Whatever happened to Millvina Dean, Titanic Survivor?
95 years ago
Monday 28th May 2007
I'm sure you've all watched the film Titanic, and cried as Leonardo DiCaprio sinks to his death in the icy water. But for me, the Titanic disaster is much more than just a film script. I was the youngest survivor of that terrible night, back in 1912, when the liner hit an iceberg and went down on its maiden voyage.
I was only 10 weeks old when I'd boarded the ship with my dad, Bertram, 27, my mum, Ettie, 32, and my brother, Bert, nearly 2. Obviously, I was too young to remember what happened. But I can still recall Mum sitting me down when I was 8, and explaining how my dad had died.
'Your dad and I had only been married three years, when we decided to emigrate to the US,'
she said one morning.
It turned out we had relatives there, and they'd persuaded Dad it was the land of opportunity.
So they'd sold our pub, The Four Feathers, in East Dulwich, London, and spent £20 in old money on a third-class ticket for the family.
'Our cabin was way below the deck, in the bowels of the ship,' she explained. 'But the rest of the ship was the height of luxury, with a lovely Welsh choir on board.'
What she described next will stay with me forever. Five days into the voyage, we were in our cabin when Dad was woken by a loud, grinding noise. He raced upstairs to see what was happening. Then, everything happened so quickly.
'We've hit an iceberg,' he bellowed. 'Get the children wrapped up warm and up on deck.'
Women and children were put into the lifeboats first, then it was the first-class passengers.
'As water poured into the ship, your dad helped me into lifeboat 13, then you were lowered overboard in a sack,' said Mum.
Her voice trailed off, and there were tears in her eyes.
'He said he'd see me later, but he was still trapped on the deck. Two hours and 40 minutes later, the ship sank, and I never saw your dad again.'
Mum explained that we drifted in the lifeboat for three hours, huddling together to keep warm. Finally, we were picked up and taken to New York by another ship, the Carpathia. With Mum's dreams in tatters, she returned to England with Bert and me, and simply vowed never to set foot on a boat again.
To be honest, it really didn't mean that much to me at that age. By then, we were living on
a farm in Woodlands, Hampshire, and Mum was about to get married to the farm vet, Len.
After that day, she never spoke about the Titanic again. So as I grew up, I followed Mum's example, and never talked about it either.
Incredibly, for the next seven decades, I barely mentioned it to anyone again.Then, in 1985, I turned on the telly one morning, and listened in amazement.
'The wreckage of the Titanic has been found deep in the North Atlantic, off the coast of Newfoundland, Canada…' the newsreader said.
Well, I never, I thought.
Next thing I knew, Titanic mania had swept across the globe, and people realised I was one of the last living survivors. Suddenly, my picture appeared in all the papers. I couldn't leave the house without people stopping to ask me questions about it and take my photo. By then, I was 73 years old, and retired from my job as a secretary for an engineering company. It was a bit late in life to suddenly be treated like a celebrity!
There was even a road in Woodlands named after me. The phone didn't stop ringing, with many invitations being made to appear in Titanic exhibitions, documentaries, radio and telly programmes. It wasn't possible to attend all the events, but when I got a call telling me there was a restaurant in Ireland being named after me, I flew over for the grand opening.
'How did you feel when you were being lowered overboard in a sack?' someone asked.
'I've no idea,' I laughed. 'I was far too young to remember.'
My brother, Bert, and I also travelled over for Titanic conventions in the US. At one convention, I watched my first-ever film about the disaster, A Night to Remember. I sat in silence and watched as the ship slipped deeper and deeper into the dark, freezing water, taking hundreds of people down with it. Seeing the panic etched on the passenger's faces made my arms prickle with goose bumps, and I blinked back the tears. Poor Dad.
'I hated every minute of that,' I said to Bert, as the final credits rolled.
Then, in 1997, I was invited to travel on the QE2 to the US and complete our family's intended voyage all the way to Kansas. Despite what had happened with the Titanic, I had no hesitation about going on a liner.
'Life's too short to worry about what could happen,' I said.
So I travelled to the house I would have lived in, all those years earlier, and even saw the nursery where I should have slept. I wonder how different my life would have been, if it wasn't for the Titanic? I thought.
Since the wreck had been found, anything connected to the Titanic had become incredibly valuable. Including, it seemed, my autograph. I started to receive letters every day, from people asking me to sign things. I couldn't believe it when I heard they were selling for £75 each!
But there was one thing I did draw the line at — Titanic relics. When I started reading that things were being salvaged from the sea bed and sold at outrageous prices, I was furious.
'My dad is still down there. Don't people have any respect?' I gasped.
When the film Titanic, with Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio, came out later that year, I got an invitation to the premier and to meet the director, James Cameron, as well as Prince Charles. I didn't attend, though. Even after all those years, I couldn't face the thought of reliving such a horrendous tragedy.
The only survivors left are me and Barbara West, also 95, from Truro, Cornwall, although we've never actually met each other. For the past six months, I've lived in a nursing home and, even though I can't walk at the moment, there's plenty of life left in me yet.
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