REMEMBERING THE VOYAGE OF THE TITANIC

R. Barri Flowers

My story begins with arguably the grandest luxury liner ever to take to the seas: the Titanic. Certainly it was the most impressive of its time. Built in 1912 by a British shipping company called the White Star Line, the Titanic was eleven stories high, four blocks long and equipped with the very latest in safety devices. Indeed, she was billed as “unsinkable” thanks to a double bottom construction and sixteen watertight compartments of which two could actually flood without the ship sinking.

With this imposing backdrop, on April 10, 1912 the Titanic set sail from Southampton on her maiden voyage to New York. The passenger list included such prominent names as Allison, Astor, Thayer, and Carter. In all, these prominent people represented about $250 million.

My entry into the picture did not begin until April 11, when the Titanic stopped at Queenstown to pick up more passengers, including me. A native of Detroit, Michigan, I had spent the last year attending Oxford as a graduate student of linguistics. For the return home, I couldn’t resist the challenge of saying I was there when this mighty ship first crossed the Atlantic. And so with the help of a distant cousin, I gathered my meager savings to purchase a Second Class ticket for this once-in-a-lifetime journey. I was one month removed from my 25th birthday.

When the Titanic left Queenstown at 2:00 p.m., it carried 1316 passengers, 891 crew, and perhaps just as much excitement and anticipation for what lay ahead.

I was roomed with a 26-year-old Irish woman named Kathleen McMurphy. This was her first trip to America where she hoped to find work in New York as a dressmaker.

“What happens if there are no such openings?” I asked her with dread as we lay on our tiny beds in our small room.

She laughed. “I expect I’d have to set up me own business. I’m told anyone can do anything in America if they try hard enough.”

I sneered. “You wouldn’t want to do just anything, Kathleen. Without trying to scare you half to death, many young, overly ambitious women -- and men – come to the States with great expectations only to end up selling their bodies just to survive.”

“You mean hookin’?”

I gave her an embarrassed smile. “Yes.”

She laughed again. “Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad -- especially if they’re good looking mates, aye.”

I widened my eyes. “You can’t be serious?”

“I’m not,” she teased. “And don’t you be either. I’m a survivor. What’s meant to be will be.”

In less than a day, I felt as if we had known each other for years. I wished I could be more like Kathleen -- brave, funny confident, and shapely -- instead of shy, serious, uncertain, and far too thin for my liking.

***

After dinner that evening, we went for a walk on the Promenade Deck as much to mingle with others as enjoy the open, though chilly, air.

“Isn’t it funny,” whispered Kathleen, “how much alike we Second Classers look. Do you suppose those filthy rich people up there or the filthy poor ones below share a similar resemblance?”

I chuckled. “Only in the money they have or haven’t.”

Class lines on the Titanic were clearly drawn, giving the very real appearance of three different worlds within one. The First Class represented the mostly elegant and catered to; Third Class, or steerage passengers, were closest to the bow and likely happy just to be on board. The Second Class probably reflected the norm of the early 20th century -- having just enough for respectability but desiring more.

Our stroll along the deck was interrupted when I literally bumped into a man -- or perhaps it was the other way around?

“Excuse me,” he said with an East Coast American accent. “I suppose it’s hard for me to look and walk at the same time.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t even try,” I suggested and smiled at Kathleen.

“Perhaps. As it is, it’s the best way I know to get to talk to someone I’ve been admiring from afar,” he said, a half grin on his lips. My first thought was that the someone had to be Kathleen. Then he said, looking directly at me: “Hello. My name’s Henry Patterson.”

He was tall and slender with pronounced features, deep blue eyes, and dark wavy hair. He wore a suit, white shirt and string tie. I guessed him to be in his late twenties.

“I’m Judy Gladers,” I said, “and this is Kathleen McMurphy.”

“Nice to meet you both,” he smiled, though his gaze rested solely on me.

“All of a sudden I feel hungry,” Kathleen told me with a wink. “I think I’ll go fetch a bite and meet you back in the room --”

I felt rather awful to see her go but would have done the same were the situation reversed. Now I wondered where I went from here with a perfect stranger and little experience of consequence with men.

“That was decent of her,” said Henry candidly. “Did you come on board together?”

I told him of our first meeting in cabin B-87.

“I met my own cabin mate in London,” he said. “We hit it off well and decided we could put up with each other at least till we arrived in New York.” He put his hands in his pockets. “Shall we walk?”

“If you like,” I said awkwardly.

“You know, I really have been admiring you from a distance. I saw you when you first came on board and immediately I thought to myself: she’s an attractive one and doesn’t seem to be taken.” He lowered his eyes at me. “Are you?”

I am certain my face reddened like a ripe apple. “No,” I admitted, “but I’m afraid I’m not very experienced when it comes to men --”

“I think you’ll find that most of us don’t bite,” he said with amusement. “We’re just mere flesh and blood mortals seeking the same in women.”

“So much for the mystery and intrigue of it all,” I quipped, suddenly feeling more at ease.

“Oh, I think there still enough mystery and intrigue to go around.”

He grinned at me and I back at him thoughtfully.

***

“He’s a buyer for Gimbel’s department store,” I explained to Kathleen later.

“Sounds impressive,” she said. “Looks like you’ve landed a decent one.”

“We haven’t gotten engaged to be married or anything,” I said defensively. “I hardly even know him.” Even then, I felt as if I wanted to.

We met the following day in the Café Parisian, a lively restaurant on B deck that catered mostly to the young crowd.

“How did you end up doing your graduate study at Oxford?” Henry asked me while sipping on hot lemonade.

“They offered me a fellowship,” I explained, “and the opportunity to tour Europe. I could hardly turn it down.”

He smiled. “No, I suppose you couldn’t. Obviously it didn’t hurt your cause to be very intelligent.”

I tasted my hot chocolate unsteadily. Being intelligent had seemed to always be my most distinguishing characteristic -- to my displeasure.

“Do you go over to England often in the course of your work?” I asked.

“This was my first time across the Atlantic,” he admitted. “The store thought it was time I got my feet wet -- in a manner of speaking -- in upgrading their wares.”

I smiled and watched amusingly as he dribbled lemonade down his chin.

We spent two hours talking, then another hour walking. He gave me my first kiss that night and it cemented what I had already suspected but found hard to fathom -- I had fallen in love with Henry Patterson in the space of two days!

I knew this to be true because I had never before experienced such lightheadedness, pounding heart, and sweaty palms when being in the company of a man. In fact, I mistakenly had come to believe these things only occurred in romance novels.

“You barely even know the bloke,” said Kathleen, a look of astonishment on her face. “Such thoughts can only get you in trouble.”

“Weren’t you the one who said he seemed decent enough?” I asked her.

“Decent, yes, but I wouldn’t let me guard down just yet. At least not till you can be sure you won’t end up with a broken heart.”

As far as I was concerned, my heart was already in a state of fragility and there was nothing I could do but follow it.

Henry introduced me to his roommate, an aspiring writer named Douglas Leonard, who sported a wide smile and even wider torso. An attempt to double date with Kathleen proved to be disastrous. She believed that Douglas was not equipped to know how to treat a decent lady.

***

By day five of the Titanic’s maiden voyage, Henry and I had sort of become boyfriend and girlfriend without the formal declaration. There were lots of discreet and not so discreet kisses, holding hands, and pleasant, witty conversation. But as yet neither seemed daring or reckless enough to go any further.

In the evening, we took a walk on deck. The cold was biting but with Henry it somehow became tolerable. We found a secluded spot and gazed out at the calm, dark sea and into each other’s eyes.

“A perfect setting for romance,” said Henry and he kissed me long and hard. When he moved his mouth away, much to my chagrin, he said earnestly: “Come to my cabin tonight, Judy --”

I felt knots in my stomach, as much from curiosity as fear of the unknown. “I’ve never . . .” I began truthfully.

“At the risk of sounding redundant and patronizing,” he said levelly, “there’s really no great mystery to it, per se. Men and women being together is a natural act that can be quite wonderful and should be when both parties are willing.”

Despite some reservations about what I was getting myself into, I felt drawn by Henry’s charm, the love I had come to feel for him, and the romantic aura of the magnificent Titanic.

It was just after 10:00 p.m. that we ended up in front of Henry’s cabin. I could tell by the look in his ocean blue eyes that he was just as nervous as I was.

“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” I said. In my year at Oxford I had never seriously considered going into a man’s room, let alone having sex with him. That was to be saved for my wedding night and married life. But then, I had never met anyone like Henry before.

“It’s all right,” he said gently. “Douglas will be in the Smoking Room for at least an hour.”

He opened the door and nudged me in.

Although the cabin was like ours -- small and efficient -- it somehow seemed different. There was a masculine feel to it. The room even smelled manly.

“It’s not much,” explained Henry, “but at least it gives us some privacy. May I take your shawl?”

“Only if you promise to return it,” I quipped.

“I give you my word as a gentleman,” he said as he removed it from my shoulders. I suddenly felt cold but did not dare allow him to remove anything else.

I sat on the bed closest to me. “Yours?”

He smiled. “How’d you guess?” He sat next to me, landing on the bed with a thud.

After a moment or two of uneasy silence, he said: “You really are wonderful, Judy.”

I looked at him with some misgiving. “I’ll bet you tell lots of girls that before . . .”

“Don’t say it,” he stopped me, “because it simply isn’t true. You’re different than other girls -- women -- that I’ve known.”

Did that mean he had experience with many other women? I wondered with a strange mixture of envy and resentment.

He kissed me. It started off weak but grew strong. I wished we could stay like that for hours but knew better. While battling my own impulses, I managed to pull away.

“Can I ask you a question?” I mumbled.

He wiped his mouth. “Certainly.”

“If we are together tonight, can you honestly tell me that you’ll respect me tomorrow? Or the day after?”

At this point I wasn’t sure I cared, but I wanted to know anyway.

He took my hand. “Judy, I will never judge you to a degree lower than I judge myself. I promise you I’ll always respect you as a decent, kind, smart, and most attractive lady .”

I was taken in by his magical words and good looks more than I ever had with a man before. Then I let what I felt inside slip out . . .

“I think I love you, Henry.”

He smiled uncomfortably. “No one can be sure what they feel. It’s probably best not to speculate unless one is absolutely certain --”

I was quite certain but elected not to say as much for fear of scaring him away.

He rested his hand on my leg, my dress falling well below my knees. “Shall I turn out the light?”

I nodded and wondered what the experience would be like that I’d often read and heard so much about from boarding school until now. Would it really leave me panting and seeing stars?

I could hear Henry removing his sweater and trousers. Then he sat back down next to me.

“Will it hurt?” I needed to know as a practical matter, though I doubted he was in a position to provide a knowledgeable answer.

He allayed my fears somewhat by saying: “I promise I’ll be gentle.”

“What about pregnancy?” came another late consideration that could obviously not be overlooked. I knew at least two women whose lives were effectively ruined by pregnancy and, in one instance, an abortion.

Again, Henry provided a believable answer: “Don’t worry, you can’t get pregnant the first time --”

I felt myself being eased down and my dress pushed up. The rustling sound of my undergarments being removed let me feeling rather exposed and vulnerable.

But I managed to cast this uneasiness aside, wanting only to please the man who, for better or worse, had stolen my heart and soul. There was some kissing and a brief, uncomfortable sensation as if I had been pinched below before it was all over in a matter of minutes.

A feeling of disappointment swept over me like a shadow that my virginity had been taken so quickly and without my being overcome with sexual bliss. If Henry was at all disappointed, he didn’t show it.

“You were terrific, Judy,” he gasped.

“So were you, Henry,” I felt obliged to say. At least in my mind there was a certain contentment in being taken by the man I’d fallen in love with. The fact that the first time took place on the Titanic’s maiden voyage would surely conjure up exaggerated tales of romantic delight years later. “Can you just hold me for a while?” I asked him. “Please?”

Silently Henry cuddled me in his strong arms. I wondered what the future held for us. Would he ask me to marry him? Was he the marrying type? Was it too much to expect that he could love me and want to spend the rest of his life with me? Having only known each other for a matter of days? And nights?

Such thoughts drifted into the background as sleep invaded my consciousness. Along with it came the most peaceful, loving dream of Henry and I living a long and happy life together, complete with a family of children and their children. Somehow it seemed almost too good to be true, but I chose to think otherwise.

***

I was awakened by what sounded like a grinding noise.

“Did you hear that?” I whispered to Henry.

He mumbled groggily: “Only your heartbeat.”

My instincts told me it was far more than that. I reached across him and switched on the bed lamp. The clock on the bed stand read 11:41.

Henry was rubbing his eyes, half covered by the bedspread.

“Doesn’t it seem awfully quiet all of a sudden?” I asked, alarmed. I no longer felt the ship’s steady vibration or heard the creaking woodwork. Even the rocking motion of the mattress had stilled.

Henry dismissed any real concern. “Probably just an engine problem they’re getting the kinks out of. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.”

I was not convinced. For now, I had other concerns.

“I must go,” I said anxiously, “before your cabin mate returns.”

No sooner had the words left my mouth when the door opened. It was Douglas. Although I was still fully clothed, my first impulse was to cover up abashedly.

There was no time to ponder his thoughts as he said: “Sorry to break up the party, but there’s a rumor going around that we’ve struck an iceberg . . .”

Henry jumped to his feet. “You can’t be serious?”

“Mind you, I said it’s only a rumor.” He walked to the porthole, put a finger in his mouth, stuck it out the window, and said: “No breeze. It looks like the Great Ship has come to a halt.”

I refused to panic, let alone display it. After all, this was the Titanic. And it was unsinkable! What could possibly be wrong that couldn’t be fixed?

Suddenly I no longer cared that I was in Henry’s bed for Douglas’s possible amusement and fantasies. I got up, went for my shawl, and said to Henry as calmly as possible: “Please walk me to my cabin.”

By now he had slipped on his clothes. “I would be happy to,” he said politely.

“Are you coming?” Henry asked Douglas.

“I’ll meet you on deck,” he said. “I’d like to jot down a few notes on this new twist in the journey ... in case it happens to be true.” He smiled. “Goodbye, Judy.”

“Goodbye, Douglas,” I said, and thought it had an eerie sound of finality to it.

***

Apparently more than a few people were at least mildly concerned about the condition of the ship and its implications. On the way to my cabin, we encountered explorers and curiosity seekers searching for satisfactory answers.

“Don’t let any of this talk about icebergs scare you,” Henry said protectively as we walked down the corridor. “Even if true, the worst that could happen would be to have to stay on board for an extra day or two while they get the ship repaired.” He chuckled. “Sounds to me like that could be fun.”

“Are you always this confident?” I asked, slightly annoyed.

He grinned. “Sure. Why not? We do enjoy each other’s company, correct?”

If it were only mere enjoyment I felt, it would be so much simpler. But my feelings ran much deeper.

“Are we going to see each other once we get to America?” I asked straightforwardly. “Or does it all end when the Titanic docks in New York?” The threat against that happening seemed to subside.

He looked surprised at the question. “Most men I know prefer to be the aggressor in any worthwhile relationship.”

“I’d say you were very much the aggressor this evening.”

Henry scratched his cheek and half smiled sheepishly. “Can’t argue that point, can I?” He sighed. “Nor am I prepared to make any promises that I may not be able to keep.”

I pouted. “At least you’re honest.”

“I’m afraid not entirely,” he said with a catch to his voice.

“What does that mean?”

We were interrupted by a steward who told us shrilly and without explanation: “Everybody on deck with life vests on at once!”

“Have we collided with an iceberg?” I asked, my pulse quickening.

He looked at Henry, then me, and said after a moment or two: “I’m afraid so.”

“But how?” wondered Henry in disbelief.

“It doesn’t really matter now,” he replied sardonically, “does it? I suggest you head up on deck without delay.” Then he sped off to tell others.

“This is incredibly unbelievable,” muttered Henry, almost ashamed to admit he was wrong.

“I have to go to my cabin,” I told him.

He grabbed my arm. “You heard the steward -- everybody on deck.”

“Not until I check to see if Kathleen has been told.”

Henry did not try to talk me out of it.

In my cabin, Kathleen was lying on her bed, casually reading a book, apparently oblivious to the happenings elsewhere.

“I thought you’d gotten lost, Judy,” she expressed with feigned distress. “If you hadn’t come back by midnight, I expect I would have gone to look for you. Obviously, Mr. Patterson here” -- she favored him up and down -- “took good care of you. Can’t wait to hear all the intriguing details.”

I almost hated to break into what should have been a delightfully girlish chat were Henry not present, but knew I had no choice. I told Judy about the iceberg and the orders to go up on deck.

“And just as me book was getting interesting,” she whined. “You don’t suppose we’ll be saying our goodbyes before daybreak, do you?”

“Not if we keep collective cool heads,” said Henry unevenly. “Now let’s go!”

He had suddenly established a take-charge attitude, which I both respected and sorely needed.

I changed quickly into some warm riding slacks I’d purchased in London, a sweater, high button shoes, and a woolen coat. Kathleen was more conservative in her cold weather attire, settling for a woolen dress, my shawl, and low boots. I lent Henry a heavy cardigan sweater I purchased for my father. Appropriately, it was a perfect fit and obviously more useful for him at the moment.

Although I kept telling myself this was not a doomsday forecast, the butterflies in my stomach continued to flare up. I brought my Bible with me that I had taken from home a year ago but never seemed to find the time to read, whereas Kathleen took only two oranges, stating half jokingly, “The only things I have that are perishable.”

***

On deck it was a mass of confusion bordering on hysteria, as people braved the frigid temperatures, squeezed into life jackets, saw their lives flash before them, and waited for orders.

“Have you seen Douglas yet?” I asked Henry.

“He’s up here somewhere,” he said confidently. “Probably trying to get an exclusive interview with Captain Smith himself.”

The night was darker than dark but still quite calm. There was no visible sign of the iceberg that had brought the mighty Titanic to a screeching halt. This perhaps gave us all a false sense of security.

It didn’t last for long, for we were ordered up to the Boat Deck. Women and children were to be the first ones loaded into boats. The Titanic was apparently sinking.

“Do they really expect us to survive in the middle of the ocean in rowboats?” barked Kathleen skeptically as we looked over the rail, the water seemingly miles below.

“Doesn’t look as if we have a choice,” I muttered, though just as uncertain.

Henry continued to be the one source of courage amongst us. “Believe me, we’ll be much more likely to come away from this in one piece in those boats than on a ship that has obviously lost the confidence of even the crew.”

At least Henry spoke in terms of we, I thought. Since men were to be the last to leave the ship, it occurred to me that they were also at highest risk to never leave the ship. The mere thought of never seeing Henry again after tonight was terrifying. I tried hard to turn my attention elsewhere. I knew that at this point no one’s safe passage to New York was assured.

***

The boats were slowly filled and lowered to the sea one by one. When Kathleen was told she would be the last person to enter a boat, she hedged.

“I won’t go without you, Judy!” she declared.

“Don’t be silly,” I said. “You have to.”

She persisted. “You’re my first American friends. Wouldn’t it be a pity if I made it to your America and you didn’t?”

The officer intervened. “I’m afraid you can’t pick and choose your boat, Miss. You must go when your turn comes.”

“I’ll be all right,” I tried to assure her. “There are still more boats . . .”

Reluctantly she accepted the hand fate had dealt us both. We hugged, promised defiantly to reunite in America, and I watched her climb into the boat.

Henry took my hand. “Don’t worry about her. That fierce Irish blood will carry her though any obstacles she’ll face in the future.”

What about our future? I found myself wondering once again. Would there be one? If we survived this ordeal, would he even want a future with me?

There was no time to ponder such thoughts amidst the confusion and real uncertainty of the moment.

As the boats continued to fill and become fewer, more and more men were overcome by fear and cowardice in rushing the boats. This usually proved to be futile, largely due to the threat of being shot.

“Why do they waste such time and energy?” commented Henry disgustedly. “Any man that would seek to save himself before women and children is not much of a man.”

Did that mean he was willing to sacrifice himself? I suddenly became terrified and began to shiver. Henry noticed.

“Tell me we’ll both make it,” I pleaded to him.

“I can’t,” he said honestly. “But we’ll give it our damnedest effort, won’t we?”

He gave me a chin-up smile and warmed me with his body so close to mine I secretly wished he would kiss me. But he seemed to preoccupied with the moment at hand, quite understandably.

Only two boats were left. It was my turn to enter the first -- number 4 -- along with other women and children.

Henry walked me as far as he could. For the past twenty minutes there had been an eerie silence between us -- almost as if there were no words that could suffice for what had happened and what would.

“Well . . .” he said with a sigh, “looks like this is where we say goodbye.”

“There’s one more boat,” I said on a wing and a prayer.

“And I intend to be on it,” he cut in with promise. He began to sound more pessimistic. “I can’t say it hasn’t been a pleasure making your acquaintance, Judy.”

I felt tears well up in my eyes. “We’ll surely see each other again --”

He smiled courageously. “Of course we will. Now, how about a great big hug?”

I embraced him for dear life, not at all caring about others looking on curiously and perhaps with empathy.

In my ear Henry whispered: “I told you earlier that I had not been entirely honest with you. It only seems appropriate that I am now . . .” His breathing quickened. “I fell in love with you, Judy, the very first time I laid eyes on you. Nothing that has happened since has changed those feelings any, other than intensifying them.”

I pulled back and stared into his face, barely believing the words. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was afraid to even tell myself before now.” He sucked in a breath, looking away and back again. “I just wanted you to know --”

“Then you must know that I feel the same way,” I cried.

He nodded reluctantly and kissed me on the mouth. Neither of us seemed to want to pull away. Henry finally did. He took my hand, kissed it, and placed on his chest. I could hear his heart beating erratically, matching my own.

“You better go now,” he said courageously. He checked me from saying anything more.

Our eyes locked for a long moment, then I bit down on my lower lip and turned away from Henry, lest I break down completely. I quickly moved toward the deck chairs, which served as stairs, looked back, and could no longer see Henry.

By the time the lifeboat dropped to the sea, it was apparent that the Titanic was going to sink.

I never saw Henry again. It was almost as though what we had never existed. Yet it had and for that I was more thankful than I could ever express in mere words.

***

In the course of a ship’s fateful journey I had found friendship, love, and tragedy. I would never know what fate might have been in store for us had Henry survived the Titanic. I strongly suspect we would have had the most wonderful life together imagined. I do know that a large chunk of me went down with him on that cold, early morning of April 15, 1912.

Precisely nine months later, I gave birth to a baby boy. I named him Henry after his father, ensuring that what we had so long ago would live on for years to come.

A postscript to this story: Kathleen became one of America’s best-known designers and my best friend for more than half a century. Douglas also survived. He was to find success as a novelist and reporter and won the Pulitzer Prize for an article on a maritime disaster years later involving another famous luxury liner -- the Andrea Doria.

As for me, I was never to marry, choosing to concentrate on a career in teaching, raising my son, and enjoying my grandchildren and great grandchildren. Where I achieved my greatest comfort was in the memories of my fairytale romance on the Titanic where a few precious days of happiness were able to extend over a lifetime.

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