Herbert Linford Gwyer was born in London, England, on the 18th March 1883, the younger son of John Edward and Edith Gwyer (née Linford), of London. His mother died on the day following his birth, and his father remarried in 1885.
His father was public auditor and secretary of The Provident Clerk's Life Assurance Association and his elder brother became Sir Maurice Linford Gwyer, Chief Justice of India and later President of the Federal Court, from 1937 to 1943.
Herbert Gwyer was educated at Uppingham School and Magdalene College Cambridge, from which he graduated with a second class degree in the Classical Tripos in 1905. He was awarded a Master of Arts degree in 1919. In 1905, he entered Westcott House, Cambridge to train for the Ministry and was ordained deacon in 1906 and priest in 1907, in the Diocese of Wakefield, Yorkshire. He was a tall man, standing over six feet four inches in height.
In 1906, he was appointed Curate of Kirkburton in Yorkshire, a position he held until 1911, when he sailed to Canada on appointment to the Railway Mission in the Diocese of Qu’ Appelle, in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan.
Whilst there, he met year Margaret Inglis Adams Cairns, who came from Dunbar, East Lothian, in Scotland and on the 15th April 1915, they married in Regina, Saskatchewan. By this time, Herbert Gwyer had managed to secure a post as senior curate at St. Mary’s, the Parish Church of Mirfield, near Bradford in Yorkshire and as a result, they booked as second cabin passengers on what proved to be the
Lusitania's final voyage, which left New York just after mid-day on 1st May 1915 after a delayed start. The delay was caused because she had to embark passengers, crew and cargo from the Anchor Lines vessel
Cameronia, which the British Admiralty had requisitioned for use as a troop ship.
According to The Last Voyage of the Lusitania, by Adolph and Mary Hoehling, when the liner was struck, off the coast of southern Ireland, six days later, by a torpedo fired by the German submarine
U-20, The Reverend Gwyer was in the second class dining room and with the words
Let us quieten the people, took charge of the situation and was able to keep everyone calm as they left the dining room to go on deck.
Having survived the sinking and been landed at Queenstown, The Reverend Gwyer gave his account of the sinking to a reporter from local 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," said the Rev. Mr. Gwyer, "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'."
The Reverend Gwyer was initially rescued from the sea by being dragged over the gunnels of Lifeboat No.1, by crew member Able Seaman Cliff Morton. After witnessing his wife’s ordeal, he was later transferred to the Queenstown harbour tender (not a
trawler), the Flying Fish, where he was eventually reunited with her! By this time, Margaret Gwyer had also been rescued from the sea by the occupants of a collapsible lifeboat, one of whom was Able Seaman Leslie Morton, who was, coincidentally, Cliff Morton’s brother. The happy reunion 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.
Once they had been landed at Queenstown, there was a further surprise re-union in store for them, the following day!
Leslie Morton later described this meeting in his autobiography, The Long Wake, published in 1968: -
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.
Later, The Reverend Gwyer sent Leslie Morton an inscribed wrist watch in recognition of the part he played in saving his new bride and it is likely that he also sent his brother Cliff a similar gift!
After recovering in the town, the couple caught a boat to Fishguard in Pembrokeshire from where they made for Oxford, where Herbert Gwyer had relatives.
Having taken up his appointment at Mirfield, he remained there until November 1916, when he was successfully interviewed for acceptance into The Royal Army Chaplains’ Department - having been recommended by The Reverend L. Westmacott, Vicar of Mirfield. He was gazetted on 1st December 1816 and then served as Temporary Chaplain to the Forces until 1919.
Upon his return to civilian life, he took up an appointment as Vicar of Staincliffe in Yorkshire, and in 1928, became Vicar of St. John's Church, Wakefield, Yorkshire. He retained this post until 1936, during which time he was also Honorary Canon of Wakefield Cathedral.
In 1937, he was consecrated Bishop of George, Cape Town, South Africa, and remained in this position until he resigned the bishopric in 1951, before his return to England. During this time, he had learned Afrikaans, so that he might better serve his people and was particularly mindful of the welfare of the black people in his diocese. The following year, at the age of 69, he became Vicar of Amberley with North Stoke, in Sussex, and Rural Dean of Storrington, which positions he held for the next five years.
In 1957, Bishop Gwyer and his wife moved to the Parish of St. George’s, Whyke, Chichester, where he helped out in the church there and church records show that he assisted at services, including confirming candidates, on several occasions. Some time after that, he and Margaret Gwyer took up residence at 21, St. Martin's Square, which was a cottage connected to St Mary's Hospital, and a church owned almshouse, established in the12th Century. It was often used for retired clergy and even today, it has the distinction of being the oldest such establishment in the country still in use as an alms house.
In early November 1960, the couple decided to return to their old diocese in Cape Town for a six months’ holiday and boarded the Union Castle liner
Athlone Castle at Southampton for the long sea voyage to the Cape, on the 17th November. It was on board this vessel two days later, on the 19th November, that Herbert Gwyer’s eventful life came to an abrupt end when he succumbed to a heart attack! He was aged 77 years and was buried at sea off the North West coast of Spain.
Perhaps it was fitting that this survivor of the Lusitania should end his life at sea, some 45 years after the terrible events of 7th May 1915!
His obituary, published in The Times on 22nd November 1960 stated, amongst other things, that: -
He was a wonderful pastoral bishop, a support and encourager of his clergy, and especially of his junior clergy; and he had a keen sense of humour.
When his will was proven in April 1961, he left his estate of £15,336-16s.-6d. (£15,336.82½p) to his wife, Margaret.
His brother, Sir Maurice Linford Gwyer, had predeceased him in 1952, and his wife, Margaret, died in 1975.
Register of Births, Marriages and Deaths, British Armed Forces and Overseas Deaths and Burials, 1891 Census of England & Wales, 1901 Census of England & Wales, Cunard Records, Birkenhead News, Bradford Daily Argus, Cork Examiner, Huddersfield Chronicle, Times, West Sussex Gazette, Yorkshire Observer, London Gazette, Crockford's Clerical Directory, Dictionary of National Biography, Last Voyage of the Lusitania, Museum of Army Chaplaincy, Who Was Who 1951-60, Probate Records, UniLiv D92/2/341, Deaths at Sea 1891 – 1972, Graham Maddocks, David Blake, Peter Craig-Wild, Ken Green, James Maggs, Geoff Whitfield, Michael Poirier, Jim Kalafus, Cliff Barry, Paul Latimer, Norman Gray.
Copyright © Peter Kelly.