Features section - 25 February 2007
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Anniversary: Did the LACONIA hasten America into WW1?

Sensational stories sell newspapers, they can also help change the course of history.

When people talk of what made America finally give up her isolationist stance and take the decision to take sides with Great Britain in the First World War in 1917, there are many reasons given, and some are very convoluted. One may wonder if perhaps there was a simpler, more straightforward reason?

Before we get to that, let's go back just a little farther and stand on the banks of the Tyne and regard the Wallsend shipyard of Swan Hunter and Wigham Richardson, a yard as steeped in Cunard history as Liverpool or the Clyde. It is the 27th July 1911 and you are witnessing the launch of yet another Cunarder by the yard, the ss LACONIA. Not as impressive as the MAURETANIA (which they built in 1907) in looks perhaps, the famous four-stacker being significantly bigger, but she is a reminder of the first 'modern' Cunarders CAMPANIA and LUCANIA, albeit larger and with higher sides.

At this point you will no doubt ponder her future as you see her slip majestically into the Tyne, but you will not be thinking how short her life will prove to be, nor that she may rock a nation.

She was fitted afterwards with quadruple expansion engines built by Wallsend Slipway Co and kitted out to take 2,200 in third class, 350 in second and a very fortunate 300 would luxuriate in her 1st Class saloons and cabins when eventually, completed and ready for her career as a transatlantic liner she began service on 20th January 1912, leaving Liverpool for Queenstown then across the Atlantic to New York.

If they had had the means to procure a peek at it, The Shipbuilder, Volume II, No 22, published in the Autumn of 1911 would have furnished maiden voyage passengers opting for the lowest price tickets with the following encouraging overview prior to booking their passage:

"The third-class passengers are extremely well catered for, and have provided for them enclosed cabins with berths of modern type for two or four persons, while there are also a number of six-berth rooms for the use of families. The main dining saloon is situated on F deck amidships and extends the full width of the ship. It is a spacious and will lighted apartment, and is fitted with revolving chairs. Two small dining rooms adjoin the main saloon. The remaining third-class public rooms include a social hall on D deck and a smoking room and ladies' room on E deck, all comfortably furnished and well lighted. "

The excitement and glamour of these golden years of steamship travel were not to last however. Just as we saw in Wednesday's day in history feature about the AQUITANIA, war would interrupt possibly the most romantic age of ocean travel in a cruel juxtaposition, turning that excitement and glamour to dread fear and misery.

LACONIA, like so many other liners when war broke out in 1914, had her civilian career abruptly terminated and pressed into service as an armed merchant ship. She performed sterling work in her role in the Indian Ocean and the South Atlantic for two years, returning to Cunard in 1916, when once more, she took up her station on the Atlantic, leaving from Liverpool on the 9th September bound for New York.

Saturday 17th February 1917 she departed New York, bound for Liverpool on her last voyage. On board were 73 passengers and a crew of 216. Amongst the passengers was an American journalist, a 29 year old handsome adventurer, Floyd Phillips Gibbons who as foreign correspondent with the Chicago Tribune had already achieved legendary status for his daring and bravery in reporting on the Mexican border war.

Floyd Gibbons new that when he boarded the LACONIA there was every chance she could be hit or rather, he probably hoped the chances were high. He wanted to experience and write about how it felt to be at danger from the German navy, what it was like for the ordinary men women and children who braved the foe on the oceans and seas between New York and old Liverpool. This, after all, was his job.

A week after leaving New York, on the Sunday afternoon, 25th February (yes, it was a Sunday that year too) they were nearing the area considered most dangerous and seeking to draw out some of the worthies in the smoking room. He asked them what were the chances of being struck by a torpedo.

I'll let him tell you what happened...


"Well," drawled the deliberative Mr. Henry Chetham, a London solicitor, "I should say four thousand to one."

Lucien J. Jerome, of the British diplomatic service, returning with an Ecuadorian valet from South America, interjected: "Considering the zone and the class of this ship, I should put it down at two hundred and fifty to one that we don't meet a sub."

At this moment the ship gave a sudden lurch sideways and forward. There was a muffled noise like the slamming of some large door at a good distance away. The slightness of the shock and the meekness of the report compared with my imagination were disappointing. Every man in the room was on his feet in an instant.

"We're hit!" shouted Mr. Chetham.

"That's what we've been waiting for," said Mr. Jerome.

"What a lousy torpedo!" said Mr. Kirby in typical New Yorkese. "It must have been a fizzer."

I looked at my watch. It was 10:30 P.M.



From then on he gives a highly descriptive account, describing the efforts to get onto boats, the confusion. The eventual, haunting loss of the liner as she rears into the night sky and slips down, lost forever, and of the sickeningly eerie approach of the glistening killer that had sent her to her grave.

He writes it all down thirty hours after the event, including details of the dead. Only twelve perished, but of that relatively small loss were three Americans.  Two of them a mother and daughter from Chicago. The story would be printed in the Chicago Tribune and it took America by storm.

And it was this story, the loss of the Tyne-built LACONIA on the 25th February 1917, Floyd Gibbons would maintain, was the final straw for President Wilson, the president who was re-elected by a narrow victory in 1916 with the slogan, “He Kept Us Out of War,”

Five weeks after it was printed in the press, America abandoned neutrality and entered the Great War.

 

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