[From The Luton News: Thursday, January 31st, 1918]

At the morning service at the Old Parish Church, Luton, on Sunday, the Vicar (the Rev A. E. Chapman) read a letter received from his former curate, the Rev John Lawrence White [pictured below], who left Luton a year ago to take up a military chaplaincy, and after some months work at a hospital in London volunteered for service overseas.

Before leaving this country he visited Luton and was given a very cordial farewell. He is now in Egypt. His letter describes the voyage out, which was a very eventful one, as will be seen from the following extracts:

"We had a large number on board, including 150 nurses. The world is very small; on board I met two Luton young men. I do not think I ever described the services we held - two celebrations (6.30 and 7.15), two church parades (9.30 and 10.15) and an 11am service for unattached officers and nurses each Sunday and on Christmas Day, plus a celebration on each Saints Day.

"But the most wonderful thing was the daily evening service which I commenced. The Officer Commanding gave me the use of the sergeants' mess, which was overcrowded every night, men sitting on the floor and standing in every available corner. The spiritual atmosphere was most intense and the prayers and hymns very real.

"I allowed extempore prayer, and each night thoughts turned upwards and homewards in most impressive ways. From the services resulted large men's Communions, nine Confirmation candidates (whom I prepared) and many communicants wishing to join the C.E.M.S. [Church of England Men's Society]. I am sure that much good was done, men sought us out afterwards to talk about the things that really matter and about difficulties.

"On Saturday night, nearing Egypt, we had a specially fine service and gave away 100 New Testaments which we had obtained at Malta. On Sunday morning we had our usual celebrations of the Holy Communion at 6.30 and 7.15, and after the second service could easily see Egypt in the distance.

"As luggage was being got out of the holds we could not hold our usual parades. Most of us spent all our time on the promenade deck, happy in our imagined safety, discarding life belts because we were so sure of it. We heard the call of the East, intensified by the warm sun and blue sea and the land ahead. Only six miles away!

"I went to my cabin at 10.55 to robe for the service, intending to preach on Psalm 90:12 - the need of looking at life from the point of view of eternity and the necessity to seek a heart of wisdom, when there was a terrific explosion on my side of the ship.

"The boat shook violently and listed somewhat. At once we knew it has struck a mine or been hit by a torpedo. I put on my lifebelt and everyone made for their boat stations. We had had a boat drill twice a day and were proficient at the business.

"There was no panic of any sort; the nurses and men were absolutely splendid. My station was on the poop deck, next to where we were struck, and when I got there that end of the boat was sinking quickly.

"Without any boasting, I can honestly say that I had no sense of fear. I prayed for a moment and left all to God. The whole 150 women were saved, and we cheered them as they went off in boats to the trawlers which, fortunately, were near or hurrying to our aid. Rafts and boats were launched and we awaited orders on our deck.

"When the water was well covering the deck, the captain told us to clear off. There was no need to jump, we simply walked into the sea. With excusable thoughtlessness I walked in on the starboard side, a few yards from where the ship had been hit.

"The water rushing into the hole carried me against the ship, but with almost superhuman strength (for which I thank God) I did the old swimming bath trick. Turning on my back with feet against the ship, I drew myself as closely to it as I could and then kicked off as hard as I could. I was fortunate enough to find myself some yards away and clear of the full strength of the inrushing water, and before long managed to get hold of a raft.

"Eventually I got into a boat, already full, and taking an oar helped to row it to a trawler and deposited its cargo. Three boys stayed in the boat with me, and I 'skippered' and we made off again. Before we got to the trawler the ship had already sunk.

"The scene was indescribable, the bow shooting into the air and the whole ship suddenly disappearing, fortunately without very much suction. A destroyer had saved many, standing alongside the ship.

"Off our little boat went. I decided not to go to the aid of men already on rafts and safe until the other trawlers came up. Indeed, these men did not wish us to help them. We went on to the help of the men in more desperate straits away from rafts, and soon had picked up a boat full.

"Just about this stage, to our horror, the destroyer was hit amidships by a torpedo from the same submarine which had sent our ship down. I cannot describe it or our feelings for the men, saved as we thought, on the destroyer and now facing death again.

"The trawlers would not now wait to allow us to unload our boats, but hurried to the new disaster. Eventually we were picked up, and only when safe on the trawler did we begin to feel the effects of the whole experience.

"I found on the trawler a naval engineer, begrimed with the destroyer explosion, whose face seemed strangely familiar. He was Charles Pinckard, of Crawley Green Road, Luton, who used to play the organ for us at Hayward Tyler services. He had had a bad time, but was still smiling. I shared with him my slender wealth so that is he got an opportunity he could cable home.

"On land I got some hot tea and some dry underclothing, and we were motored to this camp. Really my guise was astounding, but no more so than that of the Egyptians. Still, that did not interest us, we had lost the fascination of the East. At camp, officers lent me other things, and we gathered in groups to compare experiences and to inquire about fellows.

"I have lost all, but am getting a new kit of sorts. Anyhow, I am not much the worse. The Hun chose a convenient hour and place for us, and the water was nice and warm. In a day or two I shall be all right.

"I only have what was actually on my person at the moment of the explosion, including Mr Churchward's New Testament, St Paul's Scouts cigarette case and the Luton watch which continued to go until 8.45pm. I hope it can be mended."

[No names of ships were mentioned in the Luton News report of Thursday, January 31st, 1918. However, it seems probable that the Rev White was on board HMT Aragon that went down outside Alexandria on December 30th, 1917. The ill-fated destroyer that went to its aid was HMS Attack, which was blown in two by a second torpedo from a German submarine. More than 600 people on the two ships died.]

One Lutonian known to have been on the Aragon was Pte Claud W. Gilder (The Buffs), son of William Gilder, of Moor Street, and previously employed in the advertisement department of The Luton News and Saturday Telegraph.

In a brief letter sent from a rest camp in Egypt, from which extracts were published in the Saturday Telegraph [February 2nd, 1918], he said of his ship's sinking: "The horror of it will be with me until my dying day...I had a rough time - three hours in the water, and was picked up by a trawler. It is the most terrifying experience I have been through."

One of the 150 V.A.D. nurses on board also wrote of being within sight of their destination and preparing to land when the Aragon was torpedoed.

"I cannot explain," she wrote in a letter to the Telegraph, "but I knew what was wrong. There were blanched faces and hurried footsteps, but not the least sign of panic. We had been drilled so well almost every day that we knew just what to do.

"The Tommies were perfect 'bricks'. They stood to their various posts and cheered us when our boats left the sinking ship - cheered us, although many of them were never to see land again. We got off safely from the fated vessel, and as we were luckily very near shore there were several trawlers quite close to us. They steamed up to us and we were safely hoisted safely into them."

After describing the efforts to rescue the boys struggling in the water while the ship "seemed to stand perpendicular in the water", the nurse added: "Just as we thought of moving over to another batch of men on a raft, a dreadful explosion like the first was heard. As we looked at the torpedo-destroyer, lined from stem to stern with khaki figures, we realised that she had met with a similar fate.

"It was a terrible moment as we stood there wondering when it would be our turn. More terrible it seemed, too, when we had to turn tail and flee - yes, actually flee for the shore in the trawlers, leaving these poor boys in the water.

"The next hour proved the worst we had ever lived though. We had some very badly hurt men in the trawler, and by looking after them and trying to heat up the shivering ones our minds were no little distracted from that which proved to be a dreadful crisis. Everything we saw as we ploughed through the water seemed to take the form of a periscope; every sound we heard seemed to start our nerves.

"However, at last we passed the boom, and I cam tell you there was some reaction. Not one of us had wept, not one of us had uttered a cry when the two ships went down. But when we reached the quay of the harbour, line with cheering soldiers - our own British Tommies - and heard the cheers of welcome from all the surrounding boats, it was almost more than we could bear. Ohm to feel good old terra firma again! It was grand...

"Considering the double nature of the event I think it marvellous that there were not more. Many of the officer and men who were in the destroyer described their escape as marvellous. They were simply blown off into the water. Some were sucked down, but came up again; others had fearful knocks on their faces, but still came up smiling.

"New Year's Day dawned rather sadly for us. We had lost everything and were far from home. However, we were all in the same boat. We have our health and we have each other, so are we down-hearted? No!"

[Beds & Herts Saturday Telegraph: February 2nd, 1918.]