These are people you may never have heard of. Now Norris Davidson, whom you all know from his broadcasting, brings them to our notice; vividly, as you might expect. He was once one of them himself. They were the Coastwatchers. Even in his own district, the Coastwatcher was just regarded as one of "those lads up on the head" or "out on the point". Each of them, writes Davidson, is merely the familiar "Johnny Modhuine" dressed up as a soldier. Being local men, they did not have much glamour in the eyes of their neighbours, but, writes Davidson, in 1942 "as one who has served with them, I praise the Coastwatchers, and I state quite confidently that no one in the Defence Forces works as hard as those lads `up on the Head' or `out on the Point'".
This service, marked out before the war, sprang into action five hours after the opening of European hostilities. But those who were in at the beginning "will never forget the lorries running around the coast all night, the bell tent dumped on the road and the hunger. And the rain . . . my impression is that it did not cease to rain for months afterwards, and it then turned to sleet and snow." Not many uniforms, not much equipment at first. "Why are you moving this Post so much," asked a District Sergeant one miserable night, after a long search. "Well you see, Sergeant," was the patient reply, "when she blows away we follow her, and put her up again where she comes down."
Later came proper telecommunications, proper uniforms and oilskins and other equipment. Then courses in barracks such as Collins and the then Portobello in Dublin. He praises the NCOs of this period, who worked all hours to help the men from the Head and the Point, though one such NCO did think that the tide came in and went out at the same time daily! He remembers the drinks and meals in Kitty's on the quays. "Where was there ever such value for money as in Kitty's?" Then back to the Look Out Posts . . . plodding across fields in a sleet storm, stumbling over wet rocks; climbing icy ladders. "Feel for the wire now. A coastguard was once blown off this spot.
They watched for drifting mines, a menace to navigation and coastal villages. In many ways they saved lives.
Lightships were withdrawn, lighthouses showed reduced light, but the Coastwatchers were there. As France fell and German planes and sub marines were all around us, these men were more and more our eyes and the service more and more sophisticated.
Davidson ends his story in June 1940 when he was transferred to the Marine Service. It's in the current Cosantoir, abridged from the same journal of 1942. A lovely piece. More about this issue later.