Countess Noëlle Rothes &The Ladies of Titanic Lifeboat 8

Countess Noelle Rothes

Countess Noëlle Rothes was considered a real heroine of the 1912 Titanic tragedy, helping to command her lifeboat with Able Seaman Thomas William Jones. Noëlle and her relative Gladys Cherry handled the tiller of the boat, steering it clear of the sinking liner, and later assisted in rowing it to the rescue ship, all the while encouraging other survivors with calm decisiveness and optimism. The countess' maid Roberta also played her part, along with a group of female survivors. On the 106th anniversary of the Sinking of the Titanic, it is time to revisit the stories and eyewitness experiences and learn more about the women - and the men - who were saved in Lifeboat 8.

Countess Rothes embarked at Southampton with her parents, Thomas and Clementina Dyer-Edwardes, her husband's cousin Gladys Cherry, and her maid Roberta Maioni. Her parents disembarked at Cherbourg.

The maid, Roberta Maioni - known as Cissy to her friends and family - was the daughter of Louis Maioni an Italian born hotel waiter. Roberta had been a domestic maid to Royal Navy Commander Edward Harvey and his family at 50 Thurloe Square, Kensington, before she came into the employment of Countess of Rothes.

Roberta boarded the Titanic at Southampton on ticket number 110152 which cost £86, 10s); and was allocated cabin B79. Roberta recalled how a large flock of seagulls followed the ship out to sea, which was considered by sailors to be a bad omen. Once on board, she forgot the seagulls and busied herself caring for her employer, exploring the ship and making new acquaintances.

Titanic leaves Southampton

Roberta and a young crewman became very fond of each other during the duration of the voyage but his identity was never known; he gave her a White Star badge from his uniform which she always kept with her in later life.

Another acquaintance she made was with an older man whom she did not name but who seemed to take a paternal interest in her. The man appeared to be depressed and lonely and on the evening of Sunday 14 April Roberta met him again in the lounge where the orchestra were playing. He was full of foreboding and pessimism which made Roberta feel very uncomfortable. At around 10 o'clock she excused herself for bed and ignored his pleas for her to stay a while longer. She never saw the man again.

Roberta Maioni - The Countess' Maid

Roberta was in bed when the Titanic hit the Iceberg and she felt the impact. A steward soon appeared at her door, telling her 'Miss we have struck an iceberg, but I don't think there's any danger. Should there be I'll come back and let you know.' She returned to bed to try to get back to sleep but the same steward returned, asking her not to be afraid but to dress and put on her life-jacket and go out on deck.

Countess Noëlle Rothes and Gladys Cherry were originally installed in a basic first class cabin, C-37, but it is believed they upgraded to a more commodious suite. In an American press interview, Rothes was quoted as saying she and Cherry occupied stateroom B-77.  The women were in their beds when the Titanic collided with an iceberg at 11:40 p.m. on the night of 14 April.

The pair was awakened by the crash and realized the engines had stopped; they sought a steward, who informed them the ship had stopped due to icebergs. At first, they were excited by the news, the two women rushed up to the boat deck, where they witnessed third class passengers playing with large chunks of ice at the bow of the ship.

There they were instructed by Captain E.J. Smith, the Titanic's commander, to return to their cabin and don lifejackets. Everybody in the area “dispersed very calmly and slowly,” according to Gladys Cherry, although Noëlle confessed they were “stunned by the order.”

Gladys Cherry - Encyclopedia Titanica

Reaching their room, they found Roberta Maioni sitting in a chair, holding a lifebelt. The young maid told them she’d just come from E-Deck, which was beginning to flood, moreover that “water was pouring into the racquet court.” Noëlle consoled her, gave her some brandy, and tied on her lifejacket.

Gladys and Noëlle had trouble finding their own lifebelts. These were supposed to be stowed atop the wardrobe but they weren’t there. A steward sent to help the women duly arrived but, as the countess recalled, “the man said he was sure wearing lifebelts was unnecessary –– until we told him we had been ordered to do so.” The steward finally located the belts under the women’s beds and on his way out he urged them to dress warmly.  They did so, choosing woollen suits and their heaviest furs. 

 As they started to leave the cabin, some urge made Gladys pick up a miniature photo of her mother: “Then I thought ‘How silly, we shall soon be back here,’ and I put it down again.”

Countess Rothes recalled: ‘

The order came to be dressed and have life belts on in ten minutes. I just had time to pour out some brandy, give Maioni some and Gladys and myself, and hurriedly dress. We shook hands and told each other it would not be long before we met again, as we all thought there were plenty of boats, little knowing there were only 16.’

In her haste to get on deck, Noëlle forgot her purse. “The only thing I took was a small brandy flask, I had nothing else with me, no money at all.” She may not have carried any money or valuables with her but Noël did stop to put on the priceless string of pearls she had worn at dinner.

Heading for the boat deck, the Noelle and Gladys held each other by the hand as they made their way with Roberta through the crowded C-Deck foyer. They passed Titanic’s cheery purser, Herbert McElroy, on their way to the stairs who told them “It is quite all right - Don’t hurry.” 

Ascending to the boat deck vestibule, the countess’ party found it swarming with other life jacketed passengers. Only a few had ventured out into the cold where crewmen were clearing the tarpaulins off the lifeboats and swinging them out flush with the deck. Scattered in little groups around the room, people discussed the situation. Others quietly awaited orders.

Madeline and Jack Astor

The foyer was soon so crowded that people began filing onto the boat deck. The three stuck close together as they went out on the starboard side, following a group that included John Jacob Astor and his 19-year-old bride, Madeleine. The din of escaping steam made conversation difficult, so the women just stood and watched as the boats were uncovered. No instruction had been given to abandon ship but it seemed inevitable as sailors ran to and fro preparing the boats. The crush of people on deck grew increasingly concerned as they watched the activity but there was no panic.

“I stood close to Mrs. Astor,” Noëlle said. “She was waiting under the starboard ports (of the gymnasium), and her husband got a chair for her. She was quite calm. The last I saw of Col. Astor was when he stood by his wife, trying to comfort her.”

There was still no official word from the crew as to what was going on, and after a few more minutes of “milling about and wondering,” Noëlle grew restless. Leading Gladys and Cissy through the foyer to the portside, they found the same calm, bewildered crowd, awaiting orders from the captain or his officers.

“I can’t blame anyone,” Gladys Cherry said later, “but there seemed no discipline on the boat.”

Finally, around 12:20 a.m., some 40 minutes after the collision with the iceberg, Second Officer Charles Lightoller gave the command for women and children to enter the lifeboats. Chief Officer Henry Wilde, joined by Captain Smith himself, assisted women into No. 8. The urgency of the situation was emphasized by the firing of the first distress rocket from Titanic’s starboard bridge wing at about this time.

Victor and Maria Penasco - Spanish Newly Weds

A young Latin woman the niece of the prime minister of Spain, stood crying with her maid in the shadows of Boat 8, waiting for the return of her husband Victor who had dashed below for his bride’s jewellery. When he came back, he tried to convince Maria, 22, to get into the lifeboat. She refused in a flood of tears. Gladys, standing by, recalled the “terrible scene” of the newlyweds’ parting. Finally Noëlle interceded, speaking in Italian to the young couple. But the senora couldn’t be consoled, and as Gladys remembered, the husband “threw her in our arms and asked us to take care of her.”

After a sailor put in a lantern, some blankets and a few other provisions, Wilde called out that there were “quite enough” women in No. 8 to lower it. Captain Smith agreed and took hold of the forward falls. Noticing Alfred Crawford, 41, a bedroom steward, standing near, Smith ordered him into No. 8 to help row the boat, instructing him to make for what looked like “two masthead lights in the distance.”

Captain Smith, scanning the deck for more crewmen, spied Thomas Jones, a 32-year-old able seaman who had helped load Boat 8. The captain ordered him to take charge and Jones jumped in. Noëlle heard Smith tell the sailor about the lights on the horizon.

“Row straight for those ship lights over there,” Smith said, indicating their position. “Leave your passengers on board her, and return as soon as you can.” The captain spoke loudly enough that many women in No. 8 heard the order. Crawford, Jones and others, including Noël, thought the ship looked quite near, maybe as close as three to five miles.

Noëlle praised Smith and his efforts:

Captain Smith’s whole attitude was one of great calm and courage, and I am sure he thought that the ship whose lights we could plainly see would pick us up, and that our lifeboats would be able to do double duty in ferrying passengers to the help that gleamed so near.

Just as Boat 8 was ready to launch, a group of steerage women and children suddenly appeared from below decks, escorted by steward Edward Hart, perhaps the only crew member to make a concerted effort to save those in third class. There was some commotion among the women in Hart’s flock when it was obvious that No. 8, already starting down its falls, would not be able to take them on. Only one woman got in after the order to lower away ––

Tillie Taussig, 39, who had just put her teenage daughter aboard, was literally dropped into the boat as it creaked down the side of the ship.

Noëlle remembered that the launching went “quietly,” Roberta Maioni shared her mistress’ confidence. “I was not at all frightened,” she said. “Everybody was saying as we left the ship that she was good for 12 hours yet.” but fear gripped Gladys: The lowering of that boat into the darkness seemed too awful. When we touched the water I felt we had done a foolish thing to leave that big safe boat.

Number 8, with only an estimated 24 women and four crewmen aboard, was the first lifeboat to clear the portside of Titanic. Riding somewhat high, its oars sloshed in the water at odd angles and in uneven strokes as the men tried to row to saftey. The other crew members were similarly inexperienced, except for Tom Jones, who was the only real sailor aboard. The men did their best, though their lack of skill was criticized by several women. “If you don’t stop talking through that hole in your face,” a man said “there’ll be one less in this boat.”

“The first impression I had as we left the ship was that, above all things, we must not lose our self-control,” Noël said. “We had no officer to take command of our boat, and Tom Jones had to assume all the responsibility. He did it nobly, alternately cheering us with words of encouragement, then rowing doggedly.”

Able Seaman Thomas William Jones

Tom Jones, later said Rothes "had a lot to say, so I put her to steering the boat," a roundabout compliment to her leadership abilities. ‘When I saw the way she was carrying herself and heard the quiet, determined way she spoke to the others,’ he said later, ‘I knew she was more of a man than any we had on board.’

She took charge of the tiller, steering for over an hour before asking Gladys to take over while she stopped to comfort the young Spanish newlywed. There she remained for the duration of the night, rowing all the while and helping to boost the morale of other women until their lifeboat was picked up by the RMS Carpathia early the next morning. 

Throughout the night in the lifeboat, Gladys Cherry recalled being "numb from the waist downwards” and that the clothes she had worn had been ruined while in the lifeboat.

Margaret Swift

The Countess' title held no value whatsoever in the middle of the North Atlantic. It was Noël’s innate resourcefulness and fearlessness that inspired the confidence of her boat mates, not her social position. It was inner strength that Tom Jones recognized in Noëlle. Separated by class, the countess and sailor were united in courage, and together they restored order and direction on boat 8. Following Noëlle’s lead, other women volunteered to assist, and at least seven began taking turns rowing.

“Let me help!”sang out Margaret Swift, 46, reaching for an oar. Swift was returning from a European trip with her friend, 49-year-old Dr. Alice Leader. Another rower was Marion Kenyon, 31, who had bid a casual farewell to her husband when she got into Lifeboat No. 8, not realizing the danger.

 

“The most awful part of the whole thing,” remembered Noëlle, “was seeing the rows of portholes vanishing one by one” as the Titanic sunk. 

SINKING OF THE TITANIC

From such a distance it was impossible for anyone in Boat 8 to see in any detail the final moments of those left aboard the doomed liner. In the darkness it was only by watching the portholes disappearing that Noël and the others were able to gauge the rate of the sinking.

The horrifying sounds from Titanic jarred everyone in No. 8, and all eyes were fixed on the ship, cloaked now in total darkness.  Hearing the despairing cries that echoed over the sea, Maria Penasco, whom Noëlle had quieted before taking the tiller, lost control of her emotions again, and began moaning loudly. The young woman’s maid held her but she still wailed uncontrollably.

Noëlle sprang to her aid. Turning the helm over to Gladys, she made her way to the side of the young bride. Whispering kind words, she tried to shield Maria from the sight of the ship’s terrible end.

“Senora Penaso began to scream for her husband,” Noëlle recalled. “It was too horrible. I left the tiller to my cousin and slipped down beside her to be of what comfort I could. Poor woman! Her sobs tore our hearts.” Maria’s moans –– “unspeakable in their sadness,” the countess said –– mingled with the death screams from Titanic, standing almost on end.

“The terror of seeing that boat go down, and the fearful shrieks of the passengers who were left was too awful,” said Gladys. “Then the awful sound of all the air-tight compartments going.” She compared it to the rumble of an earthquake.

FINAL MOMENTS BEFORE TITANIC SINKS

The countess, too, was shocked by the sounds, and to prevent further hysteria in Maria, she put her hands over the desolated woman’s ears.

“When the awful end came,” Noëlle told an interviewer later, “I tried my best to keep the woman from hearing the agonizing sounds of distress. They seemed to go on forever.”

To Alice Leader, tugging at her oar, the confusing picture she had was that of the ship resurfacing. “The black hulk seemed to rise out of the water again,” she said,  “and sink a second time.”

Noëlle didn’t see the ship go down – her head was pressed to the senora’s, and both were looking away. But Gladys saw it all. She said Titanic went under with the roar of a “distant battle.” It was 2:20 a.m.

The sound of the ship’s destruction faded but the shrieks of the drowning persisted. Tom Jones’ reaction was visceral. He stood up and called out that the boat would row back and try to save some of those struggling in the water. The response to his order was anything but what he expected from the women, several of whom had left husbands behind. In a nearly unanimous cry, the frightened ladies protested against going back.

Noëlle felt very differently. Supported by Gladys and an American woman, most likely Margaret Swift, who was now rowing beside Jones, the countess insisted it was their duty to go back and help.

But she and Jones were bitterly rebuked. Noëlle was incensed by the other women’s attitude:

Several of us –– and Tom Jones –– wanted to row back and see if there was not some chance of rescuing anyone that had possibly survived. But the majority in the boat ruled that we had no right to risk their lives on the bare chance of finding anyone alive after the final plunge. They also said the captain’s own orders had been to row for the ship lights, and that we had no business to interfere with his orders. Of course, that settled the matter and we rowed on.

Gladys was also surprised by the reaction:

I could not hear the discussion very clearly, as I was at the tiller, but everyone forward and the three men refused.

She added that she felt the others were so upset about the proposed return that they “would have killed us rather than go back.”

Jones, astounded by the majority’s decision, made his stance clear when he shouted: “Ladies, if any of us are saved, remember I wanted to go back. I would rather drown with them than leave them.”

With the cries of the dying filling everyone’s ears, Boat 8 dutifully resumed its chase of the elusive lights. Lost in thought, nobody talked. After about half an hour the cries faded and in their place fell a terrible stillness.

“The silence of a lonely sea dropped down,” Noëlle said. “The indescribable loneliness, the ghastliness of our feelings, never can be told.”

The countess remained with Maria Penasco for the time being, then relieved Gladys at the tiller for a while before taking her turn at an oar beside Emma Bucknell, the 59-year-old widow of Bucknell University’s namesake, William Bucknell. Noëlle’s rowing partner was one of those who had disagreed with her about returning to help people in the water but Emma was a team player at the oars; she rowed all night and had blisters on her hands to prove it.

Despite the earlier clash, the women in Boat 8 were of the same community spirit and, with few exceptions, they worked together well. Marie Young later commended the self-control of her boat mates –– true “20th century women,” she called them.

Edith Pears - Survivor on Lifeboat 8

Those at the oars included 22-year-old Edith Pears, wife of the grandson of the founder of the Pears soap company. Saved with her aunt and two cousins, Caroline Bonnell, 30, also rowed. So did Ruth Taussig, 18, and Mary Holverson, 35. These women didn’t know it yet, but each had just lost husbands, fathers or other male relations. Also rowing were Alice Leader, Marion Kenyon, and the energetic Margaret Swift, whom Noëlle said remained at her oar all night::

Mrs. Swift did yeoman service. She rowed for five hours with Tom Jones without taking a rest. Really she was magnificent, not only in her attitude but in the whole souled way in which she worked.

Even those who weren’t rowing did their bit. One lady held the lantern to help people maneuver in the dark as they relieved each other at the oars. Even fretful Ella White got into the act, counting strokes for the rowers. From time to time, she couldn’t resist swinging her electric cane to illuminate the scene, and no one bothered to complain.

Dr. Alice Leader

The women were glad to row –– to keep their spirits up and to keep warm. Many wore only negligees and robes under their coats. One woman looked ready for a ball in her evening dress and high heel slippers. Another was barefoot, with just a sweater over her nightclothes. Alice Leader had on a blue serge tailored suit and hat, covered by a lightweight cloth motoring cloak. Caroline Bonnell wore three coats while Ruth Taussig discarded her extra wrap. Gladys’ thick suit and full-length fur cape weren’t enough insulation, and her “stockings were all ripped.” 

While Noëlle rowed next to Emma Bucknell, the latter turned round to find her maid rowing beside , Roberta Maioni and the sight filled her with pride. Noëlle meantime called out reports on the distant lights to Jones; they would flicker every once in a while, or seem to move, and she wanted him to know in the event that a change in course was necessary. Seeing the faint outline of icebergs around the boat, she also guided Gladys in her steering, suggesting which we way to go to avoid them.

For all their efforts, the glimmering lights were no nearer than they had seemed when Boat 8 started for them. At one point both running lights of the weird vessel were seen, indicating its bow had swung to face the lifeboat. Noëlle and Alfred Crawford saw the red and green lights distinctly, but only for a moment or two, and they disappeared.

During this time, an hour after Titanic’s sinking, Gladys handled the tiller while Noëlle rowed.

Gladys was at the tiller for more than half the time, having taken over from Noëlle just before the ship sank.  But this fact doesn’t diminish Noëlle’s leadership. Along with steering for the first hour or so, she did her share of rowing and, as has been shown, she even acted as lookout.

She was almost unofficial skipper, her example of grace and calm inspiring those around her to forget their fear and take an active part in managing the boat. Jones was in physical command of Boat 8 but Noëlle was the motivational heart of the work accomplished that night. Without her morale boosting and volunteer spirit, it seems unlikely that the nervous, privileged ladies in No. 8 would have rallied so enthusiastically to the side of the young sailor and his motley crew of stewards and kitchen help.

Jones was the first to see the new light appearing in the south and called out to Noëlle, asking if she could see it. She looked but couldn’t make anything out. Then, as No. 8 crested a wave, Noëlle clearly saw a brilliant light, speeding across the horizon, and she replied in the affirmative. With that, Jones announced to the others there was a ship coming on full steam. Gladys immediately swung the boat around.

“Suddenly we saw the lights of a steamer.,” she recalled, “and we turned and began rowing towards her.” It wasn’t an easy task because of the waves. “That awful time until we got to her I shall never forget,” continued Gladys, “It was beginning to get rough and very difficult to steer.”

Boat 8 had quite a way to go. Because it had pursued the mystery lights for over two hours, it was one of the farthest of the 20 scattered lifeboats from the approaching rescue ship; Crawford thought they were as much as two miles away.

When the Carpathia was sighted, cheers went up and several in their boat started to sing the Philip Bliss hymn "Pull for the Shore." Afterwards, Noël suggested "Lead, Kindly Light": "Lead, kindly light, amid the encircling gloom/Lead thou me on!/The night is dark, and I'm far from home/Lead thou me on!"

TITANIC LIFEBOAT

It would be a long haul in the choppy sea but no one was fussing. Salvation was in sight, and the women were ecstatic. Ella White waved her electric stick with abandon and Margaret Swift, rowing beside Jones. Jones was caught up in the excitement as well. “To keep up our spirits,” he said, “we sang as we rowed –– all of us. Then we stopped singing and prayed.”

The people in Boat 8 watched the other boats ahead of them drawing up alongside the rescue ship, unloading their occupants by rope ladders and chair swings. Grimly, several in No. 8 also realized they were rowing through a field of debris from the wreck.

Two agonizing hours later, at around 6 a.m., Noëlle and her shivering comrades reached the safety of Carpathia, drifting at last under an open gangway door and its promise of safety. Strong crewmen secured the lifeboat and began helping the women aboard. It was such an emotional release from their plight that many were overcome.

Gladys and Noëlle fought back tears of happiness –– and exhaustion –– as they waited their turn to be hoisted aboard. “Noëlle went up just before me,” Gladys said. “I could not walk when I got up as my legs were so numb.”

Gladys didn’t see Noëlle when she gained the deck, and after looking for her she decided she must have been taken to the dining room where survivors were given breakfast and hot coffee. But she wasn’t there either. She eventually learned Noëlle had been taken to the ship’s hospital.

“She had fainted directly she got off the hoist,” Gladys recounted. “The strain had been too much.”

After being given a sedative to help her rest, Noëlle was shown to a stateroom. According to some reports this was Captain Rostron’s private cabin, which she and Gladys shared with Philadelphia society matron Eleanor Widener, whose husband and son were lost, and Madeleine Astor, wife of the multimillionaire, also lost. It was cramped but as many fellow survivors were sleeping on the floors of Carpathia’s public rooms, the women were grateful for the comparative privacy.

Unable to sleep herself, Gladys put Noëlle to bed. The countess’ maid Roberta Maioni, whom Gladys praised for behaving “splendidly in the boat” was given accommodation in a nearby stateroom.

“My nerves are all to pieces,” Gladys told her mother in a letter she penned aboard Carpathia. “It’s all been too ghastly.”

The voyage home was one of overwhelming sadness. Carpathia was, as the newspapers were soon calling it, a “ship of sorrow.”

SURVIVORS ON CARPATHIA

“There are about 150 widows,” Gladys said, “and to see all these poor women is too terrible … The separation of husbands and wives was ghastly. Noëlle and I are so thankful we had no man with us.” 

Once aboard the rescue vessel, Noelle devoted herself to the care of steerage women and children from the Titanic. 

An account in the London Daily Sketch said: "Her Ladyship helped to make clothes for the babies and became known amongst the crew as the 'plucky little countess.'" 

The newspaper added that a stewardess told Noël, "You have made yourself famous by rowing in the boat," to which she replied, "I hope not. I have done nothing."

Roberta went to the Marconi office to try and contact her relatives, but came back to say she had filled out the forms but that a long waiting list meant the messages wouldn’t be dispatched for quite a while.

The women visited the makeshift hospitals, set up in the various classes, to provide what comfort they could. Gladys admitted the work was therapeutic. As a nurse, Noëlle was qualified to assist in bandaging and administering medication, and she aided the Carpathia’s surgeon in treating some of the survivors. 

In addition to nursing, the women helped in other ways. Joining forces with a Carpathia crewman, who rounded up spare blankets and linen, Noëlle, Gladys and a group of other women put their sewing skills to work cutting out garments for the steerage and second class children, some of whom had no clothes at all. 

Louise & Simonne Laroche

Among those whom Noëlle’s makeshift sewing circle fitted out with clothes were two French children. These little girls, Simone Laroche, 3, and her 20 month-old sister Louise, had been saved with their mother but their father who died- 25 year old Haitian-born Joseph, an engineer - was the only black passenger known to have been aboard Titanic. Everyday Gladys took the youngest girl, Louise, out for a little play time on deck while the mother took a nap.

Another beneficiary of the ladies’ project to provide clothing for the children was three-year-old William Richards, later photographed wearing a coat made from a blanket by the countess’ little sewing team.

By day, Noëlle and Gladys distributed their handiwork, accompanied Carpathia’s doctor on his rounds, and consoled some of the widows, including Maria Penasco, Marion Kenyon and their friend, Julia Cavendish.  At night sleeping was difficult, especially for Gladys who on April 18, the third day after the sinking, had to take a tranquilizer to relax:

 I slept a little better, but one wakes terrified … The nights are so awful … How we long for land. This water all around is terrible and one’s nerves now seem worse than on that dreadful night …It is all such a horrible nightmare … I can’t stand another night on the sea

All of New York seemed to have turned out to watch the Titanic survivors come ashore –– an estimated 50,000 lined the piers. Gladys recalled the incredible sight:

We got into the dock at 9:30, after having a dreadful time coming up the river, with all the newspaper tugs that wanted to put pressmen on board. But of course our captain would allow no one to board us but the pilot.

Noëlle didn’t go ashore with Gladys –– she was down in the steerage sickbay making sure those she’d been caring for had somewhere to go when they disembarked. Among them was seriously injured Rhoda Abbott, 39.

Rhoda Abbott and her sons

The only woman saved from the water after Titanic went down, Rhoda endured the most traumatic experience and loss of any other female survivor. Recently separated from her husband, she was returning home on Titanic with her two adolescent sons after a visit to relatives in England. The three made it on deck too late to get into a lifeboat and were swept overboard during the final plunge. The Abbotts had been holding hands when they were washed off the deck but the current separated them, carrying the boys away. Rhoda never saw them again. Managing to swim to a swamped lifeboat, she stood for five hours in the flooded craft waiting for rescue, suffering severe frostbite in her feet and legs.

Although Rhoda assured the countess, and another distinguished caretaker, Molly Brown, that she would be looked after by the Salvation Army, the women insisted on helping her as long as she was in need. For the time being it was decided that Rhoda should be transferred via ambulance to New York Hospital for treatment, at Noëlle’s expense, then to a hotel where Molly picked up the bill for the duration of her recovery. A listing of hotel guests in the New York Times the next day revealed that Molly had already booked the injured woman’s room.

When Gladys Cherry stepped off the rescue ship’s gangway on April 18, happily wearing new stockings lent her by a young lady on Carpathia, she anxiously searched the numbered queues along the wharf for her brother, Charles, and his friends. Finally recognizing each other, they embraced, but wary of the hordes of photographers, headed at once for a waiting car. Gladys remembered the hectic scene of “officials standing in lines to keep back the crowds and motors by the million.”

Gladys had a reservation at the Plaza Hotel but her brother convinced her to stay with him at his apartment for a few days. She wasn’t worried about her cousin - she knew Noëlle was being met by her husband Norman and would be taken to the Ritz-Carlton. There, as one newspaper noted, the Earl had seen to it that their suite “had every room banked with flowers in preparation for the countess.” 

There the pair would also celebrate their 12th anniversary the following day. Gladys was careful not to get in the way of what promised to be an ardent reunion between husband and wife. Still, she’d been instructed by Noëlle to telephone her the next morning so they could go out shopping for new clothes. According to one of Gladys’ letters, a fellow survivor –– an unidentified New York woman –– had offered to “take us round in her car to buy some things as we have nothing but what we stand up in.”

For Noëlle, acquiring a fresh wardrobe couldn’t happen soon enough –– not only for her anniversary but for meeting the press that clamoured for her story of the disaster from the moment she checked in at the Ritz. As the Rothes entourage was led to their rooms, the only comment the Times correspondent could get was from an unnamed member of the group who said the countess was “particularly happy because her maid was saved.”

That wouldn’t do for an exclusive, so a note was delivered to Noëlle’s suite, inviting her to give a brief statement. She declined, sending a message down to the front desk that she was “too weak to see anyone.” It seemed a brush off at first but around midnight the reporters learned Noëlle had requested a doctor, though hotel management claimed the “countess is not seriously ill.” Dr. Edward Dinkelapiel attended Noëlle, treating her for exhaustion –– information the good surgeon was authorized to share with the press. The media onslaught had begun.

“Countess of Rothes Brave–– Took Charge in Her Boat” ran an April 20 headline in the New York Times. Noëlle felt it overstated her role, and didn’t accurately reflect Gladys’ contributions. But an interview with Tom Jones that was included in the piece touched her very much.  The correspondent described the seaman as “tired” but said that:

    .....his eyes light up and his speech becomes animated when you ask him what part the women played in the trying hours after the Titanic sank.

Boat mate Alice Leader paid a similar tribute to Noëlle in an article syndicated by United Press:

The Countess of Rothes is an expert oarswoman and thoroughly at home on the water. She practically took command of our boat … Several of the women took their places with the countess at the oars and rowed in turns.

Countess Rothes

Noëlle submitted to a press conference held in a private lounge at the Ritz-Carlton. She and Norman agreed that offering an “exclusive” to a newspaper wouldn’t prevent requests from competing publications, so an invitation went out to representatives of all major papers and wire agencies.

On the morning of April 22 reporters assembled en masse to hear Noëlle’s official account of her experiences in the tragedy. Norman sat beside her as she recounted the whole story, then answered questions. A glimpse of how Noëlle felt about people is caught in the fact that on the other side of her sat her maid, Roberta Maioni, whom she insisted be a part of the interview.

The countess kept her composure throughout the meeting. Only at the end, when she was asked to give her opinion of the actions of the men passengers and crew, was there a catch in her throat.

“Brave men all,” she said of Titanic’s heroes, “that stood back so that women should have at least a chance to live. Their memory should be held sacred in the mind of the world forever.”

Meanwhile news of the tragedy slowly filtered through to Roberta Maioni’s family back in Surrey. It was reportedly three weeks before they knew that she was safe. Roberta's surname had been spelled incorrectly on the passenger lists as "Miss Maloney". Eventually the White Star Line confirmed she was one of the survivors. When Roberta was reunited with her family, her once beautiful hair was reportedly in tatters, much of it torn and pulled as she caught it while taking her turn rowing the lifeboat. 

In 1926 Roberta wrote a personal account of her experience on the Titanic for a short story competition run by the Daily Express. Roberta's account, the badge given to her by the steward, and the poem which she wrote in New York, were auctioned in Devizes, Wiltshire in February 1999.

You can read Roberta Maioni’s full account here

https://www.encyclopedia-titanica.org/roberta-maioni-titanic-account.html

Tom Jones' pocketwatch - gift from Countess Rothes

Countess Noël Rothes did not welcome the publicity that proclaimed her a heroine, insisting it was the cool-headed leadership of Seaman Jones and the combined aid of her cousin-in-law and other occupants in the boat that night that deserved praise. As a token of her esteem, she gave Jone an inscribed silver pocket watch; she also gave one to Steward Alfred Crawford in recognition for his assistance at the oars, rowing.

Jones later returned the largesse by gifting her the brass number plate from their lifeboat. Noël wrote to Jones every Christmas, and the two maintained a correspondence until her death. The number plate is now in the possession of the Countess' grandson Alastair. The family also re-acquired Jones after his death.

Lifeboat number -gift to countess from Tom Jones.

The Royal Naval Lifeboat Institute's Fraserburgh Lifeboat, introduced to service in 1915, was christened Lady Rothes. The lifeboat was provided as a gift from Thomas Dyer-Edwardes, the countess' father, in gratitude for his daughter's rescue from the Titanic.

In 1918 an exhibition at the Grafton Galleries in London, benefiting the Red Cross, included a pair of pearls from the 300-year-old heirloom necklace Noël wore when she escaped the Titanic.

Noël was interviewed by author Walter Lord for his epic account of the Titanic disaster, A Night to Remember, which brought her compelling story to a new generation on its publication in 1955.

Countess Rothes personal account of rowing in lifeboat Number 8 can be read here:

https://www.encyclopedia-titanica.org/titanic-the-countess-of-rothes-and-the-phantom-light.html

Gladys Cherry also wrote a letter to Tom Jones:

LETTER TO TITANIC HERO

Thomas Jones, a native of Anglesey, who was an able seaman on the Titanic, has received the following letter, dated from the Great Northern Hotel, New York:

"I feel I must write and tell you how splendidly you took charge of our boat on the fatal night. There were only four English people in it-my cousin Lady Rothes, her maid, you and myself-and I think you were wonderful.

"The dreadful regret I shall always have, and I know you share with me, is that we ought to have gone back to see whom we could pick up; but if you remember, there was only an American lady, my cousin, self and you who wanted to return. I could not hear the discussion very clearly, as I was at the tiller; but everyone forward and the three men refused; but I shall always remember your words: "ladies, if any of us are saved, remember, I wanted to go back. I would rather drown with them than leave them." You did all you could, and being my own countryman, I wanted to tell you this.

"Yours very truly, Gladys Cherry."