delivered by busy stewards to staterooms.
We went into a number of them, most without bath. I told the kids that people in those days didn’t bathe as often as we did. If you wanted a bath, you rang for the bath steward and he would arrange it in the public baths in the center of the ship. Cunard Line specialized in fast, reliable mail ships with elegant but not extravagant comfort.
I asked an officer if we could possibly see the engine room? He said that he would see if it could be managed, smiling at the kids. He rang the engineers on the phone and gave us directions to the bottom of the ship. The kids were a bit apprehensive, but down we went, the decks looking more business-like, until we were over the boiler rooms, the corridor all white with low steel ceilings, lots of pipes, steel doors, heavy rivets and caged lights, busy crewmen hustling along.
An imposing officer with a big mustache and wearing white, greasy coveralls greeted us.
“Andrew Cockburn, Chief Engineer. My pleasure,” he said with a Scottish burr.
He lead us though a steel door, down a narrow ladder.
“Mind the steps!” he shouted at the kids as they gingerly climbed down to the noisy aft boiler room, down ladder after ladder, the giant boilers alive with super-heated steam. I half-expected the traditional ‘black gang’ of sea-going toughs that made up the crew of stokers and firemen on coal-burning liners, like in the Titanic movies, but was pleasantly surprised.
The room was a forest of huge pipes and gauges but surprisingly clean, just the smell of hot steam and fuel oil, with only a couple of crewmen monitoring the massive boilers towering over us.
“Converted to oil in 1921. Best thing we ever did, bettered our own speed record too,” he said, shouting over the din of the fires and ventilating fans.
As we walked around giant, steel boilers, the intense heat was wilting. The kids were awestruck, Lauren holding her ears, Jonathan grinning as Cockburn led us through a massive watertight door with the giant gears that would close it in an emergency, into the forward port engine room where some of the massive turbines sat.
The room was very high, full of ladders and cat walks. A wall of gauges and big wheels that turned the steam on or off on the starting platform was just above the entrance. Giant, heavily insulted pipes snaked over the huge low-pressure turbines that lay in their immense steel cocoons, slowly turning over with a steady whine, ready to supply massive horsepower to race the fastest ship on the planet. We could see the lifting gear above that could lift the massive turbine assembly with its thousands of tiny, delicate steel blades out of its bearings if she was ever damaged.
“There are six turbines altogether,” Mr. Cockburn shouted above the noise of the ventilating fans and the hiss of steam. “The high pressure turbines are in the outer compartments on either side of us.”
The kids were wowed and I was too, but I felt a nagging sense of claustrophobia, the watertight doors, narrow ladders and passageways and steel doors. I imagined what it was like on her sister ship, the Lusitania when she was torpedoed in 1915 and went down in 18 minutes, and I felt a new respect for the engineering crew on Titanic who stayed below to the end to keep the lights burning.
Mr. Cockburn guessed what I was thinking about.
“Ye’re no going ta’ ask me about the Lucy?” He was Senior Second Engineer on the Lusitania when she was torpedoed but was off duty in his cabin. Almost nobody made it out of the engine rooms.
I shook my head no.
“Aye, she was a lovely ship…sometimes faster than the Mary,” he said sadly.
I thanked the Chief and wished him luck.
“The Mary’s a gallant ship,” I told him. I asked him if he knew about the new German super liners (they will be named Bremen and Europa) now being built, with their advanced hull design, the ‘bulbous bow’? (a German invention used on all ships since, instead of the traditional knife-like shape, it has a round teardrop-shaped bottom of the bow that punches a hole though the water, reducing drag.)
“Aye! Well, they may beat us, but we won’t go down without a fight, ye can lay ta’ that!” he said with a measure of pride. He led us back to the passenger areas and said that he hoped we’d sail with them sometime.
By great good luck, after a tour of the bridge, the kids impressed by the navigation instruments and ship’s wheel, we got to meet Captain Rostron himself, the spare, grizzled commander whose eyes spoke volumes of his years on the sea. Here was someone who would not suffer a fool, I remember thinking.
He was on the boat deck, discussing some things with his officers when we happened by, and he unbent for a moment to greet Jonathan and Lauren with a nice grin. We explained we were just visiting, but hoped to sail with him soon.
He looked at me and the kids in a puzzled way for a moment then shook his head, “You look familiar, I’m sure I’ve seen you before……..but I can’t place it,” he said smiling and stroking his chin. “Odd. Never forget a face. Aye, too many years at sea no doubt. Well, hope to see you on another trip then.”
I shook the rough hands of this genuine Titanic hero, and said that it was an honor to meet him. Jonathan said mischievously before I could stop him:
“I saw you in ‘Titanic!’”
Captain Rostron gave an amused grin: “Rather young, aren’t you?”
“He means in the movies… ” I said, glaring at Jonathan.
“Oh, I see,” he said with a puzzled squint.
Jonathan flashed his big grin. We left, and I cautioned the kids not to tell about the future. If things went according to plan, I’d see him again, alright, but not when he was expecting.
After leaving the docks, we walked east and south to Wanamaker’s Department Store on 11th Street. The kids needed a few more clothes. We saw some kids stealing a ride on the back of a car. The bumper, spare tire and a small luggage rack made it easy to hop on and ride safely, and they couldn’t be seen from the narrow back window of that type of sedan. Jonathan looked enviously at the kids.
“Boy, would I like to do THAT!” he said.
“Nothing doing - don’t want you to get hurt,” I replied as he frowned at me.
On the way we passed an older, stout, white-haired policeman. Jonathan elbowed me in the ribs and asked me to ask him where to get a drink, to see if what I had said about the quickest way to find a speakeasy was to ask a cop, was true.
He and Lauren were grinning and giggling. I was curious myself, so I thought what the heck. Leaving them a bit behind, I returned to the policeman and asked him, tugging at my collar, a bit nervous.
“Say, officer, I’m from outta town - do you know any good places where a fellow can get a drink around here?
He looked me up and down through narrowed eyes for a long minute.
Uh oh, I thought, we’ve seen this look before in countless old movies…
“Say, what are you, some kinda wise guy?” the cop said.
“Uh no…not really,” I replied. He glanced at my grandkids giggling in the distance.
“Try Child’s on Time Square, they have a pretty good cup o’ coffee. On your way now,” he said jerking his thumb.
“What did he say, Lito?” Jonathan asked, giggling uncontrollably.
“Never mind,” I said.
Once we arrived at Wanamaker’s big, old rambling building, we started shopping. Another four-piece suit for Jonathan with plus-four pants (knickerbockers) for only $10.75, and another dress for Lauren for $7.95. The kids were a little uncomfortable, Jonathan in jacket and tie and Lauren in dresses, but since I had to wear jacket, tie and hat myself, they could handle it. Still, they complained about when could they get into their normal clothes again?
“When we return to our time next Sunday, we have to play the game for now until we go home,” I explained.
“Ok,” they said unenthusiastically. Jonathan noticed how varied the menswear was with many different hat styles.
The store looked similar to a modern department store, but busier, with old-fashioned interiors and the fascinating baskets hanging by wheels like little cable cars on an overhead cable system that were sent whizzing
