A Titanic experience in Cork
I’VE come over all posh in Cork. I’m at the Titanic Experience in Cobh and have been handed a boarding card with a name on it: Lillian Minahan, a 37 year-old woman and first class passenger on what was the most luxurious liner in maritime history at the time, and who had paid the equivalent of €62,000 in today’s money for the thrill of the six-day voyage.
A total of 123 passengers boarded the Titanic at Cobh — which was called Queenstown back at the time of the Titanic’s departure on April 11 1912 in honour of Queen Victoria’s visit to Cobh — and which was the last stop before the hotel-on-waves headed across the sea on its maiden voyage to New York.
Only 44 of those who boarded in Cobh survived the collision with the iceberg, and I’ll find out at the end of my guided tour whether Lillian/ me was one of them. First, though, I visit the reconstruction of a first class cabin and see the splendour of Lillian’s sleeping quarters, plus photos of the first- class dining area, library, smoking room etc.
I peruse a daily menu of potted shrimp, fillets of brill, spiced beef and chicken a la Maryland. And I watch a film of the sinking Titanic, an event which must have struck terror into Lillian’s heart, and listen as a band plays happy songs to calm the crowds. Then, just when the majestic liner finally succumbs to the water’s cruel elements and breaks in half, the band begins to play Nearer, My God, to Thee.
But back to the beginning, and the reason why I’m in Cork in the first place, which is to see if I can visit Ireland’s Ancient East by using public transport — and in the absence of a car for getting around.
A nine o’clock train from Heuston had deposited me in Cork close to noon the previous morning — and a ten-minute walk later I found myself ordering a cup of tea in the four-star Clarion Hotel overlooking the River Lee.
First on my itinerary is a visit to the English Market, a place I’ve seen Mary Kennedy walk around several times on Nationwide. The market, which dates back to 1862, is a bit smaller in real life, yet the abundance of fresh food is way more irresistible in the flesh; glistening chicken breasts, bloodied juicy steaks, pungent cheeses and chocolates way too pretty to eat. I’ve a punnet of tasty West Cork strawberries walking around.
I’m fond of butter. On fresh white Batch loaf. Toasted bagels. Mash. The Butter Museum in the historic Shandon area of Cork city is a dinky little museum which tells the history of butter-making — from the tradition of churning day, which left aching arms and blistered hands, to the butter exchange in nineteenth century Cork. And onto the inspiring success story of Kerrygold, which in the 1960s and 1970s convinced housewives in far-flung countries that a healthy dinner table was a table with a Kerrygold product on it.
Next is bell-ringing, right next door at St Anne’s Church, whose famous eight bells in the tower — The Bells of Shandon — were cast by Rudhalls of Gloucester in 1750. You’re allowed ring the bells. A book beside the bell ropes instructs you on which ropes to pull to play a tune. The two stunning young ones ahead of me play the Wedding March .Iopt for Amazing Grace. It’s fun.
All of this is enjoyed on foot. Dinner is in Market Lane restaurant, a trendy restaurant in the heart of the city. It’s my second visit to this restaurant, and again it’s jammers. And it’s a Monday night. The atmosphere is lively. I feast on slow-cooked West Cork ham hock, leek and potato gratin, summer cabbage and wholegrain mustard sauce. Followed by blackberry and almond pudding and cream. It’s all delicious.
The following morning’s journey is 30 minutes on the train to Cobh, passing Fota Wildlife Park on the way. Cobh has the lovely feel of a seaside resort, and I’ve an ice-cream cone walking the promenade. Yet the place seems hushed. And I wonder if it has something to do with the fact that Cobh was the departure point for 2.5 million of the 6 million Irish people who emigrated to North America between 1848 and 1950.
The Cobh Heritage Centre is an engrossing multimedia exhibition located in Cobh’s restored Victorian Railway Station, and it tells the story of our emigration, of leaving home shores for foreign lands down through the centuries. It’s emotional. So it’s good to learn that the 4,000 Irish workhouse orphan girls who were shipped off as domestic servants to Australia between 1848 and 1850, were found to be wanting in the area of subservience.
Spike Island in Cork Harbour is reached by a 15-minute ferry trip from Cobh and its 104 acres has at different times down through the centuries been home to a monastery, a fortress and a prison. You get tickets at a kiosk on Kennedy Pier for the boat trip to the place from where convicts were exiled to Australia in the aftermath of the famine, and for crimes such as stealing grain.
There’s a lot to take in, and you can go on a guided tour or guide yourself using Audio Guides which you can get in the Spike Island Tearooms.
It’s a fairly busy two days catching up with Cork’s maritime heritage, yet with the evenings spent in the comfort of the Clarion, it’s more than doable. This modern hotel with its modish design serves a killer breakfast — the Danish pastries are to die for.
The second night I ate in the hotel’s Kudos Bar which serves Asian cuisine, and had a very tasty prawn Thai curry followed by generous helping of cheesecake. If you don’t fancy getting the train to Cork, you can get the bus. Cork is easy to walk around, and the train goes to Cobh, so it’s very possible to get some of the best of what Cork has to offer using public transport.
Posh does become me after all, it seems, as Lillian/me did survive the inhospitable waters of the north Atlantic as the Titanic sank to its icy grave. I like to think Lillian/me said a prayer for the poor souls who were still on board. Yet I’ve also a feeling that at least a part of us may have been praying “row faster, row faster.”