Every November 11, news media present a myriad of stories pertaining to the untold losses of life through war. In keeping with the slogan of veterans, “Lest We Forget,” the various forms of media present a wide variety of information about past war activities to their viewers, listeners, or readers. The one thread that is common among all the media is the interview with veterans or people who had some sort of war-related experiences.

Although it was far removed from the battlegrounds of Europe, Newfoundland was the site of many war-related activities, both good and bad. It seems that many of those who were associated with any war-related activity in the 1940s are not content to tell things like they really were. As soon as they become the center of attention, they dress up the facts with a kind of embellishment that is more self-serving than any thing else.

Not only will some people dress up the facts for their own benefit, they sometimes make outright false statements about events of the past. The sole purpose of that practice is to impress listeners or media personnel by associating themselves or relatives with significant events in ways that are far removed from reality. Robert (Bob) Noseworthy, a resident of Pouch Cove and a former resident of Cape St. Francis, is one such person.

Being the son of a lighthouse keeper who had to be vigilant for enemy submarines in the area off Cape St. Francis during the 1940s was enough to generate experiences that were interesting and noteworthy in themselves. However, in adulthood — prompted by an over-active imagination, filling in the gaps of a poor memory, or by deliberate design — Noseworthy must have felt compelled to present a particular event off Cape St. Francis in 1943 in a way that was very different from the actual incident.

The following story, written by reporter Moira Baird, appeared in the November 11, 2000 edition of The Telegram in St. John's.

Bob Noseworthy was just a boy during the Second World War. But he was old enough to help his father man the Cape St. Francis lighthouse and keep an eye out for German submarines. The old wooden lighthouse that Noseworthy grew up in is long gone. Built in the 1800s, it was torn down by 1960, replaced with another that was in turn demolished in 1993 and replaced by a large concrete helicopter platform.

The lights from the Cape St. Francis station could be seen from the Baccalieu lighthouse and visa versa. “The [sic] was one of the most important light stations in Newfoundland during the war, with Bell Island and the shipping traffic,” said Noseworthy. “We hated to see it go.”

Noseworthy started working at the lighthouse at age 11. Thomas S. Devine, the superintendent of all lighthouses at the time, suggested his father, Edward, get young Bob to help maintain the buildings and relieve him on surveillance.

During the Second World War; blackout conditions applied even to lighthouses, usually until one hour before dawn whenever the code “NA” was sent by the U.S. army soldiers stationed in nearby Biscayne Cove. The letters stood for “Nuts apples.” It's a code Noseworthy has kept to himself for decades.

Another code — “NC” for Nuts Charlie — meant complete blackout conditions at all times. It also meant stay alert for the enemy, and lighthouse keepers were required to report to the Americans every half hour.

On September 4, 1943, Noseworthy spotted what he would later learn was a U-boat periscope in the waters off Cape St. Francis. “I described it as a trouting pole sticking up out of the water,” he said. For two days and three nights the Cape St. Francis lighthouse operated under the “NC” code. It would be the only time during the war the code was used at the station.

Around 1 a.m. on September 5, Morse code signals were spotted where they shouldn't be. It was German U-boats signaling each other — one sub was to the northwest of the lighthouse near Triple Cove Rock, a route taken by many boats headed for Conception Bay and Bell Island; the other was dead ahead of the lighthouse.

The Americans bombed the area, trying to force the subs to surface so they would be better targets. After 15 to 18 minutes of bombing, one sub was sunk at 2:35 a.m. in the deep waters off Triple Cove Rock. There were no survivors. Noseworthy says he later heard that 66 men were on board.

“It was very exciting for a while. It was more exciting when it got daylight and you could see all the (U.S. soldiers) in the crevices of the rocks — you couldn't see them in the dark. “They were all along the top of the shoreline and below, but you wouldn't think there was anyone there because they were so camouflaged,” said Noseworthy. “There was never anything that came ashore. There was no trace of anything — no survivors.”

His family worked at the station since the 1920s — his father, mother, Flora (Noftle), and eight brothers and sisters. Twenty-six families once lived in that community. The clearings where the house once stood can still be seen, along with the occasional concrete front step. The United Church cemetery contains 33 graves and has been fixed up in recent years as a reminder of the fishing community that is no more.

In the summer fishermen from nearby towns came to fish off Cape St. Francis, living on their small boats or along the shore, where the people of Biscayne also moved to their summer homes to be closer to the fish flakes lining the rocky coast. In the fall, they returned to their winter homes further inland.

Biscayne Cove was slowly abandoned, starting in the early days of the Second World War, when American soldiers were stationed near the coast and better wages could be had outside the fishery.

A few families drifted back in the midst of the war, when price of fish and cod liver oil was high. But it didn't last. By 1950, only one family remained in Biscayne Cove, and today it is sprinkled with summer cabins.

These days, 70-year-old “Councilor Bob” is Pouch Cove's representative on the town council that also governs Outer Cove, Middle Cove, Logy Bay, Torbay, and Flatrock. Noseworthy also gives walking tours on the coastal trails along Cape St. Francis, keeping the memory of the lighthouse and the nearby abandoned community of Biscayne Cove alive.

Repudiation of Bob Noseworthy's Information

There is a lot of recorded evidence about German submarines lurking around the east coast of Newfoundland during World War II. However, many people have related stories about events that never occurred in order to connect themselves with history. Unfortunately, younger members of the media often take such stories at face value and do not check the facts before passing them on in print or video news form. That was the case when Moira Baird interviewed Bob Noseworthy for her Remembrance Day story in 2000.

There were two blatant misconceptions in that story. Firstly, the statement “Around 1 a.m. on September 5, Morse code signals were spotted where they shouldn't be” is without any validation by the American, British, and Canadian military forces that were in Newfoundland at the time. It gave the impression that such signals should be expected in certain areas. As a rule, German U-boat commanders did not use that method of communication with each other when in close proximity of enemy territory. They were well disciplined and simply did not take those kinds of risks. That was why they were so successful in sinking so many Allied ships prior to the U.S. Navy at Argentia installing radar and sonar on their destroyers and aircraft.

When he made the claim “The Americans bombed the area, trying to force the subs to surface so they would be better targets. After 15 to 18 minutes of bombing, one sub was sunk at 2:35 a.m. in the deep waters off Triple Cove Rock. There were no survivors,” Bob Noseworthy was making an absolute false statement. Surely, he should have known that there would be records of such an event if it had happened!

While Noseworthy did not mention Argentia specifically, it would have been U.S. Navy aircraft from the installation there that would have sunk the submarine. Noseworthy even added a sense of realism to the story by giving a precise time frame for the bombing and an exact time of his alleged sinking.

There is usually some basis of truth to all such claims that are made years or decades after the fact, and Bob Noseworthy's claim was no different. He had the date and the fact that there were American planes in the area right, but that is where any resemblance to the actual event ceased.

Shortly after 1:00 p.m. — not 1:00 a.m., as stated by Noseworthy — on Sunday, September 5, 1943, Edward Noseworthy, the lighthousekeeper at Cape St. Francis, notified British Royal Navy officials in St. John's that he had sighted what he believed to be a submarine in the mouth of Conception Bay. They, in turn notified U.S. Navy officials in Argentia because aircraft could get to the area and have a better view without being detected within a short time. In the meantime, a couple of British frigates — names not in available records — in St. John's at the time proceeded to the area as surface support, should the Argentia aircraft detect a U-boat.

Before World War II, Bell Island was one of the primary suppliers of iron ore for Germany and the captains of the German ore carriers were quite familiar with Conception Bay. Consequently, the German submarine commanders had all the information they needed to enter the bay undetected and launch an attack on the mine's docking facility.

On September 5, 1942 — exactly one year prior to Noseworthy's report of seeing a submarine — three ore boats, the SS Lord Strathcona, SS Saganaga and the PLM 27, were at anchor near Bell Island when a German U-boat slipped into the area under the cover of darkness and launched a torpedo attack. The Strathcona and the Saganaga were sunk, but the PLM 27 escaped unharmed.

From that time until the end of the war, everyone in coastal communities and at the various lighthouses became paranoid. Newfoundland became rife with stories of U-boat sightings and the presence of German spies. With every disturbed ripple they saw on the water, people reported a submarine sighting. Authorities could not dismiss any report in case it turned out to be accurate. That seems to have been the case with Noseworthy's report.

Two bombers — a PBY-5A, and a PBM Mariner, both of which were units of Patrol Bombing Squadron Six (VPB-6), Argentia — responded to the sighting. They flew patrols over all of Conception Bay and fifty miles out into the ocean. The weather was good with unlimited visibility and not one submarine was detected … through visual observation or radar. For the record, there was never any U-boat sunk near Cape St. Francis.

There were four German U-boats sunk off the coast of Newfoundland between 1942 and 1944. The first one — also the first German submarine sunk by American forces — was sunk 29.6 miles off Cape Race, at coordinates 46° 15' N by 53° 15' W. The second was sunk by U.S. Navy aircraft from Argentia approximately 90 miles southeast of Cape Race, at coordinates 45° 56' N by 49° 14' W. The third one was sunk by Royal Canadian Air Force (RCAF) aircraft approximately 96 miles northeast of Cape Freels, at coordinates 50° 58' N by 51° 56' W. The fourth was sunk by U.S. Navy aircraft from Argentia approximately 80 miles northeast of Cape St. Francis, at coordinates 48° 35' N by 49° 58' W.

Perhaps Bob Noseworthy was trying to associate that fourth sinking with his father, but the facts make such a connection impossible. Firstly, there was no way Edward Noseworthy could have seen a submarine — not to mention its periscope — from a distance of 80 miles. Secondly, that sinking occurred long before September 5, 1943. Thirdly, that particular submarine was detected on the surface by Americans on routine patrol off the east coast of Newfoundland.

Noseworthy's claim came many years after he had heard about a submarine being sunk in that particular area. While Moira Baird did not know the difference and published the information without verification, there were a large number of historically-minded readers who recognized Noseworthy's claims in The Telegram for what they really were.