Andrew Page was born in Dunfermline, Fifeshire, Scotland, in 1884, the son of Francis and Helen Page (née Bower). He was one of four children, having older brothers, Francis and William, and a younger brother named, Adam. His father was a police constable, and as was common at that time, he was transferred to a different police station every few years. Therefore, the Page family moved around Fifeshire, living in the family quarters of many police stations.
In July 1906, Andrew had boarded the Mongolian at Glasgow and sailed to Montreal, Quebec, Canada. He settled in Winnipeg, Manitoba, where he secured employment as a clerk with the Canadian Pacific Railway Company. His brother, Adam, was working as a boilermaker in the city, so it is likely that is why he settled in Winnipeg. His older brother, Francis, was living and working in Medicine Hat, Alberta.
In 1911, Andrew moved to Lethbridge, Alberta, where he worked as a clerk in a hotel,
before moving on to Medicine Hat, Alberta, securingd employment as the chief clerk at The American Hotel.
In late January 1915, his brother, 271400 Engine Room Artificer 2nd Class William Page, Royal Navy, was one of three officers and twenty eight men listed as ‘missing and presumed killed’ when their British E-class submarine, H.M.S. E10, was lost in the North Sea. Andrew, and his brother Adam, decided to return to Scotland to console their parents, and consequently made plans to travel home.
His brother, Adam, decided to travel with his family on board the Canadian Pacific Railway Company’s vessel, Missanbie, which was sailing from Quebec to Liverpool in the middle of April, and whereas Andrew initially decided to accompany them, he later changed his mind as he wanted to take the opportunity of visiting New York City first. Having travelled to New York City, he subsequently booked second cabin passage on the May Day sailing of the Lusitania, sailing from New York City to Liverpool.
He joined the liner at the Cunard berth, at Pier 54, in New York on the morning of 1st May 1915, in time for the liner‘s scheduled 10 o’clock sailing, but this was then postponed until the early afternoon whilst the liner loaded cargo and took on board passengers and crew from Anchor Liner the S.S. Cameronia which the British Admiralty had requisitioned as a troop ship at the end of April.
Six days later, on the afternoon of 7th May, the Lusitania was torpedoed by the German submarine U-20, twelve miles off The Old Head of Kinsale in southern Ireland and sank only eighteen minutes later. At that stage of her voyage, she was a mere twelve or fourteen hours sailing time away from her Liverpool destination.
Andrew Page was fortunate enough to be counted amongst the survivors, however and having been rescued from the sea, he was landed at Queenstown, from where he was able to cable his brother, Mr. Frank Page, in Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada, to say that he was safe. After this, he made his way to the police station in Strathmiglo, Fifeshire, where his parents were residing.
Having arrived safely at the home of his parents, he was interviewed by a correspondent from the Fife News newspaper, and this interview was syndicated to a number of local newspapers, including the St. Andrew’s Citizen, who published it in their 15th May edition: -
… It was, he said, a lovely, calm forenoon, and he was walking on the top deck when the first torpedo struck the liner. He
DISTINCTLY SAW THE TERRIBLE MISSILE
rushing through the water, making a sort of fizzing noise in its progress. As it struck the ship, huge clouds of spray arose. The liner listed badly, and there was a general rush to the top decks, the terrified passengers clinging on to the starboard rails. Then another torpedo struck, and caused a serious explosion, clouds of wreckage being showered on to the decks. Mr. Page took refuge behind a staircase.
Andrew Page was another passenger who erroneously believed that the liner was struck by two torpedoes when it is known that only one was launched from U-20, and the second explosion was most likely the steam pipes or boilers giving way.
The account continues: -
PANIC-STRICKEN PASSENGERS.
The list became much more pronounced, and the boats on the starboard side were rendered almost useless. Despite other statements to the contrary, Mr. Page said there was a considerable amount of panic, particularly among the women and children. Attempts were made to lower the lifeboats; but, partly owing to the list on the ship, these were generally unsuccessful. In the majority of cases, as the boats eft the davits, one side jammed while the other swung clear, with the result that the boat hung perpendicularly and precipitated its occupants into the water. Seeing the fate of the first boats’ crews, many of the passengers refused to enter those subsequently lowered.
Mr. Page stated that he saw it was a case of every man saving himself as best he could. He realised that the boat had not long to float, and it would be insanity for him to endeavour to descend to his cabin on the lower deck for a life-belt. “I calculated what it would be best for me to do,” he said, “and concluded that my best chance would be to dive into the sea, swim to some of the wreckage, which was all round, and take my chance. I saw several men stripping, and I had thought I had best do likewise, although I was not at all sure that one could live for any length of time in the icy water. I took off all my clothes, except my trousers, throwing away my jacket, in the pocket of which was a pocket-book containing all the money I had with me. I generally carry two watches in my waistcoat, with a chain between them, and curiously enough, quite unconsciously I pulled out the watches and put them in my trousers’ pocket, though I did not know I had done so till after I had landed.”
JUMPED FOR LIFEBOAT.
Mr. Page was brought up at Kinghorn where his father was then stationed, and has been a swimmer all his life, so that he had no doubt as to his ability to keep afloat if he were not numbed by the cold. He decided too that he would be better unencumbered with a lifebelt. Seeing that escape from the starboard side was, where he was clinging, was impossible, he dashed across to the port side. Just as he reached the port rail he saw that a lifeboat, only half filled, had been got successfully away from the davits. The boat was a good distance below him, but he decided to make a flying leap for it. If he missed the boat he was willing to take his chance of a dive into the ocean. Fortunately, however, he landed squarely in the boat without injuring himself. When the boat reached the water, however, a fresh danger presented itself. The davit ropes stuck, and the boat could not be got clear. “It was a man who happened to have
a penknife who saved us,” said Mr. Page. “With this we were able to saw through the ropes just in time.” The boat was being held tight to the side of the liner by suction, and there was great difficulty in getting clear. Hands and feet were being used, regardless of injuries, to push off, however, and the boat was worked down towards the stern. By degrees the oars were got out, and the lifeboat was soon free from the liner. It was barely ten yards from the stern, however, when the giant vessel took the last plunge, and the little craft was in grave danger from the suction caused by the tremendous immersion.
RESCUING STRAGGLERS.
The full complement of oars was got out, and the crew of the boat exercised their utmost efforts to rescue all the survivors struggling in the water, who came within reach. In this way some seventeen additional passengers were rescued. When everything possible had been done in this direction, the crew started to pull for the shore, all the men lending their aid at the oars. There was now 67 people in the lifeboat, and Mr. Page stated that had the sea not been calm the boat could never have hoped to reach the shore. “The fact is,” he added, “had the sea been rough, there would not have been a single survivor.”
Mr. Page laid special emphasis on the length of time which elapsed before any rescuing craft were sighted. “We pulled for two hours and a half,” he said, “before a single boat was seen. We were making for Kinsale, and were only about five miles from shore when a fishing smack came alongside. We were not then in difficulties, however, and waited till a tug which had previously taken the occupants of other lifeboats on board, came up with us. The tug then took us into Queenstown, landing us between 9 and 10 o’clock at night. I must say I never expected to be so thankful to set foot on dry land as I was then.”
THREATS LAUGHED AT.
“If there was anything to which blame could be assigned,” said Mr. Page, “it was that the threats of the Germans were not taken seriously. There was lifeboat drill by the crew on the Thursday, but the passengers were not allocated to boats or anything of that sort. The whole tragedy occurred so quickly - so far as I could make out the liner sank within twelve minutes of first being struck – that it would have been impossible to save many more. You can imagine the confusion among the passengers when it was known that we were sinking. The deck, of course, was very high above the water, and many of the passengers would not risk the dive. There is no doubt a very large proportion of them were carried down without attempting to get off. Then, too many rushed to the lower decks for lifebelts, and were unable to get on deck again before the boat sank. The ocean was strewn with wreckage, and many of those who clung to floating debris undoubtedly perished from the cold.”
TERRIBLE SCENES.
One man, Mr. Page said, had his leg jammed into a porthole, and, in his desperate efforts to extricate himself, he terribly lacerated the limb. He was finally got on board a lifeboard (sic.), among the occupants of which was an Italian doctor. To save the man’s life, according to stories told by refugees in Queenstown, this doctor had to amputate the leg with the primitive appliances in his possession.
The ‘Italian doctor’ was undoubtedly Silvio de Vescovi, who was a second cabin passenger, and who also survived. A number of other survivors mentioned this incident; however, most of the others claimed that Dr. de Vescovi amputated the badly injured arm of a survivor, not a leg!
As the boat in which Mr. Page was seated was getting clear, a woman with a baby in her arms appeared on the top deck. She took a tearful farewell of the child, and then threw it onto the boat, where it was safely caught. The woman’s nerve then apparently failed, and, in spite of all encouragement from the occupants of the boat she refused herself to take the jump. A man who was pulled into the boat from the water had his hands cut to the bone through sliding down a steel wire from the stern. Mr. Page himself was fortunate enough to escape without injury, and although he was for several hours in an open boat in the scantiest of clothing, he has felt no ill effects after his terrible experience.
In the early summer of 1915, Andrew Page applied for financial help from The Lusitania Relief Fund, which had been set up not long after the sinking by the Lord Mayor of Liverpool and other local businessmen, to give financial help to those survivors or relatives of the killed who had fallen upon difficulties as a result of the outrage.
The awards committee made no grant to him, marking the file “No apparent need”, suggesting that he was probably in employment or reasonably well off.
In July 1924, Andrew Page returned to Canada and settled in Lethbridge, Alberta. He worked as a barman, and was for a time the steward at The Royal Canadian Legion Club in the city. As far as is known, he never married.
He died in Lethbridge on the 12th October 1941, aged 56 years, and he was buried in Mountain View Cemetery, Lethbridge. His gravestone records that he held the rank of Major in the Royal Canadian Army Medical Corps, however, nothing is known of his military service, but it is likely he was a reservist.
Alberta Canada Death Index 1870 – 1968, 1891 Census of Scotland, 1901 Census of Scotland, 1911 Census of Canada, Canadian Passenger Lists 1865 – 1935, Canada Ocean Arrivals 1919 – 1924, Cunard Records, Liverpool Record Office, Edmonton Journal, Fife News, Lethbridge Herald, St. Andrew’s Citizen, PRO BT 100/345, Graham Maddocks, Geoff Whitfield, Michael Poirier, Jim Kalafus, Cliff Barry, Paul Latimer, Norman Gray.
Copyright © Peter Kelly.