Irish Aboard Titanic

by Senan Molony

  In their own minds, they were already married. They worshipped each other even though they knew their love would be frowned upon, and it must have been mostly as a sign of commitment – although perhaps partly in jest and partly for secrecy or mystery – that they signed aboard the Titanic as ‘Denis and Mary Lennon’. There was no Mary Lennon. Her real name was Mary Mullin and she was the daughter of the family who ran the prosperous pub and thriving general store in Clarinbridge, County Galway, where Denis Lennon – from Longford – was working in 1912.

  The first indication that all was not well was when Mary Mullin, aged 18, failed to disembark from a train in Dublin after the Easter holidays at home in Galway. Brother Bart had been due to meet her, ready to take her to Loreto Abbey boarding school in Rathfarnham.

  Frantic communication with Clarinbridge subsequently revealed that Mary had left at the appointed hour, but now the barman was also missing. Her sister Bridget later gave this account: ‘[We] went up in the trap to Oranmore. At the station I saw a lad on the train, his name was Lennon, looking at me. Then later we got a wire from the school saying she had not arrived.’

  It turned out that Mary had indeed gone to the station, but had caught a train for Cork in the company of the barman. They were eloping.

  For years the mystery as to the identity of Mary Lennon was unsolved. Denis Lennon’s origins were established: he was born in Longford on 9 December 1891, but had left the family home. He had no sisters called Mary. In 1901, nine-year-old Denis was living at Currycreaghan, Doory, with his parents. Father William was a 55-year-old farmer, with mother Bridget considerably younger at 38. Denis was the third eldest of six children, a seventh child having died in infancy.

  Ten years later, Denis had left the three-room, three-window house, which was always severely cramped by the number of inhabitants. By 1912 he had made his way to the Titanic with a mystery woman, declaring himself a 21-year-old labourer, with ‘Mary Lennon’ stating that she was a 20-year-old spinster. For years, researchers pondered whether they were really man and wife, or somehow related. The answer lay in a single news paragraph from The Connacht Tribune, 27 April 1912:

  There were on board many Galway people, including a few from Ballymoe, and (sad to tell) an eloping couple from Clarinbridge. It is thought that the lady was saved while her lover perished.

  It was pure conjecture whether Denis Lennon could have migrated from his home place of Longford to travel well over 100 miles in a south-westerly direction across Ireland to the famous oyster festival village of Clarinbridge, outside Galway. But that is exactly what happened, as a search through the 1911 census returns for Clarinbridge established the presence of Denis Lennon at a public house in the village.

  1911 census – Hillpark, Clarinbridge, County Galway.

  Head of household – Delia Mullin (49), widow, publican. Husband Redmond deceased.

  Children Owen Mullin (22), shopkeeper; Joseph Mullin (25), bookkeeper; Bridget Mullin (19), spinster.

  Other occupants – Denis Lennon (19), shop assistant, born in County Longford. Thomas Fleming (18), shop assistant, Galway; Margaret Killian (22), servant and cook, Galway.

  There it was – but no sign of Mary. Careful inquiry in Clarinbridge yielded up the folk memory that there was indeed a Mary Mullin who had run away with a store-hand on the Titanic. She had been away in boarding school when the census was taken. She appears in the 1911 census as a pupil in Loreto Abbey, Rathfarnham.

  Her quick-tempered brother Joseph was a carter on the Galway run for Guinness, and a regular inspector of the product in his off hours. The horse would be left between the shafts for hours as sessions developed – and folklore to this day tells of Joe coming out of pubs at night to throw his spare change in the air, just to enjoy the spectacle of an undignified scramble for the coins among the locals.

  Such impulsiveness ran in the family: Joe’s father and uncle split their wealthy inheritance in the previous century by tossing a coin to decide which got the pub and which one the farm. Yet the staff of the tavern had been considerably whittled down by 1912, and it must have been a whirlwind romance that Easter holiday with handsome Denis from the exotic location of Longford. But love took its course and the young couple stole away from home:

  A young couple who were attached to each other from early youth and who came to Queenstown by appointment and secured tickets in the name of brother and sister, intending to marry in America, are both apparently gone.

  (The Cork Examiner, 19 April 1912)

  They were actually booked to travel to America on the White Star Liner, Cymric. Its cancellation was merely paradise postponed – for the couple managed to embark four days later, and this time to their delighted self-congratulation, they were travelling on the largest and most luxurious steamer in the world.

  Meanwhile, unbeknownst to them, Joe Mullin had discovered the seduction of his sister. He rushed home, loaded a revolver, swore he would shoot her defiler dead on sight, and set out for Queenstown in hot pursuit. When he arrived, he found that the tenders for the Titanic had just cast off and he pounded the barrier in frustration. Some garbled hint of such a pursuit seems to be implied here:

  Both [elopers] were travelling under false names, and the passenger list to hand bears this out … they were seen in the tender leaving Queenstown and spoken to when aboard the ill-fated vessel. The parents of the bride arrived in the city yesterday evening, and their grief can very well be imagined. Still there is hope that the youthful bride might be one of the female passengers aboard the Carpathia.

  (Cork County Eagle, 20 April 1912)

  Jimmy Lennon of Longford remembers sitting in his grandmother’s kitchen as a small boy, warming himself beside an open hearth, listening to John Lennon – Denis Lennon’s 17-year-old sibling of 1911 – tell of how his long-dead brother ran away with a girl to sea. As John told it, the lovesick young traveller was planning to marry the girl, but the couple feared disapproval and the denial of their desired nuptials. There may be an explanation for this. Denis’ mother’s maiden name was Mullen (and census returns collated by a colonially-imposed constabulary were notoriously prone to misspellings) and it might be that she and Delia Mullin were sisters-in-law. It is quite possible that one relative might have sent her boy to help out another wing of the family weakened by widowhood. If such is the case, then Denis and Mary would have been cousins and their relationship would have been likely to meet with deep disapproval.

  If they were cousins, it would explain The Cork Examiner report, four days after the sinking, that a couple who signed themselves on board as brother and sister had managed to form an attachment to each other from early youth. Such a liaison could never have been permitted to develop. The couple might have hoped to put an ocean between themselves and such attitudes, but the ocean took their lives. There is no evidence to support The Connacht Tribune’s rather wistful hope that young lady might have been saved.

  The family tale was that Denis had been stealing from the till in the Mullin pub in preparation for their new life together in America. If they were running away, it could also mean that young Mary might have been pregnant. Joe knew where the couple were likely headed – to Queenstown, to join a transatlantic liner for a new life, but by the time he reached Queenstown, the liner – the RMS Titanic – was already heading out to sea. On board were a couple subsequently said by White Star in error to be the ‘Lemons’.

  Family lore is that the police at Queenstown confirmed to Joe that there were two ‘who looked like runaways, but we hadn’t been told to look out for any runaways then’. The family solicitors, Blake & Kenny, engaged agents to question survivors in New York, and a tale emerged of a couple of the description who had either a lifebelt or a lifeboat place only for one, ‘and she said that if he couldn’t have one, she wouldn’t have one either’.

  Another story says Mary was brought alive into a lifeboat and died of exposure, but neither body was recovered.

  After the tragedy, Joe returned to
the bottle, while Mary’s distraught sister Bridget (Sissy) immediately joined the Sisters of Charity and became Sister Mary Lourdes. The family eventually went bankrupt, while the brother due to meet Mary off the train, Bartholomew (Bertie), joined the British army as a field surgeon and lost an arm in the First World War.

  An 80-year-old former Loreto pupil, Carmel McKeown, remembers that as late as 1949 prayers were still being invoked every April for Mary, the lost former pupil, and her tragedy held up as a warning against elopement or any form of premature entanglement. ‘We were fascinated by it.’

  Joe Mullin drank himself to an early death – yet his sister’s ‘deceiver’ paid a speedier price.

  Michael Linehan (21) Lost

  Ticket number 330971. Paid £7 12s 7d, plus 5s extra.

  Boarded at Queenstown. Third Class.

  From: Freeholds, Knocknageeha, Cullen, County Cork.

  Destination: Shakespeare Avenue, Bronx, New York city.

  Michael’s death was worth just $444 and thirty-six cents. And an American lawyer grabbed more than half that final sum. Here is the text of the lawyer’s letter, dated 6 May 1918, addressed to Bartholomew Linehan, the 77-year-old father of farm labourer Michael, the victim of a disaster six years earlier, who died aged just 21. The letter was addressed to Mr Linehan at Knocknaveeha, Cullen P.O., County Cork, Ireland:

  Dear Sir:

  I have collected for your account for the death of your son Michael, from the Oceanic Steam Navigation Company, as owner of the Steamship Titanic, the sum of $444.36, and have this day turned over to the United States Fidelity & Guaranty Co., of #47 Cedar Street, New York city, who executed the bond of your son Jeremiah, as administrator, for transmission to you, $206.36, being one-half of the amount received by me in settlement of said claim, less $5 paid by me as premium on the bond of your son, as administrator, and the sum of $10.85, administrator’s commissions, the other one-half having been retained by me under a written retainer of your son, of 50%, or one-half of the recovery, for services rendered by me in the matter.

  The United States Fidelity & Guaranty Company will, in a few days, transmit said amount to you by draft on the Monster & Linster Bank [sic], of Newmarket, which will notify you to call therefor when received by it, and to sign whatever papers are required of you, or the United States Fidelity & Guaranty Company may send the amount to you direct by Postal Money Order.

  Regretting the loss of your son Michael, my inability to get you any more money therefor, and with very best regards, I am

  Very truly yours,

  JRJ/FEB

  So much for the ‘Monster’ of the Munster & Leinster Bank. More than half as much money, in real terms, had already been provided from the emergency relief funds established immediately after the tragedy, as revealed in the American Red Cross report of 1913:

  No. 267. (Irish.) Young man was lost, leaving dependent father and younger children in Ireland. Emergent help was given and the case referred to the English Committee, which later made an appropriation of £45.

  Money had always been tight – which was why Michael was on his way over to America in the first place. The Jeremiah named above, who approached the lawyer to fight for compensation, was Michael’s older brother, aged 23 in 1912. He had been working in a brewery in New York, and as soon as he was able, sent funds so that ‘strong, well-built’ Michael could come over and join him in the work.

  The first news of Michael being lost came in a plaintive reference in a letter home composed by fellow Cork passenger Daniel Buckley on the rescue vessel Carpathia. Buckley told his mother:

  There is no account of … Michael Linehan from Freeholds.

  (Letter printed in The Cork Examiner, 13 May 1912)

  Linehan roomed with Buckley, Pat Connell and Pat O’Connor on board the Titanic. The other men were at first reluctant to believe Buckley when the latter jumped out of bed and felt the splash of water on his feet after the collision. They were finally roused to the real danger and began hunting for lifebelts, yet Buckley never saw any of them again.

  1901 census – Linehan. Knocknageeha, Cullen, Millstreet.

  Head of Family – Bartholomew (60). Widower.

  Children Margaret (15), Jeremiah (12), Michael (10), John (8), Bart (5).

  John Lingane (61) Lost

  Ticket number 235509. Paid £12 7s.

  Boarded at Queenstown. Second Class.

  From: Ballyshonack, Quitrent, Kildorrery, County Cork.

  Destination: Sylvan, Chelsea, Michigan.

  Home on a holiday to visit friends and old neighbours, John Lingane knew he was paying probably his last visit to his native country before his death – even if he didn’t expect the grim reaper for many more years yet. Mr Lingane was 61, had amassed a fortune in America and wanted to see old Ireland again. It would be nice too, if his acquired wealth could be the subject of congratulation among some of the people he grew up with, that their children might see what a man could aspire to through hard work and enterprise.

  But such notions were incidental to his real purpose, because John Lingane was coming home to what remained of his family in Cork for much-needed solace and solidarity following the death of his wife, Ellen, in March 1911. He intended too, to visit Ellen’s family, the Savages, who still lived in the Kildorrery area where the couple had been married on 16 May 1876.

  John was aged 25 when he married (b. 1851), and his bride was eight years older. When she died at the age of 68, he was inconsolable. Together they had forged a new life in Michigan, buying land they turned into a thriving farm, and having five sons together: Jeremiah, Patrick, James, Vincent and William.

  Michael, six years younger than John, took over the family farm at Ballyshonack, Kildorrery, when John abdicated his prevailing right to inheritance by opting for America. Michael was the perfect host when John returned, and as the weeks passed into 1912, John’s spirits began to revive. He had booked a return passage by the White Star’s Celtic, but was persuaded to await instead the sailing of the luxurious new Titanic. The coal strike, in any case, had thrown everything into confusion, and John’s family and friends in Michigan had no clear idea as to his intentions.

  After the sinking, the nagging doubts began. His local newspaper in Chelsea reported the fears on 25 April, ten days after the disaster:

  May have been on board Titanic

  The friends of John Lingane are in grave doubts as to his whereabouts. According to letters he sent to two of his friends here, he stated that he expected to leave on his return journey from Ireland about April 1st.

  It is possible that he may have sailed on the Titanic, which sailed from Queenstown, one of the principal seaports of Ireland, on April 10 [sic]. Mr Lingane was visiting at Kildorrery, County Cork …

  Among the names of the Second-Class passengers appears the name of John Legame, and his Chelsea friends fear that the name is spelt wrong. Last Saturday, W. B. Waltrous telegraphed to the White Star Line office in New York making an inquiry in regard to Mr Lingane, but received a reply that there was no such name on the passenger list.

  The uncertainty continued, until the Cork Constitution newspaper reported categorically on 11 May 1912, more than two weeks later:

  Kildorrery man amongst the victims: John Lingan [sic]

  Our Mitchelstown correspondent adds – There is not the slightest doubt about the unfortunate man’s fate. He was born at Quitrent, Kildorrery, and a relative of his, Mr W. Kennedy, RDC, Kildorrery, informed me on Wednesday that he was home on a visit, returning by the ill-fated steamer. It is believed that he was possessed of a considerable sum of money.

  Local lore says Johnny Lingane was carrying a quantity of ash plants (walking canes) to America when he lost his life on the Titanic.

  Margaret Madigan (21) Saved

  Ticket number 370370. Paid £7 15s.

  Boarded at Queenstown. Third Class.

  From: Church Street, Askeaton, County Limerick.

  Destination: 338 East 155th Street, New York
city.

  Margaret is believed to have been rescued in lifeboat No. 15, launched from the starboard side of the stricken Titanic. Born on 11 August 1890, Maggie was only 21 when she boarded in the company of brother and sister Daniel and Bertha Moran, also from Askeaton, who were home in Ireland on a holiday. Maggie was leaving an aged and widowed mother helplessly alone because of emigration.

  Missing County Limerick people

  Amongst the passengers who embarked on the ill-fated steamer Titanic on last Thursday at Queenstown en route to New York were Mr P. Ryan, Mr J. Moran, Miss Bridget Moran, and Miss Maggie Madigan, who belonged to Askeaton, County Limerick.

  On their arrival at Queenstown they were received at the boarding house of Mr McDonnell, The Beach, where the first-named met his cousin, Mr [Michael] O’Mahoney, HM Customs, who interested himself on their behalf, saw the whole party on board the great ship, and introduced them to one official on board who promised to look after their comfort and otherwise make them feel at home on the passage. Needless to say, he was shocked to hear of the disaster, and is still more grieved to find that their names are not given amongst those who have been saved.

  (Cork Free Press, 18 April 1912)

  The Titanic official to whom they were introduced could well have been Reggie Rice of the Purser’s department. He was the son of the Board of Trade’s principal officer at Queenstown. Rice, 25, born in Hull, was ‘an exceedingly affable young fellow and greatly liked by all his associates’, The Cork Examiner noted when reporting the recovery of his body.

  Margaret Madigan was originally booked to travel on the Cymric on its Easter Sunday sailing from Queenstown, but was transferred like many others on its cancellation. She was heading over to join her 34-year-old brother, Simon, who lived at 338 East 155th Street, New York, with his wife and child. Under landing records from the Carpathia, Maggie stated that she was a servant, hoping, no doubt, to find work among the brownstone mansions of the east coast elite.