Hesperian Story

HESPERIAN BOUND FOR MONTREAL

            Social Editor Recalls

            For a number of years, more especially at this time of year, I am flooded with ‘phone calls asking me if I had been a passenger on the ill-fated White Star liner, the Titanic, which was stabbed by an iceberg on April 14^th, 1912 on her maiden voyage from Southampton to New York.

            I am happy to answer in the negative, however, as a very young girl I decided to emigrate to Canada, and start off on Friday, Sept. 4, 1915, from Liverpool, on the Allan Liner, “Hesperian” bound for Montreal, with Cranbrook my destination.

            The ship carried a full complement of first, second and third class passengers, including 107 wounded soldiers returning to Canada from World War One.

            The usual procedure of boat drill was not adhered to then, with the result that lifeboats were unchecked and towards evening around 8:30 p.m. on a Saturday night, Sept. 6^th, 1915, a tremendous roar and thud on the star board turned the entire ship’s crew and passengers into a panic.

            Lifeboats were lowered, many of them swamped by suction from the slowly sinking liner, and many lives were lost in the pitch dark.

            My cabin friend and I became separated.  She was in one of the lifeboats which capsized, while I was along with 60 others in a lifeboat for four hours, with only two people able to row.

            As the lifeboats were being lowered from the liner, many of the passengers were singing, “Nearer My God to Thee” others screamed, “Let Her Rip!”

            Somehow I became the ward of a small baby which I clutched to my body, until the rescue ship hoved in sight.  As I left that lifeboat I picked up a little chain with a gold cross on it and wound it around my neck.

            I never will forget the stalwart 175 pound seaman who pulled myself and the baby up the ladder onto the ship that was to take us back to Liverpool, within a matter of days.  I handed the baby to one mother who was sobbing.  “Yes, it’s mine, but there are three more missing.”

            We were first billeted at Queenstown in the south of Ireland for three days, and by this time I had connected up with five of my buddies who sailed with me on Sept. 4.

            The spreading of the disaster brought friends from near and far, all of whom contributed to my wardrobe which was ONE of everything.  I found out to my dismay that my luggage was insured against damage by sea water only, not against War operations.

            The unfortunate ship was towed for 100 miles before disappearing for good on Sept. 7 with all the cargo.

            Prior to my setting sail for a second time on Sept. 18, my brother-in-law came over from Ireland to England where I was awaiting the sailing date, and bought me the real necessities.

            The picture of the ill-fated ship going down was sent to me about six weeks following my arrival here, by an officer of the R.N. who turned over his cabin to myself and my lady friend on the rescue ship.

            I was quite brave during the entire episode until the evening prior to my landing in Montreal on Sept. 28, 1915, when a very kind gentleman who had joined our group socially questioned me about my plans when I reached Montreal.  He was on assignment during war operations, and made his home in Toronto and was now returning home.  I resented all his approach, and assured him I would just sit in the station at Montreal, until the train left at 8:30 p.m. that evening.

            At last he persuaded me to come in to a phone booth and listen to him contact his sister and family who lived in Montreal.  They told him to bring me right out to their home, and, very fortunately for me, her husband was connected with the Montreal Herald, so without letting me know, they had arranged for a representative to come on the train at long stops, introduce themselves and arrange for something good to eat along the journey.

            I left Montreal on Sept. 29, 1915, arriving in Cranbrook on a Friday, Oct. 3, 1915, and have lived here continuously.

            Another amusing incident was one afternoon in 1916 I had a ‘phone call for the Fink Mercantile Co., now the Merc, from a gentleman saying he was in Cranbrook on business and had related his experience on the very same ship and would like to call on me.  He did, and we recognized each other immediately.  It’s a small world!