Georgie

Never mind.

At 2.20 a.m., it all happened quickly.

If you were on a lifeboat, you'd watch in horror as a Titanic's bow sunk into the icy depths, her stern rising impossibly high.

Hundreds of people still clung to her deck like tiny ants screaming in fear.

The light still glowed, casting an eerie shimmer across the ocean.

Then came a horrible crack as a Titanic split in two and plunged into darkness.

Clings to propeller.

Legs to angle.

In the gloom of the moonless night, you might not be able to see the last tip of the Titanic slipping into the sea, but you would hear shouting and splashing as those on board fell into the water.

Their haunting screams would die out within 20 minutes.

The survivors shivered for hours on the lifeboats waiting to be rescued.

As the sun rose, they were all shakily pulled aboard the RMS Carpathia.

And if they looked back at where the mighty Titanic had once sailed, they'd see nothing but eerily calm water in an endless field of ice.

Finally, when it came to the little ones, class really mattered.

There weren't that many children in first and second class, and they all survived, except for one, a little girl whose family was separated in the chaos.

Only 34% of the children in third class survived, with 52 out of 79 meeting their end.

So, what does all this tell us?

In a nutshell, once you were up on that lifeboat deck, then your gender and age would be your golden ticket.

But you had to make it there first.

And that's where social class came into play.