Further recollections of past days on the Irish Lights Tenders by David Gillen, Captain retired

This story starts in Lough Swilly in winter, in the latter half of the 'fifties. We were there to overhaul one of the most exposed buoys on the Irish coast, the Limeburner off the north coast of Donegal. With the prevailing conditions we were going to need a lot of luck to complete this difficult job in a short space of time. I'm sure I've read in Beam how the whole process is done today as explained by one of the officers of the present Granuaile. I won't dwell on that now-but, believe me, it was tough fifty years ago.

 
Granuaile made a couple of sorties out to the Limeburner. As it plunged and dived and strained at its chain and about ten tons of sinkers, even the cook could have told you that we couldn't get near the buoy that day. So we remained at our marks at anchor in the Swilly. Looking back, we probably set a record for remaining at anchor for so long to await carrying out one job. (Don't anyone tell me about the south-west rocks waiting long periods for reliefs-that was different) I don't remember how long we were in the Swilly: certainly over a month. It's a good job this was before Paddy Reilly's The Fields of Athenry and a prison ship waiting in the bay. I seem to remember remarks like 'the people ashore will think another Altmark has arrived....' To be fair, we were granted shore leave whenever weather conditions were suitable for getting a boat ashore.

On the subject of boating and shore leave, we were always granted leave to go to Mass, weather permitting. On our first Sunday off Port Salon enquiries revealed that the nearest church was across country, near the shores of Mulroy Bay. We also learned from the locals that transport was by means of a lorry which carried cattle during the week but if we were at a certain crossroads at an appointed time the driver would take us.

I might be pushing it a bit to say we were all devout Catholics but the certain knowledge, gleaned over many years, that somewhere between the pier and the church would very likely be a pub guaranteed a good turnout. So when eighteen or twenty of us turned up for the lorry it was quite a squeeze. The lorry had very high sideboards, with an old tarpaulin over the top planks across where the women and children sat. As the lorry lumbered along we discovered that the trick was not to get backed against the sideboards, otherwise you would have a job for the cleaners who definitely would not believe it happened on the way to Mass. We had a young temporary second mate who had found a spot at the back, near an old fellow who was chewing tobacco. Every now and then there was a squirt which landed dangerously close to this young man's nice shiny shoes. I'm sure he found a different spot on the return journey. We all agreed afterwards that the ideal outside garment for this type of transport was an oilskin.

On our first visit to this church we learned about the habits of the local people. When we sailors went to church, we tended to take seats fairly close together-safety in numbers. On this particular morning we chose our pews on the starboard side of the church, which went from the aisle straight against the wall. Coming from so far away we were early and had plenty of time to settle in, but we hadn't reckoned with the natives. We later realised that they had their own seats every time they went to church, which no Dublin Jackeen was going to deprive them of. They pushed and shoved and muttered as Gaeilge, and were making fenders of our lads against the walls. I still recall the looks of amazement on the faces of our crew as they bailed out over the tops of the seats.

This is all still leading to the main story, but first I have to tell you about the pub nearest our landing spot. It seemed to be half built on stilts raised against the slope of a hill. When it rained heavily, as it did on more than one occasion when we were returning from Mass, the water would just run in the door and rise up. If you didn't have a high stool, or weren't wearing sea boots, you were out of luck. Only very dedicated drinkers could hold on. It must have been getting very near her Plimsoll Line Marks when the lady bar-keeper came round to the working side, reached down into the water, found an eye-bolt and pulled. This opened a trap-door which acted as a sluice, and the water went pouring down. Peadser Doyle said a duck that was in the vicinity of the front door got caught in the rush and was transferred from fresh water to salt water before he could quack. And Peadser would not tell a lie.

Some time previously while working at Carlingford Fairway buoy I broke my leg and, after several months ashore, returned to find I had been promoted to Quartermaster. The watch for the three Quartermasters while at anchor was three hours on, six hours off, so we saw plenty of the Swilly during that time.
Lough Swilly is a very nice place but, like a lot of other places, doesn't look so good in winter. Just thinking about the place reminds me I must go back while I'm still under my own steam!

At that time communications from Head Office would be phoned to the Baily and, with a range of about sixty miles on the radio telephone, from Baily via South Rock Lightship, Maidens, Rathlin, and Inishtrahull, to Granuaile. There were special times reserved for listening for any communications from Head Office, similar to silent periods to listen for distress calls.

In the mid-fifties this system was considered very reliable and this was how we learned that there was a Lighthouse Keeper very ill on Tory Island. So the order was to steam on the mains and it wasn't long before Granuaile was pounding westwards towards Tory. With the conditions prevailing we were on a tough assignment and this time it wasn't a buoy out of position or unlit, but a human life at stake. The only qualified medical person on the island was a nurse, and her diagnosis was that the patient needed hospitalisation quickly.

The Bridge had been advised not to attempt to send a boat near the main landing pier-it was not possible to get near the landing with the seas breaking over it. The Granuaile steamed slowly along the north side of the island searching for an alternative landing and all the time the islanders carried a stretcher with the sick man along the cliffs in the hope that we could make some sort of landing. Darkness was approaching fast and, with genuine heavy hearts aboard, Granuaile returned to the Swilly for the night.

The following day Granuaile set off for Tory again, towards a small creek where the islanders had suggested there was a remote possibility of landing. We knew pretty well every step out, leap out rock on the Irish coast, but we did not know this one. We were putting our trust, and maybe our lives, in the Tory Island men.

In all my years on Irish Lights tenders it was the only time I heard a Captain ask for volunteers. As a Quartermaster I did not have to go in the boats but I thought my Rosses Point upbringing and experience in open boats could be put to good use, so I put my hand up. So did several more, and we quickly had six men to crew the cutter. The Coxswain of the motor boat was Paddy Carey, a first class man in every respect. On the engine was one of the great characters from Dalkey, M.J. Smith. The wind had eased somewhat, but the swell was still very high. The motor boat was first to be lowered, and got clear of the ship without incident. Then it was our turn in the cutter.

Just as we were being lowered to the water the ship took a violent roll to port. The cutter was in the starboard davits, and with the weight still on the falls. We could not unhook ourselves, and she took us with her until we were so far under it looked as if the bilge keel would cut the boat in two. The Bosun, George Williams, (father of Sam and George junior) was a very experienced man. Suddenly he realised our predicament, and although he almost never raised his voice, he certainly did that day. We heard him roar to let everything go, and then saw the working end of the falls flail over our heads, having unravelled out of the first fold of the block, giving us enough slack to unhook. It was a near miracle-the ship seemed to squeeze us out clear. We saw so much of the Granuaile's bottom that we could confirm to the Mate that the anti-fouling was doing a good job-the bottom was quite clear! I can still see the look of anguish on Paddy Carey's face as he powered in to take us in tow, and thanked both the Man Above and George for his quick thinking!

We then proceeded in our endeavour to take off the sick man. As the islanders scrambled down the rock ledges, the motor boat took us as far as it was safe to manoeuvre. We got our boat headed for out and, as we edged closer to the ledge, we wondered if a bit of Tory Island rock would appear through the bottom of the cutter. Our luck held and, as we rose with the swell level with the rock ledge, we stuck two oars onto the rock, the islanders put the stretcher on them, and we eased the sick man into the cutter. We were still afloat and Paddy Carey lost no time in grabbing our tow rope to get us away from the rocks. Shortly afterwards we transferred the patient to the motor boat, which had a canopy and a warm seat next to the engine opposite M.J. It was all the comfort we could offer.

That part of the job was done but now conditions were such that the ship could not lift us, so the only solution was to return to the Swilly on our own with the Granuaile minding her two chicks. We were quite happy as long as M.J. had plenty of bunkers for the motor boat. Picture our Captain's dilemma. He had two boats in the water; nine crew plus a seriously ill Lighthouse Keeper in need of urgent medical attention, and we were making very slow progress. When we got to the east side of Tory Sound we started to lose the swell. Then we got a toot on the ship's whistle, a sort of 'come home, all is forgiven' message. We closed with the ship and the boats were hoisted, this time without too many problems. Then it was full steam ahead for Lough Swilly where our patient would receive some proper TLC.

It was a day slightly out of the ordinary, one that was discussed many times over a bar-room table.

Give that oul' lamp another swing.