F
Field Ethos
Guest
By John Kleespies
In the late 1800s, Violet Jessop was born to a life that the current generations would find incomprehensible: uprooted by her father from Ireland to an Argentinian farm, she witnessed three of her nine younger siblings die before she herself contracted tuberculosis. Her prognosis—mere months to live.
However, survival proved to be Violet’s defining talent.
Violet’s father eventually passed as well, forcing her mother to return to England … and then she fell ill.
With the family’s finances now Violet’s sole responsibility, she interviewed for the steady paycheck of an ocean liner stewardess. Unfortunately, corporate said otherwise: company policy forbade the hiring of attractive young ladies, lest they “stir trouble” among the crew.
Undeterred, Violet donned the frumpiest of dresses, disheveled her hair, forwent makeup, returned for another interview … and got the job.
For several years, Ms. Jessop worked grueling, 16-hour days. Then, in 1911, she landed the perfect post on the world’s largest ship, White Star’s freshly christened RMS Olympic, the first in a new class of unsinkable ocean liners, soon to be followed by her sister ships Britannic and Titanic.
Alas, the Olympic curse quickly unveiled itself.
While crossing the Solent channel in September of 1911—on only her fifth voyage—Olympic passed parallel to the HMS Hawke before turning hard to starboard, initiating a collision course with a military cruiser designed specifically to sink ships via its battering ram: amid a thunderous screech, the Hawke gashed nose-first into Olympic’s hull.
Weighted down with a full complement of panicking passengers, Olympic limped to port. Violet handled herself well though, so White Star offered her a promotion to first-class stewardess on their most prized opportunity, the maiden voyage of RMS Titanic.
Ms. Jessop’s actions during the early hours of April 15, 1914, have been reenacted numerous times … even if the thespians only knew of Violet’s deeds, rather than her name.
While shivering on Titanic’s deck, Violet stood out among the other stewardesses for her calm demeanor, encouraging a desperate officer to assign her to an unruly crowd of non-English speaking steerage passengers who needed organization into lifeboats.
Once Violet calmed the mob, she transitioned into Lifeboat 14 to illustrate the proper method of entering the small vessels swaying off Titanic’s side. Then, suddenly, her officer screamed “Women and children first!” and thrust a crying infant into Violet’s arms.
For the next eight hours, she provided calm to her lifeboat while safeguarding the infant and returning it to its mother on the Carpathia.
Ms. Jessop vowed that this would be her last tour of the Olympic class: after Titanic, Violet opted for the safety of land as a hospital nurse. Later, when World War I broke out, the Red Cross gladly accepted her enlistment and assigned her to the navy’s largest hospital ship: HMHS Britannic.
Violet was dumbfounded.
So, why not refuse this assignment, outright? Rather, Violet wanted to test that she hadn’t “lost her nerve.”
On November 21, 1916, Britannic was steaming hard at 20 knots when she struck a German naval mine, exploding the bow in a geyser of water before plunging it deep into the Aegean Sea, shedding plates of steel under the power of her own speed.
Thus, the youngest of the Olympics began her fast descent.
Shifting back to her stewardess days, Violet prioritized everyone else’s evacuation first and was among the last to abandon ship, of course.
By the time Brittanic’s final two lifeboats lowered into the water, it was too late: they caught in the sinking ship’s vortex and pinned to its side while the goliath slid nose first into the depths, thereby exposing her propellors, still churning at full power.
Violet watched in horror as the vessel in front of her drew into the props, shredding the lifeboat and dismembering its inhabitants, one by one.
Calculating that her boat was next, Violet clutched a lifebelt and dove overboard, immediately getting sucked under Britannic’s descending hull—where her skull fractured against the keel.
Yet, somehow, Violet was hefted from the froth, and for the first time in her life, she was the one being rescued by the very men she’d just risked her life to save.
With that miracle, Violet Jessop became the only soul to survive all three of the Olympic-class’s tragedies.
Did she finally retire the seas? Of course not: Violet’s nerve was back, and she spent a total of four decades on the oceans and even circumnavigated the globe, twice.
Bear in mind that every bit of Ms. Jessop’s heroism would never have transpired if she’d simply accepted the “no” for being “too young and pretty.”
But no was never in her veins: Violet Jessop exhibited a level of grit that our current generations should admire and emulate.
Our world needs more like her.
The post Violet Jessop — Siren of the Sea appeared first on Field Ethos.
Continue reading...
In the late 1800s, Violet Jessop was born to a life that the current generations would find incomprehensible: uprooted by her father from Ireland to an Argentinian farm, she witnessed three of her nine younger siblings die before she herself contracted tuberculosis. Her prognosis—mere months to live.
However, survival proved to be Violet’s defining talent.
Violet’s father eventually passed as well, forcing her mother to return to England … and then she fell ill.
With the family’s finances now Violet’s sole responsibility, she interviewed for the steady paycheck of an ocean liner stewardess. Unfortunately, corporate said otherwise: company policy forbade the hiring of attractive young ladies, lest they “stir trouble” among the crew.
Undeterred, Violet donned the frumpiest of dresses, disheveled her hair, forwent makeup, returned for another interview … and got the job.
For several years, Ms. Jessop worked grueling, 16-hour days. Then, in 1911, she landed the perfect post on the world’s largest ship, White Star’s freshly christened RMS Olympic, the first in a new class of unsinkable ocean liners, soon to be followed by her sister ships Britannic and Titanic.
Alas, the Olympic curse quickly unveiled itself.
Curse of the Olympic
While crossing the Solent channel in September of 1911—on only her fifth voyage—Olympic passed parallel to the HMS Hawke before turning hard to starboard, initiating a collision course with a military cruiser designed specifically to sink ships via its battering ram: amid a thunderous screech, the Hawke gashed nose-first into Olympic’s hull.
Weighted down with a full complement of panicking passengers, Olympic limped to port. Violet handled herself well though, so White Star offered her a promotion to first-class stewardess on their most prized opportunity, the maiden voyage of RMS Titanic.
Ms. Jessop’s actions during the early hours of April 15, 1914, have been reenacted numerous times … even if the thespians only knew of Violet’s deeds, rather than her name.
While shivering on Titanic’s deck, Violet stood out among the other stewardesses for her calm demeanor, encouraging a desperate officer to assign her to an unruly crowd of non-English speaking steerage passengers who needed organization into lifeboats.
Once Violet calmed the mob, she transitioned into Lifeboat 14 to illustrate the proper method of entering the small vessels swaying off Titanic’s side. Then, suddenly, her officer screamed “Women and children first!” and thrust a crying infant into Violet’s arms.
For the next eight hours, she provided calm to her lifeboat while safeguarding the infant and returning it to its mother on the Carpathia.
Ms. Jessop vowed that this would be her last tour of the Olympic class: after Titanic, Violet opted for the safety of land as a hospital nurse. Later, when World War I broke out, the Red Cross gladly accepted her enlistment and assigned her to the navy’s largest hospital ship: HMHS Britannic.
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RMS Titanic 
Violet Jessop
RMS Britannic
Back to Sea
Violet was dumbfounded.
So, why not refuse this assignment, outright? Rather, Violet wanted to test that she hadn’t “lost her nerve.”
On November 21, 1916, Britannic was steaming hard at 20 knots when she struck a German naval mine, exploding the bow in a geyser of water before plunging it deep into the Aegean Sea, shedding plates of steel under the power of her own speed.
Thus, the youngest of the Olympics began her fast descent.
Shifting back to her stewardess days, Violet prioritized everyone else’s evacuation first and was among the last to abandon ship, of course.
By the time Brittanic’s final two lifeboats lowered into the water, it was too late: they caught in the sinking ship’s vortex and pinned to its side while the goliath slid nose first into the depths, thereby exposing her propellors, still churning at full power.
Violet Jessop — Survivor
Violet watched in horror as the vessel in front of her drew into the props, shredding the lifeboat and dismembering its inhabitants, one by one.
Calculating that her boat was next, Violet clutched a lifebelt and dove overboard, immediately getting sucked under Britannic’s descending hull—where her skull fractured against the keel.
Yet, somehow, Violet was hefted from the froth, and for the first time in her life, she was the one being rescued by the very men she’d just risked her life to save.
With that miracle, Violet Jessop became the only soul to survive all three of the Olympic-class’s tragedies.
Did she finally retire the seas? Of course not: Violet’s nerve was back, and she spent a total of four decades on the oceans and even circumnavigated the globe, twice.
Bear in mind that every bit of Ms. Jessop’s heroism would never have transpired if she’d simply accepted the “no” for being “too young and pretty.”
But no was never in her veins: Violet Jessop exhibited a level of grit that our current generations should admire and emulate.
Our world needs more like her.
The post Violet Jessop — Siren of the Sea appeared first on Field Ethos.
Continue reading...
