This was to be a new beginning for us...

A New Life

By Susan Brown

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I looked over the lawn down to the sea beyond. Now that I am somewhat older and hopefully wiser, I feel that I can look back on my long life with a certain amount of satisfaction.

I put on my glasses and could see on the horizon, a great ship. I wondered where it was going.

My thoughts went back to another ship that I sailed on, a lifetime before. A journey that changed my life forever…

When I saw The Titanic for the first time, I was in awe. The ship was huge, with four funnels and the ship seemed to tower over Berth 44 of Southampton Dock.

Many people were milling about including dockers, ship workers, tradesmen delivering goods and not forgetting, the many crew in different uniforms, depending on position or duty. The ship had landed just the day before and final preparations were being made before the ocean liner would set off across the Atlantic in just a week’s time.

Until we reached the gangplank, I suppose I didn’t realise just how huge the ship was. I was overwhelmed, to say the least.

Why were we there? Because Father was an engineer, plumber and jack of all trades. There was still some work to be carried out in some first-class cabins and other areas and he was well qualified to do such work. I went with him because I liked to help and to be near him.

Also, excitingly, we were to be passengers on that great ship that was to carry us across the water to America!

It was going to be the beginning of our new life.

My name is Arthur Danvers and my father, George Danvers.

At the start of all this, I was just twelve years old. My father was thirty-three. I had lost my mother in childbirth seven years before. I remember her a little. The child was weak and lived but three months. Her name was Annabel.

Since then, it had just been Father and me. Father always wanted to travel and he had heard stories about all the new opportunities that were to be had in America. We had nothing in England to keep us there and no close relations that cared about us. The work that my father had in London wasn’t very well paid, and although we lived in one of the richest countries in the world, those riches did not reach the likes of my father or myself.

The main thing that I remembered that first time I boarded The Titanic was the vastness of it. It seemed like there were miles of corridors, some plain, some fancy and some downright opulent. The Grand Staircase was a wonder to behold with its huge skylight far above, flooding the whole area with bright light. The reception rooms, smoking rooms and restaurants, all decorated in the height of luxury were a wonder to behold and had an opulence that I have never seen before or since.

I believe that was even a swimming pool on board, but I was yet to see it.

The first time I walked into the first-class cabin or rather, more correctly named, state room, I couldn’t believe it. It was the height of luxury, a luxury that I had never seen before. I realise that I have used the word luxury several times and I make no apology for doing so. You had to be there to believe it. Wood panelling, plush upholstery, radiators, electric lighting, deep carpeting, private bathrooms; the list went on and on. There was even a side cabin that Father said was probably for the maid.

This particular state room had a small leak in the bathroom, under the bath. I helped Father by handing him the tools that he needed. He always said that I was like a third hand, always very helpful and that made me feel proud.

As he tried to fix the leak, I was quite concerned. He was taking quite a while to do the work and was somewhat out of breath. He had had breathing problems for quite a while and, added to that, an awful cough that never seemed to clear. He smoked like a chimney, as they say. It was something that I did not like and hated the smell. Most adults smoked so, to be fair, he wasn’t out of the ordinary.

‘Will we be staying in a cabin like this Father?’ I asked while he took a much-needed break.

He laughed and then had a coughing fit.

Had I said something amusing?

‘This state room would cost us several hundred pounds or more Arthur,’ he replied breathlessly, ‘we will be in third class, down in the depths of the ship. Although those cost about three pounds for me and a bit less for you. I’m hoping that they will keep me on as crew and that we might be refunded the cost of the passage. The fare is a lot of money to us and we need all we can keep for when we get to America.’

We had spoken a lot about America. It sounded so much better than where we lived at present. We lived in a poky little building with several other families. It was all we could afford. Father's work was spasmodic as he was often unable to work due to his chest. We had lived in smog-bound London up until about a month before. Southampton was a bit cleaner but not much.

He thought that it was a stroke of luck that he was able to obtain employment on that great ship before our funds ran out. If they had known more about his health, they might have had second thoughts about taking him on.

As you might gather, I worried about Father. I might only have been twelve, but I had seen a lot of illness and death in my short life. I only hoped that our move to America with its vast open spaces and clean air would cure him of his ailments.

During that week before sailing, with my father, I had been through many parts of the ship and seen the different areas. From the crew-only parts of the ship, I had been lucky enough visit the third, second and first-class areas. On one occasion, I had been on the bridge and had touched the great ship’s wheel! I wasn’t questioned about being there though, as I was always with Father.

Father worked hard, very hard and when we returned to our single room in the poorer part of Southampton, quite late at night, he was dog tired. We had little food, just enough to keep us going. We needed all of our meagre savings, kept under the single mattress, for our voyage and what we would need for America.

The night before we were due to go on board the ship for the voyage, Father was quite ill and I worried for him. He kept coughing and had problems catching his breath. Then he coughed up some blood and that worried me even more. I went next door to Mrs Holland and asked if she knew of a doctor.

‘No dear, they don’t come around here anymore, and you need money if you go to one. Is it your dad having trouble?’

‘Yes, he can hardly breathe and he’s coughing up blood.’

She shook her head.

‘I’m sorry to hear that. There’s a lot of it about. You should prepare yourself for the worse. Hang on, wait there dear.’

I think I knew what she meant about the worse, but I chose not to think about that.

She went away and came back a few moments later with a tin mug; the liquid in it was steaming hot.

‘Give this to him, its tea sweetened with honey. It might help. I can’t come, I have health problems of my own and if he’s got the consumption, it is catching something fierce.’

‘Thank you Mrs Holland,’ I said, taking the mug.

She smiled sadly.

Mrs Holland was the only person I knew there. It looked like I was the only one who could help my ailing father.

I went back to our poky, damp-smelling room. Dad was lying back on his pillow, with a dirty, blood-specked handkerchief in his hand. He was gasping for breath.

I went over to him.

‘Father, sit up and take this drink. It will make you feel better.’

He somehow managed to sit up a bit and I helped him drink. He coughed and spluttered a bit but at least I got some of the liquid down him.

He then lay back down, exhausted.

‘Thank you Arthur,’ he whispered, ‘it helps. Let us hope that I feel a bit better in the morning. We can’t afford not to be at the dock early. Now let me sleep, there’s a good boy.’

I ate some dry slightly stale bread and finished off the sweet tea that Mrs Holland had kindly provided. It was nearly dark outside and I lit a candle and placed it on the mantelpiece of the fire which we had never lit. Coal was expensive.

I wasn’t tired. My mind was full of worry over my father. I had seen this before. In London Mr Sexton, our next-door neighbour, had died of that awful disease. He had a terrible cough like my father’s and had wasted away. Father had lost so much weight recently and was weak. How he had been able to work, I had no idea. I think what was keeping him going was the prospect of a new life abroad.

I suppose that I had been ignoring his health condition in the vain hope that it was only a heavy cold and that it might just go away like magic and he would be back to his old, cheerful self.

I think, for my age, I was quite mature. I had not enjoyed a carefree childhood like many more well-off children did. In my circumstances, I had to grow up to survive. As I sat there listening to my father, fighting for his breath, I was worried for what the future might hold.

After a while, I looked over to my father. He was coughing in his sleep and was wheezing terribly. I couldn’t leave him like this. I had to do something.

I stood up, grabbed one of the ten-shilling notes from the wallet under the bed, put my rather grubby jumper on and went over to my father.

‘I won’t be long,’ I said, trying to sound cheerful, but failing miserably.

He mumbled something and after a moment, I went outside, along the corridor and then down the creaky bare wooden steps that led outside.

Of course, it was raining. That fine, drizzly rain that seemed to soak through you quite quickly, but I had no thoughts of that as I went down the gloomy, gas-lit street in search of help.

At the end of the road was a rundown pub. There was the tinkle of piano music coming from inside together with laughter. How could anyone be enjoying themselves in this God forsaken place? I thought.

I went in. The place wreaked of tobacco smoke and stale drink and was packed with men in various stages of merriment. A few women were about but they were very much in the minority. I made my way to the bar. The barman looked at me while polishing a bear glass.

‘What are you after youngster, a whisky and soda?’

He laughed at his own joke.

‘Please sir, do you know where I can find a doctor?’

‘You look healthy enough to me youngster.’

‘It is my father. He is very ill.’

I was nearly crying now.

‘Move over Seth, let me deal with this,’ said a barmaid, coming out from the back.

She came round the bar, took my hand and led me through a door. It was quieter there and the sounds from the bar retreated into the background.

‘Now youngster. What is this about?’

‘My father, he is very ill. He has the consumption I think.’

‘Lord protect you both.’

‘I need a doctor. Do you know of one? I have a little money.’

‘Why do you think it is the consumption?’

I told her.

She looked sad.

‘Blood, you say?’

I nodded.

‘Lost a lot of weight?’

‘Yes.’

‘No energy?’

I nodded.

‘I would save your money dear. No doctor would come out here for that, not now. They would expect you to go to them and they would charge a pretty penny for the privilege of a consult. They might visit those rich folks, but that is the way things are now. Money talks and that is the way of the world. In any case, it’s late and the nearest doctor is miles away and anyway, he wouldn’t be able to do much except maybe give him a draft to help him sleep.’

‘What can I do?’ I cried.

‘I’ll give you some brandy it might help him to sleep, but love, you must get ready for the fact that he’s going to die. They are falling like flies around here. I’ve lost six of my regulars this past month. Have you got any relatives?’

‘No.’

‘No friends that can help you?’

‘No,’ I sniffed.

‘Then you will probably have to go to an orphanage. Not a place I would want to send any of my children, but needs must. Wait here ducks.’

She went off and I sat there trying to take in what she had said. There was no hope for my father or me for that matter.

She came back in with a small bottle and handed it to me.

‘Give him some of this, it will ease his pain. If he leaves you, if you knows what I mean, come back here and I’ll give you a roof over your head, but only for the night as I have four children and little room for another. We can talk about what you can do then. Good luck with you and God protect you.’

She sniffed and then gave me a hug and then I soon found myself out in the rain again, clutching the bottle tightly.

I ran back to the place that I called home and went up the stairs.

I let myself in and went over to my father. He was awake, but in obvious pain, struggling for his breath. If anything, he looked worse than when I left him.

‘Father, have some of this, it will make you feel better.’

I helped raise him from the grubby, now blood-splattered pillow and made him drink some of the strong brandy. He coughed violently but I managed to get some of the liquid down him. Without a word, he then sank down and went into a fitful sleep. His breathing seemed slightly better though, for which I was thankful. Perhaps he would get better after all.

I was in a deep sleep, but my father woke me with his cough. I had been sleeping fitfully beside him in the bed. Rubbing my eyes, I sat up and looked at him. He looked very hot. Feeling his sweaty forehead, I could see that he was burning up, although the room was quite cold.

I got up and shivered, it was cold in that room. In bare feet, I went over to the jug that held some water and drank deeply. Then filled the mug to give Father some of the tepid water.

I went over to the bed and sat down beside him.

‘Father, are you awake?’

He opened his eyes suddenly and after a moment looked at me.

‘Annabel, is that you?’

What a strange thing to say.

‘It’s Arthur, Father.’

He grabbed my hand. Luckily not the one holding the water.

Somehow, he found the strength to continue.

‘Oh yes Arthur; listen Son, I know we are due to go on the Titanic, but I’m too ill.’

He stopped for a few moments, trying to get his breath back.

‘I am not long for this world Arthur and I’m sorry that I will never take you to America. If you can get there yourself, do it. I will go to my maker soon and see my dear wife and our baby daughter Annabel. Know that I love you with all my heart…’

I could see that he wanted to say more but his talking had exhausted him and he could say no more and he just shut his eyes.

A short time later, he stopped breathing.

My father was dead.

I sat there for some time holding his lifeless hand. I was surprised that I didn’t cry. Perhaps I was numb with shock.

I suppose I knew that this was going to be the outcome and his passing was not much of a surprise. My father had gone downhill very fast. Just a week ago, he was able to do his work, but things had got harder and harder as the days passed. I was, in my heart, expecting the outcome and had accepted the fact even before it happened.

Many had died from that terrible disease and more would in the coming years, I was sure.

I pulled myself together, got up and pulled the dirty sheet over his head.

I went over to the small grimy window and stared out. The church clock chimed seven. It sounded like it chimed for my father.

I realised with dread that was on my own now and would have to look after myself. A twelve-year-old boy without anyone else in the world.

I thought about the practicalities of my situation. For my father, I could do nothing. The parish would have to bury him.

Perhaps I should go to his funeral, it was the decent thing to do, but I knew that if I did, the authorities would want to take me in hand. I had no faith in the authorities; they had never helped my family and they would want to put me in a place where I would not want to go.

I had no intention of being put into an orphanage. The stories that I had heard about those places made me feel that it would be the last place on Earth for me to want to go to.

I went to the end of the mattress and lifted it. Under there, was my father’s wallet. I opened it and counted the money; three pounds ten shillings and a few coins. It had been nearly double that figure before having to pay for our fares. We had scrimped and saved that money for a long time and had gone without. All for the dream of travelling away from the hell hole in London that we had lived in. In the past we had lived better, that was when we lived near Sally and her family, but those last few months in London when the work dried up and we had to survive on next to nothing, were amongst the hardest times of my life.

What kept us going was that dream. A dream of a new life away from the smog of London. We were determined not to dip into the money that had been so hard to get and keep. Without those precious funds, we would not be able to do what we desperately wanted to do, find a new life in America, away from the poverty.

Father had heard about the Titanic a while back and had found out that she was to be in Southampton and needed workers to do some finishing touches and snagging before the passengers were to board on the maiden voyage across The Atlantic.

The idea formed was to obtain employment on the ship and that we would try to get tickets on the maiden voyage. It seemed like a very good idea at the time. Unknown to me was the fact that my father was increasingly struggling with his health and had managed to keep this from me, at least initially. Father had always had a hacking cough, due to the tobacco, I felt. Yes, he started to cough and wheeze a bit more lately, but I did not realise how bad he was becoming and just thought that it was a heavy cold.

Somehow, we managed to get down to Southampton in time for him to gain employment on that great ship and to find the money to pay for our passage.

How he got the money to pay for us, I never did find out, but on reflection, I believe that he went to money lenders for some of the funds. I had no idea how he intended to pay them back and did not want to reflect on that. I think that he was desperate for us to get away despite his deteriorating health.

He had some idea, I think, that if he was taken on as crew, they would refund our fare.

So there I was looking at Father’s wallet and the money. Also, there were two third-class tickets for The Titanic in there for us.

Tickets that we would never use…

I stopped for a moment.

What if I used my ticket?

Would they let me on board without Father?

Could I go to America and somehow find a new life?

As the idea grew in me, I discarded any objections as I decided that I would do just that.

I would go to America.

I had a small case where what clothes and personal items I had were packed. I took off my nightshirt and placed it in the case. I then washed my face and put a comb through my over-long hair. It was very long indeed and was badly in need of a cut, but we had not the time or money to do it of late. I had more than once been mistaken for a girl in boy’s clothes. Father and I laughed at that.

I wanted to look presentable, so I dressed in my best Sunday School clothes, a cleanish tunic, lapel jacket and the one Eton collar that I had. I wore knee breeches and stockings and black shoes that weren’t that good but they were all that I had.

I suppose that I looked reasonably respectable, and I hoped that I would pass muster when going up the gangplank.

I had hoped that getting myself ready would take my mind off the still form on the bed, but of course, it didn’t. I still felt numb and disbelieving and I wished that I was mistaken and that my father would cough or something to show that he was still with me, but I knew in my heart of hearts that miracles like that do not happen.

I gently lifted the sheet from my father’s face and kissed him on his cold forehead.

‘Goodbye Father. I am so sorry to leave you like this. I am sure that you understand.’

Why was I not crying? I had a lump in my throat that would not go away and a sick feeling in my belly, but I did not cry.

Sighing, I put the sheet back over him and stood away.

I found a scrap of paper and wrote, in a shaky hand, a note in pencil saying just this.

George Danvers lies inside- he has died of the consumption. Please care for him.

I used a rusty drawing pin that I found on a shelf and pinned the note to the outside of the door as I left the cheerless room for the last time, carrying all I had in the world in a small case.

Putting on my cap, I left the building and didn’t look back.

I arrived at Berth 44 in good time at 9 o’clock. It was dull and overcast and it looked like rain might arrive at any moment. Embarkation was supposed to commence at 9.30. Others had arrived early too, perhaps eager to get on board. There were a fair number of passengers about, many with large amounts of luggage, making my suitcase look very small indeed. Over to the side, cranes on the ship were actively loading goods and wooden crates into the wide-open holds.

The third-class passengers had to go to a side building first, where their health was checked. I followed a family of four and I think it was assumed that I was with them as I sort of attached myself to the back of the small group. There were perfunctory checks on our health which included sticking out our tongues, looking at our teeth and sounding our chests. It was a quick procedure, and I was pleased about that, as the last thing I wanted was to be asked awkward questions.

Eventually, they started letting passengers on board, as it got ever busier on the quayside. I hoped that I might not be noticed in the crowd but noted that on the deck at the top of the third-class boarding gangway was an officer and crew member checking off what I assumed to be passenger names. I was glad that I had my ticket and wondered if there would be any problem with my boarding that great ship.

Further along, were other gangways where richer, more well-dressed passengers embarked. It seemed a lot less busy there, with a number of the crew helping those more privileged people to board. I would certainly have preferred that way onto the ship but knew that I would be lucky to get aboard, considering my circumstances.

There was a family of three over on the other gangway and my eyes were drawn to the girl. She looked about my age and was very pretty in a white dress, with a short cape to keep out the cold. She wore white gloves and had a wide-brimmed hat on. She reminded me of my dear friend Sally. I had not seen her for some months as she had moved away with her family. I must admit that we both cried at our parting. I would never have a friend like her again, I thought. The girl looked excited and eager to get on board. Looking over to me, she smiled and waved. I waved back at her but she soon went out of sight as she and her family disappeared into the ship. I felt a touch envious of her and her happy family. If only I could have had her life…

I was pushed slightly from behind as the queue continued up the gangway. Many people were carrying small cases and I assumed that that was all they had, although it was possible that more luggage may have been put on board already for them. What I am saying is that my small somewhat battered case did not look out of place.

Eventually, I reached the top of the gangway and the rather disinterested officer looked at my ticket and then over my shoulder.

‘Where are your parents’ boy?’

‘My father is further back; he won’t be a moment.’

‘I can’t allow a child to come on board without a parent. Rules and regulations you know,’ he said pompously.

My heart sank.

‘Hang on sir?’ said the crew member who I vaguely recognised.

‘Yes Perkins, what is it.’

‘This is George Danvers’ boy, Arthur, isn’t it?’

‘Yes sir,’ I said in a small voice.

‘He was one of the workmen aboard Sir and you helped your father didn’t you Arthur?’

‘Yes Sir.’

‘Hmm,’ said the officer, not really interested and distracted by the numbers behind and his long list, ‘I see; look boy, wait over there for your father and stay out of the way of everybody.’

He pointed just inside the hatchway of the ship.

The crew member, who I think was called Jake, winked at me and smiled.

I nodded my thanks and went inside.

I thought that it might be the case that they would not let me come aboard without my dear Father, but I had to try and for once, luck was with me. The officer and Jake were looking at the other passengers and not at me.

I took my chances and rather than just waiting to be ejected from the ship, I just followed others who were going down to the third-class areas at the very rear of the ship.

No one took any notice of me for which I was glad.

My father and I were supposed to be in one of the cabins reserved for families. I knew from my previous times going about that area with Father that these cabins slept about ten people. It would soon be noticed that my father was not on board. I did not know what to do. I found a quiet area, underneath a staircase, away from others and thought about what I should do.

I had a problem. I was on my own and that would be noticed sooner or later. I knew some of the crew, indeed, Jake knew me and so others would recognise me also, I was sure. Questions might be asked about where my father was. It would be noted somewhere that he did not come aboard.

I had simply not thought through the possible problems, but to be fair, I had a lot of other things to worry about.

I was a bright child and could read and write better than many of my contemporaries. I also knew how to look after myself. Indeed, I had helped my father with many things in my short life, including being helpful in his work. It was also my usual job to cook and clean for us both. He once joked with me that I would make a great housewife!

I considered myself to be resourceful and as I may have said before, I knew my way around the ship. This would be useful. I would maybe stow away, perhaps in a baggage or storage area and try to stay out of the way. I was not sure how I would obtain food and drink though, without getting caught.

I would worry about that later. For now, whilst everyone was boarding and there was a lot of confusion, I would find myself a spot out of the limelight and away from prying eyes.

The area that I was in was at the very back of the ship on G Deck. I knew the area a little as I had been down here with my father fixing a leak in one of the pipes. The third-class bedroom areas were nearby, as were some of the food storage areas and a hold where some of the baggage for second and first-class passengers were kept. This, I decided, was where I would try to hide out amongst the boxes, chests, cases and trunks.

Avoiding others and waiting for a quiet moment, I went through the hatch-marked baggage area and found myself in a large room, quite full of passenger luggage of all shapes and sizes. I managed to find a corner away from the hatch and found a space that was large enough for my needs and away from any inquisitive eyes; at least I hoped that would be the case. There were a few lights on the ceiling and bulkheads, but it was quite gloomy and that was good; the less chance of being found.

There were a lot of noises down there including the sound of the great engines as the ship prepared for embarkation. I moved some cases and trunks around and made myself a sort of makeshift seat, it was comfortable enough for my needs.

As I sat there, my mind wandered back to that dingy room where Father had died. I wondered whether my note had been found and if he had been removed from there. I hated to leave him, but I knew in my heart that he would approve of my decision to find my way to the ship. Had he not said as much about my finding a way to get to America?

I had a lump in my throat. I missed him so much; he was kind and loving and had been the rock in my life and now he was gone, and I was left to fend for myself. I would, if I could, return someday and find out where he was buried.

I sat there in the gloom for a long time. I was tired, very tired, although it was early in the day still.

I awoke with a start at the sound of bells and then the blast of ship's horn reverberating around me. The engine noises that grew louder and I could sense movement.

I had no idea of the time, but it must have been about mid-day, as that was, I understood the time the ship was due to sail.

I would have loved to have gone on deck to see off England, but I was afraid that I might get caught.

My sleep had refreshed me somewhat, but I was thirsty and hungry, and I realised that at some stage I would have to go out to find some sustenance.

Before, I think, my mind had been in a bit of a fog due to all that had happened, and I now was thinking a little straighter, I realised that being in the hold like this was not ideal. It was cold and a little damp and I did not have the clothes that would sustain me for too long in that inhospitable place.

I would have to go out in public, but how? I was known on the ship by some of the crew and engineers, and as I kept saying to myself, I risked being recognised.

I stood up, stretching, I was somewhat stiff.

Yawning as the last vestige of sleep left me, I wandered around the area, looking at the various cases, packages and chests.

Over in a corner, there was a bright-looking trunk coloured pink and it attracted me for some reason. I was just about to go over to it when I heard the banging of a door. I scuttled over behind some tea chests as I heard the sound of voices.

‘Come on Len, you lazy animal. This chest is bloody heavy, give us a hand.’

‘All right Albert, don’t get yer knickers in a twist.’

I heard some cursing and dragging noises.

‘Right, that’s the lot, let’s get a pint in the crew bar. I‘m glad that’s all over.’

‘No doubt, that prat, Armitage will come down later to check we’ve stored everyfing ship shape and Bristol fashion as they say. I fink that he’s coming this evening at about six bells, that’s when the sod normally prowls about. Come on, me pints calling me.’

They both laughed as they went away, leaving the door open, thankfully.

So, my idea of staying in the hold was not a good one after all, if people kept coming in. I would have to leave and leave soon. I didn’t want to get caught out and I had been lucky so far. Six bells I knew was about seven o’clock that evening. I had had an interesting conversation with one of the deckhands about that a few days before and I was glad that I had listened to him.

So, I had about five or six hours to do something about it.

My eyes travelled about and stopped at that pale pink trunk and then moved on. There was a rather large brown trunk that looked promising.

I went over and tried to open it. It was of course locked.

I looked around and found an axe on some heavy clips beside the door. With some effort, I took it down and went over to the trunk.

It had two trunk locks, but they didn’t look very strong.

I stopped for a moment. I wasn’t a thief, and I hated the idea of damaging the trunk. However, needs must as they say, and I used the axe blade to prise the locks open. It was a bit noisy, but there again, I was in a noisy place, and I didn’t think that the sound would carry.

I lifted the heavy lid and saw immediately that it was a gentleman’s trunk. It was of no use to me. Nothing in that trunk would be of any use to me.

You may be wondering what I was doing. Remembering that pretty girl on the gangplank had given me an idea.

Let me explain.

I have not described how I looked. Well, I was small for my age, thin and what I would now call androgynous. Like many children of my age and younger, we look, on the surface anyway, very much alike. It is only as one gets older that males and females look different. The only outward sign that I was a boy had to do with what clothes I wore. I had soft skin and a clear complexion; surprising really, considering my upbringing.

Anyway, in brief, I would pretend to be a girl. I would then be free from the worry of being recognised as the son of my father. Well, that was what I hoped, anyway!

In London, I may have mentioned, I had a friend called Sally. She was my age, and we were quite close, as there were few people of our age where we lived. At the time we were slightly better off and lived in a nicer neighbourhood. Sally was very pretty and liked to dress nicely. Her father was a family doctor and was a nice man and Sally’s mother was lovely, kind and considerate. She knew that I wasn’t very well off, but she did not hold it against me and did not object to Sally and I being friends.

Sally and I often talked about what we would like to do when we grew older. I wanted to be a plumber like my father, and she wanted to be a nurse. She sort of treated me as an honourable girl as she spoke about all things girl. I didn’t mind as I was glad that I had a friend, even though the subjects we talked about were far from the things boys normally like to discuss!

What I’m trying to say is that I thought that I knew enough and probably a bit too much about her clothes and what girls like to wear. Indeed, in a strange way, I was quite envious of how she looked and what she was able to wear. Boy’s clothes were not in any way pretty and the materials used were much rougher than those that girls were able to wear.

Anyway, I closed the trunk with a thud and moved the latches of the locks back so that it wasn’t obvious that they were now broken.

My eyes roved once again to the pink trunk.

I had to look.

Picking up the axe, I went over to the trunk and was somewhat surprised, as the trunk had no locks, just catches that could be easily opened.

Holding my breath for some reason, I opened the catches and raised the lid.

I slowly let out my breath and smiled.

There, inside were all manner of girls’ clothes, neatly packed, by a maid probably. I could tell that the clothes were for a girl from a rich family.

Would those clothes fit me?

Under some tissue, on top, was a dress made of what looked like white muslin. It was very pretty and was probably worn at parties. It looked quite delicate. I took it out of the trunk and carefully laid it on the lid of a large trunk nearby.

There was another layer of tissue paper and underneath that were two more dresses, one was white cotton with pink piping and the other was pale blue with white piping. Without thought of how wrong it might be, I took off my outer clothes and tried on firstly the white dress and then the blue one. They both fit quite well but were, I suppose, being a bit critical, both slightly large for me.

I noticed that both dresses had hems that fell to just below my knees and it all felt a bit strange. I smiled at that thought. Of course, it was strange, I was wearing a dress!

Something didn’t seem right. I thought for a moment and realised that I was wearing the wrong underclothes. I was not sure why it mattered but it did. If I was to do this mad thing, I decided with determination that I would have to do it properly. With a sudden resolve, I carefully took off the blue dress and laid it down.

I then rummaged carefully down the trunk and saw what I was looking for, girls’ underclothes. I think that I blushed slightly as I held these delicate garments that were totally alien to me, a boy.

I took off my underpants, vest and course boys’ socks, shivering as I was now as naked as the day I was born. It was none too warm in the hold and I was getting goosebumps! I picked up the girls’ black woollen stockings and suspenders that I found in my search of the trunk.

My hands shook slightly as I pulled up the stockings, I do not know why my hands shook, perhaps it was because of the cold or a certain amount of nervousness?

My good friend Sally had been a mine of information about the subject of underclothes although, of course, she did not show me anything. She was extremely good at describing what she wore on top and also beneath her dresses. I had thought that boys and girls wore similar things underneath our outer clothes. How wrong I had been.

Anyone listening to our conversations would have thought that we were a strange pair, talking about the differences between boys and girls; but it was natural for us to talk about things like that and we were of an age where we did not feel any embarrassment.

To be honest, she sometimes went on a bit and I was occasionally bored with the subject, but she was my friend and I had to pay attention and I was so glad now that I did.

It took me ages to work out how the suspenders worked but I managed after several failed attempts to get it right. I had tried to get the stockings to hold up by themselves without any success. It was all terribly fiddly, and I wondered how girls could do this sort of thing every day. Then, searching about a bit, I found some drawers, chemises and petticoats. There was also a corset, but I did not feel that I should even try to put that on!

According to Sally, no girl would dare go out without being dressed in those items of clothing. I sighed and shrugged and then put the alien items on.

The drawers were strange as they had an opening at the front covered with sort of flaps and were made of cotton. I tied the drawers with the ribbons attached at the waist. The chemise went down to my knees and had lots of lace around the hem. I wasn’t sure whether I should put on the white petticoat but decided, in for a penny in for a pound and did so.

Before putting on the dress. I looked further into the depths of the trunk and found slippers, shoes and tie-up boots. Boots would be ideal for going out in all weathers, but I would be inside and decided on the highly polished black shoes with small buckles.

Finally, I put on the blue dress. There were a few buttons at the back and I had to be a bit of a contortionist to do them up, but finally managed it.

Many girls of my age and younger wore what was called a pinafore over their dresses to keep their clothes clean. Indeed, Sally rarely went anywhere without wearing one. It was open at the back and looked a bit like an elaborate apron. There were several pinafores in the trunk, most of them white, but one blue and one cream-coloured. I picked a white one out and put it on, once again, with difficulty, buttoning it up at the back between my shoulder blades.

Finally, I had finished dressing. Looking down, I felt an odd feeling that I could not fully describe. One thing that I could say, if I was being honest with myself, was that my mode of dress did not feel strange or alien to me, although it certainly should have done. I had no idea what I would look like to others, as there were no mirrors where I was, there in the depths of the hold, but I was almost sure that I would not look out of place or as anything other than a girl I purported to be.

My hair, now that was a problem though. It wasn’t styled like a girl. I was worried that I might not be convincing enough because of that, and I wasn’t sure what to do about it.

Looking for inspiration, I searched through the trunk. There were several hats, some of them quite fancy, stored in a separate section of the trunk and packed in such a way that they would not get out of shape. I would, I assumed, be mostly inside the ship, so a hat would not be a wise option and might draw unwanted attention to myself. I then noticed that there were other sections in the lid of the trunk, and I, of course, had a look…

I smiled.

Tucked away neatly, were some hairbrushes and combs together with some hair clips and many ribbons of all colours and sizes. I thanked The Lord for this treasure trove of a pink trunk. After having so many bad things happen to me, perhaps I was now in luck.

There was also a small hand mirror in that treasure trove of a lid and I pulled it out. Looking at my face, I saw a smudge of dirt on my nose and also on my forehead. That would not do. I had to look nice. Using an embroidered handkerchief, I cleaned up my face using spit and removed the offending marks.

Then I started to do something with my hair. Once again, I gave thanks to my dear friend Sally. I had brushed and combed her hair out because she liked it and strangely enough, I liked doing it for her. I had also tied her hair in ribbons on several occasions, so I knew what I was doing.

What a strange friendship we had!

I picked out a blue ribbon, similar in colour to my dress. My dress, that was a strange thing to say! Anyway, I selected a section of my hair to the side and tied the ribbon on it as I had done for Sally before. It was more difficult to tie the bow for myself rather than for Sally, but after a few attempts, I managed to get it right. I then used a few hair clips to help keep everything in place.

In the treasure trove of a trunk, I noticed a small reticule pouch and I decided to use that to carry such things as my father’s wallet and money, the comb, a few more ribbons and hairclips and a few of the prettily embroidered handkerchiefs.

I was finally ready. It had all taken an awfully long time, but I was happy with the results, especially after I looked at myself in the mirror. It was only a hand mirror, but I could just about see that I didn’t look very different to any other girl that I had seen.

As I looked at myself, I had a funny feeling about it all. I suppose it felt strangely right in some way. As if it was ordained that I would live as a girl for at least a small amount of time. It didn’t seem wrong to be thusly dressed and I had no idea why I felt this way. I liked how I looked and I didn’t know what that meant for me in the future.

The future.

I had not decided exactly what I should do from that point on. I just wanted to disguise myself as best I could so that I wouldn’t be recognised by people who knew me. Now I was at the point where I had to decide what I should do now.

I think that I knew in my heart of hearts exactly what I should do. I would have to leave this place and go and pretend to be a refined, well-brought-up girl and mix with others of the same ilk. I had no idea what would happen when I presented the new me to the world and whether I would be able to get away with my falsehood. I had not lived as a girl but had spent many hours with my friend Sally and I hoped that this would be enough for me to not give myself away. Only time would tell.

I hid my old things behind some crates, closed the lid of the trunk that I knew, given the chance, I would return to so that I could change if and when necessary and then walked over to the door. Peeking out, I could see no one. I took a deep breath, smoothed down my pinafore, stepped out and made my way to who knew where.

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