My knees were pressed against the priest’s in the cramped boat. ‘Please! Please, can’t we throw them a rope?’ I begged, aware that I should sit quietly like the others, snivelling and gasping and politely looking away. But I had no control of myself and knew it was wrong to pretend this was not pure horror. To turn away would be cowardly. I wanted to share their last moments, be with them in thought and spirit. All those poor, poor souls, about to suffer a horrible end. ‘We have to stop the propellers!’ I repeated faintly, knowing my pleas were futile.

The doomed oarsmen rowed with all ferocity, for what else could they do?

Choked by panic, and fury with my companions, I tried to stand and wave my arms. If only we could get away from the side of the ship, we could signal to those above, who were still filling lifeboats, what was happening. Nobody was doing anything! I was trying to run in a nightmare. I knew what was needed, but no matter what, I couldn’t change the situation. My neighbour, the cook, yanked me back into my seat and delivered a fierce slap on my cheek. The shock and the outrage were appalling, then I found myself held tightly against his broad chest as my tears raged. I struggled free and fisted my eyes, unable to drag them away from the occupants of that ill-fated vessel.

The ship was long, nine-hundred-feet, there was still time – yet the wide propellers continued to turn dragging the relatively small craft towards them.

‘No, please dear God, no!’ I prayed.

The crammed lifeboat moved closer and closer to the destructive blades. Men heaved oars against the pull of water, still screaming for a rope to be thrown, reaching out, trying to clutch onto the Britannic’s slippery antifoul.

The din increased; deafening, whirring, people howling, and the roar of water turbulence. The blades spun faster and faster.

Another man jumped; I couldn’t make out if it was Perkins. His head bobbed in the foam, arms thrashing in a futile attempt to escape the maelstrom, dragged feet-first towards the elegant bronze screw, then he disappeared. The foam spume turned red for a second, as did a mist in the air.

Moments later, the bow of the first lifeboat splintered. Oarsmen continued to row for all they were worth, to no avail. Bodies were tossed like jackstones from a child’s hand. Nurses and patients threw themselves into the sea, but many suffered the same horrific fate. ‘They’re all going to die . . .’ I whispered, my tears rising and my body turning cold to the core. The propeller claimed its victims. The water foaming red; dismembered bodies tossed into the air.

The young scout still dangled from the line, but how much longer could he hold on?