immediately understood that the subject was no longer a laughing matter. “Oh dear, I'm so sorry. I'm too nosy for my own good.”

Her younger sister nodded in vibrant agreement. However, Isobel rushed to put the blushing girls at ease again. “Ah, don't mind me. Besides I didn't have to tell you anything. It is sad, though. Nobody turned up at our wedding, after much abuse, from
both
sides, I might add. Plus it was made clear that we were no longer welcome in our own parents' homes … even now, seven years later.”

She glanced at the girls in turn, her voice cracking slightly, and murmured, “I mean, they've never even met the children.”

Wanting to move things back onto a more positive footing, Maggie quickly offered, “So you decided to make a new life for yourselves, far away from angry relatives?”

Doing her best to blink away her tears, Isobel forced out a genuine smile, and agreed. “Yes, that's it. Just like yourselves.”

The red-faced man was still singing away in the corner. The bawdy ballad finished, he had moved on to something more serious or sad, or both. To demonstrate his change of mood, he held out his hands in front of him, like he was begging for mercy, and closed his eyes as he struggled courageously, but in vain, over the higher notes. Therefore, he had no idea that he was the butt of many jokes throughout the room.

“His relatives are probably having a party in Ireland, now that they've got rid of him,” whispered Maggie.

“Just a pity we've to listen to him now!” added her sister.

Tears streamed down Isobel's face, but this time, much to Maggie's and Kate's relief, they were of laughter.