Charlotte and Marjorie Collyer - The BritishTitanic Surviors who lost everything

Charlotte and Marjorie Collyer after rescue

Charlotte Collyer and her daughter Marjorie were 2nd Class English survivors of the Titanic. They not only tragically lost a beloved husband and father Harvey Collyer in the disaster - but all their worldly possessions and £5,000 in cash was also lost forever when Titanic sank. 

Out of all the survivors who were photographed after the disaster  - their faces show the extreme stress and the terrible trauma the women and children lived through on that fateful night, more than any other image I have seen from Titanic. Their reports are some of the most terrifying, graphic and violent and their letters home are some of the most poignant and heartbreaking.

Mrs Harvey Collyer was born as Charlotte Caroline Tate  in Cobham, Surrey, England on 1 October 1881. She was the eldest daughter of Allen and Louisa Tate and her father worked as a coachman. 

By 1901 Charlotte had left home and was working as a domestic cook for the Reverend Sydney Sedgwick, a Church of England clergyman who lived at Fanfield Hill, Leatherhead. It was through the church that Charlotte met her future husband, Harvey Collyer who was a sexton and verger.

Charlotte, Marjorie & Harvey Collyer from Encyclopedia Titanica

Harvey and Charlotte were married in St Mary and St Nicholas' Church in Leatherhead on 5 May 1905. Harvey’s occupation was described as a warehouseman. The couple had one child, a daughter, born in 1904 and whom they named Marjorie Lottie.

The family later moved to Bishopstoke, Hampshire, following the Reverend Sedgwick who had moved to his new Parrish church there, St Mary's. 

Harvey would continue to work for the church as verger, on the church council and as a bell ringer and he also ran a grocery store in the town. Charlotte also continued to work at the church and the family were very well respected within their community.

Friends of the family had gone to Payette, Idaho several years before and made a success of the fruit farm they bought there. They wrote glowing accounts of the climate in letters to the Collyers and advised them to come seek their fortune in Idaho. The Collyers did not seriously consider the proposition until Mrs Collyer began having respiratory problems and became afflicted with tuberculosis, at which point they decided to buy a farm in the same valley as their friends in America. Mrs Collyer later felt guilty that it was her own health problems that eventually caused the death of her husband.

"The day before we were due to sail our neighbours made much of us, it seemed as if there must have been hundreds who called to bid us goodbye and in the afternoon members of the church arranged a surprise for my husband. They led him to a seat under the old tree in the churchyard and then some went up into the belfry and, in his honour, they rang all the chimes that they knew. It took more than an hour and he was very pleased. Somehow it makes me a little sad. They ran the old chimes as well as the gay ones and to me it was too much of a farewell ceremony."  

The next morning the Collyers went to Southampton, where Mr Collyer drew from the bank the family's entire life savings -including the money from the sale of their store in Bishopstoke. He took the money in banknotes instead of a bank draft, and put the money in the inside breast pocket of his coat. In the Titanic's hold were the few personal possessions that the family had kept after the sale of their home -- which meant that EVERYTHING the Collyer’s owned, was on board the Titanic, which they boarded under joint ticket number 31921 which cost them £26, 5s.

Harvey Collyer wrote to his parents as the ship approached Queenstown in Ireland:

Titanic April 11th

My dear Mum and Dad

It don't seem possible we are out on the briny writing to you. Well dears so far we are having a delightful trip the weather is beautiful and the ship magnificent. We can't describe the tables it's like a floating town. I can tell you we do swank we shall miss it on the trains as we go third on them. You would not imagine you were on a ship. There is hardly any motion she is so large we have not felt sick yet we expect to get to Queenstown today so thought I would drop this with the mails. We had a fine send off from Southampton and Mrs S and the boys with others saw us off. We will post again at new York then when we get to Payette.

Lots of love don't worry about us. Ever your loving children

Harvey, Lot & Madge

Charlotte describes her first impressions of Titanic:

We were traveling second cabin, and from our deck, which was situated well forward, we saw the great send-off that was given to the boat. I do not think there had ever been so large a crowd in Southampton, and I am not surprised that it should have come together.

The Titanic was wonderful, far more splendid and huge than I had dreamed of. The other craft in the harbor were like cockle-shells beside her, and they, mind you, were the boats of the American and other lines that a few years ago were thought enormous. I remember a friend said to me, just before visitors were ordered ashore: “Aren’t you afraid to venture on the sea?” But now it was I who was confident. “What, on this boat!” I answered. “Even the worst storm couldn’t harm her.”

Before we left the harbor, I saw the accident to the New York, the liner that was dragged from her moorings and swept against us in the channel. It did not frighten anyone, as it only seemed to prove how powerful the Titanic was.

I don’t remember very much about the first few days of the voyage. I was a bit seasick, and kept to my cabin most of the time. But on Sunday, April 14, I was up and about. At dinnertime, I was at my place in the saloon, and enjoyed the meal, though I thought it too heavy and rich. No effort had been spared to serve even to the second cabin passengers on that Sunday the best dinner that money could buy. After I had eaten, I listened to the orchestra for awhile; then, at perhaps nine o’clock, or half-past nine, I went to my cabin. 

I had just climbed into my berth when a stewardess came in. She was a sweet woman, who had been very kind to me. I take this opportunity to thank her; for I shall never see her again. She went down with the Titanic.

“Do you know where we are?” she said pleasantly. “We are in what is called The Devil’s Hole.”
“What does that mean?” I asked. “That it is a dangerous pert of the ocean,” she answered. “Many accidents have happened near here. They say that icebergs drift down as far as this. It’s getting to be very cold on deck, so perhaps there’s ice around us now!”

She left the cabin, and I soon dropped off to sleep. Her talk about icebergs had not frightened me; but it shows that the crew were awake to the danger. As far as I can tell, we had not slackened our speed in the least. It must have been a little after ten o’clock when my husband came in and woke me up. He sat about and talked to me, for how long I do not know, before he began to make ready to go to bed. 

And then, the crash!

The sensation, to me, was as if the ship had been seized by a giant hand and shaken once, twice; then stopped dead in its course. That is to say, there was a long backward jerk, followed by a shorter forward one. I was not thrown out of my berth, and my husband staggered on his feet only slightly. We heard no strange sounds, no rending of plates and woodwork; but we noticed that the engines had ceased running. They tried to start the engines a few minutes later; but, after some coughing and rumbling, there was silence once more. Our cabin was so situated that we could follow this clearly.
My husband and I were not alarmed. He said that there must have been some slight accident in the engine room, and at first he did not intend to go on deck. Then he changed his mind, put on his coat and left me. I lay quietly in my berth with my little girl, and almost fell asleep again.

 Her husband went out to investigate and reported back, saying: 

'What do you think? We've struck an iceberg - a big one - but there's no danger. An officer told me so!' 

I could hear the footsteps of people on the deck above my head. There was some stamping, and queer noises as if ship’s tackle was being pulled about.

“Are the people frightened?” I asked quietly. “No,” he replied. “I don’t think the shock waked up many in the second cabin, and few of those in the saloons have troubled to go on deck. I saw five professional gamblers playing with some of the passengers as I went by. Their cards had been jerked off the table when the boat struck; but they were gathering them up, and had started their game again be fore I left the saloon.”

This story reassured me. If those people at their cards were not worried, why should I be? I think my husband would have retired to his berth without asking any more questions about the accident, but suddenly we heard hundreds of people running along the passageway in front of our door. They did not cry out; but the pattering of their feet reminded me of rats scurrying through an empty room.
I could see my face in a mirror opposite, and it had grown very white. My husband, too, was pale; and he stammered when he spoke to me. “We had all better go on deck, and see what’s wrong,” he said.

I jumped out of bed, and put over my night dress a dressing gown and then an ulster. My hair was down; but I hurriedly tied it back with a ribbon. By this time, although the boat had not made any progress, it seemed to have tilted forward a little. I caught up my daughter, Marjorie, just as she was, in her nightgown, wrapped a White Star cabin blanket around her, and started out of the door. My husband followed immediately behind. Neither of us took any of our belongings from the cabin; and I remember that we even left his watch lying on his pillow. We did not doubt for an instant that we would return.

When we reached the second-cabin promenade deck, we found a great many people there. Some officers were walking up and down, and shouting: “There is no danger, no danger whatever!” It was a clear starlight night, but very cold. There was not a ripple on the sea. A few of the passengers were standing by the rail, and looking down; but I want to say that, at that time, no one was frightened.
My husband stepped over to an officer — it was either Fifth Officer Harold Lowe or First Officer Murdoch — and asked him a question. I heard him shout back:

“No, we have no searchlight; but we have a few rockets on board. Keep calm! There is no danger!”
Our party of three stood close together. I did not recognize any of the other faces about me, probably because of the excitement. I never went near the first-cabin promenade deck, so did not see any of the prominent people on board.

Suddenly there was a commotion near one of the gangways, and we saw a stoker come climbing up from below. He stopped a few feet away from us. All the fingers of one hand had been cut off. Blood was running from the stumps, and blood was spattered over his face and over his clothes. The red marks showed very clearly against the coal dust with which he was covered.

I started over and spoke to him. I asked him if there was any danger.
“Dynger!” he screamed, at the top of his voice. “I should just sye so! It’s ‘ell down below. Look at me! This boat’ll sink like a log in ten minutes.” [Sic, in a supposed Irish dialect.]

He staggered away, and lay down, fainting, with his head on a coil of rope. And at that moment I got my first grip of fear — awful, sickening fear. That poor man with his bleeding hand and his speckled face, brought up a picture of smashed engines and mangled human bodies. I hung on to my husband’s arm, and although he was very brave and was not trembling, I saw that his face was as white as paper. We realized that the accident was much worse than we had supposed; but even then I, and all the others about me of whom I have any knowledge, did not believe that the Titanic could go down.

Those in charge must have herded us toward the nearest boat deck; for that is where I presently found myself, still clinging to my husband’s arm, and with little Marjorie beside me. Many women were standing with their husbands, and there was no confusion.

Then, above the clamor of people asking questions of each other, there came the terrible cry: “Lower the boats. Women and children first!” Someone was shouting those last four words over and over again: “Women and children first! Women and children first!”

They struck utter terror into my heart, and now they will ring in my cars until I die. They meant my own safety; but they also meant the greatest loss I have ever suffered — the life of my husband.

The first lifeboat was quickly filled and lowered away. Very few men went in her, only five or six members of the crew, I should say. The male passengers made no attempt to save themselves. I never saw such courage, or believed it possible. How the people in the first cabin and the steerage may have acted, I do not know; but our second-cabin men were heroes. I want to tell that to every reader of this article.

The lowering of the second boat took more time. I think all those women who were really afraid and eager to go had got into the first. Those who remained were wives who did not want to leave their husbands, or daughters who would not leave their parents. The officer in charge was Harold Lowe. First Officer Murdoch had moved to the other end of the deck. I was never close to him again.

Mr Lowe was very young and boyish-looking; but, somehow, he compelled people to obey him. He rushed among the passengers and ordered the women into the boat. Many of them followed him in a dazed kind of way; but others stayed by their men. I could have had a seat in that second boat; but I refused to go. It was filled at last, and disappeared over the side with a rush.

There were two more lifeboats at that part of the deck. A man in plain clothes was fussing about them and screaming out instructions. I saw Fifth Officer Lowe order him away. I did not recognize him; but from what I have read in the newspapers, it must have been Mr J Bruce Ismay, the managing director of the line.

The third boat was about half full when a sailor caught Marjorie, my daughter, in his arms, tore her away from me and threw her into the boat. She was not even given a chance to tell her father good-bye! “You, too!” a man yelled close to my ear. “You’re a woman. Take a seat in that boat, or it will be too late.”

The deck seemed to be slipping under my feet. It was leaning at a sharp angle; for the ship was then sinking fast, bows down. I clung desperately to my husband. I do not know what I said; but I shall always be glad to think that I did not want to leave him.

A man seized me by the arm. Then, another threw both his arms about my waist and dragged me away by main strength. I heard my husband say: “Go, Lotty! For God’s sake, be brave, and go! I’ll get a seat in another boat.”

The men who held me rushed me across the deck, and hurled me bodily into the lifeboat. I landed on one shoulder and bruised it badly. Other women were crowding behind me; but I stumbled to my feet and saw over their heads my husband’s back, as he walked steadily down the deck and disappeared among the men. His face was turned away, so that I never saw it again; but I know that he went unafraid to his death.

His last words, when he said that he would get a seat in another boat, buoyed me up until every vestige of hope was gone. Many women were strengthened by the same promise, or they must have gone mad and leaped into the sea. I let myself be saved, because I believed that he, too, would escape; but I sometimes envy those whom no earthly power could tear from their husbands’ arms. There were several such among those brave second cabin passengers. I saw them standing beside their loved ones to the last; and when the roll was called the next day on board the Carpathia, they did not answer.

 The bottom of our boat slapped the ocean, as we came down with a force that I thought must shock us all overboard. We were drenched with ice-cold spray; but we hung on, and the men at the oars rowed us rapidly away from the wreck.

It was then that I saw for the first time the iceberg that had done such terrible damage. It loomed up in the clear starlight, a bluish-white mountain quite near to us. Two other icebergs lay close together, like twin peaks. Later, I thought, I saw three or four more; but I cannot be sure. Loose ice was floating in the water. It was very cold.

We had gone perhaps half a mile when the officer ordered the men to cease rowing. No other boats were in sight, and we did not even have a lantern to signal with. We lay there in silence and darkness on that utterly calm sea.

I shall never forget the terrible beauty of the Titanic at that moment. She was tilted forward, head down, with her first funnel partly under water. To me, she looked like an enormous glow worm; for she was alight from the rising water line, clear to her stern — electric lights blazing in every cabin, lights on all the decks and lights at her mast heads. No sound reached us except the music of the band, which I seemed, strange to say, to be aware of for the first time. Oh, those brave musicians! How wonderful they were! They were playing lively tunes, ragtime, and they kept it up to the very end. Only the engulfing ocean had power to drown them into silence.

 At that distance, it was impossible to recognize anyone on board, but I could make out groups of men on every deck. They were standing with arms crossed upon their chests, and with lowered heads. I am sure that they were in prayer.

On the boat deck that I had just left, perhaps fifty men had come together. In the midst of them was a tall figure. This man had climbed upon a chair, or a coil of rope, so that he was raised far above the rest. His hands were stretched out, as if he were pronouncing a blessing. During the day, a priest, a certain Father Byles, had held services in the second-cabin saloon; and I think it must have been he who stood there, leading those doomed men in prayer. The band was playing “Nearer My God to Thee” — I could hear it distinctly. The end was very close.

It came with a deafening roar that stunned me. Something in the very bowels of the Titanic exploded, and millions of sparks shot up to the sky, like rockets in a park on the night of a summer holiday. This red spurt was fan-shaped as it went up; but the sparks descended in every direction, in the shape of a fountain of fire. Two other explosions followed, dull and heavy, as if below the surface.

The Titanic broke in two before my eyes. The fore part was already partly under the water. It wallowed over and disappeared instantly. The stern reared straight on end, and stood poised on the ocean for many seconds — they seemed minutes to me.

It was only then that the electric lights on board went out. Before the darkness came, I saw hundreds of human bodies clinging to the wreck or leaping into the water. The Titanic was like a swarming bee-hive; but the bees were men; and they had broken their silence now. Cries more terrible than I had ever heard rang in my ears. I turned my face away; but looked ’round the next instant and saw the second half of the great boat slip below the surface as easily as a pebble in a pond. I shall always remember that last moment as the most hideous of the whole disaster.

Many calls for help came from the floating wreckage, but Fifth Officer Lowe told some women who asked him to go back that it would certainly result in our being swamped. I believe that some of the boats picked up survivors at this time; and I was told afterward by more than one trustworthy person that Captain E J Smith of the Titanic was washed against a collapsible boat and held on to it for a few moments. A member of the crew assured me that he tried to pull the Captain on board, but that he shook his head, cast himself off, and sunk out of sight.

For our part, we went in search of other lifeboats that had escaped. We found four or five, and Mr Lowe took command of the little fleet. He ordered that the boats should be linked together with ropes, so as to prevent any one of them from drifting away and losing itself in the darkness. This proved to be a very good plan, and made our rescue all the more certain when the Carpathia came.

He then, with great difficulty, distributed most of the women in our boat among the other craft. This took perhaps half an hour. It gave him an almost empty boat, and as soon as possible he cut loose, and we went in search of survivors. I have no idea of the passage of time during the balance of that awful night. Someone gave me a ship’s blanket, which served to protect me from the bitter cold; and Marjorie had the cabin blanket that I had wrapped around her. But we were sitting with our feet in several inches of icy water.

The salt spray had made us terribly thirsty, and there was no fresh water and certainly no food of any kind on board the boat. The sufferings of most of the women, from these various causes, was beyond belief. The worst thing that happened to me was when I fell over, half fainting, against one of the men at the oars. My loose hair was caught in the rowlock, and half of it was torn out by the roots.
I know that we rescued a large number of men from the wreckage; but I can recall clearly only two incidents.

Not far from where the Titanic went down, we found a lifeboat floating bottom up. Along its keel were lying about twenty men. They were packed closely together, and were hanging on desperately; but even the strongest were so badly frozen that, in a few moments more, they must have slipped into the ocean. We took them on board, one by one, and found that of the number, four were already corpses. The dead men were cast into the sea. The living groveled in the bottom of our boat, some of them babbling like maniacs.

A little farther on, we saw a floating door that must have been torn loose when the ship went down. Lying upon it, face downward, was a small Japanese. He had lashed himself with a rope to his frail raft, using the broken hinges to make the knots secure. As far as we could see, he was dead. The sea washed over him every time the door bobbed up and down, and he was frozen stiff. He did not answer when he was hailed, and the officer hesitated about trying to save him.

“What’s the use?” said Mr Lowe. “He’s dead, likely, and if he isn’t there’s others better worth saving than a Jap!”

He had actually turned our boat around; but he changed his mind and went back. The Japanese was hauled on board, and one of the women rubbed his chest, while others chafed his hands and feet. In less time than it takes to tell, he opened his eyes. He spoke to us in his own tongue; then, seeing that we did not understand, he struggled to his feet, stretched his arms above his head, stamped his feet, and in five minutes or so had almost recovered his strength. One of the sailors near to him was so tired that he could hardly pull his oar. The Japanese bustled over, pushed him from his seat, took the oar, and worked like a hero until we were finally picked up. I saw Mr Lowe watching him in open-mouthed surprise.

“By jove!” muttered the officer. “I’m ashamed of what I said about the little blighter. I’d save the likes o’ him six times over, if I got the chance.”

After this rescue, all my memories are hazy until the Carpathia arrived at dawn. She stopped maybe four miles away from us, and the task of rowing over to her was one of the hardest that our poor frozen men, and women, too, had had to face. Many women helped at the oars; and one by one the boats crawled over the ocean to the side of the waiting liner. They let down rope ladders to us; but the women were so weak that it is a marvel that some of them did not lose their hold and drop back into the water.

When it came to saving the babies and young children, the difficulty was even greater, as no one was strong enough to risk carrying a living burden. One of the mail clerks on the Carpathia solved the problem. He let down empty United States mail bags. The little mites were tumbled in, the bags locked, and so they were hauled up to safety.

We all stood at last upon the deck of the Carpathia, more than six hundred and seventy of us; and the tragedy of the scene that followed is too deep for words. There was scarcely any one who had not been separated from husband, child or friend. Was the lost one among this handful of saved? We could only rush frantically from group to group, searching the haggard faces, crying out names and endless questions.

No survivor knows better than I the bitter cruelty of disappointment and despair. I had a husband to search for, a husband whom, in the greatness of my faith, I had believed would be found in one of the boats.

He was not there; and it is with these words that I can best end my story of the Titanic. There are hundreds of others who can tell, and have already told, of that sad journey on the Carpathia to New York.

Following her arrival in New York on the Carpathia, Charlotte wrote a heartbreaking letter to her mother:

Charlotte's Letter home after Titanic Sinking

Brooklyn, New York - Sun April 21st

My dear Mother and all,

I don't know how to write to you or what to say, I feel I shall go mad sometimes but dear as much as my heart aches it aches for you too for he is your son and the best that ever lived. I had not given up hope till today that he might be found but I'm told all boats are accounted for. 

Oh mother how can I live without him. I wish I'd gone with him if they had not wrenched Madge from me I should have stayed and gone with him. But they threw her into the boat and pulled me in too but he was so calm and I know he would rather I lived for her little sake otherwise she would have been an orphan. The agony of that night can never be told. Poor mite was frozen.

 I have been ill but have been taken care of by a rich New York doctor and feel better now. They are giving us every comfort and have collected quite a few pounds for us and loaded us with clothes and a gentleman on Monday is taking us to the White Star office and also to another office to get us some money from the funds that is being raised here. Oh mother there are some good hearts in New York, some want me to go back to England but I can't, I could never at least not yet go over the ground where my all is sleeping.

Sometimes I feel we lived too much for each other that is why I've lost him. But mother we shall meet him in heaven. When that band played 'Nearer My God to Thee' I know he thought of you and me for we both loved that hymn and I feel that if I go to Payette I'm doing what he would wish me to, so I hope to do this at the end of next week where I shall have friends and work and I will work for his darling as long as she needs me. 

Oh she is a comfort but she don't realize yet that her daddy is in heaven. There are some dear children here who have loaded her with lovely toys but it's when I'm alone with her she will miss him. 

Oh mother I haven't a thing in the world that was his only his rings. Everything we had went down. Will you, dear mother, send me on a last photo of us, get it copied I will pay you later on. 

Mrs Hallets brother from Chicago is doing al he can for us in fact the night we landed in New York (in our nightgowns) he had engaged a room at a big hotel with food and every comfort waiting for us. He has been a father to us. I will send his address on a card - perhaps you might like to write to him some time.

God Bless you dear mother and help and comfort you in this awful sorrow.

Your loving child Lot.

Charlotte and Marjorie were interviewed  after they arrived in New York. This is how a British Newspaper reported young Marjorie’s chilling and haunting account of what happened:

Mrs. Tate, of Elm Villas, Leatherhead, has just received from her daughter, Mrs. Collyer, a copy of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle, containing an account of the wreck of the Titanic, as depicted by her daughter Margery, eight years of age. It will be remembered that Mr. and Mrs. Harvey Collyer, who are natives of Leatherhead, left England with their little daughter on board the Titanic with a view of making their home in the United States, where Mr. Collyer had purchased some land with the object of starting fruit growing. Mrs. Collyer and her little daughter were among the survivors, but Mr. Collyer went down with the ill-fated liner. Little Margery Collyer tells her story to a representative of the paper in the following terms:-

Marjorie Collyer

"It was on a Wednesday we took the train to Southampton. Some of our friends were at the station to see us go, and some of them saw us off on the boat, I didn't think there was any boat in the world as big as the Titanic.

"The night the Titanic hit the iceberg I was asleep. It was about 11 o'clock. I didn't feel the bump and the ship started to back like a train, and I heard my mother say to my father that she guessed the works had stopped. He dressed himself and went on deck. ''

" I could hear feet on the decks. The boat seemed to have stopped. Then mother dressed me, took me by the hand and led me upstairs. She was in her night-dress, and I didn't have all my clothes on. I had a big dollie that I got two Christmases before, and we were in such a hurry that I left it behind. I cried for my dollie, but we couldn't go back.

"When we got on deck father was there going along the decks and trying to see the iceberg. But it had floated away. he said that some men had been playing cards when the ship hit the ice, and that all their cards fell on the floor, but they picked them up and went right on with the game.

"The decks were full of people. Some of them were crying. An officer said we should all put on life preservers, and my mother put one on me, and then fastened one around herself. Papa put one on too.

"I was crying for my doll, but nobody could go back and get her. Then someone said we should get into a boat and two men lifted me up and put me in a boat. My father raised me in his arms and kissed me, and then he kissed my mother. She followed me into the boat.

"The stars were shining, and it was just like day. Some sailor put a rug around my mother to keep her warm. There were so many in our boat that we had to sit up all the time. Nobody could lie down. my mother was so close to one of the sailors with the oars that sometimes the oar caught in her hair and took big pieces out of it.

"There was one officer in our boat who had a pistol. Some men jumped into our boat on top of the women and crushed them and the officer said that if they didn't stop he would shoot. Another man jumped and he shot him. My mother says I called out: 'Don't shoot!' but I don't remember it.

"The sailors had to row fast to get away from the ship. We could hear the band playing, but we didn't see the musicians. Only, when we left, all the people on the decks were kneeling down praying, while the band played, 'Nearer My God To Thee' When the band finished one of the musicians, jumped into a boat with his instrument, and I guess he got away.

" While we were rowing away we heard a lot of people crying, and the women in our boat asked the officer what the noise was. He said the people on the decks were singing.

"I saw the Titanic go up in the air before she sank, and she looked ever so big.

"When we got a little way off another boat came near us, and an officer in our boat said he guessed he would go back to the wreck in it. I don't know who he was, but he put some of the people from the other boat in ours, and got in that. Then he went back with some sailors and pulled six men into the boat. "We rowed around for seven hours. All the time I was frightened a whole lot, and sometimes I cried. I cried hardest when I thought of my dollie back there in the water with nobody to mind it and keep it from getting wet.

"The women in the boat just sat up and didn't say anything. We were all very tired and cold, when we saw a big light. Somebody said it was a boat, but I thought it was just a star. But it kept getting bigger and bigger, and then we saw that it was a boat. Then all the sailors rowed hard.

CHARLOTTE COLLYER

"We had to sleep on the floor on the new ship, and it wasn't so nice as it was on the Titanic: but everybody was very kind to us. 

We thought papa would be there, but the boat he was on didn't get to the ship."

Charlotte Collyer seemed certain that some male passengers were shot by officers:

There was a stampede on the ship. The scenes of panic were awful. The officers drew revolvers and waved the crowd back. I covered my eyes as I sat in the lifeboat. Officers stood by with pistols to keep away the men from the steerage, who on at least one occasion attempted a rush. When occasion warranted the officers did not scruple to fire.

In the article, entitled “How I Was Saved From the Titanic” Mrs. Collyer wrote:

FIRST OFFICER MURDOCH

“I saw First Office Murdoch place guards by the gangways, to prevent others from coming on deck. How many unhappy men were shut off in that way from their one chance of safety I do not know; but Mr. Murdoch was probably right. He was a masterful man, astoundingly brave and cool. I had met him the day before, when he was inspecting the second-cabin quarters, and thought him a bull-dog of a man who would not be afraid of anything. This proved to be true; he kept order to the last, and died at his post. They say he shot himself. I do not know.”

Since she departed Titanic in lifeboat No.14 from the port side, there is no reason to believe she ever personally witnessed Murdoch’s suicide, confirmed by her later saying “First Officer Murdoch had moved to the other end of the deck. I was never close to him again.” 

She also described at great length Fifth officer Lowe's use of his personal weapon during the launching of lifeboat no.14

"The boat was practically full, and no more women were anywhere near it when Fifth Officer Lowe jumped in and ordered it lowered. The sailors on deck had started to obey him, when a very sad thing happened. A young lad, hardly more than a school boy, a pink-cheeked lad, almost small enough to be counted as a child, was standing close to the rail. He had made no attempt to force his way into the boat, though his eyes had been fixed piteously on the Officer. Now, when he realized that he was really to be left behind, his courage failed him. With a cry, he climbed upon the rail and leapt down into the boat. He fell among us women, and crawled under a seat. I and another woman covered him up with our skirts. We wanted to give the poor lad a chance; but the officer dragged him to his feet and ordered him back upon the ship.

He begged for his life...but the officer drew his revolver and thrust it into his face. "I give you just ten seconds to get back on that ship before I blow your brains out!" he shouted.

5TH OFFICER HAROLD LOWE OF TITANIC

The lad only begged the harder, and I thought I should see him shot where he stood. But the officer suddenly changed his tone. He lowered his revolver, and looked the boy squarely in the eyes. "For God's sake, be a man!" he said gently. "We've got women and children to save. We must stop at the decks lower down and take on women and children."

"The little lad turned round and climbed back over the rail, without a word..."

"All the women about me were sobbing; and I saw my little Marjorie take the officer's hand. 

"Oh, Mr. Man, don't shoot, please don't shoot the poor man!" she was saying and he spared the time to shake his head and smile."

"He screamed another order for the boat to be lowered; but just as we were getting away, a steerage passenger, an Italian, I think, came running the whole length of the deck and hurled himself into the boat. He fell upon a young child, and injured her internally. The officer seized him by the collar, and by sheer brute strength pushed him back on to the Titanic." As we shot down toward the sea, I caught a glimpse of this coward. He was in the hands of about a dozen men of the second cabin. They were driving their fists into this face, and he was bleeding from the nose and mouth." 

Charlotte and Marjorie's accounts were so graphic that the publication they sold their stories too, did a follow up report a seven weeks later:

Mrs Charlotte Collyer’s article, “How I Was Saved from the Titanic,” printed seven weeks ago in the Semi-Monthly Magazine Section, still holds the record of being the most graphic and most intensely human document relating to that shocking disaster that has yet been published. We felt that it would be so, when we first heard the story from her lips; and on the spot we obtained from her the exclusive right to use it for the benefit of our readers.

Other magazines and many newspapers, learning from other passengers something of the dramatic and harrowing nature of her experiences, sought to anticipate us. But Mrs Collyer loyally refused to listen to them. The house where she was staying, before she went West, was besieged by reporters and camera men. Efforts were made to interview the servants by reporters posing as tradesmen.
Little Marjorie was unable to play in the yard in front of the house on account of the persistent attempts to photograph her. It was under such disturbing conditions that this heartbreaking narrative was written for us.

And when it came to us, and we read it, preparatory to having it put in type, we ourselves, who were already familiar with its main outlines and incidents, were so moved by it — so touched by the personal note of tragedy in it — by its unconscious revelation of devoted heroism, that it seemed impossible not to believe that others who read it would be affected in the same way. And we believed that, feeling that way, some, at least, of them would desire to give substantial expression to their sympathy for the writer and her fatherless child.

And so we could not resist the impulse to add to her story of the wreck an editorial note, telling of our readiness to forward to Mrs Collyer any contributions of money that the feelings excited by reading her account might evoke. It is absolutely contrary to our policy to make appeals of any sort in this Section; and we were careful to make it clear that we were not departing from that policy on this occasion. It was to emphasize that fact that we suggested that only those who could afford to send at least five dollars without self-sacrifice should send at all. We believed that there were enough persons of abundant means among our readers who would wish to express their sympathy in tangible form, and who could do so without feeling it — who would, in fact, feel it more of a hardship not to be permitted to do so — materially to lighten the burden that the loss of her husband and their fortune, under so distressing circumstances, had thrust upon the none too strong shoulders of that brave woman.

Our confidence in this regard has been more than justified. On account of our large edition and the requirements of careful printing, The Semi-Monthly Magazine Section must go to press a month before the date of issue. It is accordingly only three weeks, at the time these words are written, since Mrs Collyer’s article appeared.

It will, we are sure, be gratifying to our readers — whether they are included in the list of contributors or not — to know that, up to date, one thousand nine hundred and sixty-five dollars have been received by us for the benefit of Mrs Collyer and have been forwarded to her. It is certainly gratifying to us; and how gratifying this generous and spontaneous outpouring of aid and encouragement has been to Mrs Collyer she tells you in the letter that we print on this same page.
It will, of course, be impossible for Mrs Collyer to acknowledge personally all the letters and checks that she has received. Many of them came without addresses. But everyone who sent a cheek will receive it back through the bank with Mrs Collyer’s endorsement. We print the signature to her letter of acknowledgment in facsimile for purposes of comparison.

On only one point can there be any possible sense of disappointment to those who came forward so liberally to assist Mrs Collyer in her brave determination to carry out her dead husband’s plans, and to make a home for herself and Marjorie in the West. Mrs Collyer has been compelled to return to the home of her parents in England. Any disappointment that any of our readers may feel on this account is as nothing compared with the disappointment felt by Mrs Collyer herself, when she realized that her strength was not equal to the task that she had set herself, and reluctantly turned her back on the country.

When Mrs Collyer landed from the Carpathia, she was absolutely without a penny and without resources. Everything that she and her husband possessed, with the exception of some furniture, also on the Titanic, had been turned into money, and that money was in a wallet carried by Mr Collyer. The money we paid for her story, however, gave her the means to complete her journey to Payette Valley, Idaho, where her husband had arranged to go into fruit-farming, and left her enough for her personal expenses for some time to come.

She found there a hearty welcome from her friends from the old country, and every one offering kindly aid and encouragement. The owners of the land that Mr Collyer had contracted to purchase were willing to make every possible concession that would enable the widow to carry the property until it should be on a self-supporting basis; and all her new neighbors were ready to turn to and to help her place it on that basis.

It did not take long, however, for Mrs Collyer to find that not all the help she could expect would suffice to make her task one that she would be able to accomplish.

There was only the bare ground to start with. The forest growth, indeed, had been cut down, and the roots removed; but that was all. There was no house to live in. There confronted her, then, the problems of housing, of preparing the soil, of buying cuttings and trees from the nurseries, of setting them out, of caring for them, and of support for herself and her child until the trees came into bearing.

It must be remembered that it was his wife’s failing health that was the principal consideration that led Mr Collyer to seek a home in America. He hoped that, in a wholesome, outdoor life in a more congenial climate, she might regain her strength. He had, of course, never contemplated her taking up the active pioneer work of making a fruit farm from the very beginning. He would not have dreamed her equal to it.

Marjorie Collyer

Mrs Collyer, however, did not lack courage. Those who have read her article do not need to be told that. Earnestly she set to work to seek a possible solution to each problem she had to face. Some of them did not appear to be insuperable; but there were others that, with her lack of money and strength, daunted even her. And her strength, none too vigorous when she left England, had been sadly impaired, she soon found by the exposure and the suffering she had been through. For a time, the excitement of her terrible experiences had given her a nervous energy that she misread as renewed vitality; but, as the excitement wore off under the stern realities she encountered in the West, she began to realize her physical capital had been almost as much depleted as her financial capital.
At last, she received unmistakable warnings that already she was overtaxing her powers. To go on would be surely fatal. Only then did she sadly relinquish her hopes and ambitions and decide to brave again the perils of an ocean voyage, and to return to her own country — there to seek among those nearest and dearest to her, rest for herself, and a home for Marjorie.

No one, we are sure, who has sent a check, with the thought, silent or expressed, that it might assist Mrs Collyer in making a home in Idaho, will grudge the gift, under the circumstances just described, now that she has had to abandon that enterprise. The tone of the letters that, in many instances, accompanied the checks, precludes any such possibility. They all breathed a spirit of unconditioned generosity and helpfulness.

A very great many took the trouble to thank us for the “opportunity” we had afforded them to testify their sympathy for Mrs Collyer and their appreciation of her heroism. More than one check was accompanied simply by the words, quoted from the editorial note: “It is not an appeal, but an opportunity.”

A well-known firm of lawyers sent a check for twenty-five dollars and an offer to conduct, without charge, a suit in her behalf against the steamship company. Not a few checks came in black-bordered envelopes, with a few lines to indicate they were sent in loving memory of dear ones who had passed away. One woman writes: “My son and his little four-year old bear were saved from the wreck of the Santa Rosa less than a year ago. In thankful appreciation of that, I am glad to send the enclosed check.”

One letter says: “I am only a little baby ten months old, but I am sure that, if I could understand, I should feel a very great sympathy for Mrs Collyer and her little girl.”

Eleven little girls, from three to eleven years old, held a fair, and sent the proceeds to Marjorie in a dear little letter, signed by all of them, with a separate loving message from each one.

Hardly a check came without some sympathizing or appreciative or cheering message. “May God’s blessing go with it”; “It was my birthday, and I was made so happy by my husband and family that I felt I might share it with this less fortunate woman”; “Her story touched a tender chord”; “I want something to make your burden lighter”; “Cheerfully offered, and I trust will be as cheerfully accepted”; “To help my plucky and unfortunate fellow country woman”; “To help brighten the future for you and little Marjorie” — these are but samples picked at random from the hundreds of letters.
The fund that Mrs Collyer has so unexpectedly to herself received will enable her to start a small business and to establish a home. We are sure that the best wishes of all her American friends go with her to England.

---

Letter from Mrs Collyer

My Dear American Friends:

My heart is too full of gratitude for all the kindness and sympathy and generous help you have showered on me and my little daughter for me to begin to tell you even a part of what I feel. The greatest comfort to me in my sorrow, my greatest support in the struggle I have made to carry out my husband’s wishes and to make a home for myself and Marjorie in this wonderful land, have been the way that God’s love for us has been revealed to me in the loving welcome and aid received from all the dear friends my story has made for us.

I do not feel able to tell you in detail how I was at last compelled to give up my cherished plans and to return to England. I must leave that task to another.

But I could not bear to have one of you feel that I am ungrateful or unappreciative of your goodness. It is only that the experiences I have been through have left me without the necessary strength to make the fight alone. In my dead husband’s name, and Marjorie’s, and from my heart, I thank you all.

New York, June 8, 1912

Charlotte and her daughter eventually received financial relief from both the Mansion House Titanic Relief Fund & The American Fund:

The husband was drowned. His wife and seven year old daughter were saved. He was a merchant in England and had been the parish clerk in the village where they lived. They were highly respected people in fair circumstances. The wife had contracted tuberculosis and they were coming to this country to buy a fruit farm in Idaho, where they hoped the climate would be beneficial. He was carrying $5,000 in cash; this was lost, and all their household belongings. Both the widow and her daughter suffered severely from shock and exposure. They were at first unwilling to return to England, feeling that the husband would have wished them to carry out his original plan. For emergent needs she was given $200 by this Committee, and $450 by other American relief funds. After a short residence in the West she decided to return to her family in England. Through interested friends in New York City, a fund of $2,000 was raised, and she received $300 for a magazine article describing the disaster. She returned to England in June and her circumstances were reported to the English Committee, which granted £50 outright and a pension of 23 shillings a week. ($200).

Towards the end of 1914, and even though she was slowly dying of TB Charlotte was remarried, much to the chagrin of her deceased husband's family. Her new husband was a man from Liverpool named James Ashbrook Holme who was a licensed victualler, and lived at The Fox and Pelican in Greyshott, Haslemere, Surrey.

Charlotte finally succumbed to the tuberculosis which had plagued her on 28 November 1916 aged 35. Her second husband James Holme died less than three years later on 22 March 1919, leaving little Marjorie to be raised by her uncle Walter Collyer, a gamekeeper and his family who lived on a farm in West Horsley, Surrey. 

Matjorie's time there is not believed to have been a happy one but she remained there until she was married on 25 December 1927 when she wed a London-born mechanic named Royden Bernard Bowman Dutton the son of a shipping clerk. The couple were wed in St Mary and St Nicholas' Church in Leatherhead, the same church Marjorie's parents had married in. Marjorie and Roy settled in Chilworth, Surrey and they had one child who died in infancy.

Marjorie was widowed on 28 February 1943 when her husband Roy died aged only 41. She never remarried and continued to live in Chilworth where she worked as a doctor's receptionist. During the 1950s she corresponded with Walter Lord during his research for A Night to Remember and was a special guest at one of that book-turned-film's screenings in London alongside several other Titanic survivors.

Suffering from frail health in later years and unable to care for herself Marjorie was moved to a nursing home, Langdale, in Alverstoke, Hampshire. She died there following a stroke on 26 February 1965 aged 61.

 

A memorial to Harvey Collyer was erected in St Marys Church, Bishopstoke. In the form of a magnificent notice board and umbrella stand that is well used and looked after to this day, the inscription reads:

'Sacred to the memory of Harvey Collyer who fell asleep April 15th 1912 Age 31 years "Jesus said come."'

In Commemoration of the 100th Anniversary of Titanic's sinking, Charlotte's descendant Louise Heafield gave a fascinating and very poignant 25 minute interview to BBC Look South in 2012 detailing Charlotte and Marjorie Collyer's terrible experiences on the Titanic - and their lives after they were rescued and returned to England :