ROBERT WILLIAM HUGHES
Robert Hughes was born on 26th December 1911 on Mochras, where his father Edmund Jones Hughes was tenant farmer. His father’s family had farmed in the area for many generations. When his mother went into labour, his elder sister Blodwen (his only sibling), then aged 12, rowed from Mochras to Barmouth on her own to fetch the doctor (the causeway was under water at the time). By the time she returned with the doctor in his pony and trap, the tide had receded enough to allow them to cross overland.
Robert was the only son, and so worked on the farm from an early age. When he was 7 the family moved to Ceilwart in Llanaber so that he could go to school in Barmouth. He left school with no qualifications at the age of 13 to help on the farm.
Robert did not want the life of his parents – hard, unrelenting work for little reward – so at 21 he joined the Merchant Navy. When the war came he worked on the North Atlantic convoys as wireless officer. His ship (the SS Earlston) was part of the PQ17 convoy sailing towards Archangel on the north Russia coast. The warships guarding the convoy were redeployed and it was only a matter of time before the unprotected merchant ships were attacked by two German submarines, seven torpedo bombers and five dive bombers. Two thirds of the ships were lost and 153 men died. The report from the Barmouth Advertiser (24th May, 1945) from an interview with Robert tells how “the convoy scattered. The attack lasted for four days. On the fourth day his [Robert’s] ship was sunk and the crew were forced into the lifeboats. There were twenty four in the lifeboat with him, but owing to damaged navigation instruments they were unable to proceed for any fixed destination. They were in the open boat for ten days. During the last four days they encountered arctic storms and drifted helplessly. On the tenth day they sighted land which they believed to be Russian territory. They landed on an isolated part and in very short time found that they were on German occupied territory in Norway. They were met by German troops who took no pity despite their exhausted condition, and they were immediately marched for five miles inland to the nearest barracks. There they remained for five days, before being embarked on armed trawlers to Wilhelmshaven to an interrogation camp.’
Robert was held in POW camp in northern Germany for three years. He became firm friends with another prisoner, Geoff Birch (my godfather) who relates Robert’s determination to keep their minds alive and use the time profitably in his memoirs ‘A Prisoner of War in Germany 1941-1945’ (a copy of which he gave to me). Robert (a native Welsh speaker) got hold of a large English dictionary, and every day he and Geoff would memorise a new word and its definition. Robert also organised educational material to be sent from Britain which they used to pass their matriculation. When the war ended, Geoff (an 18 year old factory worker with no educational qualifications when captured) qualified as a doctor, and Robert qualified as a teacher.
Conditions in the camp were harsh; there was little food, it was extremely cold in winter and they had only a thin blanket and a straw mattress for their bunk beds in a cramped dormitory. The mattresses were infested with bedbugs. But eventually relief cam when the Allies advanced into Germany. The Barmouth Advertiser reports how “the Germans took their heavy artillery into the prison camp, and used it as a defence post”. Geoff Birch remembers that during the fighting the unarmed and unprotected prisoners dug holes in the ground in which to take shelter from the guns. The fighting went on for two days; it rained heavily and the holes soon became waterlogged, but the prisoners were forced to remain inside to avoid the gunfire.
The Scots and Welsh Guards eventually captured the camp. In due course Robert returned home, where he saw in the front room a Certificate for Bravery awarded to him and signed by Winston Churchill. He told the Advertiser that “I can only surmise that I was awarded the Certificate for sticking to my post on the ship during the attacks by the enemy. I only did my duty.”
After the war, Robert trained as a teacher at Cartrefle College, Wrexham, where he met his future wife, Barbara Powell. They were married at the end of their training, and went on to have three children, Gwyneth, Mari and Ann. Robert’s teaching career was interrupted by the discovery that he had contracted tuberculosis during his time in POW camp. The necessary treatment meant that he was unable to take up the post of headmaster at Cwmtirmynach school, but in due course he recovered and obtained a teaching post in Barmouth Primary School. He was thus able to return home with his young family.
For Robert, duty, truth and honour were ideals which he sought to follow in every aspect of his life. As teacher and father, he constantly exhorted his pupils and children to aspire to his high standards. He joined the Freemasons and became an independent town councillor and deacon of Park Road chapel. Knowing that he was descended from the Lloyds of Cwmbychan, he traced his family tree back to Bleddyn ap Cynfyn in the eleventh century, a connection of which he was very proud. He was also a talented musician; he taught himself to play piano and banjo, and also wrote music. Geoff Birch remembers a competition in POW camp to write a hymn tune; Robert’s composition (aptly entitled ‘Rhyddid’- ‘Freedom’) was greatly admired but he was refused the prize as his was the only entry! Robert’s contemporaries at the school remember him for his lively and inquiring mind and his sense of humour.
When Robert was only 51, he became ill. Hospital tests showed that he had untreatable cancer; he was given only three weeks to live. It was then September. As was the custom at the time, the doctors told his wife of the prognosis, but instructed her not to tell her husband, as it was then thought that such knowledge would weaken the patient’s will to live and so shorten his life. Robert, however, suspected the truth, and with his customary determination, returned home and put his affairs in order. As the illness progressed, he told his wife that he had resolved to live until after Christmas so as not to spoil his children’s Christmas. On Christmas morning we girls went into the front room (where he was now bedridden) to receive our presents from him. He gave us each a silver locket, and although now very weak he had managed to write our names on each little parcel. Three days later, the life of this remarkable, brave and honourable man came to its close, and he passed away peacefully in his sleep.