Maitland Kempson was born in Romsley, Worcestershire, England, on the 28th May 1859, the son of The Reverend Howard Butler Kempson, and his wife, Sarah Sophia (née Pugh).
On completing his education, he found work as a travelling salesman, selling carpets. On the 3rd September 1885, he married Lucy Jane Chamberlain, and the couple had four children. By 1915, the family lived at 365, Hagley Road, Birmingham, Warwickshire, England.
He became a director of Woodward, Grosvenor and Company, Limited, of Kidderminster, Worcestershire, and in the spring of 1915, had been conducting business on behalf of his company in Toronto, Ontario, Canada, having arrived in New York from Liverpool on 6th April of that year on the Anchor Lines steamer Transylvania.
To return home to Kidderminster, he booked saloon passage for himself on what would be the Lusitania's last voyage across the Atlantic and joined her at New York on the morning of 1st May 1915. Once on board, he was allocated room B15, which was the personal responsibility of First Class Bedroom Steward Robert Morse, who came from Liverpool.
The liner’s departure from New York was delayed, because she had to embark passengers, crew and cargo from the Anchor Liner Cameronia, which had been taken up from trade by the British Admiralty, for use as a troop ship and then, just six days out of New York, the Lusitania was sunk, by the German submarine U-20, off the coast of southern Ireland.
Maitland Kempson was lucky enough to be counted amongst the survivors, however,
after returning to his home town, on Sunday 9th May 1915, he gave an interview to a reporter from the local newspaper, The Birmingham Daily Post, which was published the following day. In it, Mr. Kempson told his story of the sinking: -
"I had been on a business trip to Canada and the States," said Mr. Kempson "and I was returning on the Lusitania with three friends. We had seen the notices issued by the German Embassy in New York warning people not to travel by that boat; but like the rest of the passengers we took no notice of them, and felt no fear."
"On Friday afternoon, at a quarter past two, we had just finished having late lunch in the saloon when the torpedo struck the ship. We knew immediately what had happened. There was a fearful crack as of metal on metal, the ship gave a sort of shiver, and at once began to list. We all rushed to the staterooms to get our lifebelts. I was nearly a quarter of a mile away from the saloon, and on my way there, I heard the second torpedo strike, the shock this time sounding fainter than the other, as it was on the other side of the boat. By this time the vessel was listing so badly that it was with great difficulty I could get along the corridors. I got to the saloon and just put my belt on and then went on the boat deck."
Maitland Kempson was clearly mistaken about the second torpedo strike and the fact that it was on the other side of the boat. He obviously heard the second explosion which would prove fatal to the survival of the ship, but like so many other passengers, was not able to pinpoint its exact location or cause. The narrative continued: -
"The excitement was pretty intense, but except for a few women and children who were crying, there was no real panic. The boat-deck was crowded with women and children, and I went down towards the stern of the vessel. She had canted over a lot more by this time, so I decided to take my chance, and jumped thirty feet into the water. I swam a little way from the ship, and getting near to one of the lifeboats, was helped in by some men. More people were helped aboard her; in fact too many, and in a few minutes she capsized, and I found myself in the water again."
"I saw one of the flat-bottomed collapsible boats a little way off, with one or two men in it and I made for this. Overhead, I could see the huge funnel of the Lusitania leaning over. She seemed to be coming right on top of us. I got on to the boat, and helped in the work of pulling struggling people on to it. In the meantime, the Lusitania heeled over on her side and sank as quietly as possible. It was very weird to see her sinking like that without, as it were, any fuss. Curiously enough, her going down did not appear to create any suction; in fact, the explosion of the submerged boilers seemed to cause a great outward rush of water, which forced the people away from the spot where she disappeared."
"After that we sighted a raft lying bottom upwards, and as our boat was stove in, and with her bows just level with the water, we thought the best thing would be to get to that; and succeeded in doing so after a lot of difficulty. We lashed our boat to it, and then set about picking up people in the water near us. It was with the utmost difficulty we could get any way on the raft. Altogether we had about 28 people on it. We had to stand, as it was
submerged, and the water was up to our waists, - but it didn't sink. We kept on pulling women and men aboard whenever we had the opportunity. Some of them appeared almost dead, but fortunately the sun was very strong and the sea calm, and assisted by the restorative measures we took, they all came round."
"After two hours of this sort of thing, we saw a small fishing boat about ten miles away. One of the first lifeboats to get away while the ship was sinking had a strong rowing crew, and they went off with a full complement of passengers in the direction of land, which was about twenty five miles away. They met the fishing-boat the Bluebell who took them on board, and proceeded towards the place where the disaster had occurred."
Mr. Kempson was obviously mistaken about the distance from the shore, for even allowing for the fact that he may have drifted further away from where the liner went down, twenty five miles is probably twice as much as the true distance. He continued: -
It was the Bluebell that we sighted. Not long after, we saw the smoke of a steamer, then another, and then others, who were coming as hard as they could in answer to the distress call the Lusitania had sent out. First on the scene were two destroyers and three steam trawlers armed with guns, engaged by the navy for searching for submarines and for mine sweeping."
"Eventually, about half past seven, we were picked up by the Bluebell, the crew of which continued to pick up other survivors who were floating around. We saw hundreds of bodies of dead men and women. Their heads were under water, but their bodies were kept afloat by the lifebelts. The scenes were ghastly, too awful to describe. The crew of the Bluebell were the fineset fellows in the world. They gave us hot tea and bread and butter and let us dry our clothes in front of the stove. They did everything that they could for us. We had a few women on board who had lost their children and for some hours they were hysterical, and almost off their heads. It took us over two hours to get to Queenstown Harbour, ours being the last boat to arrive. We disembarked on the Cunard pier about 10.30, and found that the Cunard people had made every arrangement possible for our reception. At 12.30 that night, I bought the last suit of ready-made clothes in the town."
Mr. Kempton described as "splendid", the behaviour of the crew of the Lusitania. "They were unselfish to a degree," he said, "as is proved by the list of those saved. They performed their duties in a perfectly orderly manner, and the women and children had always first consideration." Referring to the launching of the boats, he pointed out that, of course, the launching of those on one side was impossible owing to the list, but added that for some reason - he did not know whether it was due to excitement or not - the greatest difficulty was experienced in getting away the others, notwithstanding the fact that the day before, they had all been swung out.
They didn't seem able to release them from the davits with the result that a lot were upset. The collapsible boats fell into the sea from the deck when the ship went over. There was very little noise when the ship sank but for an hour afterwards the agonising
terrible to hear; especially as it was impossible to get near to save them.
The first torpedo, Mr. Kempson stated, was seen by several people on board, but it was then too late to prevent the ship from being hit. They were travelling at about 16 knots at the time; indeed they never exceeded 20 knots during the whole voyage. One of Mr. Kempson's friends was drowned and the other two rescued.
Bedroom Steward Morse, who had looked after Mr. Kempson in room B15, also survived the sinking.
Maitland Kempson made numerous trips to the United States of America, Canada, and Australia in the years following his Lusitania experience, up until at least 1935, and then, on the 13th February 1938, he died, aged 78 years. His home at the time of his death was 369. Hagley Road, Edgbaston, Birmingham, Warwickshire.
He left an estate of £9,654-3s-11d. (£9,654.19½p.), which he left to two of his sons – Alwyn Maitland Kempson, described as a production manager, and Charles Butler Kempson, a carpet manufacturer.
Register of Births, Marriages and Deaths, Birmingham England Church of England Marriages and Banns 1754 – 1937, 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, New York Passenger Lists 1820 – 1957, Canadian Passenger Lists 1865 - 1935, Canada Ocean Arrivals 1919 – 1924, Cunard Records, Birmingham Daily Post, Probate Records, PRO 22/71, UniLiv D92/2/453, Graham Maddocks, Geoff Whitfield, Michael Poirier, Jim Kalafus, Cliff Barry, Paul Latimer, Norman Gray.
Copyright © Peter Kelly.