Little did anyone know that this seemingly ordinary voyage would descend into a nightmare, etching a dark chapter in Southampton's maritime history.

The frigid November air whipped across the Southampton docks, carrying with it a mixture of anticipation and unease. The SS Hilda, a sturdy Channel steamer, stood ready to embark on her routine journey to St Malo, her decks buzzing with passengers eager to reach the French coast.

Among them were 79 Breton onion sellers, their pockets filled with the earnings from their recent trades in England, and families returning home after visits abroad.

Samuel Grinter, a seasoned Hampshire seaman and a father of nine, was among the crew, his heart heavy with the prospect of leaving his loved ones behind, yet resolute in his duty.

The date was November 18, 1905, a day that would forever be etched in the annals of maritime tragedy. As the SS Hilda steamed towards the French coast, the weather took a sinister turn.

A violent snowstorm descended upon the Channel, shrouding the vessel in a blinding white veil.

The seas grew turbulent, tossing the Hilda like a toy, and the icy wind howled through the rigging, a chilling prelude to the disaster that lay ahead.

Unbeknownst to those on board, the Hilda was veering dangerously off course, driven by the relentless storm.

Captain Gregory, a seasoned mariner with an impeccable reputation and an intimate knowledge of the Channel's treacherous waters, stood at the helm, his brow furrowed in concentration as he battled the elements. He had traversed these waters countless times, his confidence unwavering, yet even his expertise could not foresee the catastrophe that loomed.

Suddenly, a sickening thud reverberated through the ship, followed by the ear-splitting screech of metal grinding against rock.

The Hilda had struck the treacherous Pierres des Portes, a cluster of jagged rocks lurking just three miles from the safety of St Malo.

Panic erupted as the realisation dawned that their vessel was sinking.

The impact had been devastating; the Hilda's boiler exploded, ripping the ship in two, and a mast collapsed, crushing passengers on the deck.

Amid the chaos and despair, Samuel Grinter found himself battling for his life.

The ship was sinking rapidly, the icy waves crashing over the decks, threatening to drag him down into the depths.

With a surge of adrenaline, he scrambled up the rigging, clinging desperately to the mast as the Hilda slipped beneath the waves.

He was not alone; five other souls, all French, had also managed to reach this precarious haven.

As the storm raged around them, the survivors clung to the mast, their bodies numb with cold, their minds reeling from the horrors they had witnessed.

The cries of those who had been unable to escape the sinking ship echoed through the night, a haunting reminder of the lives lost.

Grinter, his strength fueled by a desperate hope of seeing his family again, held on with grim determination.

Hours passed, each one an eternity.

The storm showed no signs of abating, and the survivors' hopes dwindled with every passing moment.

Just when they thought they could endure no more, a faint light appeared on the horizon.

The Ada, a rescue ship, had heard their distress calls and braved the treacherous conditions to come to their aid.

As the rescuers reached the wreckage, they were met with a grim sight.

The Hilda lay broken and submerged, her decks strewn with the bodies of those who had perished.

Clinging to the mast, they found the six survivors, their faces etched with exhaustion and despair.

Among them was Samuel Grinter, barely conscious, his body ravaged by the cold and the ordeal.

Tragically, another Southampton man, Chief Petty Officer Pearson, had succumbed to the elements, his lifeless body still clutching the rigging.

Grinter was brought back to Southampton, a ghost returned from a watery grave. He was the sole survivor from his hometown, a living testament to the tragedy that had claimed the lives of 131 men, women, and children, including 27 of his fellow crew members.

The town was plunged into mourning, the streets draped in black as the community grappled with the enormity of the loss.

The disaster left a deep scar on Southampton, the pain exacerbated by the knowledge that Captain Gregory, a respected and beloved figure in the town, had gone down with his ship. His last act, witnesses recounted, was to urge his passengers and crew to save themselves, showing his true selfless courage.

In the aftermath of the tragedy, questions arose about the cause of the disaster. How could a ship captained by such an experienced mariner, a man who knew the Channel like the back of his hand, have met such a tragic end?

Investigations concluded that the ferocious storm, with its blinding snow and treacherous currents, was the primary culprit. Captain Gregory, it was agreed, had been a victim of circumstances beyond his control.

Despite the overwhelming grief, the people of Southampton rallied to support the families of those who had perished.

A relief fund was established, and donations poured in from all corners of the community.

The Saints football club even held a collection during their match against Chelsea, a gesture of solidarity that reflected the town's deep sense of unity in the face of tragedy.

Yet, despite the outpouring of grief and support, no permanent memorial was ever erected to honour the victims of the SS Hilda.

Their names, their stories, faded into the mists of time, a forgotten chapter in Southampton's rich maritime history. Only the whispers of the past remain, carried on the wind that sweeps across the docks and waters, a poignant reminder of the fateful night when the SS Hilda met her tragic end.