#seafield — Public Fediverse posts

Redemption in Leith: the thread about HMS Cossack

The neat, well kept war graves at Seafield Cemetery include 5 men from the destroyer HMS Cossack, who lost their lives in an accident at sea on November 7th 1939, when their ship collided with the Leith steamer Borthwick off the Isle of May.

Grave marker stones for Roy Popple and Thomas C. Richmond © SelfGrave marker stones for William. H. Clarke and Stanley Cowan © SelfFour of the war grave headstones for men of HMS Cossack at Seafield cemetery in Leith. Photos © Self

The protagonists in this accident were the Cossack, one of the Navy’s big, new “Tribal class” destroyers: two and a half thousand tons of guns and torpedoes which could cut through the sea at 36 knots (over 40mph).

Brand new, the Cossack in 1938. This photograph FL 1657 comes from the collections of the Imperial War Museums

The other was the George Gibson & Co. steamer Borthwick, a ship built and owned in Leith which plied the North Sea on the Antwerp and Rotterdam route. She was much smaller than the big warship’,; over 100 feet shorter, about 1/4 her displacement and barely capable of double digit speeds on her single steam engine which had an output 1/300th of that of Cossack.

The Borthwick. Like many George Gibson ships she was named after connections to the works of Walter Scott and the Lothians

It was a dark winter night on the Firth of Forth and ships were showing only the bare minimum of navigation lights. The Borthwick and Cossack were on a parallel course, heading east off the Isle of May, with the destroyer overtaking the little steamer when, for reasons of his own, Captain Daniel De Pass of the Cossack turned across the path of Borthwick. De Pass had a bit of a reputation for poor seamanship, having done something like this before on pre-war exercises. The outcome was inevitable, the bows of the Borthwick cutting into the side of Cossack, right into the seamen’s mess where the men were just sitting down to dinner. Three men died where they sat. Able Seaman Heatherley and Ordinary Seaman Clarke were pulled into the cold, dark North Sea as the water rushed in to their compartment, never to be seen again. Three more men were seriously injured (Ordinary Seaman Clifford Harmer would be invalided out of the Navy with a hand injury) and those in the mess below were trapped for an hour, up to their necks in water. Their ship limped back to Leith for extensive repairs, the men boarded in the Seamen’s Mission. In an interview in 2005, a survivor – Trevor Tipping – pointed out the steel plate of the ship was only 3/8 inch thick and “folded back, like a sardine tin” when the collision happened.

The Seamen’s Mission on the Shore in Leith

The repairs – by Leith shipyard Henry Robb – took almost 2 months and cost £11,250 (£504k in 2023). Captain De Pass faced a Board of Inquiry, which put him 75% at fault. He was court martialled, relieved of his command and posted away elsewhere before taking retirement. His replacement was the dashing yet thoroughly competent Captain Philip Vian.

Sir Phillip Vian (1894-1968), by Oswald Birley, from the Britannia Royal Naval College

The men of Cossack, cooling their heels in Leith while their ship was repaired, raised a subscription to fund a memorial stoner to their lost shipmates out of their own pockets. It was erected in Seafield cemetery, and is situated by the Cossack war graves.

Memorial for the men lost on HMS Cossack in Seafield Cemetery. Photo © Self

The Borthwick was patched up and soon back on the dangerous Leith to Holland route. She was sunk 4 months later – on March 9th 1940 – by the German submarine U-14 off the River Scheldt, on her way home from Rotterdam to Leith. All 21 on board survived and were picked up. The newspapers celebrated on 11th March when news reached home that the men of the Borthwick had all been landed safely in Flushing.

Captain Simpson (right) and Chief Officer Jeffrey (left) of the Borthwick, on their return home after being sunk

Cossack did not leave Leith until 10th January, but was back 3 days later for more repairs after an embarrassing – but fortunately minor – collision with the cable laying ship Royal Scot in Leith Roads. She left again, returning to the 4th Destroyer Flotilla with Captain Vian now installed in command. But she wouldn’t be gone long and would return with the month. This time should would be an international hero, the victor of the daring “Altmark Incident“, a swashbuckling tale that can always do with retelling.

On the face of it, Altmark was a humble German merchant ship. In reality, she was a supply tanker for the Kriegsmarine – the German Navy – and had on board almost 300 British and Allied prisoners, merchant seamen whose ships had been sunk by the “pocket battleship” commerce raider Admiral Graf Spee in the South Atlantic.

A photo of the Altmark in Jøssingfjord , Norway.

The Graf Spee had been scuttled just off Montevideo after the Royal Navy had cornered her into a fight in the Battle of the River Plate on December 17th – while Cossack was laid up in a Leith drydock undergoing repairs. Before the battle she had transferred most of her prisoners to her supply ship, which was heading back to Germany. Conditions on board caused the British press to call her a “hell ship” and a “floating concentration camp“.

Admiral Graf Spee shortly after her scuttling. Toronto Telegram collection, via. University of York, Canada.

Captain Dau of the Altmark intended to sneak back home by hugging the coasts of the (then) neutral Greenland, Iceland and Norway. He had almost made it when, on Feb. 15th, reconnaissance aircraft out of RAF Leuchars spotted her in Norwegian waters off Bergen. The British destroyers HMS Ivanhoe and Intrepid from Vian’s squadron made to board her but the Altmark sought refuge in the safety of Jøssingfjord. The Royal Navy could only look on as the German ship was escorted into the fjord by the Norwegian Navy, who politely but firmly affirmed their neutrality and turned the British ships around.

HMS Intrepid attempting to board Altmark as it runs for the sanctuary of Jøssingfjord

Captain Vian, as commander of the squadron, made contact with the ancient Norwegian gunboat Kjell but was asshured that the Norwegian had searched the Altmark, that all was in order and it was a simple German merchant ship and not an armed, Kriegsmarine prison ship. Vian knew this was rubbish, but had no option but to retreat a respectful distance and to signal the Admiralty for orders.

Norwegian navy gunboat Kjell, around the time of the Altmark Incident

Further reconnaissance flights by the Royal Air Force confirmed that the Altmark was safely holed up right at the end of Jøssingfjord. Meanwhile, Vian’s signal found its way to the desk of the First Lord of the Admiralty, a man who had a reputation for sticking his oar in to operational matters and trying to direct operations from Whitehall. You might be familiar with his name, it was Winston Churchill.

Aerial photo of Altmark in Jøssingfjord.Photograph CS 24 from the collection of the Imperial War Museums

Churchill sent Vian a signal telling him that if the Altmark wasn’t escorted to Bergen for inspection under a joint Anglo-Norwegian guard, he was to board her and free the prisoners, that he had permission to use lethal force in order to do so and that he was to politely but firmly make sure the Royal Norwegian Navy butted out of matters. This was a blatant violation of Norwegian neutrality of course, but there was not a lot the little old gunboat Kjell could do to stop the Cossack beyond yell at her – Vian had permission to fire on her if they fired first, but to stop when they stopped.

And so Vian was set on a course of action and turned his ship around, entering the mouth of Jøssingfjord at 2200 hours on February 16th 1940. He once more went on board the Kjell, this time to give her Captain the ultimatum to either escort the Altmark to Bergen with him, or step aside. When he declined, Vian invited him aboard the Cossack for a grandstand view of what was about to follow, but again he declined. On board the Altmark, Captain Dau saw the threatening shape of the destroyer looming down the Fjord towards him. At first he made to ram her, but instead ended up running his ship aground instead. He next tried to dazzle the Cossack with his searchlight, but the British ship was brought skillfully alongside and in true Nelsonian fashion, a party of 2 officers and 30 men leapt across the gap and boarded the German ship. Legend has it that 4 cutlasses, kept on board for ceremonial purposes, were carried by the boarding party. If true, it would be the last boarding action in which such a weapon was known to be used in anger.

Painting of the boarding of the Altmark by Charles Pears

There was a brief skirmish on board but the German crew were soon overpowered. Just as things were almost over however, a German sailor fired at and injured a British sailor, and for his trouble 9 of his shipmates were shot and wounded in the return fire; 4 died and a further 4 were fatally wounded. Having taken the Altmark, the boarders now combed the ship looking for the captives they knew were held somewhere within. One sailor called “Any Englishmen in there?” into a dark hold and on hearing a cheer replied the immortal words “The Navy’s here! Come up out of it!“

Book cover, “The Navy’s Here” by Frischauer & Jackson

Less than two hours after she first entered the fjord, Vian’s ship was on her way out again with 299 freed prisoners on board (including one, an Indian seaman, suffering from Leprosy). She plotted a course for Leith and set off for home at top speed. The Cossack had last entered Leith with a cloud hanging over her reputation, but on her return on February 17th she did so triumphantly. The press cameras were assembled and waiting to welcome her back and to make the most out of this propaganda opportunity.

HMS Cossack coming alongside in Leith, with some of the Altmark prisoners aboard

Ambulances were ready and waiting to take the injured away to hospital while the newsreel cameras rolled.

Cossack at Leith, with assembled crowds and waiting ambulances

It was a rare bit of good news so early in the war, so reporting restrictions were not observed. The Scotsman carried a full page spread of photos. Many of those pictured coming ashore had lost all their possessions, some had been prisoners for almost 6 months and their families had no word of what had become of them. For weeks the papers were full of stories of reunions and heroes welcomes.

The former prisoners of the Altmark coming ashore at Leith. Pictures from The Scotsman, 19th February 1940

The Dundee Courier and Advertiser printed a picture of some 1940s medical care, with a nurse at Leith Hospital lighting a recuperative cigarette for Third Officer Leslie Ross of the ship Huntsman. 250 of the his companions were sent to the Eastern General Hospital in Leith for attention, with officials from the City and the Shipwrecked Mariner’s Society on hand to sort out replacement clothing, papers, money, cigarettes etc. and arrange lodging and travel. The sailor who had been suffering from Leprosy was taken to the Infectious Diseases Hospital (the “City Hospital”).

Leslie Ross in a Leith hospital, Dundee Courier, Monday 19th February 1940

In Stornoway, the Daily Record interviewed the 75 year old Elizabeth Mackenzie of Newton Street, who had not heard from her merchant seaman son – Donald Morrison – for over a year. She was making a public appeal for his whereabouts, he had last written to her over a year ago and was last known to be on the SS Newton Beech: that ship had been sunk by the Graf Spee on 5th October 1939. “I have been very worried because I am going blind, and I am living here with a brother who is over 80” she told the reporter. “I haven’t many friends, but the Lord is my friend, and that is enough.” The happy news about the safety of her son was soon brought to her by Donald Macleod, another Leodsach sailor who had been with him on the Altmark. “It is good news my boy is safe” she told the Record. Donald Murdo Macleod of Tolsta Chaolais had been on the SS Tairoa which had been intercepted by the Graf Spee in the middle of the South Atlantic on December 2nd 1939. Tairoa had been the penultimate victim of the German raider, and had managed to transmit a distress signal that eventually allowed the the Royal Navy to catch up with her assailant.

The crew of the Newton Beech rowing away from their abandoned ship towards imprisonment on the Graf Spee

Donald Morrison however seemed reluctant to return home and instead went to Hull, telling Macleod to let his mother know he “might go home later“. Instead he went back to sea. It seems the whole experience may have left an indelible mark on him and changed his character. He forfeited bail of £1 in Buckhaven on a charge of drunkeness in February 1941. He was soon in trouble again for going absent from his ship. In May 1941 he was hauled before the Lord Mayor of Portsmouth at the Police Court there, again for deserting a ship. Morrison could offer no explanation for being 31 hours overdue and potentially making his ship miss its convoy, beyond “I just had a good time, that is all“. The Master had dismissed him but told the court he was of good character and had been through “unpleasant experiences” and would gladly take him back again. It turned out Morrison had another ship sunk from underneath him recently and had once again lost all his papers and possessions. The Lord Mayor fined him £5 (half a month’s wages) and allowed him to return to his ship on account of his value to the war effort. He won’t have been the only merchant sailor in the War in the Atlantic to have an experience such as this, and in retrospect we can understand his reluctance to return to his ship and potential death and to want to have one more night of fun on earth…

Back in Leith, the Fife Free Press reported that the Altmark Incident was commemorated with the gift of £500 to the Leith Hospital by an anonymous benefactor on the condition that a bed be dedicated to HMS Cossack for rescuing the prisoners. For his “outstanding ability, determination and resource” and “for daring, leadership and masterly handling of his ship“, Captain Vian received the Distinguished Service Order medal and was promoted off of Cossack in July 1941. He would go on to have a glittering wartime career, and would retire in 1952 as Admiral of the Fleet. Cossack had an eventful 18 months after the Altmark, taking part in the 2nd Battle of Narvik and the hunt for the German Battleship Bismarck

The ship’s luck would soon run out however and she was torpedoed and sunk in October 1941 by the German submarine U-563, west of Gibraltar. In November 1941, the Edinburgh Evening News reported that three local men were missing, presumed killed, from her:

• Petty Officer Alexander Burton Colthart, 22, 20 India Place
• Petty Officer Douglas Maurice Gammack, 32 Parsons Green Terrace
• Assistant Cook Robert “Sonny” O’Hara, 23, 205 Crewe Road North

Her cat, Oskar, survived this sinking: legend has it that he had been the ship’s cat on the Bismarck and was plucked from the Atlantic by Cossack after her sinking. His name was said to have been derived from the code letter for “O” (with a German spelling) which was used to mean “man overboard“. Further legend has it that after surviving the loss of his second home he went on to serve on HMS Ark Royal and survived her sinking also. The whole thing was probably just a sailor’s yarn but Unsinkable Sam has garnered a cult following on the internet: you will find Facebook pages, pop history articles, Youtube videos and even computer game cameos in his memory.

Ship’s cat Oskar, or Unsinkable Sam.

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The mining of the “Saucy” and the “Firefly”: the thread about the WW2 loss of forty-two lives in the Forth

I was looking for something in Seafield Cemetery last week and couldn’t help but stop by the war graves. Some are for merchant seamen and many of them were from HMS Saucy, lost with all hands on this day (September 4th) in 1940. As yesterday was Merchant Navy Day, this is a doubly appropriate time to relate their story.

The Saucy was built for the Royal Navy in Hull in 1918 as a 600-ton, 155ft-long Frisky-class rescue tug. She was sold out of service in 1924 but kept her name and was requisitioned in 1939, returning to the UK from Shanghai. She was crewed by merchant seamen, serving under officers of the Royal Navy Reserve (RNR men were professional merchant naval officers who had joined the reserves to be called up in times of war).

HMS Saucy, pre-1924 postcard image

Saucy was based on the Forth at Rosyth, her duties to assist in any damaged vessels entering the estuary and was at sea on September 3rd (Merchant Navy Day and exactly 1 year into the war) when she brought in a damaged Dutch merchant ship that had been bombed by German aircraft. With this charge safely brought in, she headed back out on patrol in the early morning of the 4th. Contact was soon lost with her when she was in a position about 1.5 miles west of the island of Inchkeith; the unfortunate tug had hit a mine and gone down almost instantly, taking all 281 on board with her. It is not clear whose mine she had struck, it may have been dropped by a German aircraft, but just as likely it may have been a “friendly” mine that had broken free from its moorings and had floated further into the Firth.

“The Sea Mine”, Louis Raemaekers, 1916 © Edinburgh City Libraries

Of the crew the 3 officers were all RNR men and the 25 ratings were all merchant seamen. Eighteen came from the Devonshire fishing town of Brixham, 7 from the same extended family. Eight bodies were recovered, 5 of them of Brixham men and all were buried at Seafield – although one was never formally identified.

Sub. Lt. Francis Douglas Phillips (age 36), Fireman Cyril Harvey (age 20), and Fireman Samuel Piper (age 26)Sailor Charles Launder (age 36)Sailor Harry Nicholls (aged 30) and Sailor Thomas Lovell (aged 53)Sub Lt. David Llewellyn Thomas, age 29 and an unknown sailor from HMS Saucy

On this day in 2004, a memorial plaque was dedicated in Brixham Harbour to the men who were lost – it has 26 individual names, however different sources list 27 names and some say there were 28 on the ship’s roll. See footnote.

HMS Saucy memorial at Brixham, from War Memorials Online

A new HMS Saucy was named in her honour in 1942, an Assurance-class rescue tug. The wreck of her predecessor was marked with a buoy in 1940, but it was largely lost by 1945. Sonar surveys by the Navy in 1967 and 1871 failed to locate it, but it was found again by the minehunter HMS Sandown in 1992, and her divers explored the wreck in 1993 and found it to be remarkably intact in 15m of water, position 56° 2′ 10″N, 3° 10′ 33″W.

HMS Saucy (the 1942 replacement), on the Humber in February 1943 © IWM FL 8980

The men whose bodies were never found are further commemorated on the Liverpool Naval Memorial, which commemorates almost 1,400 merchant sailors who died serving with the Royal Navy during WW2 and have no known resting place.

1. Some sources say 26 or 27 were on the ship’s roll. Most also 7 seven men were buried at Seafield, however there is the grave of an 8th and unidentified victim also alongside. ↩︎

Alongside the men from the Saucy at Seafield lie three others who lost their lives to sea mines that year; Lt. D. B. Johnstone RNVR, Chief Petty Officer C. E. Baldwin RN D.S.M. and Sub Lt. C. Dobson RNVR. All three died on HMS Firefly in February 1940. Baldwin had earned the Distinguished Service Medal early in the war for being the first to defuse a German magnetic mine, allowing it to be captured, inspected and countermeasures devised.

Sub Lt. Carl Dobson RNVR, age 29Lt. David Johnstone RNVR, age 37 and CPO Charles Baldwin RN, age 40

Firefly was a requisitioned civilian trawler, hired from her owners as a minesweeper. Trawlers were perfect for this sort of work, which required a seaworthy vessel that could handle the towing of “sweeps” that cut mines free from their moorings before the crew destroyed them (usually by shooting it with a rifle until it exploded).

Oil painting of HMS Firefly by H. Trythall, Victoria BC, 1991

On February 3rd 1940, Firefly was in the Forth, her crew attempting to defuse a British mine that had gotten loose and was posing a hazard to shipping. These sort of mines look exactly like they do in cartoons; a buoyant, black sphere with spiky “horns” in which the detonators are mounted.

“Deadly Instruments of Modern Naval Fighting”, London Illustrated News, August 1914

Firefly was stopped in the water, her crew watching from the railings while a detachment in the row boat carefully manoeuvred alongside the mine to defuse it; dangerous but routine work. Without warning they were hit by the wake of a passing destroyer, which pushed the mine onto the boat. The horn contacted one of the boat’s oars, and 200-250lb of explosives was detonated. Everyone on the boat was killed instantly, as were all except one watching on deck (who would die the next day from his wounds). Only the 3 men in the wheelhouse and 1 in the galley survived from a crew of 18. Sadly one of the four survivors, Lt. Andrew Macgavin Maclean RNVR, would die in the Royal Infirmary two weeks later as a result of infection, he was laid to rest in Strathblane Parish Churchyard (I am indebted to Pat Davy of Strathblane Heritage Society for this information).

Remarkably, the vessel herself was largely intact – apart from damage to her superstructure – and she was towed into Leith by the minesweeping trawler HMS Wardour and repaired. She returned to service, recommissioning in June 1940, and serving out the rest of the war. Returned to her owners and renamed St. Just, she fished out of Harwich until 1961. Wardour herself was sunk by a mine she was clearing in October 1940 but her crew survived. In a curious coincidence, a previous HMS Firefly was one of the first ships to strike a naval mine (which at the time were referred to as “Infernal Machines”) when she and HMS Merlin ran into a Russian minefield off Sveaborg in the Baltic Campaign of 1855, although both survived. In another odd twist of fate, the Firth of Forth was the location of both the first loss of a ship to a torpedo in WW1 (the cruiser HMS Pathfinder), and the last such in WW2 (the Canadian steamer Avondale Park and the Norwegian collier “Sneland I).

“Merlin and Firefly Struck by Infernal Machines” Name, Rank & Resting PlaceName, Rank & Resting PlaceSub Lt. Walter AndersonSub Lt. Frederick JonesSub Lt. Francis Douglas Phillips (Seafield)Sub Lt. David Thomas (Seafield)Third Engineer Edward Pulham*Fireman John Clift*Sailor Thomas Coysh*Sailor Seymour Crang*Sailor William Cudd*Sailor Sidney Foster*Fireman Stanley Gardner*Fireman Cyril Harvey* (Seafield)Donkeyman Leonard Harvey*Fireman Roy Harvey*Sailor Charles Launder* (Seafield)Sailor Vincent Medway*Sailor Thomas Lovell* (Seafield)Sailor Samuel Piper* (Seafield)Sailor Harry Nicholls* (Seafield)Fireman Charles Roberts*Fireman Ralph Stamp*Fireman John Seaward*Sailor George HosieFireman Donald McGregor ReidSteward Donald ReidSailor Robert TomlinsonCook John StenhouseOfficers and men of HMS Saucy, lost in September 1940, asterisked names were men from BrixhamName, Rank & Resting PlaceName, Rank & Resting PlaceLt. David B. Johnstone (Seafield)Lt. Andrew Macgavin Maclean (Strathblane)Sub Lt. Norman Peat (Glasgow)Sub Lt. Geoffrey Vaughan (Bournemouth)Sub Lt. Carl Dobson (Seafield)CPO Charles Baldwin (Seafield)Engineman Benjamin Barker (Hartlepool)Seaman Henry Beavers (Preston)Second Hand John Cowie (Buckie)Seaman John Clay (Preston)Seaman Cook Walter Johnson (Great Yarmouth)Seaman Peter Reid (Buckie)Seaman Alexander Stewart (Buckie)Seaman James Stewart (Lossiemouth)Second Hand Edward Barker (Cleethorpes)Officers and men of HMS Firefly, lost in February 1940

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The Great Storm of 1901: the thread about the tragic loss of the cutter “Active”

On the 12th November 1901 a terrible storm formed over the North Sea and battered the East Coast of Scotland. The Firth of Forth felt its full fury and by the following morning twenty men would lie dead in the cold waters of Wardie Bay, when the Royal Navy cutter Active was driven ashore and wrecked against the Granton Breakwater.

Headline from the Edinburgh Evening News, 13th November 1901.

The Active was a 135 ton sailing yawl, built in Kent in 1867. For 20 years she had been stationed in the Forth as tender to the navy’s guardship at South Queensferry, the old battleship HMS Anson. She had recently returned south from secondment to the Revenue Service as a fisheries cutter off of the Shetland Islands. Her captain was Lt. Charles Culley RN, a pious and temperate man who was a “good husband, a good father and a real Christian” in the words of his widow. Culley had started out life as a pit boy in Somerset but had turned to Methodism and joined the Navy. He was therefore somewhat unusual in being a Bluejacket, having come up through the ranks and had recently learned that he was being advanced in the service and would be receiving command of a steam gunboat.

HM Revenue Cutter Active, London Illustrated News – Saturday 23rd November 1901

During the day on November 12th the temperature plunged and the wind got increasingly strong. Soon it brought heavy squalls of rain and sleet. The waves ran high along the Forth and were “breaking with great violence against the piers and embankments, doing considerable damage“. At the end of the eastern breakwater at Granton the green marker lighthouse and a gangway were carried away. On the quayside, part of the roof of the North British Railway station was blown off. At Trinity Crescent the sea wall was breached and the road was left impassable. On account of the intensity of the storm in the North Sea the east coast fishing fleet returned home early, boats from as far as Dundee and Aberdeen running for the safety of Granton. The Burntisland ferry was stopped, with the William Muir being kept tied up alongside at Granton. At North Queensferry the Norwegian steamer Dronning Gyda of Kristiansund was driven ashore and the Swedish schooner Tura was wrecked on the island of Inchgarvie, her crew of 7 managing to scramble ashore and seek shelter. Many vessels came into Leith Roads to seek shelter; those that could sought refuge in the harbours; those left out in the Forth were seen to be straining at their anchors. Similar stories were repeated all along the east coast of Scotland and England.

“Approaching Storm, Entrance to the Firth of Forth”; Jock Wilson, mid-19th century; Wolverhampton Arts and Heritage via ArtUK

The gale swept across the city early in the afternoon and many a chimney pot came crashing down. A cartload of hay was blown over and several shop windows were blown in. Trees were brought down in the Botanics, at St. Bernard’s Crescent and on Moray Place. At the Usher’s bonded warehouse at St. Leonards the lamplighter, Donald Cormack, lost his life when an external wooden staircase he was climbing collapsed in the wind. At 74 Causewayside, twelve year old Annie Hanlan was killed as she lay in bed when the chimney breast of the tenement collapsed through the roof. A heroic effort on the part of the Sciennes firemen under the command of Lt. Grinton saw her 14 year old sister Mary, who had been sharing the same bed, rescued and taken to the Infirmary suffering from serious injuries. Two others were injured and the tenement was condemned, rendering 12 families homeless.

The maximum average wind speed during the storm would be recorded at 67mph. Beyond the city boundaries nearly all telegraph and telephone cables came down. There was no communication north, only three wires to Glasgow left intact and a single each to Newcastle and Leeds for all southwards communications. A huge backlog of messages piled up in the telegraph offices, unsent. Within the city, the telephone network was “very much out of order“, hampering the emergency response. Out in the Forth, Lt. Culley and the Active had been sent from their mooring at South Queenferry to seek shelter in Leith Roads in the time honoured way, in the lee of the island of Inchkeith. Culley had three anchors put down to secure his charge and during the day it was seen by observers on the shore to be riding out the storm as comfortably as could be expected.

“Inchkeith on the Forth in a Fresh Gale”. Ships have long sought refuge in Leith Roads, sheltering in the lee of the island of Inchkeith from gales coming in off the North Sea. John Gabriel Stedman, 1781. CC-by-NC National Galleries Scotland

Around 3 O’clock in the morning the Active was seen to be dragging her anchors. Her tiller was smashed, and orders were given to bring the spare up from below decks. Her foresail was raised to try and sail out of trouble, but it jammed and had to be hauled back down. Attempts by a Granton-based tug to reach her were futile and what few onlookers were present watched helplessly as she was soon being driven uncontrollably towards the shore. Culley let off his distress rockets to try and summon assistance and mustered the remaining men from their sleep on deck. However, before any attempt to save lives could be made, the little ship was dashed against the breakwater and “smashed to match-wood“. Observers saw her two blue marker lights disappear from view at about 4:15AM. In the last moments before disaster, Culley had ordered his men to climb the rigging in the hope of safety but of the twenty-five souls on board, only three were spared. Such had been the haste of her demise that only three men had managed to put on their cork life jackets and Ordinary Seamen W. Travis, G. Dady (or Peady) and G. Pearce would be the only men who made it off. Two of them were washed completely over the breakwater and into the harbour, being picked up by the steamer Bele who had heard their cries.

The saving of Ordinary Seaman Travis by the crew of the Bele. Artist’s reconstruction in The Graphic illustrated newspaper, November 28th 1901

The third, dressed only in his string vest and life jacket, managed to cling to the breakwater and “through dogged persistence” crawled along it to safety. The other two survivors of the ship’s complement were Quartermaster Walsenham (or Wakenham) and the Second Mate, Boatswain John Donovan, both of whom had been allowed shore leave in Leith the day before and had been unable to rejoin ship on account of the weather.

Headline from the Dundee Evening Telegraph, 13th November 1901. Note that at this time it was thought that 23 lives, not 20, had been lost.

With the telephone and telegraph systems being out of order, news had to be carried on foot to the police office at Gayfield Square from where 10 constables and two doctors were dispatched under the command of Superintendent Lamb , Inspector Cruickshanks and Sergeant Ford. By 11AM, only three bodies had been recovered, the vessel having been driven ashore on an ebb tide, which meant that most of the victims’ bodies were carried away from the shore and out into the Forth. The local fishermen, intimately in tune with the currents and habits of the Firth, pronounced that bodies would be carried to the vicinity of Elie.

All morning on the 13th, dense crowds lined the Wardie foreshore to gaze on at the macabre spectacle of wreckage and flotsam being tossed around in the bay and of policemen combing the shore with boathooks looking for survivors (or, more realistically, bodies). Rifles, cutlasses and uniforms were brought up on the slipway at Granton and large quantities of Rum had to be secured by the Customs men before they found their way into jacket pockets. Sergeant Bain of the Police was able to pull ashore the ship’s colours from the breakwater at considerable risk to his life.

Granton Harbour from Wardie in 1900, the year before the loss of the Active. She was driven against the eastern breakwater, on the right of the picture. © Edinburgh City Libraries

On Thursday 14th, the newspapers reported that the foreshore along the coast was being searched for bodies and that divers had arrived to scour the seabed around the wreckage. The gunboats HMS Redwing and Cockchafer arrived to trawl up and down the Forth. In the aftermath, observers with the benefit of hindsight said that the Active had been anchored too close to the shore and not far enough north to be safely sheltered in the lee of Inchkeith. Some were of the opinion that she should have been brought into the safety of the harbour, however it was noted in the papers that this would have been against Culley’s instructions. Others still wrote to the Scotsman bemoaning the lack of a coastguard watch or lifeboat at Granton, Leith or Newhaven.

The first funerals took place on Saturday 16th, with a cortège leaving the City Mortuary on Infirmary Street with full naval honours on its way to the Admiralty’s plot at Seafield cemetery. The procession was led by the officers and men of HMS Anson and the band of the shore base HMS Caledonia. Thousands turned out to line the streets and pay their respects to seamen John (or Herbert) Walker, R. Pearson and E. Farrow, Carpenter’s Mate H. Williams and Ship’s Boy J. Mulvaney. The same day, a requiem mass was held for James Donovan at St. Mary’s Star of the Sea R.C. Church in Leith. All six were interred side-by-side at Seafield, the men from the Anson firing a salute over the graves. That same day, a remarkable event occurred; a glass bottle was recovered on the shore at Granton, containing a message: “H.M.C. Active, Sinking Fast. From Captain Culley. Good-bye.” Mrs Culley identified the handwriting as that of her late husband.

On Tuesday 26th of November, a further body was recovered from the mud in Granton harbour, Ordinary Seaman James Lyall could only be identified from his names stitched inside his clothing. On the 29th, tugs brought the remains of the Active to a position in Wardie Bay where they could be hauled ashore and broken up. The following day, a benevolent fund was opened for the families of the deceased by Captain William Fisher CB of the Anson and his officers, with the Lifeboat Institution making an opening contribution of £2,000. Lieutenant Culley alone left behind 6 children, the eldest being 17.

Name NameLieutenant Charley Culley, TrinityChief Quartermaster James Donovan, KingstonPetty Officer 2nd Class Reuben Weller, KentCarpenter’s Mate Harry Williams, PembrokeAble Seaman Richard Pearson, LondonAble Seaman Edward Farrow, LondonAble Seaman George Gregory, LondonAble Seaman Richard Randall, LondonAble Seaman William Thompson, HartlepoolAble Seaman Edward Plumber, LondonAble Seaman William Burton, LondonOrdinary Seaman James LyallOrdinary Seaman Thomas AmosOrdinary Seaman James TempleOrdinary Seaman John (or Herbert) WalkerOrdinary Seaman Arthur PreynnOrdinary Seaman Arthur BanhamOrdinary Seaman William MillingOrdinary Seaman John ButtonsShip’s Boy Joseph MulvaneyOfficers and men lost on the Active

Bodies were slowly recovered in November and by the 20th, seventeen had been recovered. On 27th November, Ordinary Seaman James Lyall was buried at Seafield. A court martial into the disaster was held in distant Chatham on 3rd December. Four of the five survivors (George Pearce was still in hospital recovering) appeared, but were not charged or asked to plead. Captain Fisher of the Anson gave witness, confirming that he had ordered Culley not to risk his ship on any account, and to anchor her in Leith Roads. He did however say that Culley had not done so in the exact position he had been shown on the chart. The survivors stated that the loss of the tiller and jamming of the sails had prevented them for seeking safety, and that the Granton tugs had not approached close enough to offer assistance. The court exonerated the survivors from all blame, but noted – with the benefit of hindsight – that Culley should have “shown better judgement had he either weighed or slipped anchors and run for safety” but that when the disaster was inevitable “he appeared to have maintained discipline and done all possible to save life.” Culley’s body was not recovered until late in January 1902, and he was buried with full naval honours near his men in Seafield Cemetery.

Lt. Charles Culley’s gravestone at Seafield Cemetery. Photo © Self

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Reaching for the skies. Ish: the thread about the Edinburgh aviation craze of 1910

This thread was originally written and published in February 2023.

It was the year 1909 and aviation fever was sweeping Britain. In May of that year, John Moore-Brabazon made the first heavier-than-air flight, in Britain, by a British citizen; in June, Alliott Verdon Roe flew the first, fixed-wing aircraft of all-British manufacture. Come July, Frenchman Louis Blériot made the first flight across the English Channel and the Barnwell brothers – Harold and Frank – make the first powered flight in Scotland at Causewayhead in Stirling. To cap off a thrilling year, in November Moore-Brabazon made pigs fly when he strapped one into a basket and attached it to the wing of his aeroplane.

John Moore-Brabazon makes pigs fly – as a joke, but also the first flight of a live animal cargo. November 4th 1909.

Inspired by the Barnwells, others in Scotland decided to get themselves involved. There were, declared The Scotsman, “a large number who are following the development of aviation with an educated, scientific interest“; Scotland was “forging ahead” in this field boasted the Daily Record. And at the epicentre was Edinburgh, with an entire four (count them!) different parties vying to get themselves off of the ground. To add incentive to local pioneers, in September 1909 the directors of the Marine Gardens amusement park in Portobello offered a £500 prize, good for 1 year, for the first flight across the Firth of Forth by a Briton in a British-built plane; so long as it started from Marine Gardens.

Portobello’s Marine Gardens, with the island of Inchkeith and the Fife coast in the distance. © Edinburgh City Libraries

John Gibson, a cycle repair shop owner and engine-tinkerer of Leith, was the most prolific builder of flying machines in Edinburgh, running through a series of quarter and then half-scale models before moving on to full size machines of the Farman type. The flying experiment s of John Gibson and his son John Gibson Gibson were conducted at Buteland Farm outside Balerno and some short flights were managed. Machines made for paying customers also took successfully to the skies. The full story of these are covered in a separate thread.

The Gibson’s first full-size aeroplane – Caledonia No. 1 – probably at Balerno. Photograph donated by John Gibson’s son G. T. Gibson to the National Museums of Scotland and on display at the East Fortune Museum of Flight

Wilfrid Venour Foulis (1884-1951) was the son of Henrietta Fraser and James Foulis, a general practitioner, and grew up on Heriot Row in Edinburgh’s New Town. The family later moved to a villa at Barnton known as The Grove. A practical engineer, Wilfrid studied at the Heriot-Watt Technical College (as it was) before serving an engineering apprenticeship first in the foundry of Aciéries Tilleur & d‘Angleur in Liege, Belgium and then at the Hyde Park Locomotive Works in Glasgow. He then spent two years testing engines for Argyll Motors and then Arrol-Johnson Motors before going into the car business, based at Sunbury Mews off Belford Road. The 1910-11 Post Office directory lists him as a dealer in luxury French cars; Hotchkiss, Berlict and Delage.

Sunbury Mews, where Foulis had his garage and workshop

He is described in a newspaper article as “young man of fine physique, standing over 6ft 3in” and as having “devoted a large part of his life to the study of aviation“. By 1909 he is referred to as “an aviator” who had built for himself a biplane that he tried – and failed – to fly near The Grove. In that year, he married Clara Millington Dow, a well known actress and operatic soprano, who had been trained by none other than the W. S. Gilbert of Gilbert & Sullivan. The couple announced to the newspapers that they would be settling down in Edinburgh after their honeymoon tour of South France, but back in Edinburgh, Wilfrid did not to settle down. Instead, he took himself off to Brooklands in England and learned to fly. On his return he began construction of a new flying machine; a Lane monoplane, a British adaptation of the Blériot monoplane

Flight magazine details of the Lane monoplane from April 1910.

Foulis’ made a successful flight in this aircraft some time in early February 1910, but was extremely secretive about his project. The Daily Record wrote that he “will not divulge any particulars as to his machine… [and he] refuses to state where his flights take place“. The location was later gleaned by the Linlithgowshire Gazette as being West Briggs Farm, between Turnhouse and Kirkliston, west of Edinburgh. Coincidentally, this spot is now directly under the runway of Edinburgh Airport. The Gazette‘s reporter was watching when, on 26th March 1910 at 630PM, he made a number of high speed loops of the airfield (on the ground) and managed a number of hops off the ground to a height of three feet.

West Briggs farm, as used by Foulis for his flying experiments, now beneath the runway of Edinburgh Airport. OS 6 inch Survey, 1890 vs. modern satellite imagery. Reproduced with the permission of the National Library of Scotland

The distance from his business and workshop in Edinburgh to the flying strip limited flights to weekends or the very early morning or late evenings, and his ability to practice was not helped by the weather. However he persisted, trying 8 different propellers before settling on one that worked to his satisfaction. The experiments were not without incident; on two occasions the plane crashed and overturned. One early morning in late July, around 4AM, he made his “highest and most successful flight“.

The secretive Wilfrid found himself in court in November 1910, being sued by a man he had employed as an engineer to help him build the planes. It is from this court case that we learn most of the details about his flying experiments. Henry Funke was a motor mechanic in Foulis’ employ and alleged that the latter owed him £20 overtime, having spent all his spare time and Sundays assisting in the construction of the aircraft, sleeping in the workshop in a hammock, but had only been paid a flat weekly rate. Funke declared under oath that while the biplane had “failed entirely“, the monoplane had indeed taken to the skies. On one occasion they had taken it to Newton Stewart to make a public display but it was too wet to fly so they had to cancel: the bitterly disappointed crowd became angry and started throwing stones at the visitors, who had to hide from them. The court found in Funke’s favour and he was awarded £10.

Wilfrid continued his flying experiments after the court case, until a serious accident in early 1911 totally incapacitated him and he had to retire from flying and retreat to France for a number of years to recuperate. His aeroplane was advertised for sale from Edinburgh (for some reason, in the Belfast Telegraph, to Ireland!) in February 1911.

Classified advert selling Foulis’ aeroplane, February 1911

He was still in France, in convalescence, when war broke out in 1914 and he returned home to “sign up”. But he did not join the Royal Flying Corps, he instead entered the Army Supply Corps, where he would rise to the rank of Captain. Making use of his engineering and motoring background, he made a name for himself by converting a moulding machine into a tyre press for the repair of army lorry wheels, receiving “a mention in despatches” and promoted to the head of the 3rd Army Supply Corps’ repair shop. While in this position he invented the “Foulis Walking Stick Gun” and was sent back to Britain in December 1915 with it by none other than Field Marshall Haig (a fellow son of Edinburgh). He was seconded to the ministry of munitions to further this invention and took 9 back to the front for trials with the 2nd Army in 1916. Not one to stop inventing, he is also credited with the “Foulis Adaptor for Howitzers” and the “Foulis Safe Red Cartridge for Stokes Mortars“, although I am unsure of what any of these devices actually look like or did.

Wilfrid and Clara settled in England after the war but divorced in 1923. Their son, Michael Venour Primrose Foulis, joined the RAF in 1940 and served in the Mediterranean as a pilot, where he died in action in 1943. Wilfrid re-married in 1924, to Ida Brookes. In 1935 his career took a significantly different direction when he was appointed director of the London Academy of Music and Dramatic Arts, a position he held until his death in 1951 aged 67. He is buried in the family plot in the Dean Cemetery in Edinburgh.

Wilfrid’s final resting place in Dean Cemetery, photo credit JSF via Findagrave.com

In April 1910, it was reported that Charles Hubbard, an English-born engineer and factory manager living at Viewforth, had built for himself a Blériot type monoplane of the sort in which Loius Blériot had recently managed his cross-Channel flight. The machine is described as being 28 feet long and with a wing span the same. It was constructed mainly from a bamboo framework with a propeller of butternut wood, and was powered by the unusual arrangement of two 5hp Rex motorcycle engines coupled together by a chain. Hubbard was in the process of constructing a 3 cylinder, 25hp Anzani engine and hoped to have his machine ready for the Royal Aero Club’s inaugural Scottish flying meeting at Lanark Racecourse in August of that year.

Louis Blériot prepares for his epic cross-channel flight, 25th July 1910.

Hubbard deviated from the standard Blériot design, by having square wing-tips instead of rounded ones and in sitting himself on a hammock seat inside the framework of the fuselage, underneath the wing, rather than above it looking over the top surface. Testing was being carried out on Portobello Golf Course in the early mornings. On 25th April it was reported that he had managed to make a number of powered hops in it, although with only 10hp total engine output – less than the Wright Flyer of 1903 – it was unlikely he would actually have ever sustained flight. A serious crash required a period of recovery for Charles and the machine to be entirely rebuilt. By June the following year, the more powerful engine was ready and fitted, when Hubbard is photographed in it at Portobello.

The Hubbard-Blériot monoplane at Portobello, June 1911

No more is heard of Hubbard’s flying experiments after this time. He and his brother would later go into business in car sales, hire and repairs from the workshop in Viewforth where his flying machine had been built.

Henry (1882-1964) and Alfred (1891-1965) Alexander were the sons of Margaret Wilson and James Robert Alexander. The latter had found success in the boot and shoe trade, before expanding into piano sales. Obviously adept at spotting the next new thing, he then moved into the bicycle trade. The whole Alexander family were keen cyclists, and all four of “JR’s” sons had been high school cycling champions. Just as their father progressed the business on to motorcycles, Henry and Alfred graduated from cycle to motorcycle racing. The former had several district championships to his name and the latter had won 13 first prizes in the 14 races he had contended in 1910.

With a passion for speed, engineering and dangerous thrills, it was only natural that flight should interest them. They decided to build their own aeroplane, in their motorcycle tuning workshop on St. James’ Street, off St. James’ Square (the family business at this time was nearby in the district of Greenside). Their monoplane was exhibited at the Scottish Motor Exhibition at the Waverley Market in January and February 1910. It was of the Santos-Dumont type, named for its Brazilian inventor. This was a particularly lightweight aircraft, where the pilot sat slung beneath the wing, and the brothers constructed it from bicycle tubing and fitted it with a small 20hp engine of their own design and construction. It was 19 feet long, with a wing span of 20 feet, a fuselage 4 feet wide and an all-up weight of 240lb – about 25% less than a regular Santos-Dumont Demoiselle. It was their intention to be able to produce a low-cost flying machine for £225 (about £33k in 2023).

1910 Postcard image of the Santos-Dumont “Demoiselle” type that the Alexanders constructed. The caption reads “Grand Aviation Week at Bordeaux-Merignac. The aviator Audemars Bayard-Clement piloting a “Demoiselle” type Santos-Dumont, wingspan 6m, total length 6m, wing surface 12m², cruciform tail which pivots in any direction, landing gear with pneumatic wheels. Engine Bayard-Clement 30hp, 2 cylinders. Gross weight in running order 145kg.”

In early April, the Edinburgh Evening News reported that they had been secretly testing it on the ground at an undisclosed “sports enclosure” on the outskirts of Edinburgh, towing it there behind their car in the early mornings. Following extensive ground runs they had managed a 20 yard flight in the dusk of Monday April 4th. When interviewed by the reporter of the Daily Record, the brothers informed them that their intention was to overhaul and improve the engine before trying for the sky again. The description of the site, along with a grainy photo of it, identifies it as Myreside, the playing fields of the brothers’ old school, George Watson’s. They were limited to runs of only 150 yards by the confines of the grounds, surrounded by high walls.

Period newspaper photo of the Alexanders’ aeroplane at their test ground at Myreside. The pavilion of Craiglockart Playing fields is in the background

The Alexanders, who proclaimed themselves “Scotland’s largest motorcycle dealers,” became the first and sole distributor for Ford vehicles in Scotland in 1911 and Henry, ever the adventurer and showman, hit on a publicity scheme to promote the new 20hp “Model T” and showcase its practicality and ruggedness: he would drive one up Ben Nevis! Taking a stock, 4 seat, touring model for his adventure, he spent a week on the mountain (on foot), scouting out potential routes, making notes of obstacles etc., finally picking on a start point at Inverlochy. The attempt began on the 9th May and the climb would take 5 days in all. Numerous times the car sank up to its axles in marshes, only to be pulled, coaxed and dug out. Where the path was too narrow, a gang of workmen widened it. Where streams were to be crossed, a portable ramp was used to bridge them. The snow on the summit was 12 feet deep in places, and Henry had to dash between patches of bare rock and boulders, building up enough speed to slither across the snow to the next clear patch.

Henry at the Summit, with the old observatory and “hotel” behind him. Note the snow chains on the rear wheels. Credit: BFIHenry sets off from the summit through the snow to begin the descent. Credit: BFI

Ford’s general manager in Britain had invited the press to view, photograph and film the descent; driving them to the foot of the mountain in a Convoy of Ford cars, and carrying their gear up by pony. In contrast to the climb, Henry’s return journey took only 2.5 hours (although split into two legs, with an overnight stop half-way down at 2,000ft altitude). A newsreel film of this remarkable journey can be seen at the British Film Institute website. Henry’s feat was used extensively by Alexander & Co. in their newspaper adverts.

The Scotsman, 31st May 1911

In November 1912, Henry was fined 10s for failing to show a licence when requested and £1 (or 10 days imprisonment) on a charge of having driven in a negligent manner on a country road in Fife, resulting in the death of 3 sheep from a flock he hit. In September 1928 he repeated the feat of “motor mountaineering” on Ben Nevis, this time ascending on the bridle path on the western side in the new Model A. The car broken down a few hundred feet from the summit and required an axle to be replaced, probably the highest ever “roadside repair” undertaken in the UK. This ascent took 9h 20m on a route that had been prepared in advance.

Patrick Thomsons, one of Edinburgh’s premier department stores, cashed in on the enthusiasm for all things flying and took out large adverts in the local papers capitalising on the successes of the Alexanders and Foulis (Hubbard didn’t get a mention), inviting shoppers to land on their roof by aeroplane (“Ours is a big, broad, flat, asphalt roof. You can tell it from almost any height by the green and white P.T. flag. An ideal place for a bird-like descent, we should say. Leave your machine up top and take the elevator down”.

Edinburgh Evening News advert, from June 1910

The Daily Record reported in April 1910 that an unknown machine, based at Swanston farm to the south of the city, had been flying high over the southern outskirts of the city on more than one night, with people seeing “a flying machine, brilliantly illuminated, which was at a considerable height from the ground“. On the 5th April, the “moving lights of the aeroplane were seen by several people over the Hunter’s Tryst“. Given the progress (or lack of) of the known aviators in the city at this time, and that there are no other corresponding news or magazine reports, it is likely that this was Scotland’s first Unidentified Flying Object caused by local hearsay, rumour and excitement. Despite the intense efforts, none of Edinburgh’s home-grown flyers enjoyed much success on their home-made machines. All seem to have been distinctly underpowered and hard to control, and made little more than short, high-speed hops at low altitude. It would take another man to bring success to the city’s pilots.

William Hugh Ewen (1879 – 1947) , usually known as W. H., was born in Shanghai to Selina Blakeway and William Ewen, who were Scottish missionaries. On returning to Scotland they lived in the Pilrig area of Leith before moving to Willowbrae, and W.H. studied music at Edinburgh University. After graduating, he worked as a printer’s clerk, served in the Territorial Army and was an organist in the United Free Church. Perhaps inspired by the well-reported exploits of the Alexanders, of Foulis and of Hubbard, in February 1911 he took himself to Hendon and was awarded Royal Aeronautical Society flying licence no. 63, making him the 6th Scot to be so accredited. He was something of a natural, he flew on his first attempt and graduated on his third.

W. H. Ewen in 1913, from Flight Magazine

In June of that year, Ewen relocated himself to Lanark Aerodrome, which had been built the previous summer a the Lanark Racecourse to host the Royal Aero Club’s inaugural Scottish flying meeting, and set himself up as a flight school, W. H. Ewen Aviation Co. Ltd., offering tuition (or just joyrides) on Blériot or Deperdussin monoplanes, for the princely sum of £75 (c. £11,300 in 2023) plus a refundable £15 deposit for damages to the machines!). And then on August 16th 1911, the news wires brought exciting news to Edinburgh; not only was Ewen going to fly through from Lanark, and not only was he going to spend a week giving demonstration flights from the Portobello Marine Gardens, he was going to also take up the now-expired challenge to fly an aeroplane across the Forth from there!

Midlothian Journal, August 1911

Ewen didn’t make things easy for himself; he was going to fly a brand new aeroplane – a French Deperdussin monoplane – which had never yet flown and had an engine of only 28hp (50hp was by this time a standard for longer distance flights). For the start of the aviation week the poor weather prevented him flying, but then on the morning of Wednesday 30th, the skies cleared and the winds dropped, and he made the decision to try for his pioneering flight across the Forth. At 6AM he took a practice flight, the first time he had flown the new machine, making a loop at 150ft altitude towards Leith, circling over Seafield, before climbing to 350ft and passing across Craigentinny Golf Course, Duddingston and Joppa, before being caught in an unfavourable wind and deciding to land in a field at Northfield Farm. Mr Graham, the farmer, towed the plane back to Marine Gardens on his horse and cart.

W. H. Ewen (at the controls) in his Deperdussin aircraft, probably at Marine Gardens. From Flight magazine, September 1911

Just before 7PM, dressed in a suit of black oilskins, Ewen lined up the Deperdussin on the tiny 150 yard “flight strip” at the Marine Gardens sports field, started his engine, pointed his craft out to sea and opened the throttle. He only just cleared the boundary fence (which had been lowered to accommodate him) and then rose “gracefully” into the sky and headed Fifewards. Finding the wind stronger than expected, he carried on climbing until he reached an altitude of 1,000ft at which point the air was calm. By this time he was just to the east of the island of Inchkeith, and continued on his course until he crossed the Fife coast about a mile from Kinghorn. He now turned for Leith, and crossed back across the water – a period which he described as a “bad five minutes” on account of the turbulence, turning homewards for Portobello about 2 miles short of the port. Returning to the field where he had taken off, he made an attempt to land but aborted at the last moment when he was caught by a gust of wind. Deciding the landing there would be too difficult he instead put himself down nearby on Craigentinny Meadows. The whole flight had covered 12 miles and had lasted for 10 minutes

The wings were taken off and the Deperdussin was pushed back to a heroes welcome at Marine Gardens by the band of the 3rd Dragoon Guards who struck up “See the Conquering Hero Comes“. Asked to make a speech to the cheering crowd, W. H. expressed his pleasure at how the flight had gone and that he was “pleased that a Scotsman had been able to do something in the way of mechanical flight”.

An advert for the Deperdussin monoplane, September 1911, celebrating Ewen’s flight across the Forth

At the end of the week, a celebratory function was thrown by the directors of the Marine Gardens in Ewen’s honour. The band struck up “Scotland the Brave” and he was presented with a commemorative silver bowl after which a concert was held. Asked once again to make a speech, he joked that what he did not think himself particularly brave or adventurous because in 2 or 3 years time, flying would be so normalised that everybody in attendance would have done it. “Flying” he said “was the safest means of travel, if one had the common sense to know when to stop.” A few weeks later, W.H. was again celebrated by the newspapers, this time for flying the Deperdussin from Lanark to Edinburgh, a distance of 32 miles, in 35 minutes. Navigating by following the Caledonian Railway from Carstairs, he put down at Gorgie Farm, where the Chesser and Hutchison housing estates would later be built. He was followed on this journey by the mechanics from the flying school at Lanark, chasing him on the ground by car.

The Deperdussin is readied for Ewen’s flight from Lanark to Edinburgh in October 1911

Flushed with success, in early 1912 W.H. moved himself to Hendon to open a new branch of his flying school. Here he also became an agent for and constructor of British-built French Caudron biplanes. “Scotland’s Greatest Aviator, the Hero of a Hundred Flights” returned home that summer to fly at both Lanark and a second season at Marine Gardens. He had a narrow escape on 26th July when his machine failed to take off, ran up an embankment and fell, nose-first, into a 6 feet deep ditch.

Ewen, in his Caudron biplane, at Lanark, ready to fly to the 1912 aviation week at Marine Gardens.

After training some 350 pilots, Ewen sold his business, and it was renamed the British Caudron Co., it would later move to Alloa, the town on the north bank of the Forth, and construct an aeroplane factory there. At the age of 36, W.H. enlisted in the Army Ordnance Department in 1915 before being posted to the Royal Flying Corps. Transferring to the Royal Air Force on its formation in 1918, he retired at the rank of Major due to ill health in November that year and spent most of the rest of his life living in London, working as a composer and orchestrator of music. He died in Edinburgh in 1947.

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