Sgt Arthur Woodcroft, R.A.M.C., whose mother resides at 73 Ivy Road, Luton, has lived to tell a thrilling story of the tragic sinking of the troopship Royal Edward in the Aegean Sea by a German submarine torpedo on August 13th, 1915.

On Monday night [October 4th] he came home unexpectedly, arriving in England in the capacity of Acting Sergeant Major in charge of a large party of wounded from the Dardanelles, and he was off again on Wednesday night to report himself at Southampton for further service, but while he was in Luton a Reporter representative secured from him a thrilling story of his trying experiences.

It was towards the end of July that Sgt Woodcroft (pictured right) left Devonport on the Royal Edward with his Company of the Royal Army Medical Corps, attached to the East Anglian Casualty Clearing Station, for hospital and ambulance work. Numbering the officers and crew of the ship with the troops there were 1,700 men aboard, and all went smoothly and well until August 13th.

Fine weather was experienced in the passage across the Bay of Biscay, and after the vessel had left the English Channel no land was sighted till the frowning nose of "Gib" loomed into view. When, however, the ship reached a point about 70 miles from its destination there was on the sea a rather heavy swell.

At sixteen minutes past nine on the morning of the 13th, Sgt Woodcroft says a strange sight was seen. No vessel was visible on the swelly water, but out from the direction of the land, which was that of the island of Candileros, came the long wake of something travelling just under the water. It came with a sinuous serpentine movement, yet in spite of its movements it kept a straight line of direction. It was the track of a torpedo projected from a submarine which was concealed from the view of the men on deck.

The torpedo, says Sgt Woodcroft, struck the ship near the stern. There was a terrible explosion, and the stern end of the ship was completely blown away, breaking off by the engine room. Somebody must have gone down there with the stern end of the ship, but almost everybody left and were soon on deck.

The men took a calm attitude till in only four minutes the vessel dipped down by the stern, and all hands were precipitated into the water. Then, continues Sgt Woodcroft, the boys, as long as their heads were above water, actually sang "Tipperary" and holloaed out the query "Are we downhearted?" followed by a unanimous cry of "No!"

And so over a thousand gallant fellows went down to the depths. Sgt Woodcroft's subsequent experiences should be told in almost exactly his own words.

"I sank in the water for what seemed a good part of eternity, for I was dazed from a blow on the head which I had received - I could not tell from where - I can only suppose it was from one of the pieces of wreckage sent flying by the explosion. When I came to the surface, I was bumped right against a mass of floating broken timber. I caught at this, as I suppose I should have caught at a straw. It was lucky it was so handy, for I cannot swim a stroke.

"Did I think of my sins and my debts? Not much fear, I was too busy thinking of my own life." The Sergeant was asked if he meant his past life. "No," he said, "I was only anxious to save my life for the future.

"I did not look around me much, but remember seeing blots on the water, which marked where other men were floating. The water was cold, but the sun shone with a terrible heat on my exposed head. I held on till my arms, and in fact all my muscles, ached terribly. It seemed a long time, and at the end of it I only know I was picked up.

"The next thing I know was finding myself on board a ship. This proved to be the Ajax, a cargo boat of Liverpool. The crew had picked up altogether 46 of us, officers and crew of the Royal Edward and soldiers.

The Soudan, a hospital ship, picked up about 400, and about 100 were picked up by a French torpedo boat. Altogether 602 lives were saved, which left over 1,000 unaccounted for."

[The Luton Reporter: Monday, October 11th, 1915]