Maude ‘Maudie’ Sincock
Second Class, 21 years old, Lifeboat 11
The Women of Cabin D-17
I was the luckiest girl alive, because for my 21st birthday
I’d celebrate it on the grandest ship in the whole world—the Titanic!
It seemed like everyone knew someone who’d be sailing on her.
Before boarding the train in St. Ives, I handed my ticket to the conductor,
I quickly found a seat beside a window.
As the train to Southampton lurched forward, my hat tumbled onto my lap.
The passenger rail cars clacked, gradually picking up speed,
And fields of spring blooms passed by in a blur of color.
Through misty eyes, I whispered, “Good-bye, Halsetown.”
I looked forward to seeing my older sister again.
Alice had settled in America three years ago.
Last year, Father joined her, hoping to find a good job.
He was hired by the Quincy Mining Company, in Houghton, Michigan.
Now, it was my turn to make the journey.
And once Mum’s baby was born, she and my siblings would make the trip.
Meanwhile, she made arrangements for me to sail with her good friend,
Agnes Davies, of St. Ives, Cornwall,
who was also traveling to Michigan with her sons Joseph and John.
Poor Mrs. Davies was a widow. She had lost two husbands.
Mum says at least she still has her children.
We reached Southampton
and made our way to the wharf where a band was playing.
Excitement buzzed all around us like a swarm of bees.
I overheard a man say the Titanic had been docked at Southampton all week
after arriving from Belfast, Ireland, where she was built.
What a magnificent sight she was.
Little John paused to look up at the ship’s four enormous funnels.
They certainly were impressive.
From the ship’s decks, passengers waved to the people below.
John and I waved back.
Then Mrs. Davies led the way toward the second-class entrance.
Inside, the ship was lovely.
I marveled at its new green linoleum floor tiles and oak staircase.
The same floor tiles covered its broad oak steps,
and on each landing there were lovely wicker chairs.
Titanic was as beautiful as the pictures I’d seen in the White Star Line brochure.
And I was fortunate to be on her maiden voyage.
Our cabin steward promptly escorted us to our rooms.
Joe was nearly twenty-years-old, so he’d share his berth
with his friends from St. Ives—Willie Carbine and William Berriman.
The rest of us settled in Room D-17 with our cabin mate,
Alice Phillips from Ilfracombe, Devon.
Just like Mrs. Davies, her father was a widow.
He also had separate quarters.
In the dining saloon, the tables were covered in crisp white linen table cloths,
and neatly folded matching napkins.
The menu had so many choices.
I ordered roast beef, baked potato jackets, fresh fruit, and an apple tart.
Mrs. Davies laughed when I could hardly move from the swivel chair.
After our meal, passengers spoke of how the SS New York
nearly crashed into the Titanic as our ship began to pull away from the dock.
Some believed the near miss could be a bad omen,
but most didn’t seem concerned about the mishap.
The next four days at sea were splendid.
I took walks in the afternoon sun and enjoyed the mild ocean breezes.
Games of shuffleboard and Simon Says were entertaining.
But then on Sunday afternoon, there was a noticeable drop in temperature.
So I spent time in the library, reading from books on the shelves.
That night in bed, I drifted off to sleep to the hum of the ship’s engines,
then a thump yanked me from my slumber.
I sat on the edge of my bed wondering what happened.
Mrs. Davies and Alice rushed into the corridor to inquire.
The steward assured them it wasn’t anything serious.
Alice’s father came by and looked apprehensive.
The pair left to look into the matter.
Not taking any chances, Mrs. Davies dressed.
Then Alice returned and relayed there’d been an accident.
The ship had struck an iceberg.
As a precautionary measure, we were to report to the lifeboats.
Joseph quickly came to our room and helped his family with lifebelts.
I clumsily tied my boot laces and put my raincoat on over my nightdress.
With no time to pull on my stockings, my legs went bare.
As we hurried into the hall, our cabin steward began pounding on doors.
He called out, “Everyone on deck with lifebelts!”
I held onto mine.
The elevator lift attendant was gone,
so we followed the others up several flights of stairs.
On the boat deck, there was such a large crowd, I was afraid to move.
I lost sight of Mrs. Davies.
Sailors put women and children into the lifeboats,
though some ladies felt safer to stay on the big ship.
I rubbed my hands together, trying to keep warm.
A sailor shouted, “This boat is full enough!”
I moved over to the deck railing as lifeboats were lowered to the sea.
Then someone picked me up and put me into one of the boats.
Stunned, I sat on a bench, then glanced back
and saw firemen in their work uniforms as they rushed onto the deck.
It was only then that I realized how urgent the matter truly was.
I held on for my life as the rowboat jerked from side-to-side toward the ocean,
fearing I could be tossed from the little boat into the sea.
As we passed by one of the decks, a man jumped in and I screamed.
Then a sailor shouted curses when the davit’s cables became jammed.
Using a knife he sliced through the thick rope and we landed on the water.
Rowers took to the oars and pulled away from the starboard side.
The ship’s bow settled lower into the waves.
Titanic broke in half and the bow slid beneath the Atlantic.
Then a monstrous groan came from the stern
as it slowly lifted out of the water and stood on end.
One of the sailors said we were far enough away to avoid the suction from the sinking.
Still, I held my breath as the rest of the ship disappeared beneath the surface.
And I covered my ears to the panicked sounds I heard from the drowning.
I prayed Mrs. Davies and the others had found their way to a lifeboat.
As we drifted at sea for hours, I felt scared
because all I could see was a vast ocean and a moonless sky.
Sailors from the scattered boats hollered to one another
so we would not drift too far away and get lost.
Then a crew member pointed to a spec on the horizon.
“That’s a ship!” he said.
Then as dawn’s rose-color sky began to appear, we rowed toward our rescuers.
Aboard the Carpathia, I found Mrs. Davies, young John, and Alice.
But Mr. Phillips, Joseph, Willie, and William were unaccounted for.
They were presumed drowned.
As the Cunard liner headed toward New York,
she cautiously steamed around icebergs and low lying field ice.
We later encountered fog and a storm.
On April 17th, I spent my 21st birthday aboard the Carpathia.
What I thought would be the happiest day of my life turned out to be the saddest.
From our rescue ship, I wrote a letter home to Mum.
“I was saved but lost everything. I have not even a penny and no clothes.
I must, however, be thankful for my life.”
Note: On Thursday night, April 18, 1912, Maud “Maudie” Sincock arrived in New York and disembarked from the RMS Carpathia. She reunited with her father and sister in Houghton,
Michigan. Like other survivors, Maude spoke before audiences about her experience aboard the ill-fated Titanic. She worked in the office at the Michigan Bell Telephone Company. On April 2, 1918, she married Arling Roberts. They had three children. The couple celebrated their 51st wedding anniversary in 1958. Maude never returned to England. She died on May 21, 1984, at the age of 93.
Second Class, 21 years old, Lifeboat 11
The Women of Cabin D-17
I was the luckiest girl alive, because for my 21st birthday
I’d celebrate it on the grandest ship in the whole world—the Titanic!
It seemed like everyone knew someone who’d be sailing on her.
Before boarding the train in St. Ives, I handed my ticket to the conductor,
I quickly found a seat beside a window.
As the train to Southampton lurched forward, my hat tumbled onto my lap.
The passenger rail cars clacked, gradually picking up speed,
And fields of spring blooms passed by in a blur of color.
Through misty eyes, I whispered, “Good-bye, Halsetown.”
I looked forward to seeing my older sister again.
Alice had settled in America three years ago.
Last year, Father joined her, hoping to find a good job.
He was hired by the Quincy Mining Company, in Houghton, Michigan.
Now, it was my turn to make the journey.
And once Mum’s baby was born, she and my siblings would make the trip.
Meanwhile, she made arrangements for me to sail with her good friend,
Agnes Davies, of St. Ives, Cornwall,
who was also traveling to Michigan with her sons Joseph and John.
Poor Mrs. Davies was a widow. She had lost two husbands.
Mum says at least she still has her children.
We reached Southampton
and made our way to the wharf where a band was playing.
Excitement buzzed all around us like a swarm of bees.
I overheard a man say the Titanic had been docked at Southampton all week
after arriving from Belfast, Ireland, where she was built.
What a magnificent sight she was.
Little John paused to look up at the ship’s four enormous funnels.
They certainly were impressive.
From the ship’s decks, passengers waved to the people below.
John and I waved back.
Then Mrs. Davies led the way toward the second-class entrance.
Inside, the ship was lovely.
I marveled at its new green linoleum floor tiles and oak staircase.
The same floor tiles covered its broad oak steps,
and on each landing there were lovely wicker chairs.
Titanic was as beautiful as the pictures I’d seen in the White Star Line brochure.
And I was fortunate to be on her maiden voyage.
Our cabin steward promptly escorted us to our rooms.
Joe was nearly twenty-years-old, so he’d share his berth
with his friends from St. Ives—Willie Carbine and William Berriman.
The rest of us settled in Room D-17 with our cabin mate,
Alice Phillips from Ilfracombe, Devon.
Just like Mrs. Davies, her father was a widow.
He also had separate quarters.
In the dining saloon, the tables were covered in crisp white linen table cloths,
and neatly folded matching napkins.
The menu had so many choices.
I ordered roast beef, baked potato jackets, fresh fruit, and an apple tart.
Mrs. Davies laughed when I could hardly move from the swivel chair.
After our meal, passengers spoke of how the SS New York
nearly crashed into the Titanic as our ship began to pull away from the dock.
Some believed the near miss could be a bad omen,
but most didn’t seem concerned about the mishap.
The next four days at sea were splendid.
I took walks in the afternoon sun and enjoyed the mild ocean breezes.
Games of shuffleboard and Simon Says were entertaining.
But then on Sunday afternoon, there was a noticeable drop in temperature.
So I spent time in the library, reading from books on the shelves.
That night in bed, I drifted off to sleep to the hum of the ship’s engines,
then a thump yanked me from my slumber.
I sat on the edge of my bed wondering what happened.
Mrs. Davies and Alice rushed into the corridor to inquire.
The steward assured them it wasn’t anything serious.
Alice’s father came by and looked apprehensive.
The pair left to look into the matter.
Not taking any chances, Mrs. Davies dressed.
Then Alice returned and relayed there’d been an accident.
The ship had struck an iceberg.
As a precautionary measure, we were to report to the lifeboats.
Joseph quickly came to our room and helped his family with lifebelts.
I clumsily tied my boot laces and put my raincoat on over my nightdress.
With no time to pull on my stockings, my legs went bare.
As we hurried into the hall, our cabin steward began pounding on doors.
He called out, “Everyone on deck with lifebelts!”
I held onto mine.
The elevator lift attendant was gone,
so we followed the others up several flights of stairs.
On the boat deck, there was such a large crowd, I was afraid to move.
I lost sight of Mrs. Davies.
Sailors put women and children into the lifeboats,
though some ladies felt safer to stay on the big ship.
I rubbed my hands together, trying to keep warm.
A sailor shouted, “This boat is full enough!”
I moved over to the deck railing as lifeboats were lowered to the sea.
Then someone picked me up and put me into one of the boats.
Stunned, I sat on a bench, then glanced back
and saw firemen in their work uniforms as they rushed onto the deck.
It was only then that I realized how urgent the matter truly was.
I held on for my life as the rowboat jerked from side-to-side toward the ocean,
fearing I could be tossed from the little boat into the sea.
As we passed by one of the decks, a man jumped in and I screamed.
Then a sailor shouted curses when the davit’s cables became jammed.
Using a knife he sliced through the thick rope and we landed on the water.
Rowers took to the oars and pulled away from the starboard side.
The ship’s bow settled lower into the waves.
Titanic broke in half and the bow slid beneath the Atlantic.
Then a monstrous groan came from the stern
as it slowly lifted out of the water and stood on end.
One of the sailors said we were far enough away to avoid the suction from the sinking.
Still, I held my breath as the rest of the ship disappeared beneath the surface.
And I covered my ears to the panicked sounds I heard from the drowning.
I prayed Mrs. Davies and the others had found their way to a lifeboat.
As we drifted at sea for hours, I felt scared
because all I could see was a vast ocean and a moonless sky.
Sailors from the scattered boats hollered to one another
so we would not drift too far away and get lost.
Then a crew member pointed to a spec on the horizon.
“That’s a ship!” he said.
Then as dawn’s rose-color sky began to appear, we rowed toward our rescuers.
Aboard the Carpathia, I found Mrs. Davies, young John, and Alice.
But Mr. Phillips, Joseph, Willie, and William were unaccounted for.
They were presumed drowned.
As the Cunard liner headed toward New York,
she cautiously steamed around icebergs and low lying field ice.
We later encountered fog and a storm.
On April 17th, I spent my 21st birthday aboard the Carpathia.
What I thought would be the happiest day of my life turned out to be the saddest.
From our rescue ship, I wrote a letter home to Mum.
“I was saved but lost everything. I have not even a penny and no clothes.
I must, however, be thankful for my life.”
Note: On Thursday night, April 18, 1912, Maud “Maudie” Sincock arrived in New York and disembarked from the RMS Carpathia. She reunited with her father and sister in Houghton,
Michigan. Like other survivors, Maude spoke before audiences about her experience aboard the ill-fated Titanic. She worked in the office at the Michigan Bell Telephone Company. On April 2, 1918, she married Arling Roberts. They had three children. The couple celebrated their 51st wedding anniversary in 1958. Maude never returned to England. She died on May 21, 1984, at the age of 93.
