BY DENE BEBBINGTON

During the heyday of ocean liners crossing the Atlantic captains were expected to schmooze passengers, as on cruise ships today. In that case, we may wonder why a man who called them “a load of bloody monkeys who are constantly chattering” ever wanted the position. William Turner (1856-1933) dreamt of earning a captainship and had fewer qualms about the worst case duty of going down with his ship should it sink. Except for a miracle, that would have happened.

Born in Everton, as a young boy William lived in a maritime milieu. Living near to Albert Dock he could see where his father was an officer and watch the noisy bustle of ships being loaded and unloaded. Once shown around his father’s ship, the sea’s call gripped him, to the dismay of both his parents who knew the rigours of that world and wanted him to enter a Church career. He had no inclination for a sedate ecclesiastical vocation, later bluntly calling it the “Clerical life of a Devil-dodger”!

Sailor life had a greater allure for Turner who refused to be persuaded otherwise, so his parents relented and gave him permission to pursue it at the age of 13. His entry job as cabin boy nearly ended in an early death when gale force winds forced the vessel onto a reef off Northern Ireland’s coast. Knowing how to swim undoubtedly saved his life since he made it to shore through churning waters.

Far from a fainthearted type, that early disaster failed to frighten Turner into being a landlubbing devil dodger, or to end his dream of ultimately reaching the rank of captain. He soon got a position on a clipper and there learnt seafaring skills. Neptune again refused to take him under when, as second mate on another ship, a wave washed him overboard while fishing from the deck edge. Aided by a lifebuoy, he swam to a rope ladder while fighting off a stubborn circling shark.

At age 30 he went on to pass the Master of a Square rig ship exam, taking him another step closer to captainship with the prestigious Cunard Line which only considered applicants for the rank if they’d commanded a square rigged sailing ship. Once he gained that experience he rejoined Cunard in 1890 as a First Officer, and later was promoted to Chief Officer.

It took Turner until 1903 to be made captain, and though he had most attributes required, he lacked an amiable personality expected by first class passengers seeking the cachet of sitting at captain’s table. Instead, he’d eat on the bridge.

Normally, aloofness with passengers would be a handicap in his position. Perhaps he too was surprised that ironically his manner drew people to Cunard in the hopes of seeing their standoffish captain who refused to pander to them. Yet, it’s unlikely that passengers knew his nickname of “Bowler Bill” from wearing a bowler hat when on official business in port.

The First World War propelled RMS Lusitania into history. In 1915, the more stoic Turner relieved anxious Captain Daniel Dow from command of the liner because he stressed about wartime dangers to the ship and all those on board. Sailing the North Atlantic route between New York and Liverpool certainly ran a risk of patrolling U-boats spotting them, and even civilian ships were considered fair game in case they secretly transported munitions. Speed was a liner’s only defence – known as one of the “greyhounds of the sea”, outrunning a submarine posed no difficulty for Lusitania.

Whatever concerns Turner may have harboured about lurking submarines, he didn’t air them publicly, telling one passenger that, “Why it’s the best joke I’ve heard in many days, this talk of torpedoing the Lusitania.” Regardless of that confidence, German threats were deadly serious and no joke. On the afternoon of 7 May 1915 they made good on that threat.

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A torpedo struck Lusitania while she passed by Ireland’s southern coast, eventually sinking her and causing the loss of 1,197 lives. Turner remained on the bridge according to the noble tradition of a captain going down with his ship. Miraculously, his life jacket’s buoyancy refused him that fate as water surging into the bridge shot him out and into the sea, like a cork popping out of a bottle. In the water he swam to a man who’d also been lucky after engine steam thrust him out of a funnel that he’d been sucked into.

Following the sinking ordeal, Turner subsequently faced a bureaucratic one. The government tried to scapegoat him at the inquiry since they had good reason to deflect attention away from the Admiralty which had secret knowledge of specific U-boat activity. However, the inquiry exonerated Turner who, unsurprisingly, felt bitter at his unfair treatment. Lord Mersey who led the inquiry expressed his indignation about the situation by waiving his fee and noting that, “The Lusitania case was a damned, dirty business!”.

In 1919, at the age of 63, Turner gave up a life at sea and retired, seeking a quiet life with his housekeeper cum partner. But retirement wasn’t too quiet. He played a fiddle to local kids whom he taught to sing sea shanties, showing that you can take the man away from the sea but not the sea away from the man.

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Dene Bebbington is retired and writes in his spare time for various magazines. His website can be accessed here.