Page 30 of Summer in Greece

The lifeboat was pulled from beneath him.

‘Hold on, George!’ I shouted, doubting he could hear me for the roar of turbulence. Everyone clenched their fists. I waved frantically at my patients in that doomed boat. ‘Corporal Perkins, look out! Get away from there! Jump! Swim away!’ I screeched with such vigour my throat burned raw.

Perkins stared as his packed vessel drew nearer the fatal blades, the din of them filling the air until it drowned out the screams of terror. Less than an hour ago, Perkins had winked at me cheekily, enjoying my embarrassed blush. And now . . .

*

Above the Corporal’s helpless craft, the ship’s lights flickered once, then went out. HMHS Britannic bellowed and roared, the sounds rising from the liner’s bowels and shuddering around us.

‘Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,’ the chaplain chanted, his voice timorous, two fingers making crosses in the air. ‘I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.’

I gripped the side our lifeboat, my knuckles white, hysteria short-circuiting behind my eyes and all my attention fixed on the poor souls in the first lifeboat and those in the water, as the turbulence continued to pull everything towards the propeller blades.

Somebody, help them! God save them!

My body trembled, horror shaking me to the bones. Painfully helpless, I regretted lying about my age.

My knees were pressed against the priest’s in the cramped boat. ‘Please! Please, can’t we throw them a rope?’ I begged, aware that I should sit quietly like the others, snivelling and gasping and politely looking away. But I had no control of myself and knew it was wrong to pretend this was not pure horror. To turn away would be cowardly. I wanted to share their last moments, be with them in thought and spirit. All those poor, poor souls, about to suffer a horrible end. ‘We have to stop the propellers!’ I repeated faintly, knowing my pleas were futile.

The doomed oarsmen rowed with all ferocity, for what else could they do?

Choked by panic, and fury with my companions, I tried to stand and wave my arms. If only we could get away from the side of the ship, we could signal to those above, who were still filling lifeboats, what was happening. Nobody was doing anything! I was trying to run in a nightmare. I knew what was needed, but no matter what, I couldn’t change the situation. My neighbour, the cook, yanked me back into my seat and delivered a fierce slap on my cheek. The shock and the outrage were appalling, then I found myself held tightly against his broad chest as my tears raged. I struggled free and fisted my eyes, unable to drag them away from the occupants of that ill-fated vessel.

The ship was long, nine-hundred-feet, there was still time – yet the wide propellers continued to turn dragging the relatively small craft towards them.

‘No, please dear God, no!’ I prayed.

The crammed lifeboat moved closer and closer to the destructive blades. Men heaved oars against the pull of water, still screaming for a rope to be thrown, reaching out, trying to clutch onto the Britannic’s slippery antifoul.

The din increased; deafening, whirring, people howling, and the roar of water turbulence. The blades spun faster and faster.

Another man jumped; I couldn’t make out if it was Perkins. His head bobbed in the foam, arms thrashing in a futile attempt to escape the maelstrom, dragged feet-first towards the elegant bronze screw, then he disappeared. The foam spume turned red for a second, as did a mist in the air.

Moments later, the bow of the first lifeboat splintered. Oarsmen continued to row for all they were worth, to no avail. Bodies were tossed like jackstones from a child’s hand. Nurses and patients threw themselves into the sea, but many suffered the same horrific fate. ‘They’re all going to die . . .’ I whispered, my tears rising and my body turning cold to the core. The propeller claimed its victims. The water foaming red; dismembered bodies tossed into the air.

The young scout still dangled from the line, but how much longer could he hold on?

Another hollow moan from the dying vessel reverberated over the water like a death cry. I buried my face in my hands, not wanting to see more, then I realised our lifeboat was gaining speed. I stared at a sea that tossed and turned like a restless sleeper under a blanket of splintered lifeboat and chewed limbs. Bodies seduced by the false promise of safety. They had felt secure for a moment in that white-painted vessel, as I had.

Terrified, we ploughed through the carnage, headed for similar disaster.

We passed under the boy scout. ‘I can’t hold on any longer!’ he yelled.

We had already travelled three-quarters of the way towards the propeller. The Britannic was such a length; the biggest translantic passenger ship in the world before the military got it. I locked eyes with the priest, for a moment thinking about my parents. They’d be devastated to get the news. I’d failed them.

Noise and chaos brought me back to now. ‘Should we jump and make a swim for it, before we get any closer?’ I cried above the din.

‘Are you stronger than those monsters?’ The priest nodded towards the churning propellers. ‘I don’t think so. What hope has a mere girl against blades powerful enough to pull God’s oceans under a ship this size? Pray with me, Gertie. Pray for a miracle.’ His voice was loud, but calm, a preacher’s voice, but there was madness in his eyes. His words rose above the growing thrum of our destiny. ‘Our Father, who art in heaven . . .’

Everyone joined in, focusing on the priest as the turbulence almost capsized us.

‘Mother!’ I cried, seeing her sweet face as terror and turmoil crashed through my mind. If I could fill my thoughts with her, then death would not be as bad.

The water was now thick with the chaos of limbs and wreckage in a boiling soup of sea. I closed my eyes, overwhelmed by a need to be with my parents, many miles from this hellish situation. I yearned for my mother’s arms around me in my final moments.

People at the front of our boat scrambled towards the back, dangerously close to upending us; but why should I worry? We were doomed.

CHAPTER 13