The Girl Who Came Home - a Titanic Novel

by Hazel Gaynor

  He gave her a few moments to look over the items, smiling at her delight. ‘Is it them?’ he ventured after a while.

  ‘I really think it is, yes. They’re just as my great-grandmother described them to me. It’s amazing. They’re so old. I can’t believe they’ve survived all this time.’

  ‘Well, my great uncle was a bit of a hoarder by all accounts. There is also this,’ he continued, passing Grace another piece of paper. ‘It’s a letter he wrote to go with the items. It explains how he came about them and what he wanted to be done with them.’

  Grace took the envelope from him.

  ‘Go on, open it. I hope you don’t mind but I’ve read it – I had to, you see, to check whether there were any specific instructions. It’s fascinating stuff.’

  Grace took the piece of paper and unfolded it. Staring at the wonderfully old-fashioned script on the page she started to read.

  April 28th, 1912

  This coat and packet of letters belong to a Miss Maggie Murphy. She is a seventeen-year-old girl who travelled with her aunt and several others from a town in Ireland. They boarded Titanic at Queenstown in County Cork and I was their dining saloon steward. I got to know the girl Maggie, and some of the others she was travelling with, and had arranged for a Marconigram message to be sent from the ship from Maggie to her sweetheart back in Ireland.

  When Titanic sank on the night of April 15th after hitting an iceberg, Maggie was rescued in lifeboat 16, which I was commanded to man by one of the ship’s officers. We were rescued by the steam ship Carpathia at dawn the following morning after eight hours drifting in the freezing cold. Maggie was suffering terribly and was lifted out of the lifeboat onto Carpathia barely conscious.

  She had been given lend of a coat by one of the other passengers in the lifeboat; a yank actress, Vivienne Walker-Brown, as Maggie’s own coat was damp with the water and was making her shiver.

  When the Carpathia arrived in New York, we first docked at the White Star Line pier to unload the lifeboats from Titanic which had been hauled aboard the rescue ship. As lifeboat 16 was being lowered, I saw a black coat in the bottom and grabbed it, remembering that it belonged to the Irish girl. When I discovered the packet of letters in the pocket I suspected that these were important to her, and that she must have taken them from her suitcase before leaving her cabin.

  In an attempt to get the coat and packet of letters back to her (which I have never read), I visited some of the hospitals in New York which I knew had taken survivors. Being in reasonably good health myself, I was not admitted to hospital and was taken in by the Salvation Army until my employer, the White Star Line, could find accommodation for me in the city.

  I was told at the St Vincent’s Hospital that a Maggie Murphy and a Peggy Madden had been admitted, but had been discharged earlier that day. I had no idea where they might be travelling onto, other than that Peggy, who I had become quite friendly with on the ship, was travelling on to St. Louis. I have a mind to try and track her down when we have all had chance to recover from our ordeal.

  Unable to find Maggie, I have kept her coat which bears a set of rosary beads in one pocket and the packet of letters and some browned cherry blossom petals in the other. I assume the letters are very important to her so I will keep them until such time as I might be able to find her, or her friend Peggy.

  I don’t want to write about Titanic or what happened that night. I just want the haunting sounds and images to leave my mind and I swear that I will never set foot on a ship again for as long as I live.

  If, in time, this letter and the coat and letters belonging to Maggie are returned to her, please pass on my regards. She was a very brave young lady and I will never know how she must have felt stepping into that lifeboat, leaving those she was travelling with standing on the deck of the boat which we then watched sink to the bottom of the sea.

  Whatever happens, I hope she goes on to live a very happy life and that she manages to return to her sweetheart in Ireland. From what little she told me about him, I think she must have loved him very, very much and I think he must have loved her equally.

  I would like to declare here in writing that I have never read the letters as I consider them to be a private matter for Maggie’s eyes only. I thank God that we are safe and it would make me a very happy man indeed to see the letters reunited with their rightful owner.

  Written by Harry Walsh (of sound mind),

  New York

  America

  Grace folded the page up and placed it carefully onto the table. For a while she couldn’t speak.

  ‘Incredible, isn’t it,’ Mr Lockey said. ‘You must keep the letter and give it to your great-grandmother. I hope she will be happy to know how Harry came to have her letters.’

  ‘What was he like, your uncle,’ Grace asked, interested to hear more about this young man who had risked so much to save lives and whose integrity was such that throughout his life, he had kept Maggie’s possessions in the hope that he would one day find her.

  ‘Ah, Uncle Harry!” Mr Lockey chuckled, ‘Lucky Uncle Harry – the man with a permanent twinkle in his eye, a plan up his sleeve and a spring in his step. He was like a second father to me, so I was extremely fond of him – where oh where do I start?!’

  For the next two hours Grace absorbed every detail of Harry’s life – how he had been so traumatised by the events of that night and by the loss of so many of his colleagues from Southampton that he refused to ever step foot on a boat again and had found employment with the Cunard line in the offices (‘the safest place to work for a steamship company’ he’d said), unable to bear the sight of the White Star Line swallowtail flag. She heard how his mother was frantic waiting for news of his fate and how she’d stood for days at the docks in Southampton, along with hundreds of other weeping mothers and wives, refusing to leave until she knew what had become of her beloved son. She listened as Mr Lockey told her how Harry’s parents and sister had eventually travelled to New York to start a new life with him, how his father’s health improved and allowed him to work again at the docks and how his mother had become a very influential figure at the Salvation Army, helping those less fortunate than herself. She listened with amazement at how Harry had spent two years trying to track down the girl Peggy Madden who he was sweet on, only to discover her just before the outbreak of war and then to lose contact with her again. How, by the time he returned from war and made his way to her home in St. Louis again, Peggy was married with two children. How, apparently she had laughed when she saw him standing in the driveway and swore that if she didn’t love her husband so much she would have run off with him there and then because he was the most persistent man she had ever met! How they became firm friends, keeping in contact until he was an old man and how he had never married, saying that he would rather be happy and alone than be with anyone other than the Irish girl who filled his dreams every night.

  Grace found herself wiping away the tears by the time Mr Lockey had finished his stories of his wonderful uncle. ‘It’s such a shame,’ she said. ‘If only he hadn’t gone off to the war? If only he’d got to the hospital earlier the day the girls were discharged, he might have been able to form a relationship with Peggy sooner or hand the coat and letters back to Maggie himself.’

  ‘Ah yes, but then we could also say ‘if only the Titanic hadn’t sunk. If only that iceberg hadn’t been in a direct collision course with the ship. If only the lookouts in the crow’s nest had a pair of binoculars.’ Harry was a great believer in getting on with the hand life dealt you. He never once felt sorry for himself. He often said that someone had given him a second chance in life and that while he sat in that lifeboat waiting for the rescue ship, he promised God, and himself, that he would make the most of that second chance. He believed he was the luckiest man alive after escaping from that ship.’

  They fell silent for a moment then, each reflecting on everything they had shared and on the connection between them.

  ‘Well, I guess I
’ve taken up enough of your time Mr Lockey – I’d better head back to the car and free my Mom! Thank you so, so much – for everything. You’ve no idea what this will mean to Maggie,’ Grace said, gathering her belongings. ‘So many strange things have happened since Maggie told me about being on Titanic. It would almost make you think that the ship doesn’t want to be forgotten - wherever it is.’

  They parted with a brief embrace and Grace thought for a moment about her father and how she missed that feeling of comfort and protection. The man left then and she sat for a while longer, stirring the cold remnants of the coffee in the bottom of her cup, wondering how Maggie would feel when she saw her coat and letters after all these years.

  ‘I met someone yesterday Maggie,’ Grace ventured, as she made tea in Maggie’s small kitchen. She waited for a response. There was none. Her great-grandmother was flicking through the TV channels. ‘Well,’ she continued, placing the teapot, cups and a packet of biscuits on a tray and carrying them through to the small sitting room. ‘Don’t you want to know who?’

  ‘Of course I want to know who,’ Maggie replied, shifting herself to a more upright position in her chair, ‘but only after you’ve found a nice plate for those biscuits and set them out properly. Did I teach you nothing, girl?’ she sighed, waving her hand dismissively across the poorly presented tea tray.

  Grace laughed and went back through to the kitchen. ‘What is it about you and plates of biscuits anyway Maggie? We’re never going to eat a whole plateful are we?’

  ‘That’s not the point,’ the old woman chided. ‘If something’s worth doing, then it’s worth doing properly, even if it is only offering a biscuit with a cup of tea.’

  Grace arranged the biscuits neatly on one of Maggie’s ‘fancy plates’ as she called them and sat down opposite her.

  ‘And,’ Maggie continued, ‘I saw them do it on the Titanic and I promised myself that when I got to America, I would always serve my biscuits as nicely. So, who did you see anyway?’

  Grace was almost afraid to tell Maggie about the letters, unsure of stirring up memories which she had clearly spent a lifetime trying to forget. She poured the tea. ‘Well, I met a very, very nice gentleman called Edward Lockey.’

  ‘Do I know him?’

  ‘Well, no. Not exactly. But he knows someone who did know you.’ Grace paused and looked into Maggie’s eyes. She could tell she was interested. ‘He read my article in the newspaper and contacted me because he recognised the name Maggie Murphy.’

  ‘Oh? How? No one has called me Maggie Murphy for years and years.’

  ‘Well, you’re not going to believe this, but his uncle was on Titanic too.’ At this Maggie raised her eyes again, her interest piqued. ‘His uncle was a third class dining saloon steward,’ Grace continued. ‘His name was Harry Walsh.’

  CHAPTER 35

  Maggie’s hands flew to her cheeks and a gasp came from her core. She sat forward in her chair.

  ‘The Harry? Harry Walsh? Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes! I know - it’s unbelievable isn’t it? That Mr Lockey happened to read the article about you and that he also had a relative on Titanic who, it turns out, you knew - out of all those thousands of people.’

  Maggie was lost in thought. ‘He saved my life you know Grace. I would never have got off that boat if it wasn’t for him. He took us to the ladder you see and……’

  Grace leant forward and placed her hands on Maggie’s. ‘I know Maggie. I know.’ She wanted to try and calm her down before she revealed the next bombshell. ‘But that’s not all.’

  The old lady looked at her, wide-eyed. ‘What? What else?’

  ‘Well, sadly Harry isn’t alive anymore.’

  She paused then, giving her great-grandmother a moment to register this fact. ‘Really? Oh, that’s sad. That’s very sad. He was such a nice young man. I so hope he had a happy life.’

  ‘He did Maggie. A very happy life. He lived to the grand old age of ninety - and he left something very important to his nephew in his will. That is why Mr Lockey contacted me, because he wanted to return it to its rightful owner.’ She paused and reached for the coat and packet of letters from her bag beside her. ‘He wanted you to have these Maggie.’

  She handed the items to Maggie.

  She recognised them instantly. ‘This is my coat, and these….’ She turned the packet over and over in her hands, lightly touching the brown paper and the fraying piece of string. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘It can’t be.’

  Grace explained as briefly as she could about Edward Lockey and how Harry came to have the letters. ‘They were in your coat pocket Maggie. Harry found the coat when the Titanic lifeboats were lowered into the White Star dock from the Carpathia when it reached New York. He’d gone to look for lifeboat sixteen to remove the R.M.S Titanic ensign as a souvenir for his father. He noticed the black coat in the bottom of the boat and remembered it was yours. He tried to find you on the Carpathia and again in the hospitals in New York but he couldn’t find you. He kept hold of the letters all those years in the hope that he would someday find you. And now he has.’

  Grace wasn’t sure whether Maggie had heard a word she’d said. She sat quietly, turning the packet of letters over and over in her hands and rubbing her fingers along the handwritten ‘Maggie’ on the front.

  ‘Will I leave you to read them?’ she asked, sensing that Maggie would like some privacy.

  ‘Yes,’ Maggie whispered, her voice barely audible above the sound of the breeze whipping around the trees in the garden outside. ‘Yes, please. I think I’d like to read them alone.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure you’re not going to get too upset? Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?’

  Maggie smiled ‘I’ll be fine. It will be nice to see the familiar handwriting again and finally I’ll see what was written all those years ago. Now go. I’ll be perfectly fine.’

  Reluctantly Grace gathered her bag to leave. ‘Well, OK then, if you’re sure. I’ll call round tomorrow morning. I haven’t forgotten what day it is. Will we visit the cemetery first and then go for afternoon tea?’

  ‘Yes dear. That would be lovely. I’ll see you at ten as usual.’

  With that Grace kissed Maggie on the cheek and let herself out.

  It wasn’t until Maggie heard the car pulling out of the driveway that she untied the string and took the letters from the packet. The paper was yellowing and stained in places with what she assumed to be sea water, but overall the letters were in excellent condition considering what they had been through and how long ago they were written.

  Harry must have taken extremely good care of them, she thought to herself, smiling at the memory of the handsome young steward and his strange, southern English accent.

  She read first through the letter from Harry which accompanied the packet of letters and explained how he came to have them in his possession. She felt as though she were back on the ship; back in that lifeboat.

  Steeling herself for what she was about to read, she opened the first few letters, the ones she had read while sitting in her bunk bed in cabin 115 on Titanic. She had thought it the grandest cabin imaginable at the time. Seeing the letters again she could almost feel the vibrations from the massive engines which gently rocked their cabin.

  She studied the letters carefully, enjoying the sight of Séamus’s simple handwriting. Smiling at the memories the evoked she then started to read the letters she hadn’t previously read. Her heart leapt and soared at the words they contained, just as it had that first night she had danced with Séamus at the Brennan’s wedding.

  October 1911

  It’s autumn now Maggie. I can hardly believe I’ve been lucky enough to spend the whole spring and summer with you. Sometimes I think I will wake up from a long dream! We’ve all been busy with the potato harvest these last few weeks so we haven’t had much time to see each other - but I’ve your face in my head all the time – I’m happy even to see a peek of those curls under your hat from across the market
. I sometimes think I’d like to cut one from your hair and keep it for myself – that way I’ll always remember how your hair shone in the autumn sun – but I think you look loveliest when they fall about your face so I wouldn’t want to take one from you. Some of the lads in the village tease me about you and ask me about being with a girl. I just tell them to get away out o’ that and mind their own. I wish everyone could know how it feels to be with you, then they would know why I walk around like a drunken eejit all the time!

  November 1911

  You told me today that you’d written to your aunt Kathleen in America to see whether she’ll be coming home for the Christmas. I know you’d like to see her, but I can’t help but be worryin that she’ll come and want to be taking you back to America with her. What with all her fancy notions of life there and all her talk of there being nothing to keep a young woman in Ireland, I’m afraid she’ll take you away from me Maggie. I hope I’m wrong. I don’t know what would become of me if you left.

  December 1911

  Do you remember the snow Maggie? The drifts against the fences and walls are as big as some as the houses. I haven’t seen you for days and days what with the roads and tracks being blocked up. I’ve never seen snow like it in my life and neither has Da. He says when it snows like this, it means there’ll be a change coming in the New Year. I asked him what sort of a change. He just said ‘a change’. I’m worried for his health. The cold air makes him cough something awful day and night. He coughs so hard sometimes I think his lungs will burst out of his stomach altogether. I am miserable sitting in the cold cottage, listening to Da’s retching and not seeing you. I can’t imagine what life would be without you now Maggie. You make me so happy I sometimes feel like the biggest fool the way I fuss and moon over you so. I hope I didn’t embarrass you when I told you that I loved you. Because I do, you see. Very, very much and I feel better for letting you know it.