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Medusa’s Return
Of the many harbours and bays along the southern coast of Ireland, Cork Harbour is by far the largest and the most scenic. In fact, after Sydney Harbour, it’s the largest harbour in the world. The American consul at Queenstown also called it the most beautiful. But aside from its enormous size and natural beauty, it is of great historic and strategic importance.
In the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, it was the Royal Navy’s headquarters in Ireland and a major dockyard and victualling centre for vessels setting out for all corners of the world. During the First World War, a massive fleet of up to thirty-nine American destroyers to- gether with the Royal Navy’s warships was based there; entrusted with protecting the vital transatlantic convoys from German submarines lurking in the waters off the Irish coast. In addition Cork was a major port for both merchant and passenger vessels, including those that brought two and a half million impoverished Irish to America in the one hundred years following the Great Famine (1845–49).
Queenstown (now known as Cobh) was its principal deep-water port. It lay seven kilometres opposite the narrow harbour entrance, whereas Cork city was a further thirteen kilometres up-channel to the north-west. The town was built on a steep slope overlooking the water and at the top of the hill was a colonial style mansion, with a large balcony facing out over the ocean. This was Admiralty House, the home of the resident British admiral and his family.
During the turbulent years of the War of Independence and the birth of the Irish Free State Admiral Sir Ernest Gaunt was the naval commander in Queenstown. Follow- ing the ratification of the Anglo-Irish Treaty in January 1922, his duties abruptly changed from overseeing naval operations to dismantling most of the navy’s bases in Ireland and supervising the army’s evacuation. By late March, he had been working for weeks without a break and the strain was beginning to show. Like the other senior British commanders, he was thoroughly sick of Ireland. He regarded the Treaty as a capitulation to the IRA and was looking forward to leaving the God forsaken place. Let the Irish fight it out amongst themselves, to hell with them – he thought.
Thursday, 30 March 1922
It is said that how you start your morning sets the tone for the rest of the day and for Gaunt Thursday 30 March got off to a promising start, with no disruption to his well established routine. At eight o’clock, a little after sunrise, he quietly slipped out of bed so as not to disturb his wife, Lady Louise, muttering to himself that the house was miserably cold and draughty.
Having put on his uniform, neatly laid out by his valet the night before, he gingerly descended the narrow staircase to the dining room. Because of a war wound, he walked with a limp and had learned to be careful on the stairs.
Downstairs he glanced out the window. In front of him stretched the broad expanse of the harbour – the sea was dark and calm – there were several vessels at anchor and in the distance he could make out Roches Point lighthouse at the harbour mouth.
The fifty-seven year old looked weary and rumpled, his shoulders slumped and his uniform fitted loosely around his short stature. He wore a navy-blue officer’s working uniform; the jacket had two rows of gilded brass buttons, a handkerchief folded into the breast pocket and no epaulettes. On the cuffs were three golden bands, one with a distinctive loop, which signified his rank of vice admiral. With his greying beard and goatee, he bore a striking resemblance to King George V whom he deeply admired.
Ernest no longer had the chiselled profile of his youth; his face had softened and his once fierce eyes had mellowed. There was a time when his glance could instil fear in his subordinates, but nowadays he was more a source of sym- pathy or even ridicule.
On taking his seat he ate alone: scrambled eggs, bacon (crispy) and kippers along with toast and a pot of tea. It was time for the morning papers. He scoured the Times, looking for news about the navy and Ireland and in particular any update on his bête noir the First Sea Lord, Admiral Sir David Beatty along with his enabler Winston Churchill, the Secretary of State for the Colonies. How he loathed the pair.
The paper carried a curious article titled ‘Cork Kidnap- ping Case’: ‘Practically every motor lorry in Cork was com- mandeered yesterday, it is believed by the Republicans, and driven from the city to an unknown destination. The drivers of the lorries were compelled to accompany the cars. Captain Collins, of the Harbour Commission, a prominent Cork coal merchant, who is a supporter of the Treaty was kidnapped outside a bank in Cork and taken away in a motor car’. But Ernest had become accustomed to the endemic lawlessness and he likely took little if any notice.
Next, he started on the Cork Constitution, the local loyalist paper. On first glance, it was the usual news. Michael Collins was in London holding talks with Winston Churchill. At the anti-Treaty IRA convention held over the weekend in Dublin Tom Barry had called for a military dictatorship. There were reports of numerous shootings and robberies, which ever since the ratification of the Treaty were steadily increasing in frequency. The IRA destroyed the printing presses of the pro-Treaty Freeman’s Journal newspaper in Dublin. In the north, two police constables were shot dead and another wounded. Closer to home there was an attempted robbery of the Hibernian Bank in Cork.
But there were two brief stories that Gaunt would sub- sequently learn were interconnected. On page four was a paragraph titled: ‘Lorries taken, an amazing proceeding.’ Like the Times it mentioned that lorries throughout the city were commandeered and driven ‘to unknown rural districts.’ However, it was not until he reached the bottom of page six that Gaunt’s interest was finally piqued:
HMS Medusa
About midday on Tuesday the naval store ship Medusa, which has been sold for breaking-up purposes, left Cork Harbour in tow of a tug for a cross-Channel port. Yesterday, about 10:30 a.m. she was seen entering the harbour again in tow of the same tug, which brought her up past Cobh [sic] to her former moorings in Monkstown Bay. The tug Warrior, which was engaged in the towage, then came alongside the Deepwater Quay. A number of men went on board and she immediately put to sea at great speed.
Whether Gaunt himself realised the full implication of this piece or whether he needed the advice of his senior naval officer Captain Hugh Sommerville it’s impossible to know. The captain, who came from a prominent loc...
