大象传媒

THE SURVIVORS

I have one abiding memory of the war: it was the day that the survivors from a torpedoed merchant ship landed at Inishowen Head.
For the first few years of the war my father was a keeper on the lighthouse at Inishowen. It must have been the summer of 1941 on a fine day when one of the keepers saw an odd boat out off the headland. The telescope made it out to be a ship's lifeboat being rowed towards the lighthouse. Someone - my elder brother, I think, was sent to the post office a mile away where the only telephone was. He need not have bothered; all of the village had become aware of it and some authority was being informed.

The Foyle pilot boat - a four-oared gig in those days - was stationed just along from the lighthouse. It now put out towards the lifeboat to see if any help was needed. Dad semaphored to the lifeboat to see if a doctor was wanted and got a wave of the arms from the man at the tiller. We took that to be "No" or that he did not understand. Through the telescope they all looked fit and one at least was smoking a cigarette so we assumed that they had not been too long in the boat.

The pilot boat came up to the lifeboat and diverted it from heading into the lighthouse landing and led it instead to the pilot boat dock. By now half the village - my brother and I among them - were gathering. We scrambled along the rocks following the progress of both boats. Dad had to stay at the station.

The lifeboat - it was huge close up - had some difficulty negotiating the entrance to the pilot boat dock. A crowd gathered as the survivors - as they were called for ages after - climbed ashore. There were about 15 of them, all men, and immediately they were looking for 'fags'. There was a lot of talking and milling around of people. My brother and I, with other lads, scrambled on board the lifeboat and foraged under the seats where there were lockers. There was only water and boxes of huge, hard biscuits. We took a couple of biscuits for souvenirs.
I don't know if anybody was organising anything but the crowd eventually sorted itself into little groups and wandered off up the hill to the village, a good half mile climb. My brother and I tagged on the end, picked up a lone survivor and ushered him towards our house. Going through the lighthouse gates we were met by Charlie Loughrey, the Principal Keeper, who took possession of our survivor. I was relieved in a way; I didn't know how my parents were going to react to a big hungry man being foisted on them. We took our biscuits home but they were too dry to eat and tasted horrible anyway. Dad said we had to wet the biscuits first or make a porridge from them. We threw them away.

Next thing was Charlie Loughrey's sister who kept house for him was at the door looking for food - any food - to feed the survivors (plural?). She took away all our bacon, eggs and bread.
Later that day a bus came to pick up the survivors. We gathered at the lighthouse gate - three survivors and the lighthouse families. We were the last call at the bottom of the village. We could see the bus making its slow way down with many stops - it took nearly an hour to travel the mile or so to us. Those already on the bus had had the better part - many had enjoyed the hospitality of the pub up above - and it showed.. There was a lot of back-slapping, hand-shaking and loud talk and then they were gone. The excitement of the day of the survivors was suddenly over, a quiet descended and we all went home.

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