‘
Quite probably,’ she replied. ‘But maybe if you sail far enough on those ships of yours, the world might just reveal a woman good enough for you Harry Daniel Walsh.’
As he laid on his bed now, the sound of Titanic’s twenty nine massive engines droning in the background, sending the now familiar vibrations through his spine, he wondered if he might have found her after all, a woman who was good enough for him and his mother. At least he’d found out her name now, Peggy Madden, and he knew that she was going to stay with her sister in St. Louis, Missouri. He also knew that she’d bought her new hat and gloves especially for the journey and that she liked it when he admired them. He had three, maybe four more days to get to know her a little better, to impress her and possibly pluck up the courage to ask her to take a stroll with him on the promenade deck between his shifts; either that or he’d have to be making a trip to St. Louis, Missouri himself, wherever that might be.
He remembered then that it was their friend Katie’s birthday the following day and wondered if he might be able to sneak the girls up the ladder as a bit of a birthday treat.
He and some of the other Third Class crew had been told of the ladder which gave quick access to the upper decks. They’d been creeping up it over the last few days to spy on the fancy ladies taking luncheon in the Parisian style café or walking their tiny little dogs on the promenade deck before afternoon tea. They’d watched the men reclining in comfortable chairs sharing a cigar and discussing matters of important business. He’d even seen Captain Smith and Mr Ismay strolling casually along the promenade deck together, deep in conversation. How proud they must have been walking among their passengers, seeming like Gods or Kings in their command of such a vessel.
Apart from the limited view he’d snatched with his own eyes from his precarious grip on the ladder, Harry had, of course, seen some of the luxury of the First Class accommodations up close and he’d taken great delight in regaling the Irish girls with his tales of the elegant Reading Room and the painted glass windows of the Smoking Room, the cascading sweep of the Grand Staircase and of the Turkish baths, heated swimming pool, gym and barbers (the latter of which he hadn’t seen himself, but had heard talk of). It never ceased to amaze him to think that some people travelling on this ship would experience more luxury and a better standard of living in the seven or so days it would take to reach America than all the people down in steerage would experience in a lifetime. How Peggy and her friends would gawp if they could see it for themselves, he thought, laughing and decided to bring them up for a quick look the next day.
The morning of Sunday 14th April started early for Harry as usual, with the breakfast to prepare and four hundred hungry passengers to feed. He paid particular attention to his Irish girls, as he had done for the last three mornings.
‘
Now ladies,’ he whispered conspiratorially as he served them their herrings, ‘there’s a religious service after breakfast today, to be held in the first class dining room for all passengers. I take it you’ll be making your way up, to gawp at the ladies and flutter your eyelashes at the eligible bachelors?’
‘
The nerve of ‘im,’ Peggy replied as she shook out her napkin. ‘We will of course be goin’, but only because we are good, God fearin’ women and wish to take part in the praying an’ all, isn’t that right girls?’ They giggled. ‘Anyway, it’ll be them posh folk who are gawpin’ at us with our fancy clothes and me with mi fine hat and proper ladies gloves!’
Kathleen Kenny had been observing the girls’ friendliness with the steward over the last few days, mindful of stories she’d heard about crew taking advantage of young girls who were lonely and vulnerable on the transatlantic liners. They were in especially high spirits that morning with it being Katie Kenny’s birthday and she was growing distinctly uncomfortable with how flippant they were becoming.
‘
Peggy Madden,’ she hissed in a stern voice, leaning across the table purposefully. ‘I do not think it is very proper for a young lady to be so friendly with a steward. You’d do well to be doin’ a little less talkin’ and a bit more eatin’.’ The girls looked down at their plates and started to eat quietly. ‘And mind you pay attention at the service this mornin’ too, it wouldn’t do any one of you any harm to be doin’ a lot more prayin’ either.’
Her seriousness caused the girls the giggle and they continued to eat their breakfast in silence, kicking each other under the solid, wooden table, trying desperately to avoid looking at each other for fear of starting another fit of the giggles.
Not wanting to get them into any more trouble, Harry went about his work without saying another word to the girls but as they were leaving the dining room, he drew Maggie to one side, making sure that her aunt was well out of sight, and earshot.
He was fond of the girl Maggie. He’d learnt that she was the youngest in the Irish party and felt a little protective of her. She reminded him of his sister Sally with her giggles and her auburn curls. But she also had an air of constant sadness about her and he wondered why she seemed so uncertain about this journey when the other girls - although they spoke fondly about their families back home - were clearly excited about the prospect of settling in America.
‘
Listen, I know a back staircase which goes right up to the upper decks,’ he whispered to her, taking her arm and pulling her gently to one side of the door so the other passengers could get past them. ‘If you want to have a look later with your friends, meet me near the engine rooms after the service.’ He smiled at her and winked.
‘
Right so,’ she replied, winking back. ‘Oh and I wanted to ask you somethin’,’ she added, lowering her voice and colouring a little in the cheeks.
‘
Yeah? What is it? I don’t think I’m going to be able to get you upgraded to a First Class Stateroom y’know!’
Maggie laughed. ‘No, it’s nothin’ like that. It’s just that my cousin Pat tells me you’re quite friendly with the Marconi telegram boys. I was after wonderin’ if you’d be able to help me send a message. Y’know, to home like?’
‘
Yeah, I know them alright,’ he replied. ‘Is it a message to your Mam?’
Maggie shuffled her feet. ‘Erm, no it ain’t for mi Ma. I’m not sure what sort of’ service those telegram fellas are offerin’, but I doubt they’re up for sendin’ messages to heaven now are they?’
Harry looked at his own feet now, annoyed with himself for being so stupid. ‘Oh bloody hell Miss. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.’
‘
It’s alright. Ye weren’t to know. Anyway, would it be alright d’ye think? To send somethin’? Even if it’s not for mi dead Ma?’ She smiled shyly up at him.
‘
Yeah, I’m sure I can get something sorted out for you. Write it all down on a piece of paper and keep it short. Pass it to me later. I’ll see what I can do.’
Maggie smiled warmly, delighted at the prospect of sending a note to someone back home, whoever it was, and thanked him several times before scurrying off to catch up with her friends. She passed her cousin Pat who had stopped to check the ship’s log again.
‘
What’s the report today then Pat,’ she teased, finding his fascination with the speed of the ship and the conditions of the sea quite amusing for a boy who had never been near the ocean in all his life.
‘
It’s a calm sea, 22 knots and icebergs ahead,’ he replied.
‘
And is that good, or bad?’ she asked. ‘The knots and the calmness an’ all?’
‘
Well, it’s mainly good.’ He laughed at his young cousin’s naivety. ‘We’re almost going full speed. Some are sayin’ we might be in New York a full day ahead of schedule and that would be the fastest crossin’ of the Atlantic there’s ever been! The ships have to watch out for the icebergs though,’ he added. ‘One of the crewmen told me that some of them can be so big you could probably spot them from Ireland on a clear day.’ He whistled at the thought. ‘Anyway, come on, we’ve got to get on our Sunday best for this Mass.’
They both laughed then, knowing full well that they were already wearing their Sunday best, it being the same as they had worn the day before and the day before that.
CHAPTER
16 - R.M.S Titanic, 14
th
April, 1912
As they ascended the main staircase towards the upper decks, Kathleen Kenny reminded everyone to have proper manners about them during the service and not to be staring at the ladies and gentlemen. She was a woman of immense pride and stood staunchly by her heritage and her people, proud of who she was and where she had come from and not in the least bit inclined to apologise for the class of ticket she was travelling on, or impressed by those who were travelling on a more expensive one.
During her years living in Chicago, Kathleen had heard plenty of stories about the upper classes in society, many of them involving some sort of scandal or wrong-doing. As far as she could gather, theirs may appear to be a life of luxury and indulgent happiness from the outside, but more often than not, there was a litany of family trouble, business trouble or other sorts of trouble bubbling away underneath the glossy, coiffed exteriors; the sort of trouble which, in her estimation, tends to come about when people have too much money to spend and too much time on their hands to find ways in which to spend it.
During the religious service however, she was unable to prevent her eyes from wandering, being drawn to the scene around her. Despite her stoical disregard for anything fashionable or excessive, she was as fascinated as everyone else who had come up from the lower levels of the ship, taking in the extravagant opulence of the dining room with its rich, oak panelling, creamy white frescoed ceiling, Persian-carpet styled linoleum flooring and the heavy crystal chandeliers which the motion of the ship caused to sway ever so slightly above their heads. It was a degree of luxury she could never have imagined, matched only by the fur coats and extraordinary hats and exquisite jewellery which adorned the ladies standing towards the front of the room. It was like nothing she had ever seen before and she momentarily forgot that she was standing on a ship which was steaming across the Atlantic Ocean.
As Captain Smith conducted the service and led them in prayer from the ship’s own prayer book, Kathleen’s thoughts turned to those in Ireland. She was well aware that many of the mothers and fathers left behind felt that it was her influence which had encouraged their sons and daughters to make this journey. They were partly correct and she made no apology for the fact.
Aside from coming back to spend Christmas with family and friends and to collect her niece, her time back in Ireland that winter had given Kathleen Murphy the perfect opportunity to spread her message about a better life overseas. She’d already told her niece that they would travel to America together in the spring and as the months since her return passed by, her influence and conviction was having an impact on a number of families. Serious discussions were taking place behind closed doors, finances were being considered, and letters to relatives already overseas were being written, expressing intentions to travel. By the time the last of the snow had melted from the thatched roofs of their homes, many in Ballysheen were seriously considering the prospect of a passage to America.
Kathleen was no fool and was well aware that among some of the parishioners she was not a popular woman, having somehow offended them with her ‘American ways’ and her insistence that there was a better life waiting for them and their children in the New World. She knew that they considered her to have airs and graces above her station and that with all her talk of a better life she was in some way insulting their own. But this didn’t trouble her too much; she knew that the people who had made this journey, who stood next to her now in this extravagant room, would never look back; would always be grateful that they’d listened to her advice and had the courage to leave the familiar and try the new.
As she sang the unfamiliar hymns of the Captain’s choosing she glanced around the congregation. In front of her she saw people she already recognised as fellow passengers from steerage, people she’d shared a conversation or a game of cards with over the last few days. There were all manner of people; others from towns and counties in Ireland, families from Finland and Russia and young men and women from all over England and America. The social aspect to this journey had surprised her. She would normally keep very much to her own company on a transatlantic crossing, but there seemed to be a different atmosphere about this ship entirely and she was almost enjoying the evenings after dinner when they would congregate in the general room.
To her left stood Maggie, now almost as tall as herself and developing into a fine woman.
It was hard to believe that she was just a nine year old girl when Kathleen had first arrived back in Ballysheen with her cases and her fashionable skirts. With the girl’s mother and father dead from the scarlet fever, Kathleen had taken it upon herself, as her brother’s sister, to raise Maggie and her two siblings. Despite her rather stern nature, woman and child had formed a close bond over the years, Maggie responding well to the conviction, determination and direction her aunt had brought to her and her grieving siblings’ lives and Kathleen enjoying the sense of purpose the four young girls gave to hers, although she would never have admitted that to anyone, hardly daring to admit it to herself.
Looking down the row to her left and her right, she saw the
familiar faces of the
other Ballysheen men and women.
They were indeed a large group, all travelling together, and she was certain that every one of them felt comforted and reassured to have so many familiar faces around them. She considered them now, knowing the personal motivations of each for making this journey;
each of them with their own reason for leaving Ireland, each of them with a relative in America eagerly awaiting their arrival and each of them with a relative in Ireland mourning their departure.