By John Silverton
On the 15 April, 1912, RMS Titanic struck an iceberg and sank in the north Atlantic. Of the 2,224 passengers and crew, 1,517 perished. Those saved were mostly women and children. I was one of those to survive that terrible night of shock and fear and bitter cold, hearing the frantic terrified screams of those trapped on board. I watched helplessly as the much-lauded unsinkable ship broke in half and slipped reluctantly beneath the waves as if swallowed by some giant monster. The haunting screams and cries for help were replaced by the deathly silence of floating bodies. A few lifeboats crammed with huddling, traumatised women and children drifted aimlessly defying the monster’s voracious appetite for more victims.
At the time, she – ships are always female – was the largest vessel afloat and perversely named after the Greek mythological male giant god Titan. My contract was to perform conjuring tricks and illusions in the Palm Court every evening after dinner. It was the ship’s maiden voyage, sailing from Southampton to New York, populated by the world’s wealthy and us lesser mortals seeking a new life in the American colonies.
The Titanic presented a level of sumptuous luxury never experienced afloat before. On embarking you could be excused for thinking you were entering the hall of one of the great palatial mansions of the aristocracy, losing all sensation of being on board a ship.
First class was a pinnacle of opulence and comfort with facilities of eye boggling extravagance. The lavishly decorated lounge mirrored the Palace of Versailles, the â la carte restaurant the style of the London Ritz Hotel. A café resembled a Parisian sidewalk bistro. The wide curved main staircase would have befitted any royal palace. The first-class cabins and suites had the use of a gymnasium, a heated sea water swimming pool, a squash court, a Turkish bath house, a reading room, several lounges and a Palm Court complete with orchestra.
Of course I had no access to such luxury, being stowed away in third class steerage in the bowels listening to the throb of the propellers. I shared a cabin with Maria, a cabaret singer whose persistent lesbian advances I tried tactfully, although unsuccessfully, to evade. Whilst nightly treading the boards of second rate British provincial theatres my usual digs were the dingy rooms of back street boarding houses. But having shared the casting couch with a director of the White Star Shipping Line I was rewarded with a lucrative entertainment contract as magician for their flagship liner, although his generosity didn’t extend to a cabin in first class.
On the third evening my act was ruined by a young boy in the audience who displayed an uncanny knowledge of my repertoire. I specialised in illusions of making people and objects disappear and longed to make the little brat vanish. This annoying tyke kept standing on his seat announcing to the audience how the “disappearance” had happened.
‘It’s in her hat. It’s up her sleeve. There’s a trap door at the back.’
Towards the end of my act, it happened. The ship struck the iceberg and the impact threw the boy forward and his head hit the seat in front, knocking him unconscious.
‘Women and children to the life boats,’ came the command. Pandemonium ensued.
Now it so happened as I peered through the gloom from my seat in the bough of a lifeboat the horrible tyke was being nursed by his mother at the stern. The boy awoke from his concussive blow and looked around for the ship. He pointed an accusing finger at me.
‘She did it. The magician did it,’ he hollered.
‘Don’t be silly dear,’ chided his mother. ‘Try and get some sleep.’
Sleep he would not. For the next few hours the boy stared at me, never relinquishing his gaze as the boat bobbed up and down while we awaited rescue. Finally, he broke silence.
‘Okay, I give up. What did you do with the big boat?’
Maria and I now tour the American vaudeville circuit. After the ordeal of the Titanic we couldn’t face another sea voyage. However, on the publicity of being a survivor I incorporated a disappearing boat into my act.
Author Bio:
John Silverton is the author of A Pearl Amongst Oysters, a passionate suspenseful interracial romance spanning fifty years and two continents, available in paperback from Amazon Books.
A collection of short stories will be published later this year. John is twice winner of the Anderida Writers short story competition, 2024 and 2026. A second novel, a crime thriller set in the art market, will be published in 2027.
Contact Author:
Email: johnsilverton@hotmail.co.uk
