Frederick Orr-Lewis was born in Hamilton, Ontario, Canada, on the 11th February 1860, the second son of William Thomas and Mary Lewis (née Graham), originally of Swansea, Glamorgan, South Wales, and later Montreal, Quebec, Canada. On the 18th June 1896, he married Maud Helen Booth and they had one son, John Duncan, who was born in1898, and two daughters, Ellen and Jane. Whereas his family name was ‘Lewis’, Frederick combined his second forename with his family name, styling himself as ‘Orr-Lewis’!
A self-made millionaire, he was president of Lewis Brothers Ltd. of Canada, president and founder of Canadian Vickers, a director of The Merchants Bank of Canada, and a director of The Montreal Cotton Company and The Bankers Trust Company of Montreal.
He spent most of his life crossing back and forth across the Atlantic Ocean to attend to his business interests but he was mainly based at Lancaster Gate, London, England, with a country home, known as ‘Whitewebbs‘, near Enfield in Middlesex, and his Canadian home was at 20. Bleury Street, in Montreal. Because of his business interests, once the Great War broke out, he also carried out secret work on behalf of the British Admiralty.
He and his wife often made their trans-Atlantic journeys in the company of their great friends Sir Montague and Lady Marguerite Allan and two of their children, Anna and Gwendolyn, who lived in Montreal. The two families also spent most of their summers together in the south of France.
Frederick Orr-Lewis was looked after on all these occasions by his personal valet George Slingsby, who originally came from Babworth, Nottinghamshire, England.
On the 13th February 1915, Mr. Orr-Lewis and George Slingsby embarked on the Lusitania from Liverpool to New York on secret British government business, with the intention of returning at the beginning of May. Having concluded his business, he and his valet booked saloon passage home, (from Montreal, with ticket number D1348) on the Lusitania and having arrived back in New York, they boarded the liner on the morning of 1st May 1915. Orr-Lewis was allocated room B74, which was under the personal supervision of First Class Waiter John Roach, who came from
Liverpool and was working as a first class bedroom steward on what became the liner‘s last ever voyage across the Atlantic!. George Slingsby was allocated room B62, which he shared with Ronald Denyer another ‘gentleman’s gentleman’, and valet to millionaire Alfred Vanderbilt
Lady Marguerite Allan and her two teenage daughters were also on board the sailing, which finally left New York harbour just after mid-day and as Slingsby was a great favourite with the girls, he was in great demand by them to entertain them on the crossing!
Frederick Orr-Lewis spent most of the Atlantic crossing in the company of his fellow saloon cabin friends from Montreal, at the same time ably looked after by George Slingsby.
The story of his part in the sinking and its aftermath was later told to his daughter by George Slingsby and she, as Nina Slingsby Smith, published it in 1984 under the title George: Memoirs of a Gentleman’s Gentleman. Part of it tells of George Slingsby’s vain search for his master as the ship was sinking and his eventual meeting with him and its aftermath. As the account was written after Frederick Orr-Lewis had been created a baronet, it refers to him throughout as Sir Frederick and his wife as Her Ladyship.
Then George spotted Lady Allen over by the ship's rails, hugging her two children to her. .....
“Oh! George, how glad we are to see you!” she said. George inquired about Sir Frederick, but she said she hadn't seen him since luncheon, when he had gone to his cabin to take a rest. George knew he wasn't there because he had been to his cabin at the rear of the first-class berths before going in search of life jackets.
Slingsby found himself in the sea before the liner sank and having been rescued, unconscious; he was eventually landed at Queenstown, where, the next day, he began to look for Sir Frederick.
George began his search at the police station, but they were unable to help him. The survivors had been scattered wherever they could be accommodated and there hadn't been time to make an inventory. He was advised to go down to the harbour, where they were still bringing bodies in by the boat load. Sharks had invaded the area and many of the victims, who had been skimmed up in the fishing nets, were mutilated beyond recognition. It was a sickening sight, as George picked his way through that macabre scene to the harbour master’s office. He got no information here either. Everywhere he inquired he got the same answer, and in the end he was going from door to door in his search.
After several wearisome hours, his patience was rewarded, for he found Sir Frederick in a cheap lodging house not far from the water-front. The place was filthy and was obviously a haunt for lonely sailors who needed a bed, with possibly female company provided as well. Being so near to
the harbour, it was also infested with rats. There George found Sir Frederick in a pitiful state. He lay on a straw mattress on the floor of a small top room, looking like death, but they were both overjoyed to be reunited.
George discovered two five pound notes in Sir Frederick's pocket. They were saturated with sea water, but he was able to restore them well enough to be acceptable and, with these, he went to find a doctor. This was no easy task, for there were very few doctors in Queenstown and they were rushed off their feet with the influx of patients. The first surgery he called at was packed and a very harassed receptionist told him he would just have to wait his turn. He went on to the next, determined this time not to take 'No' for an answer. He pushed his way through the waiting room and into the surgery, where he pleaded almost hysterically that if Sir Frederick didn't receive some attention soon he would die. The doctor must have noticed that George was near to collapse himself, and packed his bag right away, leaving the nurse in charge.
They found Sir Frederick in a state of semi-consciousness and, while the doctor got to work, George hobbled off to find more suitable accommodation. The only hotel in Queenstown was full - or so they said until George produced one of the five pound notes. Then suddenly a small top room that was vacant was remembered. It was far short of the Ritz Carlton, but infinitely better than the hovel Sir Frederick was in at the moment, so he paid in advance and returned to find that, although very weak, Sir Frederick was now fully conscious. The doctor had left instructions that he was to be kept warm for a few days and to be given light nourishing meals. George approached the landlady about this, only to be told sharply, “I only do bed and breakfast. I can't do special meals for anyone“.
The hotel was not too far away and George decided it would be better to get Sir Frederick there as soon as possible. He was still very weak and was in only his under-vest. George asked what had happened to his shirt, and Sir Frederick told him how a young man had brought him to this place and had offered to get his shirt laundered, but hadn't returned. George instantly knew why. It hadn't all been out of kindness that this service had been offered; he had probably noticed the cuff-links that George had put into the sleeves on the morning of the disaster. They had been a birthday present to Sir Frederick from Her Ladyship, and had originally been especially made for King Edward VII. They were an exclusive design of diamonds and emeralds in a fine gold setting, but the King hadn't liked them and had returned them to the jeweller for re-sale. They were worth in the region of a thousand pounds. George was rather doubtful that they would see either the shirt or the young man again.
Painfully, they set out and shivered their way through the streets in the bitter wind blowing in from the sea. Sir Frederick had to be supported every inch of the way, and the strain on George's injured foot was agony. But at last he was able to get Sir Frederick to bed with a hot-water bottle,
where immediately he fell asleep. George needed rest badly himself, but there was still much to be done. As tired as he was, a driving influence made him determined to get some order back into this terrible situation and to find some warm clothing. He went to a pawnbroker, where he bought a black suit, turning green in places, for Sir Frederick and a pair of worsted trousers for himself. Then, with his purchases done up in a brown paper parcel, he made for the post office, where he sent off two telegrams, one to White Webbs (sic) and the other to Babworth, before hobbling back to the hotel.
Sir Frederick was still sleeping, so George bathed his foot in cold water and tightened the bandage to try to stop the swelling. It was extremely painful and, after all the tramping about he had done, he felt he had to rest awhile. With Sir Frederick occupying the only bed, he made do with two chairs pushed together and his overcoat for warmth.
The following morning he was stiff and sore. His foot had swollen to the size of a large pudding basin and the pain made him feel faint. Only great determination got him down to breakfast, for there was no room service. He was allowed to take scrambled egg to Sir Frederick before sitting down to kippers with the other guests. It was now May 10th, three days after the disaster, and still no help had come from the Government, or indeed any other department. It was almost as though they had been abandoned and were now an embarrassment. In spite of the dense plume of smoke and all the other evidence of the great ship's distress, which couldn't have gone unnoticed so near to land, rescue had been left far too late and, even now, nobody seemed to care a damn for those who, by the grace of God, had survived.
Eventually, Frederick Orr-Lewis was sufficiently recovered to leave Queenstown and eventually completed his journey to England.
On his return, he wrote a letter to his family in Canada, and enclosed a copy of this letter in another letter to his friend, Mr. J.D. Hazen in Montreal. These letters are preserved today in the United States Archives. Mr. Orr-Lewis’ account to his family is as follows: -
Whitewebbs Park,
Near Enfield.
We left New York on Saturday, May 1st about two hours late owing to the British Admiralty taking over some ships and we waited to take their passengers.
From the time of sailing until we arrived at Queenstown we had perfect weather. Scarcely a ripple all the way across and sufficiently warm to go on deck without an overcoat. On Thursday night they had a splendid concert and I believe some £128., was collected for the Seamens’ (sic.) Orphanage in Liverpool. The chairman of the concert was Mr. Cloete,
who was an old friend of Mr. Albert Vickers and had just returned from seeing their properties in Mexico.
All the way over I slept every morning until about eleven, but on the Friday morning I found it impossible to sleep and was up on deck early. I met Lady Allan and the children and we sat around and chatted and walked etc, until lunch time. We had a table by ourselves, composed of Lady Allan, Mrs. G.W. Stephens Senr, Miss Dorothy Braithwaite, Gwen, Herbert Holt’s son, Anna and myself. The foregoing are the seats they occupied all the way over.
I cannot say that any of the people on the ship were feeling very bright on Friday. We finished our luncheon and went upstairs to the Lounge, had our coffee and were smoking our cigarettes when like a bolt from the blue, a torpedo struck the ship and my servant, George and Lady Allan’s and the children’s maids, who were taking their luncheon at the time, saw the torpedo coming towards the ship and did not know what it was. There was no cry, no noise and no one, outside of the above that I met, saw the torpedo.
We rushed out on deck at once and I got them all together, put life-belts on them and went over to the starboard side to see what was being done with the boats, but she gave such a terrible lurch that I came back and started about getting them in a boat on the port side. Two were launched but the man in charge of the rope at the stern of the first one let go when she was full of people, with the result that they all tumbled out into the water and I think the great majority of them were killed.
The next boat fared almost the same fate, with the exception that the man in the bow let go. It all happened within probably two minutes, when the staff captain appeared on the top deck of all and called out forbidding the launching of further boats and stated that the ship was alright. It is quite true she did straighten herself on a more even keel and we all began to hope that she would not sink.
Our cabin steward then came up and stated that the water tight compartments had all been closed and that the boat was all right, but she began to lurch so much to the starboard side that the boats on the port side could not be launched and this had the effect of placing the boats on the starboard side so far away that it was impossible to get into them, so there was nothing to do but wait, when in the twinkling of an eye, she took the most awful dive and we all went down with her. I had Gwen by the hand and Lady Allan had Anna and the two maids were next and Mrs. Stephens with Chatham’s baby. Miss Braithwaite somehow became separated from us. How far we went down or what happened nobody will ever tell. Only those apparently were saved who were not killed in the water as the ship went down and the only reason, I should judge, why anyone is here to tell the tale, is an account of the explosion of the boilers which sent us up to the surface, and I came up alone near an upturned boat, which I got on to and as far as I can remember I was the first on it.
After looking around I saw Herbert Holt’s boy and I had him swim over and get on the boat. Lady Allan had already been put on the forward part of the boat. We gradually took on the people as they came to the surface until we had 59 people on the boat. Some were seated in water up to their waists, - others were standing up and I was one of the latter and holding on to people. The water was up to my knees and every minute we thought we would all go down again.
I saw George (my servant) in the water and I directed him to another boat and he was quite alright.
Fortunately a sugar boat from Cuba had been sighted by the lighthouse and she came over our way and I should judge about three hours after the sinking of the ship, we were taken on board.
Strange to relate a fireman who was in the room where the torpedo struck was in our boat and with only one arm, the other having been blown off.
She was only struck once and I did not hear an explosion until I was in the water. All of the ships which came out to rescue us got together to protect one another in case a submarine remaining around should have tried to sink one of them and we did not arrive in Queenstown until 2-30 in the morning, when we at once made enquiries about the children, but we could not get any information whatever and I believe they both must have been killed when the ship went down.
When I had done all that I could do for the people around, I naturally had some of the worst attacks of my old rheumatic pains in my legs and all over my body but an Italian doctor who was a passenger with us, gave me something which materially helped me.
I was taken to the hotel in a motor car on a stretcher with nothing else in the world but the captain of the sugar boat’s leather coat and a pair of flannel trousers.
The next morning I was asked to go and identify some of the bodies and the first one I saw was Mrs. Stephens. In the meantime I had sent a telegram to Whitewebbs, including Miss Braithwaite’s name as one of the hotel women clerks had told me she was in the hotel and wanted to see me. I was unable to go to her and the next morning I found that it was not Miss Braithwaite nor was it myself who had been asked for.
The hotels in Queenstown were of course, not ready for any such number of people and in consequence the dirt and filth of the hotel was terrific.
On Sunday morning, at 10 a.m. my wife arrived in a special train and at once took me away to Cork.
The above is a short summary of what happened and if I can only forget the things I have omitted to mention it will be a blessing.
At the time of writing the letter to Mr. Hazen, on 15th June 1915, Frederick Orr-Lewis was confined to bed at his home, recovering from two operations necessitated as a result of injuries he received during his ordeal.
Lady Allan and her two maids also survived the sinking, as did William Holt, and First Class Waiter John Roach, who eventually made it back to his Liverpool home. The two teenage Allan girls, Anna and Gwendolyn, however, perished in the sea off the coast of southern Ireland, as did Broderick Cloete, Dorothy Braithwaite, and Mrs. Stephens.
Frederick Orr-Lewis was created a baronet for his service to the war effort in 1920 and became Sir Frederick Orr-Lewis. He died, not long afterwards, on 18th November 1921, at Villa Valetta, Cannes, France, at the early age of 61 years. He left his estate in Great Britain of £18,342-4s.-1d. (£18,342.20½p) to his son.
Frederick Orr-Lewis had submitted a claim to the Canadian Commission for the loss of his personal belongings, which he valued at £1,169-16s.-0d. (£1,169.80p.), and a further £1,000 for personal injuries and medical expenses. It was 1926, five years after his death, that a decision was made on his claim, and his estate was awarded the Canadian dollar equivalent of his claims, which amounted to $5,739.25 for his personal possessions and $4,960.10.
Montreal Canada Non-Catholic Marriage Index 1766 – 1899, Quebec Canada Vital and Church Records (Drouin Collection) 1621 – 1968, 1891 Census of Canada, 1901 Census of Canada, New York Passenger Lists 1820 – 1957, Cunard Records, Canadian Claims Case No. 877, The Gazette, The Victoria Daily Times, Memoirs of a Gentleman’s Gentleman, Probate Records, PRO 22/71, PRO BT 100/345, Who Was Who 1916-1928, USB, Graham Maddocks, Geoff Whitfield, Michael Poirier, Jim Kalafus, Cliff Barry, Paul Latimer, Norman Gray.
Copyright © Peter Kelly.