Titanic (4 page)

 

 

At breakfast today, Bridget Murphy told me I was hoity-toity, sailing off to America with a rich lady. I nodded, and said that I was, indeed, a right swanker, and Sister Eulalia spoke to me sharply about being proud. I could hardly disagree – but did so anyway out of devilment. Sister Eulalia failed to find any humour in this.

My mind wandered during arithmetic, and I could not even pay attention when we turned to literature. I was thinking about many things, but mainly I was wondering what it will be like to spend so many days travelling across the sea, surrounded by rich ladies and gentlemen. Apparently, many of them are among the wealthiest people in the world! I hope I will not seem too out of place. Surely my humble station will be obvious to one and all – especially those of English extraction. I hope Sister Catherine is right that one can hardly run into problems by simply keeping one's own counsel, and smiling every so often. I will just always have to remember to think before speaking. I want to be a
credit
to the Sisters, and to the memory of my dear parents, and so will have to rise above my natural tendency to misbehave.

Here in Whitechapel, it is hardly unusual to be poor. In fact, it is not even
interesting.
But I admit that I still find it hard to understand why most of the girls at the orphanage will be perfectly happy if they get a factory job, marry some nice bloke, and pass the rest of their days within a street or two of here. Most, I think, will be quite content simply to live a life without surprises. I am not sure
what
it is that I want, but I know that it is something more than that which I see every day. I expect to learn a great deal from my journey, and hope I can put it to some good use in my life. The girls would call this cheeky, and I suppose it is. But America is supposed to be the land of endless opportunities, and I see no reason not to try to better myself.

Oh dear. I believe Sister Eulalia has just caught on that I am writing something of my own, rather than methodically working on my declensions. She looks very indignant, so I believe I will now set this diary aside.

Quickly.

 

 

This morning Sister Catherine took me over to the St Botolph parish for Easter mass. She explained that he is the patron saint of travellers, and she wants to be sure that I leave with his blessings. Our fellow worshippers were a bizarre group – ranging from prostitutes to the very flagrantly pious – and it was quite different from my usual experience of mass. But, because it was Easter, they were all unusually well turned-out. I rather enjoyed it.

On the way home Sister Catherine stopped at a small shop and bought us two lemonades and some toffee. We sat on an old wooden bench to enjoy our snack, and made almost no conversation. Her face was pensive, and I could tell that she was very sad today.

“We never have favourites, you understand,” she said suddenly. “It would not be proper.”

I nodded; she nodded; and we sat in the sun and finished our toffee.

 

 

It is my last night here, and I suddenly feel quite tearful, sitting up in my usual window. Earlier, I packed a musty old carpetbag Sister Judith found with some underclothing and stockings, a nightdress, a brown pullover, my plaid dress, Father's old wool coat, and Mummy's chipped china cat. On further reflection, I took out the cat, for I will give it to Nora to remember me by. I know Mummy would not mind – and besides, I still have her beautiful silver locket, which I wear night and day, close to my heart. The locket may be somewhat battered and tarnished, but that does not diminish its value to me in any way. I will keep Father's copy
of Hamlet,
but will sign my name under his in the volume of sonnets and present it to Sister Catherine in the morning. I hope she likes it.

I wonder if William has received my letter yet. I suspect not. Still, it would be nice to know that he was expecting me. But I do not think he will mind being surprised, either. And now he will not have to worry about spending the money he has been laboriously saving for my passage.

On the whole, I think Mrs Carstairs makes me almost as nervous as I make her, so thank goodness for Florence. At least I know I will have
one
friend on the ship. When I get to Boston, I hope William will not mind our getting a cat or two – and maybe a dog as well. I have always wanted to have pets of my own.

At supper tonight the Sisters brought out a pound cake with white frosting as a farewell celebration, and everyone clapped. Perhaps they are just pleased to see me go. Except, of course, for Nora, who wept. I gave her my share of cake, which helped a little. I also stopped Shirley Hallowell – a nice girl, just turned twelve – in the corridor later and asked her to promise to watch out for Nora after I leave. Shirley was quick to agree, which relieved my guilt a little.

It is hard to believe that by this time tomorrow I will be in another part of England altogether – and on my way to begin a whole new life!

 

 

Here I am, in a lovely hotel room, with
my own bathroom.
I have never experienced such incredible luxury. I just took a long, hot bath, complete with a thick blanket of fragrant soap bubbles. Hot water, as much as I wanted! Then I dried off with a warm, fluffy towel, feeling like the very Queen herself. The pillows on my bed are fat with feathers, and my mattress is as soft as a cloud. Mrs Carstairs is in the room next door, getting what she described to me as “beauty sleep”. I can only imagine that
anyone
who slept on one of these delightful beds would wake up looking beautiful.

Before I left this morning, everyone gave me good wishes at breakfast. For once, I had no appetite at all, and merely sipped some tea. Then, I went back to the dormitory and checked my carpetbag one last time. Sister Judith brought Nora in, and the two of us sat together on her bunk for a time. I gave her Mummy's china cat, and did my best to soothe her tears.

“You goin' down the big ship now?” she asked finally.

I nodded, feeling some tears of my own. I promised to draw her a picture of the
Titanic
and post it right away, so that she could look at it whenever she wanted.

“Draw
you
in the picture,” she insisted. “And Florence.”

I gave her a big hug, until Sister Judith said that it was time for me to go, since it “wouldn't do” for me to be late. The last thing I saw, when I looked back, was Nora crying and holding the china cat, her feet dangling helplessly over the side of the bed since she is so small. The sight made something inside my chest hurt, and I had to look away.

My farewell to most of the Sisters was quite formal. Sister Mary Gregoria gave me enough money for my motor bus fare, and two pounds “for emergencies”. I was very grateful for this, and tucked the money away in a safe pocket.

Then Sister Catherine walked me out to the square, where I would board the motor bus. While we were waiting, she gave me another two pounds, and several shillings. I have no idea how she managed to gather up such a sum, but I was sure it would be disrespectful to refuse to accept it. So I did so, thanking her profusely.

“If you ever need—” She stopped. “Well.”

I nodded. Then I took out Father's sonnets and handed the book to her. “Thank you for
everything,”
I said. “I have depended on you greatly.”

The conductor seemed impatient, and it really was time to go. At Claridge's, Mrs Carstairs was probably impatient, too.

“No favourites,” I said.

Sister Catherine smiled. “No. Never.”

When the bus pulled away, I stared out of the window until she faded from sight. I know that I will always miss her. I must keep a very careful record of my journey so that one day I can share it with her.

 

I was nearly twenty minutes early when I arrived at the hotel, but Mrs Carstairs was still very anxious. She surveyed my travelling outfit – the same dark blue dress I had worn the first time we met – and sighed a little. Mr Carstairs was occupied by his newspaper and coffee, although he nodded pleasantly when he saw me.

There were a great many suitcases and trunks piled up by the door – eight or ten, I should say. My lumpy little carpetbag looked very inferior next to them. Meanwhile, Mrs Carstairs twittered about, fussing with her hair, checking for misplaced belongings, and otherwise making me feel fidgety. Florence pranced behind her, fully enjoying all of the activity.

“Mr Carstairs, sir?” I asked hesitantly, when his wife seemed to be occupied for the moment in her dressing room. “How are we going to get all of that luggage on to the motor bus?” More to the point, was
I
supposed to carry it?

He laughed heartily, shook his head, and returned to his newspaper.

As it turned out, a hotel porter arrived shortly to cart the many trunks away. We were to be driven to Waterloo Station, and then we would take the train to Southampton, by the sea. To my amazement, we rode in one big black carriage, and the
luggage
followed by itself in a second carriage.

At the railway station a slew of porters appeared to whisk the trunks off. Mr Carstairs arranged for our tickets and went ahead to see if our seats met with his approval. Mrs Carstairs kept daubing her eyes with a lace handkerchief, and sensing the unhappy possibility of a noisy parting, I elected to take Florence for a walk along the platform. I had thought that there would be a large crowd of passengers, but Mr Carstairs said that no, most people would be on the official Boat Train the next morning.

Mrs Carstairs was still weeping a little when we pulled out of the station, and she waved Florence's paw at her husband, who was still standing on the platform below. Out of respect, I hid my excitement about leaving London for the first time in my life. Actually, I had never even been on a
train
before, and found its chugs and whistles exhilarating.

It would be too overwhelming to think about whether I would ever return to the city of my birth, so I concentrated on looking out of the slightly sooty window. My seat was very comfortable, and I sank back into the blue cushions. The window felt cool against my fingers, and the panelling below it was a dark, polished wood. Worried that I might have smeared the polish, I lightly rubbed the spot I had touched with my sleeve.

To my great surprise, both Mrs Carstairs and Florence fell asleep almost before we had even left the city. They also both wheezed noticeably.

We were passing small houses now, lined up in neat, redbrick rows. The train seemed to be moving so rapidly that I felt just a bit queasy and was glad to have neglected my breakfast.

Once in a while, we came to a slow, shrieking stop, and the conductor would shout, “Surbiton!” or, “Woking!” or the name of some other place with which I was unfamiliar. “Passengers only, please,” he would say, “Step lively!” Then, after a brief idling pause, we would chug on our way again.

Gradually, we left the towns behind, and forged into the countryside. How often I had heard about the great beauty of the English countryside! Now, finally, I was getting an opportunity to see it for myself. Green, rolling fields, spring flowers, and here and there, a quaint cottage or sprawling mansion. The roofs of the cottages seemed to be made of thatch, and I wondered if they would leak in the rain. My grey, cluttered, foggy city seemed a thousand miles away. If we had had the time, I would have loved to spend the day in one of those fields, lying in the grass, with nothing but a book, and perhaps some bread and cheese, to keep me company. I think I would stay there all night, watching the stars and waiting for the moon to rise.

Our journey was only about 80 miles and all too soon the conductor was announcing, “Southampton!” Mrs Carstairs's eyes fluttered open, and she yawned widely.

“What an exhausting trip,” she said.

Yes, having a bit of a lie-down
was
always quite a tiring activity.

The conductor helped us off the train, and two red-uniformed porters hurried over to greet us. Once all of the luggage had been collected, they trundled us through a passageway towards the South Western Hotel where we would be staying. I could smell the water, but from where we were I could scarcely see the
quays,
let alone the ships in the harbour beyond.

We were taken up to the third floor in a sparkling clean lift, although I swallowed hard to think of being wafted off the ground like that, held by thin cables. Still, our ride was steady and in less than a moment there we were. It transpired that one of the trunks was
mine,
filled with my new “appropriate clothing”.

When I opened it to peek inside, I discovered petticoats, stockings, a pair of shiny black shoes, three dresses, a skirt, two high-necked blouses, two hats, and a pink wool coat!
Pink.
I should certainly have chosen another shade, but it was very pretty. One of the hats was decorated with ribbons and flowers, and looked altogether garish. That one, Mrs Carstairs explained, was to be worn with the green silk dress on fancy occasions aboard the ship. I thanked her, and complimented her impeccable taste. Or had it, perhaps, been Mabel and Hortense's taste? Regardless, looking at these clothes, I felt sadly removed from St Abernathy's and our faded, patched near-rags.

After an early supper in the hotel dining room – I had the most delicious mutton chops – I took Florence out for a walk. There was still enough daylight for me to explore a little, and I headed directly for the docks. Railway lines cut across the street in unexpected places, and I made my way cautiously. Florence found the rumbling of a passing lorry offensive, and barked aggressively at it for quite some time.

Just ahead, there were masts and funnels and metal cranes to be seen in every direction. It was impossible to get a good view of any one ship because there were so many berthed in the harbour. Also, the railway station and other surrounding buildings obscured my view.

I asked a passing workman which one was the
Titanic,
and he stopped to point her out with great pride.

“There she is, miss,” he said, beaming. “Wit' the four funnels. The grandest ship you could ever hope to see!”

I began counting funnels, trying to locate her, but still was not sure that I was looking in the right place. There was a great deal of activity on the quays, and a fair number of gawking passers-by, too. Everyone, it seemed, wanted to catch a glimpse of the new ship before her maiden voyage.

Then, all of a sudden, there was a great black hull, stretching farther than my eye could see. I tilted my head back, and the ship loomed above me, looking taller than most of the buildings I have ever seen. Never could I have imagined such a mammoth structure. I noticed now that the railway station connected directly to the ship, and that men were loading all sorts of cargo down the gangways, or with towering cranes. There was a feeling of excitement around me, as workers jostled each other and shouted orders, and onlookers pointed out what little they could see from their various positions.

The
Titanic
was bigger than seemed humanly possible, bright and shiny and smelling of fresh paint. I do not know what I had expected, but the sight of her took my breath away. Florence seemed dismayed by it all and lay down, resting her head on her forepaws. I patted her, but kept craning my neck in an attempt to take in as much of the ship as I could.

It is hard to believe something so gigantic can float – and yet there she sits, peacefully atop the water. She looks sturdy; she looks
proud.
Were you to pick her up, with a great Godly hand, and drop her in the midst of Whitechapel, I do believe she would smother my entire neighbourhood. She was built in Ireland – by fine, strong men like my father and William – and I am filled with admiration at the thought of mere mortals creating something so stupendous.

Florence grew restless, and so, reluctantly, I took her back to the hotel. It would soon be dark anyway.

“I was afraid you had toppled into the water,” Mrs Carstairs said apprehensively, upon my return.

Well, that
would
be unfortunate, as I do not know how to swim. “Florence wanted to linger,” I said.

Mrs Carstairs decided that it would be fun to play cards before bedtime – and was dismayed to find out that I know very few games. She pronounced that bridge would simply be out of the question, but quickly taught me how to play hearts. We did this for an hour or so – by which point I was winning more often than she might have liked. So she told me that it was time to retire, and I did not disagree, as I was eager to come in here and write down my thoughts.

But the hour is very late now, so I believe I will stop for the night.