Lightkeeping - the end of an era
by Capt Owen Deignan
With the approach of Spring 1997 and the imminent departure of the last of the Lightkeepers from Baily Lighthouse we cannot but reflect on the passing into maritime history of the truly remarkable men who, supported by their equally remarkable wives and families, contributed so much to the safety of life and property at sea. Their unique dedication to the navigational requirements of the mariner can be traced back not only throughout the two centuries or so of the current Service's stewardship of Ireland's lights and seamarks, but back even before the earliest years of this fast fading millennium.
With the approach of Spring 1997 and the imminent departure of the last of the Lightkeepers from Baily Lighthouse we cannot but reflect on the passing into maritime history of the truly remarkable men who, supported by their equally remarkable wives and families, contributed so much to the safety of life and property at sea. Their unique dedication to the navigational requirements of the mariner can be traced back not only throughout the two centuries or so of the current Service's stewardship of Ireland's lights and seamarks, but back even before the earliest years of this fast fading millennium.
With only seven full-time Keepers currently in service, it is
worth recording that 30 years ago nearly 200 Lighthouse Keepers and
over 100 Lightshipmen were employed around the coast of
Ireland.
However, when this number was deployed over a coastline measuring more than 2,000 miles, valuable Keeper resources were spread rather thinly over vast areas of dangerous foreshore and off-lying rocks.
It was their extremely isolated way of life, coupled with their quite unique work requirement, that set the Keepers apart as a very special breed of men.
Those of us who worked in close harmony with them, whether we were Tender crew regularly visiting the stations, or Lighthouse Depot personnel and Coast Tradesmen who often spent prolonged periods in residence with them, were always immensely impressed by these men.
Their self dependence and heavy responsibilities for the safety of shipping in remote areas were obviously major factors in forming their attitude towards their duties, their fellow Keepers, and the often very hostile environment in which they were obliged to live.
One could not but be impressed by their loyalty, dedication, and sheer resourcefulness. The maintenance of the light and other aids to navigation in their care was seen by them as a sacred duty, and the lengths to which they would go to ensure the safety of the mariner, when his need was greatest, is legendary.
Just three incidences come immediately to mind which illustrate the courage and selfless dedication of the Keepers and their families - one from the closing years of the last century and two from the fairly recent past.
In the great storm of December 1894 when the dwellings at the East Lighthouse on Eagle Island were destroyed and the main light extinguished, it would have been understandable if the Keepers at that station had concentrated exclusively on ensuring the safety of their wives and children who at that time lived with them on the island. However, there is a vivid contemporary description of the incident, written by the young daughter of a Lighthouse Keeper, describing how the Keepers, with the help of their wives, struggled successfully to both restore the light and protect their children in the base of the tower, the only remaining refuge in the path of a succession of great seas which broke across the island.
Again, in 1936, when the Daunt Lightvessel dragged her moorings and was approached under extreme weather conditions by the Ballycotton Lifeboat, the Master and crew declined to leave their stricken vessel until she almost sank beneath their feet, as they knew well the danger to shipping an abandoned lightship would present.
Finally, in more recent times, when the Fastnet tower was flooded in a severe gale in 1978 and all the generators were knocked out in the ensuing deluge, leaving the main light extinguished and the survival of the very tower itself at risk, the Keepers' first thoughts were for the safety of shipping.
Having lit the emergency gas light in the lantern, they then took turns in providing the mariner with a reliable light, so essential to his survival in the prevailing weather conditions. While two of the Keepers remained in the somewhat doubtful safety of the lower part of the breached and flooded tower the third Keeper managed to walk around the optic, pushing it before him with one hand, while timing the character of the light by means of a stopwatch held in the other. By this means, at considerable personal risk to themselves they continued to keep the light, in accordance with the finest traditions of the Service, for two successive nights, until a relief party could be landed.
These are but a few instances of the courage displayed by the men who watched the lights. Further proof of their bravery and dedication is recorded in the many cases where medals and commendations were awarded by the Service in recognition of acts of individual valour. Yet we know that countless other unrecorded deeds of personal heroism were performed in the course of normal duty, throughout the ages, at remote and lonely stations.
When the flag is lowered by the Keepers at the Baily Lighthouse at the end of March 1997, an era of great personal dedication to the safety of the mariner will come to an end. It will be a sad occasion but, nonetheless, it will be marked by a feeling of much pride in work well done by the Lightkeepers, and unreserved gratitude by the mariners towards whom their whole endeavour was directed.
Our thoughts at this time are with our colleagues who are serving out their last few months at the Baily Lighthouse, and with all those Lightkeepers and Lightshipmen, and their families, both living and deceased, who served us so well in the past.
However, when this number was deployed over a coastline measuring more than 2,000 miles, valuable Keeper resources were spread rather thinly over vast areas of dangerous foreshore and off-lying rocks.
It was their extremely isolated way of life, coupled with their quite unique work requirement, that set the Keepers apart as a very special breed of men.
Those of us who worked in close harmony with them, whether we were Tender crew regularly visiting the stations, or Lighthouse Depot personnel and Coast Tradesmen who often spent prolonged periods in residence with them, were always immensely impressed by these men.
Their self dependence and heavy responsibilities for the safety of shipping in remote areas were obviously major factors in forming their attitude towards their duties, their fellow Keepers, and the often very hostile environment in which they were obliged to live.
One could not but be impressed by their loyalty, dedication, and sheer resourcefulness. The maintenance of the light and other aids to navigation in their care was seen by them as a sacred duty, and the lengths to which they would go to ensure the safety of the mariner, when his need was greatest, is legendary.
Just three incidences come immediately to mind which illustrate the courage and selfless dedication of the Keepers and their families - one from the closing years of the last century and two from the fairly recent past.
In the great storm of December 1894 when the dwellings at the East Lighthouse on Eagle Island were destroyed and the main light extinguished, it would have been understandable if the Keepers at that station had concentrated exclusively on ensuring the safety of their wives and children who at that time lived with them on the island. However, there is a vivid contemporary description of the incident, written by the young daughter of a Lighthouse Keeper, describing how the Keepers, with the help of their wives, struggled successfully to both restore the light and protect their children in the base of the tower, the only remaining refuge in the path of a succession of great seas which broke across the island.
Again, in 1936, when the Daunt Lightvessel dragged her moorings and was approached under extreme weather conditions by the Ballycotton Lifeboat, the Master and crew declined to leave their stricken vessel until she almost sank beneath their feet, as they knew well the danger to shipping an abandoned lightship would present.
Finally, in more recent times, when the Fastnet tower was flooded in a severe gale in 1978 and all the generators were knocked out in the ensuing deluge, leaving the main light extinguished and the survival of the very tower itself at risk, the Keepers' first thoughts were for the safety of shipping.
Having lit the emergency gas light in the lantern, they then took turns in providing the mariner with a reliable light, so essential to his survival in the prevailing weather conditions. While two of the Keepers remained in the somewhat doubtful safety of the lower part of the breached and flooded tower the third Keeper managed to walk around the optic, pushing it before him with one hand, while timing the character of the light by means of a stopwatch held in the other. By this means, at considerable personal risk to themselves they continued to keep the light, in accordance with the finest traditions of the Service, for two successive nights, until a relief party could be landed.
These are but a few instances of the courage displayed by the men who watched the lights. Further proof of their bravery and dedication is recorded in the many cases where medals and commendations were awarded by the Service in recognition of acts of individual valour. Yet we know that countless other unrecorded deeds of personal heroism were performed in the course of normal duty, throughout the ages, at remote and lonely stations.
When the flag is lowered by the Keepers at the Baily Lighthouse at the end of March 1997, an era of great personal dedication to the safety of the mariner will come to an end. It will be a sad occasion but, nonetheless, it will be marked by a feeling of much pride in work well done by the Lightkeepers, and unreserved gratitude by the mariners towards whom their whole endeavour was directed.
Our thoughts at this time are with our colleagues who are serving out their last few months at the Baily Lighthouse, and with all those Lightkeepers and Lightshipmen, and their families, both living and deceased, who served us so well in the past.