I nodded, and rubbed my hand across my eyes, trying very hard not to cry. To my surprise, Mrs Carstairs dragged over a deck chair – by herself! – and sat next to me.
“My Frederick would have died, too,” she said. “With Thomas Prescott, and all of the others. And I would have been on that lifeboat, thinking that he would be perfectly fine.”
We were now safely on a ship, surrounded by widows; she was, indeed, lucky that Mr Carstairs had not made the voyage. We sat in silence, for there seemed to be little to say.
Then I let out my breath. “Thank you,” I said. “For I should have been in steerage.” And therefore, almost certainly would have also died in those icy waters.
Mrs Carstairs nodded, set Florence on my lap, and we sat there together without speaking for the rest of the afternoon.
Wednesday, 17th April 1912
Carpathia
We are supposed to arrive in New York tomorrow night. During the last couple of days, I have done little more than write and think, and think even more. I am not hungry; for the most part, I have not slept.
The Carpathia’s passengers have been uniformly sensitive and benevolent. They have donated clothes to those who have none, along with toothbrushes and other necessities. Some of them have even given up their beds! I decided that I would be more comfortable on the floor of the saloon, or outside on the deck. For those of us in that position, the ship provided steamer rugs and blankets to try to make us comfortable.
When my parents died in such quick succession, I thought my whole world had come to an end. I could not understand why they had died, or how life could be so cruel. And now I do not understand why I survived, when so many others did not.
And why did not every single lifeboat return to help our fellow human beings? Had we not already been so close, I do not think our boat would have gone back, either. People were too frightened, too confused, too self-protective to remember others. But we had room. All of the lifeboats did. Fear seems a paltry excuse. We were all afraid that night. I know I did not want to die, but neither did I want to abandon others to their helpless, frozen fate.
Although I suppose that is exactly what I did by virtue of taking my seat on Boat 4 in the first place. I abandoned Robert; I doomed complete strangers. I hope that I can work out some way to understand all of this. Why it happened, what could have prevented it, how to keep anything like this from ever taking place again.
Most of all, I hope I can learn how to forgive myself for still being alive when so many others are not.
Thursday, 18th April 1912
New York
We steamed into New York Harbour at 8.30 p.m., in the midst of a fierce thunderstorm. Somehow, given the circumstances, that seemed only fitting. Smaller boats surrounded us, and many of the bright flashes we saw came from cameras, not lightning. Then, when we finally berthed, I could see a tremendous crowd waiting for us on the pier.
Before we disembarked, I saw Mrs Carstairs making her way towards me. Awkwardly, she tried to hand me one of her typical wads of folded banknotes.
“Here,” she said. “I thought you might need this.”
I shook my head. “No, thank you. You have already done more than I deserve.”
“Take it, it’s a pittance,” she said, sounding impatient. “My address is there, too, if you need anything.”
I hesitated, but then slowly nodded and tucked the money into my pocket. I was about to land in a foreign country, with no idea of what was going to happen, or where I was going to go – and the few pounds I had had were now at the bottom of the ocean.
“Will your brother be here to meet you?” she asked.
Would he? “Yes,” I said, uncertainly. “Everything has been arranged.” Of course this was not true, but what did it matter?
She nodded, and then we looked at each other.
“It is not for us to know why we survived,” she said. “Try to remember that, Margaret.”
I hoped, very much, that that was true.
The gangways had been laid out now, and the first group of numb, tired passengers began to get off. When it came to be my turn, I followed those who had gone ahead, looking neither right nor left. It was a chaotic scene, as people searched for loved ones, and reporters rushed around with notepads, trying to get stories. I ignored all of this, only wanting to get off the pier and find a quiet place to sit down. Mrs Carstairs had located her son-in-law, and she offered to drive me to the railway station or a hotel, but I assured her that I was fine. I thanked her one last time, she shook my hand, and then I bent to give Florence a light kiss on top of her head.
That was the last time I saw them.
Once they had left, I stood alone in the frantic crowd, trying not to panic. Where was I going to go? I was in the middle of a strange city, with nothing more than the clothes on my back, and a few dollars. It was upsetting to have so many people swarming around me, and it took me quite some time to make it to a quiet street corner across the way. I wanted to sob loudly, but was afraid of drawing attention to myself.
Gradually, the crowds began to thin out. Every so often, someone would stop and ask me, eagerly, if I had been on the Titanic, and I would just shake my head. It was easier that way.
I had so hoped that William would be here, but I did not know where to start looking. For all I knew, he thought I had perished at sea. Maybe he had never even received the letter I sent from St Abernathy’s! I did not want to leave, in case he was here, but maybe I should try to find a room for the night. Then tomorrow I would have to work out some way to get to Boston.
Slowly, I got up and began to walk around a little more. I was still surrounded by strangers, and the whole scene was overwhelming. If I could just sleep for a while, maybe I would feel better and could think more clearly.
After all, this would not be the first time I had slept on the streets.
A woman standing by two tall bundles of apparently donated clothing asked me if I needed help, but I just shook my head. I have accepted far too much charity in my life, and no longer want to do so.
Ever.
I finally found a deserted bench, near the shipping office. At first, I just sat down, but when no one seemed to notice me, I stretched out and closed my eyes.
Maybe when – if? – the sun came up, I would know what to do.
I was almost asleep when I suddenly felt someone sit down next to me, and a hand touched my shoulder. I opened my eyes, terrified – and then recognized my brother.
“There you are,” William said, his eyes filling with tears. “I was worried sick.”
I began crying, too, and hugged him with what little strength I had left. William hugged back and I rested my head against his shoulder, not even noticing the pouring rain.
I was finally safe.
Friday, 19th April 1912
Somewhere between Boston and
New York
After a joyful reunion, William brought me to the small hotel where he had been staying for the last two days, hoping and praying that I would arrive soon. The White Star Line had insisted that I was on the survivor list, but he knew he would not believe it until he actually saw me.
He tucked me into bed, and brought me a ham sandwich and a cup of tea. I fell asleep before I could finish either, and did not wake up until almost noon. Once William was sure I was strong enough to travel, we went up to the railway station to get a train to Boston.
First, though, we posted Robert’s letter. I could only hope that it would give his mother some small comfort.
When our train was announced, William helped me board and put his coat over me as a blanket. I had not stopped shaking since the lifeboat, although I am not sure it had anything to do with cold temperatures.
“It’s a miracle that you got here, Margaret,” he said. “Everything will be all right now. I am going to rent us a bigger room, and with my salar
y, you can start school soon. I don’t want you to have to worry ever again.”
I just nodded, and leaned against him, too tired to respond.
Now we are riding along, and I do not even have enough energy to look out of the window. I am so very tired and sad. I do not even feel like writing now – and may never again.
Saturday, 20th April 1912
Charlestown, Massachusetts
I think this will be my last entry. Frankly, I am not sure there is anything left to say. The room is very nice, and we can divide it with a curtain for the time being, so we each have our own little room. William looks just wonderful – taller than ever, and full of confidence. I can tell that he is very happy here, and hope that one day I will also be happy again.
This morning, after breakfast, William sat back and looked at me for a few minutes.
“Are you ready to talk about it?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“All right,” he said, and cut me another slice of bread.
We spent the rest of the morning sitting quietly and sipping tea. There was no need for conversation; simply being together again was more than enough.
“William?” I asked finally.
He looked up from across the table.
“Would you mind terribly if we got a cat?” I asked.
He studied me for a moment, and then grinned at me. “We can get two,” he said.
Tomorrow, we plan to do just that.
It may be a trifling step forward, but it is a step regardless. Part of me would like to stay with my grief forever, but that would not do justice to the sacrifices that have been made on my behalf. As long as I live, I will never forget the great courage shown by Robert and so many others. I only hope that I can live up to their fine example.
I pray they are all at peace.
Epilogue
Margaret Anne Brady never once discussed her voyage on the Titanic in public – and also rarely mentioned the disaster in private. Throughout her life, she felt that the memories of those tragically lost were best served by a respectful silence. She also never completely forgave herself for surviving the tragedy.
She did permit William to read her diary, and then sent it on to Sister Catherine, who later returned it for safekeeping. Margaret completed her high school education in Boston, and then accepted a scholarship to Wellesley College.
Margaret and Sister Catherine never lost touch, and on two occasions Sister Catherine was actually persuaded to visit Margaret in the States. The only time Margaret ever returned to England was for her beloved mentor’s funeral in 1962.
Margaret also kept up a regular correspondence with Nora, who later emigrated to the United States with her new husband when she was nineteen. They had a joyous reunion, and Nora ended up settling in nearby Pawtucket, Rhode Island.
After their parting in New York, Margaret and Mrs Carstairs exchanged letters a couple of times, but never saw each other again.
When the Americans entered the First World War, William immediately volunteered to fight for his new country. He served valiantly until he was seriously wounded during a trench battle.
Margaret dropped out of college in order to devote her time to nursing him back to health and working to support them both. Although William ultimately recovered and got a job with the Boston Police Department, Margaret never returned to college. She did, however, continue reading voraciously.
In 1923 Margaret met a young history teacher named Stanley Ryan at a bookshop in Cambridge. They were married the following June, and spent the next 44 years laughing and arguing together. They had three children: Dorothy, Harriet and . . . Robert. Margaret devoted many long hours to volunteer work, helping disadvantaged youngsters in the Boston area, and she later ended up running a halfway house for unmarried mothers until her retirement in 1965.
During her life, Margaret occasionally boarded planes, and regularly took trains – but she refused to set foot on another boat ever again. Despite her many decades in America, she never lost her British accent, but to her surprise, she became extremely fond of coffee.
She died peacefully in her sleep in 1994, at the age of 95.
Historical note
It has now been a hundred years since the Titanic met her fate in the darkest depths of the North Atlantic. Although no survivors remain alive to tell the tale, the doomed liner is still a source of endless fascination and speculation for people all over the world. The Titanic is no less captivating in 2012 than when she was the largest ship that had ever been built, and such a technological marvel that even a conservative shipbuilder’s magazine raved that she was “practically unsinkable”.
In the years before the First World War, public confidence in England and America was at an all-time high. The era was dubbed the Edwardian Age after King Edward VII. A general air of complacent confidence prevailed. The Titanic, with her glittering passenger list, seemed like the ultimate example of human achievement in this optimistic time.
In 1912, the rich and famous were famous primarily because they were rich. Society events were reported in great detail in newspapers and magazines. Ordinary citizens enjoyed living vicariously through these reports.
There was also a very strong class system in effect. Upper-, middle- and lower-class people rarely came into contact with one another, and would never have interacted socially. Lower- (or working-) class people “knew their place”, and thought nothing of being ignored by those they considered to be their “betters”. By the same token, members of the upper class looked down upon anyone who was not at their level financially and socially. The upper class was also expected to “set a good example” for others, and this concept of “noblesse oblige” was generally accepted by everyone. Actually, the vast majority of people probably existed somewhere in the middle, but the two extremes got the most attention. These rigid notions of class were much stronger in England than they were in America, but they existed there too.
Throughout the early 1900s, technology and industry were booming. The international shipping business was a particularly competitive field. Speed and comfort were the two most important concerns for any passenger liner. Voyages that had once taken months could now, because of powerful steam engines, be completed in less than a week. As a result, a number of companies were vying to dominate the business. The two best known were the Cunard Line and the White Star Line, which was run by International Mercantile Marine (IMM).
In 1907, Cunard was probably the most successful, with their impressive new ships, the Lusitania and the Mauretania. J Bruce Ismay and William James Pirrie, two top IMM executives, decided to meet that challenge by building the three biggest ships in the entire world. They would be called the Olympic, the Titanic, and the Gigantic. The Harland and Wolff shipyard in Belfast, Ireland, was commissioned to do the job. The Olympic was launched, to great fanfare, in 1911, and the Titanic was to sail on her maiden voyage a year later.
The plan was for the new White Star ships to offer weekly passages from Southampton, England, to New York City. They would be fast, they would be dependable, and they would offer remarkably pleasant sailing experiences.
The Titanic was just over 290 metres (882 feet) long and 30 metres (92.5 feet) wide. This length translates to a third of a kilometre or about a sixth of a mile! She stood well over 30 metres (100 feet) tall, which is the equivalent of 11 storeys in a building. She had nine decks, three propellers, and weighed more than 45,000 tonnes. The decks ranged from the Boat Deck all the way down to the boiler rooms in the bowels of the ship. She was equipped with a total of 20 lifeboats, which exceeded the admittedly minimal standards of the day. Most impressively, the ship had been designed to have 16 watertight compartments in its hull, all of which could be closed individually with the mere flip of a switch. This made the ship unusually safe.
She had a number of features never before seen on an ocean liner, including a swimming
pool, Turkish baths, a squash court, a gymnasium and several restaurants. The ship even had lifts! Second-class accommodation was equivalent to first class on other ships, and the conditions in third class (also known as steerage) were unusually pleasant.
As a Royal Mail Steamer (RMS), the Titanic obviously carried countless sacks of letters and postcards. Some of her other cargo and provisions included 40 tonnes of potatoes, 34,000 kilograms (75,000 pounds) of fresh meat, 2,700 litres (600 gallons) of condensed milk, 15,000 bottles of beer, five grand pianos, a marmalade machine, and 12 cases of ostrich feathers.
The Titanic also had a crew of approximately 900 (though many of these numbers have never been accurately established). The crew was broken down into three categories: the Deck Crew, the Engineering Crew, and the Victualling Crew. These various workers included the Purser, the Marconi wireless radio operators, the saloon and bedroom stewards, postal workers, cooks, bakers, firemen, engineers, stewardesses, and, of course, the eight members of the band.
The passenger list included many famous celebrities, including one of the richest men in the world, John Jacob Astor, and his second wife. Other well-known passengers were J Bruce Ismay, the Managing Director of the White Star Line; Thomas Andrews of Harland and Wolff, who had designed the ship; Mrs JJ Brown, known as “the Unsinkable Molly Brown”; Isidor Straus, who had founded the famous Macy’s department store in New York, and his wife; and Major Archibald Butt, who was the US President’s top military aide.
Of the estimated 1,320 passengers, many, of course, were not famous at all. While the first class was mainly comprised of socialites, along with their maids and valets, the second – and third-class passengers were more conventional. Second-class passengers were predominantly successful professionals, including teachers, middle-class families and businessmen. The third-class passengers tended to be immigrants on their way to America to make new lives for themselves. Many of them were Irish or Italian, but other nationalities were represented too.
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