Ellen Mary Mockler
23 years old, Third-class, Lifeboat 16
After ten years in New York City,
Martin Gallagher had come home to Curraferry.
He’d returned for his fiancé—my best friend, Margaret Mannion.
Martin boasted about job opportunities in America.
His friends, Thomas Kilgannon and Tom Smyth were eager to take a chance.
“Ellie, come with us,” Margaret begged.
I fell under their spell of fairy dreams.
“I’ll go for the adventure of it,” I finally said. “and to make my fortune!”
And we all laughed.
My two older sisters, who had settled in Manhattan, sent my passage.
Beneath a gray sky and brisk wind, the five of us boarded a tender at Queenstown.
The boat ferried us over to the anchored ship.
As the skiff swung alongside the enormous ocean liner,
I glanced up and saw her name in big gold letters--Titanic.
My heart leaped into my throat with excitement
None of us could get over the sheer fanciness of the magnificent ship.
While the boys ventured off to locate their rooms at the bow,
Margaret and I made our nest in our small cabin at the stern.
Our quarters looked picture-perfect.
The white-painted walls were made of pine. The linoleum floor was pink.
Sheets and pillow cases were not provided, so we brought our own.
“Look!” I said. “The washbasins have running water.”
We neatly made our beds, then hurried off to meet the boys on the third-class deck.
As Titanic began to steam toward the open sea,
a fellow countryman played Erin’s Lament on his bagpipes.
Sentimental thoughts turned to Ma and Da.
Good-bye. I’ll be back when I’ve made my fortune!
Third-class had plenty to offer.
Passengers could play the upright piano in the lounge--
a spacious room where we played card games, and read books.
After supper some of the men entertained us with fiddles.
A lively Irish jig never failed to make my heart race.
And there was plenty of food to fill our stomachs.
Two dining saloons served three hearty meals a day.
Then, on Sunday morning, an English priest came below deck to give Mass.
Martin said third-class on Titanic was equal to second-class on most other ships.
Later that night, we had gone to the deck at the back of the ship for fresh air.
Stars sparkled brilliantly. The temperature felt cold as ice.
Margaret and I said good-night to the boys then headed to our room.
“We’ll see you at breakfast,” she called back.
Then while we slept, the ship shook like the devil himself.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! What was that?” I exclaimed.
The ship’s noisy engines fell silent.
Passengers spilled into the long hall.
The crew didn’t seem too concerned.
We met the boys then we all hurried to the Lounge on C-Deck
where a woman calmly played the piano.
Martin left to look into the matter.
The rest of us waited for what seemed like an hour.
Then he came back with the news.
Titanic had struck an iceberg and was sinking.
Women and children were being sent off in lifeboats.
Martin told us to follow him.
He led us through the companionways to the second-class stairway,
where crew members barred us from going any farther.
Martin and other men pushed and shoved through the screaming melee.
On the upper deck, Thomas Kilgannon, gave me his green sweater,
the one his mother knitted for him before he left home.
As Margaret and I climbed into Lifeboat 16,
I looked back and saw Martin, Thomas, and Tom--
they were praying the rosary on deck.
After our miraculous rescue by the Carpathia,
I was whisked away to St. Vincent’s Hospital in New York City.
During an examination, a voice boomed as though it were God himself.
“Ellie Mockler, if ye be in this room will ye stand up and wave?”
Bolting straight up, I saw a priest standing on a chair
and one of my sisters fainted into a heap on the floor.
Both of my sisters thought I had not survived.
Martin Gallagher was right. America was full of many opportunities.
I was hired at the National Biscuit Company, in New York, where I worked for five years.
Then, in 1917, I moved to Worcester, Massachusetts,
and entered the Order of the Sisters of Mercy.
In 1925, thirteen years after the accident at sea,
I took my vows and became Sister Mary Patricia.
Note: Nine years after the sinking of Titanic, Mary Ellen Mockler sailed back to Ireland and returned Thomas Kilgannon’s sweater to his mother. Ellen, also known as “Ellie” was born on April 1, 1889—she died on April 1, 1984, at the age of 95. She was one of two survivors who became a nun. Seventeen months after her passing, Titanic was found at the bottom of the North Atlantic.
23 years old, Third-class, Lifeboat 16
After ten years in New York City,
Martin Gallagher had come home to Curraferry.
He’d returned for his fiancé—my best friend, Margaret Mannion.
Martin boasted about job opportunities in America.
His friends, Thomas Kilgannon and Tom Smyth were eager to take a chance.
“Ellie, come with us,” Margaret begged.
I fell under their spell of fairy dreams.
“I’ll go for the adventure of it,” I finally said. “and to make my fortune!”
And we all laughed.
My two older sisters, who had settled in Manhattan, sent my passage.
Beneath a gray sky and brisk wind, the five of us boarded a tender at Queenstown.
The boat ferried us over to the anchored ship.
As the skiff swung alongside the enormous ocean liner,
I glanced up and saw her name in big gold letters--Titanic.
My heart leaped into my throat with excitement
None of us could get over the sheer fanciness of the magnificent ship.
While the boys ventured off to locate their rooms at the bow,
Margaret and I made our nest in our small cabin at the stern.
Our quarters looked picture-perfect.
The white-painted walls were made of pine. The linoleum floor was pink.
Sheets and pillow cases were not provided, so we brought our own.
“Look!” I said. “The washbasins have running water.”
We neatly made our beds, then hurried off to meet the boys on the third-class deck.
As Titanic began to steam toward the open sea,
a fellow countryman played Erin’s Lament on his bagpipes.
Sentimental thoughts turned to Ma and Da.
Good-bye. I’ll be back when I’ve made my fortune!
Third-class had plenty to offer.
Passengers could play the upright piano in the lounge--
a spacious room where we played card games, and read books.
After supper some of the men entertained us with fiddles.
A lively Irish jig never failed to make my heart race.
And there was plenty of food to fill our stomachs.
Two dining saloons served three hearty meals a day.
Then, on Sunday morning, an English priest came below deck to give Mass.
Martin said third-class on Titanic was equal to second-class on most other ships.
Later that night, we had gone to the deck at the back of the ship for fresh air.
Stars sparkled brilliantly. The temperature felt cold as ice.
Margaret and I said good-night to the boys then headed to our room.
“We’ll see you at breakfast,” she called back.
Then while we slept, the ship shook like the devil himself.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! What was that?” I exclaimed.
The ship’s noisy engines fell silent.
Passengers spilled into the long hall.
The crew didn’t seem too concerned.
We met the boys then we all hurried to the Lounge on C-Deck
where a woman calmly played the piano.
Martin left to look into the matter.
The rest of us waited for what seemed like an hour.
Then he came back with the news.
Titanic had struck an iceberg and was sinking.
Women and children were being sent off in lifeboats.
Martin told us to follow him.
He led us through the companionways to the second-class stairway,
where crew members barred us from going any farther.
Martin and other men pushed and shoved through the screaming melee.
On the upper deck, Thomas Kilgannon, gave me his green sweater,
the one his mother knitted for him before he left home.
As Margaret and I climbed into Lifeboat 16,
I looked back and saw Martin, Thomas, and Tom--
they were praying the rosary on deck.
After our miraculous rescue by the Carpathia,
I was whisked away to St. Vincent’s Hospital in New York City.
During an examination, a voice boomed as though it were God himself.
“Ellie Mockler, if ye be in this room will ye stand up and wave?”
Bolting straight up, I saw a priest standing on a chair
and one of my sisters fainted into a heap on the floor.
Both of my sisters thought I had not survived.
Martin Gallagher was right. America was full of many opportunities.
I was hired at the National Biscuit Company, in New York, where I worked for five years.
Then, in 1917, I moved to Worcester, Massachusetts,
and entered the Order of the Sisters of Mercy.
In 1925, thirteen years after the accident at sea,
I took my vows and became Sister Mary Patricia.
Note: Nine years after the sinking of Titanic, Mary Ellen Mockler sailed back to Ireland and returned Thomas Kilgannon’s sweater to his mother. Ellen, also known as “Ellie” was born on April 1, 1889—she died on April 1, 1984, at the age of 95. She was one of two survivors who became a nun. Seventeen months after her passing, Titanic was found at the bottom of the North Atlantic.
