The clothes he stood up in
by Gareth George
Harland & Wolff Belfast - Where the Titanic was built
As I made my way down the grand staircase towards the first class dining room I was in a particularly reflective mood. I should have been the happiest guy on the planet? My fortune, amassed largely by my late Father, had become so large that I’m aware of rumours circulating throughout the ships company to the effect that I was capable of purchasing not only the ship, but the complete White Star Company. All this without making a discernible dent in my wealth! While this might be a bit of an exaggeration, I had to admit that it was not so far from the truth. On that day I was treating my wife and two daughters to a trip back to New York on the maiden voyage of the companies, and indeed the World’s, largest liner - The Titanic.
It’s 1912 and as usual we were guests at the Captain’s table. The power and influence of my vast fortune ensured that we were regularly invited to share our meals with Captain Edwards. While he proved to be a reasonably genial host, his conversation was, unfortunately, rather one dimensional. Basking in his importance as the Captain of the World’s largest vessel he always adroitly steered our dialogue to shipping matters, the only subject he obviously felt most comfortable with. This was too much for my wife and daughters who had not the slightest interest in the ships administration and only wanted exchanges about the latest Boston society gossip.
My late Father, George Hamilton 3rd, had insisted on my match with Deborah Ponsonby. The match suited his business interests at the time. A union between two of Boston’s richest families to him made unquestioning good sense. My weak protests had been brushed aside by his determination to secure the financial benefits our marriage would bring to his already burgeoning portfolio. Indeed from that point of view he had been right! My inherited empire now had interests in shipping, oil, steel, and most recently a large part of the automobile industry.
I was, on this occasion, however, paying superficial attention to the polite, brittle conversation swirling around me at the dining table. I couldn’t help continuing to contemplate my dissatisfaction with life. What if I had stood up to my Father? At least I would not now be stuck in this loveless union with Deborah and have to put up with Beatrice and Megan my two spoilt, shallow daughters. At the time, however, to stand up to my formidable Father and his uncompromising attitudes would have meant disinheritance, rejection and relative poverty. I had not been brave enough at the time to even consider this as an option.
The opulence of my surroundings, the turmoil in my mind, the pointlessness of the conversation, was suddenly all too much for me. I had an urgent need for fresh air. A mumbled excuse and I quickly sought refuge on the boat deck. The freezing draft of the North Atlantic Winter gale hit me as soon as I got there. My inner confusion was momentarily forgotten as I marvelled at the sheer scale of the oceans vastness and the strength of the elements that made even the mightiest ship in the World for once seem insignificant.
I hardly noticed the crash and scrape of the giant iceberg that was to prove so fatal to the Titanic. One minute we were on course at 20 knots for a momentous arrival in New York and the coveted Blue Riband prize for the fastest crossing of the Atlantic. The next we were wallowing and listing to port, clearly badly damaged and in grave danger. The latter, however, was slow to dawn on the passengers, somehow believing that a ship so vast and seemingly indestructible could possibly sink beneath them!
The facts of the disaster that followed I’m sure are now well known to the reader, having been so graphically related by survivors at the Court of Enquiry. The gross irresponsibility of the White Star Company, the incompetence of the crew, the selfishness of some passengers and the bravery of others have all been well documented. For me, however, the next hour was a numbing blur of chaotic and pointless action and inaction. I recall helping my wife and daughters into a lifeboat, they were only too thankful to take advantage of the chance of life that their gender allowed them. The selfishness of their privileged backgrounds being all too sickeningly illustrated when they refused to allow another woman to join them on the grounds that she was not a first class passenger and that this was after all a ‘first class only lifeboat.’ This final act helped me to bear what followed, as I watched the launch of the nevertheless overcrowded boat. Halfway down the ships side, the falls suddenly parted and all the occupants were unceremoniously hurled into the sea. From that height and without lifejackets they quickly perished in the turbulent freezing water below.
Without apparent hope I stood, transfixed to the spot, and waited for the ship to sink and for the sea to consume me as well. I didn’t have to wait too long! As the water reached my level I just stepped off the ships side with the calmness normally adopted by a man boarding a train. The vice like grip of the Atlantic however shook me out of my fatalistic mood. The numbingly cold water galvanised me to involuntarily fight for my life. I couldn’t help striving to resist the vast undercurrent created by the huge sinking ship and eventually broke the surface to gasp for breath. Helping hands immediately reached out to save me. Within minutes I had been unceremoniously dragged aboard one of the few lifeboats to have been successfully launched. It was full of women and children from 3rd class and steerage. Passengers I could never have met on board the Titanic because they had inhabited a totally different world. Not for them the Captains table, they counted themselves lucky just to get the chance to cross the Atlantic, any food at all was considered a bonus. I felt immediately humbled by their simple kindness. They had risked their lives for me and dragged me into an already overcrowded boat. It was clear just from the clothes I stood up in that I wasn’t one of them. I reflected ruefully that this was in stark contrast with the attitudes adopted by my own family!
I snuggled for warmth against a young women and her daughter and tried to come to terms with my position. All convention was for the moment abandoned in our fight just to stay alive. My closeness to the young female I soon got to know as Alice was of necessity intimate. We cuddled and shivered through several hours of darkness just to stay alive. Like me she had lost her family, her husband, like so many others, had undoubtedly been claimed by the Atlantic. Even in this dark and painful period I could see, however, that this was a God given chance to escape the straight jacket my Father had imposed on my life. Perhaps George Hamilton 4th perished last night after all? Perhaps I could emerge with a fresh identity and start again? The courage so lacking in front of my Father was not going to ruin my life again. Looking my fellow survivor full in the face I resolved to leap for freedom.
“Alice, please tell me your full name, and the name of your late husband? Perhaps you will allow me to replace him for the moment and provide you with the support you will need just for the immediate uncertain future.”