Titanic Centenary Ball

Remembrance Day - a tale from the Somme....

THEIR NAME LIVETH FOREVER MORE....

On Remembrance Day it is appropriate to reproduce this story below, which in a small way, linked the Commodore Hotel to the Battle of the Somme in World War 1.....

A CORKMAN DIES ON THE SOMME

'September 1916 and the 36th Ulster Division and the 16th Irish Division are engaged in the bloody advance across the Somme. They advance some 500 yards to take and hold enemy positions beyond the shattered village of Guillemont. Of the 2,400 men engaged in the advance some 1,150 fall. Among the advancing soldiers of the 16th Irish Division are men of the 7th Leinster Regiment.

After their advance, non-combatant labour battalions are sent into the battlefield to clear up the mess left by the fighting soldiers. They clear away abandoned trenching tools and wire cutters, discarded equipment and bits and pieces of dead soldiers. It is gruesome and arduous work. Among their number is an Englishman, Private George Wiles of the Royal Engineers. As he scurries across the blood soaked ground he comes upon a great crater and at the edge of it, "as if resting after a long walk" is the body of a well built soldier from one of the Irish regiments. The Englishman is struck by his noble posture, for the dead soldier was a big man. Even by modern standards he would be taller than average, by the standards of 1914-18 he was big indeed. The Englishman goes to the body. He has seen many such dead, too many, but he is touched by the sight of this particular dead Irishman. He takes his knife and cuts open the breast pockets of the fallen soldier. From the bloody and muddy mess he takes a letter sent to the fallen man from Ireland, from his wife in Queenstown, County Cork. He buries the fallen soldier and takes from the ruins of a nearby church a piece of rubble from the destroyed structure. There are ancient crosses cut into the stones, five such crosses, and he marks the grave of the fallen Irishman with the broken stone of the church.

Later the same ground, cleared by the labour battalions, would again become a blood soaked battlefield, pounded by artillery and fought over by opposing armies. The stone marked temporary grave of the Irishman would be lost. Forever lost and he, thereafter, would only be remembered by a name cut into the Somme memorial at Thiepval in Flanders.

Later still the Englishman, alone in his own trench, by candlelight, would write a powerful and moving letter to the grieving wife of the Irishman. He poured his heart into the letter, using all the paper he had. Ten pages would he write, in pencil, telling her how he found her dear husband and what he had done with his fallen body.

The dead Irishman was Christopher Cole, Private Cole of the 7th Leinster Regiment. He came from what was then Queenstown in County Cork. Before the war he had been the manager of the Commodore Hotel in Queenstown. He had seen the innocent civilian bodies being brought ashore in Queenstown and into the hotel in May 1915, after the sinking of the Lusitania. Perhaps it is that experience that caused him to join the Leinsters to fight in Flanders.

He was such a handsome man and his dear wife had, with considerable talent, drawn his pencil portrait from which, even after all this time, you can still sense his great size and presence.

The Englishman Wiles wrote of him that, "....I came across this fellow in a shell hole (a very large one) & passed him as I passed others that lay about & something struck me to go back and see him, as he lay there as if resting from a long walk. His statue marked me very much indeed he looked so smart & a lovely build,,," " I hope dear madam you will forgive me of taking liberties with your dear husband's body. But you can rest assured (I will give you my word of honour) that he is buried & I buried him the best I could. Not so well as some but better than thousands."

It is by any measure a touching act of an ordinary English soldier for a fallen Irishman, and it must have brought enormous comfort to the grieving widow. Indeed, until she received the letter, Mrs. Coleman from Cobh had no idea what had become of her husband. She had been advised he was missing after the September battles and desperate for news of her dear husband, had travelled to Dover in the hope that he would be amongst the wounded returning from the Somme into the network of military hospitals across the South of England. It was of no avail. She advertised for news of him in the Daily Herald again without response. The letter of course confirmed her very worst fears but it must also have been a source of great relief and it is clear that she was so appreciative of the kind words of Private Wiles that she replied to him asking if he was in need of anything that she could send him to ease the discomfort of life in the trenches.

After the war, or perhaps before it ended, the Coleman's left the Commodore Hotel and left Ireland altogether, emigrating to Canada, no doubt from a ship leaving from the quayside opposite their Cobh home. The ten page pencil written letter is now held by the surviving Coleman family, in Canada. No one has ever traced George Wiles.'

This indeed was a remarkable tale and was given to us a number of years ago along with a copy of the pencil  portrait of Christopher Cole. On the day that's in it today, it is fitting to retell it here once more!

Old World charm and elegance....

The Commodore Hotel exudes Old World charm and elegance. Having being built in the mid-nineteenth century it has a certain ambience that is a throwback to a bygone age. This was captured well by, a guest who stayed with us, posting a, warts and all, review on Google. We've reprinted it here, as we think he has described the hotel to a tee. Have a read.....

“Walking through the corridors of this once majestic hotel conjured visions of Victorian ladies taking afternoon tea and sea Captains with bushy sideburns sipping black rum as they prepared to set sail to exotic destinations within the mighty British Empire. Bell boys would be running up and down the regal staircase with the valises of weary travellers. I could envisage waitresses dressed in the black and white frilly uniform of the day, curtsying to the landed gentry as they gargled Mr Hennesseys finest and barked at their servants to check the horse and carriage outside the main entrance overlooling the harbour view. Filthy rich Americans would be reminiscing about how their ancestors left this battered island without a penny to their magnificent Irish names.

What wonderful times. Well maybe! I'm not sure they were so great for the bell boys servants and waitresses - but staying at this hotel does make you think of what was. Many years have passed through Cobh since then and have been swept out to sea. These years have also taken a little of the splendour of this hotel with them. The expression faded glory comes to mind but that would be a disservice to the diligent and helpful staff working here - friendly and welcoming. But you know - a little splendour still remains and I thoroughly enjoyed my stay here. The room was excellent clean and very comfy - I adored the bowed floor - but you know just think of how many people walked over that floor and indeed who - European royalty maybe - I'm not fussy.

I took a walk onto the roof garden and was taken with the enormous chimney stack with at least seventeen pots. Think of all those buckets of coal being carried to those rooms! Great views as well - particularly on a clear blue sky day.

The Commodore is pretty much a museum piece - but in a good way. A lot of the cornicing and original plaster work is still intact - the telephone booth doors date from beyond the Victorian era but are in working order. These are all great conversation pieces whilst relaxing in the well stocked bar with expensive blends of whiskey - which apparently only filthy rich Americans buy - crikey they're still here!! The breakfast was delicious - with a great choice. Unfortunately the coach party that was staying there all decided to come down for breakfast at the same time. It was all hands on deck including the duty manager who began to have tiny beads of sweat trickle down his neck whilst clearing tables as another group of elderly folk made their way through the throng.

Off street parking is cool and free ( a returnable deposit is required ) further down the street - remember this hotel was not built with the car in mind. On street parking has to be paid for during the day - but the first hour is free. There is also a disabled space outside the entrance of the hotel.

Try this hotel as I get the feeling that it may not be here in a few years. It is beginning to creak and crumble but thats part of its charm. I can see some young whipper snapper developer claiming that it will cost a fortune to restore and will have to be replaced with one of those dreadful boring so called trendy structures that are on display nowadays in every town in Ireland. May I suggest that you grab a piece of this old world charm and well worn elegance while you still can.”

A great review and description....the only clarification, though, is that we intend to be here for a long time yet, not just a few more years. Some whipper snapper just won't get the chance! The history, the people, the ambience...its just too sacred!!!

Tales from the past....Milvina Dean and the Commodore Hotel

Milvina Dean, the last survivor of the sinking of the Titanic, visited and stayed at the Commodore Hotel on many occasions. She was invited to Cobh first by local lotto millionaire, Vincent Keaney. Vincent is a keen history buff and quite an expert on matters relating to the Titanic. At the time Vincent had set up the Titanic Bar & Grill, an almost complete replica of the Tea Rooms onboard the Titanic. He was quite anxious for Milvina to see his completed work and arranged for her to stay at the Commodore. She was quite taken by the old world style and ambience of the hotel and stayed several times after until ill health no longer allowed her to travel. Unfortunately  Milvina passed away in early 2009 and with her the last living link to the Titanic tragedy. In a subsequent 'Sunday Times' article, the following fitting obituary was given.....

'Milvina Dean, who has died aged 97, was the last survivor from the sinking of the Titanic on 14 April 1912. After decades of obscurity and shunning the increasing worldwide interest in the disaster that claimed more than 1,500 lives, she changed her mind in her mid-70's and, with a wry bemusement, largely enjoyed the sometimes near-hysterical attention she attracted. As one of a small and steadily shrinking number of survivors, she was, throughout the last 30 years, a regular attender at conventions and exhibitions across the world and was much sought-after by the media. Her freely given autograph was prized and increasingly valuable. "I've lost count of the number of things I have put my name to," she said in 1998.

Dean often had to remind the world that the White Star liner's collision with an iceberg in the north Atlantic was first and foremost a human tragedy. Her father was among the dead. She never watched Titanic, James Cameron's £125m blockbuster movie of 1997, saying that it was too upsetting to think about whether her father had leapt into the sea from the stern of the ship or had been one of the hundreds who had died when the boat had finally sank.

Exploiters of the Titanic legend or salvagers from the wreck could expect short shrift from Dean. She was particularly unhappy when a US toy manufacturer made a novelty inflatable slide based on Titanic, with a bouncy iceberg as an optional extra.

She was born Elizabeth Gladys Dean in London, where her parents, Bertram and Georgette (Ettie), ran a pub. At just nine weeks old Milvina, as her family called her, was the youngest passenger on the Titanic when her family set sail as third-class passengers from Southampton bound for New York. They were heading for Wichita, Kansas, where Bertram planned to open a tobacconist's shop. He had originally booked on another White Star liner, but was transferred because of a coal strike.

When the 46,328-ton ship, on its maiden transatlantic voyage, struck the iceberg, Bertram, unlike many who believed that it was unsinkable, immediately realised the seriousness of the situation and got his family quickly on to deck. Milvina, wrapped in a sack, her 23-month-old brother, also called Bertram, and 32-year-old Ettie all got into lifeboats and were picked up by the rescue ship RMS Carpathia. They never saw her father again.

In a mirror image of her fame in later life, Dean was briefly a media celebrity. While on board the SS Adriatic, the boat that brought them back to England from New York, the Daily Mirror on 12 May 1912 reported: "So keen was the rivalry between women to nurse this lovable mite of humanity that one of the officers decreed that first and second-class passengers might hold her in turn for no more than 10 minutes."

She returned with her mother and brother to the family farm at Bartley on the edge of the New Forest and the tragedy was rarely mentioned. She was eight years old before her mother even told her that she had been on the Titanic and what had happened to her father.

She attended local schools, but, after finding out about her past, felt that she was viewed by many as some kind of oddity or freak. She was never married and worked as a secretary in Southampton before retiring from an engineering firm in 1972 and returning to live on the edge of the New Forest. Bert enjoyed media attention until his death, in 1992, aged 82. But in 1987 Dean was persuaded to attend a memorial service in St. Michael's church in Southampton to mark the 75th anniversary of the sinking and discovered a fascination with the ship that never left her.

It opened up new experiences. She met thousands of people and visited countries she had never seen before. In 1997, she completed the journey that the disaster had interrupted, by crossing the Atlantic on the QE2 and visiting the house in Kansas that the family had intended to live in. But she declined an invitation to take a submarine trip to see the wreckage as well as a cruise to the spot where the Titanic had sunk.

However, a local street was named in her honour and a memorial unveiled at Southampton docks. She gave numerous talks to schools. In 1997 she said: "People look at me as a sort of celebrity. I certainly don't think of myself as one. But I really do enjoy it. I've always liked meeting people."

Recently, after she had had to sell family possessions in order to pay her nursing home fees, a group of friends set up the Milvina fund to assist her. Contributors included Cameron and the stars of his 1997 movie, Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio.'

(Courtesy of the Sunday Times)