George Ward was born in Earls Barton, Northamptonshire, England, in 1867, the son of Henry and Sarah Ann Ward (née Miller). His father was a shoemaker, and George was the second eldest of eight known children in the family.
On completing his education, he became a shoe ‘clicker’, or shoe cutter, by trade, and in 1903 he married Mary Ellen Abbott, a local girl who also worked in the footwear manufacturing industry as a shoe machinist. The couple lived at ‘Sunnyside’, Earls Barton.
In 1907, he and his wife emigrated to the United States of America and Mr. Ward took up a job as a ‘clicker‘, in Newark New Jersey. Whilst there, he came across a Mr. Roberts, whom he had known through a connection with The Northampton Rovers’ Bicycle Club. Mr. Roberts was superintendent of a shoe making factory in Brooklyn, in New York City, and he offered George Ward a position in his factory, which he accepted.
In the spring of 1915, however, perhaps because of the war in Europe, the couple decided to return to Earls Barton and booked third class passage on the Lusitania. They joined the vessel at her berth at Pier 54 in New York harbour; on the morning of 1st May 1915 in time for her last ever sailing from the port, later in the day.
They both survived the sinking six days later, having managed to get into one of the few lifeboats which were successfully launched. Rescued from the sea, they eventually got to Earls Barton and returned to ‘Sunnyside’, by this time the home of Mr. and Mrs. James Miles, George Ward’s sister and brother-in-law, early in the morning of Sunday 9th May. Later in the week, both Mr. and Mrs. Ward were interviewed there by a reporter from The Northampton Mercury about their experiences. The interview was published in the edition of Friday 14th May, exactly one week after the sinking: -
"We had just had dinner," Mr. Ward said, and I was walking on the deck when the boat was struck. I saw something bright sticking out of the water
some 500 yards from the ship, and this projection which strongly reflected the sun, was the periscope of the submarine. Immediately the boat was hit there was an explosion, and as soon as she was struck, she began to list. There came a second blow and a second explosion, but between the two I had climbed the railing to look for my wife, who was not with me at the moment. I found her and we ran into the second class cabin where there were a lot of lifebelts. I obtained one for her, and put it on upside down, a position in which it would have been of very little use, but after she had got into the lifeboat it was put right.
As soon as the boat began to list, the first and second class passengers rushed to the higher side and that is why so few of them were saved. After getting the lifebelt for my wife - I did not have one - we went to the lower side of the ship where boats were being launched. 'Ladies first!' was the cry, and I said to Mrs. Ward; 'You'll have to jump if you want to go.' She said, 'I can't,' but I replied, 'You'll have to.' Then she said 'You will come too,' and I answered, 'Never mind about me; there's a few more ladies.' She jumped and I handed in two or three more ladies. Then Mrs. Ward started screaming for me, and I jumped and reached the boat safely. I was about the last into the boat and the boat was the last to leave the ship.
The boat was built to hold 60; people said there were 85 in it but I do not think the number was quite so high. There were men women and children, among the last a small baby. We had to row over that part of the ship that was under water, for she sank rapidly and never shall I forget the awful scenes. They were enough to send people crazy. There were hundreds of people in the water, some swimming some clinging to broken wreckage. Some locked in each others arms had met or were meeting the worst together. I noticed the third cabin interpreter swimming in a barrel, and I did not anticipate that I should see him again, but he was picked up.
The third cabin interpreter was crew member Adolph Pedersen who lived in Liverpool and who indeed was saved from the sinking and eventually got back home!
There had been no panic on board and there was no panic in the boat although everyone was deeply distressed and the screaming and the groaning of the poor people in the water was too terrible to describe. We did our best to rescue some of them, but the boat was full when it left the ship. I pulled one man in, and in all, our boat picked up three or four. We should never have got away but for the splendid work of two sailors who were in the boat. We had one of the best officers with us, and but for the skilful management of the seamen, we might have been drawn down by suction.
The sea was as calm as the River Nene; not a soul would have been saved had the weather been at all rough. There was not a ship in sight when we were struck and those who were fortunate to get into the boats, rowed for two or three hours before they were picked up. I myself had a long spell at rowing. At last we were taken on to a fishing boat from Peel and later on, transferred to a tug that had come out from Queenstown. This tug took us to Queenstown and landed us.
The fishing boat from Peel was probably the Wanderer, which just happened to be
fishing in the area when the liner foundered and was able to rescue many survivors. It is probable also, that the lifeboat which helped save the Wards, was No. 15, commanded by First Officer A.R. Jones, who is described by Ward as one of the best officers. The tug was probably the Queenstown harbour tender Flying Fish. Mr. Ward continued with his account: -
Really, we are very lucky to be here," Mr. Ward remarked. "When the ship was settling down on her side, the end of a long apparatus used for despatching and receiving wireless messages came right across the top of our boat. Fortunately for us, it was very thin, and when it struck the boat it snapped otherwise we should probably have been pinned down and drowned."
At Queenstown, the survivors were well looked after. They were made as comfortable as possible in hotels and boarding houses, and those who had been immersed were provided with new clothing. The most that anyone escaped with was just the clothes he or she happened to be wearing. Mr. and Mrs. Ward were both fortunate enough to escape a wetting, but Mrs. Ward was hatless, and Mr. Ward was without a collar. "We got away with just what we stand in," Mr. Ward continued, "I've lost all my belongings among them a talking machine for which I gave £40, and records which cost another £10. All the household goods I was bringing over have gone, and none of my property was insured.
At Queenstown I spoke to a man I had helped into the boat. He was holding a lifebelt and he said to me, 'This lifebelt and you saved my life, and it's all I've got now.' And his position is that of many of the survivors, for practically all their possessions went with the ship.
No warning was given before the ship was torpedoed," Mr. Ward said, "and hundreds of the passengers had no chance at all, for they were downstairs, and would be unable to escape. The boat went down in what seemed a very short time." Asked whether he received a warning before the boat sailed, Mr Ward replied that he saw the advertisement in 'The New York American', a copy of which he was bringing home. "I can tell you candidly," Mr. Ward said, "If I had seen that advertisement before I had booked our passages, I should not have been on the Lusitania. And yet who would have thought that a ship of that type would have been dealt with in such a way. We believed she was as safe as the Bank of England, and even when she was first struck, we thought she would float. I believe she would have done but for the second torpedo."
"What do you think will be the effect of this on America?" the "Mercury" representative asked. "I don't know," Mr. Ward replied. "They have made a lot of fuss about other things and it has all ended in smoke. I think President Wilson is frightened, somehow."
In the hurry of getting off, one boat laden with people was overturned through the cutting or breaking of a rope and the survivors were thrown into the sea. Mr. and Mrs. Ward left Queenstown on Saturday afternoon and when they arrived at Northampton early on Sunday morning, a friendly police constable directed them to a refreshment house in Bridge-street where they had breakfast. Afterwards, they despatched a message to Earls
Barton asking that a conveyance be sent for them and naming a well known licensed house as a meeting place. The circumstances were explained to the license holder, but Mr. and Mrs. Ward were not allowed to enter the premises and they had to remain in the street until a lady, noticing their plight, invited them into her house. Mrs. Ward was able to accept, but Mr. Ward had to keep a sharp look-out for the conveyance which arrived in time to get them to Earls Barton soon after mid-day. The fine bodies of troops marching through the streets broke the monotony of his vigil.
Mrs. Ward, supplementing her husband’s story told how a lady, the wife of a clergyman, was drawn by suction into one of the funnels of the steamer and was blown out again looking blacker than a chimney sweep. “You really could not tell she was a white woman.” Mrs. Ward remarked. Some of the survivors were injured and one lady died on the smack which picked up the boat on which Mr. and Mrs. Ward left the wrecked vessel.
The wife of a clergyman ..... drawn by suction into one of the funnels of the steamer and blown out again was Mrs. Margaret Gwyer, who survived her ordeal and was also ultimately rescued by the Flying Fish, which is where Ellen Ward probably encountered her.
In the summer of 1915, the Wards successfully applied to The Lusitania Relief Fund for financial aid to help make up the loss of all their personal effects. The fund was originally set up by The Lord Mayor of Liverpool and other local dignitaries to help passengers left without means by the sinking.
George and Ellen Ward never returned to the United States of America and resided at 24. Oxford Street, Wellingborough, Northamptonshire.
George Ward died in Wellingborough on the 21st September 1928, aged 60 years. Administration of his estate was granted to his brother-in-law, Herbert James Abbott, described as a retired (shoe) clicker, at London on the 21st June 1949. He left an estate of £470. His wife, Ellen, had died on the 8th May 1949, and Herbert James Abbott was also appointed as the administrator of her estate.
Register of Births, Marriages and Deaths, 1871 Census of England & Wales, 1881 Census of England & Wales, 1891 Census of England & Wales, 1901 Census of England & Wales, 1910 U.S. Federal Census, New York Passenger Lists 1820 – 1957, Cunard Records, Liverpool Record Office, Kettering Leader, Northampton Mercury, Probate Records, PRO BT 100/345, Graham Maddocks, Kate Wills, Michael Poirier, Jim Kalafus, Cliff Barry, Paul Latimer, Norman Gray.
Copyright © Peter Kelly.