The Girl Who Came Home - a Titanic Novel

by Hazel Gaynor

  ‘Of course I won’t read it. Them’s your words written down and it’s none of my business what you’re saying or who you’re sayin’ it to. The Marconi boys will have to read it though y’know, in order to send it. You did know that?’

  He looked at Maggie, feeling for her embarrassment.

  ‘Jesus, you daft eejit, of course I know that,’ she replied, cuffing him on the shoulder. ‘And thanks for it. For helping me, like. Are you sure they won’t be needin’ the money, ‘cos I don’t have that many shillings with me.’

  ‘They’ll do it as a favour to a friend,’ Harry replied. ‘Now don’t be worrying about it. I said I’d help you and I will. I’ll take it up to them straightaway. Now, get lost all of you, I’ve your lunch to get ready!’

  The girls walked back to their cabin, chattering and commenting about what they had just seen.

  ‘Imagine girls,’ Peggy whispered. ‘If we work hard and marry well, we might sail back to Ireland on Titanic one day and sit among those ladies on that veranda. What about it eh? Wouldn’t that be a fine thing?’

  ‘It would Peggy,’ Katie replied wistfully. ‘It certainly would for sure. But for now, a full belly, clean hands and a game of rummy on the deck of one of the finest ships ever to sail the Atlantic ain’t too bad for three colleens from Ballysheen now is it?!’

  Laughing, they dashed past the Uilleann piper who was walking back to his cabin. ‘Mornin’ ladies,’ he announced, raising his cap to them. ‘And fine form ye all seem to be in today.’

  ‘It’s my birthday,’ Katie shouted as they ran past him, ‘and what better place to be celebrating it eh Mister Daly?’

  He smiled; their good humour infectious. ‘No better place indeed Miss,’ he replied. ‘No better place at all.

  CHAPTER 18

  For a few rare moments, Maggie found herself alone in the cabin. She was enjoying life on board the ship more than she thought she would, but sometimes it overwhelmed her. There was so much noise all the time, from the baby bawling where it lay in its suitcase in the cabin next door, to the constant drone of the engines and the endless fall of footsteps rushing along the corridor outside their cabin; crew and passengers coming and going at all hours of the day and night. They were noises Maggie wasn’t used to and she found it exhausting at times, yearning for the pitch blackness and total quiet of her familiar cottage bedroom.

  When her aunt, Peggy and Katie were occupied elsewhere on the ship, as they were now, Maggie often took the chance to return to the cabin for some peace and quiet. She used the time to write in her journal or to read one of the letters from the packet Séamus had given to her. She had read three of the letters so far, one for each day she’d been on the boat. In the letters, he had written about the times they had spent together; the first three letters covering the months of January last year, when they had first danced together and on then to February and March. She’d been surprised by the tenderness of his writing and at how vividly he recalled the details of their time together during those months.

  She took the packet from her coat pocket now, carefully untying the piece of string which held the bundle of letters together. She took out the piece of paper at the front, marked ‘April’ and unfolded it. The noises outside her cabin walls faded into the background and a silence enveloped her as she began to read.

  April 1911

  Dear Maggie,

  It is April now and the spring is here. I know this is your favourite month what with the cherry blossoms in full bloom. They are a mighty spectacle alright – I’d barely noticed them before, but now I can see them for all their loveliness, as you do.

  I stood and watched you for a while today. You didn’t know I was there, but I hid myself behind the barrels which were being loaded off the wagon outside D’Arcy’s. I watched you under the blossom tree as the drayman hoisted the barrels onto the ground and rolled them past me into the hatch of the cellar. I’m sure he thought I was in trouble and hiding from someone, not watching my lovely cailín.

  You looked mighty pretty so you did with your curls all blowing in the wind and the petals falling about you. You were sitting on the grass with your back leant against the tree and you closed your eyes. I wondered if you were thinking of me.

  Then Peggy Madden came up and she gave you a fright and you were after almost leaping off the ground. She said something to make you laugh before she went on her way, swinging her basket from her arm, the fellas all gawping at her as they do.

  I thought to myself ‘they can gawp away, I’ve a girl lovelier and prettier than any other in the whole of Ballysheen – in the whole of Ireland’ and I was so pleased that you were waiting for me under that tree and not just taking a rest or waiting for some other fella.

  When you saw me walking over to you, you smiled, like you always do, getting those dimples in your cheeks. We went strolling then, down to the lake and threw stones and you picked some flowers for me to take back to Da. When we walked back, you put your arm in mine and leant your head on my shoulder and told me that this had been your favourite day and that you wished all days could be like this; warm and happy and the blossom blowing in the breeze. I thought I would burst I was so happy at that moment and if I could make that day happen for you again and again Maggie Murphy, I truly would.

  Yours,

  Séamus

  As with the previous three letters, he had ended with the words I will wait for you under the sixth blossom tree until you come back.

  Maggie held the letter in hands for a few moments longer, letting the tears roll down her cheeks before carefully folding it and placing it back into the packet along with the others and returning it to her coat pocket. She would read another letter tomorrow.

  She turned to write in her journal then.

  Private journal of Maggie Murphy

  14th April, 1912

  Day 4 at sea

  I can hardly believe that this is already our fourth day at sea. I sometimes feel like we will never be off this ship or away from the grey ocean - the lush fields of home seem far distant now. I’ve been wondering what my legs will feel like when they’re back on dry land. They say that sailors sway in their sleep for a while after returning from sea, what a strange feeling that will be!

  There was to be a lifeboat drill at eleven o’clock today but it was cancelled. Jack Brennan says it must be because of the cold – ‘probably too cold for the rich folk to be up on deck’ he said. Aunt Kathleen has asked a steward for extra blankets for the beds tonight after we were waking up cold last night. Harry told me that most of the spare blankets are being used by the First Class ladies to keep their knees warm while they sit on the decks in the sunshine. I suppose us steerage will just have to freeze to death then.

  After the service this morning Harry took us up a special crew ladder to the upper deck. He’s so bold – he could have got himself into a right bother of trouble if anyone had caught us, but what a sight we saw from our hiding place behind a life raft; the ladies taking tea and the gentlemen smoking their cigars. I think it took Peggy every bit of control in her body not to run straight up to one of them and ask them to marry her then and there. They really do live among such luxury up there I wouldn’t wonder if some of them never want to leave the ship at all.

  I watched a little boy for a while who was playing with a spinning top. He was dressed all nicely in a cap and jacket and short trousers with long black stockings to keep his legs warm. A white teddy bear was on a deck chair near to him – I think it must have belonged to him. A few men stood about the deck and watched him – he made quite a sight being so engrossed in his little game, but I didn’t see his parents anywhere nearby. I should think they were too busy taking their tea and talking with their rich friends to pay much notice of his little games. I felt sorry for him and would have liked to play with him myself for a while. He had a nice little face.

  I have given my message for Séamus to Harry. He says he’ll make sure it gets sent today. He reckons on it reaching Sé
amus within a week – imagine what he’ll think – a message from a ship in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean! It’ll be the talk of Ballysheen without a doubt.

  Hearing the unmistakable voices of Peggy and Katie chatting enthusiastically as they came towards the cabin, she put her pen down and closed the book. Her few moments of solitude were over.

  CHAPTER 19 - New York, 14th April, 1912

  It had been a hard day’s work for Catherine Kenny and her plans to head to Macy’s to buy a birthday gift for her sister Katie now seemed thoroughly unappealing.

  Her employer, Emily Walker-Brown, was in full flow preparing for the home-coming of her daughter Vivienne and her fiancé Robert after their vacation in southern Italy for the past two months. Robert was a film financier Vivienne had met through the studio and after filming on her latest movie wrapped at the end of January, Robert had proposed and they’d taken themselves off to enjoy a little winter sunshine on the continent, the Italian Riviera seeming to be the perfect spot for a young, well-connected American couple.

  As Catherine was well aware, having overheard many a conversation in the Walker-Brown household, Vivienne was greatly interested in anything European, finding the ladies so elegant and the countries so interesting. ‘New York may boast the highest buildings and the finest jewellery store and department store in the world,’ she’d heard Vivienne proclaim over tea one afternoon, ‘but that is nothing compared to the beautiful, cobbled streets of a mediaeval Italian town or the frescoes on the Sistine chapel. So much more culture. So much more elegance than this stinking hell hole.’

  Vivienne was a well-travelled, well-connected young lady who had educated herself in European culture and prided herself on the fact. She found most of New York’s other society ladies dully misinformed and tired easily of their endless talk of millinery and couture. These things interested Vivienne as a passing amusement, but they didn’t engage her for long. When the chance of a winter in Italy came along, she grasped the opportunity with both hands and literally dragged her fiancée to the docks to board their steam liner.

  According to Mrs Walker-Brown, whose conversations Catherine also frequently overheard as she went about her business in the house, the studio had contacted Vivienne by telegram recently, stating that they required her back in America to start filming her next movie as soon as possible. With her holiday cut short, Vivienne was preparing herself to be mildly annoyed when the opportunity arose to travel back to New York on the White Star Line’s new ship, Titanic, and on her maiden voyage nonetheless. This was an opportunity to mingle among America’s richest and most influential businessmen and was not to be missed.

  Robert had booked their first class tickets immediately; they would travel from Cherbourg in France along with their colleagues the Astor’s and the Guggenheim’s who had also been vacationing on the continent. They had sent a telegram home immediately informing Mrs Walker-Brown of their plans to return home and boasting of their having secured tickets for Titanic, nonetheless.

  ‘Imagine it,’ Mrs Walker-Brown declared as she’d recounted the story to one of her luncheon friends. ‘They will be the first to ever sail on Titanic, and amid such luxury! They say her bedrooms are finer than the Waldorf-Astoria and that she has the finest of modern conveniences with electric ovens and a heated bathing pool and six course dinners every evening. The ladies are even permitted exclusive use of the gymnasium for several hours a day; I fear Vivienne may have cause to visit the gymnasium if she is dining so well for seven days at sea!’

  Anyone who was anyone in New York society was talking about Titanic that week. With so many influential businessmen and so much wealth sailing aboard, it was very much a case of feeling distinctly envious if you were not among it and distinctly delighted if you were.

  For herself, Mrs Walker-Brown was enjoying the opportunity to boast of her daughter’s participation in Titanic’s maiden voyage, making reference to it at every possible opportunity; while lunching with the ladies, while having her hair styled, while paying for her groceries and while informing her domestics of their duties for the day. Catherine Kenny had heard so much about this magnificent ship, relayed through Vivienne’s telegrams to her mother and, in turn, through her mother’s incessant gossiping; had heard all about its fancy trimmings and its important passengers that she almost felt she was sailing on it as a first class passenger herself. She had ventured to tell Mrs Walker-Brown that, as far as she was aware, her own sister Katie was also travelling on the ship, along with thirteen others from her home town in Ireland.

  ‘Oh, that’s nice isn’t it,’ her employer had responded, barely acknowledging the fact. Catherine suspected Mrs Walker-Brown felt that there was little comparison to be made between the luxury in which her daughter would be surrounded during her journey on Titanic and the distinct lack of luxury surrounding her sister’s own Titanic experience.

  Catherine knew that Emily Walker-Brown was extremely proud of her daughter’s achievements and hoped that she and Robert would settle on a date for their wedding soon after returning to America. Vivienne was Emily’s only daughter and she was so thrilled about the impending wedding that she’d already settled on the hat she would wear as the mother-of-the-bride. She’d shown it to Catherine in the pages of Harper’s Bazaar magazine. It was in a photograph of the First Lady, Helen Herron Taft. She was wearing the hat on the occasion of a cherry blossom tree planting ceremony in Washington. She was pictured planting one of the three thousand trees which had been donated to the city by the Mayor of Tokyo, the blossom petals falling around her as she elegantly placed some soil around the foot of the tree.

  ‘Isn’t it wonderful,’ Mrs Walker-Brown had enthused in a rare moment of personal communication with her employee. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a hat quite as exquisite and all that blossom falling around her reminds me of confetti. As soon as I saw that picture I knew that it was this very hat I would wear at Vivienne and Robert’s wedding.’

  True to her word, she had tracked down the designer and all the necessary details and had ordered the exact same hat. It was waiting for collection in Bloomingdales. All she needed now was the occasion to wear it and it was her intention that before the summer was out a date would be fixed and before the year was out, the hat would, finally, be introduced to her head.

  She had kept her domestic employees busy all that week and with Vivienne sending a message to inform her mother that they now expected to dock in New York in just two days’ time, the house was a hive of activity.

  Being a widow, Emily placed more emphasis than perhaps some other mothers would on her daughter’s presence in the family home and she busied herself now, planning for welcome home parties and bridge evenings with the ladies and dinners for the studio executives and their wives. Having been socially dormant over the winter months, there was a renewed vigour to her which ensured that after a days’ work, her home was left gleaming and her employees where left exhausted.

  Before she finished up for the day, and sensing that her employer was in more jovial mood than usual, Catherine decided to ask Mrs Walker-Brown’s opinion about a suitable birthday gift for Katie. ‘I’m thinking it would be nice to buy her something small from Macy’s,’ she explained. ‘This being her first time in New York, and it being the largest department store in the world. But I was wondering, since you have such impeccable taste yourself, what you might suggest as a nice gift for her.’

  Clearly flattered, Emily Walker-Brown suggested gloves. ‘No lady should be without a decent pair and Macy’s has a wonderful selection of the finest styles. You are aware, of course, that Isidor and Ida Straus are traveling on Titanic also.’ Catherine looked blankly at her, having no idea who Isidor and Ida Straus were. ‘The owner of Macy’s department store and his wife!’ Emily Walker-Brown continued, condescendingly. ‘So, I think, considering that your sister will have celebrated her birthday aboard the very same ship that the owner of the store is sailing on himself, a gift from Macy’s would be entirely appropr
iate. Entirely appropriate indeed. Yes, I should settle on gloves.’

  Catherine resisted the temptation to inform her employer that she was sure Katie couldn’t care less whether the owner of Macy’s was sailing on Titanic or not, and thanked her for her advice before requesting permission to leave for the day. It was given.

  Despite her exhaustion, Catherine set out in the direction of 151 West, 34th Street. A short while later, she emerged from the store, delighted with her purchase of a pair of white, cotton gloves, elegantly presented in the traditional Macy’s packaging; a white box with a red star in the centre.

  Katie Kenny looked at her dinner plate, admiring the White Star Line emblem in the centre of the plain, white plate; a red, swallowtail flag with a white star in the centre. The same, by now familiar, detailing appeared on her coffee mug and soup bowl. It was little things like this which continually surprised and delighted her; the logo of the ship’s owners stamped onto every knife, fork and spoon, the woven blankets on their beds – red with white detailing and the distinctive White Star Line star and lettering in the centre. It was a level of attention to the absolute last detail which she had not encountered before and had certainly not expected on a steerage ticket.

  As Peggy started up another chorus of ‘Happy Birthday to You’ encouraging half the passengers to join in (having done the same at breakfast and lunch), Katie smiled, delighted at the fuss and attention she was getting. She’d already had a good gawp at the First Class passengers and some of their fancy rooms and Harry had brought a tray of cakes to the cabin a little earlier, the like of which Katie had never seen before, all fancy little tarts and buns and delicate slices of madeira cake.