'I will lie with you tonight'
Recollections of past days in the Irish Lights Service by
David Gillen, Captain retired.
Let me say at the outset that this account is written from memory, and that nearly a half century later. I don't have notes, diaries, or logbooks to consult, so maybe someone with a better memory than I might like to correct me on some details, but the basic facts are all true.
This was the era when as a young seaman life on the the Irish Lights Tenders was one big laugh, both at work and play. Ships, boats, rocks, islands, local people and pubs-all went into the mix, and wherever we went ashore we got a friendly welcome. One of the old hands and great characters, 'Lofty' Kearns, always advised before going in the boats to bring oilskins and a pound. I think it was in case it rained and you had to seek shelter in a pub!
We were not just Board of Trade Companions, as seamen sometimes referred to themselves, but often genuine friends-men like Christy Swords, with whom I shared the bridge watches for many years. The inevitable will happen, but I hope St Peter had the lock gates level when these fine men were docking. May they rest in peace.
I recently read Jim Brady's book What a Life about the Irish Navy. It brought the odd giggle and reminiscent smile as I read references to men I knew in days gone by. Some of the naval vessels he mentioned were the ones we knew best in our travels around the coast.
My service on the Lighthouse Tenders was mostly on the original Granuaile-approximately eight years on that vessel. Best known to us were the le Macha, le Maev, and le Cliona-these were among the vessels we shared anchorage with in fair weather and foul.
An odd time there would be an incident outside the normal functions of the Irish Lights Tenders which could be quite considerable and varied at times. These are a few of such incidents, dredged up from memory.... It would have been around 1953. There had been a very severe gale which, as usual, played havoc with shipping. It had passed, and the Granuaile was proceeding south in pleasant sea-going conditions, approaching the Codling Lightship as it was then. The Bridge spotted an unusual object floating in the vicinity of the lightvessel.
Communications at that time were very basic; I'm not sure if the lightship was equipped with radio telephone or not, so the Granuaile manoeuvred within hailing distance of the Codling. The Master there appeared at a loss to know what it was, or where it came from, except that it was there at daylight that morning. Our Bridge was not aware of any Notice to Mariners and this object was certainly a danger to navigation in a big way.
I keep referring to the Bridge, it being the hub of all business. We below decks did not have to rely on the galley telegraph in this case, as we could hear all that was being said by megaphone. This was something out of the ordinary, and so all hands were in on the proceedings.
This object was floating about fifteen or twenty feet out of the water, and we could only guess what was underwater. It was vertical in the water, and stayed nearly in the same position, so we presumed it was touching the Codling Bank. It transpired after numerous calls to shore station, Anglesea Radio being the nearest, that a tug had been towing a crewless vessel.
Visualise a very large fridge-freezer being towed horizontally, all compartments welded to make it watertight for its passage. I can't remember whether it was going north or south, but somewhere between South Stack Light and Bardsey Island off the Welsh coast it broke in two, leaving the tug with the forward end. Several days later the after end arrived off the Wicklow coast.
Mystery solved. Now the big question was how to get rid of it. To tow it near any port was out of the question-it even looked ugly. As nightfall approached it was apparently decided that the Navy would come and sink it using gunfire, but the Corvette would not be at the position until around noon the following day.
There used to be a two-flag signal, which read I will lie by you tonight. There was no point in making that signal here-there was nobody home-so the Granuaile's launch was dispatched with two anchor lights which were placed on this vile thing.
If you like ships and boats you would have hated this thing. The Granuaile rode shotgun for the night. By now, all shipping had been warned, and all necessary precautions had been taken for safety at sea.
The following morning the launch retrieved the anchor lights and towards noon the Corvette hove in sight from the southward. I'm not sure anymore which vessel it was, but one of the forementioned. The naval vessel had a look at the target and advised the Granuaile to stand off to the nor'd , which we did, and waited there to see the show.
The Corvette stood off to the east and-in golfing parlance-overclubbed the first two shots. Soon they had the range and, literally for hours, pumped shells of every calibre into this thing. The Navy lads certainly had a great day's practice, but still this thing stood defiantly there. Word filtered through that the Commander suggested that it would take a bomb dropped from a plane to sink it, but this was rejected by the higher authorities.
It was now nearly dark on day two, and the naval vessel suggested putting lights on it again until they could try the following day with a depth charge. Once more we approached this vile thing-after all these years I can still picture how it looked. You couldn't describe it as a vessel, even in the broadest sense, and in the darkness, glowing red from all the shelling, it looked more menacing than ever.
It was quickly and unanimously decided that there was no way we were getting on to this nasty object, not least in case there might still be an unexploded shell stuck in it. We beat a hasty retreat to our mother ship where the Bridge agreed that our Coxswain had made the right decision. Our boat was hoisted and secured, and the Granuaile settled in for another night of derelict-sitting.
What went on behind the scenes is open to speculation; however, the final decision was to depth-charge it. Again we stood out of the way. It was ebb tide. Most people reading this will realise the problem facing the Corvette Commander and his crew: to drop a depth charge in comparatively shallow water from a vessel who, with all due respect, had given her best during the war years.
She started her run heading southerly. No doubt the Chief Engineer had the big burners in, giving her all she had, and helped also by the ebb tide. We watched the whole thing with bated breath.
It's a pity I can't remember the name of the Corvette, there must be a record somewhere. She must have used great precision and timing. Suddenly we on the Granuaile saw an almighty surge of water. We all swore that we saw the Corvette's stern rise out of the water as she drove on past. Our view cleared quickly, leaving only the Corvette to be seen. Thank God, well done chaps-one less obstruction for the merchant men to avoid.
Whatever our original mission had been, going south three days previously, the orders were changed and we returned to Dun Laoghaire Harbour, as did the Corvette. Some of our lads happened to meet a few of the Navy chaps in a pub that night. They told our crew that there had been some superficial damage-cups, plates, light bulbs etc. were broken. I would certainly like to see the log entries on the Corvette for those few days, to get a more precise account than my sketchy memories.
That Corvette probably had a few close calls during the war, but she proved herself gallant even in her twilight days, making the waters safe for other vessels to sail in. She certainly earned our respect during those out-of-the-ordinary days in the life of an Irish Lights Tender.
Let me say at the outset that this account is written from memory, and that nearly a half century later. I don't have notes, diaries, or logbooks to consult, so maybe someone with a better memory than I might like to correct me on some details, but the basic facts are all true.
This was the era when as a young seaman life on the the Irish Lights Tenders was one big laugh, both at work and play. Ships, boats, rocks, islands, local people and pubs-all went into the mix, and wherever we went ashore we got a friendly welcome. One of the old hands and great characters, 'Lofty' Kearns, always advised before going in the boats to bring oilskins and a pound. I think it was in case it rained and you had to seek shelter in a pub!
We were not just Board of Trade Companions, as seamen sometimes referred to themselves, but often genuine friends-men like Christy Swords, with whom I shared the bridge watches for many years. The inevitable will happen, but I hope St Peter had the lock gates level when these fine men were docking. May they rest in peace.
I recently read Jim Brady's book What a Life about the Irish Navy. It brought the odd giggle and reminiscent smile as I read references to men I knew in days gone by. Some of the naval vessels he mentioned were the ones we knew best in our travels around the coast.
My service on the Lighthouse Tenders was mostly on the original Granuaile-approximately eight years on that vessel. Best known to us were the le Macha, le Maev, and le Cliona-these were among the vessels we shared anchorage with in fair weather and foul.
An odd time there would be an incident outside the normal functions of the Irish Lights Tenders which could be quite considerable and varied at times. These are a few of such incidents, dredged up from memory.... It would have been around 1953. There had been a very severe gale which, as usual, played havoc with shipping. It had passed, and the Granuaile was proceeding south in pleasant sea-going conditions, approaching the Codling Lightship as it was then. The Bridge spotted an unusual object floating in the vicinity of the lightvessel.
Communications at that time were very basic; I'm not sure if the lightship was equipped with radio telephone or not, so the Granuaile manoeuvred within hailing distance of the Codling. The Master there appeared at a loss to know what it was, or where it came from, except that it was there at daylight that morning. Our Bridge was not aware of any Notice to Mariners and this object was certainly a danger to navigation in a big way.
I keep referring to the Bridge, it being the hub of all business. We below decks did not have to rely on the galley telegraph in this case, as we could hear all that was being said by megaphone. This was something out of the ordinary, and so all hands were in on the proceedings.
This object was floating about fifteen or twenty feet out of the water, and we could only guess what was underwater. It was vertical in the water, and stayed nearly in the same position, so we presumed it was touching the Codling Bank. It transpired after numerous calls to shore station, Anglesea Radio being the nearest, that a tug had been towing a crewless vessel.
Visualise a very large fridge-freezer being towed horizontally, all compartments welded to make it watertight for its passage. I can't remember whether it was going north or south, but somewhere between South Stack Light and Bardsey Island off the Welsh coast it broke in two, leaving the tug with the forward end. Several days later the after end arrived off the Wicklow coast.
Mystery solved. Now the big question was how to get rid of it. To tow it near any port was out of the question-it even looked ugly. As nightfall approached it was apparently decided that the Navy would come and sink it using gunfire, but the Corvette would not be at the position until around noon the following day.
There used to be a two-flag signal, which read I will lie by you tonight. There was no point in making that signal here-there was nobody home-so the Granuaile's launch was dispatched with two anchor lights which were placed on this vile thing.
If you like ships and boats you would have hated this thing. The Granuaile rode shotgun for the night. By now, all shipping had been warned, and all necessary precautions had been taken for safety at sea.
The following morning the launch retrieved the anchor lights and towards noon the Corvette hove in sight from the southward. I'm not sure anymore which vessel it was, but one of the forementioned. The naval vessel had a look at the target and advised the Granuaile to stand off to the nor'd , which we did, and waited there to see the show.
The Corvette stood off to the east and-in golfing parlance-overclubbed the first two shots. Soon they had the range and, literally for hours, pumped shells of every calibre into this thing. The Navy lads certainly had a great day's practice, but still this thing stood defiantly there. Word filtered through that the Commander suggested that it would take a bomb dropped from a plane to sink it, but this was rejected by the higher authorities.
It was now nearly dark on day two, and the naval vessel suggested putting lights on it again until they could try the following day with a depth charge. Once more we approached this vile thing-after all these years I can still picture how it looked. You couldn't describe it as a vessel, even in the broadest sense, and in the darkness, glowing red from all the shelling, it looked more menacing than ever.
It was quickly and unanimously decided that there was no way we were getting on to this nasty object, not least in case there might still be an unexploded shell stuck in it. We beat a hasty retreat to our mother ship where the Bridge agreed that our Coxswain had made the right decision. Our boat was hoisted and secured, and the Granuaile settled in for another night of derelict-sitting.
What went on behind the scenes is open to speculation; however, the final decision was to depth-charge it. Again we stood out of the way. It was ebb tide. Most people reading this will realise the problem facing the Corvette Commander and his crew: to drop a depth charge in comparatively shallow water from a vessel who, with all due respect, had given her best during the war years.
She started her run heading southerly. No doubt the Chief Engineer had the big burners in, giving her all she had, and helped also by the ebb tide. We watched the whole thing with bated breath.
It's a pity I can't remember the name of the Corvette, there must be a record somewhere. She must have used great precision and timing. Suddenly we on the Granuaile saw an almighty surge of water. We all swore that we saw the Corvette's stern rise out of the water as she drove on past. Our view cleared quickly, leaving only the Corvette to be seen. Thank God, well done chaps-one less obstruction for the merchant men to avoid.
Whatever our original mission had been, going south three days previously, the orders were changed and we returned to Dun Laoghaire Harbour, as did the Corvette. Some of our lads happened to meet a few of the Navy chaps in a pub that night. They told our crew that there had been some superficial damage-cups, plates, light bulbs etc. were broken. I would certainly like to see the log entries on the Corvette for those few days, to get a more precise account than my sketchy memories.
That Corvette probably had a few close calls during the war, but she proved herself gallant even in her twilight days, making the waters safe for other vessels to sail in. She certainly earned our respect during those out-of-the-ordinary days in the life of an Irish Lights Tender.