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In 1910, the family
migrated to Canada, all but Claude and his elder brother Gordon. Claude
left England for Canada in 1912. He told this writer in the summer of
1954, when he was dying of lung cancer, that the 'for hire', which was
supposed to take him to his ship, was late. At that, they could have
made it to the dock yards if they hurried, but fate had other plans for
my father. The taxi broke down on the way to the docks and, while the
taxi driver frantically worked to correct the situation, young Claude
fretted and fumed. That driver seemed to work in slow-motion. Claude
paced to and fro, glancing at his pocket watch every few seconds and
urging the man to hurry!
With the car fixed, the driver floored the
accelerator and drove at break-neck speed the rest of the way They took
the final turn to the docks on two wheels, but it was too late. Even as
they swung into that final turn, the majestic
Titanic
was casting loose her stays to begin her maiden
voyage and her date with destiny.
Young Claude lost his temper. He turned on
the taxi driver, accusing him of taking his sweet time in repairing the
car. He turned the air blue, making very unflattering remarks about the
man's intelligence and what kind of an animal his mother had been, among
other things. He had stopped just short of physical violence.
He booked passage on the next ship
available, arriving in New York in time to witness the few survivors of
the
Titanic being unloaded from the rescue ship
Carpathia.
"You know," my father said as he ended his
tale, "I've often wished that I could go back and apologise to that taxi
driver for the awful things I said to him. It really wasn't the poor
devil's fault."
I laughed, "Dad, he probably knew exactly
how you felt when he heard that the Titanic
had sunk."
He stared at me for a long moment. I could
actually see a burden rising from his shoulders as he exclaimed, "I'm
damned, I never thought of that!" |
