The Last Voyage of
Hans Winklemann

This photograph captures a distinguished gathering of nautical enthusiasts assembled for what may have been the final "old-style" regatta in Dunmore, circa 1964. The men are assembled to present prizes for the sailing races.

From left to right: Captain D.P. Carroll, the Harbour Master; Dick Murphy, Dunmore East Lifeboat engineer, Iain Farrell, the Waterford solicitor with saltwater in his veins; Dr. Hans Winklemann of Waterford Glass, a man as precise in sailing as he was in glassmaking; Robbie Jephson, the visionary behind Ardkeen Shopping Centre; David McBride of Graves & Co., bridging New Ross and Waterford with trade and tides; and Rickard Farrell, another solicitor whose life was intertwined with the sea.

Among them, Dr. Winklemann stood out—an experienced mariner who found solace in the solitude of the waves. His yacht the Iolanthe, was his sanctuary, and he often sailed alone, trusting his skill against the whims of the Atlantic. But the sea, as ever, remained indifferent to expertise. In September 1965, during a routine voyage from Kinsale to Baltimore, a storm overtook him. The yacht vanished; the man was lost.

The story below is based on newspaper reports of the time. It is a tale of tragedy, and the unanswerable questions that linger when the sea claims one of its own.

The Last Voyage of Dr. Hans Winklemann

The morning of September 16, 1965, dawned calm over Kinsale Harbour, the water shimmering under a pale autumn sun. Dr. Hans Winklemann, a respected technical director of Waterford Glass Ltd., stood on the deck of his white gaff-rigged yacht, Iolanthe, preparing for what should have been a routine journey to Baltimore. The 41-year-old German-born engineer, a naturalized Irish citizen, was a seasoned yachtsman, a man who understood both the precision of glassmaking and the unpredictability of the sea. Yet, as he set sail in the early hours, none could have foreseen that this voyage would be his last.

A Life of Achievement

Hans Winklemann was no ordinary man. Born in Belgium in 1924, he had come to Ireland with his parents in 1932, fleeing the rising tensions of pre-war Europe. Educated at Sandford Park and later Trinity College Dublin, he earned a Ph.D. from Sheffield University, establishing himself as a brilliant engineer. His career at Waterford Glass was marked by innovation—he was instrumental in the company’s success, even saving production during a crippling gas strike by recalling retired female workers who knew the old machines.

Outside of work, Winklemann was a devoted family man, married with one son, and an accomplished sailor. Just months before his disappearance, he had won the News and Star prize at Waterford Harbour’s open sailing weekend. His brother, Professor Franz Winklemann of Trinity College, later spoke of his passion for the sea, recalling how Hans had always found solace in sailing.

The Fateful Journey

On September 12, Winklemann had confided in George Frederick Good, a Kinsale local, that he was taking Iolanthe to Baltimore for winter repairs. The yacht, a 40-foot vessel he kept at Dunmore East, had a slight leak under the mast, and he wanted its chain-plates replaced. Patrick Hegarty, a boat builder in Skibbereen, had been expecting written instructions for the work, but they never arrived.

At 3 a.m. on September 16, witnesses saw Iolanthe slipping out of Kinsale Harbour under the dim glow of moonlight. John Burns, skipper of the trawler Tusacairt, spotted the yacht later that morning as he fished beyond the harbour. The sea was still calm, but Burns knew the forecast warned of worsening conditions. By 4 a.m., the winds had risen to gale force—eight to nine on the Beaufort scale—whipping the water into a frenzy. The stretch between Galley Head and Baltimore was notorious for its hidden rocks, a treacherous passage even for experienced sailors.

A Mystery at Sea

When Winklemann failed to arrive in Baltimore, no immediate alarm was raised. It wasn’t until September 29 that Denis Deasy, skipper of the trawler Martha Helen, spotted a body floating four miles south of Baltimore. The corpse, clad in a still-inflated life jacket, was badly decomposed. A post-mortem by Dr. Michael O’Sullivan revealed the man had been in the water for about two weeks, his death caused by drowning. The life jacket suggested he had time to prepare for disaster, but what had happened to Iolanthe?

Over the following weeks, fragments of a white yacht washed ashore on Sherkin Island and Cape Clear. Garda John O’Driscoll documented the findings, but the main wreckage was never recovered. The prevailing theory was that Iolanthe had been caught in the September 17th storm, perhaps dashed against the rocks or swamped by waves. Without distress signals or witnesses to the sinking, the exact circumstances remained shrouded in mystery.

The Inquest and Aftermath

At the inquest in Skibbereen, Coroner Dr. C. G. Quigley presided over a sombre proceeding. Witnesses recounted Winklemann’s last known movements, while his brother, Franz, and Thomas Healy of Waterford Glass testified to his character. The jury returned a verdict of accidental drowning, a conclusion that offered little comfort to his grieving family.

The loss of Dr. Hans Winklemann sent ripples through the communities of Waterford and Dublin. Tributes poured in, highlighting not just his professional brilliance but his warmth as a husband, father, and friend. His car, parked at Kinsale pier with personal papers inside, stood as a haunting reminder of a journey cut short.

Legacy of a Lost Mariner

In the years that followed, the story of Iolanthe became a cautionary tale among sailors, a reminder of the sea’s unforgiving nature. For Waterford Glass, Winklemann’s absence was deeply felt—his technical expertise had been the backbone of the company. His family, though private in their grief, ensured his name lived on in the annals of Irish industry and maritime history.

To this day, the question lingers: Did a sudden squall capsize Iolanthe? Did the yacht’s known leak worsen in the storm? Or was there some unseen mechanical failure? The truth lies somewhere beneath the waves off Baltimore, where Dr. Hans Winklemann made his final voyage, a man of science claimed by the very element he so loved.