Page 34 of Summer in Greece

‘But, Father, those portholes are usually many feet above sea level, who would ever have imagined they’d end up on the waterline?’ I said.

‘That’s why we have a captain, miss. A man capable of foreseeing every scenario, who gives orders for that reason. Like God, he must be obeyed, without question, under every circumstance. If he gave orders for the portholes to remain closed, and somebody who knew of his order still opened them, that person alone is guilty of this catastrophe, and the massive loss of life that will follow the ship’s demise.’

It was me . . . me!

The horrible truth came home to haunt me for the rest of my life. I was responsible for the ship sinking. Me, showing off in front of six recuperating soldiers, had caused this great catastrophe. Now what would happen to the thousands of wounded soldiers, waiting for us to rescue them? I knew what would happen. They would die! All because of me and my stupid vanity!

Wave after wave of remorse ran through me, but remorse wouldn’t save lives. Nor would it ease the pain of the dying, or those who writhed in agony while they waited for a ship that would never arrive.

Our men rowed furiously. ‘Why don’t we head for the island, instead of going around it?’ I asked.

‘We’re trying, but the current is so strong in this channel, it’s pulling us past,’ the cook said.

‘What is that place, the island?’ I asked the priest.

‘I believe it’s the Greek island of Kea,’ he replied.

Another lifeboat full of uniformed staff rowed away from the Britannic. Their boat rocked violently as sudden turbulence burst through the calm sea. The oarsmen heaved away, and I sensed their urgency. The Britannic was so low in the water now, I wondered how she was still afloat. The ship’s bell clattered musically from the crow’s nest, breaking a moment of unnatural silence, then two long blasts of the whistle sounded above the clamour. I remembered the drill, it meant abandon ship immediately. A final lifeboat pushed away.

My sadness ballooned inside me. Nobody spoke, silence reigned in our lifeboat. Everyone gazed at the final seconds of that most majestic ship, paying homage to her like the great goddess of the sea that she was. We all knew these moments would stay clear in our memory until the day we ourselves died. The air was heavy with the most wretched grief.

‘Look! They’re leaving,’ I whispered, reluctant to break the silence. ‘But somebody’s still up there, on the bridge, look!’ Wet, shaking, and clutching my bruised belly with one arm, I lifted the other and pointed.

‘Your hand’s bleeding,’ the priest said. ‘You must have caught some of that broken glass.’

I looked down and noticed the rip in my sodden apron bib. In a flash of clarity, I remembered the sharp stab as I had tried to grasp the lifesaver tapes. ‘No, it was Sissy’s watch pin,’ I said while imagining my dear sister’s silver timepiece descending through the turquoise Aegean. Only God could know how deep the water was at that point? Perhaps the watch was still spinning slowly towards the seabed. Perhaps it was the glint of silver that had attracted the dolphin’s attention in the first place. Could my mother’s gift have inadvertently saved my life? So overwhelmed by this glorious thought, I trembled and started to cry silently.

The baker put his arm around my shoulders. ‘You’re in shock,’ he said. ‘But try and stay calm, you’re safe as can be, and we’ll soon be on dry land.’

The sea had drawn level with the Britannic’s control centre. Staring at the vessel, the chaplain crossed himself again. ‘Look, that’s our brave captain, still in his pyjamas. May God save his soul. If he doesn’t get away now, he’ll be sucked under with the ship.’

The men, one in uniform, one in pyjamas, walked off the deck at the side of the bridge, straight into the water. They swam to a raft, we all watched, willing them on, as they pulled themselves to safety. The sinking ship groaned and gasped in its dying moments. A lifeboat picked up the two men and rowed clear, while HMHS Britannic seemed to hesitate for a moment.

A series of deafening detonations rose from below. I guessed the ship’s boilers had exploded. Not that I knew anything except what I had read in the broadsheets about the Titanic’s demise. I had found the personal accounts of surviving passengers fascinating, but never dreamed I would, one day, find myself in a similar situation.

The massive ship slowly rolled to one side and with a thunderous toll the four funnels snapped off in succession, each hitting the water in a great, metallic belly-flop that made our lifeboat bob violently. ‘Hold tight, everyone!’ one of the oarsmen yelled. The chimneys hissed and wheezed and their final breaths rose like steaming ghosts in a display of exhausted power.

Our mighty vessel slipped beneath obscenely calm water, its great bell tolling once, then silenced forever.

Moments later, the sea bubbled and heaved, agitated, as if trying to swallow something too big for its gullet. Cork-filled lifesavers belched to the surface and jets of seawater spumed into the air as Davy Jones made room in his locker for the damned ship.

Less than an hour had passed since I had been ordered to use my initiative – and the bedpans had toppled.

The sun beat down, blinding flashes bounced off undulating water, stinging my eyes. My face prickled with the salt from my weeping – or from the sea – I couldn’t say. Perhaps they were one and the same. An ocean of tears wept for drowned sailors, sunken ships, and Sissy’s lost watch. The balding priest knotted the corners of a large handkerchief. Somewhere, I had lost my uniform cap. I stared at the flotsam, hoping to spot it when, to my horror, I saw a body near us. A man floated on his back, limbs outstretch like a starfish.

‘There’s a person in the water!’ I shouted, pointing at his white canvas lifesaver. The oarsmen rowed in the direction of my finger. ‘I know him. It’s Corporal Perkins!’ I shouted.

As they dragged Perkins over the side, the boat rocked violently and took on a great wave. We found ourselves almost calf-deep in sloshing seawater. We hauled bags of valuables onto our knees and someone screeched. ‘We’re sinking!’

‘There’re bailers under the seats, use them!’ our skipper ordered.

With some clumsiness, Perkins was manhandled into the back of the packed lifeboat and laid across our knees. The mechanic had a terrific gash across his forehead, so deep it exposed his skull. I pressed two fingers under the curve of his jawbone and barely felt the flutter of a pulse. ‘He’s alive, Matron, just! Hardly a pulse. What shall I do?’ I shouted towards the front of the boat.

‘Compress the wound to stop the bleeding!’ she called back.

With the Corporal’s head in my lap, I said, ‘Excuse me,’ to the priest, took the handkerchief off his head, and pressed it against the wound.

A male voice came up from the other end of the bench. ‘His foot’s gone!’