Page 113 of Atlas: The Story of Pa Salt

I made my way down into the belly of the RMSOrientthrough a labyrinthine arrangement of corridors and quarters. Eventually, several decks below my own, I entered third class. The most striking thing was the lack of any natural light. The whitewashed walls glared with the reflection of clinical artificial illumination, which had a bewildering effect on one’s sense of time.

The communal area in third class consisted of a room full of battered tables and chairs of various sizes, and was heavy with cigarette smoke when I entered. Around the largest of the tables sat a rag-tag collection of children. Among them, I spotted Eddie, the little chap who had been on deck earlier, but there was no sign of Sarah.

I approached the group. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt. I was just wondering if Sarah was about?’

‘She’s snuck off again,’ said one of the boys, before looking horrified at his admission. ‘But don’t be too hard on her, mista, she just likes to look at the ocean.’

I gave him a reassuring smile. ‘Oh, that’s all right. I like to do the same.’

‘You won’t beat her then?’ he asked.

‘Beat her?! Heavens no. Quite the opposite actually. I washoping to thank her for something.’ I gave Eddie a thumbs up, which he returned. ‘I don’t actually work for the ship. I’m just a passenger.’

‘A posh one? You sounds posh!’ said another boy, to sniggers from around the table.

‘Oh, not as posh as some of the people on board. Would I find Sarah up on the viewing deck then?’

‘Prob’ly, yeah,’ replied the boy.

The viewing deck was silent, with only the infinite blackness of the water and the fierce chill of the January air for company. Sighing, I held on to the railing and looked up to the sky. Celaeno was especially bright tonight. The sound of the steamer cutting through the water was soothing, and the cold, crisp air felt invigorating on my skin.

‘It’s you, innit, mista?’ came a familiar voice from the shadows. I looked round, and Sarah emerged from behind a life-ring housing. ‘The bloke who pulled a whitey earlier?’

‘Hello, Sarah. I wanted to thank you for your kindness this morning.’

‘Shh, keep yer voice down. I’m not s’posed to be up here!’ She raised a finger to her lips.

I sighed. ‘What a ridiculous ruling. Listen, come and stand by me, and no one will be any the wiser.’

She came forth and joined me at the railing. We stood for a moment, taking in the salt-scented night air. ‘You feeling better then?’ she asked.

I nodded. ‘Much improved, thank you. You were the only person to come and help me. That was very good of you.’

‘That’s all right, mista. It’s just ’uman decency, innit? But all these poshos up top are more worried about getting their knees dirty than lendin’ a helpin’ hand.’ She tutted comically.

The sound of theOrientsurging through the water was relaxing, and I felt my blood pressure starting to lower. Ireally did enjoy being out on the ocean. ‘Might I ask how many orphans are travelling to Australia?’ I asked Sarah.

She took a moment to calculate. ‘Probably a hundred. I’m fifteen, see, so I’m all right. But there are little ’uns down there not much older than three. Them’s the ones I feel sorry for.’ She stared out into the darkness. I was touched by her caring nature. After all, she was only a child herself.

‘May I ask what happened to your parents?’ I enquired gently.

Sarah looked around at the empty deck, as if to check no one was listening in. I suspected that the memory was painful, and as a consequence was not discussed often. ‘In the war there were a lot of bombs that fell on the East End. The last one did for ten of us in our street, including me mam. We was in the cellar, see, ’cos the sirens had gone off, then she realised she left ’er knitting upstairs and went to fetch it just as the thing fell on our roof. I were dug outta the rubble without a scratch. I were only six years old at the time. Chap that heard me caterwauling said it was a blimmin’ miracle.’

I went to put a hand on Sarah’s shoulder, but feared it would be inappropriate. ‘How awful. I’m so sorry for your loss. Where did you go after that?’

She took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly before continuing. ‘Me auntie took me in to ’er house down the road. Was only s’posed to be till me dad came back from soldiering in France. Except ’e never did come back, and me auntie couldn’t afford to keep me, so I was put in an orphanage. It were all right there, ’cos we stuck together. Then one day they told us we was going to Australia to get new lives. And ’ere we are.’

TheOrientencountered a rogue wave, and Sarah and I were hit in the face by some fine sea spray. Sarah gave a throaty cackle, which in turn elicited a small laugh from me. Her positivity was inspiring, and a little infectious, too.

‘Did you lose anyone in the war, mista?’ Sarah asked.

Karine, Pip and Archie Vaughan all passed through my mind. ‘I did, yes.’

Sarah nodded wisely. ‘I thought so. You ’ave that sad look in your eye.’

‘Do I?’ I asked. Sarah gave me a sympathetic grin. I turned away to face the ocean. ‘I actually lost someone very recently, not because of the war.’

‘Who was that then?’