1965

Farewell to Cape Race Marine Radio

View of Cape Race installations seen from lighthouse Radio beacon to the left not shown

 

Cape Race Marine Radio station goes off the air this fall (1965). After 61 years of continuous operation it has been made obsolete by modern equipment at St. John's and St. Lawrence.

 

Tucked away at the southeast tip of Newfoundland, Cape Race juts out into the Atlantic steamer routes and presides over vast stretches of ocean on three sides. In the early days of magnetic and crystal detector receivers, most westbound vessels plying the Atlantic came within range of Cape Race station and its call letters VCE.

 

Geography, though, had to give way to technology and as telecommunications methods improved Cape Race lost much of its built-in advantage as a radio station site.

 

But the intervening years were crammed with marine history­epitomized by the sinking of the Titanic. News of that 1912 tragedy first reached the world via Cape Race.

 

The first distinctive, wavering note from Cape Race was sent in 1904 by the Marconi Company, which built and operated the station. Within five years it had been levelled by fire. Rebuilt, it was again razed in 1913.

 

A need for a direction-finding station prompted the Canadian government to build one less than a mile to the west in 1918. At the beginning VCE handled the work because the new station had no transmitters. But soon station VAZ was on the air.

 

Increasing use of ship radio following World War 1 meant VCE was a very busy station. Not too many years passed, however, before Cape Race began to feel the progress in radio development. Larger ships were being fitted with long wave radio telegraph apparatus allowing direct mid-Atlantic to Europe or America communication.

 

In 1930 the Marconi station closed down. The government station (VAZ) took on the job of coastal station as well as direction finding. The latter service had already gained some distinction by guiding the R 34 and other Trans-Atlantic flights. By 1931 it was apparent that the old Marconi buildings and masts offered better facilities. VCE and the government station moved back to its old home where it has remained ever since.

 

Cape Race has many memories, but none to match April 14, 1912. W. J. Gray, officer-in-charge, after a busy day, was chatting with a personal friend aboard the White Star line's newest ship, the Titanic. His friend, Mr. Phillips, the ship's chief radio officer, transmitted the gay spirit of the maiden voyage of the world's biggest ship into his key. After a brief chat, Gray closed down his set. He went to check his equipment before going to bed. Shortly after his assistant Herbert Harvey came running.

 

The Titanic was calling "CQD, CQD".

 

(This was the international distress signal before the adoption of the clearer and easier SOS.)

 

Gray raced back to his set and called the Titanic-a proud ship crippled by an iceberg and even then dipping deep into the chilling Atlantic. Phillips replied:

 

"We are now sinking by the head-putting women and children off in boats-weather clear and calm."

 

Signals were good for the next two hours. Phillips, true to the traditions of the "brass pounders", remained at his key to send the messages needed to direct the rescue ships. Every tilt of the ship was felt in his radio cabin, but he never stopped. Signals started to fade. There was one very weak CQD. Then they stopped.

 

Ashore, Mr. Gray did all he could. He picked up the Titanic's calls and relayed them to ships he knew were closest. His friend Phillips was facing death, but Gray noticed his hand never skipped on the key.

 

History records that the Carpathia got there in time to pick up many of those in the boats and those floating in the water. But still 1,502 perished.

 

Gray's work wasn't done. From the Carpathia he got a list of the names and addresses of survivors. These he flashed to shocked relatives and a stunned world. Four days after the first distress call was heard the last name was sent-and for the first time in 96 hours the officer-in-charge of the Cape Race marine radio station laid down his earphones and went to bed.

 

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