The Girl Who Came Home(15)

‘Did you ever hear of Titanic Grace?’

Grace put her glass down on the floor, sensing the significance and importance in Maggie’s tone of voice.

‘Of course I have. Everyone’s heard of Titanic. Why?’

‘It sank seventy years ago today you know.’

‘Really? What, actually today? April 15th? So, I was born on the anniversary of Titanic sinking? Wow, that’s quite cool. I didn’t realise that.’ She was just about to call over her mother to share this revelation about her birth date when Maggie put her hand firmly on Grace’s arm.

‘Do you know how I remember that date so well Grace?’

‘How?’ Grace stared intently into Maggie’s glassy eyes. The very air around them seemed to still for a moment. The hairs stood up on the back of Grace’s neck.

‘I was there. I was on Titanic.’ Maggie paused then, the relief and shock of saying this out loud seeming to shake her to her core. Grace was speechless.

‘You were there? On Titanic?’

‘Yes dear.’ Grace took hold of Maggie’s hands as she continued to speak in a quiet, almost whisper, as if afraid to let the words leave her mouth. ‘Fourteen of us from our small parish in Ireland boarded that magnificent ship Grace,’ she continued. ‘Fourteen of us.’ She looked down at her hands then, unable to look her great-granddaughter in the eyes. ‘Over fifteen hundred people died on that ship you know. I was one of the lucky ones. I got the last seat on the last lifeboat thanks to a man who helped me.’ She looked down at the ground then. ‘I often wonder what happened to him.’

Grace watched her closely, seeing something different now in this incredible lady who she’d known all her life only as Great Nana Maggie, not as a Titanic survivor.

‘And what about the other thirteen? What about them?’

The scent of camellia washed over the room as the breeze strengthened outside. Maggie looked at Grace and took a long, deep breath.





CHAPTER 5 - Private Journal of Maggie Murphy





Queenstown, Co. Cork

10th April, 1912





At last we are arrived in Queenstown. At times I thought we would never get here, the journey across the Windy Gap in the traps seeming to take forever and then the endless train journey from Castlebar – Lord! I lost count of how many times we changed trains at this station and that station - it’s a wonder we didn’t lose any of our luggage on the way, we were in and out of so many carriages. We nearly did lose Pat Brogan – he’d fallen asleep what with the rocking motion and all, and nearly didn’t get off at Limerick. Thank the Lord for Maura Brennan’s quick counting up and noticing we were one short or God only knows where he would be by now!

Other than that, nothing much happened on the train journey, other than a lot of weeping and sniffling, the girls missing their mammies and all. We didn’t talk to each other much which was a strange thing as we’d usually never be short of a joke or a story or a song. We was all too busy thinking our private thoughts and watching the fields fly past the windows. I saw a hare dart across one field, startled by the noise of the engine, and a hawk hovering above another. I wonder whether they have hares and hawks in America? I honestly don’t know.

Peggy was the only one to make any sort of a noise on the journey to Claremorris, getting a fit of the giggles at the sight of a fat woman trying to get something down from the luggage rack. She kept falling backwards and forwards and sideways with the movement of the train – she looked drunk so she did! Kathleen chided her for sniggering and said it was poor manners.

We was starving by the time we reached Cork and were glad of Mrs Brogan’s oatcakes and Aunt Kathleen’s soda bread. It’s strange to think that she baked that bread in our kitchen just this morning. I can hardly remember what our kitchen looks like it seems such an age since I was standing there.

By the time we boarded the train to Queenstown, most of the weeping had stopped. Katie cheered us with her songs and Jack Brennan took to playing cards with Michael Kelly – he told me he thought it might stop the young lad’s mind from dwelling too much on home. I’ve watched Pat take the sovereign out of his pocket a few times. His mam gave it to him this morning as a good luck token but he dropped it as he climbed into the trap – I saw it and I know some of the others did too, but we all pretended not to notice and he hasn’t talked of it. I know what he’s after thinking though as he turns it over and over in his hands because it’s bad luck to drop a sovereign.

Queenstown is a strange town. I’ve never seen a place like it in my life. There wasn’t a spare inch of space around the train station without a person or a cart or a horse or a piece of luggage on it - half of Ireland seems to have come here tonight. The sea air feels damp on my skin and there’s an awful, foul stench of salt or seaweed or something hanging over the place. It makes me feel like I want to be sick. The seagulls make a horrible noise, a sort of shrieking cry, like a bawling baby. It makes the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.