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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