An Unsinkable Legacy [Ch. 5]

Belfast, Ireland | May 31, 1912

Helen Reilly Barbour, Thomas Andrews' wife of five years, was sitting alone in their tearoom at their Dunallan, Belfast home. Her daughter, Elizabeth Law-Barbour Andrews, was sound asleep in the nursery upstairs.

Looking out the front window, onto the crowded street, she raised her tea glass to drink. On a small, wooden side table next to the chair she was sitting in, were two letters. Letters written by Mr. Ismay and Thomas. Mr. Ismay's letter was still in its envelope, while Thomas' was not. Still in her nightgown and robe, she glanced down at the letters.

"My sweet darling," she remembered Thomas saying to her while visiting the Titanic one late evening. "This is going to be the grandest of liners, and a symbol of pride for the White Star and the World. In likeness to the Olympic, I shall sail with her on her maiden voyage."

Helen faintly smiled as she closed her eyes to continue recollecting the memory of that night. The memory played out in her mind like a film. It was a cherished memory, unto her death, will keep with her.

As they stood behind the railings to Titanic's dry dock, Helen was still with amazement in her eyes. Only a few lights were on inside and outside. The Starboard Promenade deck was partially lit, while some cabins and other facilities were lit as well.

The towering height of the funnels, anchored to the superstructure by heavy-duty cables. With her fitting out phase of her construction neared completion, much of the liner was finished. Lifeboats had been installed and equipped, inner furnishing decorated the interiors, while long chairs were folded and scattered around the boat and promenade decks.

The night was young. The sun had set, and stars appeared in the vast, clear and dark night. Fitters, Engineers, Electricians, Plumbers had all gone home at 5:00 p.m; a shift that had begun at 9:00 a.m.

When the new day begins, they'd all return to resume where they had left off the day prior.

"Bigger, grander, and just as luxurious," Thomas explained in excitement and pride. She could feel his pride in his success.

"She could easily be mistaken for the Olympic," Helen mentioned as she looked over at him.

"That was intentional, my darling," he said back.

"A marvelous and spectacular liner she is and will be," Helen told him.

Due to be expecting their first born soon, they sought best if they went home. A soon-to-be mother, such as Helen, needed plenty of rest. Luckily for them, they lived nearby the shipyard.

"Shall we?" Thomas said as he held his elbow up and off to his side. Helen put her arm under his, setting her hand down on his upper arm.

They both began walking back to the car in which they came here.

"Darling," Helen muttered.

"Yes, my dear?"

"Is she unsinkable?"

Thomas smiled and looked down at her. He put his other hand over hers.

"The bigger the ship, the easier it is to sink her. I learned long ago that if you design how a ship will sink, you can keep her afloat," he explained. "We've built her as safe as she could be," Thomas told her. "Unsinkable? No. Safe? Quite surely."

"Once she takes to the sea in a week's time, I shall send telegrams."

But he never would follow through. He did make her aware that he would be busy exploring his ship, while also suggesting and noting changes he would've made upon their return to Southampton.

But upon opening her eyes, the memory went away. A tear trickled down her cheek, as she rubbed it off with her cloth. She then looked down at Ismay's letter.

She set her tea glass down on the table, then picked up the envelope. With a mail cutter, she sliced open the envelope taking the letter out. Another tear ran down her cheek as she unfolded the paper. On the left top corner of the envelope, was the White Star Line signature white star and red flag in the center.

Outside, a carriage with two black horses trotted down the cobblestone road carrying high-class passengers. The sight reminded her of the vision her late husband had for the Olympic Class liners.

Focusing back on the letter, she looked down and began reading through it while trying to remain not emotional.

30 JAMES STREET,

LIVERPOOL, 31st May, 1912.

DEAR MRS. ANDREWS,

Forgive me for intruding upon your grief, but I feel I must send you a line to convey my most deep and sincere sympathy with you in the terrible loss you have suffered. It is impossible for me to express in words all I feel, or make you realise how truly sorry I am for you, or how my heart goes out to you. I knew your husband for many years, and had the highest regard for him, and looked upon him as a true friend. No one who had the pleasure of knowing him could fail to realise and appreciate his numerous good qualities and he will be sadly missed in his profession. Nobody did more for the White Star Line, or was more loyal to its interests than your good husband, and I always placed the utmost reliance on his judgment.

If we miss him and feel his loss so keenly, what your feelings must be I cannot think. Words at such a time are useless, but I could not help writing to you to tell you how truly deeply I feel for you in your grief and sorrow.

Yours sincerely,

Bruce Ismay

"Helen?" John said from the parlor room. She closed the letter and set it back down on the table next to her.

John Andrews, older brother to Thomas Andrews, was visiting to help Helen as she grieves the loss of her beloved Thomas. He came into the tea room, taking a seat next to her. He had his tea cup and plate with a small silver spoon.

"Have you read the paper?" He asked, "a musician, named Wallace Hartley, was laid to rest in Keighley in Colne, Lancashire."

"I have, yes," Helen said followed by a sniffle. She dabbed her eyes with her cloth to hide the build up of water from crying.

John saw the opened envelope. It caught his attention and curiosity. He leaned forward in his chair, picking up the envelope.

From:

BRUCE ISMAY, WHITE STAR LINE

30 JAMES STREET,

LIVERPOOL

To:

MRS. HELEN ANDREWS

12 WINDSOR AVENUE,

BELFAST

He noticed the other folded paper, but didn't bother to pick it up. He knew what that letter contained and who it was from; his brother.

"Bruce Ismay wrote to you?" John asked as he put the envelope back down on the table. He leant back in his chair, taking a sip of his tea from his glass.

"He did, yes," Helen answered.

"A coward in my eyes," John said, "I have a proposal for you, dear, if you will allow me to speak it," John said.

She faintly smiled as she raised her glass again to take a sip of her cooling tea. She nodded her head once, agreeing to hear what he had to say.

"My parents and I are just as taken agas by his passing, but we all have to believe he is in a better place. My proposal is this: we get some air and take a stroll with Elizabeth. We go out into the world with a smile."

"I attest," she responded, "I had the privilege of meeting that Mr. Hartley the day before the maiden voyage. A pleasant fellow and quite the gentlemen. He said he had some of the finest tunes with him to play on the voyage. I imagine he and my Thomas were more than acquaintances."

"My uncle would very much like to meet you, Mrs. Andrews," John told her with a smile. "The wife of an–a miraculous, hard-working man like Thomas. He sends his condolences and wishes for you to visit him at his estate."

"The Unsinkable Molly Brown is what they're saying about my dear Margaret."

Helen was trying her damndest to refrain from talking about her deceased husband. The more she did, the sadder she would feel.

"I could only imagine what he could have felt that night. His ship sinking beneath him, his sense of pride and accomplishment sinking with that ship. I can only imagine."

"That, my dear, is all we can do until we reunite," John said as he set his glass down on the table. He got up from his chair, extending his hand. She set her tea cup down. She held her hand out as he gently grabbed it. As he pulled her up out of her chair, he walked over to the gramophone player.

"We shall dance," he told her. "We shall dance to lighten your day and your mood, me lady."

"We shall."

"Orpheus," John said as he set the needle down on the record. Turning a small dial, he turned the volume down enough so it wouldn't wake the sleeping Elizabeth upstairs in the nursery.

"One of his favorites," Helen said.

"Fast paced," John said. "Can you keep up?"

"Mr. John Andrews! A woman of my age, I'm sure, is quite capable of a fast dance."

46 Days Ago | April 15, 1912 | 2:12 A.M

R.M.S Titanic | N. Atlantic Ocean

With the bow now underwater, the sinking of the ship was accelerating; dropping like a stone. The water was rushing over the A deck promenade and was approaching the Portside Bridge wing.

Throughout the sinking, the way the ship was behaving as she settled lower and lower into the sea, shifted from time to time. After the collision with the iceberg, the ship developed a 5 degree list to Starboard. Sometime later, she corrected herself and was on an even keel. But towards the end, as the forecastle deck began to submerge, the ship began listing to Port, complicating the launching of lifeboats on the Starboard side.

Thomas and Captain Edward J. Smith was standing behind the Port Bridge wing railing, overlooking the sinking bow.

"We cannot stay any longer; she is going," Captain Smith told Thomas.

Thomas stepped down onto the deck from the elevated step to look over the heightened solid railing. Captain Smith turns around, leaving one hand gripping the railing.

Water was washing past his feet as he said his goodbyes to his friend and Captain.

"I bid you farewell to you, Edward," Thomas said as he turned his back and began walking up the boat deck, heading aft to the stern.

By this moment in the sinking of the biggest vessel in the world, the hull superstructure was beginning to stress under the immense weight of the stern. From here, it would only get worse.

Captain Smith was shocked. Going towards the stern, he was only delaying meeting his inevitable, prolonged end.

"May god be with you, Mr. Andrews," Captain Smith mumbled as he hoisted himself up over the railing, now balancing on top of it. Taking a deep breath in, and exhaling swiftly. He then jumps overboard and into the water. This would be the last anyone would see of him alive and deceased.

In the days and months following the sinking, many bodies of victims were recovered by chartered boats which the White Star Line had commissioned.

Approaching the 1st Class Grand Staircase entrance, Mr. Hartley and his bandmates finished their final tune: Song of Autumn. They were saying their goodbyes and praying. Wallace was talking as the other three listened. Thomas could see the sorrow and sadness in their eyes.

"Gentlemen," Thomas said as he continued walking past them. As he did, they all stared at him. "Farewell to you all. May God be with you to your journey's end."

"Mr. Andrews," Wallace shouted.

Stopping, Thomas turned around to face the band members and Wallace. Thomas had only this to say: "Gentlemen," he said, "I thank you for your bravery on this brisk, cold evening. Must not waste further time. Not much is left." That last part was accurate to the "t".

As the water continued flowing further towards the stern, many passengers were jumping overboard. Some with lifebelts, some without. When Thomas finally noticed that, he fled further aft.

"Well gentlemen," Wallace said. "I bid you farewell. It has been a privilege being your band master."

The water is now rushing past their feet. The Bridge had gone under with rapid pace. The ship creaked, groaned. and squeaked.

Officer Lightoller was seen pushing a collapsible boat off of the upper deck of the officers quarters. Oars from the boat were positioned to act as a slide to prevent the boat from falling over.

Thomas was rushing to throw overboard as many deck chairs as he could with the time he had. BANG!

As frantically panicking passengers fled aft to the stern, many of them bumped, shoved, or pushed him out of their way. It's now every man and woman for themselves.

SNAP! SPLASH! SNAP! SPLASH!

When Thomas looked forward for the final time, he saw the funnel's support cables snapping under stress. One by one, they snapped; whipping amok on the ocean surface; killing many who were nearby. Red blotches of blood and floating dead bodies of the victims now floated freely about.

Thomas wasn't the only one throwing things overboard. There were others too, mostly crewmembers and men. After the remaining deck chairs were tossed overboard, there was nothing more they could toss over.

GROAN! CRACK! SQUEAK!

Then: SPLASH!

The first funnel had now collapsed, killing who knows how many more. As for Thomas, there was nothing left he could do.

With the second funnel's cables snapping and breaking, the time now is: 2:15 A.M; five minutes remaining. The light dimmed, and the ship creaked and groaned.

This is the end, Thomas thought. The First Class lounge was where we went next. Adjusting his bow tie, and shaking his coat, he opened the door to the lounge and went inside. The door slammed shut because of the angle of the ship.

Knowing what's coming, he walked over to the fireplace. He tossed his life belt down on the couch by the fireplace. Time: 2:18 A.M.

The power suddenly failed, plunging the ship into complete darkness. This hasn't bothered Thomas. As he gripped the mantle, he drifted into his head, ignoring the commotion outside. Just then, the ship broke and ripped herself apart. His life ended in shame, and regret.

In the aftermath of the disaster, his body would never be recovered. Born on 08, February, 1873, he was thirty-eight when he perished. He leaves behind an unsinkable legacy. This was his story.

| THE END |

| UNSINKABLE: A THOMAS ANDREWS STORY |