Mary Beatrice Jackman was born in Hull, Yorkshire, England, on the 26th January1884, the daughter, and only child, of George Frederick and Lucy Rachel Jackman (née Fearne). Her father was a musician.
On the 21st July 1908, at the Church of St. John the Evangelist, Westminster, London, she married Reginald Popham Lobb, who was a clerk in the Colonial Service, and who was at that time working on the island of Bermuda.
After their marriage, Mary accompanied her husband to Bermuda. She returned on a holiday to England in 1912, and then, on the 28th April 1915, Mrs. Lobb arrived in New York City on board the Bermudian, having sailed from St. Lucia, on the first leg of another visit back to England.
She was then booked as a saloon passenger on what proved to be the Lusitania’s final voyage from New York to Liverpool. She boarded the liner at Pier 54 in the harbour there on the morning of 1st May 1915 and with ticket number 46072, was allocated room B39, which was under the personal supervision of First Class Waiter James
Holden, who came from Liverpool and must have been serving as a first class bedroom steward on the liner’s last voyage.
When the Cunarder was torpedoed six days later, despite ending up in the sea, she survived the ordeal to be rescued later. Having been landed at Queenstown, she eventually made her way to Malvern in Worcestershire, which was the home of her parents. Whilst staying at ‘San Remo‘, in Como Road, Malvern, she was contacted by the local newspaper, The Malvern Gazette who asked her for an account of her experiences. What she wrote was published in the edition of Friday 14th May 1915: -
The first thing I knew of the sinking of the Lusitania was a terrific booming explosion, followed by a torrent of water and coal dust on my head. I was sitting reading on the boat-deck at the time; most of the saloon passengers were still at lunch. On reaching the main entrance I found many people had come up and were surrounding the boats; except for a few women everyone was quite calm and talking quietly of what had occurred. My cabin being only one deck below, I went down for a lifebelt and was met by a steward who said "Take this belt and go up again." He pulled off the fur coat I was wearing and tied on the lifebelt for me. By this time the ship was listing heavily. On reaching the boat deck again I found a good deal more confusion, people were struggling round the boats, the first of which was launched in such a way that she went down stern first and those in her fell into the sea.
One of the passengers, (I don't know his name) came up to me and said, "I mean to get you out of this," and made way for me to the next boat which was already overcrowded. I stood aside, but in the end was pushed towards the last boat to be launched on that side. From what I had seen of the launching of boats I was wondering whether it wouldn't be better to go down with the ship, when the second explosion occurred. The Lusitania heeled over and a great rush of black water came up towards us from the bows. I jumped and in falling, caught miraculously at a lifeboat which was going down full of people. By clinging to her I was drawn away from the suction, or at any rate, from the worst of it. In the end the rush of water tore me away and I went down for what seemed many minutes, but probably was only one or two seconds, for coming up I found a floating plank which gave me very welcome support; with this and the lifebelt I was practically safe, provided help came in time.
I drifted some way out with the tide and did not see the last plunge of the Lusitania; when I did turn my head there was nothing to be seen but a little steam above the water. It was very warm and calm; all round me were pieces of wreckage - chairs, tables, clothes, hats, and worse than all, bodies of those who had either failed to put on lifebelts or had died of shock. The cries for help - shouting of men, screaming of women and children was terrible.
After about two hours in the water I was picked up by one of the collapsible boats - hearing behind me the welcome sound, "All right lady, we're coming." The owner of the voice was the first violin of the ship's orchestra who had caught sight of me in the water; he and another man lifted me into the boat. There were several of us there - one or two women, a poor old man who seemed to be going mad, and a dead man. We were very cold but kept our arms working to ward off chills as much as possible. Presently a
fishing smack took us in tow.
By then many rescue steamers, a cruiser, and a destroyer were seen coming out from Queenstown. We were picked up by a minesweeper and soon found ourselves near a fire, by which mugs of hot tea were handed round by the sailors. Some of the women were too wretched to touch it, they just sat and mourned for those they had lost, there was a little boy of six, too, quite alone. One of the ship's officers gave me his sou'-wester coat; they were all most kind.
We reached Queenstown about 10.30 p.m. and were taken to various hotels and hospitals, walking between lines of spectators and sympathisers. Every woman seemed to have a bluejacket to help her and carry her if necessary. The kindness of the people in Queenstown will always be remembered by those who experienced it - sailors, doctors, and ladies were all working day and night.
Those of us who could, left the next day and travelled all night to London. One felt that after such an experience to get home as soon as possible was the best thing. I shall always remember the calmness of the passengers during that terrible time - only another example of the spirit which German frightfulness cannot break.
The statement in one or two papers that the violinist gave up his place in the boat to me is an error, as there was plenty of room and he went with the rest as far as Queenstown.
The violinist referred to by Mrs. Lobb was either Bandsman George Drakeford, or John Hemingway, both of whom were surviving members of the Lusitania’s orchestra. The only other orchestra survivor was Bandsman Handel Hawkins who was a cellist.
A paragraph in the 14th May 1915 edition of the Retford, Worksop, Isle of Axholme and Gainsborough News states: -
The stewards and stewardesses were just splendid. “The order was Women and children first and it was carried out,” says Mrs. M.B. Lobb, the wife of a Government official in the West Indies, who was on her way to England for a holiday.
As there was no-one else on board named Lobb, the article must have been referring to Mary Lobb. She was aged 31 years of age at the time of her ordeal.
First Class Waiter Holden, who had looked after Mrs. Popham Lobb in room B39, did not survive the sinking and never saw his Liverpool home again!
On the 27th November 1915, Mary Lobb boarded the St. Louis to return to her husband, via New York. Her return voyage was uneventful.
Reginald and Mary Lobb’s marriage didn’t result in any children, and in 1925, Reginald Lobb applied for, and was granted a divorce. Mary Lobb returned to England where she took up residence as a lodger at 11. Dry Hill Road, Tonbridge, Kent. She never remarried. At a later her date, her former husband, Reginald, changed his name from Lobb to Nicholson, and remarried. He continued to serve in the Colonial Service until his retirement, and died in 1950.
Mary Beatrice Lobb died on the 5th April 1980, aged 96 years. At the time of her death, she resided at 9. Victoria Drive, Bognor Regis, West Sussex, which was a care home. She left an estate of £15,085, probate of which was granted in Brighton on the 7th May 1980 – 65 years to the day after the sinking of the Lusitania!
Register of Births, Marriages and Deaths, Westminster London England Church of England Marriages and Banns, 1754 – 1935, 1901 Census of England & Wales, 1939 Register, New York Passenger Lists 1820 – 1957, Cunard Records, Bradford Daily Times, Malvern Gazette, Retford, Worksop, Isle of Axholme and Gainsborough News, Probate Records, PRO 22/71, Graham Maddocks, Geoff Whitfield, Michael Poirier, Jim Kalafus, Cliff Barry, Paul Latimer, Norman Gray.
Copyright © Peter Kelly.