Forget Me Not (11 page)

“An Irish jig will warm us.” Thomas pushed back from the rail and turned his back on the ocean to face the
Titanic
. Her lights blazed and steam rose from three of her four funnels. “She truly is a magnificent sight. No mansion in the world could be finer.”

Hugh stopped at the capstan. “Did you read her description in the newspapers?”

Thomas nodded. “A floating palace.”

A bell right above their heads pealed three times.

Hugh laughed when Thomas jumped. “That surprised you.” He slapped his friend’s shoulder. “Come on, old chap, let’s go.”

As they stepped off the forecastle deck, the
Titanic
lurched, causing them to stumble into each other.

“Glory, that was just about as rough as the tender,” said Hugh.

Thomas regained his balance and frowned. “Has she stalled?”

Hugh shook his head. “I declare she’s going backwards, no, she’s turning.”

A sharp cry rang through the frigid air. “Iceberg!”

“Here’s sport,” said Hugh, and squinted hard into the blackness. “Can’t see a thing, can you?”

At that moment the giant shape became visible.

Thomas felt his mouth drop open.

“Bloody hell,” said Hugh, drawing out each word. “That thing is monstrous.”

The girl who they’d seen on the forecastle deck screamed. “We’re going to hit!”

Thomas was unable to tear his eyes away from the sight. The ship kept turning. Did he imagine it, or were panicked voices coming from behind him on the bridge?

“She’ll miss for sure,” said Hugh, but Thomas could hear the fear in his voice.

Behind them someone called out, “We’re clear.”

As Thomas breathed out, a scraping, ripping sound filled the air and ice shards smashed to the deck. The
Titanic
gave the slightest shudder.

“Look at the size of those pieces,” said Hugh. He pushed aside one that was as big as his boot.

Thomas glanced at the ice but continued to stare at the iceberg. It glided along the starboard side of the boat, shining bright in the
Titanic
’s lights.

Several young men from steerage rushed towards Thomas and Hugh. One bumped into Thomas, tearing his attention from the massive iceberg. The steerage fellows kicked a chunk of ice between them as though it was soccer ball.

“Fancy a game?” asked the taller one.

But Thomas was frozen to the spot. “The ship’s stopped.”

We live but in the present
,
The future is unknown;
Tomorrow is a mystery
,
Today is all our own
.
Father James Hyland, Southampton, 8/04/1912

I woke with a start and sat up in bed, banging my head on the ceiling. Now, as well as a racing heart and a sweaty back, my head hurt. I listened hard to Mother and Bea’s deep, regular breathing. I lay down again, convinced I’d been woken by another bad dream and basked in the silence. As I rolled onto my side, I froze. Where was the distant hum of the
Titanic
’s engines?

I eased out from between the sheets, lowered myself to the floor and snatched up my shawl. With slow, steady steps, I crept to the door and opened it. The passageway was empty. And quiet.

I crept across to Father and Thomas’s cabin and rapped on the door. Silence. I knocked louder, but still no response.

A steward hurried down the passageway.

“Excuse me,” I asked. “Do you have the time?”

His frown deepened, as though I had asked him the most difficult question. He consulted his fob watch then snapped it shut. “It’s a quarter to midnight, miss.” He hurried on towards the stairs.

“Is everything all right?” I called after him.

“Oh, yes, miss. Nothing to worry about. Go back to bed.”

“But the engines have stopped.”

“Return to your cabin, miss. You’ll be informed if there’s a problem.” He disappeared around a corner.

I stared at the space where he had been for a moment, then hurried back to our cabin, but not to sleep. I needed to dress and investigate for myself.

Though the
Titanic
had stopped, a growing number of men from third class kicked a chunk of ice around the deck. They laughed and cheered, hipping and shouldering each other out of the way in the crush for the ice ball.

“News travels fast on a ship,” said Thomas. He was desperate to hide the unease churning in his belly from Hugh.

“Thomas.” Hugh had to yell to be heard over the ice-soccer cheers and jeers. “Perhaps it would be prudent to ask a steward if there is a problem.”

“Don’t be daft, boy,” said the soccer player closest to them. The man’s undershirt was rolled to his elbows, despite the cold. “What problem could an iceberg cause this magnificent ship?” The man ran forwards to meet the diminishing ice ball sliding towards him.

“He has a point,” said Thomas.

Hugh nodded to the bridge above. Stern-faced sailors gathered behind the glass. They stood and listened to another sailor, then rushed in different directions.

“That doesn’t look good,” said Hugh. “Perhaps that iceberg damaged the ship.”

“Yes, but it will only slow us down. Remember, the
Titanic
is unsinkable.” The words sounded thin and hollow to Thomas.

A sailor ran to the ship’s rail and leaned over the edge. He gave a low whistle.

“Excuse me.” Thomas was surprised at the tremor in his voice. “That iceberg …”

The sailor turned, his brow furrowed. “Where are your families, boys?”

“Our fathers are in the smoking room and our mothers and sisters have retired,” said Hugh.

“Then I suggest you collect your fathers and go to your mothers’ cabins. At once.”

“Did the iceberg hit?” asked Hugh.

The sailor stepped closer to them and lowered his voice. “Mind you go calmly, boys. There’s to be no panic.” He jogged back to the stairs.

Fear swooped in Thomas’s stomach. The soccer players continued to whistle and cheer.

“Shall we go?’ said Hugh. He smiled, but his eyes had none of their usual sparkle.

Despite the fear nibbling inside Thomas, he couldn’t believe anything serious could happen to the
Titanic
. “How about we visit steerage first. What harm could it do?’

Hugh’s frowned, as though he was trying to make up his mind. “How about we speak to our fathers and then go to steerage?”

Thomas looked back at the bridge. “I suppose. But then we go straight to steerage.”

Old friends are better than new ones
Old faces are always the best –
But a heart that battles with sorrow
,
Is better than all the rest
.
Alice Evelyn Gilmore, RMS
Titanic
, 12/04/1912

With the cabin door ajar, I dressed in my blouse, shirt and boots. Mother and Bea didn’t stir, even though I twice stumbled into the wall. I wrapped my shawl around my shoulders, crept into the passage and ran to the stairwell, taking two stairs at a time to the promenade deck.

The air pricked my face like icy needle points. I gathered the shawl to my cheeks and went first to the port rail. Before me the ocean was smooth and the sky still black and covered with stars. On the deck a couple huddled on deckchairs, lost in their own company. Two other couples, about Mother and Father’s age, chatted near the first-class division. Everything appeared to be normal, and yet, something inside me screamed it was far from it.

Shivering, I trotted to the starboard side. The same black ocean, sky and stars, but no people. I returned to the stairwell, determined to explore forward of the ship, even if it meant going through first-class areas.

The people I passed were either too engrossed in conversation or in too much of a hurry to notice me. The few stewards I saw rushed by with determined faces. The covered first-class promenade was deserted. By the time I reached the open section overlooking the forecastle deck, my hands and face were burning with cold. I tucked my hands under my shawl and I leaned over the rail. Below, a steerage passenger kicked something. Others cheered. It took me a moment to realise their ball was in fact a lump of ice and their playing field was strewn with ice shards.

Beyond them several sailors leaned over the
Titanic
’s rail, peering into the darkness below.

I turned back the way I’d come, but this time I ran. I had to rouse Mother and Bea.

Monday, April 15, 1912
DAY SIX

Thomas and Hugh peered through the open door into the smoking room. Father, Mr Worthington and two other gentlemen puffed cigars and sipped brandy.

A steward stepped in front of Hugh and Thomas. “Listen, laddies, this no place for children.”

“We’re here to see our fathers on an urgent matter,” said Hugh.

The steward’s eyes narrowed.

“The ship has stopped,” added Thomas. “A sailor told us to collect our fathers and return to our cabins.”

“It’s not unusual for a ship to stop in this cold weather.” The steward didn’t look at either boy. “It’s just a precaution, in case of icebergs.”

“Or the ship has stopped because an iceberg scraped her hull. We were on the shelter deck, near the bow,” said Thomas.

The steward leaned close to them. “There’s to be no panic, understand? If I send your fathers over, you will not speak of this until you reach the landing. Do I make myself clear?”

“So it did scrape the hull,” whispered Thomas. The fear he’d been trying to ignore engulfed him. His legs felt weak.

“Yes, but this ship has watertight compartments and cannot possibly sink. Now, where are your fathers?”

Hugh pointed out Father and Mr Worthington.

“Wait here.” The steward bent to speak to Father, who looked up at Thomas. Thomas hoped his father would realise he would only enter the smoking room if the matter was urgent.

Father placed his cigar in the ashtray and murmured to Mr Worthington. Both men excused themselves and crossed the room to Thomas and Hugh.

“Thomas, what is the problem?” asked Father.

Thomas took a breath to steady himself. “The
Titanic
hit an iceberg,” he whispered the word. “Hugh and I were up on deck; we saw it. A sailor inspecting the damage told us to find you and go to mother’s cabin.”

Father looked at Mr Worthington, eyes wide.

“And that steward just confirmed to us that the iceberg scraped the hull,” continued Hugh.

The same steward appeared beside them. “Please take the conversation outside. Quietly and without fuss.”

“Is it true? Has the ship hit an iceberg?” asked Father.

The steward pursed his lips. “Outside, if you please.”

“What about everyone else?” asked Mr Worthington, his voice tight.

“They’ll be moved on in good time, sir. Now, kindly move on.”

Thomas, Hugh and their fathers left the smoking room and stood in the space at the foot of the stairwell.

“An iceberg?” said Father. “And you are certain, Thomas?”

“Absolutely. We both saw it.”

“It was enormous, Mr Gilmore,” said Hugh. “There was ice all over the deck.”

A gentleman with a harried expression and carrying a notebook rushed past them.

“Excuse me, Andrews,” called Father after him.

The man with the notebook came back to join them. “How can I help you?” His accent was Irish.

Father introduced Hugh, Thomas and Mr Worthington to Thomas Andrews. Thomas recognised the name at once. Mr Andrews was the
Titanic
’s designer.

“Forgive the intrusion,” said Father, “but our boys told us the ship has hit an iceberg. They saw it.”

Mr Andrews sighed. “What I’m about to tell you is very grave and I need you to act without panic.”

“So it’s true,” said Mr Worthington.

“Yes, I’m afraid so. If you have family in cabins, I suggest you collect them without delay and take them straight to the boat-deck.”

“You are certain that is necessary?” asked Father.

“Absolutely.”

“Mr Andrews, how bad is the damage?” asked Thomas.

“I’m afraid the iceberg you saw has fatally damaged the
Titanic
.”

“Fatally?” repeated Hugh.

“But she won’t sink,” said Father. “The
Titanic
is unsinkable, everybody says so.”

“I assure you, sir, this ship will founder,” said Mr Andrews, his face stricken.

“And you’re certain?” whispered Thomas.

“Completely, son, the
Titanic
will sink. Collect your life jackets and your loved ones and position yourselves near a lifeboat.” He rubbed his forehead. “There’s no time to waste.”

“Very well.” Father shook Mr Andrew’s hand. “Thank you for your candour.”

Mr Andrews had only taken a few stairs when Father raced after him. After a brief conversation, Mr Andrews continued on his way, his face twisted in a deep frown. Father returned to where Hugh, Thomas and Mr Worthington waited.

“Best we go to our wives and daughters then, Henry,” said Father.

Mr Worthington cleared his throat. “Indeed.”

There is so much good in the worst of us
And so much bad in the best of us
That it hardly behoves any of us
To talk about the rest of us
.
Your loving father, Edward Gilmore,
RMS
Titanic
, 12/04/1912

“Mother, wake up.” I shook her shoulder. “Please, Mother, wake up.”

She rolled to face me. “Whatever is wrong, Evelyn?” She lifted her arm to shield her eyes from the light. “Gracious, you’re dressed. And why are you flushed and breathless? What is going on?”

“Something is very wrong, Mother. You need to dress, right away. I’ll wake Bea.”

Mother threw back the covers and sat up.

“Hurry, Mother. The ship has stopped and there’s ice on the forward deck.”

“Evelyn, calm yourself, ” Mother said. “Change back into your nightgown and return to bed, at once.”

I folded my arms. “I am not hysterical.” In fact, I felt quite clear-headed.

Bea stirred in her bed. “What’s wrong?”

I crossed the room. “Come on, Bea. We’re going on an adventure.” I kept my voice gentle and calm, even though inside everything twisted with fear.