Frederick John 'Fred' Perry was born in Holloway, London, England, on the 13th November 1886, the son of Charles and Julia Frances Perry (née Norris). He was the second youngest of eight children and his father was a prison warder at Wormwood Scrubs prison. The family resided in the married quarters reserved for the staff at the prison
On completing his education, he became a clerk, and on the 18th September 1909, he married Minnie Violet Candish at St. Dunstan’s Church, East Acton, Middlesex, and the couple lived at 41, Allison Rd., Acton, London.
He was employed by Messrs. D. Napier and Sons, Motor Manufacturers, of New Burlington Street, London, and Acton Vale, and in February 1915, he had left Liverpool on board the Lusitania, bound for New York in the United States of America, on business for his firm. He arrived there on the 20th February. His return home to Acton coincided with that of his younger brother Albert Perry, who had also worked for Napier’s and had recently taken up an appointment with an American automobile firm.
Albert Perry was returning to Acton for the last time before emigrating to America and had even booked his return ticket to New York, on the Lusitania for the projected sailing on 15th May 1915, and presumably, Fred Perry also booked passage on what became the Lusitania's final voyage so that he might travel home with his brother.
Consequently, they joined the Cunarder at New York, on the morning of 1st May 1915 and once on board, Frederick Perry was allotted room D28, which was the personal responsibility of First Class Bedroom Steward William Fletcher who came from Liscard, in Wallasey, on the opposite side of the River Mersey from Liverpool. His brother was just down the corridor in room D38.
When the liner was sunk, six days later, although Albert Perry was killed, Fred Perry survived, and after being rescued from the sea and landed at Queenstown, where he was hospitalised for a short time, he arrived back in Acton, in the care of another brother, Harry Perry, on the early morning of Wednesday 12th May.
That evening, he gave a graphic account of his experiences to the local newspaper, The Middlesex County Times, which was published on Saturday 15th May. It stated: -
Both my brother and I were returning from the States together. Before we left New York, we read in the papers the notice issued by the German Ambassador, and, as everybody else did, we pooh-poohed the idea of the vessel being torpedoed. There was a general discussion of the matter throughout the whole of the morning.
There was a great crowd at New York to see us all off, and as the ship began to move away from the landing stage, the splendid Welsh Choir which had been touring the States, sang to their friends on shore. That and all the following days, up to the day of the disaster were beautifully sunny. We had a very good voyage over.
On the Thursday evening before the sinking of the vessel, we had the usual weekly concert amongst the first-class passengers, and after a splendid entertainment by the Welsh Choir, the chairman, who was one of the directors of Messrs. Vickers, made a splendid appeal for the Liverpool Sailors' Orphanage, and referred to the dangers through which we were passing. He said that he was quite sure that every man, from the captain down to the stokers, would be willing, to lay down their lives, for the passengers, if need be. This resulted in a record collection at these concerts for the Liverpool Orphanage.
On the following morning, quite early, before anyone was about, the fog horn was sounding and it continued sounding right up until 12 noon. It certainly was misty, but in view of the danger zone we were in, it seemed a trifle absurd to blow the foghorn furiously as they were doing.
At noon it cleared, the sun shone beautifully and you could see for miles. The south coast of Ireland was well in sight. At one o' clock, the lunch bugle was sounded, and everyone went down to lunch.
My brother and an American friend who was travelling with us for his health, and who intended to return with my brother on the Lusitania next Saturday, (as my brother was taking up a permanent position with the Pierce-Arrow Co.), were lunching with me, and as we were finished quite early, we went up several decks to the lounge for a smoke. It was then ten minutes to two.
Shortly after two o' clock, just before the people began to get up into the saloon, there was a terrible impact, marked not so much by the noise, as the force of the explosion. It shook the vessel from stem to stern, as though we had struck a rock or collided with another vessel. We immediately realised that we had been hit by a torpedo.
Our American friend was not with us at the time, but my brother and I walked through the lounge to get down to the boat deck. We were met at the entrance to the lounge with a fearful volume of smoke and steam, caused by the explosion, which apparently had reduced the speed of the ship very suddenly.
Before we could realise the position, there was a second shock, which came within a minute or two of the first. By this time, there were many people coming up the stairs from the lower decks and the dining-saloon. We managed to get out onto the boat deck, which was then very crowded, considering the majority of people had been in the dining saloon. Most of the people appeared to have come from the second saloon over the communicating bridge.
My brother and I then got separated, nor did I see our American friend, Mr. Brown, who had gone down into the library after dinner to write his last letters before landing.
Although it is unlikely that Fred Perry could have mistaken the name of his American friend, there was no American citizen named Brown travelling saloon class on the Lusitania's last voyage. The only saloon passenger named Brown was British subject William H.H. Brown. As he, like the Perry brothers, was travelling from Buffalo, New, York, however, it is likely that it was he to whom Fred Perry was referring and maybe Fred Perry just assumed he was an American from his accent, picked up after long years in the United States. William Brown, like Albert Perry, was killed in the course of the disaster! Fred Perry's account continued: -
I walked to the starboard side and helped people to get into the boats. One boat was being lowered, but when it was nearly half way down, one end seemed suddenly to stop, and the other end continued, with the result that the people - between fifty and seventy of them - were simply shot out, like coals out of a sack, into the water. The boat then followed them, stern foremost, and thus immediately began to fill with water. The bows seemed to be held fast by the ropes, which were still over the davits. The boat thus lay useless alongside the ship.
This was almost certainly Lifeboat No. 17.
Another boat farther along towards the captain's bridge was lowered a few seconds afterwards, and when nearly down to the water, it appeared as if it was going to behave as the first had done, but righted itself and reached the water safely. There were not more than half a dozen people out of the previous boat in reach of the second. They were told not to catch hold of the second boat, but I did not see whether any managed to get in; or if I did see, I don't remember it. I remember that one of the difficulties of lowering the first boat was that an iron ring had jammed round a staple, and one of the crew could not release it.
I jumped into one boat to help in releasing the ropes preparatory to filling it with the women who were round, when I suddenly heard a cry "All out of the boats." Looking round I saw an officer on the very top deck of all but could not hear his orders distinctly.
This officer was almost certainly Staff Captain James Anderson, who believed at that time that the vessel would right herself, and that there was no immediate danger.
Immediately we jumped out on to the boat deck, and then it appeared that the ship was simply righting herself, probably through the water finding its own level: and I suppose the water-tight doors were closed.
I then saw my brother for the last time, away towards the captain's bridge and near the lounge entrance. I noticed he was, like myself, fully dressed and had on a lifebelt of the type supplied in each cabin. I asked him where he obtained it, and he said "Inside the main entrance." I looked in and found that there were a large number of saloon passengers there all with belts on, including some of the ship's officers. Not seeing any belt lying about, and not caring to run the risk of going down to my cabin and being caught like a rat if the ship went down, I went on deck.
Then the ship made another lurch to starboard, the side on which it had been torpedoed. With this, I made for the boat deck again. I obtained one of the white cork life belts, but gave this up later to a little boy of about eight who was coming along the deck, and put him into a boat.
The ship was now sinking fast. It appeared to me that we should never get a boat away, and that even if we reached the water the ropes would not be detached. I decided to wait until the water reached a certain porthole, and when it was a case of "every man for himself", to dive overboard.
This I did from the port side, which was, of course, very high in the air. I dived, striking the boat which had previously emptied the people into the water. After an awful struggle in the water - too awful to describe - I came to the top, fighting for something to get hold of. After a few seconds I saw a boat near me, and immediately made a plunge forward to get hold of it, but was as quickly pushed off by some stokers, who declared "There's no room for a single person."
I was thus back again in the water, but made a second effort to get hold of the small ropes looped round all the boats. I gripped so tightly that you can see the marks on my fingers now. Thus I was pulled along by the boat for some considerable time. When I felt I was giving out, I put my arm through the loop so as to get better support.
I was taken out of the water about 4.30 p.m., having been in it for two hours, according to the time at which my watch had stopped. I was rescued by a small fishing boat and the fishermen were very kind, giving me some hot tea. After waiting about an hour, we were taken off by a paddle steamer, and arrived in at Queenstown at 9.20 p.m.. We were very kindly treated there, and I was taken to the hospital.
The paddle steamer was almost certainly the Queenstown harbour tender Flying Fish, which was responsible for rescuing quite a number of people. Mr. Perry's account continued: -
I should like to say that there was no panic at all. When I saw the people on the boat deck, everyone seemed to be struck with grief rather than fear. Ladies and children were crying but not screaming. This was really marvellous to me considering the time that people had been thinking what might happen to them.
No, I cannot say whether the little boy I spoke of was saved or lost. Nor do I know if a gentleman I knew, Mr. Nedbury, a Surrey man, was saved, but I do not see his name in the list of survivors.
The only passenger on the Lusitania with a name in any way similar to Mr. Nedbury, was fellow saloon passenger Maurice B. Medbury who was a United States Citizen and was travelling from New York. He was killed when the liner was sunk. Perhaps it was he to whom Mr, Per
I did not see the ship go down, but I think it had gone by the time I came to the surface. I seemed to be an awful long time fighting in the water, but after I had risen the second time I seemed to know that I had got to strike out. I can only just swim and I could not have reached the boat had it been any distance away.
My elder (sic.) brother Norriss is an excellent swimmer. I never saw him again after he was at the lounge entrance. I have heard today that his body has been recovered and is being sent over from Queenstown to Acton for the funeral which will take place at St. Dunstan’s Church and Acton Cemetery, if possible, on Saturday morning.
I returned from Queenstown only to-day. I have been lying in the Queen's Hospital, Queenstown, with a broken collar-bone, bruised legs and arms and a bad back. My brother Harry, though he had no address, to work upon, came over to Queenstown to find me, and brought me back at three o'clock yesterday afternoon and we arrived at Euston at six o'clock this morning. I have been examined by a local doctor, and I think I am fortunate to get off so lightly.
It is appalling to realise the exceptionally large numbers of women and children who have been brutally sent to their deaths by a country calling itself civilised.
Bedroom Steward Fletcher, who had looked after Fred Perry in room D28, survived the sinking and eventually made it home to Liscard. Fred Perry was aged 28 years at the time the Lusitania was sunk.
He never crossed the Atlantic Ocean again, and continued to work in the motor car industry for many years before becoming an aero engineer and buyer. He and his wife had three children after his ordeal on the Lusitania.
Fred Perry died in Sunninghill, Middlesex, on the 25th January 1971, aged, 84 years.
Register of Births, Marriages and Deaths, London England Church of England Births and Baptisms 1813 – 1917, London England Church of England Marriages and Banns 1754 – 1932, 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, Middlesex County Times, PRO BT 100/345. UniLiv D92/2/113, Deaths at Sea 1871 – 1968, Graham Maddocks, Geoff Whitfield, Michael Poirier, Jim Kalafus, Cliff Barry, Paul Latimer, Norman Gray.
Copyright © Peter Kelly.