The White Empress

by Lyn Andrews

  ‘I’ll never remember all this! Oh, God forgive the pair of us for all these lies!’

  ‘If you are going to be a good liar then you need a good memory – that’s one of our Doreen’s favourite sayings. She’s always quoting it to our Marlene when she keeps getting her boyfriends mixed up! Just learn them until you can reel them off and, anyway, they’re not such awful lies! I’ve just transferred some things of mine to you. It’s sort of a gift, really!’

  ‘It’s a pack of lies and we both know it!’

  ‘Do you want this job or not?’

  ‘Of course I do!’

  ‘Then shurrup an’ learn them!’ Marie lapsed into broad scouse.

  She had learned them so well that the answers tripped from her tongue easily and her hand didn’t shake when she filled in the official application form. The officious clerk she had spoken to on her first visit was nowhere in sight and she had been ushered politely into an inner office by a pleasantly mannered secretary, and given the form to complete. When she had finished and answered a few, brief questions, she was ushered out with the encouraging words, ‘We’ll be in touch in a few days’ time, Miss Cleary.’

  She had agonised over her predicament for three days until Marie, unable to wait even a few hours and heedless of the cost, had sent her a telegram.

  Interview on Tuesday. 4 p.m. C.P. Office. Royal Liver Buildings.

  The arrival of the telegram had been enough to cause an outcry at number eight. Telegrams were always harbingers of bad news and Maisey had flatly refused to take it from the boy and had called Cat. The entire household was mystified by Cat’s piercing shriek of joy.

  ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph! She’s gone off ’er ’ead!’ Maisey cried, crossing herself.

  ‘No! No! It’s good news! Wonderful news!’ She kissed the telegram and then hugged it to her. ‘I’ve got an interview with Canadian Pacific on Tuesday!’

  A sea of blank faces stared back at her, uncomprehending.

  ‘If I get through it I’ll get the job of stewardess on a White Empress!’

  Mouths dropped open and heads shook in amazement.

  ‘God luv ’er, but she’s a dark ’orse! ’Ow did yer manage that, Cat; yer ’ave ter ’ave a letter from the ’Oly Ghost ’imself ter gerra job like that!’ Mr O’Dwyer, who had worked on the docks for most of his life – when not unemployed – had summed up the situation astutely.

  ‘I got to know the right people, as Joe calls them.’

  ‘What’s Joe goin’ to say about this then? I thought you two were as thick as thieves!’ Shelagh did not attempt to hide her jealousy.

  ‘Nothing. He’s known all along that this was what I dreamed of, what I really wanted to do!’

  ‘So who did you give a backhander to, or did you pay for it in kind?’ Shelagh’s tone was vitriolic.

  ‘Shelagh! What a despicable thing to say!’ Her mother rebuked her.

  Maisey was not so genteel. ‘Nor everyone drops their drawers for a shillin’ or ’angs around the dock gates waitin’ to be picked up by anyone with money in ’is pockets an—’

  ‘Maisey! Tharral do!’ Mr O’Dwyer cut short the rest of the remark but not before a tinge of colour had crept into Ellen Cleary’s cheeks and fury contorted Shelagh’s face. He intervened again. ‘Don’t spoil it fer Cat by causin’ a bust up! It’s good on yer, girl, I say! Make the most of it!’

  ‘I intend to Mr O’Dwyer, you can bet on that. I’ve worked hard for this chance, that’s what all the evening classes and trips to Mrs Grindley’s were for.’

  ‘Well, just don’t expect to see her back here when she sails off into the sunset! She’ll be too toffee-nosed for the likes of us now! Probably wouldn’t even spit on us if we were on fire!’ came Shelagh’s venemous comment.

  ‘One of these days, Shelagh, you’ll want a favour from me!’

  ‘Like hell I will!’

  ‘And I’ll take great pleasure in sending you packing! You’ve always been down on me! Always jeering, mocking and humiliating, but you’ll regret it, just you wait!’

  Shelagh snorted contemptuously. ‘The day I come whinging to you, Cat Cleary, will be the day the Liver Birds fly off!’

  Before Cat could reply Maisey launched into a series of questions, damping down the sparks of what threatened to be a full conflagration.

  She had come through the interview with flying colours and had even surpassed herself by her outward show of confidence. As she left the offices, she was handed a list by the secretary. It detailed all the uniform and commodities she would require. To be bought from Greenberg’s in Park Lane, out of her own pocket.

  She walked down to the landing stage and leaned on the railings. The Seacombe ferry was nosing its way across the choppy waters, while a dredger moved ponderously down river, the ferry cutting across its wake. She felt like throwing her hat in the air and yelling and hugging every passer-by. She wanted to scream out and let the whole world know that she’d done it! She’d done it! Instead she looked down at the boarding pass she’d been given. A stiff white card with the words ‘Canadian Pacific Steamship Company’ in black type, beneath which were the crossed red-and-white-chequered flags. She ran a shaky finger across the printed lettering and the handwritten words.

  Name: Miss Catherine Cleary

  Rating: Stewardess (2nd Class)

  Ship: SS Empress of Britain

  Port of Embarcation: Southampton

  Date of Embarcation: Sunday, 14th November

  Time: 13.00 hours G.M.T.

  Her hands began to shake and the letters became blurred as the tears slid down her cheeks. She thought of the day she had stood, petrified on the ledge of the Leinster so close to the sea.

  It had drawn her then and it drew her now. It wasn’t just ambition that drove her, otherwise she would have found another way, perhaps an easier way, to achieve status and wealth. It was the same restlessness as the ever-shifting sands, the constant motion of the waves. It was in her blood. Salt water, Mrs Travis had called it. She couldn’t explain it, not even to herself. Perhaps it was the blood of the old Viking warriors mingled with the ancient Gaels, passed down over many centuries. A strange love affair begun hundreds of years ago, whose echoes had filtered down and touched her heart, stirred her blood. It was all that and more. A siren’s song that had nearly lured her to her death. A song she heard again as the glaucous water lapped the stones below. A song that would send her to the four corners of the Earth, ensnared by its spell.

  Chapter Twelve

  THE SMALL FAMILY GROUP stood just beyond the barrier to platform five, under the arched, glass-domed roof of Lime Street Station, Ellen Cleary holding tightly to Eamon’s jacket, Maisey with her arm through that of her husband while a little way away stood Mick Cleary. His shoulders were hunched, his bloodshot eyes darting around the station as though for some means of escape. Marie stood beside Cat and they were both set apart from the others by their appearance, Marie in a lichen green, wool coat and hat and Cat proudly wearing the navy blue bridge coat with its double rows of brass buttons and the navy blue beret with the CP badge.

  ‘Now yer mind what yer Mam told yer, Cat, work ’ard an’ don’t give no lip ter anyone an’ watch out fer the men!’ Maisey advised.

  They weren’t the words her mother had used but the meaning was the same. Cat smiled. ‘Don’t worry, I can take care of myself!’

  ‘Just the same, I wish she was goin’ with yer!’ Maisey jerked her head in Marie’s direction.

  ‘So do I!’ Marie echoed rather glumly.

  ‘This is becoming more like a wake than a send-off! I’ll write to you and you can save the stamps, Eamon, they’ll be foreign.’

  He stopped scowling and looked interested. Foreign stamps were valuable currency among his gang of cronies.

  A piercing, deafening whistle, followed by a rush of steam, announced that the train was due to leave and Cat picked up the heavy case.

  ‘I’ll get a porter, that’s too heavy for you!’ Marie pu
shed her way through the crowd but not before Cat had noticed the catch in her voice. She hugged both Maisey and Mr O’Dwyer then turned to where her father stood shuffling his feet.

  ‘Bye, Pa, take care of yourself.’

  He muttered but she made no attempt even to take his hand, instead she turned back to her mother.

  ‘Bye, Ma, I’ll be fine. I’ll be back before you know it.’ There were tears in her eyes as she hugged the thin form to her and kissed the sallow cheek.

  ‘God protect you, Cat, and be a good girl!’

  ‘I will! You’ll be proud of me, Ma!’ she whispered.

  ‘We all are! Didn’t ’alf the street want ter come ter see yer off!’

  There was no mention of Shelagh.

  Her case was whisked away by the porter whom Marie had found and the two girls hugged each other.

  ‘Good luck, Cat! Take care!’ Marie said hoarsely.

  She couldn’t speak. The excitement that had buoyed her up over the last few days had evaporated and she was afraid. Afraid of what faced her and whether, now that her desire was within reach, she would be able to cope with this new life that had beckoned so tantalisingly for so long.

  ‘If you don’t hurry up you’ll miss the train!’ her mother urged. So with a last kiss, she walked through the barrier, then turned to wave before she began to hurry down the platform. She was leaving behind her the old life. Ahead of her stretched a new one. A terrible emptiness filled her, as though she were suspended in a void and loneliness and apprehension dogged her steps as she wondered what faced her.

  She reached Southampton tired and cold. It had been a long journey and a tedious one and the loneliness had increased. It was the first time she had ever undertaken such a long journey alone. As she stood in line at the ticket barrier she noticed that there were other uniforms in the crowd and after passing through she was struggling with her case when a girl with bright, coppery hair, dressed in an identical bridge coat and beret, called to her.

  ‘Bring your case over here, I’ve got a porter!’

  With relief she dumped the case on the trolley. ‘Thanks, I feel as though my arm is now a few inches longer than when I started out.’

  ‘I’m Anne. Anne Selby. You’re new, aren’t you?’

  ‘How did you guess?’

  ‘By the little-girl-lost expression on your face. Come on, we’ll get a taxi and share the fare between us. It’s better than fighting your way on and off trams with all that gear.’

  Cat was so grateful she could have hugged her.

  It wasn’t far to the docks and during the journey she learned that Anne had been a stewardess for a year. She also learned something of what faced her, facts of which she had been forewarned. And then they had arrived.

  She stepped out of the taxi and turned around. Her heart began to race for there, tied up in dock, was the White Empress, even more gigantic at such close quarters. So colossal and majestic that had it not been for Anne Selby, she would have been tempted to turn and run. She stood gazing upwards, transfixed by the sight. Forty-two thousand tons of gleaming white steel, bigger even than the Mauretania. Rows and rows of portholes and a gangway that looked like a stairway up to the sky. The great White Empress, her white paint a coat of ermine, her three yellow funnels like gigantic points of a crown, setting her apart from the drab, commonplace hulls of all the other liners in the world. To Cat she had become not merely a symbol of wealth, power and security – she had become a friend, a vital, living thing. Stephen Hartley had called the Empress a rival and she wondered if there wasn’t some truth in the description. This ship meant more to her than just a job. She had dreamt about her, longed for the sight of her; was it possible to love a ship, she wondered?

  Anne tugged at her sleeve, bringing her back to reality. ‘You’d better report to The Dragon right away.’ Then, seeing the consternation in Cat’s eyes she continued, ‘Oh, she’s not that bad really. She’s a stickler for rules and regulations, but if you’ve got a problem or are in trouble, then she’s a tower of strength!’

  ‘Miss Sabell?’

  Anne nodded. ‘Come on.’ She looked around and spotted a group of men walking in the same direction. ‘Here, Bill, be a good bloke and carry these, will you, or we’ll be exhausted by the time we get up that gangway!’

  Two of them detached themselves and took one case each.

  ‘A new face, eh?’

  ‘Another lamb to the slaughter!’ Anne joked. ‘What’s your name? I didn’t even ask you! God, you must think I’m awful!’

  ‘Cat Cleary. Short for Catherine.’ She wondered if it wouldn’t have been better to have introduced herself by her full Christian name. Cat sounded childish and had already caused her enough trouble.

  She parted company with the others at the top of the gangway as the man who had carried her case offered to take her to report to Miss Sabell. The feeling of sheer panic intensified as she followed him down a warren of passageways, known as companionways, her heels tapping loudly on metal decks. She’d never find her way around, she thought, it was so vast! Down three steep flights of stairs they went, passing numerous doors. They descended yet another staircase.

  ‘Here we are, D deck. Fluff Alley!’

  Being totally unfamiliar with the jargon she just stared back at him.

  ‘Miss Sabell’s is the third cabin along.’ He laughed. ‘It’s called Fluff Alley because the hairdressers and stenographers have their cabins here. Go on and good luck!’

  She paused before the door with the words that proclaimed ‘Chief Stewardess’, then taking a deep breath, knocked gently. On being told to come in she entered. It was a small room, low-ceilinged. A bunk, neatly made up, was set against the bulkhead. There was a narrow wardrobe, a wash basin with a cupboard beneath it and a desk facing the opposite bulkhead. The desk was littered with papers and the woman at the desk turned to face her. She was older than Cat had expected, but with a trim figure. Her short, light brown hair was tucked neatly under a small, starched cap. Her blue eyes took in every detail of the girl who stood before her.

  ‘I was told to report to you, Miss Sabell.’

  The chief stewardess picked up a list from her desk and studied it. Then she looked up.

  ‘Miss Catherine Cleary?’

  Cat nodded.

  ‘Welcome aboard the Empress of Britain, Miss Cleary. I presume you have your uniforms and the booklet of company regulations, so I won’t waste time on all that. As long as you stick to the regulations you can’t go far wrong. In a moment I will show you your cabin. But first things first. You will work a seven-day week, while at sea. You will be on duty ten hours of each day but there will be periods for meals and rest, although you will still be expected to answer bells during those times. You will be expected to stand watch, everyone on board does. It will all be explained to you. I myself will supervise you at first, then you will be under the direction of your section head. You will be expected to do your own laundry, your meals will be drawn from the galley. Lights out at 20.00 hours and I must emphasise this fact, no men are allowed in cabins – ever! In fact no men are allowed near the stewardess’ quarters except to call for you if you are going ashore in port. You will work in port, but Saturday afternoon, Sunday and Monday mornings you will have free.’ She paused. ‘You have, I presume, been informed of your wages?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. £10 per month.’

  ‘Have you made any arrangements for an allotment?’

  ‘I have. Fifteen shillings a week to be paid to my mother.’

  The allotment was a set sum of money deducted from wages and was paid to the person to whom it was allotted. This guaranteed that families had a weekly income while the earner was at sea.

  ‘You will be given your section, a cabin – or what used to be called steerage class section. You will look after people who are emigrants and who often have very little money.’ Again she paused. ‘Quite often they have less than you earn a week but they have paid for their passage and are entitled
to be treated with respect, even though at times they can be difficult!’

  Cat’s gaze didn’t waiver although her mind went back to the day she had arrived in Liverpool as just such an emigrant.

  ‘Have you ever been to sea before, Miss Cleary?’

  ‘No, ma’am. Well, not for long periods that is.’

  ‘Then as it is November and the weather will be rough, you will probably be seasick. Nearly everyone is at first. You’ll get over it. You will have to for there is no one to take your place, do your work, should you succumb. You will be expected to carry on – regardless! There will be a daily inspection by either the captain or the purser and woe betide you if there is even a hair out of place! Which brings me to the subject of your hair. You will have to have it cut, it’s too long. Regulations state it must be no longer than collar-length. I’m strict but I hope I’m fair and I expect my girls to be smartly turned out at all times! You have had your vaccinations?’

  Her arm still ached. ‘I have indeed.’

  Miss Sabell smiled. ‘It’s a necessary evil carried out every three years!’ She rose. ‘Are there any questions, Miss Cleary?’

  ‘Not that I can think of, ma’am.’

  ‘Good.’ Her face softened a little. ‘If you have any problems, I will expect you to come straight to me.’

  Cat nodded and picked up her case. The cabin was becoming hot and stuffy and the thick coat added to her discomfort.

  ‘Just one more thing,’ Miss Sabell reached over and picked up a bunch of keys from the desk.

  Cat looked at her steadily.

  ‘You will soon find that you will be knocking on cabin doors with a smile on your face and hate in your heart, but it is something we all endure, I can assure you!’