I have been learning about the lives of those on board the Titanic, and one such story is that of Frank Goldsmith.
He was born on the 19th of December 1902 in Strood, Kent, and grew up in a working family. The family had already lost his younger brother Bertie, not long before 1912. His parents decided to leave England and begin again in America, hoping, as so many were, for a better life. They travelled in third class toward a new future.
Frank Goldsmith, his wife Emily, and their two sons, Frank Jr. and Bertie.
Frank was just nine years old, and spent his days on board exploring and playing with other boys, completely unaware of how quickly things would change. On the night of the 14th of April 1912, his father woke him and his mother up and led them to the lifeboats. There was confusion, urgency, and fear. His father tragically stayed behind. Frank later remembered his last words, simple and reassuring, but filled with finality.
Frank and his mother were rescued. On Carpathia, Frank was made an honorary crew member, drinking their strange initiation mixture. Settling in America, he never fully recovered from that night Even years later, the sound of cheering crowds reminded him of the cries he had heard, showing us just how traumatic that experience had been. As a boy, he held onto hope that his father might still return, a hope that he was slowly forced to let go of.
He grew up, built a life, he married and had three sons and eventually shared his memories so that others would understand what it was like.
He was a civilian photographer fir the US Army Air Corp in WW2.
He died in 1982 at the age of 79.
I often think about how a single night can shape an entire life. Do you think memories like his ever really fade, or do they stay with us in ways we may not even realise?
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