David “Dewi” Michael was born in Kilgerran, Pembrokeshire, Wales, in 1877, the son of James and Margaret Michael (née Williams). His father was a stonemason, and the family home was at Church Street, Kilgerran. Dewi was the third-youngest of eight children.
On completion of his education, he became a labourer in a stone quarry, before becoming a stonemason, like his father.
In the summer of 1900, he married Mary Ann Tudor in Andover, Hampshire, and lived at various addresses in Cardiff, Glamorganshire, until finally settling at 13. Roath Court Road, in the city. The couple had one child – Catherine Eleanor Doreen, always known as Doreen, who was born in September 1907.
Dewi Michael was blessed with a fine singing voice, and gave up his trade as a stonemason to become a professional singer and the manager of The Royal Gwent Male Voice Choir - sometimes known as the Gwent Glee Singers, in which he also sang tenor. The choir had left Wales in the autumn of 1913 to perform in the United States of America and Canada, and had completed their tour at the end of April 1915.
The fourteen members of the choir had booked passage on the Anchor Liner Transylvania, sailing out of New York, in the first week of May, for their return to
South Wales, but when they had arrived in that city, they discovered that there was second cabin accommodation available on the Lusitania, which was sailing sooner, and as a faster ship, would get them home at least one week earlier. Nine of them thus transferred to the ship, also believing, mistakenly, as it turned out, that she would also be safer from attack by a U-Boat.
Dewi Michael was one of these nine, the others being, G.F. Davies, S. Hill, D.T. Hopkins, W.G. Jones, I.T. Jones, G.B. Lane, J.P. Smith and T. Williams.
At 12.25 p.m. on 1st May 1915, the Lusitania left her moorings at Pier 54 in New York harbour. As she slipped out into the North River for the last time, Dewi Michael led the choir, lined up on deck, with a special rendition of the American national anthem, The Star Spangled Banner. Each night thereafter on the Atlantic crossing, the choristers had given a concert in each of the saloons on board, in aid of seamen’s charities in England. When the liner was torpedoed and sunk, six days later off the Irish coast and only hours away from Liverpool, although three members of the choir perished, six survived and Dewi Michael was one of these six.
Having been rescued from the sea and landed at Queenstown, he eventually made it back to Cardiff, on Sunday 9th May, where he related his story to a reporter of The Western Mail, which was published in the edition of the following day. It stated: -
We were at lunch at the time - never dreaming of such a thing, and looking forward to seeing our friends at home in a very short time - when we heard a great thud. The big ship quivered and rolled and we made our way onto the deck.
We had confidence in the Lusitania, though we realised by the list that she had been seriously hit. All of us kept perfectly calm and one of the officers told us that everything was alright and that the watertight compartments had been closed, we felt re-assured. We were still more confident when we noticed that the vessel righted herself. This calmed any fears which might have been entertained as to our safety.
Then came another torpedo and another terrific crash. Still there was absolutely no panic. None seemed to realise that the Lusitania could be sunk; at any rate all remained perfectly cool. The vessel now began to list again, and it soon became apparent that the situation was serious. But even then the passengers and crew behaved with the utmost coolness. In my own case - I don't know how, now that I look back - I was not in the least perturbed. I thought out matters quite calmly and methodically, and decided what I should do.
The list of the ship was now increasing to an alarming extent. I went to look for a lifebelt. I saw the steward coming along with three in his hands and he gave one to me. I then went back to the deck and there I stayed for a short time. The boats were rapidly lowered, but I did not try to get into one of them, as I had calculated in my mind upon being able to cling to some raft or other floating material.
I tried to climb up the port side, but by this time the ‘list’ was too great and I thought that it was about time for me to leave the vessel. I waited, however, until she had lowered a little so that I would not have to make too big a jump. It occurred to me too, that it would be better for me to reserve my strength at the start. I know this from my experience of swimming.
Then I made a plunge in order to get away from the sinking liner before she went down. Coming to the surface, I grabbed at something which turned out to be a boat upside down. Looking around I saw lifeboats being lowered from the Lusitania and I noticed the rope of one of them breaking and the poor occupants hurled to the depths. Oh it was a terrible sight. The screams of women and children were heartrending. And soon the big liner plunged down, with the result that a mighty big wave swept along, with struggling shrieking humanity on the crest. It is all beyond description in its horror and the marvel is that 1,400 or more were drowned, but so many were saved.
Those who again came to the surface after the Lusitania went down grasped at every piece of wreckage they could find. Somehow or other, capsized boats were strung together with ropes and on these quickly-improvised rafts, a good many, including myself, managed to keep afloat. Some others and myself succeeded in putting together a good-sized raft and we saved all we could. I have one consolation and that it that those of us who were on this raft did not come within anything like approachable distance to any person who we could have saved. We would have made the attempt even though it would probably have cost a life or perhaps more in the endeavour.
I had been in the water for about half an hour, I should say, before I was picked up by one of the ship’s boats, where we remained for about three hours before we got to the Empress of India and landed at Queenstown.
The ship that rescued the occupants of the lifeboat was in fact the Royal Naval trawler H.M.S. Indian Empire, not the Empress of India but after such an ordeal, it is understandable that Dewi Michael could have made such a mistake.
Another account of the experiences of choir members on the lashed together lifeboats is related by W.G. Lloyd, in Roll of Honour, which states: -
They continued to pick up people from the water and by lashing boats together and making a raft they were able to save around forty people. After they had been floating around for some time, the members of the choir starred singing ‘Praise God from Whom all blessings flow,’ and Spencer Hill, of Aberbeeg, thought that he had never before heard singing with more feeling. Perhaps because of the choice of hymn, the emotion with which it was sung, or the predicament they were in, the women began to cry. As this would not do they enthusiastically struck up ‘Tipperary,’ and the ladies began to smile and then laughed. The song seemed to cheer everyone up and the tune was soon taken up by the people in the other boats which were floatin
Other accounts of the sinking state that the choir members also sang Abide With Me and Pull For The Shore, Sailor, as well.
Dewi Michael’s account of the sinking in The Western Mail continues with a further account after he arrived in Queenstown: -
Here I witnessed as sad a sight as ever man could behold. I went to the mortuary to see if some of our lost friends were there. There, were stretched out men, women and children - some tiny little tots and one woman with her babe on her breast. It was so heartbreaking.
We were looking for our conductor, Mr. G.F. Davies. He was so, loved by us and nobody had seen him. There is no doubt that the poor fellow is gone. Strangely enough, the last song that he sang was ‘Down with the Salamander’. This was at the concert we had on the ship the previous evening. It is a strange coincidence that he should have been singing that song so near to the time when he himself would be going down. He sang it well, too. I fancy I can hear his beautiful base voice now.
Apart from G.F. Davies, D.T. Hopkins and I.T. Jones also died. The other six survived.
Undaunted, and having suffered no serious injuries or illnesses as a result of his experience, Dewi Michael boarded the St. Paul at Liverpool the 3rd July 1915, and returned with another group of singers for a tour of the United States of America.
He continued to manage male voice choirs for the remainder of his life, travelling back and forth between his home in Cardiff and various parts of the United States of America, until he died unexpectedly, and very suddenly, on the 24th June 1926, in Albia, Munroe County, Iowa, in the United States of America. He was aged 49 years.
Probate of his estate, which amounted to £100-10s.-0d. (£100.50p.) was granted to his widow on the 15th November 1926.
His widow and daughter, who never married, lived for the remainder of their lives at 13. Roath Court Road, Cardiff. His wife died in 1951, and his daughter in 1982.
Register of Births, Marriages and Deaths, 1881 Census of England & Wales, 1891 Census of England & Wales, 1901 Census of England & Wales, 1911 Census of England & Wales, Canadian Passenger Lists 1865 – 1935, New York Passenger Lists 1820 – 1957, Cunard Records, Roll of Honour, The Windsor Review, Western Mail, Probate Records, PRO BT 100/345, UniLiv D/92/2/314, Graham Maddocks, Peter Patrick, Geoff Whitfield, Michael Poirier, Jim Kalafus, Cliff Barry, Paul Latimer, Norman Gray.
Copyright © Peter Kelly.