The Belle of Belfast

Surviving article. Titanic. National Archives. Discovered May 14, 1992.

Diary belonging to Mary Muireann O’Brian. Belfast, Ireland. Gifted on her nineteenth birthday. February 18, 1909.

***

Wednesday

19th of February, 1909

Dear Diary,

I went to the shipyard today with my brother, Liam O’Brian. Liam works in the Harland & Wolff drawing office as a naval draughtsman. Harland & Wolff is planning two steam liners for the White Star Line.

Liam has taken me here since I was small. I was only five years old when our parents passed away. He at 21 had finished his apprenticeship and became my guardian. He kept us together, despite Aunt Fiona’s insistence to take me in.

Liam is on the new project for Sir William James Pirrie, chairman of Harland & Wolff, appointed under his mentor, Chief Naval Architect, Mr. Alexander Carlisle. For years, our father worked alongside Carlisle as an architect. I wish I learned from father as Liam had.

Construction of the gantry has been underway, with four slips made into three to support two vessels for White Star Line: the RMS Olympic and the RMS Titanic.

This morning, Liam presented drafts of the RMS Titanic to Carlisle, Sir Pirrie, and Pirrie’s nephew, designer, Mr. Thomas Andrews.

We were entranced by Liam as he took us through his plans; leaving us to ponder the eloquent, limber curves of the ship’s hull and Titanic’s extravagant interior. Layer by layer, I was subdued by this imagined beauty. She’ll be an unrivaled marvel of the sea…

When Liam finished, Carlisle’s eyes had softened. It was a look of trust and pride in his pupil. I'd like to think that father would have been proud too.

Stopping here. Supper is ready!

Sincerely Yours,

Mary O’Brian

Monday

15th of March, 1909

Dear Diary,

On occasion, Liam brings work home, and to my delight, some exciting revelations!

Tonight, he explained, with arms in the air, “It will be a ship for millionaires and immigrants!” He joked, but continued, “She’ll appease the masses. We’ve already employed thousands of builders! It's going to take that and the ironclad will of God to see her sail.”

I listened, amazed.

The ship is estimated to be over 268 meters long. He says 39 private suites are planned, complemented by first class lounging that rivals the Palace of Versailles! All with resplendent dining halls, receptions, and entertainment quarters. Is this possible?

I wish I was a draughtsman like Liam…

I think Liam’s peers are confused as to why I still visit the drawing office. Perhaps this desire of mine is merely a fleeting dream.

Sincerely yours,

Mary O’Brian

Wednesday

31st of March, 1909

Dear Diary,

Titanic’s keel was laid today! Liam and I, Mr. Carlisle, Sir Pirrie, and many more watched her under the 70-meter gantry.

Most days, I’ll visit the shipyard and see thousands of men fritter back and forth attending her; hammering, climbing, and hauling heavy metal on mobile cranes that whisk over her in seconds!

Today, we all took a moment to admire their work. A surge of pride permeated the landscape, crowned at the milestone made.

The festivities reached their zenith with a nod from Sir Pirrie and White Star Line’s Managing Director, Mr. Bruce Ismay. The build has officially begun!

I intend to witness her metamorphize, one bone at a time.

Your humble observer,

Mary O’Brian

Tuesday

21st of September, 1909

Dear Diary,

Liam grows frustrated with my “obsessive” trips to the shipyard. He tells me that Titanic has consumed me.

My friend Ann Kelley got caught in my crossfire today as I belabored the rivets on the ship. Recounting this to Liam at dinner, he grew silent. His lips pursed in a manner I’d never seen before…

“Liam.” I started. “Why did Carlisle agree to proceed with rivets, the lifeblood of the ship, as a mixture of iron and steel! Ships are built with steel! It’s complex enough. Builders are hammering millions of ‘em by hand. Iron will weaken her!” I couldn’t stop. My voice climbed.

It wasn’t until I had finished my tirade that I noticed a heavy gloom float over our dining table.

When he finally spoke, I soon regretted it.

“Confound it, Mary!” He yelled. “Find a new endeavor to occupy your time! I don’t know what you think you’ll accomplish wasting away at the yard. You’re not working for Harland & Wolff. Find a man, settle down, think about starting a family. Do it before your old brother is put in the grave!”

I was arrested by his betrayal. Then, another whammy slapped me across the face.

“You’re forbidden from visiting the shipyard.”

Forbidden.

We had a horrible row, and I stormed out.

His words are slashing through me.

This is who I am. There’s nothing you can do, Liam! Except breaking tonight’s spirit in two.

Mary O’Brian

Thursday

11th of November, 1909

Diary,

I didn’t avoid the yard, and I played with the devil.

I saw death. It’s a week later, and I’m still shaking.

Older friends of mine, Tommy, Levy, and Jim. They were riveters, could scarcely hear, always undisturbed by the activity in the gantry. Riveters, steel workers, fitters, and joiners clatter on lifts and walkways in the colossal metal latticework. The commotion is heard across Belfast.

I’d been embarrassed for Jim’s wife. They were cachinnating at her expense. She got caught in the yard with her dress caught in her bloomers. Poor girl.

I heard the yelling from above, shouting at us. In hindsight, they were screaming at us to run. It was a matter of seconds, but it was slow, and so clear.

Material on a crane came way. The worst hit Tommy and Levy, who were covered on the ground, lying there with blank stares, sputtering blood… For Jim, his legs were crushed. His bones no doubt was split into a million pieces.

I was left unharmed. I only remember looking aimlessly as builders blared horns and called for an ambulance.

I awoke at the hospital, having fainted. Liam was there. I will never forget, he had tears in his eyes.

“I’m sending you to live with Aunt Fiona.” He muttered. “She’s expecting you. It’s time you’ve become a woman. I’ve done all I can, but perhaps this should have happened sooner.”

I didn’t have the energy to fight. In his mind, my fixation with the Titanic was over…

Tommy and Levy. Their services are this Sunday. Jim. He’ll never work at the yard again.

I haven’t been able to speak a word since the accident. I am devoured by shame.

I want to disappear.

Mary O’Brian

Wednesday

16th of February, 1910

Dear Diary,

Here with Aunt Fiona in busy Kilkenny. She’s lonely, and has been relieved to have me. Her husband died years ago and she has no children. So, with not much else to keep her pretenses, she watches me like a hawk and brings me everywhere she goes. I don’t pay much mind since it’s kept my thoughts away from November.

I hadn’t spoken since the accident, leaving my aunt to think I’d become mute.

On Christmas, a package arrived from Liam. Inside, I found a beautiful black woolen shawl, picturing an embroidered lady on a ship. Holding the shawl, tears welled as I settled into Fiona’s rocking chair, burying my face.

The scent pervaded my senses and brought me back home. After a deep breath, I spoke to the room, filled by my aunt and her acquaintances. “This was a very fine gift!” To which, they all cheered.

Aunt Fiona and I have since exchanged many conversations, mostly about the Titanic.

We capture every news clipping we can of Titanic in the papers, and I meticulously reread her progress whenever I get lonely. I miss her. I miss the shipyard.

More builders have lost their lives… I still ache for my friends. I reckon that I devote myself to Titanic now in part, for them. I’ve decided that I will board her when the time comes and pay them respect.

I hear Olympic will be plated by spring. What I’d give to be back by then.

Sincerely Yours,

Mary O’Brian

Thursday

31st of March, 1910

Dear Diary,

After weeks of pleading with Liam and Aunt Fiona, I’m home! Liam’s been amicable, and has begun sharing Titanic’s progress with me again.

Carlisle asked Sir Pirrie for additional lifesaving equipment, but faced resistance. It seems he continues to oversee Titanic’s provisions with persistence, if not also with frustration.

Optimistically, craftsmen are working on fittings for her interior!

Wrapped in my shawl tonight, lost in better days on my ship.

Contentedly Yours,

Mary O’Brian

Wednesday

31st of May, 1911

Dear Diary,

Titanic left her slipway and went singing on the river Lagan!

Her hull is a perfection in ebony and red. Her four funnels stand proudly in yellow.

She glided effortlessly on the water. Steam gracefully fumed behind her. Over 100,000 watched, witnessing her victory, and she met us with a resounding applause!

They’re calling her Unsinkable. Brother says five bottom chambers could flood and she would still float!

Sincerely amazed.

Mary O’Brian

Thursday

8th of February, 1912

Dear Diary,

In January, Harland & Wolff welcomed a new apprentice: Mr. Lain Ford, an architect who has just finished his studies in London.

He is appointed under Liam. Carlisle resigned last summer, so Liam and Mr. Ford assist Mr. Andrews planning Titanic’s final interiors.

Mr. Ford routinely tours the ship, now harbored in the Thompson Dry Dock, and eagerly reviews the work of plumbers, cabinet makers, painters, and plasterers.

Despite his late start, it’s rumored that Mr. Ford may be appointed to the Guarantee Group, hand-chosen to oversee Titanic during her maiden voyage!

Liam’s taken a liking to him, and I’m nudged daily to meet this young prodigy.

It’s inconvenient, since unbeknownst to our peers and even to Liam, I am Mr. Lain Ford.

Pleasure to renew our acquaintance.

Mary O’Brian a.k.a. Mr. Lain Ford

PS: Aunt Fiona was right; uncle’s clothes came in handy…

Wednesday

20th of March, 1912

Diary,

I’m on pins and needles!

Reviewing Titanic’s lifeboats today, Liam mused, “It would be a brutal night if people had to tread the water should she sink.”

“Unless they’re wearing a shawl like you give, Liam.” I fooled.

* “Stupid!” *

Finding myself, I continued, “So I’ve seen your sister wear...”

“You’ve met?” He responded.

“Only once, when I started here. She mentioned the shawl was a gift.” I finished, hoping that would be the end of it.

It was for a while, until he said, “You should come for dinner sometime. You two can get better acquainted. I think you’d find that you have a lot in common.” He winked. I froze.

Dear God, may that please be the end of it.

Sincerely Yours,

Mary O’Brian

Lain Ford

Tuesday

26th of March, 1912

Dear Diary,

I’ve averted four invitations to dinner with facile excuses. Right now Lain’s ma is taken with fever…

But I have news! Mr. Andrews has placed me in the Guarantee Group.

I spoke with Chief Draughtsman, Mr. Chisholm, and poured my reasons for wanting to join. I was unsure of what he made of our exchange until Mr. Andrews invited me to his office.

Andrews acknowledged my interest, and said although I’m new, it’s because of my exemplary work and knowledge of Titanic that they’ve decided to let me join.

There’s one technicality. I’m assigned as a deckhand since White Star Line is low on crew...

I couldn’t hide my disappointment as a wave of dread wafered over me.

Andrews saw through my mess of sweat and fear. “No need to worry lad.” He finished. “You’ll report to her last birth at Queenstown. We believe in you!”

I was then politely escorted out.

We believe in you…

I believe I’ll make a bloody fool of myself!

Mary Lain Ford

Thursday

11th of April, 1912

Dear Diary,

Mary O’Brian left Belfast to visit Aunt Fiona and Lain Ford departed for Queenstown.

It was a long sequence of stops as the train trailed the countryside. I fit as snug as could be in a cabin with three men reporting to call, fellow deckhands: Daryl, Kenny, and Robin.

Our group was the last crew aboard Titanic. All my belongings are in a sack that includes you, a spare hat, my uniform, and my shawl, hidden at the bottom.

On arrival, we were given a tour of the ship.

We were shown to our tight bunkers in the lower decks, and then crossed the hall into wound doors that lead to the boiler rooms. Below thin ladders and narrow skywalks, 150 stokers fuel her furnaces, each one a thunderous cloud of soot.

We then ascended the grand staircase to the passenger decks…

Decadent, blushed colors and geometric forms show spectacularly under the glow of electric light! Wood paneling graces every hall and trims every ceiling. In the main dining room of first class, woodland bouquets wrap around stained-glass angels and flower motifs. The promenade is covered with ivy entwined in tantalizing latticework. The view is an ever-vast seascape; a wondrous glimmer of gold and blue!

Us deckhands were called to the main deck for orientation. While there, journalist William Thomas Stead approached us, and within a second, he infiltrated our circle.

“We’re relying on you lads if the ship’s put in distress.” Stead begins. “Are you prepared should something happen?”

Jacob Lear, an experienced sea hand, boarded Titanic in Southampton. He’s an arrogant braggart with a fistful of pride. Unfortunately, he responded to Stead.

“We’ll handle it.” He said with a hubristic grin. To our shock, he continued, “Titanic near collided with New York back at port. Poor ol’ New York was docked. Titanic being so great, was pulling her in our path. Capt’n Smith, with our speed and expert maneuvering, evaded her in just over an hour!” Jacob laughed, so obnoxiously, he missed our nonplussed expressions.

“Indeed.” Stead guilefully agreed. “As you recall it is as I remember it too…” Turning to the rest of us, he concluded, “Thank you gentleman, enjoy your day.”

Back at work, we greeted and dodged excited passengers boarding at Queenstown. But our drudgery and their merriment were silenced in league on hearing the bell from the crow’s nest. We were setting sail for America!

At one thirty in the afternoon, Titanic left Ireland’s arms for good. A warm breeze came to meet us as Irishmen rushed to starboard to wave their homeland goodbye.

Going now, on watch tonight.

Lain Ford

Friday

12th of April, 1912

Dear Diary,

Day one on Titanic and I’m blowing away.

Daryl and I kept watch from dusk to dawn. Four hours later, I’ve missed breakfast, and am up sweeping, washing the decks, and hauling cargo… Daryl in his peppery humor has started calling me highness because I’m unable to conceal my misery...

After scouring the galley, I met the boys in the wireless room, Jack Phillips and Harold Bride. They showed me around their impressive apparatus.

“What kinds of messages do you handle?” I asked.

“Mostly messages for passengers.” answered Jack. He smiled at his pal before continuing. “Mrs. McCleary sent quite a message to her beau… Someone ought to tell her this is a public line.” They both gave a hearty laugh.

“Otherwise, not much else.” Added Harold. “We get occasional iceberg warnings, but they’re common, especially with liners this size.”

“Deckhands are dubious of icebergs too.” I admitted. “We still haven’t completed our lifeboat drills. I’m assisting quartermaster Robert Hichens on boat six.”

“Best of luck to you.” They both nervously chimed.

I left after that on account of my stomach folding in half from starvation.

Half croissant down and finding out I’m on night duty again. Thankfully not with Daryl!

Lain Ford

Saturday

13th of April, 1912

Diary,

This is the worst morning after of my life. The boxing fight in my brain almost knocked me out of bed.

Last night, Daryl, Kenny, and Robin came to see me, soundly inebriated.

“Whatcha doing, highness?” Snarled Daryl, holding onto Kenny.

“Working, which is more than you lot can say.” I snorted back, laughing as they swaggered across the deck. “You better turn in and sleep it off before someone sees you.”

“Come with us! We’re going to the dining hall. Tables are cleared and music’s set!” Jeered Robin, unconvincingly spotting Kenny who was wrestling to hold Daryl.

I resisted their pleas, but each time they grew louder. I couldn’t prevent them from causing a ruckus, so I followed.

* “Only for a few minutes, enough time for them to pass out…” *

The dining hall was filled with drinking and dancing. In the center was a string and fiddle quartet.

“Highness, grab a girl!” Howled Daryl.

“I’ll leave this to you, the ones half in the till.” I replied.

They all headed to the floor. I sat, long enough to down the most drinks I’ve ever had. In my alcoholic spell, I manically switched between watching them and the clock.

Thirty minutes later I was about to leave, but before I could, Kenny, Robin, and Daryl sat by me with their partners.

“You’re not leaving now, are you Lain?” Whined Kenny. “Dance with my gal, Martha!”

I was tactfully declining when Daryl’s girl interrupted, “On night duty, right? Don’t listen to them, you get back.” She continued, “But before you go, how ‘bout a dance?”

“You better do it.” Joked Daryl. “Jane won’t settle until she’s had her way.”

Hoping to avoid time on this negotiation, I conceded. When we arose, Daryl placed his drink in my hand.

A drink in one hand and Jane in the other, I did what I could to hold us apart. I could tell this was getting under her skin.

“You ever danced with a girl before?” She teased. “I promise, I won’t bite...”

Unwilling to humor her, and about to faint, I cut her off.

“I gotta go.” I gurgled, dropping her back into Daryl’s lap.

In my drunken stupor, I sprinted back upstairs.

Stopping to compress a cool rag on my head…

Lain Ford

Saturday

13th of April, 1912

Dear Diary,

After some sleep, I reported for lifeboat drills. It was a failure. I thought of Carlisle and Sir Pirrie. Was it this level of insouciance that led Carlisle to leave Harland & Wolff?

In charge of my boat is quartermaster Robert Hichens who declared his disinterest in the drills…

Unexpectedly, an announcement came from wireless. To my horror, Harold read, “There’s a fugitive aboard. Female, Miss Mary O’Brian, traveling alone. Her brother, Mr. O’Brian says she was last on a train to Kilkenny. It is believed she boarded at Queenstown. Whoever sees the young lady is asked to report to the front office. Once detained, you’ll be rewarded generously. Thank you.”

Darkness swarmed my vision, blurred by an adamant thump through my chest. Murmurs surrounded me; people either concerned about a helpless little girl, or the latter, mostly from sea hands still drunk, looking forward to finding a maid in distress…

I let myself slip away from the scene, and headed for my bunker. Nearly there, and almost ran straight into Jane.

“Isn’t this the biggest surprise…” She purred. “I missed you last night, you left so suddenly. I was hoping to get another dance.”

“Another time.” I fumbled, trying to think of a lie to get out of this fast. “I’m needed in navigation...”

Moving past her, she grabbed my arm and pulled me back. “Hold it.” She barked. “It’s not polite to leave a lady when all she wants is to know you better.” She clawed my chest. My spine extended two feet as I felt a cool chill crawl up and down my body.

I felt the warmth of a new arm over my shoulder. Though warm, a harsh rigidity coated my senses.

“It’s as he said, Jane. Beat it. He’s needed in navigation.” growled Daryl.

In a matter of seconds, Jane had disappeared. His cold eyes then turned to me.

“When I let you dance with her, I meant a dance!” His ferocity darted between my eyes and down my throat.

“I have no interest in her!” I insisted. “I was leaving when you found us! I’m going, they’re expecting me.”

“No one’s expectin’ you, Lain. Your name wasn’t called!”

“It was, Daryl.” I relented. “Just not the one you were expecting.”

“You shameful little twit! Anything to get out of this squirrely merry-go-round with Jane! She and I are together. I saved for months to get her on Titanic. She’s mine!” Retaliated Daryl, now shouting.

He began taking swings at me! I jockeyed my way around his thrusts, but in vain. I smashed against the wall and hit the ground. I laid there, curled at his feet. He intended to kick the life out of me. I had no choice.

“I’m not Lain! My name is Mary O’Brian!” I yelped, “The one they’re looking for. I swear to God, I’m a woman. As Lain, I’m an architect in the Guarantee Group from Belfast. Mary isn’t supposed to be here, but it was the only way. I’m Mary!”

Five minutes went by whimpering on the floor. When I finally looked up, Daryl was still standing over me. His expression was alternating between anger and confusion. His teeth writhing.

He pulled me up by my forearms, he held me against our bunker door. Then, fitting one hand under my hat, he pulled it off and watched my auburn locks come loose. He hesitated, but then made his way down to my chest. Firmly, he cupped one of my breasts.

I winced, bearing it through a mixture of shame and disgust.

He drew closer. I shuddered as I felt him stiffen. I drew a breath, but tried not to move. Even so, my body trembled.

Suddenly, Daryl stopped. He pulled his hand away from my breast, and jumped from me, taking 10 steps across the hall.

We stood there, silent, scowling at the ground.

“I’m not going to report you.” He grumbled. “But from now on, stay away from me.” And he was gone.

Diary. I just want to fly away.

Mary

Sunday

14th of April 1912

Dear Diary,

I’ve done my best to stay in isolation.

This evening, on route to Captain Smith with a parcel, I watched the sun sink into the horizon. A breathtaking outpour of peach and purple burst into the sky…

Frederick Fleet and Reginald Lee were at the nest discussing orders to veer south. I wonder, to avert ice? At the helm, the vessel keeps course at 22 knots. No signs of slowing…

I peered into wireless. Jack was there. He was busy as ever, slamming switches with the receiver in hand. In the midst of his yelling and machinery clanking, he was interrupted by an announcement from Leyland liner, the Californian. He read: “Attention RMS Titanic. The Californian has stopped. Surrounded by ice. Take caution.”

“Thanks, duly noted, Californian!” yells Jack, highly irritated. “Blasted liners,” he says to me, noticing that I was watching him. “I was up to my knees in errand lists and love notes all day. Then, a passenger bombards me with a bloody novel to his cousin, and I get interrupted. I’m ready to call it a day!”

I left Jack in peace, hoping to escape the chaos befalling the room.

Mary

***

I left my parcel at the wireless room. Passed the nest again. They’re frantically calling the bridge. An iceberg’s been spotted.

Friday

9th of August, 1912

Dear Diary,

Titanic sank. She lies at the bottom of the ocean now, only left to mystery…

Not long after the alarm, we reported to the decks. I saw the wretched mass. Her icy, barren arms towered over her.

Officer William Murdoch called for a hard starboard, reversing her engines, hoping to miss a complete collision. It was a devastating turn. We were all thrown. I was almost thrust overboard, catching myself on the portside rails.

The impact had torn open at least five of Titanic’s sealed chambers. There was nothing we could do, but evacuate.

Unsinkable…

In her last hours, hysteria consumed the ship.

In the frigid air, frantic, unprepared crew made dismal attempts to dismantle the lifeboats. Ropes were irresponsibly cut and vessels were damaged out of morbid desperation.

Jacob Lear was leading lifeboat number one, and was unaware that the boats could hold 65 people. I saw Jacob lowering the first boat with 27 passengers! I was seething in anger, “What are you doing?? These boats hold more! They hold twice as much!” He knocked me out.

I awoke moments later with three men circling me. Daryl was among them. My uniform had ripped, enough to reveal myself. They knew now.

“Mary O’Brian! She was hitching a ride to America. Guess it’s a crapshoot on who goes now, ain’t it, highness?” Snidely stirred Daryl before turning to Murdoch. “She knows about the ship, Officer, Sir. Building Titanic in Belfast.”

“Keep on task, sailors. It’s going to be a long night.” Concluded Murdoch, now turning to Daryl. “Follow the men to E deck.”

“Aye, sir.”

That was the last I saw Daryl, or Kenny and Robin. I heard ‘E’ wasn’t a lucky situation. If not for Jacob, I too would have been ordered to a watery grave.

My eyes are tired. Until I can write again.

Mary

Tuesday

17th of September, 1912

Dear Diary,

It's dawn. I’ve come to know the sunrise because I'm plagued by my memories at night...

Lowering people into boats, a sailor delivered my sack. He pulled out my shawl and then you, diary. I fastened you well behind my waistband.

Musicians played behind us. I still hear their song, Nearer, my God, to Thee.

Robert Hichens and I began seating passengers in boat six. I wanted to stay aboard, but was abruptly pulled in by a tremendous woman in body and spirit. She placed my shawl around my shoulders.

“There’s more to do here, missy. I need you to stay alert once we hit water. Will you do that for me?” She instructed.

She was American. There was something kind and commanding in her voice, so assured and firm. Without thinking, I consented, and found myself willfully laying my trust in her hands.

A few more were boarded, and then we lowered into the anxious, briny sea.

“My name’s Margaret Brown. It’s nice to make acquaintances. Can you tell me your name?”

“Mary O’Brian.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mary. Thanks for all your help. It’s going to be alright. Stick with me.”

Once affixed on the water, Robert was in command and preoccupied with one thing: separating ourselves from the ship.

Margaret was now chanting to those given ores to row in unison. In her synchronicity, we began making strides.

Unwilling swimmers soon overwhelmed our boat, begging to be saved, and taking all attempts to climb their way into our little vessel. But Robert ruthlessly pried them off while commanding us to keep our gazes ahead.

“We must go back! Mary says these boats can hold up to 65 people. We’re not even up to 30!” Fought Margaret.

“Out of the question! It’s either us or them. Who’s it going to be? Not me! I’m in charge and you will listen to me!” Roared Robert.

We rowed until our arms were numb. Until Robert halted us to a haphazard stop, right outside the misery of hundreds drowning before us. We heard their every cry for help and prayer for salvation.

We watched, horrified: Titanic's bow had dived into the water, her stern and rudders were unnaturally reaching to the sky. Her body crumbled, and there she descended into her final slumber.

Suddenly, the drowning clamor met in silence. Worse than hearing incessant screams was the gruesome hush that soon ricocheted across the water.

It was a harrowing moment. More of us challenged Robert in our last crestfallen attempts to gather more people. We even threatened to throw him out! But the stone heart held his ground.

All we could do was wait. Hours later, we met with flares flying through the air. The Carpathia had come to meet us.

Mary

Wednesday

5th of January, 1916

Dearest Diary,

It seems I’m coming to your last useful pages.

It’s taken a while to confront the words that were blissfully, naively, and regretfully written here. Or to reflect on my youthful infatuation that brought me so much pain.

Titanic was all that possessed me. To my behest, she still does, but resolve has long taken the place of longing, and awareness has sprouted from the ideals of a sheltered woman in the green.

I’ve settled as a teacher in New York, having gladly relinquished desires to become a draughtswoman.

In my sitting room, there’s a fire curdling nearby, and on my desk, there’s a note from Liam and my sweet fiancé.

Liam and I are exchanging letters again. He knows I hope to return to Ireland, perhaps closer to Aunt Fiona…

I’m not sure I could walk those gutted gantries. Or board another vessel at all. The ship on my shawl is enough to keep me warm…

I will always love her; my devotion and my torment. She prevails always, as the woeful, beautiful cataclysm of my dreams.

Until we meet again.

Lovingly,

Mary O’Brian