Chief
Radio Officer Tony McTighe
(COMPILED
BY PAULINE MATTHEWS IN MEMORY OF HER FATHER, ARCTIC
CONVOYS VETERAN TONY MCTIGHE)
The Man from The Magazine
Road:
The Man from the Magazine Road – who would have thought that he
would have had such an adventurous life, at one time? Who would
have thought that I, as his only child, would have been so
oblivious to it – although it all took place before I was born?
Why was he so quiet about his exploits and adventures? Why and how
did he do some of the things he did? Why did he not boast about
his bravery? And curse his betrayal? Why didn’t he speak about his
terrifying experiences? And yet...that’s how it was.
So, what did he do that was so.... adventurous? Well, he travelled
all over the world in the 1930’s, 40’s and 50’s. But he also spent
time in Valencia, Co. Kerry. That last part doesn’t sound that
exciting? Ha, that’s where you are wrong. And so was I. But the
biggest adventure, if you could call it that, was his experience
of surviving in the North Atlantic as part of the NOTORIOUSLY
ill-fated Arctic convoy, PQ17 during World War 11. Most of his
travelling companion ships were blown to bits by the Luftwaffe.
But he survived. For nearly 10 days with virtually nothing to eat.
In a lifeboat, near the Artic. While enemy planes flew perilously
overhead and destructive U-boats lurked beneath the icy seas. Now
that is exciting. But freezing. And awfully scary.
However, let’s start at the beginning. Francis Anthony
McTighe was born in 1907 and lived in
Ardcullen, Magazine
Road, Cork. His family were prosperous and had a
Tobacconist shop in Patrick St. Young Tony seemed to have
had a bit of adventure in his heart from at a very young
age. He signed up with
Na Fianna Éireann, a political
youth organisation which was established in Cork by
republicans including Tomás MacCurtain. Now research has
shown that he must have said he was older than he was at
this stage, in order to join up. This might partly explain
why relations with his family, at times, seemed to have
been a little.....strained. One of the very few stories he
told me was this one: In his role with Na Fianna, he was
given instructions, during this period of the struggle for
independence, to pitch a few hand grenades at a British
Convoy that was due to pass down
Patrick St. He decided
his best vantage spot (God knows why) was on the small
street by
St. Peter and Paul’s Church. He threw the
grenades at the convoy but one of them struck his family’s
shop, which was across the street and caused extensive
damage. Whether he ever owned up to this I don’t know but
Dad seemed to think the whole episode was well worth it.
He eventually went on to be awarded the War of
Independence Service Medal and The Truce (1921)
Commemoration Medal. He subsequently trained as a Radio
Officer and was awarded his first Marconi certificate in
the mid-1920s.
Tony McTighe:
Radio technology was in its infancy at the time and was
seen as radical, new and progressive technology. Perhaps
similar to our experiences today with digital technology?
He subsequently worked for a while with
Cork Harbour
Commissioners on their pilot boats on the River Lee. He
later went to work with
Nederlandse Telegraaf Mij
Radio-Holland. This company supplied Marconi equipment and
wireless operators for Dutch ships. He did tell me, at one
stage, that he had learned to speak Flemish while working
with this company. Kind of unusual for a Man from the
Magazine Road? Not that I, as a child, thought it was
unusual. Or even interesting. He always did wryly comment
that we were very insular in Blackrock!
After this he came back to Ireland for a while and was
employed by the Department of Post and Telegraphs in Gorey
before being seconded, in the 1930’s, to the
Valencia
Radio Station. He would have briefly mentioned this to me
when I was young and I think my reaction was something
along the lines of ‘Gosh, how interesting’ meaning ‘Yeah, Valentia, CO. KERRY??? Must have been marginally better
than being posted to Rooskey’. But never really elaborated
further. However, little did I appreciate that Valentia
Island, at that time, was a hugely strategic international
communications hub. Valentia Radio handled more traffic
than any other UK Radio Station during the mid-1920’s and
1930’s. Neither did I appreciate the fact that it was a
focal point for all that was fashionable, go-ahead, young
and trendy – like the modern equivalent to Silicon Valley.
And a social scene to match. Ibiza meets Iveragh? And he
was a young, good-looking single man....it must have been
some fun!
Tony McTighe,
Chief Radio Officer, The Bolton Castle:
Anyway, he did a few short, uneventful trips on the Bolton
Castle, to places like Sierra Leone, until May 1942 when,
horror of horrors, the ship was detailed to be part of an
Arctic Convoy code-named PQ17. So Dad, being the Chief
Radio Officer on the
Bolton Castle, in May found himself
sailing to
Hvalfjord, Iceland to meet up with the rest of
the fleet who would make up the ill-fated PQ17. On June
27th 1942 the convoy was ready to set sail on towards
Russia. Dangerous though it was, the prevailing philosophy
at the time was – ‘We have a job to do – let’s get on with
it’. These convoys, comprised of MERCHANT ships who had
been ordered, as a vital part of the war effort, to
deliver essential military supplies to the Soviet Union
via ports like Archangel and Murmansk. The cargo, worth
about £700 million, on Dad’s Bolton Castle included
approx., 300 aircraft, 600 tanks, more than 4,000 trucks
and trailers, and a general cargo that exceeded 150,000
tons. It was more than enough to completely equip an army
of 50,000. There were 78 such convoys between August 1941
and May 1945.
The people chosen for this nightmare, on PQ17 and other
convoys, were MERCHANT SEAMEN with ages from 17-65. These
men had no military training, and many had been on routes
to the USA, Caribbean, India, South Africa, etc. They
wanted to see the world, exotic places and people. They
wanted adventure....and they got it. They were issued with
some clothes for the convoy journey, a long cloth coat,
boots and hats....but not designed for Arctic conditions.
The pay was very low for a lot of the crew – maybe £10 a
month and if your ship was sunk, your pay was immediately
stopped....even if you survived. If you were hit by the
enemy, you may not just die. You could be injured in the
water or even on fire. But you were left there because you
were travelling in a convoy and it had to move as one.
A convoy generally set off each month, except fewer ran in
the summer when the lack of darkness, around the Arctic
Circle, made them very vulnerable to attack.
Except....remember when PQ17 started out? Yeah, June!
Sailing around the northern tip of Norway, the convoys
would be exposed to one of the largest concentrations of
German U-boats, surface raiders and aircraft anywhere in
the world. Strict orders forbade the halting of any ship
for even a moment for fear of being attacked by prowling
German U-boats, and individuals who fell overboard or
survivors seen adrift on the waters had to be ruthlessly
ignored. Each convoy was effectively a death-defying
exercise.... and none more so than PQ17.
The way that convoys worked was that the merchant ships
sailed in formations. On PQ17 there were 34 other merchant
ships along with the Bolton Castle. These would then be
‘escorted’ by military naval ships to form a defensive
cordon around the merchant ships and keep them safe. PQ17
had six destroyers and 15 other armed vessels including
anti-aircraft, armed trawlers, submarines, corvettes, as
their protective shield.
Weather in the North Atlantic was always a problem for
these convoys. Gales, high seas, fog, snow and ice were
standard hazards. But standard weather could become
catastrophic very quickly. Gales would become full blown
Atlantic storms, high seas would become monstrous, fog
would become so impenetrable so that the bows of a ship
could not be seen from the bridge, snow on the ship’s
upper works would become so heavy that the weight of the
accumulations could seriously jeopardise a vessels
stability. In this sort of weather, just keeping ships on
course and free from weather damage was a job in itself.
However, the alternative was just as bad. Although still
freezing, sometimes, the weather would be good, with
wonderful visibility, calm seas and bright sunlight.
Perfect for the enemy to spot the convoy from miles away.
So the Arctic Convoys were no picnic. Winston Churchill
once described the crews of these convoys as having made
'the worst journey in the world'. However, seamen went
wherever their ships were sent. On PQ17, things went ok
for the first couple of days. But then the terror started:
Huge German aircraft attacked the convoy and hit 3 of the
ships. But three German bombers were shot down in return
so there was some optimism. But, back in London, The
British War Office had intelligence that said the Germans
had launched surface ships from their base in Norway and
were on their way to attack PQ17. Among them was the
dreaded Tirpitz. – the most advanced warship the world had
ever seen. A marauding terror that blasted all in it’s
path. The combined protective fire power for PQ17 wouldn’t
stand a chance. The Tirpitz had armour plating of 14"
thick. It had a speed of 35 miles per hour. The weaponry,
guns, firepower was way beyond anything that had been used
before. It was the Rolls Royce plus of war-ships... a
complete monster. It would be like comparing a peashooter
to a cannon ball – in all respects. Back in London,
Admiral Sir Alfred Pickman Rodgers Dudley Pound, GCB, OM,
GCVO, was First Sea Lord of the Admiralty and generally
deemed to be highly authoritarian. At this stage of his
career he was way past his 'sell-by date' and quite
incompetent, though this wasn’t recognised at the time. He
no longer listened to credible intelligence and blindly
pursued his own agenda. Having disregarded information
decoded in
Bletchley Park that suggested the
Tirpitz was
NOT in the area, he issued the deadly, terrifying order:
"Convoy is to
scatter!!!"
Effectively, he ordered that the merchant ships to be
deprived of their protection so that the Royal Navy fleet
could be spared and head back home. This effectively meant
that the merchant navy fleet, of ordinary seafarers, not
trained in any kind of warfare techniques, on a mission
under the orders of the British Government, were to be
left alone and literally ‘sitting ducks’ for the enemy
forces. It was the first time that this had ever happened
in such a convoy situation. When details became public,
much later on, the Royal Navy were disgraced and shamed
over the incident. A few hours later, the Bolton Castle
was attacked by three huge bombs that exploded in the
middle of hundreds of tons of cordite in a prolonged burst
of flame and fire. Amazingly, there were no casualties.
But the ship split in two and began to sink rapidly.
Now this is where one of the few stories that Dad told me
comes into play. He told me that his ship had been hit by
enemy bombs and that they were all getting into lifeboats.
However, he said he ran (through a blazing, sinking ship)
back to collect his wallet and hat. However, what I didn’t
realise was that his "wallet" actually meant his
seafarer’s canvas bag, and contained all his legal
documents, passport, Radio Officer licence, discharge book
etc. All this stuff would have been irreplaceable. I now,
thankfully, have all these in my possession. The funny
thing is that this story was not told in a spirit of
bravado – rather in a self-deprecating way; "What a dope I
was – the only thought on my mind was my wallet!" And all
that in the midst of panic and terror. Just as well he
didn’t have a dog.
In preparation, luckily, lifeboats had already been
lowered on the orders of Captain Pascoe – a courageous and
fearless leader. Captain Pascoe (SS
Bolton Castle) was able to rescue ten five
gallon cans of petrol, which was vital as the lifeboats
had an engine. They also had a small quantity of food and
water. However, in seriously overloaded boats, they were
adrift in a sea of destruction with debris floating all
around – some of it on fire, bodies of crew from other
ships, smoke and chaos. Twenty four out of thirty five of
the PQ17 convoy ships were subsequently attacked and
destroyed. More than one hundred and fifty merchant seamen
on this convoy had lost their lives. All the while Dad and
his companions bobbed about in the Arctic in their
lifeboat, now up to their knees in icy water. And of
course, the ever present enemy, above and below the sea
was still there to attack the survivors. Eventually
rations all but ran out. They were at the total mercy of
the enemy, and the prevailing conditions, but miraculously
– probably because they were now small and insignificant
craft and not that visible any more, they escaped being
bombed, torpedoed or struck by German U-Boats. This went
on for 8 days – adrift in icy, freezing waters, cold,
hungry, terrified and abandoned. Many suffered from
frostbite particularly in their lower limbs which were
frequently submerged in Arctic icy water. Then, in the
afternoon of the 8th day, a small Russian patrol boat
miraculously sailed into view. Rescue was imminent. The
Russians quickly took Dad and the survivors from the
Bolton Castle on board where they were given a meal of
sausage washed down with liberal quantities of vodka. They
were taken ashore the following day at the Russian naval
base of
Polyarny near Murmansk. Here they were medically
examined and the recommendation was that Dad should have
his leg amputated due to frostbite. He said no. Luckily,
he recovered from the frostbite and had no problems from
it in later life.
He stayed in Murmansk for two months (without pay –"Tough,
your ship was lost") until he was assigned his next ship.
He continued to sail for the next ten years and had
voyages to India, Burma, Australia, amongst many other
places. He married my mother in Cork in 1948. To my shame,
I knew very little about all his adventures while he was
alive. He simply just didn’t talk about them. Or maybe it
was too painful? Or maybe I didn’t ask enough of
questions. Such a shame... Tony McTighe, was subsequently
awarded seven medals for services during World War 11, by
the UK Government. They looked well next to the two he got
for services to the Irish War of Independence! Not bad
going for the Man from the Magazine Road.
Tony McTighe after
PQ 17:
Tony McTighe said farewell to his career in the British
merchant navy in September 1952, after a long trip to
Australia. He returned home to his native Cork, to his
wife and baby girl, Pauline. More trauma, but of a
different kind, was to follow. Both his wife and baby had
contracted TB and had spent the best part of the previous
two years in hospital. Luckily both survived. Life in Cork
in the 1950s was grim. Tony struggled in this environment.
Looking back it is highly probably that he was suffering
from
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. In Tony, the symptom
was excessive dependence on alcohol for many years.
Unemployment was rife in Ireland, at that time, with huge
number emigrating to the UK to find work on building sites
and in factories.
Finding a job proved very difficult for Tony for a few
years. Having had a career in the British Merchant Navy
was certainly neither a help or an honour in
Post-Independence Ireland. He eventually found a few
months winter work in the
River Lee Hydro Electric Scheme.
However, it meant a round bicycle trip of nearly 2.5 hours
from the house to work – in a harsh winter, without
protective weather gear or too many changes of clothes at
home either. Life was hard, insecure and the family was
poor. Eventually in the late 1950’s he got a job with the
Cork Harbour Commissioners – now known as Port of Cork.
Initially he was a night watch man on a dredger, called
The Lough Mahon, berthed on the River Lee. Every night, in
all weather, he rowed alone to the dredger to be at work
at 8pm and worked a 12 hour shift, doing the return trip
at 8am. He was eventually given a job as a security man at
the main headquarters of the Cork Harbour Commissioners in
Cork City. It was an easy job for a change and he enjoyed
the constant interaction with shipping in the extremely
busy port of Cork. He was sociable and good company but
that didn’t always work to the family’s advantage. He was
often given presents, by the crews of berthed ships on the
docks, of bottles of alcohol – which he, and the family,
could well have done without. However, he made a sudden
decision to end his love affair with alcohol in 1966 and
never touched a drop again! He retired around 1973.
The rest of his life was spent in quiet contentment. He
was an avid reader, adored TV and spent hours trying to
illicitly get BBC channels which were not available in
Cork at the time, unless you had special aerials, etc.
Tony tried all sorts of tricks – some worked. Some did
not. He loved short-wave radio and had lots of equipment
which he constantly tinkered with. He lost all enthusiasm
for travel and as far as I can remember,
Butlin’s’ Holiday
Camp, was as far as he went! He adored his first
grand-child, Tony Jnr but unfortunately he died before his
little grand-daughter was born. In his years in Cork, he
rarely spoke about his adventures at sea or of the
infamous
Arctic Convoys. He got no credit for his bravery
or courage from anyone. As his daughter, my big regret is
that I really had no idea while he was alive of the life
he previously led. I didn’t realize the magnitude of his
ordeal on the Russian Convoys or of the miraculous story
of his rescue and survival. Such a shame:(Tony McTighe died
Cork 21st May 1985 and is buried in St Michael's Cemetery,
Ballinure Ave, Blackrock, Cork, Ireland):
Medals: Irish War
of Independence:
1. An Bonn (1917-1921) Seirbhíse: (The Service
(1917-1921) Medal)
2. Bonn Cuimhneacháin an tSosa Cogaidh: (The Truce
(1921) Commemoration Medal)
Medals: British:
1. 1939-45 Star
2. Atlantic Star
3. Arctic Star
4. Africa Star (with clasp)
5. Pacific Star (with clasp)
6. Burma Star
7. War Medal 1939-45
Credit:
Pauline Matthews, daughter of Chief Radio Officer Tony McTighe
SS
Bolton Castle
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