The Girl Who Came Home(6)

‘Eddie Collins? But he doesn’t even drink ale.’

‘Well, apparently he does now. And quite good at it he is too by all accounts.’ They both laughed. ‘Anyway, we can’t stand here gawping at her all day,’ Billy continued, nudging his friend in the back. ‘There might be some idiots still propping up the bar, but I don’t suspect Captain Smith will be best pleased with anyone who turns up drunk, or late, to report for duty on his ship. Come on.’

The two friends moved through the swarming crowds, unable to take their eyes off the massive ship as they pushed and shoved their way towards the Crew Assembly point. Around the ship there was frantic activity; men hefting heavy mailbags onto their shoulders and walking with them up the temporary gangways, the pale white hulls of Titanic’s lifeboats swaying gently high above their heads; passengers with their hats on their laps and overcoats placed casually over their arms were sitting about on piles and piles of luggage and crates, sharing a cigar, playing cards or chatting about the journey ahead; a lone bugler on the pier playing almost as if to himself; porters sharing cigarettes and a joke as they waited to transfer luggage; seven or eight men raising the passenger gangway from the dockside, others leaning out of a large, square door in the ship several feet above, shouting instructions to those below and hoisting the ropes to secure the gangway at the top; signal lamps being inspected by port officials and officers who recorded their notes in important forms attached to clipboards. It was a chaotic sight, but somehow organised in its apparent madness.

Reaching the Crew Assembly Point, they joined the line of men ahead of them. They were mostly familiar faces, a mixture of young and old, friends and neighbours who nodded to each other or exchanged a friendly embrace. For some, this would be the last time they would sail in their career before retirement, for others it was their first transatlantic crossing and for all there was a shared sense of relief to be working again and an unspoken excitement about the prospect of sailing on this, the biggest and most luxurious ocean liner ever built.

At the front of the queue, several of Titanic’s officers processed the crew member’s details. Harry added his signature to the sign-on list, noting his previous voyage details of Majestic, 1911, First Saloon Steward. Second Mate Lightoller passed him his steward’s badge as he added Harry’s details to the Crew Agreement.

‘To be worn at all times to enable passengers to identify any steward who they might wish to complain about,’ Lightoller muttered without looking up at the individual his command was directed to.

Harry studied his badge, admiring its copper base with the raised metal star bearing the number 23. ‘That’s funny,’ he said as the badge was affixed to his right arm with an elastic fastener which, he noticed, also displayed the distinctive red, swallowtail flag of the White Star Line. ‘That’s my age exactly. Today’s my twenty third birthday.’

‘Really,’ Lightoller replied drolly, still not glancing up from his paperwork. ‘Happy Birthday. Next!’

Harry picked up his case and moved off towards the gangway which led to the third class decks. He turned to Billy who had been assigned to first class.

‘See you in New York then mate,’ he said, aware of the fact that with the ship being so vast, they were unlikely to come across each other once on board.

‘Yep. See you there. Of course, you’ll be there a bit later than the rest of us, what with you being in steerage an’ all.’

‘Ah, sod off.’

The two friends parted, laughing and Harry unfolded the deck plans he had been given and set off to find his quarters on E Deck.

Like most of the other crew members, Harry’s accommodation was based in the main working crew passageway which ran along the length of the ship. He knew that this corridor, like the crew corridor on other liners he’d worked on, had the nickname ‘Scotland Road’ after the street of ale houses in Liverpool which was well-known to sailors and those who worked the docks. Dozens of people milled around this endless passageway now; cooks, stewards, waiters, plate washers, pantry men and storekeepers. The ship was teeming with activity, Victualing Crew were already hard at work in the galleys preparing lunch and the evening dinner, deck hands constantly brushing and sweeping the decks to make sure they were immaculate for the boarding passengers. There was a definite industriousness, a steady sense of purpose about every single person aboard the ship that morning.

After several wrong turns and missed staircases, Harry eventually located his dormitory cabin. He placed his bag on one of only two simple iron bunk beds remaining among the rows and rows which stood in this large, sparsely furnished room. He chose the bottom bunk, the top one already being occupied by a bag and an overcoat. Placing his own bag on the pillow of his chosen bed, he sat for a moment to say a short, silent prayer, as he always did before he set sail.