Annie Ratcliffe was born in Astley Abbotts, near Bridgnorth, Shropshire, England, on the 23rd December 1875, the daughter of Joseph and Catherine Ratcliffe. Her father was employed as a groom, and in later years, the family home was at Cross Lane Head, Bridgnorth, Shropshire. Her mother had previously been married, and widowed, and had two children from her first marriage to a man named Jones. Annie was the eldest of nine children from her parents’ marriage.
It is not known when she left England, but from around 1903, she was employed by a number of wealthy families as a lady’s maid, and toured many parts of the world as a result.
She eventually settled in the United States of America, where she met James Richardson, who was a maritime engineer, originally from Greenock, Scotland, and the couple married on 10th June 1914 in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. The couple worked for George W. Childs, the head of a wealthy American family, on board his yacht, Alcedo, Mr. Richardson as engineer and Annie Richardson as a lady’s maid. In 1915, they were based in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, in the United States of America and lived at 1603. Columbia Avenue, there.
In the spring of 1915, however, Annie Richardson was pregnant and decided, to travel back to England to have her baby, and also spend time with her widowed mother. Her younger brother had enlisted in the British Army at the outbreak of the war, and Annie wanted to return home to support her mother at this time. She booked passage
as a second cabin passenger on the Lusitania. She occupied a berth in cabin E112 during the voyage. She described her experiences, which were then recorded in the archives of The National Galleries and Museums on Merseyside and stated: -
Owing to my health, doctors advised a trip home to England. 1 had arranged to sail on the S.S. Lusitania due to leave New York on May 29th 1915, but owing to the intense heat we had then in Philadelphia (which was almost unbearable) I felt it impossible to wait. I then applied for a berth on same ship sailing on May 1st. (The) reply was that every berth was taken. In the event of anyone cancelling their sailing, they promised to notify me at once.
I had almost given up hope when a wire reached me on Friday morning to say a berth had been secured, sailing mid-day Saturday. My husband and friends came to see me off, they were naturally all very anxious, fearing what might happen. There were warnings in several of the daily papers, that (the) ship would be torpedoed. Shortly before we were due to sail a message was received to wait for the passengers of the S.S. Cameronia, as she had been chartered to fetch troops from Canada it was 2 pm before we sailed.
In point of fact, the Lusitania was scheduled to sail at 10.00a.m., but having waited to embark passengers, crew and cargo from the Cameronia; she actually left her berth at Pier 54 in New York just after 12.20 p.m., so Annie Richardson must have been mistaken.
All went well until May 7th. That morning we sighted land, it was perfect weather, sea as calm as a mill-pond. I had taken up lunch as usual (first sitting) the steward that waited on our table was so kind, he was really not fit to be working, he said. He was suffering from malaria. Knowing I was ill he always took so much trouble to get me something I could take. I went to my cabin to pack a few things I did not need again, promising to join some friends in the reading-room a little later. Just before leaving my cabin I stood looking through the port-hole, when there came a terrific crash as if the ship was being split in two, not far from where I stood. I picked up my hand-bag and hurried to see what had happened. When I reached the dining saloon, passengers who were at lunch (second sitting) were rushing out from among the broken glass and china. Evidently, as soon as the ship was struck she listed, throwing everything off the tables in all directions. The poor stewards were as white as death. They knew the worst had happened and they had to stand at their posts, all trying to help, and not alarm the passengers. I made my way up to A deck among the terror-stricken crowd, some trying to find their children or wife or husband, many never saw each other again. The lifeboats on the starboard side were swung inwards and passengers were scrambling to get into them. I stood watching for a few minutes when I heard a call from the port side "Come this way". I went in that direction, the decks were damp.
In point of fact, as the Lusitania was struck on the starboard side and commenced to
list that way almost immediately, the starboard boats actually swung outwards. The port side boats swung inwards and this is probably what Annie Richardson meant and she has probably confused either the words or the sides.
I slipped and fell full weight on my back, when I tried to get up I thought my spine was broken. Had it not been that a man came and picked me up almost immediately, I should have been trampled to death in the crush that followed. This man had had orders to man the life-boat so he took me to the boat. On this side the boats were swung out, making it very difficult for them to be lowered, the result was with two, all occupants were thrown into the water. The terrible things one saw during that short time would be difficult to express, some running to and fro in a dazed condition, while chairs and numerous things were being thrown over-board, in the hope of helping the mass of humanity struggling in the water, many already dead while others made a frantic effort by raising their hands hoping against hope that they would be picked up. The screams from those thrown from boats was heartrending and the hundreds of hands above the water was a sad sad picture never to be forgotten.
Several were picked up out of the water - one an old lady of 95 yrs old, by this time our boat was very crowded, at the last minute a French gentleman rescued a tiny baby only a few months old which I nursed about four hours, poor little darling cried until exhausted then fell asleep, we never learned the fate of the child’s parents. When our boat was about to leave the wreck, a steward called from the deck "Passengers be calm the boat will not sink". Almost immediately the ship plunged forward and rolled over (the steward just leaped on to our boat). We then hurried to get away, the look of terror on the faces of the men rowing was dreadful, they feared we should (be) beaten under the funnels as the ship came over on her side before she finally sank at 2.30.
We fortunately escaped by a very short length. There was not a ripple on the water which was in our favour, there was no ship in sight; two stewards rowed until their poor hands were blistered. They had done all they could to help the women and children into the boats but many had no chance to save themselves. As we rowed along we met different ships who kindly offered us help, but they were entreated to hurry to the scene of the disaster to help if possible to rescue some.
After rowing along about two hours we came across a fishing boat with four men in, they volunteered to tow us along, I think we really had no seamen on board, the man that picked me up was not one of the crew, he was working his passage home.
About 7.00 p.m., a Government boat picked us up. By that time I could not walk, so someone took the little baby from me. A little later a second lifeboat came alongside, among the passengers was a Scotch girl, we shared the cabin coming across, we certainly were delighted to meet and did not part until we got to Crewe, each on our way home. Ours was the
first boat to arrive at Queenstown about 9pm.
Crewe was and is a railway station in Cheshire, with links to the rest of the country. Passengers passing through there would make a stop to change to a train going in their direction.
The town was out; doctors, nurses, ambulance waiting to take those that needed to the hospital, so many were injured. There was a line of sailors on either side as we walked from the boat. A doctor ordered a sailor to carry me to the post office and {send} a cable to my husband in Philadelphia and (a) wire to my friends in England. A letter reached my mother only two hours before the wire, saying I still hoped to sail on May 1st. Needless to say those were two anxious hours before hearing I was safe. Later a sailor carried me to a small hotel nearby, where Miss Scotch girl and I spent the night together. The people at the hotel were so kind to us, in a few minutes they brought us hot tea and toast. It was very sad to hear a lady who had a room near us crying hysterically for her dear little baby, only fifteen months old, she was such a sweet little girl, passengers were all so taken up with her during the trip across, later we found there was also another lady in the hotel who had lost her baby. What a cruel war! The sirens were going all night, which told us they were bringing in the bodies of the unfortunate victims that had been picked up.
At 2.00 a.m., a police officer and reporter came to our room for information taking our addresses in England. In the morning (a) doctor came round, I was still only able to shuffle along, he said the nerves at the bottom of my spine were bruised. With my friend’s help we went to the Cunard office, where numbers were laid out in rows for identification. One lady lay with her baby tightly clasped to her, the second officer was also among them, what a gruesome sight, I may add that there were over fifty babies under one year old on board.
The second officer on board the Lusitania was Percy Hefford who came from Wallasey, Cheshire, on the opposite bank of the River Mersey from Liverpool, but although he was a casualty of the sinking, his body was never recovered and identified afterwards, so Annie Richardson must have been mistaken as to his identity. It is possible she meant staff captain - not second officer, as Staff Captain James Clarke Anderson, who came from Liverpool was killed and his body was recovered and taken to the temporary mortuary set up in the yard of the Cunard offices at Lynch’s Quay, on the waterfront, where it was identified.
After a while we went to some of the shops to try and get clothes. I only had a skirt and white blouse and by this time it was very dirty, (through) falling on the deck, and scrambling in the bottom of the lifeboat for a time. Anyway we did the best we could, the coat I had was big enough for a person almost as big again, a tiny black hat that I pinned a band of velvet to and a black (bottle cleaner, I called it) up the side. What joy it was meeting so many passengers we thought were lost; and sad to hear their
painful experiences.
One young couple got in the lifeboat, husband carrying baby, he was struck on the head with something and lost their baby. One lady and her boy of twelve years were on the deck, they could not persuade her to go in the lifeboat; when at last the boy said “Now mother you must jump“, but he had to push her over and jump himself the mother said her hair got caught in something and she feared her scalp would be torn off. After what seemed a long time the boy was picked up, but they did not notice the mother, she felt she could hold on no longer, then her boy said “Can't you save my mother“, so she was picked up at last; this is one of the many sad stories. Orders were sent for passengers to be at the station at 2.00 p.m..
It was a long weary queue that waited outside the ticket office. St Johns Ambulance was there, several fainted, others completely collapsed. I was unable to stand in the queue so missed going by express. I was among those that left on the slow train at 4.00 p.m.. Coffee was served to us prior to the trains leaving.
A young Church of England Curate who was returning from Canada, (he had been in the water several hours, but quite forgot his own injuries for the time) took charge of about forty passengers and sent a wire to the hotel in Dublin to meet so many survivors, also to Lerwick to have luncheon baskets provided by time we arrived.
We reached Dublin shortly after midnight all icy cold. We were conveyed to the Empire Hotel, where the proprietor and his wife did all they could to make us comfortable.
Many passengers (not in our party) left by early boat, but we were advised to rest and be ready to cross in the evening. Needless to say, it seemed terrifying to go on the water again, after what we had gone through. We were truly thankful to see the lights from the coast and more so when we had all landed safely at Holyhead. (The) train was waiting. When we got to Crewe, many had to change. I had a wait of four hours, during which I met many other passengers, some (had) lost their husbands, others their wives, one lady had lost her two boys, eleven and thirteen years and she was taking charge of a little girl, of five years, who had lost all, mother, father, aunt & uncle that were with her, the child said “They are all down in the sea but my Granny will meet me at Liverpool.”. She was too young to realise her loss, poor darling.
This little girl, of five years was Helen Smith, originally from Swansea in Glamorgan, Wales, but who had been living in Ellwood, Pennsylvania, in the United States of America, with her family. As a result of the sinking, Helen Smith lost her parents and her little sister Bessie, her uncle Herbert Owens and her two cousins, Ronald and Reginald Owens. The lady who had lost her two boys, eleven and thirteen years was in fact Helen’s aunt, Mrs. Owens, and her two boys, eleven and thirteen were Ronald and Reginald, her sons. Annie Richardson’s account continued: -
The number missing was 1,198 about 500 saved. I arrived safely at my destination on Monday morning about 10 00 a.m. and although they knew I was saved, I might have been injured, so my mother was greatly relieved when she saw me.
It was a trying ordeal relating my experiences to so many who came to see me. I stayed in the country about ten weeks during which time my young brother came on leave and then left for France. I came to London to stay with friends. After two weeks I went to Scotland and when I returned three weeks later, at Euston station there was a big crowd and all available taxis were soon taken, so I had to take a hansom. When going along Marylebone Road a bus ran into us, knocking the lamps off and other minor details. I was very thankful when I reached my friends house, but I did not get over that shock for several days. Later there were several air-raids, my friends husband was a special, so we always knew when they were expected. After several weeks my brother was wounded and sent to Fulham hospital. It was a comfort to go and see him. The first day he was allowed out my elder brother came through, spending a few hours with us before leaving for the front. Those were sad times seeing the trains with the men leaving for the front.
I had hoped to return to America in September and so escaping the summer out there, but (the) doctor said I was not in a safe condition to travel. My little baby girl was born on December 14th, but she only lived a few hours. I was very ill for some time. It was the month of June before I was strong enough to think of going back to Philadelphia to my husband. I sailed from Liverpool on the S.S. Philadelphia. I felt nervous at night when awake and realising I was on the water. Fortunately I had a very congenial lady sharing the stateroom. She suffered from insomnia, and begged me to speak to her so that helped me so much. We had an uneventful trip. My husband met me at New York, after being separated thirteen months. If only I had had my baby with me, but instead only a trunk of baby clothes. Still we were happy to be together again and with very little trouble getting through the customs, we soon got a train home. By this time one heard little else except war with all its horrors. I soon started work at British headquarters making surgical dressings etc.. I also got my certificate for first-aid, then America came into the war.
My husband was anxious to return to England for the duration of the war, but naturally after my experience he did not want to leave me behind. At that time passports were not being issued for women, so I was fortunate having had mine to return to America in 1916. My husband had no difficulty of course. The British Consul in Philadelphia 'visa-ed' my passport, but that did not guarantee my getting on board without first going to the British Consul in New York, which we did. We arranged to sail on the S.S. Orduña, which gave us about ten days to dispose of our furniture etc.. Three days later word came the ship had been chartered to carry troops, the S.S. Pamonia would be monia would be
We were 65 passengers and proved to be a very congenial party, among which were the management of the "Lilac Domino", which was played later at the Empire theatre, London. .....
After our first day out we encountered a severe storm, during which one of our lifeboats was lost, and when (it was) picked up later the news was in New York that the Pamonia was lost. The gale seemed terrible at night, the ship being tossed first to one side and then another, many were thrown from their berths. There was a dreadful smashing of china which all seemed to make things sound worse. My husband being a marine engineer repeatedly answered me that it was all right. Although having crossed the Atlantic nine times previous, I was accustomed to sailing, but that night I really wondered if we should see morning.
The S.S. Pamonia was the fastest ship in a slow envoy of twenty-one ships leaving New York, headed by a "Cruiser" Carmarthern. I had very little sleep and would have been glad to stay in bed later than usual, but my husband insisted that fresh air was the best, so with difficulty I dressed but we found it too rough to attempt walking on deck. We went to breakfast and found I was one lady among the five passengers visible, and we had a struggle with ours, my husband had his porridge, just reached for the milk, the ship gave a lurch and next minute his plate of porridge was upside down on the floor. .....
I may add that it took 17 days to cross from New York to Liverpool, we had to go, so far south to evade the submarines, so it was up to us to make the best of it, not knowing when the worst might come. During this trip (the) passengers had to do boat-drill. When in the dining saloon we often saw sailors scrambling up ladders in answer to a siren call. One always wondered was it drill or danger.
One day a lady and I were walking round the deck. We saw a sailor at work, we stopped and asked him if he thought there was any danger, to which he calmly replied - “Of course. I am not supposed to tell you this, but we have seen three submarines today“. Cheerful news, we thought, but did not pass it on, as we felt sure that could not be true. The cruiser ahead stopped in the early part of most days to pick up the other ships, some of which we never knew what happened to them, as we were only 17 ships reaching Liverpool.
When nearing a danger-zone we had a mine-sweeper ahead, also torpedo boats in every direction. A French cruiser came behind us, the evening before we landed. .....
The Captain gave orders (that) all baggage be taken up on Friday night, (and) breakfast early, hoping to land shortly afterwards. During the night we ran into a thick fog. Sirens were blowing all around, the pilot would
not come out, as they feared if the fog lifted we may be torpedoed. Many of the passengers got very nervous, we waited all day, hoping to land at anytime. At 9.00 p.m., The Captain gave orders for beds to be made up, as passengers had to remain on board.
The fog did not lift until about mid-day Sunday. We all landed safely about 2.00 p.m., feeling very thankful for safe arrival and glad to be amongst our own people and share their hardships, doing our best to help in every possible way for the duration of the war. My husband worked in ship-yards in Greenock, and later at the London docks, often working two days and nights without rest, ships being disabled constantly coming in for repairs, and thus we ploughed along, as the fly said to the ox.
In correspondence to the Cunard Steam Ship Company following her return to England in May 1915, Annie Richardson gave her address as 124. Shiel Road, Liverpool, and later stayed with a Mrs. Jones, at 21. Sunderland Terrace, Westbourne Gardens, Bayswater, London. This might have been the wife of one of her step-brothers from her mother’s first marriage.
Annie and her husband remained for the remainder of their lives, and when she died on the 4th January 1961, aged 85 years, she was a widow, residing at Hillside Lodge, 129. St. John’s Way, Upper Holloway, London.
Probate of her estate, valued at £736-13s.-6d (£736.67½p.), was granted at Chester on the 10th March 1961 to Gilbert Ratcliffe, described as a retired gardener and Harriet Elcock, a married woman.
Register of Births, Marriages and Deaths, Philadelphia Pennsylvania Marriage Index 1885 – 1951, 1881 Census of England & Wales, 1891 Census of England and Wales, 1939 Register, New York Passenger Lists 1820 – 1957, Cunard Records, Probate Records, NGMM DX/1729, UniLiv D92/2/375, Graham Maddocks, Geoff Whitfield, Michael Poirier, Jim Kalafus, Cliff Barry, Paul Latimer, Norman Gray.
Copyright © Peter Kelly.