‘Will you go and look for me Miss?’ Catherine turned to the young woman who was still sat beside her. ‘I can’t bear to go and look. Will you please check the list for me? The names are Samuel Morris, my husband and Jack Philips, my brother. He works for the Marconi Company on the radios.’
She bounced the baby up and down in her arms, trying to sooth its crying.
‘Yes, of course,’ Catherine replied, although she could barely stand the thought of scanning the list for Katie’s name, let alone anyone else’s. ‘Yes, I’ll look for you.’
She stood then and moved up the steps, patiently waiting her turn to start scanning the list.
For nearly thirty minutes she stood there, reading each name carefully, meticulously, before moving onto the next. When she had read the entire list once, she read it again, a terrible sense of nausea and breathlessness rising in her throat as those around her gasped with delight and relief at seeing a name they knew, or falling to their knees in grief when they did not.
She recognised only two names on the list: Maggie Murphy and Vivienne Walker-Brown. She knew the Murphy girl well and was encouraged to learn that she was safe. She barely thought about the relief her employer would feel when she learnt that her daughter was safe. She scanned the list again and again, desperately reading the ‘Kenny’ names. There were several: Arthur, Eileen, Elizabeth and others, but the name Katie was not among them, neither were any of the other names she might have recognised from the Ballysheen group. And neither were the names Samuel Morris or Jack Philips.
She returned to the stone steps and sat down. The young woman looked up into her eyes, her two children nestled inside her coat, sleeping and unaware of the different path their lives were about to take. Catherine looked at the woman. She shook her head. ‘No,’ she whispered as her own tears began to fall. ‘No.’
*
Ireland, Tuesday, 16th April, 1912
Thomas Durcan stood in the middle of the unremarkable office he owned on the main street of Castlebar, unable to believe his eyes as he read the message informing him that Titanic had foundered in the Atlantic with great loss of life.
Rumours had been rife among the people in the town since late in the evening of the previous day and all through this day.
‘Is it true Mr Durcan, about the Titanic?’ people asked, stopping him in the street. ‘But they said she was unsinkable. They must have their facts wrong.’
He barely knew what to believe himself. ‘Ah yes, probably limping back to Belfast as we speak for some swift repairs!’ he’d replied. He was no more convinced by these remarks, than by the people to whom he made them.
Feeling a distinct sense of responsibility for the dozen or so passengers he had booked onto the ship personally, he set about receiving confirmation for himself. He recalled the young girl with her aunt, Kathleen Murphy of Ballysheen, and how they’d exchanged a joke about the tonnes of eggs there would be aboard the ship. It simply didn’t bear to think that any harm had befallen those poor people who were just trying to better their lot in life.
He wired the head office of the White Star Line in Liverpool, England and anxiously awaited a response. Eventually, it came through.
‘Liverpool. 4.30 p.m. Tuesday. Referring to your telegram re. Titanic, deeply regret to say that latest word received is steamer foundered; about 675 souls, mostly women and children saved.’
Thomas Durcan knew, better than most, that the Titanic was capable of carrying over two thousand passengers. Such a loss of life was unimaginable. He simply sank to his knees and allowed the tears to fall freely.
CHAPTER 28 - Atlantic Ocean, 15th April, 1912
Taking hold of one of the long oars, Harry pulled against the might of the ocean with all his strength. He knew enough about boats to know that if Titanic went down, she would create a massive whirlpool which would suck anything close enough down with it and had understood fully what the Officer had meant when he’d told him to row away from the gigantic ship.
‘Grab hold,’ he shouted to the women in the boat. ‘Grab hold and pull. We need to get further away.’
Slowly, with the help of several of the stunned and freezing passengers, lifeboat sixteen, the last to leave Titanic, moved further and further away from the ship, the distress flares still being sent up into the clear, black sky, adding a marvellous red aura to the millions of stars shining down helplessly upon the dreadful events unfolding on the ocean below.
Amid the panic and terror, it occurred to Harry that this must be the most tragic firework display ever seen and his thoughts turned fleetingly to crisp November nights when, as a young boy, he had watched the few rockets his father could afford, shooting up into the night sky and exploding into a dazzling display of colour. His sister Sally always cried with fright at the bangs and cracks but he loved it. He thought it was beautiful and wonderful.