by Jack Lynch
As luck would have it, daddy heard about our latest escapade and had come down to meet us. Strangely, despite the fact that I could not swim I have never been afraid of the sea, no matter what conditions prevailed, and I never felt that my final life struggle would be with the sea. Daddy told Eileen and me to get home, and that he would deal with us later. We were grounded and had to scrub and clean the kitchen floor, plus a number of other unbecoming jobs, for our punishment.
One of my punishments was that I got the dangerous job of whitewashing the walls at the back of the house. These walls reached the height of our three-story house and covered a very large surface area, stretching back the entire depth of the building. One of these walls belonged to Barry’s next door, but this did not matter to daddy. He just told me to whitewash the lot. At this time we only had two rickety wooden ladders that had woodworm in lots of places. Daddy lashed the two ladders together with ropes but they only overlapped by about four rungs. It was a nightmare the top of the ladder because I had to hold a bucket of whitewash with one hand wrapped around the ladder, and then dip the brush into the bucket with the other hand. Then, I had to splash the wall as best I could. I had no visor, or protective glasses, and I got a lot of splashes into my eyes that burned like hell.
There was no way I could safely clean my eyes up there in such a precarious position. While I was up at the top of the ladder and there was nobody holding the bottom of the ladder I felt the ladder begin to slide to the right. I immediately froze and grabbed the ladder in a bear hug. It stopped sliding and I was petrified as I looked down on the concrete below. My voice did not function with fear and I couldn’t utter a word. My body was rigid. I hoped somebody would come to my assistance but to no avail. After an unknown length of time I started to get my wits together and slowly, ever so slowly, I put one foot down to the next rung, whilst still clinging grimly to the ladder. It remained solid. Another rung and then another. Now I was more relaxed and descended eventually and safely to the ground, perspiration dripping down my back. After some time I went back up the ladder but only halfway up this time until I got more confidence back. The ladder was rickety, unsteady and bowed with my weight, and did not instil any confidence in me. How I never came off and fell to the concrete below I’ll never know but I eventually finished that job. I was about fifteen years old.
Years later, when I came home on leave from one of my ships, mammy said daddy had fallen off one section of the ladder but he was all right. I took one look at the ladders, saw the poor condition of them and took the axe to them. I broke them into smithereens, just as daddy had done with the barrel that Anthony had nearly drowned in. Daddy was not too pleased but he realised that I was right.
At the end of the Emergency the Royal Navy minesweepers arrived to clear the southwest coast of mines laid by the British during the war. These Royal Navy ships used to dock at the Deepwater Quay and were open to the public for visits on Sundays. On numerous visits to these ships I could not believe how slack security was. Visitors were allowed to go anywhere onboard without escort, and in most cases sailors were in their cabins with girls so they had other interests. I saw twelve .303 rifles and bayonets on an unsecured rack on deck in a corridor. There wasn’t a sailor in view. After some time I took a bayonet as a souvenir, put it under my coat, and left the ship. Feeling guilty, I decided to return it to the ship, which I did as easily as I had taken it in the first place. I could just as easily have taken a rifle.
On another occasion, I was lucky not to have been crushed between the minesweeper boat and the Quay. Dan Hunt and I came on deck and when we were leaving we went to the bow of the ship, which was level with quayside. I stood on a bollard on the deck and jumped across the wire stays but caught my foot on the stay. My knee crashed on to the edge of the Quay. I felt myself slipping between the ship and the quay wall as I dug my fingernails into the concrete edge. Gradually, I pulled myself up on to the quay and rested with the sheer relief of having saved myself, only to watch my knee balloon up to a huge size. It was sheer bravado on my part trying this stupid game. I shiver now when I think of this. The quay and the minesweeper were only about two feet apart and with the swell in the sea, this reduced to about fifteen inches. If I had not held on to the quay, I would have been mashed between ship and quay. It would have been more sensible and easy, to walk off by the official gangway. If I had been mangled, there would have been plenty of eating for the crabs I used to catch.
The minesweepers stayed for quite a while and I took photos of them in the harbour. I gave the pictures to Charlie Nash, a local retired pilot who told me he later gave them to the Maritime Museum in Cobh. I remember the names of some of the minesweepers from then; Flagship HMS Ready, HMS Crocodile, HMS Rattlesnake, and HMS Cheerful, all very innocent names for ships that were built to retrieve mines. Ironically, the crew of this latter ship, the HMS Cheerful, caused more fights in town than all the others put together. There were confrontations between townspeople, the Irish army and the British sailors. The civic guards and military patrols were active all the time trying to maintain the peace. The girls had a whale of a time though!
By January 1946 I was still awaiting a call from Marconi for my first placement. I got correspondence to say that the special Radio Operators were being replaced by qualified Radio Officers and that I would be called when a vacancy occurred. I waited, and waited, getting frustrated as time went by. I wanted to get away to sea, but I still had to wait a long time before my dream was to become a reality.
In the intervening time I did have an offer of employment, to work as an agent for the Irish Assurance Company for two pounds and ten shillings a week. I felt strongly that this was not for me so I turned it down.
In the interim, Dan and I joined the Local Defence Force. At this time daddy was in the Local Security Force where he was in charge of local transport and he made it my responsibility to record the names of everybody who owned any type of car, or mechanical means of transport. I knew every vehicle in Cobh and who the owners were.
In the Local Defence Force I got to experiment further with armoury. We were given .303 Lee-Enfield rifles which I kept at home. Neither bullets nor bayonets were issued. We met each week in the Hall in East Beach and had drill and instructions in handling, cleaning, and stripping the rifle. A serious incident occurred one evening in the hall when we were carrying out target practice, using blank ammunition. Six of us took up the prone position, facing six fellows, each holding a target disc which had a small hole in the centre of it. The lads held these discs to one eye and faced the fellow with the rifle. Behind them were more lads sitting on the bench against the wall. The idea was that the fellow holding the disc peered through the hole, to see the alignment of the rifle barrel facing him. We were separated by about ten feet. The instructor issued us with a clip of five blank .303 shells, and gave the instruction; “Five rounds, in your own time, fire.”
I aimed and fired but there was only the dull click of the rifle bolt so I got ready to fire my second blank when there was a loud bang from the rifle second on my left and the sound of a bullet ricochet causing immediate pandemonium. My eyes automatically scanned left to the men holding the discs. No sign of blood! The Instructor shouted; “Stop firing and lay down your rifles!”
God only knows how the fellow holding the disc escaped. The live round went over his head, and took the gaiter off the left leg of the member sitting behind. Nobody noticed that live ammunition was mixed with the blanks. Talk about Russian roulette! Normally, the blank bullets were identified by colour code but were difficult to see when fitted in a clip. Fortunately, nobody got hurt directly or from the ricochet after the bullet hit the wall. A check of all the remaining bullets did not reveal any more live bullets and the only five were those issued to the unfortunate man who had fired the bullet. Both he and the man holding the disc were petrified. The poor guy seated was visibly shaken and it took some time to quieten him down. His gaiter was beyond repair. I don’t remember any more in-
house target training after this. The shooting of large calibre rifles normally only took place in the firing range so the sound of a .303 bullet being discharged travelled a long way.
Across the calm water, in Spike Island, the shot was heard and they were on the phone to the Garda barracks to find out what had happened. I never found out the result of the investigation. We were all shook up. I personally felt relieved because if I had received those live bullets there would have been a dead man in front of me. I was the top shot in “E” Coy 47th Battalion at that time and represented the Company at the inter-company shoot-off in Kilworth Army shooting range. I would not have missed from ten feet. The good Lord looked over all of us that night. Otherwise, it could have meant a nightmare life ever after.
We had some great times with the L.D.F. Every year we went to Fort Camden for annual training. We stayed in bivouacs - temporary tents - overlooking the entrance to Cork Harbour, close to Crosshaven. Dan Hunt and I shared the bivouac together and got on very well, we were inseparable. One night, it was lashing out of the heavens, when we heard terrible swearing as shadowy figures ran past our tent. We could see the shadow of a mallet being waved about. It was a couple of West Cork lads on the rampage, trying to catch some fellows who had loosened the stays of their tent. With the heavy rain the tent collapsed on top of them while they were asleep. The poor West Cork guys always seemed to get a rough time as the other lads classed them as ‘Culchies’, just because they were from the West of Cork!
Mealtime in Fort Camden was an unforgettable experience, for all the wrong reasons. We all trooped in single file past a soldier, who dished out soup from a metal bowl of what looked like sludge. A large lump of dry bread was thrown on the tray. There was also a cup of tea provided that looked like Guinness. We were so hungry we had to eat what we were given but it was far from what our mothers had fed us.
Getting washed in the mornings was another problem. As we were billeted in tents, we had to make use of makeshift outside cold water facilities. It was not pleasant, lining up for a chance to splash my face and shave. The outside communal loo was another eye-opener. It was nothing more than a square of grass surrounded by semi transparent hessian or canvas. Inside were a line of three open wooden loo seats over holes in the ground. There was no sanitation or loo paper.
The army never learned from the old days and lived by the old rhyme;
Away from the regimented army living it was great to get time off to enjoy ourselves so we never missed an opportunity to go down to Crosshaven. This was a great place to go in the evenings and weekends when we were off duty. It was a very busy seaside resort with funfairs and plenty of talent to chase. Usually, we wore our mufti – the army term for civilian clothes - but sometimes the uniforms sufficed. To keep unruly members on the straight and narrow some fellows were appointed as Military Police, similar to Army Redcaps, to patrol the area and watch for unruly happenings. These men were identified by the white armband, which they wore. All who intended to stay out after midnight had to get a late night pass. Some fellows did not always do this and were arrested if caught out. One morning Dan and I were returning to barracks at one a.m. with late night passes in our pockets, when we heard noises from the side of the road. We realised that some LDF lads were in the bushes with some girls so we decided to play a trick on them. We put white hankies on our arms and shouted at the fellows to come out and show their late night passes. There was a moment of silence and then two guys came out and ran like hell away from us. We did not bother with them but instead approached the girls and pretended to question them about the fellows. It was not long before we had secured dates with the girls - nothing ventured, nothing gained!
There was another time when Dan and I were wearing our uniforms and were returning to camp and we met two other guys from Cobh who were going into Crosshaven on a late night pass. I could not believe my eyes and got mad as hell when I saw one of them was wearing my civilian suit. He said he only borrowed it as he preferred it better than his own suit. I did not believe that somebody could be so brazen and stupid. I chased him back to barracks and made him take it off, with a warning not to ever again take any of my property.
On still another occasion Dan and I met two girls and we walked them back to the house where they said they were staying. All was going fine until one asked us if we liked apples, as they knew of an orchard close by where we could steal some apples. We showed our bravado and said we’d have a go. In we went, while the girls kept watch and when we returned from our escapade with some apples one of the girls told us we had stolen from her parent’s house. The two girls howled with laughter at our discomfort.
We had a regular army sergeant, named O’ Shea, who took us for training most days in camp. This training usually took place in a big field nearby used by cattle for grazing. We had to run, fall into prone position, and do various other tactical exercises. Our biggest test was when we were running and a sergeant barked a command; Down! We had to drop where we were at the command. The field had plenty of cow pats so we all tried to avoid going down into one of these smelly piles of cow mess. Not everybody was successful and ended up with dung all over their faces, arms or uniforms. Some sergeants showed no mercy and selected spots where the manure was abundant, just for fun. Thankfully Sergeant O’Shea was not one of these tough soldiers.
We used to have great fun too playing tricks on new arrivals from the country. Sometimes, when we slept inside barracks, we made up French beds whenever a fellow was not around. This entails folding the sheets so that when a guy got into bed, he could not stretch his legs out because the sheets were folded back on each other. I heard lots of swearing when some poor fellow returned from a night out and just wanted to get into bed, only to find he had to make up his bed all over again.
We all had little moments when we would get into trouble or get up to mischief but it was always in good humour. Dick Leahy, from Spike Island, was a member of our battalion and he was out one night after midnight without a pass. He had been courting with a girl and started back over the fields to the camp in Camden. As he approached the camp, he climbed over a ditch and fell on top of a fellow and a girl entwined on the grass. He got up, brushed himself off, apologised and was starting back again when a stern male voice shouted, “Soldier, stop and explain what you are doing out at this time of night.”
Dick looked and there was a regular Irish Army Captain, adjusting his uniform. Without hesitation Dick saluted and said; “Same as yourself sir,” and then ran like hell.
Whilst I was in the Local Defence Force, enemy aircraft attacked the Irish coaster ship, Kerlogue, on her way back from Spain. When she came into the harbour, we were alerted to standby at the Deepwater Quay where she berthed and the Captain was taken away to hospital having suffered fatal wounds.
Later, during the war, the same ship arrived in Cobh, with German naval survivors picked up off the Irish coast. We were again alerted to standby and support. Regular army units arrived, and took the sailors away to the Curragh camp for internment. The Germans were all smiling, and I had the feeling they were delighted to be away from the war. One very small sailor had difficulty climbing up the back of the big army lorry and a hefty Irish army sergeant picked him up by the scruff of the neck and backside, and virtually lifted him into the back of the lorry.
The Emergency was now over and I’d had enough of waiting for things to happen. Marconi was tedious. I had come through the Emergency and had learned a lot about life and myself. I now felt confident that I could face emigration and when an unexpected opportunity presented itself to me to fulfil my dream I knew I couldn’t turn it down.
CHAPTER TWELVE
By May that year I was fed up waiting for Marconi to call me and offer me a position so I decided to immigrate to England and work there. As it happened, Dan Hunt came to me one day and said there was an advertisement in the paper for recruits to the London Metropolitan Police. He asked me if I was interested, as he was going to have a go. The terms and c
onditions were that the Metropolitan Police guaranteed to pay the fare over for people in Ireland and, if for any reason you were not accepted they would also pay your return fare home. I jumped at the opportunity, and that week Dan and I got our return tickets from Cork to Fishguard by the m.v. Innisfallen, and from there to London by train.
I left Cobh, my home, with fond memories and a feeling of trepidation at moving towards the unknown, as I had never been away from Ireland before. I said my goodbyes to the family and got the train to Cork. As the Innisfallen came down river and passed our house in Harbour Row and I watched my parents, sisters and the locals out on the street waving handkerchiefs, my mind went back to when I was younger, and how I had laughed at the emigrants on the boats leaving the harbour for good. Now, I had first-hand knowledge of how they felt and it was not pleasant, for the first time in my life I was lonely.
The crossing on the boat was not too bad even though we had to sit on chairs for the whole trip. We could not afford a cabin. Fortunately the weather wasn’t too stormy and the trip was enjoyable. We then had to rush for a seat on the train and we were lucky as numerous people had to stand in corridors for the entire journey. When we arrived in London Dan and I had to find our way on the Underground train and eventually reported to the Police station at Beak Street, off Regent Street. We stayed there overnight and started the acceptance process the next morning. During the first evening, one of the police men; they were called Bobbies there, told us various stories about Hyde Park and the ladies of the night, and how accommodating they were to the Bobbies. He spoke about the nightlife in general in the city and we thought; “This is going to be exciting.”