The boarded up Titanic restaurant in Cobh. Photo by David Lansing.
A letter from Ireland
Walking along the seawall in Cobh, past a stand selling sea-salt ice cream from Dingle (why ice cream from Dingle?) where a small fella no more than three takes a lick, his chin pointing to the sky, and rolls the melting brown scoop off his cone and—plop!—on to the sidewalk. Seagulls scurry over, flapping their wings and fighting over the drippy mess as the small fella looks at his mom and balls.
It’s no matter, she says, grabbing at his free hand and dragging him away from the disaster. We’ll get you another. Stop your bawlin’ now. But the child, inconsolable, cries on. As do the gulls.
Just behind the spot of the ice cream disaster is a boarded up building with a real estate sign hanging over the front door. Across a broad gate with two porthole windows, bronze letters, a foot high, say TITANIC. It was from this very building that the last of the ill-fated liner’s passengers boarded on the 11th of April, 1912. Inside the sealed building were the three first-class passengers and seven second-class passengers, sipping tea and eating biscuits while waiting for the tender that would ferry them out to the waiting liner. In front of the large gate with the porthole windows would have been the other 113 steerage passengers, waiting to board a separate tender (couldn’t mix the first-class passengers with the third-class passengers, even for a 15 minute ferry in a tender, now could you?).
The ice cream slowly melts. The brown ooze of the chocolate cone spreads like a stain on the worn concrete. And it was here—right here—that those passengers last stood on land. Ever.
Pity something useful isn’t done with this building. For a few years it was a restaurant. Odd story. Seems there was an Irish man on the dole who, after getting his support check, promptly went off and bought a lottery ticket. Won over a million pounds (this was before the euro). Good for him. Not two days later he gets a notice from social services saying his name has been removed from the roles. Don’t come calling again. Well, at the time, the social services office was in this very building which were once the offices for the White Star Line. So what does our man do but go out and buy the building. And double the rent of the social services. How do you like them crackers? Social services moves out, of course. So our man spends a good portion of his winnings to turn the building into a restaurant called Titanic, going so far as to replicate the look of one of the ship’s dining rooms. Cost a bloody fortune. And then the Celtic Tiger dies. Economy tanks. Restaurant goes bankrupt. And our man is now out of money. Probably back on the dole.
So there she sits. The former offices of the White Star Line, the very spot where the last passengers boarded the Titanic for her maiden voyage. Now just a boarded up, bankrupt restaurant. As sad looking as a child’s ice cream cone melting on the sidewalk.
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I am far from a pedant and would ask that you forgive my temerity in mentioning this minor detail but I believe that your proof editor missed pointing out that the correct spelling of the word used to describe the cries of the child should be bawl, not ball.
Love your writing! -
For the last week, those of us on the East Coast of Canada have been living Titanic 24/7. But in a good and respectful way. Halifax, Nova Scotia is part of the Titanic trilogy with Belfast and Cobh.
When Titanic sank, it was a Marconi wireless station at Cape Race, Newfoundland, that heard the distress signals and coordinated communications with other ships in the area. And when the White Star Line began the search mission, they chartered ships from Halifax, Nova Scotia. The dead were brought ashore here, including John Jacob Astor. 150 Titanic victims are buried in three Halifax graveyards. That’s more than any other city.
When the coffin-laden ships carrying the dead entered Halifax Harbour all the city’s church bells were rung. And last night, over 500 people carried candles of remembrance through the city streets from the harbourside to the Grand Parade where they joined several thousand more people for a commemoration of the disaster and to remember those who were lost.
As a result of Halifax’s participation in the recovery, the Maritime Museum of the Atlantic has one of the finest collections of Titanic artifacts in the world. These are items gathered floating on sea after the event. They were not scavenged from a grave. That’s why James Cameron sent his set decorators here to get the details right for his film.
One of the two cruise ships which traveled to the spot where Titanic rests stopped in Halifax on their way.
This week we have had a Titanic film festival, with all versions of the film shown all over the city. There have been memorial services in churches and among the graves of the victims. I spent midnight last year with several hundred others in the Fairview Cemetery marking the 99th anniversary. Later in the year there will be a conference of experts here.
In a weird way it has been a cathartic week. We live by the sea, so we respect it and don’t take its might and moods for granted.
This morning I read an Associated Press piece that was disappointing to the point of farcical. AP mentioned memorial services being held in Belfast, on board one ship, and in Southampton, Las Vegas, San Diego, Houston and Singapore. The last four are mentioned because they have some artifacts from the ship, but no authentic connection. Funny how they can ignore those who played a major role in helping organize aid and provide dignity and identities to the dead.
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Wow. You are so right. And in a weird way, I have been thinking of Halifax and seeing ghostly images in my head all day of what it must have been like when the Carpathia arrived. Here’s to Halifax and to Nova Scotia.
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Our commemorations continue:
http://thechronicleherald.ca/novascotia/90371-bells-to-mark-titanic-recovery-mission
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