Voices from the Titanic Page 5

  On the upper deck (C deck), which is the deck immediately below the promenade deck, the first-class accommodation has been increased also; and on the saloon deck (D deck) the reception room in connection with the dining saloon has been enlarged, and additional seating accommodation provided in the saloon.

  On the main deck (E deck) increased accommodation has been provided, and generally throughout the first-class accommodation as a large number of wardrobe rooms have been added, also the number of suites of rooms increased, and more state rooms with wardrobe rooms attached provided.

  (Cork Free Press, 9 April 1912)

  CHAPTER 2

  NEW YORK BOUND

  Harry Fairall, a thirty-two-year-old married man with three daughters, worked as a saloon steward on board the Titanic. He was planning to start a new life in America, and was going to send for his family when he was settled there. Before joining up with a skeleton crew in Belfast, he sent a postcard of the Titanic from Southampton, posted on 26 March 1912.

  Dear N. We leave the Dock Station at 2pm today. I will write from Belfast and tell you everything. Yours in haste. H.

  Mr Fairall’s wife was pregnant at the time and gave birth prematurely after the Titanic went down. The baby died six months later.

  Joseph Scarrott was born in Portsmouth in 1878. He had worked on a number of other White Star Line vessels, but when he signed on as an able seaman on the Titanic on 6 April 1912 (at wages of £5 per month), for the first time in his life he experienced a strange foreboding.

  The signing on seemed like a dream to me, and I could not believe I had done so, but the absence of my discharge book from my pocket convinced me. When I went to the docks that morning I had as much intention of applying for a job on the Big ‘Un, as we called her, as I had of going for a trip to the moon. I was assured of a job as a Q.M. on a Union Castle liner, also I was not in low water for ‘Bees and honey’. When I went home (36 Albert Road, Southampton) and told my sister what I had done, she called me a fool. Now this was the first and only time that she had shown disapproval of any ship I was going on. In fact she would not believe me until she found I was minus my discharge book.

  I was under orders to join the ship at 7am, Wednesday April 10, the time of sailing being 12.00 that morning. The trip was to be a ‘speed up’ trip, meaning that we were to go from Southampton to New York, unload, load and back again in sixteen days. Although it was unnecessary to take all my kit for this short trip, I did not seem to have the inclination to sort any of it out, and I pondered a lot in my mind whether I should join her or give it a miss. Now in the whole of my twenty-nine years of going to sea I have never had that feeling of hesitation that I experienced then, and I had worked aboard the Titanic when she came to Southampton from the builders, and I had the opportunity to inspect her from stem to stern. This I did, especially the crew quarters, and I must say that she was the finest ship I had ever seen.

  Wednesday 10. I decide I will go, but not with a good heart. Before leaving home I kissed my sister and said, ‘Goodbye’, and as I was leaving she called me back and asked why I had said, ‘Goodbye’ instead of my usual, ‘So long, see you again soon’. I told her I had not noticed saying it, neither had I. On my way to join the ship you can imagine how this incident stuck in my mind. On joining a ship all sailors have much the same routine. You go to your quarters, choose your bunk, and get the gear you require from your bag. Then you change into your uniform, and by that time you are called to muster by the Chief Officer. I took my bag but did not open it, nor did I get into uniform, and I went to muster and Fire and Boat Drill without my uniform. 11.45 a.m. Hands to stations for casting off. I am in the starboard watch, my station is aft, and I am still not in uniform. My actions and manners are the reverse of what they should be.

  (Southend Pier Review, Number 8, 1932)

  Mr and Mrs Edward W. Bill of Philadelphia were staying at London’s Hotel Cecil with the intention of travelling to Southampton to sail on the Titanic. But at the last minute Mrs Bill had a premonition of impending doom and the couple decided to sail on the Mauretania instead. On reaching New York safely, Mr Bill revealed:

  I had our rooms all picked out on the Titanic, and I told my wife that it would be interesting to be on the greatest ship in the world on her maiden trip. Mrs Bill was not very enthusiastic, and when I started for the White Star office to get the tickets, she begged me not to go. She said that she couldn’t tell why, but said she didn’t want to go on the Titanic. I had never known her to object to any plan of travel I suggested before, but this time she was immovably firm, and I yielded to her wishes reluctantly.

  Another who was afraid of sailing aboard the Titanic was Esther Hart, mother of seven-year-old Eva Hart.

  We went on the day on the boat train … I was seven, I had never seen a ship before. It looked very big … Everybody was very excited, we went down to the cabin and that’s when my mother said to my father that she had made up her mind quite firmly that she would not go to bed in that ship, she would sit up at night … she decided that she wouldn’t go to bed at night, and she didn’t.

  Cornish steward Harry Bristow wrote to his wife Ethel from Southampton on the day before sailing:

  Dearest Et, I have earned my first day’s pay on the Titanic and been paid and I may say spent it do you know dearie. I forgot about towels, also cloth brush so I’ve to buy two. My uniform will cost £117s 6d, coat plus waistcoat and cap and Star regulation collars and paper front (don’t laugh dearie it’s quite true) two white jackets etc, so it won’t leave me very much to take up. My pay is £3 15s plus tips. I’m in the first-class saloon so I may pick up a bit. I’ve been scrubbing the floor today in saloon, about a dozen of us. I lost myself a time or two, she is such an enormous size I expect it will take me a couple of trips before I begin to know my way about here. I believe we’re due back here again about the 4th next month. I am not sure though. I’ve to be aboard tomorrow morning 6 o’clock sharp, means turning out at 5am. You might send a letter to me addressed as envelope enclosed a day before we’re expected in so that I could have it directly I come ashore, now dearie with fondest love to boy and self and be brave as you always are, your ever loving Harry.

  Harry Bristow died in the sinking. His body was never identified.

  Southampton-born John Podesta, twenty-four, signed on as a fireman on the Titanic on monthly wages of £6. The morning of 10 April 1912 – sailing day – saw Podesta enjoy a last-minute drink in a Southampton public house with watch-mate William Nutbean and fellow firemen Alfred, Bertram and Thomas Slade.

  I got up on the morning of April 10th and made off down to the ship for eight o’clock muster, as is the case on all sailing days, which takes about an hour. As the ship is about to sail at about 12 o’clock noon, most of us firemen and trimmers go ashore again until sailing time. So off we went with several others I knew on my watch, which was 4 to 8. My watch-mate, whose name was William Nutbean, and I went off to our local public house for a drink in the Newcastle Hotel. We left about 11.15 making our way towards the docks. Having plenty of time we dropped into another pub called the Grapes, meeting several more ship-mates inside. So having another drink about six of us left about ten minutes to 12 and got well into the docks and towards the vessel. With me and my mate were three brothers named Slade.

  We were at the top of the main road and a passenger train was approaching from another part of the docks. I heard the Slades say, ‘Oh, let the train go by.’ But me and Nutbean crossed over and managed to board the liner. Being a long train, by the time it passed, the Slades were too late, and the gangway was down leaving them behind.

  THE DEPARTURE OF THE LINER FROM SOUTHAMPTON

  Viewed from Trafalgar Quay, in the brilliant setting of Southampton Water, under a blue sky flecked with fleecy clouds, and the ocean greyhounds of yesterday – the St Louis, the Oceanic, and many others – dwarfed in the near distance, the scene was tremendously impressive. Within the week Southampton has sent forth the two grea
test liners in the world – the Olympic and the Titanic – a record in itself.

  Never before in the history of the mercantile marine has so great a triumph of naval architecture as the Titanic left a port. So there was a new sensation in the occasion of this leviathan’s movement – a monster, towering to the flags above 160ft, deck over deck, and with a length of 876ft – as she rounded the Test Quay, majestically displayed her lines, and bore down on the Solent.

  An officer aboard told me that he had been on the Titanic four and a half days and, apart from his own sphere, knew very little about her. In three hours, having walked some six miles, new wonders and improvements revealing themselves in all directions, one was only able to take ‘samples’ of extraordinary interest in themselves, and of great importance to the ocean traveller. On the Titanic sunshine is being taken out. The gloom and depression of November’s fogs off the Banks have been annihilated. The first-class passenger sits down to dinner in the splendid saloon, with its windows of cathedral-grey glass, and the attendants switch on cunningly hidden electric lights on the outside. The effect is naturalness itself.

  One can engage for £870 the voyage a ‘private ocean trip’. There are honeymoon suites, with honeymoon decks set apart for the millionaire brides and bridegrooms of the future; state rooms decorated in every different style and period, with lovely, ample cot-beds in brass, mahogany, and oak; lounges decorated in Louis XVI style; verandahs with climbing plants and ramblers; real coal fires as well as hundreds of radiators; restaurants and cafés; reception-rooms upholstered in the daintiest silk, with gorgeous panels and richly carved cornices – the whole forming an impressive ensemble in perfect taste, satisfying to the eye.

  There were but 1,470 passengers, besides the 800 members of the crew and scores of attendants on board today, so that there was no crowding in any part of the vessel. Fully an hour before she sailed the gymnasium, in charge of a professional gymnast, was in working. On one side a lady was having a camel ride and recalling the delights of the Pyramids; in another corner there was a bicycle race; many passengers took their own weights on the automatic chairs, and some had a spin on the mechanical rowing machines. In the squash racquets court two Americans were ‘fighting the battle of their lives’ – it might have been at the Bath Club, so thoroughly at home did they look.

  In the third-class, or steerage, departments, the loveliest linen, glass and cutlery were displayed ready for luncheon, while the easy-chairs, card tables, pianos and settees reminded one of the first-class accommodation on many liners twenty years ago.

  But the most fascinating feature, perhaps, of the Titanic today was the trips of ‘discovery’ men and women set out to explore. They were shot into the depths by splendidly equipped electric lifts. They called at the post-office for a chat with the postmaster on the sorting arrangements. They wandered to the swimming baths and the luxurious Turkish saloons. They examined the kitchens, with their 21,000 dishes and plates, tons of silver and cutlery, and acres of glass and linen. They touched the pianos on every deck in every corner of advantage, or listened to the band; scanned the arrays of novels and more serious works in the libraries; and learnt all sorts of wonderful things about the electric buttons which control this 47,000-ton vessel, command its engines and its little army of services alike.

  At 11.45 the bells clanged. The visitors wandered down the gangways. Hatchways were closed. The tugs snorted, and the Titanic set out on her maiden trip. But scarcely had she moved 600 yards into the bay when it was evident that something unlooked for had occurred.

  Among the crowds still waving handkerchiefs there was a sudden silence. The gigantic triple expansion engines had begun to work. Nearby were the Oceanic and the New York – great vessels in their day – now dwarfed to comparative insignificance. Directly the huge screws of the Titanic began to revolve, the suction caused the seven great stern ropes of the New York to part, and the American liner’s stern swung round into midstream.

  All eyes were fixed on the New York. It looked as if there must be a collision; but, as a matter of fact, there was no real danger. The Titanic’s screws were stopped almost instantaneously, and the New York was towed to safety. Then the Titanic slowly sped down Southampton Water, the faces of her passengers peering at every nook of the seven tiers along the whole length of the liner, until she melted away in the distance, and her maiden voyage had begun.

  (The Standard, 10 April 1912)

  MAIDEN VOYAGE OF THE TITANIC

  The departure of the Titanic on her maiden voyage on Wednesday was marred by an untoward incident which caused considerable consternation among the hundreds of people gathered on the quay-side to witness the sailing of the largest vessel afloat. By some means or other the passing of the Titanic caused the New York to break away from her position alongside the Oceanic with the result that the Titanic and the New York narrowly missed colliding with each other. Fortunately, the captain of the tug Vulcan was able to take a rapid glance of the situation, and by his promptness and skill in manoeuvring he was able to hold the New York whilst the Titanic got clear, and a very dangerous episode ended with nothing more than a few broken ropes.

  Let it be said at once that the story that the Titanic was unmanageable, and that she was the reason for the incident, is absolutely untrue. As a matter of fact, she had got underway beautifully. It is doubtful whether the Olympic has ever cleared the new dock in such a splendid manner as did the Titanic on this occasion. From the moment she began to move from her berth in that dock she was under absolute control, and she passed out of the dock not only majestically, but also smoothly and calmly. If anything, she was proceeding more slowly than the Olympic usually does, and she turned her nose towards the sea with the greatest ease. It was a low but rising tide, with a fairly strong breeze, and if the officials anticipated any difficulty at all it was when she was making her exit from the new dock. But there was not the slightest difficulty. To the writer, who was standing on the quay at the time, the tugs appeared to be working magnificently, and once she had turned round and straightened herself for the Channel a few of the people standing by began to move homewards, some of them being heard to make exclamations of surprise at the ease with which a 46,000 ton steamer could be shaped for the sea.

  Indeed, matters were going so well that some of the tugs were able to slacken off. One or two, at least, had left the vessel, and were merely following in her wake until she had cleared the Dock head. But it was at this point that the trouble began. At berth No. 38 the Oceanic was moored to the quay-side, and the New York was moored to the Oceanic. Both those vessels have been laid up on account of the strike, and they were presumably moored alongside each other in order to save quay space. This system of mooring ships together is quite an old one, and no one apparently gave a thought to the possibility of anything happening on this occasion. We believe we are right in saying that the two vessels occupied exactly the same positions when the Titanic arrived at the port a week ago. In those circumstances it was, perhaps, forgivable that no one gave them a thought, but what happened will probably bring about an alteration when next a mammoth vessel leaves the port.

  It is difficult to convey a true impression of what actually occurred. All eyes were fixed on the Titanic; the New York was in nobody’s mind at the moment, but when the Titanic had almost got alongside the American Line’s vessel something began to happen which diverted attention to the New York. The Titanic had just begun to move her propellers, and she was practically in what is termed the ‘sea channel’. Without the slightest warning, the ropes which kept the New York in her position began to snap. It was suggested that the displacement of water by the Titanic had first of all had the effect of increasing the volume of water under and around the New York, with the result that the vessel was raised from her normal position, and her ropes were thus slackened. Then as the larger vessel passed on ahead the volume of water decreased in the vicinity of the New York, with the result that she suddenly reverted to her former position. This
caused too great a strain on the ropes, and they snapped as easily as a grocer snaps a piece of twine with his fingers. The Titanic was drawing the water behind her with considerable force, and as the New York was now helpless and unmanned, her stern began to move in the direction of the Titanic, that vessel being now broadside on.

  For the moment it seemed as if nothing could prevent a disastrous accident. We do not believe in using the ‘ifs’ too much, for the truth is often bad enough without any ‘might-have-beens’ tacked on, but it was only too plain to those on the quay-side that if the Titanic had touched the New York the latter vessel might easily have rammed the Oceanic, and the slightest touch on her stern must have sent her heavily into the Oceanic. Fortunately, however, the worst did not happen. Having got the Titanic fairly under way, a couple of tugs hung back, their portion of the work having been successfully accomplished. The two tugs were, however, proceeding along slowly near the stern of the Titanic, and when the New York began to move it was these tugs – the Vulcan and the Hercules – that went to the helpless ship. It was a smart bit of work. The Vulcan got to the New York in very quick time, and a rope was speedily put on board. As luck would have it, however, the first rope snapped, but in less time than it takes to tell another rope was thrown. This was made fast by some workmen who happened to be on the New York, and by a tremendous effort the vessel was kept from drifting on to the Titanic. The Hercules and the Vulcan concentrated their efforts on holding the New York whilst the Titanic was passing along, and they succeeded in their task.

  It was a narrow squeak. From the quay-side it seemed that there were not more than three or four feet between the two vessels. It was stated that the vessels actually touched, but this was not so. The movement of the New York was from the Oceanic towards the next berth – No. 37 – and when the Titanic finally passed down the Channel the ‘nose’ of the New York was pointing towards the Floating Bridge. Apparently all the tugs endeavoured to do was to hold her, and when the period of danger was past she was brought back to her berth alongside the Oceanic. During all this time there was a fear lest the Oceanic should also get adrift. There must have been a tremendous strain on her ropes, but they stood the test, much to the relief of the sightseers who had got on board.