Paddy's Pride

A meaty hand landed roughly on Padraig's bony shoulder, "I'll not tell you again Moynahan!" Constable Cooke whispered, his hot breath almost melting the young boy's ear. "Next time, I'll lock you up myself."

Padraig, Paddy for short, shook Cooke's hand off him, "Wasn't doin' nothin', honest." He shoved a handful of dice into the pocket of his ill-fitting trousers, his round hazel eyes fixed in as innocent a gaze as he could manage.

The officer shrugged, removing his hand, "And all those people that just run off?" he challenged.

Paddy grinned. It was the adolescent grin of a young man who knew he once again was about to escape the long arm of the law. "Don't like police, I expect, Sir."

Constable Cooke rubbed his moustache and leaned into the youth's face, "I mean it, Paddy," his voice stern and his eyes hard, "I've turned a blind eye until now. "Next time I find you out here on the docks running your racket, you're headed to the clinker! Take ya there myself, I will."

Cooke softened his gaze and stood tall. He had a soft spot for the Moynahan boy who at all of 13, had developed quite the reputation as a rabble-rouser and petty criminal in County Cork. Quick-witted and devilishly handsome, young Paddy had created a tidy little enterprise running an illegal dice game among the local fishermen and farmers looking to make a quick extra buck.

He couldn't blame the boy, not really. He knew his history. The oldest of 9 children, Paddy was as close as a kid could get to being an orphan while still having two living parents.

His mother, a quiet, perpetually tired woman, with a faint smile and not much else, proudly struggled as a washwoman to make ends almost meet. His father, a local ruffian, purported to be a farmer but spent more time drinking and gambling than he ever did in any sort of horticulture or husbandry

Paddy learned dice at the feet of his father and no doubt saw it as his only way to put food on his family's table. A once keen student, he left school at 9 to hit the streets to make some cash and had been in trouble ever since.

"I won't find you here tomorrow, then, Paddy?" he asked.

The boy grinned, "Nope, not me." He looked the officer straight in the eye, mustering all the earnestness he could, "that big boat's comin," wouldn't wanna cause no trouble."

Cooke nodded and patted the teen on his straw-coloured head, "That's a good lad," he praised, "now run on home, give your mother a hand."

Paddy nodded, his eyes gleaming as he turned and ran from Constable Cooke's sight.

The next morning, before the sun came up, Paddy found himself on Queenstown Wharf, dice in hand and plenty of business awaiting his arrival. A line had already formed. Not for him exactly, but for the ship that was arriving in a few hours, the RMS Titanic.

About 50 people were milling about the dock near daybreak, mostly men, some with families, some alone. All eagerly awaiting the ship that would carry them from the difficulties of Irish life to a fresh new start in America. And many, the lad knew would be keen to have a hand at winning enough money to upgrade their third-class tickets for the voyage to have a small taste of luxury. Others were looking for some extra pocket money to cushion their arrival in a new land.

Paddy, his blonde hair covered with a neat cap, and dressed in his finest knickerbockers and an oversized woollen coat that did little to shield him from the sea wind, was happy to oblige. But only one person was walking away from these docks with extra money, he knew and that was him.

By 10:00 am, he had a crowd of about 30 fellas around him, all in the game when one of them abruptly stood up and whispered in a panic, "Wrap it up, Coppers!"

Paddy snatched up his dice in record speed as Cooke approached, his heavy footsteps sounding like impending doom. He thought about running but froze.

"I thought I wasn't gonna find you here, Moynahan?" Cooke challenged, disappointed, but not exactly surprised.

"Was just down here to get a look at the ship, Constable," Paddy smiled, displaying a wide row of perfect gleaming teeth.

Cooke looked around at the men who had already backed away from the child. He put his hand on his nightstick and stood tall, his voice booming, "Any gaming will be met with the full extent of the law, do you hear me?"

The men nodded, voices rumbling in low tones of agreement as the officer strode away.

Paddy nodded at his clientele as soon as the long arm of the law was out of sight.

The games continued for a couple of hours until boarding began. Paddy watched all the men, women and children climbing onto the giant ship. It was the biggest, grandest thing he'd ever seen. He wondered how it would feel to get on it, to sail away to a new land.

He thought about the food. "It'd be some good," he thought. "And the bed too, comfy." More comfortable at least than his thin blanket on the plank floor at home.

He continued to watch as people filed onto the floating palace, the wheels turning in his young mind. And in an instant, he and his dice sidled up to a large family almost ready to board.

The man was a vacant-looking ginger with a stiff, worried stance and huge feet. The wife was a pleasant-looking woman with dark hair and eyes who seemed much older than she likely was. The creases in her face had that look of weariness, similar to his own mother's. And behind them, at least a dozen children, freshly scrubbed, but dower-looking with thin, stringy hair and drab bits of clothing sort of hanging off them.

Paddy inserted himself in the middle of the children. His clothes didn't quite fit either. He fixed his face to match the lot and before he knew it, he was on the boat with them.

On board, he ran around, looking frantically for a place to hide. He got on with a family without notice but knew that as dimwitted as the father seemed, he'd probably notice him as not being one of his own.

Paddy hid behind doors, crouched in corners and sometimes walked about as if he belonged there until the huge boat sounded the horn and departed. His heart both soared and sank simultaneously at the sound.

A new life, a life in America, excited him. It would be an adventure. His luck was running out at home, he knew. And there was nothing there for him aside from the dice.

He let his mind wander. Maybe he could go straight, get a job, in a restaurant or something. In America. He could make an honest living and then send for his mother and the younger kids. He could save them all!

Oh how his mother would love him then, he thought. She'd stop looking at him with that exhausted, "What are we going to do about Pagraig" look while her hand readily accepted the money from his criminal enterprise.

If he could bring her and his siblings to America, she'd gaze at him with the same soft, abiding love she seemed to have for the other kids. He remembered that look, that love. He'd had it once.

But as more and more babies came and as there was less and less to go around, it disappeared. Slowly at first, with glimpses of it showing through the disappointment from time to time. Then, one day, it was just gone. No more softness. No more dreamy-eyed devotion. Just sad tiredness with a tinge of shame. But still, the hand came out.

As soon as he felt they were too away from shore to turn back, he walked around, checking things out. He was careful to not be detected. The upper deck, the place the first-class passengers were housed was too risky. He got a quick peek of the rich opulence. He deeply inhaled the aroma of delicious foods he couldn't even recognize, trying to imprint it on his memory. But he didn't hang around. His clothing alone would have given him away.

He descended the decks, hyper-vigilant, looking for his place and found none. He found himself in the belly of the boat, in the boiler room, sweating from the heat as boys not much older than he shovelled coal to keep the upper decks warm.

He crouched behind a boiler, hungry and tired when he was discovered by a freckled-faced, coal stained boy of about 16. He was tall and lanky. He handed him a shovel. "Take this an' you can have some rice soup," he offered.

Paddy's eyes sparkled at the thought of something to eat, but he was cold. "Throw in a blanket and you got a deal."

The boy nodded. "What they call you?" he asked.

"Paddy."

"McGreggor' the name," the boy replied, "Joe, but most people call me Stretch."

Paddy nodded, "Stretch," he repeated.

"Don't need no blanket," Stretch grinned. "You can bunk with me and the boys. Ain't no bed, all eight full up, but you come 'round after 'bout 11:30, we'll sort you out."

Paddy's eyes narrowed, suspicious. He may have been young but his father's words rang loud in his head. He knew nothing in life was free. "What I haveta do?"

Stretch laughed out loud, his blue eyes wide. "For starters, you take this shovel for 2 hours." He paused as the boy took the shovel. "Then whoever else want you to in the bunk, you take theirs for 2 hours."

Paddy started shovelling coal, looking to Stretch for approval. "Fair enough, I got no problem earnin' my keep." His arms were already trembling.

Stretch smiled and walked away, "want bread and cheese with the rice soup?" he asked.

"Please," Paddy replied eagerly.

At promptly 11:35 pm, Paddy softly knocked on the door of E27, the door Stretch told him was his. He was greeted by a tubby lad with a Welsh accent and the beginnings of a moustache. "You the kid?" he growled, his voice already deep.

"I"m Paddy," he answered, "Stretch told me to come."

The big boy nodded and stepped aside to allow him inside. "Mike's the name. Good to meet ya'. Your soup's prolly cold."

Paddy shook the boy's hand, "no problem, I'd eat shit if it was done up right!"

Mike laughed approvingly at his bawdy language and turned to Stretch, lying supine on one of the top bunks, "Kid's alright."

Stretch nodded but said nothing. He turned to Paddy and introduced him to the others. Aside from Mike, the Welshman, there were 5 young Englishmen, all between 16 and 19, John, Roger, Nigel, Robert and Cecil.

The youth gobbled up his cold soup, hunk of bread and cheese and looked around the room at the others, "that it?" he asked, his belly not even close to full.

Stretch nodded. "Ain't much, I know."

Paddy nodded, then grinned. Never one to take to hard physical labour, he quickly plotted his way out of taking up the coal shovel in the morning, "Tell ya fellas what," he began. "How's about I do something better than shovel? What if I promised I could get us all the food we could want to eat? Good stuff."

Stretch rolled over to his side, intrigued by the newcomer's offer, "And just how you gonna manage that?"

Paddy shook his head, "No tellin' the tricks of the trade." He stood tall, instinctively knowing he had them, "You'se in or out?"

The boys all looked around at each other, nodded then excitedly started shouting orders at the lad. Each one wanting something different. Mike wanted meat, any kind. Stretch was more for cakes. And all Roger seemed to care about was getting his paws on a ham and kidney pie.

Paddy wiped his hair from his face and waved his hands dismissively at the crew, "Quiet!" he ordered, not wanting anyone else to hear the commotion in their bunk. "I don't take requests, you get what you get. All's I can promise is it'll be good. Better than that slop you tried to pass off as soup to me, leastaways." He looked around the room, his eyes steely, "Now, in or out?"

The boys looked at each other again. Then Stretch spoke up, "We're in, he offered his hand to Paddy to shake and abruptly pulled it back, "But if you don't come through, I'll throw ya overboard meself."

Paddy nodded.

Next morning, the youngster laid around for a while after his bunkmates headed out for their day's work. He leisurely washed up as best he could and dressed in the one suit he had, leaving the long coat folded over a wooden chair and headed out.

He wandered around the lower deck for a while, politely nodding to the various staff and third-class passengers he encountered. He made his way over to F deck and the dining hall where breakfast was still being served.

Paddy took a deep breath and sauntered in, trying his best to look like he was right where he belonged. He took a seat at the end of a long table and perused the menu.

A stern-looking woman in her thirties with a quick step and a starched white uniform approached, pencil and pad in hand, "What'll it be, young fella?"

He smiled that quick cheeky grin known to charm and disarm, "Sos 'bout bein' so late, my folks let me have a lie-in."

The waitress smiled down at him, "You're not late, we serve 'till 10."

Paddy nodded one of those quick, sharp vertical head jerks meant to politely convey both agreement and a knowledge of his surroundings. "I'm mightily hungry," he looked up under his blond fringe," could I please have the porridge, some toast and marmalade and the smoked herring?" He paused a moment, "and a coffee."

"Milk or juice, for you," she replied sharply.

"Milk, it is," the lad agreed. Best not to argue.

The waitress turned quickly on her heels and strode toward the kitchen as Paddy sat and wondered how he'd pay for his lavish breakfast. He really didn't want to part with the few pounds he'd made off the dice game on the dock. He knew he'd need that later. He looked around at the handful of passengers finishing up their meals, studying their actions and demeanor.

It wasn't long until the waitress was back with his breakfast. Famished from the less than satisfying meal from the night before, he gobbled up his porridge, bread and marmalade in record time. He carefully wrapped his herring in a cloth napkin and slid it into the deep pocket of his short pants.

"My, you were a hungry little one, weren't you?" the waitress teased upon her return, "you like anything else?"

Paddy thought for a moment. It'd be a good idea to get a little something extra, besides the herring to take back to the bunk. "I would," he started sheepishly, but, I gotta run back to my cabin, forgot me money."

The server laughed heartily, patting the child on the head. "You don't need money, love," she explained, "this is the dining hall, cost of meals is included in your passage. You only have to pay if you go to one of the restaurants onboard."

Paddy smiled widely. Emboldened, he quipped, "In that case, can I have some more herring and a couple of apples, please?"

The waitress nodded and joked, "Hollow leg's what you got." She reached out and patted his head again, "Rather board ya than feed ya, I can tell you that, yessir, rather board ya than feed ya!"

She came back with 2 shiny red apples and a helping of smoked herring for the ravenous boy who smiled at her. He bit into one of the apples. As soon as she was out of sight, he pocketed the fish on one side of his pants and the remaining apple in the other and made off.

Emptying his booty onto a small wooden table in the bunk, he grabbed his coat to head out in search of more food. Best to have more pockets than less, he reasoned.

He wondered about the time. As he wandered down the hall back toward Scotland Road, he stopped a steward to ask.

"Little past half-eight," the fresh-faced, jolly-looking man of about 35 replied.

Paddy gave a quick thank you and took off running, the stopped abruptly. he called out to the steward, "Excuse me, sir..."

The steward turned, approaching the lad.

"I'm sorry to bother you. I'm Nigel Allistair, my parents and I are travelling second class. I was to meet them in the dining hall for a late breakfast and got myself lost wandering about your great ship," he explained. "Would you be so kind as to direct me?"

The man grinned, "I'll do you one better, I'm headed up to D deck myself. It's where I work. I'm a steward up there."

Paddy nodded. "Yes, I believe I noticed you in passing yesterday," he said, doing his best to keep his cover.

The pair made polite small talk until reaching Paddy's destination. "Here you go, kid, your dining hall."

Paddy thanked the gentleman and wandered inside. His mouth fell open at the sight of such luxury, mahogany chairs that swivelled, long tables and walls panelled with oak. This was the most beautiful room he'd ever been in in his entire life!

"Looking for something?" a female voice interrupted his thoughts.

The lad turned to see a waitress. She was tall, with thick dark hair and a kind-looking face. Not pretty exactly, but pleasant, the kind of face that puts you instantly at ease. "Sorry," he said, thinking fast, "I was to meet my parents for breakfast. They must have come and gone already. Did you happen to see a couple with a small girl in here?"

The waitress laughed, "Only a few dozen." She turned and motioned toward the table, "Go on, sit down, there's plenty of time."

Paddy sat down and reviewed the menu, his eyes wide. The stark difference between the options before him and those provided on the lower deck made his head spin. He made a mental note to attend meals first for himself in second class. He'd get his fill as well as a bit extra for the guys. Then, he'd return to the lower deck to order and pocked what he could.

"Two eggs please, boiled hard, a double portion of ham, if I could and 2 soda scones." He giggled inwardly as he heard his voice change automatically into a more posh tone, a function of his higher-toned surroundings.

"And to drink?"

"Juice, please," he replied, "orange if you have."

"Certainly," the waitress grinned at the seemingly hungry young lad.

Paddy repeated this routine for each meal for four days, each time becoming a little more brazen in his orders and with his pockets a little more stuffed at the end.

When questioned, which he was once or twice in the second-class dining room about the whereabouts of his parents, he always had a ready answer. His father was in the smoking-room. His mother had taken the baby for a swim. He'd been hanging about with some other boys and lost track of time so his parents had already dined. The adeptness with which he lied was something his father would have been proud of, almost envied.

He even made his way to the first-floor dining room, but never dared to be seated and order. This was yet another lesson he learned at his father's feet; when you're running a good con, don't let greed and a big head spoil it.

He opted for a less risky approach, to sculk around, out of sight, grabbing what he could from trays, dessert trollies and whatever diners happened to leave behind.

Paddy earned his keep and then some among his bunkmates and even among some of the other young and more rowdy male crew members. Not only could he be counted on to provide a tasty array of foods to supplement their meagre meals, but he also brought entertainment. It wasn't long before he was holding nightly dice games in the bunk and splitting the proceeds with Stretch and Mike as a tribute to them for allowing him to stay.

On the night of April 14, he brought back his biggest food haul yet. It hadn't occurred to him before then to simply ask for food to take away to his room. It would never have occurred to him at all had he not heard a tired-looking woman with pale skin and dark bags under her eyes doing so at breakfast that morning.

"I'm not hungry myself," he overheard her say, "and I'm much too weary to sit here and eat, but the children and my husband, they must have something."

He also noticed how nice the waitress was to her, offering to help carry the dishes and advising her of something called room service. All she had to do was find a steward or stewardess and tell them what she needed and they'd fetch it for her straight away and bring it to her room.

So for supper, Paddy, known as Nigel on D deck, tried his luck. He pulled his hat down over his hair, bowed his head and looked as meek as he possibly could. "Excuse me, please?" he whimpered to the waitress, "I don't mean to trouble you, but Mama has one of her terrible headaches and the baby's cryin' somethin' fierce. Daddy's asked if I could come fetch some tea...er, pardon me, dinner to bring back to our cabin."

"Awww, of course you can, child, "the waitress smiled warmly. She was a heavyset woman in her forties with a caring, motherly way about her. "Here's a menu," she placed the paper in his hand, "what do you think they'd like?'

Remembering not to overplay his hand, he began, "Mama won't eat much, so the pea soup for her please, and maybe some bread and cheese. Daddy'll have the spring lamb with peas and potatoes. I'll have the same, and the baby, she's 2, she'll have the turkey, with peas and potatoes, mashed well, please."

The older woman smiled and nodded.

"Oh, and 3 plum puddings for dessert, if you could, please."

"Of course," she nodded again, "would you like assistance carrying that back, child?"

"No thank you, ma'am," he grinned slightly, "I can manage fine. But could I borrow a trolly? I'll bring it right back, I swear I will."

The boys whooped and hollered when Paddy came in with a trolly full of food. He proudly lifted cloches from the various dishes, showing off his bounty as they discussed amongst themselves what they would eat.

"You havin' any?" Mike asked, the tone of his voice clearly indicating he hoped the boy had already eaten.

Paddy laughed, "Naw, I've had me fill." He patted his stomach, which he poked out in an exaggerated fashion, "roast spring lamb, peas, potatoes, bread, cheese, ice cream and plum pudding."

The boys quickly removed the plates from the trolly and onto the small table to divide among themselves.

"Be right back, Paddy called out, "haveta take the trolly back."

Stretch shrugged, "Forget it, who cares!"

Paddy once again thought of his father. "I do," he replied. "We got a real good thing goin', last thing we need is any reason for people to start askin' questions."

Stretch shrugged again, this time in agreement.

With full bellies, the boys soon had company and a lively dice competition going. It continued into the night with several of the crew members from adjacent bunks. The mood was jovial as the lads chatted enthusiastically about the girls they'd seen and their lives back home.

"What the hell?" Paddy cried abruptly. He'd heard a noise, a sort of thump followed by scraping and crunching. "Did you guys hear that?"

"Prolly ran over a big fish," Mike snorted.

"Fish don't crunch," Paddy snorted back.

"They does if they fried," Mike replied, doubling over with laughter at his own joke.

Paddy scowled. He knew he was being silly. He hated himself for showing such weakness in front of the older boys who had become his friends. But he just couldn't shake the feeling he had in his gut, a feeling that something was desperately wrong. He swallowed hard, steadying himself, "You in or out there, funny man?"

"Out," Mike replied, "you've taken all the money you're gonna get off me tonight."

The game continued for some time until there was a knock at the door. "Open up boys, all hands on deck!"

"Shit!" one of the boys whispered loudly, "grab the dice!"

The voice behind the door continued, "I don't care about the dice, boys. We're taking on water. We need all hands on deck to assist passengers to life vessels. There's no cause for alarm."

Paddy sprung up and opened the door. "Water? Life Boats?" To him, that sounded like cause for alarm.

The tall man in the doorway, a senior member of the crew, removed his cap and ran his fingers through his thinning salt and pepper hair. "We're fine," he assured, "But in an abundance of caution, we've been ordered by the Capitan to begin evacuating passengers."

As the other boys sprung into action, Paddy stood, frozen, locking eyes with the older man in front of him. A liar himself, born of a liar, he knew a tall tale when he heard one and this was a whopper! He wasn't accustomed to sea life, but he knew full well that evacuating passengers, as the man called it, didn't mean anything good.

"Yes, sir," he finally replied, pretending to be a member of the crew. "Where shall we report sir?"

"Boat Deck, starboard side."

"Yes, sir." Paddy exclaimed, "Right away sir!" He took off out the door, leaving his mates behind him while the senior crew member marvelled at the young man's eagerness to help.

On the boat deck, Paddy found hundreds of people, queuing quietly. Some were crying. Some were talking casually among themselves. He could hear the band playing. It was eerily quiet, that kind of quiet that comes before a great storm. In that instant, he knew he was right. He knew just how dire the circumstances were. They were sinking and fast. Panic engulfed his very soul. His mind raced, desperate to come up with a way to save himself.

He ran toward a group of people as he saw women and children being loaded onto a lifeboat. "My mother and sister" he cried, "My mother and sister are on that boat!"

A stern-faced man with a large stomach pushed him back, "We're evacuating First-class passengers only, boy, step back."

"I know, I know," he cried, again thinking fast on his feet, "I helped load them onto the boat that just went. My mother and sister, I put them in myself, along with others. That's how I look such a sight. I expect I can get on the next boat?"

The man looked hard at the adolescent before him and said nothing before he turned away and began shouting a series of orders in the other direction.

It wasn't until about 2 weeks had passed that Paddy's mother noticed his absence. There'd been no confusion, no trouble. There'd been no police at the door issuing ultimatums about getting the boy in hand or else. It was calm. It was nice, truth be told. Until Constable Cooke appeared on her stoop, cap in hand, eyes misty with emotion.

"May I come in, Mrs Moynahan," he asked softly.

She motioned for him to enter.

"I'm not sure how to begin," he stared, trying not to break, "but we have good reason to believe young Padraig boarded the Titanic at Queenstown somehow and..." He swallowed hard as the tears began to flow, "and is among those who perished."

Mrs Moynahan wailed as her husband sat by, stupified by both the news and the drink. Her heart ached, for herself, for her remaining children, whom she'd have to tell and not for the boy he'd become, but for the boy she once knew, so clever, so sweet, loving and full of light.

Around the same time, a young Irishman stopped at the post office on his way back from his job at a textile factory in New York City to send a telegram. "I'm fine. In America. Will send for you soon. Paddy."

He filled with pride and joy at the thought of his mother receiving word from him. He'd survived and gone straight. He was saving money to move to Canada and buy a little plot of land. It was cheap there, especially in the west. She and his siblings would join him there. He'd become everything she wanted for him. He couldn't wait to show her the man he'd become.

Weeks later, Paddy eagerly read his return telegram certain it would be full of joy and praise. His heart dropped into his shoes and he began to sob. "Your mother has passed on after falling ill. Love, Aunt Sinead."

He stared at his Aunt's words and sobbed uncontrollably. First for himself. He'd never get to show her the young man he'd become. He'd never get to make her proud. And also for her, not for the mother she'd become, but for the one he once knew, so clever, so sweet, so loving and full of light.