Harriet Slinger was born in Settle, Yorkshire, England, in 1853, the daughter of John and Mary Slinger (née Hargreaves). Her father was a cotton weaver, and Harriet was the middle child of five known children in the family.
In 1869, her father died, so Harriet went to work, while still a young teenager, as a clearer in a cotton mill to help support her family. In 1873, she married David Plank, who was a railway guard, in Rochdale, Lancashire. The couple would have ten children, two of whom had died before 1911. In the early years of their marriage, they moved to various locations in Yorkshire and Lancashire, before settling at 1. Lord Street, Skerton, near Lancaster, Lancashire.
In March 1913, the couple had immigrated to Canada, with three of their children, and settled in Toronto, Ontario, where David Plank found work with The Grand Trunk Railway. They lived at 69, Silver Thorn Avenue, Toronto. Some of their children
had previously immigrated to Canada and the United States of America.
In the spring of 1915, Harriet Plank decided to return to Skerton on a surprise visit to her family there, and consequently, she booked as a second cabin passenger on the Lusitania and joined the vessel at Pier 54 in New York, before she left that city for the last ever time, just after mid-day, on 1st May 1915.
Six days later, after the liner was torpedoed and sunk by the German submarine U-20, Harriet Plank was lucky enough to get into a lifeboat and thus be counted amongst those saved. After being landed at Queenstown, she eventually made it to the home of her daughter and son-in-law, Mr. and Mrs, Weston at 19, Baker Street, Skerton. Once there, she gave an account of her experiences to a reporter from the local newspaper, The Lancashire Daily Post. This account was published on Tuesday 11th May 1915 and stated: -
“Coming from Toronto, we had to go to New York for the boat. We had an uneventful voyage till just after lunch on Friday. I was travelling second class and after lunch I thought I would go and lie down for a while. I went down to my cabin and just threw myself down thinking I would have an hour’s sleep. Had I done so, I would have been drowned. As it was my last day, I altered my mind and decided I would go and have a last chat with some of the people on deck whose acquaintance I had made.
I had just sat down when there came a great bang. It shook the whole vessel. I picked up my coat and just then a lady ran past with clothes all wet. I found I could not stand, but someone said that the vessel would right herself and I went back. I felt uneasy when the men began to lower the boats, as I did not like the idea of risking myself in one. I made myself ready to go down with the vessel as I could see nothing else for it.
But a man shouted ‘Come along, mother’ and that just fetched me or else I don’t think that I would have stirred. The boat was hanging so far from the side that I hardly dared go. ‘Now jump, mother‘, the sailor said, and so I jumped. I fell athwart the boat and bruised myself but I was lucky, after all. Not more than two or three minutes elapsed after the vessel was hit by the torpedo before I was in the boat.
The vessel steadily sank and before our boatmen began to pull away, our deck was awash, and portmanteaux, wraps, perambulators and deck chairs were floating. Our boat was crammed full but we picked up whom we could and eventually came up with another boat in which were two men and I was one of those transferred. We still continued to hover about.
Among those picked up was a gentleman first class passenger who was picked up with his face towards me and laid onto my lap. The gentleman had only just been pulled into the boat when he turned his glassy eye on me and just passed away. He continued laid upon my lap till we came up with a fishing vessel about an hour later.
Meanwhile, other passengers feeling the effects of exposure implored me ‘Hit me; hit me hard,’ and others begged water. A woman on coming round screamed, ‘Oh I have lost my baby!’ I knew she had but could not tell her.
From the fishing smack, we were transferred to a steam trawler and thence to a steamer which took us to Queenstown. I changed boats four times after leaving the Lusitania. It was twenty minutes past two when I was taken off the Lusitania and half past nine when I got into Queenstown, wet and shivering. At Queenstown soldiers lent us their greatcoats and escorted us to the hotel. There were lots of anxious enquiries at Queenstown. One little girl had lost her father and mother and began to cry. Another poor woman whose legs were black and blue had lost her husband. There was a man with one arm broken and one leg.”
Mrs Plank added that she reached Lancaster at seven o’clock on Sunday evening. Asked when she was going back, she replied: “I do not think ever. That trip will be enough for me. The Golden West has lost all its glamour for many more besides myself.”
On 8th June 1915, Cunard in Liverpool received a letter from Chas. R. Compston & Son, which was a Lancaster firm of insurance brokers, accountants and property and emigration agents. The letter stated: -
Dear Sirs,
We booked a family named Plank some years ago to America and Mrs. Plank was one of the Passengers who was on the last voyage of the Lusitania.
The Lady has been in to us to-day and wants to know if there is nothing in the shape of compensation that can be done for loss of baggage &c.,
Will u pleas (sic) let us know if there is anything in this also if there is any fund from which it may be possible to obtain relief as she is she states quite destitute.
Thanking you in anticipation we are,
Yours faithfully,
Chas.R. Compston & Son.
Cunard’s reply, dated the next day and written with considerably more professionalism, was predictable in its contents and stated: -
Dear Sirs,
We are in receipt of your letter on the 8th instant. in regard to Mrs. H. Plank’s enquiry concerning compensation for the loss of her
belongings in consequence of the loss of the “LUSITANIA“.
You will readily appreciate that we cannot pay any compensation for loss sustained by passengers through this catastrophe, for which we were not responsible. The only course we can suggest is for Mrs. Plank to advise the Under Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, of her loss, in the hope of obtaining reparation from Germany at the termination of hostilities.
Yours faithfully,
THE CUNARD STEAM SHIP COMPANY LTD.,
It is unlikely that Harriet Plank was ever able to follow this advice, however, because on 21st July 1915, she entered hospital to undergo an operation for the removal of gall stones. This was not successful, however, and she died on 31st July 1915 at her son‘s home, 9, Myndon Street, Lancaster, from a pulmonary embolism following complications brought about by the operation. Her son, Mr. H. Plank, a postal worker, was present at her death. She was aged 61 years.
After she had died, he continued the search for compensation and applied to The Lusitania Relief Fund for financial help. This fund had been set up just after the sinking, by The Lord Mayor of Liverpool and local businessmen, to provide financial assistance to survivors and the dependants of those killed, if they had suffered loss as a result of the sinking.
Although her death was probably not connected with the sinking of the Lusitania, the awards committee still granted Mr. Plank the sum of £20-0s-0d to cover the expenses incurred in paying for his mother’s operation and her subsequent funeral.
Harriet Plank was buried in Skelton Cemetery, where she lies tody.
Register of Births, Marriages and Deaths, 1861 Census of England & Wales, 1871 Census of England & Wales, 1881 Census of England & Wales, 1891 Census of England & Wales, 1901 Census of England & Wales, 1911 Census of England & Wales, U.S. Border Crossings from Canada to U.S. 1895 – 1960, U.S. Records of Aliens Pre-Examined in Canada 1904 – 1954, Cunard Records, Lancashire Daily Post, Liverpool Record Office, UniLiv.D92/2/63, UniLiv D92/2/215, Graham Maddocks, Geoff Whitfield, Michael Poirier, Jim Kalafus, Cliff Barry, Paul Latimer, Norman Gray.
Copyright © Peter Kelly.