The Lusitania : Part 12 : Gone Forever: The Dead and the Missing

Eyes picked out by birds…

The Lusitania’s death toll was complete upon the death of infant Campbell McKechan, the final “official” victim, on September 15, 1915. He, along with his mother, Elizabeth, brother John, and aunt, Catherine Gill had sailed together for a family visit in Scotland. Only Elizabeth and Campbell returned to their home in Gillespie Illinois, in August 1915, and the infant succumbed three weeks later to after-effects of the disaster. At least 1,198 were gone, and of these, nearly 900 were carried down with the ship or swept away by the currents, never to be found.

One of the saddest aspects of the disaster was the sheer number of people who vanished, leaving only their names and booking information to commemorate that they existed at all. For instance, were it not for a single mention of Millie Baker, and a single letter posted from the ship by Elaine Knight, both of these passengers would have left no record of their lives aboard the ship or of their final moments. Hundreds died unnoticed, and only through obituaries, newspaper profiles, court cases, and sad missing persons queries preserved in the Cunard Archives can portions of their biographies be retrieved.

Sister Isabel Wise, of Kingston, Jamaica, should not have been aboard the Lusitania. Sister Wise, a Deaconess of the Church of England, and founder of St. Patrick’s Anglican Church, in Kingston, had resigned from her duties due to failing health. She arrived in New York City, aboard the Zacapa, on April 23^rd, and her immigration papers were marked as In Transit, with no United States address given. However, she spontaneously decided to go ashore, to visit with friends in the city, and changed her booking to the May 1^st Lusitania sailing. She explained to her friends that she knew her visit would be the last opportunity they would have to see one another, and that she suspected she would not survive the Atlantic crossing. These suspicions were not attributed to presentiment of disaster,  but to depression over her unnamed illness.

Sister Wise boarded the Lusitania, and there her story ends. Her family in Northern Ireland, friends in New York City, and the Anglican Church, made concerted efforts to find anyone who could describe her final hours, but apparently no one came forward. A memorial service was held for her, at St. Patrick’s, in Kingston, on the fourth anniversary of her death.

John and Mary Macky, a couple who had immigrated to New Zealand, were returning home to the United Kingdom for a visit in their old age. He was 60 and Irish, she was 56 and a Scot. They arrived in Vancouver, aboard the Niagara, on April 10, and died together on May 7th, and no one, it seemed, remembered them afterwards. Argentine businessman Carlos Gauthier, 24, vanished leaving a widow, Angeline, in Chicago. Allan and Evelyn Dredge were mis-remembered by survivor Dwight Carlton Harris, who referred to them as Mr. and Mrs. “Grudge” in his letter account of the disaster. The couple had arrived in New Orleans from Belize, British Honduras, on April 26, as passengers aboard the Marowijne, and were returning to England for a visit with their daughter. Harris did not specifically mention seeing them at the final lunch, and they were never seen again.

John and Mary Macky

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Amelia Macdona, who had hoped to escort a favorite grandson to school in England, traveled alone and died; no one seems to have spoken of her final seven days aboard the ship. Annie MacHardy, a 31-year-old waitress who worked in Macy’s and earned an average of $18 per week after tips, boarded the ship to visit her daughter in Scotland, and vanished.

Amelia Macdona
Courtesy of Harding Macdona

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Carlton Thayer Brodrick, an unmarried 28 year old who earned $10,000.00 per year as chief geologist for a mining corporation operating in Russia, was on his way to Europe where he was to assist Herbert Hoover in the Belgian relief effort. His body was recovered, but he seems to have left no impression on anyone who survived.  Evan Jones, 65, of Iowa, was returning to his native Wales to live out his remaining days. He traveled in third class, and his final days and manner of death went unremarked upon by any survivors. His illegitimate daughter in Wales became the lawful heir to his estate.  Christopher Garry, of Cleveland, Ohio, was terminally ill with tuberculosis, and was returning to England where he wished to die under his mother’s roof. Elizabeth Horton had spent a year in Cleveland, helping her daughter through pregnancy and her first months of motherhood; she was returning home with baby photos and souvenirs. Mrs. Horton died, and so did Mr. Garry.

Carlton Brodrick

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Jane Worden was a 55-year-old dressmaker from Lowell, Massachussetts. Her husband, Charles, 77, was a carpenter who had earned from $1500 to $2000 each year when in his prime. Jane brought in an additional $1000 annually through her own business. She owned the small house in which she and her husband lived, and would have been his sole means of support beyond his savings when he became too old to work any longer.

The Wordens had lived comfortably, and Jane made several trips to her girlhood home in Clonakilty, Ireland. Her 1915 visit would have been brief. She intended to meet her mother, Mary Goodchild, in Clonakilty, and then escort her to a new home in the United States. They held tickets for the Lusitania’s May 14th sailing from Liverpool. Mr. Worden, and Jane’s brother, Geoge Goodchild, asked her to postpone the trip until the fall when, perhaps, the submarine menace would not have been as acute, but she assured them that everything would be alright. Jane Worden boarded the Lusitania alone, and died anonymously.

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Thomas and Beatrice Agnew, both 25 and traveling in third class, were returning to Bally Mora, Ireland.  Thomas, a carpenter, had spent five years in the Pittsburgh vicinity working and saving money.  The Agnews had married in the United States, and the couple was said to have saved “a tidy sum.” They carried all of their possessions with them. A postcard mailed from the ship on May 1st. was the only trace of the couple ever found. Their neighbor in Monessen, Pennsylvania, 30-year-old coal miner Lamond Proudfoot, was returning to Greenhills, Scotland, in second class. He, too, vanished without a trace, although his hometown newspaper in Pennsylvania would later report that he had cabled friends in Pricedale to let them know he had survived. Proudfoot was missing half of his left index finger, an injury shared by none of the unidentified male bodies.

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Anne Davis, a 63-year-old widow, vanished without a trace on May 7th. She lived in Benton Harbor, Michigan, with her married second son, Roger, who was a clerk in a steel-casting company. She had no job, but had spent the previous twenty-five years as the primary caretaker of her third son, David Emrys Davis. David, in the terms of the day, was described as “incompetent from birth” or, more gently, “while physically healthy has the mind of a child.” Roger, to his credit, did not institutionalize his brother after Anne’s death. The Mixed Claims Commission granted him $5000 in 1924, $2500 of which was specifically earmarked for the continuing care of David.

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Florence “Florrie” Lockwood, president of the New Jersey chapter of the Daughters of St. George, escorted her children, Lillian, 7, and Clifford, 11, and sister, Edith Robshaw, aboard the Lusitania. Beatrice Goodall, a relative of the two women, joined them aboard the ship, along with her two children, Leonard, 7, and Jack, 10 months. The family party was en route to visit relatives in Staincliffe and Dewsbury. No one who survived seems to have commented on the group, and Lillian’s body was the only trace of them ever found. She was buried in one of the mass graves in Queenstown. 32 year old Emily Shaw had grown uneasy over war news, and was returning to England to be with her mother.  Charles Waring had recently lost his young wife and was returning to the U.K. in mourning. 50 year old Ella Mae Lawrence was volunteering as a nurse. All completely disappeared.

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Florence Armitage, a young widow from London, had arrived in New York aboard the Lusitania in November 1914. She took long-term, lodging at the Hotel Knickerbocker while visiting with friends who lived nearby on West 43rd Street. A postcard mailed from the ship before sailing became the final known link with Florence. She is commemorated on the tombstone of her father, boxer John Burke, in London’s Norwood Cemetery. George Sidwell, of Hamilton, Ontario, seemed to be on his way up in 1915. A church organist and music teacher, he had published over one hundred songs and, finally, seemed to be making progress as a commercial songwriter. Several of his patriotic marches had sold well enough to draw attention to the tunesmith, and he was en route to London in third class, carrying his musical catalogue with him. He was to meet with publishers, one of whom, it was said, had paid him an advance of $2,000.00. Sidwell died leaving no mark on the Lusitania story, no one commented on him later. His wife was left with eleven children between the ages of 23 years old and 10 weeks. Mary Sidwell received a settlement of $8,000.00 for his loss, while his seven minor children were each awarded $1,000.00. Theatrical agent Luigi “Louis” Brilly arrived in NYC aboard the St. Louis on April 11th. He visited Philadelphia, boarded the Lusitania, and disappeared. Diego Olivar, a young clerk from Merida, Mexico, arrived in New York City on the Ward Line’s Monterey on April 25th, and traveled and died aboard the Lusitania without leaving any mark on the story.

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James and Kate Barr come close to defining the “average” couple aboard the Lusitania’s fatal voyage. They were of early middle age, educated, active church members, and were returning to their native Kilmarnock, Scotland, for a visit when they died together. Kate was recovered, and buried in Queenstown but, beyond that, nothing is known of their last seven days.

James Barr and Catherine Barr

James was an engineer. Kate was a former teacher, and a church worker. They immigrated to Toronto, where they were popular members of several social organizations for Scots. Their eulogy, delivered in Kilmarnock by Reverend Andrew Aitken, seems a fitting tribute to all of the Lusitania’s “shadow people:”

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Thirty eight year old Elizabeth Seccombe, of Peterborough, New Hampshire, was one of the more admirable women traveling in first class aboard the final voyage.

Miss Seccombe immigrated to the United States in 1897, at age 20. Her father, William S. Seccombe, had moved to Peterborough in 1895, in advance of his wife and children. He became a naturalized U.S. citizen on May 18th, 1898, and through his naturalization his wife and minor children became U.S. citizens as well. Elizabeth, four months past her twenty-first birthday remained a citizen of the United Kingdom.

William Seccombe died in 1910. He was a master mariner, who had served as a Lieutenant Commander in the Spanish-American War. He had also once served as the master of the Cunard Line’s Cephalonia, according to 1915 articles. He left  “a small estate and a large family” as one contemporary source put it: Elizabeth had eight siblings.

Miss Seccombe became the mainstay of her family following her father’s death. She was trained as a nurse, and also as a housekeeper and secretary.  Miss Seccombe maintained her mother’s home, paid for the education of several of her siblings, and through savings and prudent investment had managed to put aside $7000 of her earnings for herself.

Elizabeth took her brother, Percy, 20, to Europe during the spring of 1914. They returned to Peterborough by way of Boston, aboard the Cunard liner Laconia, on its July 15th crossing.

Miss Seccombe was paying for Percy’s college education.  She and he boarded the Lusitania in May 1915, intending to enlist as Red Cross workers in Great Britain. Captain Turner, presumably an acquaintance of the late Captain Seccombe, sent a letter to their mother in New Hampshire assuring her that he would look after them.

Neither survived, but both of their bodies were recovered. Elizabeth, body #164, was buried in one of the common graves in the Old Church burial ground, while Percy was cremated and shipped back to the United States aboard the Lapland.

Hannah Seccombe brought suit against Germany for the loss of her family’s principal breadwinner, Elizabeth. Germany challenged the suit on the grounds that although Mrs. Seccombe was a naturalized American, Elizabeth Seccombe was not. She had lived in the United States for eighteen years, but never applied for citizenship. Germany maintained that the American Mixed Claim Commission was intended to rule on death or injury to U.S. Citizens, and that Elizabeth’s death fell outside of its scope.

This contention was rejected in January, 1925, and Hannah Seccombe was awarded $10,000.00 for her daughter’s loss on February 11th of the same year.

Captain Turner’s letter to Hannah Seccombe has survived, and was recently sold at auction.

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A pair of letters document the search for perhaps the most famous couple lost without a trace in the disaster:

 

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Alfred Faulkner Wheelhouse was born in Manchester in 1892, the only son of Frederick William Faulkner and Matilda Wheelhouse. He had one sister, and his father had been a marine engineer employed by the Cunard Steam Ship Company. By 1915, his father had died, and young Alfred resided with his mother at 194. Bedford Row, Bootle, Liverpool. His sister was employed at the Post Office in Bridlington at that time.

Alfred followed in his father’s footsteps, also joining the Cunard Steam Ship Company and serving as an apprentice engineer. He engaged as 7th Junior Engineer on the R.M.S. Lusitania on April 12, 1915, at the monthly wage of £10, when the great liner made her final westward passage of the Atlantic Ocean, completing an uneventful voyage from Liverpool to New York. He was also on board when the Lusitania left New York on the afternoon of Saturday, May 1,1915, on what was the liner’s 202nd crossing of the Atlantic. Alfred had served on a number of Cunard’s vessels, including the Lusitania on several occasions, and we can assume that he was familiar with his tasks.

Nothing is known about what specific tasks Alfred Wheelhouse performed during the voyage or how he spent the limited free time he would have had, but when the Lusitaniawas struck by the torpedo shortly after 2pm on May 7th, and sunk within a very short time, Alfred Wheelhouse lost his life. There are no surviving accounts of where he was when the liner was torpedoed, or how he met his untimely death, whether as a result of injuries he might have received, or drowning, but when the pitiful survivors, and the bodies of the unfortunate victims were landed at Queenstown and Kinsale in the late evening of that day, Alfred was not among them, dead or alive.

Word of the disaster quickly spread across the world, and as most of those on board – the crew members -were residing in Liverpool and surrounding areas, it was here that the tragedy was felt most. Fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, wives, sweethearts, children, relatives, and friends of those on board anxiously sought news of their loved ones. Lists of survivors and identified victims were circulated and posted around Liverpool as details became available, but the only lists where Alfred’s name appeared were on the lists of the missing. Thousands of people gathered wherever and whenever these lists appeared, and one of those who anxiously awaited news was the widow, Matilda Wheelhouse. One can only imagine what emotions this poor woman experienced as she sought news of her only son, Alfred. Did see gather with the crowds reading the various lists? Did she meet the survivors who arrived at Lime Street Railway Station in Liverpool in the days following the sinking, asking those who disembarked from the trains had they any account of her son, or did she remain at home, awaiting word from Cunard company representatives, surviving crew members, or friends, as to the fate of her son, or did she sit waiting and hoping that Alfred would eventually walk into her home?

We can only try to imagine what this poor woman experienced in those difficult days, and we don’t know how long it took her to realise and accept that her son had not survived, but maybe she only accepted that he was dead when word finally reached her that a body had been washed ashore near Ballyduff in County Kerry on July 24,1915, and that property found on this body identified the remains as that of her only son. A telegram was sent by the local police to the Cunard Steamship Company at Queenstown, which stated: –

Following confirmation that the remains were that of Lusitania victim Alfred Wheelhouse, they were given the reference number 258 on the South Coast list of recovered bodies, and it is at this point that we have evidence of the conspiracy to conceal the painful truth from Matilda Wheelhouse, not in any attempt at a cover-up, but rather to spare the poor woman from learning how the sea and the time the body of her son spent drifting in it before being washed ashore, had affected his remains.

Just how long it took news of the recovery of her son’s body to reach her, we do not know, but she was probably notified without any undue delay. Alfred’s remains were laid to rest in an old famine graveyard at Kilmore on the evening of May 24th. – a task no doubt hastened by its condition – and the property recovered from the remains were delivered to Matilda Wheelhouse, at her home in Bootle, on the 28th May. Surely, at this point, she must have fully realized and accepted that her dear son was gone forever.

Matilda Wheelhouse was not content to leave matters rest at just being notified of the recovery of her son’s remains, and enquired of the Cunard Steam Ship Company as to the details of her son’s burial. The company wrote to Sergt. William Best, who was the Sergeant-in-charge of the Royal Irish Constabulary Barracks at Ballyduff, and who would have been responsible for dealing with Alfred’s body when it had been discovered washed ashore, seeking specific details. Sergt. Best replied:

Whether or not the burial took place as described by Sergt. Best is unknown for certain, but in those days it is safe to assume that a badly decomposed body recovered from the sea would have been interred as soon as possible for health reasons. Whether or not anyone other than the burial party attended the funeral, or whether or not women cried over the remains, is a matter of some doubt, but is obviously something which may have given some comfort to Matilda Wheelhouse.

Despite all this, Matilda Wheelhouse was not going to accept what she was being told at face value, and expressed her desire to visit her son’s final resting place. The Cunard Steam Ship Company wrote to Sergt. Best again, on the 31st July, stating:

From this letter we can clearly see that officials at Cunard were very sensitive in their dealings with Mrs. Wheelhouse, and their reasons for keeping certain information from the poor woman is clearly stated.

Following on from this, the Cunard Steam Ship Company made very detailed and comprehensive arrangements to allow Mrs. Wheelhouse visit Alfred’s grave, and ensure that she got every courtesy and consideration on her journey. This letter, sent to Mrs. Wheelhouse on the day of her journey, details her travel itinerary, and advises her as to the arrangements made by them, on her behalf:

However Matilda Wheelhouse decided to travel to see the grave of Alfred is not recorded, but there is no doubt that she completed the journey. Following her visit, Sergt. Best wrote to the Cunard Company notifying them of the fact. Where as his letter does not survive, the reply sent to him from the company does:

Thus, the deception appeared to have worked, or maybe Mrs. Wheelhouse suspected all along that the details provided to her were not complete, and played along, either for her own peace of mind or out of politeness for all those who went to such great lengths on her behalf. Whatever she knew or believed, she wrote a letter to the Cunard Steam Ship Company on her return:

The Cunard Steam Ship Company wrote back to her, acknowledging her kind remarks, and presumably Matilda Wheelhouse lived out the rest of her days mourning her loss but taking some comfort in having visited his grave. Alfred Faulkner Wheelhouse rests peacefully in the corner of Kilmore Cemetery, where he was buried in the grave beside the wall nearest the Atlantic Ocean, which graciously gave him up and allowed his poor widowed mother some comfort. The cemetery is almost a perfect square with stone walls marking the boundary, built in the traditional coastal way. Local history tells us that the cemetery was originally used during the Irish Famine, and occasionally to bury bodies of seafarers washed up along the nearby coast. No headstones exist, save for one against the back wall of the cemetery over a clearly marked grave. My enquiries revealed that a young girl from Tralee was originally interred there, but her family later had her disinterred, and buried in Tralee. Other than that, small stones rising up from the ground mark the resting places of long-forgotten famine victims and mariners.

As for Alfred Wheelhouse’s grave, the only clue we have to its location is from Sergt. Best’s account. If the wooden railings were ever erected around the grave, no sign of them exist today, 92 years of Irish weather having eradicated any trace of them. If Matilda Wheelhouse ever caused a headstone to be erected, that too has disappeared.

Presumably, if Alfred’s sister married, then the family name disappeared, and it is not known if any relatives of Alfred Faulkner Wheelhouse survive today. Did his mother or sister ever return to visit his grave again, or am I the only person who has visited his grave in generations?

Alfred Wheelhouse’s name is recorded on the Mercantile Marine Memorial at Tower Hill in London. This memorial was originally erected to commemorate all those who lost their lives during both World Wars while serving with the Mercantile Marine, and who have no known graves. The Commonwealth War Graves Commission was not aware of Alfred’s resting place when erecting the memorial and inscribing his name, but in recent years they have updated their Tower Hill Register to reflect the location of his grave.

He was also commemorated on a brass plaque erected by The Liverpool Branch of the Marine Engineers’ Association in the Britannia Rooms of the Cunard Building in Liverpool. Underneath the badge of the association was engraved:

and then followed the names of the 226 former members, including Alfred Wheelhouse. This plaque is no longer in the building and its current whereabouts is unknown, if it still survives.

If any readers find themselves in the vicinity of Ballyduff in County Kerry, and can spare the time, enquire locally as to the location of Kilmore Cemetery, and spend a few minutes to pay tribute to a young man whose remains were given up by the sea and rests today, anonymously, in a very scenic part of our island, at peace.

The letters re-printed above are to be found in the Special Collections and Archives Department of the Sydney Jones Library in the University of Liverpool and are used by the author with the necessary permission.

-Peter Kelly.

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Jane Travers, 30, lived in Newark New Jersey. Whether she was deserting her husband or simply returning to her parents until his financial situation improved has not been determined.

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Memorial to Lusitania victim William Dewhurst
Courtesy of Ryan McKeefery

Two bodies…

Two bodies were recovered off the coast of Barry, South Wales, on May 12, 1915, by the steamship Kylesford, from Glasgow, and landed at Barry Docks on the 13th. Captain Duncan Graham stated that both bodies were found floating in the Irish Sea and that the body of the female, referred to as Body #1, was found floating face up wearing a lifebelt. The other body, a male, was presumed to be a steward. The woman’s remains were described as follows:

An inquest was held on May 14th. by Coroner David Rees who stated that he had received a telegram, according to which, the body was assumed to be that of Mrs. Catherine Willey, based on the C.W. initials in her clothing. Her property was handed over to the American Consul in Cardiff after the body was formally identified, and was forwarded on to the family. The body was embalmed on the coroner’s instructions, by Messrs Vivian of Cardiff, and shipped back to the United States aboard the SS Lapland on May 19th. The costs incurred in shipping were $810.00. A private family burial took place at Rosehill Cemetery, Lake Forrest, Illinois.

Catherine Willey
Courtesy of Corsone Ellis

Mrs. Willey was born Catherine Dietrick in Jackson, Illinois on August 23, 1862. Her father was a doctor father in a large asylum for the mentally ill. The Dietrick family was prosperous and Catherine was given every opportunity for advancement. She graduated from Illinois College and went on to study at the local College of Music, in Jackson. She performed at numerous concerts and parties, and became regionally very well known. Catherine married Robert Bruce Sterrit, on August 1st., 1877, and moved to his home in Pennsylvania. The couple’s only child, Katherine Bruce Sterrit, was born thirteen months later. Catherine had returned to Jackson for the birth, and it appears that she never returned to her husband. The couple divorced a few years later.

Catherine married Cameron Willey, but that marriage ended in divorce as well, in 1903. Her divorce settlement amounted to $7,200 per annum, which allowed her to live very comfortably. Mrs. Willey subsequently made her home in Paris, France, but made regular visits to her family in the United States.

Catherine WIlley, left: in her early 20s, right: just after her wedding to Cameron Willey c.1900
Courtesy of Corsone Ellis

Catherine Willey decided to return to Paris in April 1915, after spending several weeks with her daughter Katherine and son- in- law Robert Thorne, in Lake Forrest, Illinois. She left Chicago on April 28th, and spent two days in New York before boarding the Lusitania. She visited with friends in New Jersey, and told them that she was thinking of converting a large home she owned outside of London (Paris?) to a residence for penniless war widows. She was allocated cabin B36 on the Promenade deck. Catherine Willey’s activities while onboard are not recorded.

Rumors that Mrs. Willey was returning to France to work for the Red Cross were disproved, after her passport application and other documentation showed that she was making large financial contributions only. She was returning to manage her properties in Paris.

Compensation was awarded to Catherine Willey’s only child, Mrs. Katherine Thorne, on January 14th 1925 in the amount of $15.000.00 for loss of life and $6,910.00 for loss of property.

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38 year old Catherine Dingley was buried in private grave #591.

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Henry Garnet Bullen, ledger keeper at the Canadian Bank of Commerce in Winnipeg, was returning to his home in Cork, Ireland, to visit relatives and recover from the loss of his wife. Mr. Bullen had been in Canada for five years in 1915, and was newly married. He took a leave of absence from the bank, for he planned on returning to Canada. Mr. Bullen traveled in third class, and was lost without a trace. No one later recalled meeting him on the voyage, or encountering him during the disaster.

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Catherine Dougall left her home in Guelph, Ontario to travel to her birthplace in England. She intended on visiting relatives. Her cabin was A15, on the boat deck, and her cabin steward was Edward Bond.  The reward went unclaimed: her body was never identified.

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Frank B. Tesson and his wife, Alice, died together aboard the Lusitania. Tesson was the head shoe buyer and Vice President for the Board of Trade at Wanamakers department store, in New York City. He was also a representative of the Excelsior Shoe Company, and was traveling abroad to conclude a business deal involving the sale of 3,000,000 pairs of war boots to the Russian Government. The couple was allocated Cabin D10 for their journey.  Eugene Posen, a fellow Wanamaker employee accompanied them.  It appears that the Tessons and Posen spent a great deal of time together during the voyage. Posen survived; the Tessons did not, and their bodies were never identified, if recovered. Wanamakers published an obituary dedicated to Frank Tesson in The New York Times on May 15, eight days after the disaster.  Grief stricken at the loss of her son, Emily Duncan Tesson had a memorial headstone erected in Alton Cemetery for Frank and Alice.

(Courtesy Paul Latimer)

The Tesson estate’s case against Germany, made before the Mixed Claims Commission in Washington DC, contains many interesting details of the lost couple’s lives and is typical of the mixture of legitimate and questionable claims upon which the commission had to rule:

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Family and friends of those never found were left to ponder a wide variety of equally unpleasant scenarios. Had their missing one been among those, drifting in deepening shock, never found after sunset? Had he or she died of exposure and exhaustion, without a lifebelt? And, worst of all to contemplate, had the lost one been trapped below decks and carried down with the ship as she sank?

Richard Preston Prichard

The family of victim Richard Preston Prichard was determined to find out what had become of him, if the question could be answered. His mother was haunted by the thought that he had never gotten clear of the ship. She, and his brother, Mostyn, wrote to every survivor for whom they could obtain an address. They enclosed a missing person poster, and in their letters would request any information that the recipient might be able to furnish regarding Richard.

The letter writing campaign yielded several hundred results, on file today at the Imperial War Museum. Richard was a medical student at McGill University in Toronto, returning to his native England to enlist. He traveled in second class. He was neither famous nor notorious. But, because his family asked while memories were still fresh, he was well remembered. The cumulative effect of the letters is both charming and very sad, as dozens of people recounted their memories of Richard’s final week.

Survivor Thomas Sumner recalled that on sailing morning he and Richard had stood side by side at the rail, with Richard taking snapshots with his Kodak-type box camera. They had a talk about cameras while at the rail, and subsequently maintained a casual friendship through the crossing. He remembered that Richard was always pleasant, and had participated in the obstacle race and the tug- of- war. A mutual friend of theirs, a Miss Hardy, had taken snapshots on the crossing including several group shots with Richard in them. Not only had Miss Hardy survived, but so too had her camera. Sumner had seen the photos, and urged Mrs. Prichard to write to Miss Hardy for further details. Miss Hardy eventually responded that the pictures had not come out, and would be of no use.

Olive North recalled that she and some young women had been playing a rope game on deck, and that Richard appeared on scene and was able to ‘lasso’ her quite efficiently. He explained that he had spent time on a ranch in western Canada and had acquired the skill there.

Norah Bretherton remembered that Richard was in charge of collecting the scorecards at the second class whist tournament, which she had won.

Both parties involved documented a rather interesting bit of casual rivalry at Richard’s dining room table. Miss Meta Moody, who lost her mother in the disaster, wrote Mrs. Prichard a friendly letter in which she acknowledged sitting with Richard at meals, and described him as a pleasant table companion. Miss Grace French, who sat at the same table, wrote Mrs. Prichard numerous, painstakingly detailed, letters. It is obvious from these letters that Miss Moody and Richard had hit it off and that Miss French did not care for Miss Moody at all. Grace described her in unflattering terms, although photos show Meta Moody to have been quite pretty. Grace French mentioned that once it was established that Prichard and Moody had a lot in common, conversation at the table was dominated by their talks of travel, and of California where they had both lived.

Richard, who Miss French described as being handsome, charming, sunburned, and full of life, apparently flirted with Grace on May 7th. He told her, over lunch, that there was another girl in second class who looked exactly like her and that if she, Grace, would meet him on deck after lunch, he would point out the look-alike. He went below to change into his dark green spring suit and get a hat, and Grace French went on deck to wait for him. The torpedo struck soon after, and she never saw him again.

Arthur Gadsden, Prichard’s cabin mate, confirmed part of Grace’s account. A few minutes before the disaster commenced, he returned to his cabin and found Richard changing his clothing and packing his suitcase.

The final known sighting of Richard during the disaster was by Alice Middleton. She explained to Mrs. Prichard that, at the end, she was on the promenade deck, hysterical, her “reason all but gone.” Richard had appeared, calmed her, and helped her up a flight of stairs to the boat deck, off which they were immediately washed as the ship sank from under them.

A running theme in later accounts sent to Mrs. Prichard suggests that, at some point, she received a letter, now lost, describing Richard dying on one of the swamped collapsibles. Many writers told Mrs. Prichard that, yes, people did die aboard the boats, but that they were neither thrown overboard to lighten the load, nor taken aboard rescue ships. No one in the surviving letters recalled seeing Richard die while awaiting rescue, but Mrs. Prichard’s sudden interest in that aspect of the disaster leads us to believe that at some point a correspondent said that he or she had witnessed his death.

Crew members, friends, strangers with good memories, all supplied dozens of minute details of what Richard Prichard said, wore, ate, and did during his last days. Of equal interest, are the dozens of letters by those who had no recall of Mr. Prichard, but who wanted to take the time to assure his family that the tales of panic in the press were exaggerated.  Most emphasized that it was nearly 100% certain that Richard could not have been trapped below deck. Mrs. Bretherton wrote that although five months pregnant, she had been able to run from B deck to the boat deck, and from the boat deck to her C deck cabin and back again, with little difficulty. Miss Maycock assured her that the men had behaved splendidly and that, if nothing else, Mrs. Prichard could be assured that her son had died with dignity. She then appended that she spoke only of the male passengers: the crew had been horrible.

Several of the grieving mothers, among them Mrs. Ferrier, Mrs. Pye, and Mrs. Adams wrote to Mrs. Prichard “woman to woman” about their experiences on May 7th, and to extend their sympathy to a mother who had lost an adult child. Violet Henderson shared the observation that although she and her boy, Huntley, had no life jackets and could not swim, they survived in the water, while her brother and sister in law, Mr. and Mrs. Yeatman, who could swim, and who did have preservers, were both lost. A few letters strike the reader as being quite odd. Martin Mannion wrote that he had little doubt that Richard had, in fact, been trapped below decks and died horribly, like a rat in a trap. Oliver Bernard’s letter is a hectoring, aggrieved missive and the least appealing of the cache.

Richard Prichard, a pleasant but obscure young man, is the most exhaustively documented passenger aboard the final voyage.

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Mother died peacefully. Buried in Queenstown.
                                          ~Sidney and Frank.

With those words the five-day wait of Reverend W. Edward King, of Lockport, Illinois ended.
His wife, Martha, had departed for New York on April 29th, destined for a reunion in England with two of her sons; both bankers in London. Four children remained behind in Illinois.

The Kings were new to Lockport. Reverend King had taken charge of the Lockport Congregational Church in June 1914, after having served in the same capacity at Seward, Illinois for several years.  They had begun to establish roots in the community, and congregation members described Martha King as a tireless worker and a dominant force in the operation of the church.

Mrs. King was, apparently, one of those who survived the sinking and long immersion, but who was in irreversible shock by the time she was pulled aboard one of the rescue vessels. Reports were contradictory as to whether she died during the voyage to shore, or in the hospital shortly after arrival.  Reverend King said, through intermediaries, that the wording of their sons’ telegram implied to him that she had died in the hospital. He also declined to make himself available for interviews until after his sons had sent a full report of what happened.

If the sons did send a detailed report, the press did not follow through. A search of relevant newspapers shows that hometown reporters never again interviewed Reverend King on this point .

Lockport schools closed early out of respect for Martha King on the day of her memorial service, which students were encouraged to attend.  Congregation members sang solo renditions of her favorite hymns.  Thirty old friends from Seward made the trip to console Reverend King. Martha’s body was not shipped back to the United States, but was buried in a private grave in Queenstown.

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The Cunard Confidential Report of 1916 contains detailed capsule descriptions of the unidentified bodies buried in Queenstown and elsewhere. In many cases, the John Doe or Jane Doe retained so many clues helpful in identification that something very sad is hinted at: everyone who could have identified this man or woman died with them.