Ernest Dixon Drakeford was born in Swinton, in the West Riding of Yorkshire, England, on the 31st May 1883, the son of Thomas and Ruth Elizabeth Drakeford (née Dixon). His father, who had been born in Longton, Staffordshire, in 1853, was a potter and his mother had been born in Southwick, Sunderland, County Durham, in 1861. The family home in Swinton, was at 27, Bridge Street, where Ernest Drakeford lived with his three brothers, William, Arthur and Stanley. He was 5’ 7” tall with a fresh complexion, fair hair and blue eyes.
On the 5th April 1910, he married Priscilla White in Rotherham, West Riding of Yorkshire, and the couple welcomed their first child, a son named William Ernest Drakeford, in July 1912.
Having first been apprenticed as a railway engine fitter, Ernest Drakeford then trained as a musician, and became an accomplished violinist. He later put these talents to good use by obtaining a position performing musically on board passenger ships of the British Mercantile Marine. In March 1912, he first worked on the trans-Atlantic run to the United States of America, when he joined the small orchestra on board the Cunarder Mauretania - sister ship of the Lusitania.
By the spring of 1915, the family home was at 15, Richmond Park, Anfield, Liverpool, Lancashire, the move being necessitated so that Ernest Drakeford could be closer to his profession.
In April 1915, he obtained the position of one of the bandsman in the light orchestra on board the Lusitania and was on board on the morning of 17th of that month, when she left the River Mersey for the last time. The Orchestra consisted of only five musicians and apart from Bandsman Drakeford, the others were, Bandmaster C.W. Cameron, Bandsman E. Carr-Jones, Bandsman J.W. Hemingway and Bandsman J. W. Hawkins.
The liner crossed the Atlantic without incident and having docked in New York on 24th April 1915, eventually left there on the early afternoon of 1st May, for her return journey to Liverpool - with Ernest Drakeford on board. Then, six days into the voyage, on the afternoon of 7th May, the Cunarder was torpedoed and sunk by the German submarine U-20, within sight of the coast of southern Ireland. At that time, she was only about 250 miles away from the safety of her home port.
Although Cameron and Carr-Jones lost their lives as a result of this action, Drakeford, Hawkins and Hemingway survived the sinking. Having been rescued from the sea, they were landed at Queenstown, from where they eventually made it back to the British mainland. Despite the fact that they were all officially employed by The Cunard Steam Ship Company, they were not recognised as seamen by the Board of Trade and when they joined the liner at Liverpool on 17th April 1915, they were allocated second cabin passenger accommodation.
Thus, although Ernest Drakeford was first shown to be a crew survivor in a list issued by Cunard in March 1916, this was a mistake which was later rectified by the company in 1917. Similarly, he would not have been entitled to war medals for his service on board ships of the Mercantile Marine during the war years, despite suffering exactly the same dangers and privations as entitled crew members!
Within a few days of surviving his ordeal, probably when he had returned to his home in Liverpool, Ernest Drakeford wrote a letter to his parents, which was published in the Sheffield Daily Telegraph on the 17th May 1915. The report stated: -
SWINTON SURVIVOR’S ORDEAL.
Mr. E. Drakeford, of Swinton, who was a member of the band on the ill-fated Lusitania, has written to his parents the following account of his experiences in the disaster: -.
When I had finished work at 2 p.m. we all went down to the bandmaster’s cabin, and a few minutes after we had got down there was a terrific “thud,” just like one hears in an underground explosion. We all rushed up on to the deck. The ship at once began to list on the starboard side. We all lost each other with the rush of people clamouring to get on the boat deck. The cries of the women and children were awful; everybody seemed stunned. I thought myself that the ship was going to turn right over; but, however, she began to right herself a little.
Then the word came round that the ship was quite safe, and that there was no cause for anxiety. Up to then I had not got a life belt on, so I went down to the cabin to see if I could find one. When I got there I found four. Whilst I was fixing one of them on, Mr. Crank, the baggage master, came down, and he got one. I fastened his for him and he fastened mine. We shook hands with each other, and promised each other to go to see each of his wife, whoever got away. Sorry to say Mr. C. went down (well, I have not seen him since then).
After that I went up on deck again, and saw one or two boats smashed whilst being lowered – one of the boats being lowered full of people, a great number women and children. The rope at one end gave way, the boat plunging down into the water, emptying most of the people out. Then to try and save the situation, someone cut the other end rope and the boat crashed down. Some of the people were evidently underneath, and must have been killed, injured, or drowned. I went after that to the smokeroom. I came on deck again, unfastened my shoe laces, and went on to the second cabin deck. I met a woman there who didn’t have her life belt on right, so I fastened it for her, and asked her why she did not go on to the first-class deck and get into a boat. She said she had to stay where she was, her husband had told her so. He was helping to get a boat out, and would come for her. I have not seen either of them since.
The Great Plunge.
After that the boat began to take another heavy list, and I felt sure that she was going this time. I slid down the deck to the rail, for by this time it was impossible to walk. I was wondering what to do, but that was soon decided, for I had to, as the saying goes, “get out and get under,” so I got out and jumped into the sea, because the ship had given a last plunge forward and was sinking fast, and all the loose gear on the decks came rushing down, and I was afraid of getting pinned against the side.
I went down under the water and began to think that all was over. Then I came to the top and felt a wire. I found it was one of the wires attached to the aftermast. This began to slip through my fingers, with the feeling that I was climbing up the wire. (Of course, really it was the ship sinking) When I apparently got to the top of the mast my foot became fast in a wire or something and pulled my shoe off (which I said before I had unfastened) so then I pushed my other shoe off.
By this time I had been under water and on top a few times, and had swallowed a lot of sea water. I had seen the last of the Lusitania, a sight I shall never forget, as the great funnels disappeared. I could not realise it at all – I seemed in a dream. I scarcely realised that I was in the water. It was like a great moving picture before me. I could see people climbing on the wreckage, and hear them shouting and crying for help, which was awful. I seemed quite alone where I was. I looked about me, and all wreckage, etc., was lashing around. I was afraid of being struck. I had to push and struggle to keep things from striking me. I was clutching at anything I could see, but few things seemed much good to me for support.
Saved by a Barrel.
At last I sighted a water barrel, so I made for it. At last I got to it, and hold of it, and I said aloud (for I remember quite well), “Saved.” I never clung to anything or anybody so tightly and affectionately as I clung to that barrel. In fact, when I was picked up I had a job to let go of it. I had to keep pushing wreckage and bodies away from me, which was an awful experience. I called to a boat to save me, but they were too full already, so they took no notice of me – which wasn’t very pleasant. At last I saw the bo’sn (sic.) fixing a collapsible boat up with two other men some distance away, and I called at the top of my voice for help. At last he sighted me and called back, “All right, son, stick where you are. I’ll come soon. All right, stick.” I felt relieved; in fact, I could feel myself smiling. After that boat had taken two or three women on board, they made for me.
The bo’sn was Bosun John Davies, and his heroism was mentioned by many of the survivors, who credited him with their survival.
The account continued: -
When they got to me the bo’sn (sic.) said, “Let go the barrel, and give me your hand.” Do I did. Then he said, “Now then, in you jump.” But I could not; I was done. He called to the other two men, and it took the three of them to pull me in. They laid me down then. I crawled to the end of the boat, out of the way, where the women were. A lady held my head, and I began to be violently sick with the salt water I had swallowed. Afterwards I began to feel myself again, but I felt weak. Anyhow, I pulled myself together, and started to help the bo’sn to pull in other people. When we had got the boat full – I should say about 60 people – we started to row for another boat. When we got there, they took the women and children off into it. After that we were approached by a scouting steamer, and were asked by the captain if we wanted taking off, so we all shouted, “Yes,” and the boat came alongside of us. They gave us tea and biscuits and corned beef, so I was beginning to feel myself again.
The boat proceeded back to the scene, and took in quite a number of people. It was 10.30 p.m. when we arrived at Queenstown.
One of the second cabin passengers who was killed, and whose body was never recovered from the sea and identified afterwards, was Richard Preston Prichard, who originally came from Ramsgate in Kent. In an attempt to learn more of his fate, the Prichard family first went to Queenstown and scoured the mortuaries there and his brother Mostyn printed and published posters seeking information about him. Mrs. Prichard then wrote to many surviving passengers and crew members seeking information. One of these was George Drakeford, who, in a letter to Mrs. Prichard written in November 1915 gave further details of his experiences: -
I was in the water about an hour and a half and was picked up by the Bosun who had fixed up a collapsible boat and I was transferred to the “Indian Empire” some time afterwards and I saw several boat loads of survivors brought to the above ship, but never remember seeing anyone of the description you mention, neither can I tell you whether the “Indian Empire” towed any boats behind her, as I went down below for warmth as I was awfully cold and exhausted after my experience.
The “Indian Empire” was a Royal Naval trawler of 289 tons, taken up from trade and used as a tender. The Bosun was probably John Davies who came from Bootle, near Liverpool and like Bandsman Drakeford, survived the sinking. Drakeford’s account continued: -
I meet occasionally some of the crew “survivors” as I live in Liverpool and if you don’t mind I will keep the photograph you have sent me and I will make as many enquiries as possible and if I learn anything about your son, I will communicate with you immediately.
Sorry I can not assist you more in your sad trouble,
I am yours very sincerely,
E.D. Drakeford
P.S.
I was through all the mortuaries in Queenstown, but don’t remember anyone of the description you give, although I recognised quite a number.
In the summer of 1915, Drakeford successfully applied to The Lusitania Relief Fund, which was administered by The Lord Mayor of Liverpool, for compensation for the loss of his violin, as without it, he was unable to make a living. This fund had been set up in Liverpool not long after the sinking by the Lord Mayor and other dignitaries from the business community to give financial support to second and third class passengers or relatives of those killed who had suffered consequently financial distress. It was thought that saloon passengers and their families would not be in need of such help. Accordingly, on 10th June 1915, he was granted the sum of £10-0s-0d, in order to purchase a new instrument.
Despite the fact that Bandsman Drakeford’s forenames were Ernest Dixon, he was listed in Cunard records as George and also styled himself in that way, when writing to The Lusitania Relief Fund. It is thus likely that George Drakeford was his professional or stage name. In July 1915, their second son named, Sydney Harold, was born, and their third and final son, named Harry, was born in 1919.
The family returned to Swinton prior to Harry’s birth in 1919, moving into Ernest’s family home at 27. Bridge Street, and Ernest and Priscilla ran a successful shop selling crockery, glass and kitchenware. It is probable that Ernest’s father began this business, when he became redundant as a potter. Genealogist Stan James, when a young boy in Swinton during the early years of the Second World War, remembered Ernest Drakeford in the shop then and recounted in January 2003: -
My mother on occasions would take me with her into his shop in Swinton, when she was buying various items. I recalled her having told me that he had been a violinist & about his experience. I can only guess that he returned to Swinton during World War Two and that he moved because of the bombing of Liverpool.
His shop brightened up what would otherwise have been a dour street -Bridge Street, which was a main road from Rotherham to Mexborough, in what I can only describe as a mining area. Two railways ran through Swinton, the L.M.S. and the L.N.E.R. - hence smuts of soot from the engines were everywhere - a pretty diabolical place to live! Above the shop he had a name board with a light green background and the word DRAKEFORD in metallic lettering. The shop was double fronted with tiers of shelves in the window to display all the wares. He sold crockery, glassware and I think, cooking utensils. Whence he obtained supplies in those difficult times, I have no idea, but people knew where to go to get a bargain if they needed something.
I don't know whether it was Ernest's own venture or whether the shop had been a family business. It would seem that he probably lived there or near there, prior to his service at sea. I surmise this, because of the proximity of what were known as Mexborough Engine Sheds (L.N.E.R.), where I would guess Ernest was indentured and later a fitter. Indentures were usually five years but could have been seven years - it would seem that he served his time prior to becoming a musician.
Ernest Drakeford died in Swinton on 24th July 1944, aged 61 years, and was buried in the churchyard of St. Margaret's, The Parish Church of Swinton. His headstone does not mention his Lusitania ordeal, however.
Administration of his estate was granted to The Yorkshire Penny Bank Limited on the 3rd November 1944. He left an estate valued at £1,121-14s.-1d. (£1,121.70½p.).
Although the U-Boat arm of the German Kriegsmarine had failed to kill Ernest Drakeford in the Great War, its Second World War counterpart succeeded in killing his son Sydney! Whilst serving as D/JX 211363 Coder Sydney Harold Drakeford, he was killed on 20th March 1945, when his ship the sloop H.M.S. Lapwing was torpedoed and sunk by a German U-Boat off the Kola inlet in Russia. His body was never recovered from the sea and identified afterwards and as a consequence, he his commemorated on the Plymouth Naval Memorial in Devonshire.
Although his father did not live long enough to experience his loss, his mother Pricilla did! She lived until November 1975, and having died aged 90 years, she was buried in the same grave as her husband.
Register of Births, Marriages and Deaths, 1891 Census of England & Wales, 1901 Census of England & Wales, 1911 Census of England & Wales, 1939 Register, New York Passenger Lists 1820 – 1957, Cunard Records, Commonwealth War Graves Commission, IWM GB62, Leeds Mercury, Sheffield Daily Telegraph, Daily Independent, Ships of the Royal Navy, Liverpool Record Office, Probate Records, PRO BT 100/345, Graham Maddocks, Stan James, Geoff Whitfield, Michael Poirier, Jim Kalafus, Cliff Barry, Paul Latimer, Norman Gray.
Copyright © Peter Kelly.