In Retrospect
Bill Scanlan spent nearly 40 years as a Lighthouse Keeper. He
is the son and grandson of a Lighthouse Keeper.
Memories
I was born in 1930 at Galley Head but my earliest memories are of Ballycotton, as my father was transferred there shortly after my birth. I have two distinct memories: the gate of our house at Power's Terrace, and the Lifeboat. It must have been one of the Lifeboat publicity days which I remember. The shine on the Lifeboat's brass ventilators impressed me greatly. Paddy Sliney, hero of the Daunt Lightship rescue in 1936, would probably have been Coxswain at that time.
Inisheer had just become a relieving station when my father joined there in 1933. I remember starting school in Galway and walking in town with my father when he was ashore, especially visiting the famous Saturday Market at St. Nicholas's. We moved into our own house at Christmas 1935. Galway provided some fine summer holidays, trips on the ferry Dun Aengus to the Aran Islands, and time spent on Inisheer.
Clare Island
In 1940 my father was transferred to Clare Island. We joined him in 1941. I attended the Clare Island school from August that year. I was lucky to have a bicycle, since the school was near the pier, four challenging miles from the lighthouse. The journey was very pleasant in fine weather, particularly coming home. Bad weather in winter made the journey very different. The great danger was from squalls, sweeping down on to the road from the high cliff edge. I quickly became adept at spotting the track of the squalls. Sometimes a squall was so severe that I had to dismount and lie down on top of the bicycle, otherwise I would be blown off the road. I remember heads of cabbage being twisted out of the ground and blown away. It was difficult to keep dry from rain and spray.
Food rationing was in progress at the time and the variety of food was restricted. Some strange experiments resulted, like making coffee from grated carrots roasted in the oven! Neighbours were very generous in sharing whatever was available. Meat took the form of a leg of mutton, once a week. There were occasional market trips to Louisburgh but there was little on offer there either. Fish was occasionally available.
Mutton Island
A dramatic change took place in September 1943 when my father was transferred to Mutton Island. Simultaneously I joined an older brother in boarding school. We had to wait until the Christmas vacation to see our new home. We were very impressed. We had our very own island, with sheep and goats, hens, and a dog. The 1½ mile voyage from Galway was in a traditional lug-sailed boat, a puchán, manned by the inimitable Jim Fleming and his brother Martin. The boat was sailed to perfection by Jim at the tiller. He rarely put his hand to it, using his back to give the boat more helm or to ease off, except when coming about or alongside.
I enjoyed the bad weather just as much as the fine. In bad weather the lantern was my favourite spot, watching the sea and listening to the wind and secretly wishing it would increase further. I would search diligently for a ship or fishing boat running up the bay or fighting its way seaward. One day I watched a heavily laden turf boat sailing up the bay before a gale of south west wind - a sight never to be forgotten. I used to feel disappointed when the wind eased.
One summer morning I was on vacation from school and was called by my father just after 4 am. 'The balcony, straight away', he said. When I arrived beside him he pointed out a black line on the horizon. He said it indicated that the tide was about to flood a second time and I should observe everything very closely as I might not see such an occurrence again. I have not!
It was something like a miniature tidal wave and covered the island. The highest point it reached was the kitchen sink! Sounds like a Lighthouse Keeper's story, but it is quite true. Although the house was well above the level of the island, the waste pipe from the sink, quite a long one, ran into a drain. The drain filled with sea water and, as the sea continued to rise, it entered the waste pipe and came up into the kitchen sink.
The summer of 1944 brought an additional bonus. A close friend of my father, Captain Senan Meskell, gave me a boat. Now, this was no ordinary boat. All of ten feet long, it was a sail boat, Bermuda rigged, all the rigging absolutely correct. A flat bottom was counteracted by a drop keel, which was extremely effective. I learned more about sailing, boat handling, and the sea and wind from that little boat than from any other source except my father.
Mutton Island was a glorious place for a young boy. As with all good things, it came to an end when, on finishing school, I went to the Lighthouse Depot as an Improver. The benefit of the Lighthouse Depot only became apparent in later years. It resulted in my acquiring some basic engineering skills and in learning the manner in which to approach a job or a breakdown in machinery. The knowledge of how emergencies on the coast were dealt with proved invaluable.
Appointment
Leaving the Depot on completion of my training, I returned to Mutton Island and the next day secured a job on the old Granuaile. The eighteen month period spent aboard Granuaile rounded off my education and training. I became familiar with all the lighthouses and lightships of the time, and the majority of the personnel.
I was appointed a Lightkeeper in June 1951 and was sent to Ballycotton. On the morning following my arrival I was on the 2 to 6 watch. Just as dawn was beginning to break I saw a full rigged ship approaching from seaward. I thought it must be some kind of mirage or flashback in time - that perhaps I was in a timewarp - but in fact it was the Pamir, a German sail-training vessel. It was a magnificent sight, one I shall never forget. This vessel was lost without trace some time later.
One of the advantages of being a Lighthouse Keeper's son was that one's father had served at the same lighthouse thirty or so years previously, and perhaps one's grandfather had done so some sixty years previously. One was familiar with most stations because of all the discussion at home. Advice about various stations, their peculiarities and the effects of various wind and sea conditions, was a decided advantage.
Peculiarities
Each lighthouse I served at had its own peculiarities in severe weather. Haulbowline for instance would shake in a south-easterly gale, and you would on occasion be moved in your bunk. This would only happen for a limited period, perhaps half an hour before and after high water. Rathlin West was a strange structure, the lantern being at the base of the tower. It rained and snowed upward there. Eagle Island had its eerie silence before the sea broke over the forty foot high wall.
The tower entrance door at Inisheer was originally at the base of the tower in a type of moat. Access was difficult when the moat flooded. A second doorway was established in a window ope with a stairway leading to it. The houses also flooded in severe weather. One of the more severe floodings occurred in January 1941 when the Keeper on duty in the lantern was obliged to remain there until early afternoon. The off-duty Keeper was unable to leave his house, which was flooded, and had to remain upstairs. Some men from Formna Village walked on top of the avenue walls and managed to get some food to the Keepers, whose provisions were destroyed and who were also without fires. The force of the sea on this occasion rolled a giant rock up on to the shelving flat rock beach south west of the tower. The weight of the rock was estimated by the Engineer to be in the region of 84 tons.
Coloured lightning was a phenomenon I experienced on Inishtrahull in 1951, but never again. Slyne Head presented the most dramatic lightning displays of all, the mountains of Connemara forming a dramatic background. While at Ballycotton we had an influx of jellyfish and Men of War. The sea around the landing was dense with them, discouraging swimming. Basking sharks were a familiar sight off the west coast, in fine weather. Water spouts were a feature of the north east, in the region of Rathlin Island in particular.
There were always hidden hazards, even in fine summer weather. One Sunday morning, standing on the lower balcony of the Fastnet with George James, he remarked 'I think I'll go to the landing and try for a fish'. The sea was calm and approximately a metre below the landing level. Before he had time to leave the balcony the sea suddenly rose up, ballooning between the Little Fastnet and the Fastnet Rock itself, and burst over the landing. It would have been impossible to keep one's feet in such circumstances.
The Cape Clear men were good to us in supplying fish. They would come close to the landing in fine weather and throw some giant pollock to us. The liners were still running regularly when I was on the Fastnet. They were a glorious sight, coming quite close, and always greeting us with a blast on the whistle.
While on Mew Island in the summer of 1967, in dense fog, the Principal Keeper Bobby Nelson was on watch in the engine room when a flower person appeared in front of him. 'Where where did you come from?' asked Bobby. 'I came in my wee boat from Carrickfergus' was the reply.
The flower people were closely attuned to nature. They wore loose flowing clothes, with flowers in their hair and usually a garland around their necks. This young man was quite reluctant to leave us but was, however, rather quickly escorted to shore by our boat contractor.
Christmas Eve 1982, while at Loophead, I was on the 10 pm to 2 am watch. Approaching midnight I was walking about the station towards the gate. I saw the lights of a car approaching and remained at the gate, which was closed. A young man alighted and asked if I had any accommodation for himself and his wife. I replied that I could not provide any, at which point he said 'Well, you see, she is not feeling very well - have you nowhere at all?' He left to try elsewhere at places I suggested. Afterwards I began to think about the situation and there were, of course, strong similarities with occurrences on the first Christmas night. I have not yet determined whether I was being tested. I presume I will find out eventually.
Despite these incidents the hum-drum, day to day routine was the norm during my time as a Keeper.
History
The last 150 years encompasses an era from the time of families living on rocks to the elimination of the Keepers. This period represents the service of my grandfather, my father, and myself. My mother remembered being transferred from Poer Head to Inishtearaght as a little girl, and going up on the bosun's chair seated in her father's lap.
There could sometimes be as many as fifteen children on a rock station. The Principal Keeper would take school each day. The women would have two major shopping expeditions each year, in spring and autumn. They would purchase cloth and leather, in particular, for making clothes and boots. Goats provided milk and the Commissioners occasionally agreed to provide a new strain, usually Nubian, in an attempt to enhance the herds. It was possible to keep a cow at some rock stations but this was the exception rather than the norm.
The regime, which we might think quite harsh, was of its time and did have its compensations. The family remained together thus affording continuity of family life which was lost when the rock stations became relieving. Promotion to Principal Keeper came much earlier than in later years. When one considers the number of island stations and single-keeper lighthouses it is obvious one could hope for a quieter, easier lifestyle from one's mid-forties onwards.
The turn of the century saw this system changing. By the start of the first world war the families had been removed from the rock stations. Families continued to live on island stations for some years after this.
There were four men attached to gas stations, where coal gas was manufactured for the optic and fog signal engines. The demise of gas saw the Gas Maker incorporated into the category of Keepers, as Second Class Assistants. Bull Rock retained its crew of four for some time after the use of gas was discontinued. The fourth man proved to be of great benefit, especially at a busy station like the Bull. It meant that one Keeper, each in turn, did no duties other than domestic (cleaning, cooking etc) for one week. The Keeper designated as Farmer, or Cook, would bake yeast bread each morning, one loaf for each man. He prepared the main meal, and then continued with cleaning chores until 4 pm when he finished for the day, which had commenced at 8 am.
Despite this apparent domestic bliss, life was not always idyllic. The south-west coast was serviced by the Ierne at this time. Occasionally, when passing, prior to relief day, the vessel would signal 'Lay in provisions for three months, vessel proceeding dry dock' or 'vessel proceeding Dun Laoghaire'. In such circumstances my father spent six months, from October 1914 to April 1915, on Bull Rock. When relieved, the coxswain of the Ierne, John Flynn, told him that Michael Roche (Jack's and Willie's father) had just been relieved, having spent seven months on the Skelligs.
Developments
Service equipment had changed little from my father's time when I joined the Lighthouses in 1951. He was still serving at that time, retiring in 1953. A period of ten to fifteen years elapsed before any significant changes became apparent but from that point on the rate of change accelerated.
The electrification of optics was the first major change with ominous portends. The helicopter solved many problems, including the greatest bogey of all, overdue reliefs. However, I always felt that from this point on we lost - or, more correctly, the next generation of Lighthouse Keepers lost - our boating skills and consequently our appreciation of wind and sea conditions deteriorated.
The survival skills of living on rocks will be lost within a generation. The learning of these by a future generation, if ever required, could be a very painful process. I view with some amusement the attempts to form coastal watch teams when we already had a most comprehensive coast watch system in situ just a few years ago.
I enjoyed my working life in Irish Lights, have no regrets, and would gladly do it all over again.
I was born in 1930 at Galley Head but my earliest memories are of Ballycotton, as my father was transferred there shortly after my birth. I have two distinct memories: the gate of our house at Power's Terrace, and the Lifeboat. It must have been one of the Lifeboat publicity days which I remember. The shine on the Lifeboat's brass ventilators impressed me greatly. Paddy Sliney, hero of the Daunt Lightship rescue in 1936, would probably have been Coxswain at that time.
Inisheer had just become a relieving station when my father joined there in 1933. I remember starting school in Galway and walking in town with my father when he was ashore, especially visiting the famous Saturday Market at St. Nicholas's. We moved into our own house at Christmas 1935. Galway provided some fine summer holidays, trips on the ferry Dun Aengus to the Aran Islands, and time spent on Inisheer.
Clare Island
In 1940 my father was transferred to Clare Island. We joined him in 1941. I attended the Clare Island school from August that year. I was lucky to have a bicycle, since the school was near the pier, four challenging miles from the lighthouse. The journey was very pleasant in fine weather, particularly coming home. Bad weather in winter made the journey very different. The great danger was from squalls, sweeping down on to the road from the high cliff edge. I quickly became adept at spotting the track of the squalls. Sometimes a squall was so severe that I had to dismount and lie down on top of the bicycle, otherwise I would be blown off the road. I remember heads of cabbage being twisted out of the ground and blown away. It was difficult to keep dry from rain and spray.
Food rationing was in progress at the time and the variety of food was restricted. Some strange experiments resulted, like making coffee from grated carrots roasted in the oven! Neighbours were very generous in sharing whatever was available. Meat took the form of a leg of mutton, once a week. There were occasional market trips to Louisburgh but there was little on offer there either. Fish was occasionally available.
Mutton Island
A dramatic change took place in September 1943 when my father was transferred to Mutton Island. Simultaneously I joined an older brother in boarding school. We had to wait until the Christmas vacation to see our new home. We were very impressed. We had our very own island, with sheep and goats, hens, and a dog. The 1½ mile voyage from Galway was in a traditional lug-sailed boat, a puchán, manned by the inimitable Jim Fleming and his brother Martin. The boat was sailed to perfection by Jim at the tiller. He rarely put his hand to it, using his back to give the boat more helm or to ease off, except when coming about or alongside.
I enjoyed the bad weather just as much as the fine. In bad weather the lantern was my favourite spot, watching the sea and listening to the wind and secretly wishing it would increase further. I would search diligently for a ship or fishing boat running up the bay or fighting its way seaward. One day I watched a heavily laden turf boat sailing up the bay before a gale of south west wind - a sight never to be forgotten. I used to feel disappointed when the wind eased.
One summer morning I was on vacation from school and was called by my father just after 4 am. 'The balcony, straight away', he said. When I arrived beside him he pointed out a black line on the horizon. He said it indicated that the tide was about to flood a second time and I should observe everything very closely as I might not see such an occurrence again. I have not!
It was something like a miniature tidal wave and covered the island. The highest point it reached was the kitchen sink! Sounds like a Lighthouse Keeper's story, but it is quite true. Although the house was well above the level of the island, the waste pipe from the sink, quite a long one, ran into a drain. The drain filled with sea water and, as the sea continued to rise, it entered the waste pipe and came up into the kitchen sink.
The summer of 1944 brought an additional bonus. A close friend of my father, Captain Senan Meskell, gave me a boat. Now, this was no ordinary boat. All of ten feet long, it was a sail boat, Bermuda rigged, all the rigging absolutely correct. A flat bottom was counteracted by a drop keel, which was extremely effective. I learned more about sailing, boat handling, and the sea and wind from that little boat than from any other source except my father.
Mutton Island was a glorious place for a young boy. As with all good things, it came to an end when, on finishing school, I went to the Lighthouse Depot as an Improver. The benefit of the Lighthouse Depot only became apparent in later years. It resulted in my acquiring some basic engineering skills and in learning the manner in which to approach a job or a breakdown in machinery. The knowledge of how emergencies on the coast were dealt with proved invaluable.
Appointment
Leaving the Depot on completion of my training, I returned to Mutton Island and the next day secured a job on the old Granuaile. The eighteen month period spent aboard Granuaile rounded off my education and training. I became familiar with all the lighthouses and lightships of the time, and the majority of the personnel.
I was appointed a Lightkeeper in June 1951 and was sent to Ballycotton. On the morning following my arrival I was on the 2 to 6 watch. Just as dawn was beginning to break I saw a full rigged ship approaching from seaward. I thought it must be some kind of mirage or flashback in time - that perhaps I was in a timewarp - but in fact it was the Pamir, a German sail-training vessel. It was a magnificent sight, one I shall never forget. This vessel was lost without trace some time later.
One of the advantages of being a Lighthouse Keeper's son was that one's father had served at the same lighthouse thirty or so years previously, and perhaps one's grandfather had done so some sixty years previously. One was familiar with most stations because of all the discussion at home. Advice about various stations, their peculiarities and the effects of various wind and sea conditions, was a decided advantage.
Peculiarities
Each lighthouse I served at had its own peculiarities in severe weather. Haulbowline for instance would shake in a south-easterly gale, and you would on occasion be moved in your bunk. This would only happen for a limited period, perhaps half an hour before and after high water. Rathlin West was a strange structure, the lantern being at the base of the tower. It rained and snowed upward there. Eagle Island had its eerie silence before the sea broke over the forty foot high wall.
The tower entrance door at Inisheer was originally at the base of the tower in a type of moat. Access was difficult when the moat flooded. A second doorway was established in a window ope with a stairway leading to it. The houses also flooded in severe weather. One of the more severe floodings occurred in January 1941 when the Keeper on duty in the lantern was obliged to remain there until early afternoon. The off-duty Keeper was unable to leave his house, which was flooded, and had to remain upstairs. Some men from Formna Village walked on top of the avenue walls and managed to get some food to the Keepers, whose provisions were destroyed and who were also without fires. The force of the sea on this occasion rolled a giant rock up on to the shelving flat rock beach south west of the tower. The weight of the rock was estimated by the Engineer to be in the region of 84 tons.
Coloured lightning was a phenomenon I experienced on Inishtrahull in 1951, but never again. Slyne Head presented the most dramatic lightning displays of all, the mountains of Connemara forming a dramatic background. While at Ballycotton we had an influx of jellyfish and Men of War. The sea around the landing was dense with them, discouraging swimming. Basking sharks were a familiar sight off the west coast, in fine weather. Water spouts were a feature of the north east, in the region of Rathlin Island in particular.
There were always hidden hazards, even in fine summer weather. One Sunday morning, standing on the lower balcony of the Fastnet with George James, he remarked 'I think I'll go to the landing and try for a fish'. The sea was calm and approximately a metre below the landing level. Before he had time to leave the balcony the sea suddenly rose up, ballooning between the Little Fastnet and the Fastnet Rock itself, and burst over the landing. It would have been impossible to keep one's feet in such circumstances.
The Cape Clear men were good to us in supplying fish. They would come close to the landing in fine weather and throw some giant pollock to us. The liners were still running regularly when I was on the Fastnet. They were a glorious sight, coming quite close, and always greeting us with a blast on the whistle.
While on Mew Island in the summer of 1967, in dense fog, the Principal Keeper Bobby Nelson was on watch in the engine room when a flower person appeared in front of him. 'Where where did you come from?' asked Bobby. 'I came in my wee boat from Carrickfergus' was the reply.
The flower people were closely attuned to nature. They wore loose flowing clothes, with flowers in their hair and usually a garland around their necks. This young man was quite reluctant to leave us but was, however, rather quickly escorted to shore by our boat contractor.
Christmas Eve 1982, while at Loophead, I was on the 10 pm to 2 am watch. Approaching midnight I was walking about the station towards the gate. I saw the lights of a car approaching and remained at the gate, which was closed. A young man alighted and asked if I had any accommodation for himself and his wife. I replied that I could not provide any, at which point he said 'Well, you see, she is not feeling very well - have you nowhere at all?' He left to try elsewhere at places I suggested. Afterwards I began to think about the situation and there were, of course, strong similarities with occurrences on the first Christmas night. I have not yet determined whether I was being tested. I presume I will find out eventually.
Despite these incidents the hum-drum, day to day routine was the norm during my time as a Keeper.
History
The last 150 years encompasses an era from the time of families living on rocks to the elimination of the Keepers. This period represents the service of my grandfather, my father, and myself. My mother remembered being transferred from Poer Head to Inishtearaght as a little girl, and going up on the bosun's chair seated in her father's lap.
There could sometimes be as many as fifteen children on a rock station. The Principal Keeper would take school each day. The women would have two major shopping expeditions each year, in spring and autumn. They would purchase cloth and leather, in particular, for making clothes and boots. Goats provided milk and the Commissioners occasionally agreed to provide a new strain, usually Nubian, in an attempt to enhance the herds. It was possible to keep a cow at some rock stations but this was the exception rather than the norm.
The regime, which we might think quite harsh, was of its time and did have its compensations. The family remained together thus affording continuity of family life which was lost when the rock stations became relieving. Promotion to Principal Keeper came much earlier than in later years. When one considers the number of island stations and single-keeper lighthouses it is obvious one could hope for a quieter, easier lifestyle from one's mid-forties onwards.
The turn of the century saw this system changing. By the start of the first world war the families had been removed from the rock stations. Families continued to live on island stations for some years after this.
There were four men attached to gas stations, where coal gas was manufactured for the optic and fog signal engines. The demise of gas saw the Gas Maker incorporated into the category of Keepers, as Second Class Assistants. Bull Rock retained its crew of four for some time after the use of gas was discontinued. The fourth man proved to be of great benefit, especially at a busy station like the Bull. It meant that one Keeper, each in turn, did no duties other than domestic (cleaning, cooking etc) for one week. The Keeper designated as Farmer, or Cook, would bake yeast bread each morning, one loaf for each man. He prepared the main meal, and then continued with cleaning chores until 4 pm when he finished for the day, which had commenced at 8 am.
Despite this apparent domestic bliss, life was not always idyllic. The south-west coast was serviced by the Ierne at this time. Occasionally, when passing, prior to relief day, the vessel would signal 'Lay in provisions for three months, vessel proceeding dry dock' or 'vessel proceeding Dun Laoghaire'. In such circumstances my father spent six months, from October 1914 to April 1915, on Bull Rock. When relieved, the coxswain of the Ierne, John Flynn, told him that Michael Roche (Jack's and Willie's father) had just been relieved, having spent seven months on the Skelligs.
Developments
Service equipment had changed little from my father's time when I joined the Lighthouses in 1951. He was still serving at that time, retiring in 1953. A period of ten to fifteen years elapsed before any significant changes became apparent but from that point on the rate of change accelerated.
The electrification of optics was the first major change with ominous portends. The helicopter solved many problems, including the greatest bogey of all, overdue reliefs. However, I always felt that from this point on we lost - or, more correctly, the next generation of Lighthouse Keepers lost - our boating skills and consequently our appreciation of wind and sea conditions deteriorated.
The survival skills of living on rocks will be lost within a generation. The learning of these by a future generation, if ever required, could be a very painful process. I view with some amusement the attempts to form coastal watch teams when we already had a most comprehensive coast watch system in situ just a few years ago.
I enjoyed my working life in Irish Lights, have no regrets, and would gladly do it all over again.