to the ends of the earth

one

It was a late afternoon when I arrived at the Port of Southampton. There was an enormous line of people who waited until they could board the SS Soton. They were all there, ready for a journey to the other side of the world.

My father used to argue that something like the other side of the world just simply didn’t exist. After all, he’d never seen it with his own eyes, and if he couldn’t see it, then why would he believe it? He was stubborn like that, and even though he was a difficult man to live with, I’d give anything for a moment with him. My father passed away after years of being severely ill. I went from a kid to an adult in those years; taking care of my father, while I watched the life being sucked out of my mother, bit by bit, as his condition worsened. After he died, she didn’t move or speak for days, it must have been over a year before she allowed herself to cry.

The first time she cried was after she couldn’t get herself to wash an old blouse of his I’d found on the bottom of a drawer. She smelled it, soaked his scent up entirely and then cried in my arms. After that, I held her every night for two years. It felt as if I was the mother, and she was the daughter. One night, she held me instead, told me she loved me and placed a kiss on my forehead.

Not even two days later, she passed away. The doctor told me her heart had just simply stopped, but I was certain her grief over my father’s death was the cause.

I stared at the silver ring around the pointer finger of my right hand. My fingers were more slender than my mother’s and if I didn’t want to lose it, wearing it like this was the easiest way. It had been weeks since I packed a suitcase to leave. I was hesitant to leave my life behind, but the thought of having her close to me wherever I’d go was what helped me make the decision to do it. It was impulsive, something that had never been a character trait of mine, but without looking back I got on a ship to Great Britain. I wanted to see the world, I wanted to leave all the pain behind, I wanted to live.

Living was far from what I was doing on the Norwegian countryside, all I knew was surviving. The cabin I’d known as my home was bought up by an English landlord, who’d promised me a job and a roof over my head in exchange. I had just turned eighteen, I was all alone, I was hopeless and vulnerable, so I took his offer. The next six years I spent my nights in a barn with other farmworkers. The nights were cold – especially in the winter, meanwhile the days were long and draining, but Mr. Lloyd provided us with just enough to survive. Every now and then men of the upper-class would stop by to buy whatever we’d grown on the land or what we’d extract from the few farm animals that walked around. Some of the women who worked for Mr. Lloyd sold their bodies, it paid way more than the labour on the lands. I found myself attempting to do the same, but quit after one of those men left me behind with bruises all over my body.

No penny would ever be worth being humiliated like that.

Eventually, with the money I saved up, I got on a boat to Great Britain. It was a journey of several days crammed up between other third class people who’d wanted to take the same opportunity as I did. Arriving in Newcastle upon Tyne, I set foot on English ground for the first time.

It was lively and crowded, the exact opposite of what I was used to. With my few pennies and luggage I travelled south on foot. It was how I ended up in Southampton. Somewhere working under Mr. Lloyd had its benefits; my English was solid, which meant I could understand majority of the language. Walking around the harbour, I found a poster on the window of a travel agency:

S.S. SOTON
THE MAJESTIC STEAMER TO AUSTRALIA

will sail from:
Empress Dock, Southampton, at noon
TUESDAY, MARCH 17TH