Women and Children First by Gill Paul Read Free Book Online Page B

next door, some children were playing with hoops on sticks, whooping as they wove among the tables, while their nursemaids sat talking in low voices. He walked down the stairs to B Deck. A few young folk were relaxing in the Café Parisien and, as he walked past, one of them called out, ‘I say, could you fetch us some pink gins?’
    ‘Of course, sir,’ Reg nodded, and he passed on the order to one of the French stewards employed there. Every room on the Titanic was an exquisite copy of something or other and this was supposed to be a Parisian pavement café, so the staff were all French (or at least spoke in mock French accents). He glanced along the length of the room, wondering if the girl from the boat deck might be spending her time there, with the younger set, but there was no sign.
    He worked his way along the B Deck corridor and level by level wandered down into the depths of the ship. The reception room on D Deck was empty; most first-class passengers were either upstairs or in their cabins having an afternoon nap. Down on E Deck, he helped a gentleman who was looking for the barber’s shop but had wandered into the crew quarters off Scotland Road instead.
    ‘Good lord,’ the gent exclaimed. ‘How did I get into a staff area?’
    ‘It’s easily done, sir,’ Reg told him.
    When he reached the third-class cabins on F Deck, there was a strong smell of garlic and cheap hair oil and the chatter was in Eastern European languages he couldn’t fathom. He’d picked up a smattering of Italian and French and Spanish from his trips round the Med, and thought he had a good ear, but these languages had lots of ‘schm’ and ‘brr’ sounds and no roots that he could identify.
    The aft end of third class accommodated the Irish and it always sounded as though there was a party going on as they called from cabin to cabin, and groups of them congregated in the corridors. They were excited to be going to America, excited to be on this ship. One bunch of women hovered directly in his path and he couldn’t help overhearing their conversation.
    ‘Eileen, did you see yon toothy fellow dancing in the meeting room last night? He nearly tripped o’er his own feet trying to catch your eye.’
    ‘Away with ye,’ Eileen drawled. ‘He was just clumsy.’ She stepped back to let Reg past and there was a silence then a whispering behind his back. He sensed they were nudging each other and gesturing towards him.
    ‘Well, isn’t that lovely now,’ an older woman’s voice said, and they all laughed out loud.
    Reg blushed, glad they couldn’t see his face, and turned off at the next doorway that led to a staircase. He descended to G Deck, where the post office was situated right next to the squash court. Suddenly there was a commotion. A door leading to the boiler room opened and an engineer emerged holding two scrawny, tousled children by their arms. Spotting Reg, he called over, ‘Can you find out where these two come from? I just caught them sneaking around the engines without a by your leave.’ He shook the boys’ arms, but they were giggling and didn’t look in the least abashed. ‘If I catch you in here again, I’ll have you scrubbing the decks,’ he warned.
    Reg wasn’t looking at the boys, though. Over the engineer’s shoulder he caught a glimpse of the huge machine with all its pistons and cylinders and shafts, pounding back and forwards in order to provide the power that made the ship move. It emitted impressive hissing and clanking noises, and Reg could well understand why the two boys had sneaked in for a look. He’d have liked to do the same himself, but the engineer slammed the door, leaving him in charge of the children.
    ‘Which class are you in, lads?’
    They looked at each other. ‘Third,’ the older one said. ‘With me mam and baby brother and sister.’ The accent was Irish.
    ‘What’re your names?’
    ‘I’m Finbarr and he’s Patrick.’
    ‘Where was your mum when you last saw