It was a neighbour, Bridget Kelly who had pressed the bottle of holy water and a batch of oatmeal cakes into her hands.
‘For good fortune and sustenance on the journey ahead,’ she’d said, tears streaming down her rosy cheeks.
Maggie had thanked her and clutched the items to her as if her very life depended on it.
That final night’s combination of mirth and mourning was the culmination of weeks of exchanged visits, shared advice and intimacies, discussions about what clothing might be suitable for the journey, private farewells and moments of quiet, personal reflection. Maggie had seen enough tearful embraces on the doorsteps of their village to last her a lifetime.
‘I hope I never witness such a sight again,’ she’d said to Peggy, ‘wake, burial or otherwise.’
Not even a week had passed since that night, since she’d put that bottle of Holy Water into her coat pocket as she’d walked home across the fields with her Aunt Kathleen. It already seemed like a lifetime ago.
Approaching the crew quarters now, they spotted Harry leaning against the wall, waiting for them. They stopped running and slowed to a walk as they neared him. He certainly looked handsome in his smart, steward’s uniform. His face was pleasant, clean-shaven and friendly looking. Maggie wasn’t surprised that Peggy was sweet on him - it never surprised her when fellas were sweet on Peggy.
‘Right ladies, now you must keep very quiet and try not to gasp too much,’ he teased, leading them in the direction of the ladder. ‘You can be thrown off a ship you know for gawping at the first class ladies without permission!’
Maggie and Katie looked anxiously at each other, not entirely sure they wanted to take the risk.
‘Jesus Harry, would you stop,’ Peggy whispered, sensing the other girl’s hesitation and digging him in the ribs with her elbow. ‘You’ll have their hearts crossways, God love ‘em.’
He laughed and motioned to the narrow ladder, which led up through a small hatch several feet above them.
‘He’s only messin’ with ye,’ she continued, facing her two friends and smiling at Harry, pleased to be in on his joke. ‘Don’t mind him at all. Right, Maggie, you go up first, Katie you next and I’ll go last.’
Climbing up carefully, they emerged at the back of the first class promenade deck, poking their heads up through the hatch before hoisting themselves up onto the deck and scurrying behind one of the collapsible life rafts which kept them well hidden from view. They settled down into a crouch, their long skirts tucked up under their knees, their chins resting on their hands which grasped the edge of the life-raft for balance.
‘That’s the gentlemen only smoke room,’ Harry whispered, pointing to a room across the deck. The girls craned their necks to catch a glimpse of the handsome gentlemen who were sitting about in crimson leather chairs, smoking cigars as they read their newspapers or wandered around the room, chatting to friends as they admired the artwork on the walls or the painted glass panels in the windows which shone brilliantly in the sunlight streaming through them.
‘And that’s the Palm Court,’ Harry continued, enjoying his role of tour guide while keeping a good look out for Officers or other senior stewards who would not be at all pleased to see the group of them lurking in their hiding place. ‘See, there are proper palm trees and plants climbing the trellises. I bet you didn’t reckon on there being proper plants growing on a ship?!’
The girls were not at all interested in the flora, gazing wide-eyed at the elegant ladies who sat at the wicker chairs and poured tea from dazzling, silver pots into elegant china cups, the stunning cobalt blue and gold of the exclusive Titanic china glinting in the sunlight. Small, white vases of elegant pink roses and white daisies sat on each table, silver sugar tongs rested on dainty saucers next to succulent slices of fruit cake, the sight of which almost made the girls drool.
They watched in silent awe as three young ladies, about the same age as themselves, chatted and laughed at one of the tables nearest to them, their oriental-style, silk dresses draped elegantly over their slim, hourglass figures, ending just above the ankle to show their exquisite boots. At another table, a group of older ladies - possibly their mothers, Maggie thought - were equally elegant in their more reserved lace blouses with stylish, narrow sleeves and full length skirts. All the ladies, young and old, wore huge hats decorated with all manner of accessories; lace, feathers, satin, ribbons and stuffed birds. Maggie noticed a small boy behind them playing with a spinning top.
The three friends were stunned into silence by the splendour, grace and elegance of it all. It was as if they were watching their own, private silent movie, unable to hear the conversations, but able to admire the rich plums and teals, the soft pastel peach and pinks, the virginal white, every conceivable manner of fabric, colour and style which seemed to be sitting in that room.