by Richard Cummins

Lighthouses and their Keepers have always held a fascination for people. Being trapped in a stone tower battered by the elements, with solitude and isolation as companions, has a certain romanticism. As a young teenager I spent my summers on fishing boats working the waters around the south-west rocks and was mesmerised by the Bull Rock Lighthouse, perched on the edge of that immense rock. While not having the vaguest idea what the job of the Keeper was like I decided it was what I wanted as a career.

Although most Keepers came from a family background of service with Irish Lights, a few of us had no Service connections and didn't even live on the coast. While at the Training Centre we studied the operation of lights, and survival on rock stations, but nothing could prepare us for the first time landing on Inishtearaght. A truly breathtaking location, wild and remote, which epitomised what a rock station should look like. The two weeks spent there was a rude awakening to the reality of lightkeeping. There was nothing romantic about greasing the cables of the aerial hoist in the bitter cold of winter!

Nine years later redundancy was a reality and with great regret I left the way of life I loved so much. Because of automation I spent the major portion of my service travelling the coastline as a Supernumary Assistant Keeper and had the great pleasure of working at the major lighthouses around the coast and meeting most of the other Keepers.

In a way I was lucky, as I served my time when most of the hardships of the Keeper's life were gone. No more reliefs overdue for weeks because of heavy swells. Helicopters made reliefs a pleasure not an ordeal.

After serving on Rathlin East before electrification I developed a new respect for older Keepers who lived with paraffin vapour burners and all their idiosyncrasies. The further you go back in time the harder life on a lighthouse was. I often wonder how those early Keepers were able to cope.

Life on lighthouses was generally pleasant. Many great friendships were forged and to this day I still visit many of those I worked with. The great memories will always be there: scrambling to the top of Inishtearaght, swimming off Tuskar, wandering around islands rarely seen by the general public, and the feeling of satisfaction gained from assisting those in distress.

The ending of the coast watching duties given voluntarily by all Keepers will be a great loss. Many people would not be alive today if not for the vigilance of Lightkeepers.

While photographing for a recent book on Lighthouses of the World, I had the great pleasure of revisiting several of the stations I served on. It was an eerie feeling to know that they are now empty and lifeless-no more laughter or loving care given, the brass work dulled and the air fouled from doors and windows rarely opened. The personality each station possessed has faded as have the memories of those men who spent their lives on these remote rocks. As the helicopter lifted off we left behind a sad and forlorn place whose golden era had passed, now abandoned and lifeless except for an occasional visit by an Attendant.

While the Lighthouse Service has undergone many changes, the loss of Keepers being one of the greatest, the main purpose of the lights to guide mariners will still be carried out and, I hope, will always remain. Keepers have served well and proudly for hundreds of years. It was my greatest pleasure to have had the chance to be one. Along the way I made friends for life in all branches of the Service.