NINETEEN
AUGUST 1906
Finally, thought Florence, at last! The
train lurched to a halt in Lime Street station. She rose from her seat and
turned to reach above her head for the heavy suitcase. A man opposite her
dressed in a very smart dark suit clutching a straw boater in his hand, rose
from his seat and placed a hand on her arm.
'Let me do that for you miss' he said.
Florence blushed and stood aside to allow him to lift the case down.
'Thank you' she murmured, and dropped her
eyes as he took the case in his hand and pushed open the compartment door with
his elbow. Florence took the door in her hand to prevent it sliding back
against him, and he edged his way through into the corridor, banging his back
and arms against the sides of the corridor as he made his way to the carriage
door. Between the two of them they managed to finally get the suitcase onto the
platform where the man took the hat from his head, grinned, and said,
'That was heavier than I thought it would
be.'
'Sorry,' said Florence, 'I’m very grateful
to you, I don’t know if I could have managed it myself.' She turned to look
along the platform to find a porter. There was one approaching her. Before she
could attract his attention the man who had helped her with her case stepped
out into the path of the porter and pointed to Flo’s case. The porter touched
his cap and stepped over to Florence.
'You need a hand with this love?' he asked.
'Yes please. I’m going to the Pier Head and I’m not
sure which platform I need to get the train from.'
'Well love if you follow me I’ll get you onto it.'
He replied, and took the case in his hand. Florence turned to thank the man
from the train, but to her surprise, he was walking away along the platform to
the exit.
'Thank you
sir' she called out. The man half turned in her direction; smiled and raised his
hand to her in silent reply. What a kind man, she thought to herself, and then
had to scurry along the platform to follow the porter to catch the overhead
train to the Pier Head.
She managed to attract the attention of another
porter to take her case to the dockside as the train pulled in to the stop at
the Pier Head, and the SS Persic which was tied up alongside. A passenger
walkway was placed on the dockside extending upwards to the side of the ship.
Florence looked up at it and felt her heart start to pound, the walkway looked
so steep, and despite the handrails on either side she wondered if she would be
able to manage it without fear of falling off into the dock. Close to the edge
of the walkway stood an officer in the uniform of the White Star Line. He was
holding a sheaf of white tickets in one hand and pointing with the other to a
collection of suitcases trunks slightly to one side and behind him. The porter
carrying Florence’s suitcase placed it carefully on the floor at the edge of
the pile and straightened up, taking a large off white handkerchief from his
trouser pocket and wiped his forehead with it.
'Wow, that
was hot work miss,' he said, grinning from beneath his black cap hoping his
exaggerated complaints would have the desired effect. Florence reached into the
purse which nestled inside the small handbag she took a shilling from it,
handing over the coin to the porter with a smile.
'Thank you
porter' she said, 'That’s very kind of you.' The man smiled easily at the
attractive young woman.
'That’s
alright miss, glad to have been of help.' He tipped his cap and turned away
from her to return to the railway station. Florence smiled to herself as she
rummaged in her bag once again to find the ticket for the boat. How grand she felt.
Never done that before, she thought, given a tip to a porter.
The officer at the gangplank looked very smart in
his uniform. He was wearing a dark blue jacket with gold buttons over a white
shirt with smart tie, dark blue trousers, topped by a smart peaked cap. He held
out his hand and Florence placed her ticket into it. He examined the ticket
closely then looked down at her, and then had to bend his head even lower to
see below the wide brimmed hat she was wearing.
'Just the
one large suitcase Madam?' he asked smiling, indicating the case the porter had
left close to his side.
'Yes, just
the one, and this case here,' Florence responded, holding up the smaller suitcase
for his inspection.
'Very good Madam. If you leave the large one here
with me it will go into the hold for the journey.' He pointed to the small case
she had placed on the floor by her side. 'If you could just make sure that one
has all in it that you need for the voyage you will be fine, then if you go
along up the walkway you’ll find a steward who will direct you to your cabin. It’s
cabin number ten, and you are in berth one, that’s the lower berth,' he added,
smiling and turning his head to direct Florence onboard the ship. Nodding at
him Florence returned his smile and wondered what a berth was. She turned to
step onto the foot of the walkway leading steeply up onto the ship. For a
moment she hesitated at the steepness of the wooden bridge between earth and
the ship, then taking the white painted wooden handrail in her left hand, her
right hand clutching fiercely at the case in her right hand, she stepped onto
the walkway. Her heart was pounding even more than it had been when she had
first seen the ship and her gaze followed along up the steep ribbed floor of
the walkway.
Before she had even stepped onto the walkway she
suddenly turned towards the rear of the ship, stopped and pointed excitedly to
something which had attracted her attention.
'There’s a horse in the air!' she suddenly called
out in surprise and turned to the officer by her side. There was indeed a horse
in the air. It was dangling from a broad canvas harness wrapped around and
under its belly, which in turn were attached by four thick ropes to a derrick
swung out from the back of the ships’ upper deck. The horse was making a
snorting noise from its nose and did not appear to be too happy about the brief
journey it was enduring from the quayside to the hold inside the ship. She
stopped with one hand on the handrail of the walkway her jaw dropped open at
the sight. Her heart beat increased as she watched the horse wriggle its legs
in the harness as it moved across the deck and into the hold of the ship.
'That’ll
be Pegasus Ma’am' the officer calmly replied. Florence looked at him with a quizzical
expression on her face.
'Pegasus Ma’am; it’s a Greek story about a flying horse'
he said dryly. Florence blushed and grinned at him,
'You must think I’m a real dunce' she said quietly.
'Not at all Ma’am. Not many people know about him.'
'I didn’t
know it was a livestock ship,' she said to him. He turned and smiled at her
broadly,
'Not livestock as such Madam. It’s a racehorse.
We’re taking twelve of them to Melbourne to run in some race or other, then
after that they are going to be sold off to breed with Australian horses. They’re
what they call Thoroughbreds; best there is so I’m told.'
'What about the smell though?' she asked. He paused
for a moment and grinned cheekily at her again.
'Don’t worry Ma’am, we keep the passengers well away
from them.' Florence paused for a moment thinking of what he had said, trying
to decide if he was making fun of her or if she had been insulted or not, then
burst out with a loud raucous laugh when it suddenly dawn on her what he had
meant. Florence turned and stood silently by his side until the horse was
finally lowered gently into the hold of the ship. Below decks the horse was
evidently released from the harness as the hoist suddenly reappeared empty in
the air above the ship and moved sideways onto the quayside.
'Well,' said Florence. 'I suppose if we run out of
meat onboard we won’t go hungry.' She grinned at the officer who chuckled back
at her.
'Don’t think it’ll come to that Madam. We’ve got
plenty of salt beef and hard tack biscuit onboard, just in case,' he retorted
and tipped the edge of his uniform cap with one hand. Florence stepped onto the
walkway and began the steep walk onto the ship.
At the top of the walkway stood a sailor also in the
uniform of the White Star Line, which to Florence’s experienced eye, looked
little different to that of the Royal Naval men she had seen in and around
Devonport and Plymouth. The only difference she could see on first inspection
was the name on the cap band around his hat which replaced the name of the ship
with White Star Line. He held out his hand to assist Florence over the step
onto the deck of the ship. She took his hand gratefully and looked down to
check her footing before stepping onto the deck.
'Thank you' she said, and turned to look at the view
from the deck of the city she was shortly about to leave. In the space of no
more than a minute she had gone from floor level to a far higher level, which allowed
her a new and exciting view of the waterfront and its buildings. She
immediately saw the Dock Offices and the large building site to the left which
already dwarfed the other buildings along the dockside. To her right she saw
the White Star Shipping Line building where she had bought her ticket from just
a couple of weeks before. On the dockside men in rough clothes heaved at ropes
to lift large cargo nets loaded with barrels and cases of food onto the ship
she now stood upon. Trams moved silently along the dockside, their noises
hidden by the sounds from onboard the Persic. Trains stopped at the overhead
railway and horse drawn carts trundled along the road. Along the dock from the
ship she was standing on, were other boats of similar size and bigger, all apparently
going through the same loading process the Persic was undertaking. The whole
scene was a vision of frantic yet well rehearsed movement and purpose.
'Madam' The voice of the seaman who had helped her
onboard called gently to her, she turned to face him.
'Sorry,' she said, 'I was just interested in what
was going on. Bit of a nosey so and so really,' she grinned at him and held out
her ticket to place in his hand. The sailor glanced down at it and then gave
her directions for her to follow along the deck to a doorway.
'Go up the stairs one deck and then along the
corridor on your left hand side, your cabin is the second on the left down the
fourth passage. You’ll find your cabin on the port side not far from the bow.' He handed Florence
back her ticket. Florence thought for a moment then looked askance at him. 'Port
is the left side, bow is the front of the ship Madam,' he said, answering her
unasked question. She nodded her thanks and thought for a moment, trying to
visualise the verbal instructions the sailor had given her, then turned to walk
along the deck to the door he had indicated. She had taken no more than two
steps when she suddenly turned back to the sailor.
'What’s that smell?' she asked. 'It’s a bit rich
isn’t it?' He smiled indulgently at her.
'That will be the Mersey Ma’am. It’s almost high tide
and it does get a bit ripe.' Florence nodded her head and glanced over the side
of the vessel into the dark waters below her. The waters looked filthy, and she
hoped they would not be staying there too long.
'Niffs a bit doesn't it?' she said.
Florence struggled to walk up the staircase onto the
upper deck which wasn’t too far, but it was steep, and she feared about losing
her footing when the ship got out onto the ocean. She looked up at the deck
above the one she was directing herself to and realised that there was even
more accommodation on that deck, along with what she assumed was the bridge
where the captain stood. He was clearly visible behind the windows, along with
some of his officers, where some sort of a conference appeared to be taking
place. She looked down and followed the directions the sailor gave her
eventually finding her cabin. She stopped at one point on her journey to stand
open mouthed at the head of a wide staircase linking two of the accommodation
decks. The stairs swept up in a broad half circle linking the two decks, which
themselves appeared to be laid in dark expensive wood. The walls were covered
in white plaster with wooden dado rails. This was far grander than she had
anticipated when sitting in the back kitchen of Waterloo Street reading the
brochure the company clerk had provided her with.
Her cabin was an adequate size with two beds, and
airy, there was no denying it, she thought. It was more than adequate for two
people. I hope they don’t try and cram any more in here, she thought. Though,
in comparison to the home she had in Bolton, the space she now had at her
disposal was a luxurious prospect for the next seven weeks of travel. The two
bunks, one against each of the two long walls were small but solid. Disconcertingly
Florence noted that along the long edge of both beds was a small wooden lip
extending some four inches above the height of the bed. That must be to stop me
falling out, she thought. Hope it doesn’t get too rough out there. The cabin itself had a small window from which
she was able to see across the deck which was several feet below her, and out
onto the far side of the Mersey with ships sailing along it, in and out of the port
of Liverpool. There were four coat hooks behind the door to the cabin and a
wardrobe against the far short wall of the cabin beside a small solid table
inset with a white flower patterned porcelain hand basin. Below the basin was a
small cupboard with two doors. Florence opened them to discover small shelves,
into which she placed a few small items of her clothes. Within a few minutes of
her arrival in the cabin Florence had emptied the contents of the suitcase and had
then placed it on top of the wardrobe. She sat down on the lower of the two
bunks, already made up with fine cotton sheets and a thin counterpane, all of
them embroidered with the name and logo of the White Star Line. She eased her
legs over the low lip on the bed and bounced on the bed. Bloody ‘ell, she thought,
that’s solid. She glanced around the cabin and was about to leave to explore
the ship when she heard the sound of voices outside and suddenly the door
opened into the room. A young woman came backwards in through the doors pulling
behind her a suitcase which she was trailing on the floor. A male voice asked
from the corridor,
'Are you alright now Ma’am?' The young woman
answered rather breathlessly,
'Ta love, yes' and dragged the case backwards into
the room. She flicked the door shut with her right foot stretched out and
around the suitcase on the floor in front of her, then stood upright, pushing
and massaging her back out with her hand to ease it. 'Oh God' she said quietly
to herself. 'That bloody hurt.' Florence coughed quietly, the young woman swung
round and blushed, her hand rushing to her mouth in embarrassment. 'Oh I’m
sorry' she said. 'I didn’t mean for you to hear that. I didn’t know there was
anyone in here.' Florence smiled at her.
'Heard worse before now. Not to worry.' The woman,
who looked to be the same age as Florence, dragged the suitcase further into
the room and then released her hand from the handle of the case, stretching up
again to ease her back. She was a little taller than Florence with short brown
hair flopping down over her forehead which glistened with beads of sweat. Her
face was round and had piercing dark brown eyes. The coat she was wearing was
open to reveal a dark blue skirt and a pale blue blouse under it. She smiled at
Florence and held out her hand,
'Martha' she said, 'Martha Luck.' Florence took her
hand and replied,
'Florence Lowe. Pleased to meet you Martha.' Florence cast her eye around the small cabin.
'It’s small, but I’m sure we’ll be alright in here won’t we?'
'’Course we will.' She laughed. 'Before I was wed I
shared with my four sisters and had less room than this.' Florence nodded her
head in agreement.
'Me too. Had to share with Ma and Pa and my youngest
brother. There were a lot of us.' Florence moved to one side as Martha
attempted to manoeuvre the case to one side then said, 'Hold on a second
Martha. I’ll get out of your way for a while so you can unpack and get your
things away. I’ll take myself for a walk around the deck and see what there is
to see.'
'Thanks Florence. I’ll be up on deck as soon as I
get things put away here. Where will you be?' Florence thought for a moment
before replying,
'Probably on the side of the deck facing the
dockside. Want to have a good look at those horses being loaded. Never seen
them being loaded on a ship before.' She nodded a brief farewell to Martha and
turned to leave the cabin, closing the door behind her. The corridor was quiet.
Only one or two passengers were making their way along to their rooms, but
above her head she could hear the sounds and footsteps of people talking and moving
about and the noise of luggage and cargo being loaded onto the ship.
The more she explored the ship on her way to the
upper deck the more her eyes opened wide at the glamour and luxury she saw. There
were reading rooms, smoking rooms, a bar and dining room, and almost everywhere
she turned on the accommodation decks, were bathrooms. This was a level of
luxury she had never dreamed about, never experienced in her life before, and
the more she saw of it, the more she felt she could be accustomed to it. Her
heart warmed at the prospect of seven weeks in this lap of luxury.
Soon she was standing on the open deck looking out
over the side of the ship and down onto the dockside. At the end of walkway she
had used to come aboard, was a steadily diminishing pile of suitcases and
trunks. They were being ferried onboard by a line sailors who would pick one
off the deck, confer with the officer by the walkway, then scurry onboard the
ship along a level walkway which ran from the dockside into a lower deck
onboard the ship. There was a constant line of men moving as quickly as they
could, first one way, then off the ship, to collect the next case. Beyond the
luggage were several men operating one of the derricks at the back of the ship,
loading wooden cases of foodstuffs into the hold, whilst at the front of the
ship a similar operation was being carried out by another group of men. The
whole ship seemed to be a living thing, sitting in the water humming to itself,
verifying that people and cargo were being placed in the right place; and preparing
itself for departure. Florence could hear and feel the engine deep in the hull
of the boat, turning gently and providing the electricity to power the derricks
and lighting. She looked up to the single funnel standing in the centre of the
ship, painted with the distinctive colour scheme of the White Star Line. The
funnel was black and buff, the ship’s hull was black and the superstructure was
white. How smart it all looked, she thought.
Florence sauntered through the ship discovering all
that there was to find, and becoming more and more excited with what she saw
and anticipating using all the rooms she found. In the Reading and Writing Room
she sat down in one of several light coloured wooden semi-circular padded
chairs set around round tables placed in small groups throughout the room. She
discovered that in the roll top desks set against the walls was a supply of
postcards and blank headed note paper for the use of passengers, free of
charge, and wondered what kind of world she had wandered into. She popped her
head around the doorway of the Smoking Room which she supposed was for the use
solely of male passengers, its tables and chairs matching the dark wood panelling
on the walls. In the General Room were square golden coloured cane tables, with
matching chairs set four to each table, and long cane bench seats set against
the walls, which faced outwards to look through windows on three sides, to see
across the decks and the sky. Florence walked quietly through the rooms now and
again touching lightly the furniture she found, smiling at the luxury she had
discovered there. Everything was so new to her. There was furniture and there
were fittings and decoration which she had only occasionally seen in pictures,
and yet, here she was, for the next seven weeks, living in this new found
height of luxury living. She became impatient for the ship to sail.
A woman’s voice called out behind her. 'Florence!' Florence turned round to see Martha walking
along the deck towards her. She had taken off her coat and was enjoying the
warmth of the afternoon sun on the open space of the deck.
'Hiya Martha. You found me then.' Florence said.
'Eventually. It’s a big boat isn’t it?'
'Ship,' Florence corrected her. 'The sailors call
them ships. My husband told me that. He’s a sailor, in the Royal Navy. I’m
going out to Sydney to meet him there.'
'Mine went out last year. He's not in the navy
though, he’s got himself a small business in Sydney. He sounds like he’s doing
alright for himself. I hope so anyway, that's why he sent for me.'
The two women walked slowly side by side along the
wide open deck, taking in the sights and sounds of the ship being made ready
for their departure from the dockside.
'What time do we sail?'Florence asked.
'Five o’clock I think.' Martha replied. 'I asked one
of the sailors when he was showing me to my cabin. He said that high tide was
just after five and we were aiming to sail then.' They carried on walking,
mainly in silence, exchanging an odd word or two from time to time as a new
sight caught their attention, watching the cargo being loaded and the hatches
being closed and then locked tight once the holds were full. Slowly the ship seemed
to settle down into a calm contented mode, the noise of the engines coming more
to the fore as the other noises on deck died away when the work was completed. Finally,
as the two women stood with their back to the ships rail there was movement at
the front and rear of the ship as sailors started to make the ship ready to
sail. They turned to watch as lines were slackened from capstans on the
dockside and the noise of the engine increased. A tug came alongside and a line
thrown onboard the Persic, which was then tied to a thicker line and tightened
as the small tug pulled away into the Mersey. Florence felt the boat move under
her feet and she reached out a hand to steady herself on the rail. She turned
to look over her shoulder as the first of the long heavy lines was released
with a splash into the river. Almost without being aware of it the ship was
standing a foot or more from the dockside. Her journey had begun. Her pulse
raced, she felt a smile coming to her lips. She turned to Martha,
'Looks like we’re off Martha, looks like we’re off.'
Martha nodded her head.
'Yes. Looks like it. Gosh Florence isn’t it
exciting?' She gripped Florence’s elbow and turned to smile at her.
..............................................................
Later that evening after a three course
dinner which Florence had never before eaten, she walked, along with many of
the other passengers, along the promenade deck of the ship. The sky was still a
clear pale blue with only a hint of clouds on the Western horizon and the
temperature was still in the low seventies. The ship had passed the isle of
Anglesey as they had eaten their meal, and those passengers who were able,
craned their necks to see from the dining room windows to watch the spectacle. It
struck her, as they slowly bobbed along past the island, that she was seeing
things now, and would continue seeing for the following weeks, things which she
had never before seen. Every time she opened her eyes in the morning she would
see sights which her eyes had never before seen, and the prospect filled her
with great excitement. To know that she, of all her family members, was the
only person who would ever see the things she was going to see, who was going
to experience unique scenes and events which her Ma or Pa, or her brothers,
never would see and experience. She rested her hands on the ships rail and felt
the shiver of the engines below her vibrating through her body from head to
toe. If this is how it’s going to be for the next few weeks, she thought, I
shouldn’t have any trouble with it. If only the weather is fine and the sea
stays calm.
She thought back to the people at home, in
the mill and the church whom she had informed of her journey. Most of them had
immediately fearfully cautioned her against going. Australia is full on
convicts and natives, they had said. The journey there will be terrible and
take months. There are spiders and snakes which will kill you at worst, make
you terribly ill at best. It' a hot, dusty and lawless country. The warnings
came from all sides, until she was fed up of hearing them. Well, she thought to
herself, we'll see soon enough how many of those stories are true. As her mind recalled
the various people who had tried to warn her against going she remembered that
perhaps one of the only people to encourage her, or at least to not actively
discourage her, had been the ministers wife at the church, Mrs Collier. She had
given her sound friendly advice and had encouraged her to make the most of her
life out there. To take advantage of the opportunity and to enjoy it. To take
note of all she saw on the journey out there and to write back to her from time
to time telling her of the things she was doing.
'The world is changing Florence,' Mrs
Collier had said once. 'Make the most of it. Women are getting the vote, they
will soon be able to do anything men can, so you make the most of it. I've read
a lot about Australia, and it's a wonderful place with lots of opportunities.
If a person is prepared to work hard out there, there is nothing they can't do.
Grasp whatever chances you get!' Florence felt a warmth come to her mind at the
memory of the conversations she had had with the ministers wife.
Why was it, she thought, that so many
people were almost automatically against what she intended to do? She found it
hard to understand why the other girls in the mill were so set against her
going on this adventure of a lifetime. It seemed to her that they were afraid
of what she was attempting to do, afraid that they might themselves have to do
the same thing, or at least make a decision about their future rather than
simply carrying on in the automatic footsteps of the other women in their
lives. She felt that by trying to dissuade Florence from going, they were
protecting themselves and their timid minds against even having to think about
it. Florence was anything but timid. The experience she had gained by being a
married woman had given her more confidence than she believed any of the others
she had left behind would ever possess. Even the way she stood there by the
ships rail looking out to sea, her head held high, her back straight, even
those small physical attributes gave her the look of somebody who knew her way
around the world and around life, someone who would not be bowed by life or any
man or thing in it.
Florence tapped out a quiet beat on the
white painted rail with her hand for a moment, watching the movement of the
ship on the sea, the other ships moving about within her vision going to and
from Liverpool, the few small white waves flowing rapidly alongside the ship as
it cut methodically through the sea. She smiled happily to herself and then
turned to go inside off the deck, taking one last look at the western horizon
and the large round red sun making its way slowly to the edge of invisibility
until the following morning. Though the light of the day still had a few
minutes left, the weather felt warm and the sun had a few more minutes of life before
completely disappearing. She took a few steps towards a door leading into the reading
room and lost her footing as the ship suddenly lurched. She grabbed for one of
the rails running at waist height to steady herself and decided to go inside in
case the sea became rougher. In the reading room were two male passengers
seated at one of the tables, they looked up and smiled at Florence as she came
into the room. She returned the smile,
'Hope this is as rough as it's going to be,'
she said. One of the men turned towards her and said,
'It should be alright. Wrong time of year
for storms in the Bay of Biscay.' Florence nodded her head knowledgeably, as
though she fully understood what he had said, and carried on walking on to the
doors leading to the staircase down to the accommodation decks.
On her way along the corridor leading to
her cabin she met one of the ships officers and stopped him.
'Can you tell me where the Bay of Biscay is
please Sir?' she asked. He smiled kindly at her.
'If you have the time Madam I can show you
exactly where it is.' Florence smiled at him and nodded her head, and followed
him as he led her through the maze of corridors and up the staircase to the
ships bridge. At the door to the bridge he turned to her and said, 'Commander
Ditchburn is on the bridge at the moment. He's the most senior captain on the White
Funnel Line, so we're in very good hands. If he says it's alright to go inside
then you can have a look and ask questions. But his word is law on this ship,
as any Captain is, so you must be prepared for him to refuse to allow you on
the bridge. Is that understood Ma'am?' Florence nodded her head
enthusiastically and said that she understood. 'Very well then. Just you wait
here a moment whilst I ask him.' The officer opened the door and disappeared
inside. Florence watched him talking to another officer whom she presumed to be
the Captain, who nodded his head and turned to look at her through the glass
window in the door then motioned with his hand for her to come onto the bridge.
Florence opened the door and immediately tripped against a small lip set on the
floor in the doorway. The Captain, Commander Ditchburn, stepped forward to
prevent her falling to the floor of the bridge.
'Oh bugger' she said and blushed, catching her hand
to her mouth. 'So sorry Sir' she stammered.
Ditchburn smiled down at her as he set her back onto
her feet and steady. 'Good to hear some old fashioned English words these days
Ma’am' he said. Florence looked around her and smoothed down the front of her
skirt. After the noise of the sea and slight wind outside, the interior of the
bridge seemed very calm and quiet, which surprised Florence, she had
anticipated that it would be quite noisy. She looked around her at the brass
telegraphs and solid wooden fascias set against the lower part of the windows
which stood on three sides of the bridge. Commander Ditchburn held out his hand
to Florence and stepped forward. 'Captain Ditchburn Ma'am' he said. 'Welcome to
my office.' He had a warm happy face and Florence was immediately at ease with
the man. She grinned back at him.
'Thank you sir' she said. 'I'm sorry again for the
rude words. It’s not all that long since I were in the cotton mills, and old
habits die a bit hard.'
'Think nothing of it Ma’am. It’s good to have a
proper human being on the bridge. So often I have to play host to a certain
class of people I would rather not.' Florence stared at him shocked, but
recovered herself quickly.
'It's very kind of you to allow me to come up here
Sir. I was asking this gentleman where the Bay of Biscay was, and he said that you
would be able to tell me.' Ditchburn gave a brief nod to the officer who had
escorted Florence to the bridge, then turned away to the rear of the cabin
where a large table containing maps and charts was located. He motioned to
Florence to look at the map which lay on the top of several others on the
table. The Commander pointed to the map and said,
'If you look here, this is Liverpool.' Florence
followed his finger to where it rested on the city of Liverpool at the edge of
the river Mersey by the Irish Sea. His finger drew a slow line along the path
the ship had taken that afternoon and evening. 'This is where we have come
from,' he said, 'And this is where we are going to go tonight and tomorrow.'
His finger continued along the map to the northern coast of France and down
towards Spain. He tapped his finger twice on the map in an area of blue beside
the western coast of France. 'This is the Bay of Biscay' he said, 'And this is
the northern coast of Spain. We are going to more or less follow the coast down
through the bay and onto the west coast of Africa until we get to Cape Town in
South Africa.' He traced the route of the ship slowly down the left hand side
of the continent and smiled as Florence's jaw slowly fell open. She said
nothing for a moment then looked up at him. 'We'll be stopping off to resupply
in Madeira for a few hours' he added, his finger tapping lightly on a small dot
off the coast of Africa which she had not noticed. Florence followed his finger
to the point on the map and gazed at it in wonder amidst the wide blue ocean.
She nodded her head silently as her eye scanned from one point to the next,
trying to place herself on the ship and its position on the map.
'I don't think I realised how far it was to Cape
Town,' she said finally. 'It's a heck of a long way isn't it sir?' The
Commander smiled at her. He was growing to like this young woman who seemed not
only to be interested in his work, his ship and the voyage, but seemed to have
no airs and graces about her. It was a thing he seldom found amongst some of
the First Class passengers he had been obliged to entertain on previous ships.
'It is a long way isn't it Ma'am. It's even further
to Melbourne. Is that where you are going to?'
'No, I'm going to Sydney. My husband is in
the Royal Navy and I'm hoping his ship will be back in Sydney when we arrive
there. I've had a letter from him and that's the reason I caught this ship, so
it would be in Sydney for his time in port there. He should be there by the end
of September.'
'Royal Navy eh? Which ship is he serving on then?' Ditchburn
asked.
'The Powerful Sir' Florence replied. 'It's
the Commodore's flagship on the Australia Station. Well that's what he said
before he left Devonport.' Ditchburn glanced across at his officer and smiled.
'Have to keep an eye on this young lady Mr
Cookson. She will know as much about running this ship as we do. Make sure she
has everything she needs.' Cookson, the chief Mate nodded his head and smiled
at Florence.
'I'll make sure she has everything she
needs Sir. Leave it with me.' Florence
looked around herself for the first time and marvelled at what she saw. The
quiet of the bridge was in total contrast to outside on the deck where the
sounds of the engines were constantly present, where the wind blew, even so slightly,
and rattled the ropes on the four masts set in the deck, where the low noise of
people talking as they walked along the deck made an ever present background
hum. Even the call of seagulls echoed in the wind as the ship cut steadily
through the waves. Now, inside the bridge, all was peace and quiet.
She allowed her eye to wander from the
western horizon which she could see through the starboard window of the bridge,
across the instrumentation set in the floor at front and rear of the room, to
the feint smudge of land still visible from the port window. The last light of
the day splashed on brass fittings on the wheel and compass binnacle, flashing
brightly on the circular dials of the telegraph, and casting small spillages of
light onto the half walls and the floor of the bridge. All of the neatly
painted ship was visible from where she stood, and she understood more a lot of
what the job of the man she stood beside her was concerned with. She looked
forward across the decks as people enjoyed a short post dinner walk, and then
disappeared silently into doorways, the women lifting their feet carefully as
they looked down at the small steps at the doors edge. The bow rose and fell
gently, rhythmically throwing small splashes of water against the side of the
ship, some of it landing on the side of the decks. Florence stood with her feet
slightly apart in what she knew was considered to be a most unladylike stance,
but she cared nothing for that. From the moment she had tripped she realised
that the only way to maintain her balance was to adopt a stance with feet apart
and rock gently with the movement of the ship. She stood with her hands clasped
lightly behind her back clutching her hat in her hands. She moved slowly from
side to side with each wave movement. Commodore Ditchburn noted her stance and smiled
at how quickly she had adjusted to the movement of the ship. Whilst obviously
of working class origins, she had an air of confidence about his ship which he
seldom saw in her class, and yet it contained none of the stuffiness and
haughtiness he associated with the upper classes.
'I know of the Powerful,' he said. 'Never
served in her myself, but obviously everyone knows of her.' He paused and Florence
looked at him quizzically. 'I'm in the Royal Navy Reserve as well as being the
Commodore on this ship Ma'am,' said Ditchburn. Florence nodded her head in acknowledgment
of what he said.
'Oh. I didn't know that Sir.' She paused
thoughtfully for a moment. 'So, if need be, then you could be taken off this boat
and put on one of the Royal Navy ships then?' she asked. Ditchburn nodded his
head.
'Let's hope it doesn't come to that eh?' He
replied grinning at her.
Florence stayed on the bridge for half an hour,
during which the Commodore explained to her all that she wanted to know, and
she had an inquisitive head on her. Her head swivelled to and fro following as
Commodore Ditchburn pointed out to her the things he was explaining. Florence
was amazed and delighted at the way in which the light from the setting sun
illuminated the whole of the bridge, both inside and out. The white painted deck
soon became darkened in shadow as the sun fell lower and lower in the sky. Small
areas of the bridge fell into shadows which themselves grew larger and larger
until, eventually, the lights on the walls and ceiling were turned on to change
yet again the whole look and feel of the bridge. To Florence it felt safe and
secure, and she would have been happy to stay there for hours longer. It was
not often Commodore Ditchburn met a young woman so interested in the running of
his vessel. It pleased him to indulge her enthusiasm and curiosity. Eventually,
and sadly, she took her leave of the two men and other crew members in the bridge
house and left to return to her cabin and her new found friend, Martha, who was
lying down on her bunk with her eyes closed.
Florence saw her prone form as she opened the door
to enter the room, and moved quietly to her bunk so as not to disturb her. She
sat quietly on the edge of the bed, swinging her legs gently off the floor and
ruminating on the things the Commodore had told her, and the new things she had
seen and heard. Martha opened her eyes and saw Florence. 'Had a nice walk then
Florence?' she asked quietly.
'Call me Flo will you Martha. All my
friends do.' Florence replied. Martha nodded her head silently and passed her
hand over her forehead. 'You not feeling well then Martha?' she asked.
'Just a bit tired. Been a long day with the
train and all.' Martha replied. Flo nodded her head in reply then said,
'Think I’ll get myself off to bed myself,'
she said. 'Been a long day for me too, and there’s more of it to come as well,
isn’t there?' Florence undressed and put on her new long white nightdress then
turned out the light in the room before groping her way into her bed in the
deepness of the shadowy cabin. 'Good night Martha' she said.
'Night Flo. Sleep well.' Martha murmured. The
room was silent, the only sounds came from the last passengers walking quietly along
the corridor to their cabins, the sounds of doors opening and closing with an
occasional accidental loud thump, and the constant dull beat of the engine
beneath them, methodically ploughing the ship on through the Irish Sea into the
English Channel and then the Atlantic.
Flo closed her eyes and pulled up the thin
counterpane around her ears to diminish the noises from the ship and soon started
to breathe deeply. Then Tommy came to her in her semi sleep, and she suddenly
became awake once more, but kept her eyes closed against the desire to think of
him more clearly. Questions came to her in a steady stream of words to prevent
her from sleeping.
Where was he? What was he doing at this moment? What
time of day was it and what was the weather like where he was? Was he still writing
his short letters to her? How was he posting them? Had he managed to find
somewhere for her to live and where was it? Would he be there on the dockside
in Sydney waiting for her? Had he still kept the affection for her that she had
for him? Would she be alright when she arrived? And then a series of questions
came into her mind which she did not want to hear, the questions full of doubt.
Would he still want her? Did he still
love her? Had he found someone else? Had
she made a big mistake? Would she be able to get home if he had abandoned her? How
would she live if he had left her? How much
would it cost to get home? Would she be stranded in Australia? Would her Ma and
Pa still allow her to live at their home if she did go back? Finally the
questions receded from her head and sleep took over, but the night was restless
and she slept fitfully, but finally daylight came and with it day two of the
three week journey to South Africa.
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