Winifred Mary Hull was born in Nottingham, Nottinghamshire, England, on 8th September 1881, the daughter of Herbert Henry and Ruth Keeling, (née Parkes). Her father was a house painter and decorator, and the family moved from Nottingham to Wallasey, Cheshire, when she was a teenager. She left school when she was ten years old and whilst in her early twenties, she studied domestic science at a Cheshire college. The family home was at 9, Clifford Road, Poulton, Wallasey.
As a result of this, she went out to Canada in 1912 to take up a position as a cook and whilst there, met Robert George Hull, (known as George). They fell in love and were married on the 4th February 1914 in Winnipeg, Manitoba. Their home was at Saskatchewan Avenue, Winnipeg.
In 1915, she decided to return to her family in Cheshire for a holiday, and consequently travelled to New York City, where on the 1st May, she boarded the
Lusitania alone, as a second cabin passenger. She shared her cabin with Miss Olive North, from Heckmondwike, in Yorkshire, who was travelling from Saskatoon, Canada. They both survived the sinking by the German submarine
U-20 on the afternoon of 7th May 1915 when the liner was within sight of the coast of southern Ireland, and only hours away from her Liverpool home port. Having been rescued from the sea independently, they were landed at Queenstown.
Winifred Hull wrote an amazing account of her ordeal in a letter to her husband, George, on 11th May 1915, after she had finally arrived at her parents' home, which stated: -
Dear George,
I'm just writing a few lines to let you know I'm (not) able to do things yet. It's impossible for me to say how I feel, for at present I hardly realise that I'm alive. The events of the last few days have upset my equilibrium altogether and the fancy runs thro' my head that I shall wake up soon and find myself once more on the deck of the "Lusitania". I suppose you received my cable alright (sic). Father told me he had received one from you and had replied to it: and I sent one from the Cunard offices directly after my arrival in L'pool.
Well, I can't write as I wish to, dear George, but I'll just give you a general idea of my experience as I know you'll be anxious to hear. We had a pleasant uneventful voyage, and as far as my knowledge goes, only a few of the passengers were troubled with fears on the subject of submarines. For myself I'd none, my only premonition being the fact that on Thursday night I simply could not sleep, and lay awake listening for I knew what not; with all my nerves literally on edge. But Friday saw my friend & roommate Miss North up early on deck, but for a few hours fog prevailed. We went down to breakfast at 8.30 afterwards proceeding to our cabin and packing what things we could in preparation for landing, joking & laughing happily the while in happy anticipation of being on shore at that hour on the morrow. I think it was about 10 o'clock when we went back on deck and by that time the fog was lifted and the morning was warm and bright. We were on the boat deck the whole of the morning talking of the loved ones we were going to see after so long a time and I'm certain that neither of us ever gave a solitary thought to the possibility of our not arriving safely. We were in sight of land and home seemed too near not to be reached.
Well, the gong went for lunch and the passengers from the first sitting came crowding up on the deck again into the bright sunshine and then oh how quickly all was changed for that happy smiling crowd - (it seemed to me that almost everybody was more than usually jolly that morning) - we were half way thro' lunch and I sat back in my chair, waiting for the next course, when suddenly there came the impact of the shot entering the ship directly underneath us; the sensation I felt then has never left me yet, we felt the shot rip its way thro' the ship, and the sound of in-rushing water, following it, was awesome. Just for the space of about half a second there was silence in the dining room, and then arose an awful cry of "she's struck, she's struck"; there was a rush for the stairway; but not a panic, the screaming coming mostly from the children, I think, of whom there were such great numbers on board. For my own part I rose from the table with the others made a few steps towards the door of the saloon and then stopped, thinking it hopeless. Then I caught sight of Olive North and ran to her calling her name, I caught her by the hand but she pulled away from me without knowing it, and in a second I had lost sight of her. Then I turned & stood in the corridor at the side of the stairway whilst the rush of people towards the decks continued.
I turned into one of the cabins off the corridor to see if by any chance there was a life belt there but the ship had already listed over to such an extent one could not stand upright and the cabin was in partial darkness. I turned away again & the stairway being empty, I made my way up as best I could. I think it was just for the sake of doing something till the end came for I had no hope - you may imagine to what extent the ship had listed when I tell you that in less than two minutes of her being struck the thousands of dishes on tables & sideboards came off with heartrending sickening crashes. That was one of the most awful sounds I heard, it sounded a death knell to me.
I tried to realise that I was about to die and I could not; to think I'd got so near to my dear ones & then not to meet them. I pictured their agony of mind when they heard, and yours, who were so far away and would not get any reliable news for so long a time. But oh George in far less time then it has taken me to write this, that wonderful ship was gone out of sight.
I reached the deck and made my way to the first class boat deck where there were only three boats to be lowered. One filled and was lowered just as I reached it and I passed a little further along the deck on which it was now very difficult to keep one's footing; a man came up to me, putting his hand on my arm. He smiled at me and told me it would be alright
(sic). I looked at him & said "is there any hope?" but tho' he answered me cheerfully, I knew that he felt we were doomed. Well, I stood and watched them fill the second boat, and saw her lowered away but it was not then far from the deck to the water. Again I went on to the next boat and the ship was sinking rapidly now. I already felt deathly cold & the idea ran thro' my head to go & get my coat, I couldn't have done it of course, but I was so chilled. Well dear, I got in this last boat - we had to walk across oars from the ship, and one end of the life boat was up quite high and the other low down. To give a clear account of what followed is beyond me.
I've only impressions and visions of awful things which stamped themselves on my memory, but the boat filled and as they tried to cast her off, it seemed to me there was a rush of stokers & firemen etc., who hurled themselves into the boat, and then there were cries of "cut the ropes or she'll drag us under" and all around were piles of wreckage, the scene and awful noises were indescribable, but before we were clear I looked up and oh the awful sensation that ran thro' me when I saw those monstrous funnels coming down on us. Then I gave up all hope, how could we escape destruction? I closed my eyes & bent my head that they shouldn't strike on my face, and a little Scotch girl in front of me tried to clamber out of the boat. When I opened my eyes again the funnels were just disappearing under the water, they had slid away from us but we were all of us as far as I know, saturated with water which was no doubt thrown up by the ship as she went under, and indescribably filthy with soot and cinders from the funnels.
Confusion reigned in the life boat for some time owing to the densely packed mass of people, it was extremely difficult to unship the oars, and time after time we were in danger of being swamped, the boat dipping first to this side & then to the other, and all the time we were taking in people from the sea. However, at last they got the oars going in some wise and other men were set bailing out the water in the boat. Then a boatswain worked his way by degrees to the end of the boat where I was sat, and fixed up some kind of steering gear, but so closely were we packed together that every time he moved he hit the girl to the left of him, and then myself to his right, on the head. I think the water in the bottom of the boat was about half way up to my knees, but never at any time was I thrown into the water. Had I been, I fear I too should have been put with those silent tragic forms which filled the morgues the day following.
Whilst in the lifeboat, Winifred Hull remembered especially one first class male passenger whose one preoccupation was the loss of his silk pyjamas, whilst at the same time, a woman passenger lay uncomplaining with a huge open wound in her thigh! She continued her account: -
Many on the life boat were badly hurt and we must have been rowing for two or three hours before being picked up by a fishing trawler from Peel, Isle of Man. Ere she had taken us all on board another boat and yet another came up & discharged their living freight, the boats with their crews returning to the scene of the wreck to see if they could pick up or render any assistance to others. Within a short time after the ship sank the smoke of at least nine steamers of various descriptions appeared on the horizon but oh the time seemed immeasurably long before they reached the scene of the wreck. It seems to me that many poor souls would sight the steamers and yet perish ere help would be rendered.
T’would take an abler pen than mine to give any adequate description of the awful scenes enacted on those lovely sun-lit waters; people on rafts, clinging to pieces of wreckage, one group lying quiet on an upturned boat & one of their number trying artificial respiration upon one prostrate form, momentary visions of struggling bodies, broken boats, the upturned face of an elderly man, who tho' he had on a lifebelt, was apparently at his last gasp, a woman from my own table lying on her side somewhere; a Jew struggling to keep his head above water, women crying for their little ones, everywhere around us wreckage of all descriptions with which were mingled human beings. All these are pictured in my mind; each day that has passed since, seeming to bring fresh to my memory some incident that in the stress of other happenings, had for the time being been eclipsed.
But even on the trawler, a sailing boat, we did not feel safe. I think the fear was with us all that the torpedo boat would allow us to be taken up, and then return to do further murder. Had we had to remain on the fishing boat we could not have made land until the following day for tho' at times so clearly visible to us it was many miles away. Eventually, they signalled 'The Flying Fish' a small steamer which took us all aboard, and the speed she went thro' the water was a relief to us all. But with the best she could, it was twenty minutes after nine o'clock when we arrived at the wharf at Queenstown, and we did not land until some fifteen or twenty minutes later. Soldiers and sailors were there to help and show us the way to hotels, the streets were lined with people.
The party I was with were taken into two houses before we eventually got a room to sleep in, at each place we went into, we were given spirits. I tried to refuse the second lot and have just a hazy recollection of a man putting his hand to the back of my head and trying to force the liquid down my throat, so I took it and when I got to where I was to stay the night, the lady of the house brought each of us a tumbler with sprits in it and I took that also, and was surprised to find that it took absolutely no effect on me, as was also the case with the three other ladies (survivors) in the same room. For despite the lovely weather we were all of us wretchedly wet & cold and shook and trembled as if with ague. We went to bed, but the other ladies slept but little, & I not at all.
Early in the morning I rose & dressed tho' my clothes were by no means dry and I sat on the landing till some of the men, both passengers and crew appeared, and when Allan Beattie came downstairs, we went to see if we could send some telegrams but were unable to do so, so went back and had some breakfast, meanwhile being told that if we went to a certain store, we could get any clothing we were in need of. So while Allan got what he wanted, I got a coat & hat and a couple of handkerchiefs. They also gave me a silk waist and a tie and I had to write my name & the class I travelled in on the ship, on the bill, for them to show to Cunard. I suppose you will know Allan's name. I remember myself seeing Mr. Beattie's name in the Winnipeg papers and no doubt you know he is a chaplain with the first Canadian contingent at Folkestone. Mrs. Beattie and their only child, Allan, were travelling to join him there. I saw them at the depot at Chicago but did not make their acquaintance until we were on the ship. She, poor lady was not up till Thursday, and I had quite a long conversation with her then. Allan told me he got a life belt on her but never saw her after. He came on the trawler after me and I was more glad than I can say to see him. Despite the fact, I was very thankful I was travelling alone and had not to bear an agony of doubt as to the fate of some loved one, or have them bear that for me. Still I felt horribly lonely and I knew none of the people in the boat and they were nearly all occupied with those dear to them or people they (knew) and Allan too was alone, poor boy. So we kept closely together and nearly all the day of Saturday was spent by us going from one place to another, seeking his mother and once when we crossed from Cunard's offices a woman's voice hailed me from a bedroom window. It was poor Mrs. Baxter whom doubtless you will have read about.
I had spoken to her quite a few times on the ship as they, her husband & little boy and herself, were berthed near us. They come from Welland or Walland Ont. Poor soul, she asked if I'd seen her husband & son & I had to say No, but promised to look out for them as we went about. She was in the water until half past six and Mr. Field an Admiralty officer who rescued her, said that after working for an hour and a half he'd almost decided to let her go. She was in a terrible state but seemed to take the idea she would like to travel with Allan & I, so when we went to the Station we took her with us and held her up between us. From half past two till 1/4 after four o'clock we had to stand in the Station to get our rail & boat tickets. When we received them we took Mrs. Baxter to the waiting room & laid her down - and there I left Allan with her while Mr. Swanton, a young fellow about 19 or 20 (at whose home Mrs. Baxter & others had been housed, and clothed) took me thro' the morgues in order that I might satisfy the poor soul as to whether her dear ones were among the dead and also see if poor Mrs. Beattie was there, but I found none of them.
She later described the scene in the mortuaries where she saw bodies lying four deep and she was particularly horrified by the corpse of a young woman with a dead baby in each arm. She was later told that photographs of these three entwined corpses were dropped over the German lines on the Western Front.
In her letter to her husband, she continued to describe her horror: -
But oh George, may I be spared such a sight again, I was sick and ill with the horror of it all, but with Mr. Swanton's help I managed to get back to his Mother's home, and there for a little time broke down entirely - and the kindness shown to us all on every hand was something not to be expressed in words. Then, while I rested, Mr. Swanton went to the Station again to fetch Allan & Mrs. Baxter and the wife of a steward who was with them, and he also arranged for a hot dinner for us at a place near by. Then his Mother gave Allan a purse with some few shillings, in case we needed any before the journey's end.
Mr. Swanton took us to the Station and fixed (us) up comfortably, doing all that he could for us in every way - and so at 9.15 in the evening we started on the saddest journey any of us had ever made. We were all practically exhausted, and so nervous that t’was hard work to keep still. At about 4 in the morning of Sunday we arrived in Dublin and two other ladies (one young woman with a two month old child who never even got wet), Mrs. Baxter and myself were taken across the City in a side car to another Station where we were to get the boat train. We got a cup of coffee at a dirty old coffee stall, but we needed the drink! The rest of the party walked across the City but Mrs. Baxter was not in a fit state for that and one of us had to be with her to help her, George. I saw some many instances of calm courage but not one who showed more bravery that this frail looking woman who had been, as it were, beyond "the line", and brought again to the awful knowledge of having lost her nearest & dearest, for I fear there is no hope whatever and as yet no one of these three bodies has been found.
To continue, at 8 o'clock we were aboard the train for Kingstown which we reached in a very short time. Then came that experience which tried us most of all, the crossing from Kingstown to Holyhead. Altho' we made no mention of it to each other we all had a fear that the Germans would know survivors were on board and might repeat their inhumanity. We made a rapid passage, and you may imagine for yourself our feeling on stepping safely ashore.
Here a pleasant surprise awaited, for there were waiting on the Station officials from the Cunard who put us into our train, (they also took our names here and counted the number in the party) and said they were making all arrangements for us. The train ran a little distance into Holyhead Station and here they brought trays up and gave us all a cup of hot tea & a packet of sandwiches each which we stood sorely in need of anyway. I'm sure the refreshments eased our jadedness a little for we all, in that compartment, dosed a little afterwards. Even poor Mrs. Baxter seemed to get a few moments of something like rest and then, for the first time she cried, very quietly but I was glad in a way to see the tears, for her calm had been unnatural.
Allan and I held her hands and poor Allan, forgetting, or rather putting his own sorrow on one side put his arm around her to try and comfort her. But soon again she smiled at us thro' the tears and held up well to the end of the journey, but every station at which we stopped was crowded with people who gazed upon us as if we were beings of another world, and the feeling was not comforting. At Chester we had to change again and here they brought tea, sandwiches and cake. We took the tea for we were all so thirsty. Between five and six in the evening we arrived at Woodside (B'head) Ferry and here were more heartrending scenes, wives & children & other relatives of passengers and crew, being gathered there to see if their own dear ones were among the survivors. Many were the piteous enquiries I had made of me. It made me heartsick. Eventually, we were taken across the river, and here the crowds of people were so dense, that policemen had to make a passage way for us to the cabs they had in readiness to take us to the Cunard Offices where again our names were taken and refreshments offered. Then I went with Mrs. Baxter & Allan, (one of the officials accompanying us) in a taxi to the Adelphi Hotel, where Allan's father was staying. The meeting between Father and Son I shall not forget. What the sight of it meant to Mrs. Baxter is beyond me to say.
However, I left her in Mr. Beattie's care and that of the hotel people who were most considerate and pressed me to know if they could do anything for me. Then Mr. Gatley from the office took me back there once more and they despatched my cable to you while I was still in the office after which he very kindly took me home, where I arrived somewhere about eight o'clock I think and then for a while collapsed. Twas only the necessity for doing which had kept me up 'till then. Mother and Dad were out, had been all day on the landing stage expecting me to come by boat. But Colin went straight back to Liverpool with Mr. Gatley & found them and brought them home. They had all had a terrible time, the reaction from it has told on us all.
For myself I can't grasp anything fully. I feel the need of rest but cannot take it, I dread going to bed, it means the horrors of it all to go through again, - no sooner lie down than a nervous trembling seizes me. Still, I ought not to complain, my escape was short of miraculous and I must be, I am, very thankful to have come out so well.
The Cunard doctor told Mother to take me to Picturedrome and keep me out of doors, - have been out every day so far, but there is no getting away from (the) atmosphere created by that awful tragedy. Imagine it - from this little place there were forty people & I never chanced to speak to anyone. But there were very few people on the ship whom I spoke to, and some of these I do not even know their names.
I will conclude this now dear George, - have had to take it up from time to time, but knew that you would be anxious for some account.
Forgive the scrawl for I can't keep my pen steady,
With kind regards to all,
Ever yours,
Winifred.
The bodies of Allan Beattie's mother, Mrs. Grace Beattie, Annie Baxter's husband, William, or that of her son, also named William, were never found and identified.
The wife of a steward mentioned in Winifred Hull’s letter was third class passenger Mrs. Kate Spendley, whose husband David March Spendley had signed on as a waiter, in the Stewards’ Department, to work his passage across the Atlantic, as they could not afford the fare for both of them. He, unfortunately, perished in the sinking.
Winifred Hull later wrote to the Mrs. Swanton, whom she mentioned in her letter to husband George, to thank her for her kindness to her after she was landed at Queenstown, and that letter is preserved in
The Queenstown Story a theme museum in the town, now named Cobh. It was written from her parents' home and dated 28th May 1915. She wrote: -
Dear Mrs. Swanton,
At last I am really attempting to write a few lines to you. Will you forgive me that I have not done so before, for since my arrival home I've been in so strange a state of both mind & body that only now am I beginning to realise my own existence.
I don't know whether Mrs. Baxter or Allan Beattie have communicated with you but I heard from both last week and they had neither of them had any news of their loved ones. I fear that it is almost hopeless now. That brave little woman bore up wonderfully all the time and poor Allan met his father at L.pool, which was some consolation to both of them. I saw Mrs. Baxter off on the train to Worksop the Monday following our arrival in Liverpool. Her father and sister-in-law came to fetch her so we all felt much relieved to know she would be taken care of on the journey.
Poor little woman, tis an awful bereavement to lose both husband and child together; and I'm afraid that Allan will miss his Mother more as time passes. That poor lady little thought that her first sight of the ocean and voyage there on would end so disastrously. She was talking very hopefully of her plans, to me, only the morning previous. Will any of us ever forget, I wonder, I think not. But neither, I am sure, shall we ever forget the wondrous kindness shown to us who survived that awful experience, by the people of Queenstown, and by yourselves particularly to my friends and myself.
Dear Mrs. Swanton, words fail me utterly to try & thank you & your son and all the others we came in contact with under your most hospitable roof. How can I thank you. Kindness such as was shown to us by you & yours is something one could never repay, nor wish to do in one sense, for the memory of it is a treasure not to be yielded up till death.
Dear friend I beg you to excuse my poor halting phrases I simply cannot say what I fain would, only please imagine for yourselves the gratitude I would give expression to if I could do so.
Someday perhaps I may meet you again, perhaps then I'll be able to say all that I wish to and cannot now write. I'm so very proud just to know you.
Will you please forgive me that I have not returned before, the coat you so very kindly lent me the warmth of which I was very glad of upon the journey, and I do trust that whomsoever it belongs to has not felt the need of it very much. I would have got my Mother to send it off, but I wished to write to you myself, and Mother has been quite ill herself, the reaction of course, after that period of awful anxiety. The scarf & gloves I shall keep as treasured mementoes of your exceeding goodness. I shall never part with those! They are worth more than money to me.
Please convey to your son my appreciation of the manly part he played and the assistance he rendered in so splendid a fashion. He is one to be proud of.
My first visit to Ireland - I may forget other things, but never that.
I forgot to tell you that officials from the Cunard met us at Holyhead and we were taken care of in every way until we reached our homes. On our arrival at the offices Mrs. Spendley was taken in to the 3rd class office and we did not see her again. She broke down very badly when we reached Birkenhead. Pray forgive my scrawl my hand still trembles so that I have some difficulty in writing. If you have time to write me a few lines I shall be greatly pleased to hear from you.
Believe me dear Mrs. Swanton, yours very faithfully,
Winifred Hull.
Whilst still in Wallasey, Winifred Hull applied to The Lusitania Relief Fund, for some financial help. This fund had been set up after the liner had gone down, by the Lord Mayor of Liverpool and other local businessmen, to help survivors or relatives of those killed, who had encountered difficulties as a result of the sinking. The award committee could not have thought she was in too much financial difficulty, however, as it only awarded her a grant of £3-0s-0d..
Eventually, her husband George crossed the Atlantic to take her home, and they boarded the
Cameronia in Glasgow, in March 1916, for their return, and despite a U-Boat scare on the way, the couple arrived safely back in Winnipeg, where their only child, Ruth Corfe Hull, was born on 21st April 1919.
They returned to England in 1920, but it was not until 1926 that Winifred Hull received compensation for her Lusitania ordeal. The Canadian Commission that was established to adjudicate on claims awarded her $300 in compensation for the money and personal possessions she lost in the sinking, and $4,000 for personal injuries suffered, and her medical expenses. It was noted that she had suffered from shock and nervous debility, as well as other serious, undisclosed, symptoms, many of which she was still experiencing in the eight years from the date of the sinking to the date of the settlement of her claim.
Using that money to go back to Canada, the family finally returned to England for good, in the early 1930s, living once more in Wallasey. In 1946, Winifred Hull collapsed with a heart problem and she and George moved to their daughter's home, in London. By this time, their daughter Ruth was married with a family of her own. In a letter to Graham Maddocks in 2001, Ruth Pawling remembered: -
My mother developed heart trouble and whenever she became unconscious, she went through all that she’d seen. It would always start - “It’s Struck -”. This happened often.
Finally, after the family had moved to Croydon, in Surrey, Winifred Hull died on the 26th April 1952, aged 71, after a long illness. She was later cremated at the local Crematorium.
Register of Births, Marriages and Deaths, Manitoba Marriage Index 1881 – 1937, 1891 Census of England & Wales, 1901 Census of England & Wales, 1911 Census of England & Wales, 1916 Census of Manitoba, 1921 Census of Canada, 1939 Register, Canadian Passenger Lists 1865 – 1935, Cunard Records, Canadian Claims Case No. 865, Liverpool Record Office, Graham Maddocks, Ruth Pawling, Lorna Scott, Geoff Whitfield, Michael Poirier, Jim Kalafus, Cliff Barry, Paul Latimer, Norman Gray.
Copyright © Peter Kelly.