Wednesday
April 10, 1912
11:45 am, Southampton
They entered the ship, a porter passing control of their three steamer trunks to a steward, their voices lost among the hundreds of people entering the ship and those standing on the pier gazing at the latest technological wonder.
The man and woman paused, as did all people who entered the B deck First Class entrance. They looked at the mellow wood framing white walls, a tile floor checkered in black and white and open doors to a room dominating the centerline of the ship. Frosted glass decorated the doors to the entrance. Stewards moved purposely about their tasks. The ship smelled new, a combination of paint, polish, and wood.
Chief Steward Latimer and his staff were well aware of this reaction, having felt the same awe when they entered the ship a few days prior. They took passengers in hand and led them to their respective cabins, giving passengers the respect and courtesy due their rank and station in life.
The young man and his beautiful wife attracted the attention of Second Steward John Burke; a tall man dressed in the white uniform coat and black pants of his trade.
“Welcome to the Titanic, Mr...” Burke said courteously as he stepped to the young couple, beckoning for a junior steward to bring the luggage close.
“Hawthorne. Stanley Hawthorne.” The young man extended his hand, surprising the steward, and smiled graciously as he shook Burke’s hand. “This is my wife. Andrea Gustafsen Hawthorne.”
“Madam,” Burke smiled politely, giving the woman nothing more than a slight glance as decorum required, then looked at his list of passenger accommodations, leafing through several pages. “I am sorry, sir, but I do not seem able to locate your name on the passenger list.”
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“We registered this morning in the London White Star office. We were given cabin A 37.” Stanley explained, knowing the hurried pace of their arrival in South Hampton had added to the confusion that would prevail today. “I believe the gentleman at the office said the accommodation is in the aft corner of the First-Class entrance.”
“Certainly, sir,” Burke replied with a smile. Such problems were common on sailing day. He gestured to the steward, minding the luggage. “Steward Jones will see you to your cabin. I hope you enjoy your stay on the Titanic.”
“Thank you,” Stanley nodded and turned to the younger steward. “Lead on.”
“Yes, sir.” The steward guided the cart through the crowded entrance, leading the couple into D deck Reception.
“My God,” Stanley whispered, then stared at the room in awe. He had seen pictures and colored drawings of this room countless times, but he had never felt awe of the beauty, the elegance. White pillars of wood carved in Edwardian pattern buttressed a beamed ceiling also painted white; everything smoothed to a high gloss. Potted ferns gave a touch of color to the austere room, all overwhelmed by the staircase dominating the center of the room.
The Grand Staircase was built of oak and wrought iron. The iron between each balustrade supported gold painted standards. In the center of the stair was another rail matching the outer designs. The whole spoke of elegance, a definition of the ship and the class structure that dominated the turn of the century. There was nothing like this stair in third class; this was a privilege.
People strolled up and down the staircase, their clothes the best made and worn with style, their pace unhurried and untroubled by the hectic race that would soon claim the twentieth century.
“This way, sir,” the steward beaconed to the small foyer behind the staircase. “We must take the elevator up to A deck, then travel aft to your rooms.”
“Yes, of course.” Stanley tugged Andrea’s arm lightly to reclaim her from the intensity of the Titanic. They followed to the elevators where the steward pressed the call bell.
“We’re here.” Andrea looked up into Stanley’s eyes as they waited.
He looked down and saw the fear. “Yes darling, we are.”
Stanley felt the same fear.