Margaret Inglis Adams Cairns was born in Dunbar, East Lothian, Scotland, on the 1st July 1888, the daughter of John William and Alice Dodds Cairns (née Adams) of Dunbar, East Lothian. Her father was a potato merchant.
In the early part of 1915 she had been in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, Canada where she met Herbert Linford Gwyer, who was a minister in the Church of England and who had been appointed to the Railway Mission in the Diocese of Qu’Appelle at Saskatoon. They were married on the 15 April 1915 in Regina Saskatchewan, by which time The Reverend Gwyer had secured himself the post of Senior Curate at St. Mary’s, The Parish Church at Mirfield, near Bradford, in Yorkshire, England.
As a result, they booked second cabin passage on what was to become the Lusitania's final voyage from New York to Liverpool, and left Saskatoon by rail, at the end of April 1915. They boarded the liner at the Cunard berth at Pier 54 in New York on the morning of 1st May 1915, in time for her scheduled 10.00 a.m. departure, but then had to wait until 12.27 before the steamer actually sailed. This was because she had to wait to embark passengers, some crew and cargo from the Anchor Lines vessel
Cameronia, which the British Admiralty requisitioned for use as a troop ship.
Although they both survived the sinking by the submarine U-20 exactly six days later, whilst she was off the coast of southern Ireland, Margaret Gwyer underwent a most unfortunate experience! What happened to her was later described by her husband in southern Irish newspaper The Cork Examiner, which stated: -
When the torpedo struck the ship, Mrs. Gwyer and her husband were lunching in the second saloon. He states that the ship reeled heavily with the shock. Knowing that something terrible had occurred and believing it to be the threatened German attack, he and his wife being fortunately seated near to the door way, he rushed her to the deck and having got there desired her to remain until he went in search of lifebelts. He could not say the time that elapsed until he returned with one, but though doubtless only seconds in time, they seemed like hours.
They made their way to where the boats were being launched and to his happiness, he succeeded in getting a place for her, though her desire was not to leave him. "My heart almost broke at the parting," said Mr. Gwyer, "but still the places in the boats, in my opinion, were for women and children, and I considered that as long as they were wanting places that the men should swim or sink. Each instant the list grew greater, the angle sharpened until quickly the position changed from bracing oneself against falling, to holding on firmly to stanchions or stays to prevent oneself from rushing down the acute angle into the sea.
The side that I scrambled to was the one that rose highest out of the water for there seemed no help from the lower side although on my side there were some boats near by. The occupants of one of the boats shouted to me to jump. I could not do so; the great height from the sea to the taffrail quailed me but as the boat was rapidly clearing her way down the waters, I closed my eyes and jumped. I escaped injury and was quickly taken into the boat, where I rejoined my beloved wife.
The boat held over sixty and was in fear of capsizing, for, of course, neither order nor discipline had been restored. There was as yet no attempt to row the boat. Suddenly there threatened to us a fearful danger. As the Lusitania was making the plunges which showed that she was about to disappear for ever, the list became so acute that her masts laid right over, almost whipping the water, whilst the great funnels, which still staunchly held to the ship were like monster cannon, threatening our destruction. At this time, the great weight of waters that were quickly filling the hull met with the resistance of the air, which the inrush of the water was enormously compressing into all parts of the ship, the mighty forces, vacuum and matter, waging war to the utter destruction of the proud masterpiece of the craftsman. It was as if the ship felt
(like) being the pawn in the titanic struggle, for just then, she quivered and vanished - her dying struggles.
A couple of times the funnels and masts beat the water, and then from their impact the sea foamed and foamed. Our boat tossed and staggered as if a mighty tempest had burst on us and it looked as if we were about to be destroyed. Then masts and funnels laid over for the last time. The sea raced towards them and just as the Niagara flows over the chasm, so flowed the waters into the vast funnels of the smoke stacks. I saw this terror, but I had seen a more fearful sight.
My beloved had been thrown from the boat by the violent pitching, and before I realised the hideousness of it, she was swept from us at a fearful speed and in the direction of the gaping jaws of the funnels. She had escaped the perils of the torpedo, and had got a place in the boat which gave her every chance for her life and now here she was before the most awful form of death - to be engulfed within the furnace of a lost ship.
We all looked in horror; nothing was possible to be done for her and worse than all, she was fully conscious and went towards her fearful doom looking full at it, and comprehending its terrors. We all saw her swallowed up. A second later there appeared the greatest of all God's power. Just as the last tip of the rim of the funnel was visible, there was a mighty gush - a great column of water shot into the air like to a solid pillar, and then burst into spray. By the Divine will she was given back to this world for the fires were still lighting on the Lusitania, and as the first of the water came into contact with the great hot surface, an enormous volume of steam was generated of sufficient pressure to force the water back into the ocean, for at the instant after, burst forth vast clouds of steam.
My wife was picked up by another boat, but I was not aware of her rescue. She was then unconscious. I believed her lost and I was distracted with grief, but when our boat was taken over by a trawler, to my joy, I found her safe and sound and quickly recovering from the shock. We have had a fearful episode in our lives, but the joy at our re-union compensates us. I can truly say 'God's Providence is my inheritance'.".
Stewardess M. Bird, who watched the liner sink from Lifeboat No. 13, also described the event in
The Birkenhead News and Advertiser, of Saturday 15th May 1915. However, she recounted that as the ship went under, she saw Mrs. Gwyer sucked down one of the funnels and then blown out again,
straight into her lifeboat!
This latter part must be treated with a high degree of scepticism, however, and a more reliable account of her rescue from the sea is contained in
The Last Voyage of the Lusitania by Adolph and Mary Hoehling. In their book, they state that she was dragged from the sea into one of the
Lusitania's collapsible boats, by two saloon passengers, James H. Brooks and Charles E. Lauriat: -
As they commenced rowing, they heard a cry.
The men reached over and grabbed the outstretched hands of a woman they took for an African. There were no white spots on her except her teeth and the whites of her eyes. She was bruised and her clothes were almost torn off.
"I'm Margaret Gwyer", she identified herself.
The occupants of the collapsible were then picked up by the fishing smack the Peel 12, before being transferred to the Queenstown tender Flying Fish.
However, in his book The Long Wake, written in 1968, former Able Seaman Leslie Morton described how
he got Margaret Gwyer into the collapsible lifeboat which he had taken under his command: -
One lady in particular, I so well remember, was the Rev. Gwyer's bride. At that time they were coming home, combining a honeymoon with a transfer to England in ecclesiastical circles, and she was written up as the “woman who went down the funnel“. I think, in point of fact, she must have been very near the left of the funnel as Lusitania came over and was probably momentarily drawn in and thrown out again because she was covered with soot and grime and was black. I went out to her because she seemed to be in extremis and hauled her along and got her into the boat where, with that wonderful recuperative power that women have in particular, more often than not in moments of great physical danger, she certainly cheered us up in the boat during the next hour.
It was probably on the tender Flying Fish that Stewardess Bird first came across Mrs. Gwyer for she had also stated that after the lifeboat's passengers had been transferred to
The Flying Fish, the first person that Margaret Gwyer saw on board the vessel was her husband, The Reverend H.L. Gwyer, who had previously been picked up from the sea, curiously enough, by Leslie Morton‘s brother, Able Seaman Cliff Morton!
The meeting of husband and wife is also described by the Hoehlings: -
Many of the Lusitania's crew and passengers, ..... were transferred to a creaking, picturesque craft, The Flying Fish. One of the last of the side-wheelers, she was a tender in Queenstown for larger vessels which anchored in the harbour. Those who had walked her decks before, affectionately called her the "Galloping Goose".
Of all the reunions on board the "Galloping Goose", passengers agreed the most touching was that between Margaret Gwyer, still blackened from the funnel, and her minister-husband. At first, as she ran to him, he did not recognise her. When he did, however, he quickly clutched her and they stood there like two smudged, grotesque circus clowns, crying and laughing.
Mrs. Ellen Ward a third class passenger travelling from Brooklyn, New York to Earls Barton in Northamptonshire also described Margaret Gwyer’s plight in
The Northampton Mercury on Saturday 14th May 1915. She stated: -
Mrs. Ward, ..... 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.
Ellen Ward, like May Bird, probably came across Mrs. Gwyer on the Flying Fish.
The Gwyers were eventually landed at Queenstown, where, the following day, they had another coincidental meeting with the brothers who had been instrumental in both of their survivals. Leslie Morton described the meeting: -
As we turned to the right coming out of the hall who should I see coming along the pavement but the lady of the funnel, Mrs. Gwyer, on the arm of a Reverend gentleman. She greeted me effusively and he greeted my brother equally effusively. It seemed that my brother got into a lifeboat after doing the first and most efficient swim of his life and helped to pull Mr. Gwyer over the gunnel, so we were both introduced to each other by our grateful rescued. Mrs. Gwyer had told her husband about her rescue, no doubt adding many heroics to it which did not actually exist: when they learnt we were brothers they could not get over their surprise.
After the sinking, The Reverend Gwyer sent Leslie Morton an inscribed wristlet watch in recognition of the part he played in saving his new bride and it is likely that his brother Cliff also received a similar gift!
Having recovered from their ordeal in Queenstown, the couple travelled by rail to Dublin, where they were able to catch a boat to Fishguard in Pembrokeshire after which they made for Oxford, where The Reverend Gwyer had relatives.
Other survivors also witnessed a lady being sucked into one of the ship's funnels and then blown out into the sea. Second Class Barber Jonathan Denton, in an article in
The Birkenhead News of the 12th May 1915, described how he saw a woman washed into a funnel and then washed out again and rescued and First Class Waiter Thomas Baldwin also described a similar event in the same newspaper, in the edition dated 22nd May 1915. He stated: -
Whilst taking the last view of the 'Lucy', I saw a woman sucked down one of the funnels of the ship and then a terrible explosion occurred, and the woman was shot out a considerable distance as though she had been shot out of a cannon. She was picked up like a piece of coal, but I believe she survived.
Second Cabin Passenger survivor Cyrus Crossley in The Oldham Advertiser of 10th May 1915, also related seeing the incident: -
One lady jumped out of the vessel or fell out, and was sucked into the funnel but she was ejected again and rescued.
They were all referring to Mrs. Gwyer's experience.
She shared the doubtful distinction of being sucked down one of the Lusitania’s funnels and then blown out again, with three other survivors, First Class Bedroom Steward Edward Bond, saloon passenger William H. Pierpoint and third class passenger Harold W. Taylor.
Margaret Gwyer’s underwear, soiled and stained by soot during her funnel ordeal, is exhibited today in the Imperial War Museum in London.
Having taken up his appointment at Mirfield, Herbert Gwyer remained there until 1916, after which he joined The Royal Army Chaplains’ Department and served as Temporary Chaplain to the Forces until 1919. Then, Margaret Gwyer accompanied him in his calling, first as Vicar of Staincliffe in Yorkshire, and in 1928, as Vicar of St. John's Church, Wakefield, also in Yorkshire. He retained this post until 1936, during which time he was also Honorary Canon of Wakefield Cathedral.
In 1937, Margaret Gwyer accompanied him as Bishop of George, Cape Town, South Africa and continued to support him there until he resigned the bishopric in 1951, after which they returned to England. In 1952, he became Vicar of Amberley with North Stoke, in Sussex, and Rural Dean of Storrington, which positions he held for the next five years.
By this time, he and Margaret had moved to Chichester and eventually took up residence at 21, St. Martin's Square, which was a cottage connected to St Mary's Hospital, a church owned almshouse, founded in the12th Century and the oldest such establishment in the country still in use for its original purpose, even today. The alms houses were often used for retired clergy. Whilst there, her husband acted as an assistant priest at St. George’s Parish Church, at Whyke, which was connected with the Alms House.
In early November 1960, the couple decided to return to their old diocese in Cape Town, for a six months’ holiday and consequently boarded the Union Castle liner
Athlone Castle at Southampton on the 17th November for the long sea voyage to the Cape. Unfortunately, on the following day, the 18th November 1960, the couple’s long marriage finally came to an end, when Herbert Gwyer died on board of a heart attack and was buried at sea.
Margaret Gwyer eventually returned to Chichester and herself died there on 16th April 1975 in St Richard's Hospital, following a brief illness. She was interred in the churchyard of St. Mary’s Parish Church, Whyke, - the old eleventh century burial ground next to St. George’s Church - on 22nd April, following a funeral in St. Mary’s Church, which was conducted by Rector A. Garth Collin. The church was filled to capacity. She lies there to this day, in Row 34, Grave 1. She was aged 86 years at the time of her death.
When her will was proven in January 1976, she left his estate of £44.921-0s.-0d. (£44,921.00p). It is not known who the beneficiaries were, but she had no children.
1891 Census of Scotland, 1910 Census of Scotland, , Cunard Records, Birkenhead News, Bradford Daily Argus, Cork Examiner, Evening Huddersfield Chronicle, West Sussex Gazette, Yorkshire Observer, Last Voyage of the Lusitania, Crockford's Clerical Directory, Probate Records, UniLiv D92/2/341, Graham Maddocks, Ken Green, Lawrence Evans, Eric Sauder, Hilda Yardley, Geoff Whitfield, Michael Poirier, Jim Kalafus, Cliff Barry, Paul Latimer, Norman Gray.
Copyright © Peter Kelly.