Titanic Remembrance
- Seattle Prep Ignite
- May 17, 2018
- 4 min read
April 10, 1912
I stare up at it, amazed.
“This is the vessel that will take us to America,” my parents tell me. I gaze back up at the towering ship.
“She’s called Titanic,” one man says, shaking hands with my father.
“She’s one of a kind,” my father remarks. “Please excuse my manners, Mr. Andrews; this is my wife Helen and my daughter Anne.”
“Nice to meet you ladies; how old are you, little Anne?” Mr. Andrews addresses me.
“I’m six,” I say. I clutch my book to my chest, embarrassed.
“Wow, what a big girl you are! What are you reading?” I reluctantly show him the cover. “Great choice, I remember when I read that. Maybe you’ll become an author,” Mr. Andrews suggests.
“If you have the time, sir, I’m sure Anne is wondering all about the ship that will take us to America.” Mother gently squeezes my hand.
“Well, this will be her maiden voyage. She was built in Ireland, she’s three hundred yards long, eleven stories tall, and has ten decks all for pleasure—”
An attendant whispers something in Mr. Andrew’s ear. “Please excuse me. The Captain and I need to discuss last-minute details. It’s been a pleasure,” he says, and with a curt nod Mr. Andrews follows the attendant through a sea of people.
“Newspapers are calling Titanic ‘unsinkable,’” Father comments to Mother. “Isn’t that exciting?”
April 14, 1912
It’s been several days since we’ve stopped in Ireland. Titanic is now headed straight for New York in America.
My parents and I are in first class, but I prefer to be alone. So I spend my days in Titanic’s library. There are so many books, I often find my hand running along the spines.
I must have dozed off reading my book. A jolt stirs me from my dream of New York. I rub my eyes groggily; I sit up in my chair. Suddenly the librarian and my parents come rushing around a bookshelf.
“Anne, honey, come and put this on.” They help me slip my arms through a stiff vest. Father also wraps my coat about me. Why do I need to dress like this?
“This is called a life vest.” Father answers my unspoken question. “This ship has hit an iceberg.”
“Where's yours, Mrs. Librarian?”
“I’m going to put mine on once I clear out the library,” she says, and gives a sad smile. My parents whisk me away; I hastily grab my book from the floor.
April 15, 1912
The deck is packed with passengers. Crewmen rush about with ropes connecting to small wooden boats.
“Women and children first!” Captain Smith shouts. Just as Father is leading Mother and me to a boat, a panicked passenger separates our clasped hands. I’m carried off throughout the throngs of terrified passengers. I can vaguely hear my Mother’s frantic screams. Right before I lose sight of them, Father assists Mother into a lifeboat. All around me passengers are panicking; the orchestra plays music, trying to calm the people.
Father eventually catches up to me; he immediately embraces me.
“Anne, darling, I need to you to be brave, can you do that for me?”
I nod reassuringly. Father bends down and buttons my coat. “It’s going to be cold. I love you, Anne,” Father says, and leads me towards one of the boats. “This nice officer here will take care of you. Listen to him, okay?”
As father lifts me into the lifeboat, I glance over at the officer in charge.
“Aren’t you getting in?” I stare at him, then at Father, expectantly.
“This boat is for the mothers and children; I’ll get on the boat for the fathers. Be strong. I love you.” Father gives me the same sad smile as the librarian did.
As the boat is lowered, I gaze up at the magnificent ship. The deck is still flooded with passengers. I hear their cries and wails. The lifeboat reaches the sea and women take up the oars. As we distance ourselves from the ship, the stern begins gradually to rise out of the water and into the air. It is a terrifyingly beautiful spectacle. The lights of Titanic flicker out, and a loud screeching noise originates from the ship. I can't bear to open my eyes as it slowly sinks beneath the waves.
Screams of pure terror rip through me. The lifeboats drift away from the scene, and the cold bites at every inch of exposed skin. All the people in the water call out for help, but only one of our boats turns around. The screams wrack my body with shivers.
The sky is still dark, but a ship’s lights call out to us. The light sweeps the sea in front of our lifeboats. They’re here to rescue us. We're going to be saved. We’re all hoarse and shiver madly.
“Does anyone have anything that’s flammable?” one man calls out hoarsely.
I pull out my book and hold it gingerly in my hands. I find a few empty pages. I tear them out. The man gives me a thank you smile before lighting the pages. One at a time, I watch them burn.
The lifeboat pulls up alongside our rescue ship. The white lettering on the bow draws my attention: “Carpathia,” it reads.
Ropes and swings are lowered down for us, but my hands are too numb. Crewmen from the Carpathia help me onboard. Mother is also waiting for me; she weeps as she holds me.
“Where's Father?”
“Father…” Mother sniffles in my ear. “He’s out at sea. He’ll be there for a long time, Anne.”
“How long is a long time?”
April 15, 1922
I wake up in a cold sweat. Hair is plastered to my neck, and my heart is pounding in my chest. I look over at my bedside table. Father’s picture is still there.
I get up out of bed and walk over to my bookshelf. I pull out my book from the Titanic. I hold it in my hands; I can still hear the gentle slap of the sea against the lifeboat, I can smell the chill of the arctic sea, and I can feel the freezing cold night around me. It’s like it was only yesterday.
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