Just a short note to say I am very fit and well. Dolly Lyell & I have practically completed our kit now, & we leave here tomorrow for Suez & join the regiment, which is about 8 miles from there, on Saturday. How weird it is having every blessed thing brand new from one’s skin outwards! And I do hate new things so, and had got awful fond of a lot of the old things I had before. It’s an expensive job too, especially here, where the price of everything is ruinous. I think a Tommy’s cooker might be useful out here, if the methylated would stand the heat; you might ask. It’s quite pleasant now & very cold at nights I hear along the Canal, but I expect it will warm up pretty soon.
What a change to go from France with its mud & rain to the Sinai Desert where it’s all sand & rock I suppose. But I shall be able to give you a better description when I get there, though I’m afraid I shan’t be able to tell you much as the censor will probably cross it all out!
I have left my address at both hotels where I’ve been staying, the G.P.O, the Army post offices (British & Indian), the P & O, & Cox’s! So I ought to get anything that’s sent here some time! Mind you put I.E.F. “E”, as there is a “G” as well somewhere here, but we are in E.
I have a lovely room here looking out over the sea, gorgeous view. It has been fairly fine this time, but today is a bit more overcast, & looks like a sandstorm. I have made pals with Cox’s man here, & had lunch with him yesterday; always a good thing to keep on the right side of your bankers. I’m longing to get letters from home, it’s 3 weeks now since I left, but I ought to get some in a day or so now, though I expect some went on to Bombay. Send along a weekly Times & L.O. & John Bull occasionally. Lots of love to all from your loving son
We arrived here today after a long & tiring journey only to find that Dolly Lyell & I are to rejoin the regiment here (as I thought all along) & are not going on to India in the ‘Janus’ after all. The regt: is not actually here but is about 8 miles out, & as soon as we have completed our kit we are going to join them. That will be the end of this week, so we shall be with them when you get this. We are going back to Alexandria tomorrow, as we have some stuff in the making there; awful nuisance all this trekking about but it can’t be helped. Awful hotel this, disgusting, but there’s nowhere else to go in Suez.
Very tired tonight, up till 2 last night writing & packing, up at 6.30 today, & a long hot journey, & it’s now 11.30 pm & we are being called at 5.15 tomorrow to catch the 7 to Alexandria! So must go to bed.
Address
The Garhwal Rifles
20 Indian Inf: Bde
10thIndian Div
I.E.F “E”
Egypt
used to be I.E.F “A” in France, but this is “E” here. Love to all, am very fit & well & awful bucked at getting back to the rgt: at last
yr loving son
Ted
It’s quite hard to track Ted’s movements in Egypt in the first two weeks of 1916; he does seem to have gone backwards and forwards between Alexandria and Suez several times.
I hear there is a mail going out tomorrow so I will just drop you a line to send by it, though in these days of submarines there seems to be a pretty good chance that it will never reach you. However, I’ll risk it. We are still here as you see and have got no orders yet. All the ordinary passengers are going on to India on the 9th in the Medina, but they are evidently not sending us on in her. In any case Dolly Lyell & I will in all probability rejoin the regiment which is at present at Ismailia on the Canal.
I had a letter from the Colonel, written on the 26th, saying he had applied for us both to return to the regiment but the authorities had said no, we must return to India; then another letter dated 27th says orders had come from the commander in chief in India for us to disembark on arrival at Port Said & rejoin the regiment. But then you see we never reached Port Said, so everything is hanging fire just for the moment; but I presume it is practically certain we shall be ordered to join the rgt: sooner or later. I wired home my address to Nell, & asked her to send it on to you, so I hope you’ve got it by now: it is
THE GARHWAL RIFLES
INDIAN EXPEDITIONARY FORCE
EGYPT
I am giving that address to Cox, Bombay, Cox here, & the P & O & hotel so where ever any letters may have been sent I shall eventually get them forwarded on. I hear there is a wire for me at Cox’s place here, but he doesn’t open again till 3 o’clock so I can’t get it just yet.
I have been very busy each day buying kit. I was wearing that old khaki of mine at the time, you know the greenish one with badges of rank on the sleeve. Of course ½ an hour in the Mediterranean did’nt do it any good! but I have had it dry cleaned & pressed here & really it’s as good as new, without exaggeration, & I am wearing it now. But I have also had to get a complete new outfit as well; fortunately one can get practically everything here, but I want you to send me one or two things which I have written on a separate list. My watch was of course ruined, simply coated with rust inside; I have sent it to Nell as a curio! Also her little coloured photograph which was partially spoilt but on the whole very little damaged, & I fancy it can be touched up & made quite all right again. The frame is quite all right! Nell & the Fieldings sent me a cable when they heard I was all right, I was so glad as then I knew you had either got my cable or she had heard somehow that all was well as far as I was concerned.
People are awful nice to us here, & of course we are rather star turns in a way. Quite a comfy hotel, & the P & O are paying our expenses here. Alexandria is so much bigger & better than I imagined. Good streets & quite good shops, European a lot of them. I always imagined it was a dirty little hole like Port Said, but there is no comparison really – of course now it is crowded with troops, being the base for the Mediterranean Expeditionary Force, & there are heaps of camps all around it. Any amount of Australian & New Zealanders here, all from the Dardanelles. I have made friends with several people here & we are all getting on splendidly. The poor old Persia figured very largely in the Reuter wires for 3 or 4 days, & I suppose the home papers were equally full of it. I wonder if you have got the account I sent Nell yet, I told her to send it on to you.
As far as I know, none of us men survivors are a penny the worse for our somewhat trying experience & we are rapidly recovering physically & mentally. Sometimes I have awful day-dreams about it & the whole thing comes back with a rush while one is driving or walking along, but otherwise I think my nerves are slowly but surely regaining their normal state of calm. Some of the ladies were pretty bad naturally & had to go to hospital, but the majority are going on in the Medina tomorrow. Mrs Penn Gaskell, the only lady 1st class passenger saved, is staying here & looks very white & ill poor child but seems wonderfully cheer all the same.
Last night we dined the officers of the Mallow, our rescuers; awful nice chaps. The Skipper, one Roberts, lives at Chobham & knows Guildford well, & confesses to have been in love with Betty Neville once! So if any of the girls meet Betty they might tell her that a former flame of hers rescued us & we owe him much more than we can ever possibly repay.
It has been miserably wet here ever since we landed on New Year’s day; I have bought a gorgeous Burberry thing from the Govt: clothing store here, called the “Aquatite” only £1-16, & precisely the same as a Burberry for 3 guineas; but of course Government let us have these things at wholesale prices; awful smartly cut & all, band at the back & everything. There are heaps of motor lorries & motor bikes here, & the whole place buzzes with activity. I will send you some picture post cards of it.
They do us very well in the hotel, & it is simply crammed with officers & their wives.
I managed to save from the wreck myself, my watch (ruined) my ring, Nell’s picture (partly ruined) the clothes I stood up in, the leather cigarette case Nell gave me (ruined) & my pipe. Everything else gone! including my 21st silver cigarette case, flask, & one or two sentimental odds & ends I had on board. I was wearing another coat on shore at Malta, & several things were still in that; & the other things were either lying about my cabin or else locked up. I lost my Rupert Brooke too, sickening; there was no time of course more than to just grab a lifebelt & bolt up on deck. Of course I did’nt lose as much as some chaps who were taking mufti & heaps of kit, I had very little really, but still, small though it was it’s all gone now.
Goodbye Mother & don’t worry; I’m as right as a trivet, whatever that is! Lots of love to all from your loving son
Ted.
I just heard from another fellow that Cox had a cable for me so I flew off & found yours there! Thanks awfully for it. It arrived here on 3rd, at 3.25 p.m. & this is the 7th, 4 p.m. Awful shame, they might have sent it up as everyone knows where we are.
Lyell & I got a wire from the rgt: today sending us their love & saying how bucked they were at our escape
Dear Mother. Very many thanks for your letter and all the news – what heaps of old friends you seem to have had at home during Christmas and New Year- wherever did Archie Fox come from. I do so wish I could get home to see Willie – but it is no use- my leave is not due till about the 6th Feb – and I cannot possibly arrange anything else.
I had a letter from Jim saying he was stranded at Plymouth & he wanted to know if I knew anybody down there whom he could go and see – while he was waiting- I also heard from Sheina – dear she seems awfully stressed about Jim going
Did’nt I thank you for those handkerchiefs so sorry – they were lovely – and are most useful at present as I am in the midst of a beastly cold – much better now though thank goodness – How sickening about Rosamund’s thumb- must be jolly painful – but she writes awfully well with her left hand. So glad you heard from Digby – I often see him just for a moment – he told me he was writing to you
We were to have given our show again to-night – but circumstances have made it impossible so I don’t suppose we shall do it again at all – I am rather sorry in a way.
There must be something in this peace stand I suppose – but I hope we have nothing to do with it yet.
Part of a letter written to Ben, probably by Lt E L W Fox of the Garhwal Rifles
I wonder if you have really heard the true yarn of the “Persia” – I don’t fancy you have, so I am going to write it down here in just a few words. “A certain officer”, after jumping overboard a few seconds before the ship sank saw a woman floating about face upwards, and on close inspection discovered she still had room for a few more pints of salt water, so he took compassion on her and towed her about for 20 minutes & eventually got into a boat about ½ a mile away.
I daresay you can guess who it was, and I feel quite sure you will feel very proud of a member of the family who can do a thing like that, anyhow those of us who know about it, and there are not many I am sorry to say, recognise that the Huns havn’t got much of a chance so long as we have lads like this to see this show through-
It’s no good asking Ted about it, as he will of course say it was nothing, or a lie, but I got most of it out of him by degrees & you can take it from me that he gave up 80 per cent of his chances of getting to that boat simply to save someone whom he had never even seen before because she was one of your sex. It doesn’t sound much here & I am afraid I am no good at descriptions, but when it is a matter of everyone for themselves it takes a bit of doing-
I hope you got my cablegram saying I had been saved from the poor old Persia – I sent it as soon as I possibly could, as I was sure the news would be sent home pretty soon & I do fervently hope you got the cable before you saw anything in the papers, but I’m half afraid you saw the bald announcement of the Persia’s loss in the papers first. I have written as comprehensive an account as possible, & am sending it to Nell & she will send it on to you. I expect lots of people will want to see it, poor though it is. Don’t let it go near any papers or reporters please; promise me that.
Well, now it’s all over. I can only thank God that I was saved. I went over the side into the water just before she sank, & was not picked up for about ½ an hour. But I’m as right as rain now, though feeling the mental & physical strain somewhat. It was a terrible thing; & I really think I’ve had enough of this war by land and sea. Of course I lost everything, except Nell’s little miniature, which is ruined, my clothes I stood up in, & the cigarette case Nell gave me, also ruined, & my pipe!
Unfortunately my cigarette case, the silver one I had on my 21st birthday, was in the pocket of another coat I had been wearing in Malta, & my flask, money & other treasures all locked up in my attaché case. There was no time for anything, except to grab a lifebelt & dash on deck. She sank, as you have probably seen in the papers (the Reuters for the last 2 days here have been full of the “Persia” show & nothing else) in 5 minutes. 3 of the boats that got away were hacked clear by the first officer of the ship with a hatchet, the other one was launched in the ordinary way. Others were launched but either turned turtle or were overcrowded & sank. It is too awful to think about.
Poor Jack Lodwick is lost I’m afraid, & Col Swiney, & we are only 11 officer survivors out of 30 or 40! We were picked up by H.M.S. MALLOW, a mine sweeper which was out looking for mines & submarines. It was quite a chance, she picked up one of the 4 boats, & then came on to look for us. We landed here at Alexandria, & are now staying at this hotel at the P & O Co: expense of course. I have made a few necessary purchases, & we are all awaiting orders. I expect they will send us on to India soonish; I’m not keen on crossing the Mediterranean again just yet!
Don’t worry about me, I’m quite all right now. Dolly Lyell & I are sharing a room here. He is very well. He was rescued in another boat & when he saw me he said he felt so relieved he did’nt know what to do. I can’t tell you how overjoyed I was to see him. Of course none of us knew who was saved & who was’nt till some hours later.
I hope poor old Nell was’nt too worried. I cabled them too, & of course if they got my cable first, before the news, they must have wondered what on earth I was raving about.
It’s been raining here today, heavy thunder storms & lightning, very unusual I believe.
I suppose we shall get compensation for our loss of kit. It is an expensive job refitting entirely. Thank goodness I had’nt much on board, still one has collected several little treasures in the years gone by, & they are all gone! Also several things I had carried all through the campaign last winter in France & which I valued very highly in consequence. Never mind, I have got my life, & am more than content with having that. I will write again when I know what they are going to do with us. Tons of love to all from your loving son
Ted
Write here if you like but I don’t suppose we shall be here long but I’ll leave my address. Cox & Co Bombay will still find me. But praps better not write here till you hear from me again.
Site in French about the sinking of the Persia, with list of passengers
The sinking of the Persia was Ted’s third close brush with death in 1915. In March he had been sitting next to two men when a shell killed them and missed him. In May he had a wound bad enough to send him home.
Ted wrote this account of the sinking of the Persia for his fiancée, Nell. She circulated several copies for family and friends.
Here is an audio version of Ted’s letter with the full text of his account below.
The experiences Ted vividly describes were shared not only by those on the Persia, but also by those on ships like the Lusitania and the Titanic and now, 100 years on, by those crossing the Mediterranean fleeing a war directly linked to the treaties drawn up after WW1. This recording is dedicated to those refugees: rescue.org/crisis-syria
Alan Wren has written a book which provides a comprehensive account of the Sinking of the Persia.
I will try and give you some account of the sinking of the poor old “Persia” while it is still fresh in my memory, though I don’t think I’m likely to forget it in a hurry, much as I should like to.
It was just after one o’clock on Thursday, Dec 30th, and the gong had just sounded for lunch; consequently the majority of passengers were assembled in the saloon and a good many had actually begun lunch. (As this is a personal account, you must excuse the continual occurrence of the personal pronoun “I”, but I’m afraid it is unavoidable). I was a trifle late and strolled in about 5 past, and was just sitting down in my place when there was a muffled “bang”, though it sounded loud and clear enough and one felt the concussion quite distinctly.
Everyone of course knew at once what had happened; we all rose from our seats and begun to file out of the saloon. There was no panic, no rush, it was, as someone described it later “just like going out of church”. I heard only one remark, someone saying “not much doubt about that” otherwise everyone was quite calm and collected, outwardly at any rate. We all went to our cabins and got our life belts and went on deck, and proceeded at once to our boats.
My boat was No 7 on the starboard side, and when I got there the crew were already endeavouring to lower it. This must have been a minute after she was struck, and the “Persia” was already beginning to list to port a bit. Our boats seemed to stick in the davits and refused to be lowered, despite the efforts of the crew and ourselves. The list to port was now becoming very marked, and it soon became quite 45° and one had to hang on the rail to prevent oneself sliding across to the port side, and anyone who was the least bit late in coming on deck had perforce to go to the port side.
It was soon obvious that our boat could never be launched in time, as the old “Persia” was now almost on her side. Someone said “time to go now” so in company with several others, I scrambled over the rail and walked down the side of the slings, which was now of course nearly level, she had heeled right over to port. No 7 boat was still fast in the davits, though a little lower down than before and I thought the best thing to do was to hang on to her as she might still get loose.
However, just then the “Persia” gave a final lurch, and her keel appeared above water, and a huge rush of water from under her caught me fair and square just as I was hanging on to the life-line of No 7 boat, and I was carried right away from the ship.
I then saw it all, the last few seconds of the old barge. She half-righted herself and then sank with appalling rapidity, the last thing I saw being her bows standing right out of the water, about 30 feet of them, and then these slid out of sight silently and suddenly. The sinking slings caused very little suction, but the water all round was of course very much disturbed. The whole tragedy had taken just 5 minutes, from the time the torpedo struck, till the “Persia” disappeared.
The scene that followed was too terrible to describe in any detail, even if I could do so. The sea (which had quite a nasty swell on though not exactly rough) was full of human beings and floating wreckage, chairs, tables, broken spars and beams were everywhere. The air was full of groans and cries, and everywhere one looked it seemed one saw human beings struggling in the water. It was awful. Our lifebelts kept us afloat easily, but we all hung on to wreckage. Each bit I got on to seemed to be chosen by several other people, so I had to change several times, as there were too many on several places to support the weight.
I looked round, a bit dazed of course, and could see four boats some way off, and one upturned one. Obviously the thing to do was to swim for the boats, so, shouting out this to the others I started off. It was difficult work, as the sea was so full of wreckage that one got knocked about a lot and it’s hard work swimming in a lifebelt too. The boats seemed miles off and I seemed to get no nearer.
By now the swell and current had scattered everyone over a very large area, and the boats were packing up as many people as they could. While swimming along I heard groaning and crying close to me and saw a lady lying on her back, apparently utterly exhausted and just drifting helplessly away, supported by her lifebelt. She was delirious I should think, and kept saying she was dead and dying, so I took her in tow though there seemed little chance of our reaching the boats, as I seemed to get no nearer. Fortunately she lay quite still and though my legs kept getting mixed up in her skirts, and she was rather a dead weight, I managed to swim on and at last succeeded in hailing a boat.
They fortunately saw me and waved back; I had already got near one boat but they handed oars out and I was carried away from it again by the sea. How hopeless it all seemed then. After more struggles I at last reached the boat; after three ineffectual grabs at a rescuing hand, I seized it and we were hauled on board.
I was thankful to get in. I must have been in the water half an hour and felt quite done up. I’m afraid anyone who was afloat when she went down and couldn’t swim must have been lost, as the boats soon drifted away from the scene, the swell and current being very strong and I’m afraid, too, many people got injured by the floating wreckage.
The boat I was in contained about 40 people. We got oars out but it was hard to make any headway in that sea and with such amateur oarsmen. We looked around for more survivors but could see none, and except for a few pieces of isolated wreckage which were here and there visible, the rest having been scattered, it was hard to realise that a ship had gone down.
There were now four boats afloat all full, and one upturned one in the far distance with a few people clinging on. Some people swear to having seen a fifth boat full of people but nothing has been heard of this since. The chief officer of the “Persia” (to whom we owe our lives as he cut away 3 boats from the davits with a hatchet, there being no time to launch them; the fourth had been launched somehow or other) was in one of these and he shouted out orders to all keep together in a line. The chief officer then transferred some from his boat (which was only the small “accident boat” for use in case of man overboard) which was carrying about 10-12 more passengers than it could hold, to ours, and the others.
We had now just over 40, including 6 women and 2 children. 1 ship’s officer, 4 male passengers and the rest stewards and native crew of the “Persia”. All our watches had stopped at 1-15 or 1-20, but it must have been 2 o’clock now. We tried to keep our course S.S.E. towards Port Said, so as to fall in with other ships if possible, but it was a difficult job in that sea.
About 4 o’clock I suppose we sighted the masts, funnels and smoke of a ship on the horizon, which cheered us all up and her hull soon appeared. (I must tell you here that there had been no time to send off an S.O.S. signal by Marconi, so no one knew what had happened). Suddenly a huge column of water was seen to shoot up by her, followed by 5 shots from a gun. It seemed she too had been torpedoed or shelled by a submarine, and perhaps was firing at the submarine. In any case she got no nearer to us, although she did not sink at once, she gradually faded away in the gathering darkness.
We now tried to make ourselves comfortable as possible for the night. We were all wet through of course, and it soon got very cold. The four women were very thinly clad but we gave them coats and sail covers and there happened to be a very thin blanket on board. But it was so bitterly cold for them I’m afraid. However they were just splendid, one poor girl had got a nasty cut on her head from a piece of wreckage and fainted, but we made her as comfy as possible. Of course, the boat was crowded and one couldn’t move about at all.
We put out “sea anchors” to keep the boat’s head to the sea, and let ourselves drift. The current taking us in the desired direction, soon after dark the lights of a steamer appeared so we burnt glasses to attract her attention, but she put out all her lights and cleared off; she evidently thought we were a submarine and suspected a trick. (I believe the Admiralty have issued orders accordingly so as ships may not go to any promiscuous lights as the enemy are up to all sorts of dodges).
So two ships had gone by and no rescue. It was rather disheartening, but we were not downhearted yet by any means. I had to lie right up in the bows, looking after the painter which was joining our boat to the next one, as it kept parting and coming undone. It was cold, as I was so wet. I shivered all night and most of next day, even in a hottish sea.
The night dragged itself through. Sleep was out of the question; we made the women as warm as we could and gave them all the coverings in the boat, but I’m afraid they suffered a lot, but bore it like Britons and never complained once. The two kids rescued were both in our boat; one was a French little girl about 6, in the bow with me. Poor kid, I tried to keep her warm, but she kept asking in a plaintive voice “Where is the big boat which was coming to help us”. It was awfully pathetic, as we could only say that it was soon coming now.
Dawn at last came, and we had a dry biscuit and a sip of water each. We had 2 kegs aboard, but the stopper had come off one so only one was filled. The other boats were in an equally bad way for water. Early in the morning we hoisted a sail in our boat and tried to tow the other three along, but it was not much good and we made slow progress. About 9 o’clock, I suppose, we sighted a ship on the horizon, so it was decided that we, having a sail, should go after it alone and try to hail it.
We sailed away and carefully watched at the chance of a rescue, and tried to cut her off. She must have been able to see our sail, but she sheared off eventually and disappeared. Another chance gone, and one or two began to lose heart, though I must confess that all the time I felt confident that something would find us, provided the weather held and we were not swamped.
It consequently turned out that this ship was actually at the time being chased by a submarine, so of course, could give us no attention. We forgave her then, though at the time it was not blessings we called down upon her head.
Heated discussions now took place as to what the best thing to do. Some were in favour of each going our own way and trusting to being picked up and telling the rescuing ship that other boats were still afloat. Others were all for sticking together chiefly because only two boats had sailors in them, the other two only passengers and stewards.
All the sailing about on our own and returning to our comrades after one fruitless mission of course took many hours and the sun was now high in the heavens, 12 o’clock. We all tied together again, lowered our sail and had a rest, just allowing ourselves to drift. The chief officer then said that he was going off in his boat to look for help, and the other 3 were to stay together. So off they went with our blessing and fervent hopes for success, while we stayed on.
Night began to fall and we rearranged our boat and made the ladies more comfortable than they were the previous night. Watches were told off to look for rescuers and look after the boat, and the rest made snug (?) for the night. You must remember that all the time we were filling up odd moments with bailing out water, rowing, and generally trying to keep afloat, so we were all quite tired enough though of course had lots left in us yet. It was now the second night after the tragedy.
I know I was just dozing off, though it was almost impossible to sleep in that crowded boat and of course we were bobbing up and down like a cork the whole time, when someone shouted out ship ahoy.
Imagine it, how we all bucked up once more. It was quite dark and we fervently hoped that this ship would not treat us like our friend of the previous night. She seemed to be making straight for us by her lights, but the thing was to attract her attention. We burnt a red flare in each boat (they are of course kept in water-tight tins in each life-boat) and rowed in her direction.
Great speculations as to what she was, a sailing ship? a cruiser? a liner? Impossible to tell of course. As we got nearer we all gave three yells (we were ahead, the other two boats following some way behind) and burnt more flares.
At last, after about 20 minutes she loomed up out of the darkness. “A destroyer” said some knowall in the boat, and then an unmistakable English voice hailed us from her “Hello you fellows we’ve got the other boat all right, come along the starboard side with you”. And so we were rescued. It was just after 7 o’clock I think, so we had been about 30 hours in boats, not so very long, but quite long enough, so we all thought.
Our rescuers proved to be H.M.S. “Mallow” a mine sweeper. She had heard nothing of the “Persia”, but the chief officer’s quest had been successful, and they had seen his flares and picked them up, and he had of course told them whereabouts we were and they came straight to us.
They were good to us. A good meal for all, clothes and every possible attention; no one could have been kinder. I could have cried with relief; to see those poor women and children looking more or less happy again, at any rate relieved beyond words at being rescued, was a sight for the Gods.
We were soon accommodated in hammocks and got some much needed sleep. They sent wireless messages off at once, and those must have been the first news of the loss of the “Persia”.
The “Mallow” was just out on her own, hunting mines and submarines, so we were lucky indeed as she was keeping no particular course, but wandering about anywhere, and just happened to meet the chief’s boat by a mere chance. We made all speed to Alexandria, a wireless having been sent off there for the despatch of another boat to look for any more possible survivors.
We reached Alexandria at 3 p.m. next day (Jan 1st) and were taken on board H.M.S. “Hannibal” where again they were more than good to us. We must have presented a sorry spectacle; dirty and bruised in many cases, many with cuts and wounds caused by wreckage, looking a trifle worn and haggard I expect, but none the less happy at our rescue. We went ashore and made the more immediate purchases necessary for our comfort and stayed that night aboard the Hannibal, and came ashore next day and put up at the Savoy hotel, where we have been ever since.
We are more or less clothed and in our right minds now and everyone has been more than good, but I fear the mental and physical results of all we have been through are beginning to make themselves felt now, though I think everyone is remarkably fit under the circumstances.
I will continue with a few disjointed remarks on circumstances connected with this awful business.
No one saw the submarine, though the officer on watch on the bridge saw the track of the torpedo for about the last few yards, but she had struck before he could give any orders. She struck almost amidships, just under the funnels, bursting a boiler and killing I’m afraid all the engine room staff who were on duty at the time.
Only one boat was lowered in the orthodox way. The chief cut away 3, and the 2nd officer 2 more. These latter two, however, full of passengers and crew were caught by the davits as the ship heeled over and were swamped.
I’m afraid nearly all the first class passengers (there were only 14 I think saved out of 80, and only one lady first class passenger) were caught up on the port side when she heeled over and were carried down with her.
The behaviour of the ladies was just priceless, they bore their sufferings wonderfully and did all they could to help. There was no panic on board, but the whole thing was over in 5 minutes and gave little time for thought. Some people had marvellous escapes. Two second class passengers, sisters (one married with a little boy) when she was struck went to opposite sides of the ship, all three went down with the ship and came up again side by side in the water, though they were on opposite side of the ship when she sank; they were all three rescued.
As the ship heeled over a huge blast of ashes etc came out of the funnels just as they were level with the water, and several of the rescued were coal black, including the chief officer, who also got a nasty knock on the head from one of the funnels.
All the Christmas mails for India, China, Aden, B.E. Africa and Egypt went down, terrible isn’t it. No one saved a thing except what they stood up in. The sensation of walking solemnly over the side of the ship into the water is indescribable. For myself (and the others tell me the same) I felt no fear, more annoyance than anything else; but I know I shall funk it now. Everybody’s nerves seem to have gone a bit. It seemed so deliberate but was the only thing to do of course. I’m afraid a great many people didn’t leave the ship, or jumped too late and so were drowned.
The engine kept going to the last and when she was lying on her side the propeller was racing round, half out of water and causing a tremendous stir, splashing up the water to a tremendous height.
The chief engineer on hearing the explosion went down to the engine room to turn off the steam and was last seen down there disappearing into a cloud of steam. A very plucky thing to do, but it was hopeless and he was never seen again.
The captain was not rescued. I saw him on deck just before she sank, tying a life-belt on to a lady. He had not got one on himself. He must have gone down with the ship. Fortunately she was an empty boat as regards passengers. Only about 80 first class and not many 2nd. The horrible part is the number of women missing, and children too; but I think that all that was possible to rescue were rescued.
I hope I never go through such a terrible experience again. A pal of mine, one Fisher of the Indian Army, summed it up by saying “It was worse than any attack”, and I think he is right.
I have tried to give you a comprehensive account of this awful business. Please forgive the many literary shortcomings, but it’s a hard thing to write about, but I know you would like to know all about it, as I don’t suppose you’ll get much from the papers.
By the time you get this I hope you will have got our wire to say that Ted is safe. We had a wire from him at Alexandria & one from Guildford this morning to say he was alright. I was at the hospital washing up when Gladys and Marjorie came & told me that the Persia had been torpedoed in the Mediterranean & in the evening we had a telephone message to say four boats had got to Alexandria. The nurse came to see us yesterday at tea and she told our fortunes in our cups & she said we were to have some good news from over the sea, of a ship from an ‘E’. Marjorie & Louie went down to Mrs Ridler in the evening & cut the cards & she said it would all come right as the cards were so good round Ted & me, & there were some very anxious thoughts coming just before.
Nell never lost her faith in the uncanny as evidenced by Mrs Ridler’s second sight.
The other notable thing about this letter is the mention of the telephone: the unified telephone service in Britain was just over three years old in the beginning of 1916 and even then it was very limited. However, Jack Fielding Sr was an engineer and a prosperous man and an early adopter of new technology.
Just a line to say I’m all right & landed safely. You have probably heard by now we were torpedoed & sank but some of us were saved, only a few I’m afraid, & after a day & a half in boats were picked up by a ship & landed.
Very tired but as fit as a fiddle. We are ashore buying kit as of course we lost everything, just got off as we stood. I don’t know what we are going to do, but I will write you a full account later, but the mail goes tomorrow. Of course the mental & bodily strain has been rather trying & it’s hard to realize; I expect the Censor will see this so I can’t say much. Much love to all & don’tworry.
This project does not glorify the First World War or the British Empire and though these are my relatives, I don't share their opinions of 100 years ago. ... more
