Tragedy at Fanad Head
Frank Maguire tells of the loss of his great uncle, Francis
Maguire, Principal Keeper, in February 1900
FANAD, Co Donegal, is a bleak wind-swept area of cliffs, close
cropped grass, surging seas, and the lighthouse situated at the
very sea edge. Even on calm days the wild Atlantic breaks
incessantly in huge waves over the rocks which rise steeply from
the ocean. There is no vegetation to speak of, and any there is is
bent over with its back to the winds which howl around the headland
day and night.
The Principal Keeper at Fanad was Francis Maguire, sometime of Dalkey. He was aged 45 and had a good wife and seven lovely children, the oldest of whom was thinking of following his father into the Service. He had much to look forward to when at eight o'clock in the morning of 2nd February 1900 he set out to walk the quarter of a mile or so to the house of Ned McKinley, the cart contractor. He would then ride with Ned on the horsedrawn cart the fifteen miles to the village of Kerrykeel.
As he strode along he was congratulating himself for choosing a healthy, though onerous, way of life. After all, hadn't his Dad died a relatively young man, racked with consumption or something very like it, caused by years of hard labour at the stones of Dun Laoghaire Harbour and, after that, at whatever jobbing work could be found. A hard life to be sure, and one he was well quit of; and didn't this job give him the chance to see a bit of Ireland, as he moved around from station to station. And there was a house to go with it as well. Francis was well satisfied with his lot.
The weather was just what you would expect for the north west of Ireland at that time of year: bitterly cold and chilly, with a blustery wind that threatened to develop into a gale. He was going to cash the Post Office Paying Order for the sum of £11-6-11 being the month's wages and expenses for himself and the Assistant Keeper, and to collect the stores for the next month. McKinley would then load his wagon and off home they would go. The Paying Order was cashed at about 1 pm at the village store run by Mr Watters the grocer, and after the day's business was done, a drink or two consumed, the bill amounting to £3 paid for the supplies, and the change handed over in mixed notes and coins, the two friends set out for Fanad. They left Kerrykeel at about 4 pm, arriving at Ned's house at about 9.30. A short time later Francis left his friend to go home.
The wind had grown in force. The narrow road gradually petered out into a grass path running directly above the creek where the waves battered against the rocks. The path was slippery from the icy rain and his feet slid on the grass. He plunged over the edge, falling some hundred feet. His startled cry was borne away by the wind.
Mary Maguire was warm and snug in her lighthouse home with its stout walls which kept the wind at bay; except of course where it found its way through the window timbers, creating a sighing sound which she could never silence. It was a comfortable enough house and she was happy in it, although she could have done with a bit more company - adult company that is, since she had six children still at home. The oldest boy Michael was in Derry working.
She had prepared a good nourishing meal ready for Frank returning, for he would be starving! She was very fond of her husband and looked after him as well as was possible, considering the difficulties of managing when supplies were got only once a month. There was of course plenty of fish, and a fish stew was his favourite dish. Since the children were all in bed she was indulging herself just a little, thinking and dreaming of her life in the Lighthouse Service.
She was well used to Frank's monthly trips to the town so felt no alarm when he did not turn up at his usual time, but she began to feel decidedly uneasy as the night wore on and there was still no sign of him. By 11.30 she could stand the waiting no more. She threw a cloak round herself and struggled through the storm to Ned's house to find her husband.
With Ned's answer came the terrible realisation that Frank had disappeared and, since he was a good and faithful husband, the question was: had he fallen over the cliff or was he lying injured, or perhaps dead, somewhere along the path from Ned's house to the lighthouse? A search was made at once by Ned, Mary and a few neighbours, but with no real hope of success since the night was black and the gale growing more violent by the hour.
It was not till half past nine the following morning that the truth became clear, when Francis's cap and handkerchief were found in a cave a little way north of the lighthouse. With Mary prostrate with grief, a search of the cave with grappling irons produced no trace of her husband.
Nothing more could be done because of the weather but a grim relic turned up on 8th February when portions of human remains were discovered, and on 11th February a headless corpse with one arm missing was seen in the creek. Because of the continual heavy surf no attempt could be made to recover the body, which then disappeared for ever.
Now Mary had to face the reality of the horror, starting with the fact that the Requiem would have to be said without any coffin. Somehow she felt detached from everything, though for the sake of her children she had to carry on as best she could.
Now, a new worry: the Commissioners were polite, but insistent - she had to vacate the house so that the new Keeper could move in. So to her grief was added the trauma of leaving; and where could she go?
Meantime police investigations were proceeding, to establish the truth if possible. Ned McKinley, reported by the police to be of good character and sober habits, stated that his friend 'had a little drink taken but was well able to look after himself.' You may place whatever construction you wish on that but certainly no foul play was suspected, and the verdict of the Coroner's Court would be Accidental Death.
Mary had to bid farewell to Fanad, which she had now come to hate, and returned to Rathlin Island from whence she had come so long ago as a bride. She had met her husband when he was stationed at Rathlin Lighthouse1. At the time of her marriage her father was still alive and was the publican on Rathlin, but by the time of Francis's untimely death her mother was a widow; all the same, she took in her daughter and her grandchildren.
As if the tragedy and removal were not enough, more was to follow. The Assistant Keeper had naturally been asking about his pay for January, and since the money had been in the possession of Francis at the time of his death, the Commissioners were now requesting repayment from Mary. At the same time the insurance company was asking quite a number of questions, as is their way when they have to pay out on a policy.
At that time the Commissioners insured the lives of Lighthouse Keepers. In Francis's case the sum assured was £184, a considerable sum for those days. Not only were the Commissioners asking, legally but rather uncharitably, for repayment of the Assistant Keeper's wages, but they also stated that the money would be taken from Mary's share of the insurance proceeds.
She wrote several dignified but sad letters protesting about this, pointing out that if the total sum was paid to her she could invest it in a business to keep her and her children. Eventually the Commissioners agreed that the sum due should be taken from the whole estate before settlement was made, which was the correct thing to do in any event.
Mary dealt with the problem created by the absence of a will by suggesting that her husband had intended to make one but that she had demurred, and so the present circumstances had arisen. I think she was sincere in her protestations about this. People used to think that if they made a will they were likely to die soon afterwards. But the Commissioners were not impressed and the money was divided out as the law demanded.
Author's Note: In so far as I have quoted facts I am indebted for these to the Commissioners' staff in Dublin, since they have been good enough to supply me with a copy of the file relating to my great uncle's tragic death. So far as I have embroidered these with my interpretation or imagination, no one is to blame but me!
The Principal Keeper at Fanad was Francis Maguire, sometime of Dalkey. He was aged 45 and had a good wife and seven lovely children, the oldest of whom was thinking of following his father into the Service. He had much to look forward to when at eight o'clock in the morning of 2nd February 1900 he set out to walk the quarter of a mile or so to the house of Ned McKinley, the cart contractor. He would then ride with Ned on the horsedrawn cart the fifteen miles to the village of Kerrykeel.
As he strode along he was congratulating himself for choosing a healthy, though onerous, way of life. After all, hadn't his Dad died a relatively young man, racked with consumption or something very like it, caused by years of hard labour at the stones of Dun Laoghaire Harbour and, after that, at whatever jobbing work could be found. A hard life to be sure, and one he was well quit of; and didn't this job give him the chance to see a bit of Ireland, as he moved around from station to station. And there was a house to go with it as well. Francis was well satisfied with his lot.
The weather was just what you would expect for the north west of Ireland at that time of year: bitterly cold and chilly, with a blustery wind that threatened to develop into a gale. He was going to cash the Post Office Paying Order for the sum of £11-6-11 being the month's wages and expenses for himself and the Assistant Keeper, and to collect the stores for the next month. McKinley would then load his wagon and off home they would go. The Paying Order was cashed at about 1 pm at the village store run by Mr Watters the grocer, and after the day's business was done, a drink or two consumed, the bill amounting to £3 paid for the supplies, and the change handed over in mixed notes and coins, the two friends set out for Fanad. They left Kerrykeel at about 4 pm, arriving at Ned's house at about 9.30. A short time later Francis left his friend to go home.
The wind had grown in force. The narrow road gradually petered out into a grass path running directly above the creek where the waves battered against the rocks. The path was slippery from the icy rain and his feet slid on the grass. He plunged over the edge, falling some hundred feet. His startled cry was borne away by the wind.
Mary Maguire was warm and snug in her lighthouse home with its stout walls which kept the wind at bay; except of course where it found its way through the window timbers, creating a sighing sound which she could never silence. It was a comfortable enough house and she was happy in it, although she could have done with a bit more company - adult company that is, since she had six children still at home. The oldest boy Michael was in Derry working.
She had prepared a good nourishing meal ready for Frank returning, for he would be starving! She was very fond of her husband and looked after him as well as was possible, considering the difficulties of managing when supplies were got only once a month. There was of course plenty of fish, and a fish stew was his favourite dish. Since the children were all in bed she was indulging herself just a little, thinking and dreaming of her life in the Lighthouse Service.
She was well used to Frank's monthly trips to the town so felt no alarm when he did not turn up at his usual time, but she began to feel decidedly uneasy as the night wore on and there was still no sign of him. By 11.30 she could stand the waiting no more. She threw a cloak round herself and struggled through the storm to Ned's house to find her husband.
With Ned's answer came the terrible realisation that Frank had disappeared and, since he was a good and faithful husband, the question was: had he fallen over the cliff or was he lying injured, or perhaps dead, somewhere along the path from Ned's house to the lighthouse? A search was made at once by Ned, Mary and a few neighbours, but with no real hope of success since the night was black and the gale growing more violent by the hour.
It was not till half past nine the following morning that the truth became clear, when Francis's cap and handkerchief were found in a cave a little way north of the lighthouse. With Mary prostrate with grief, a search of the cave with grappling irons produced no trace of her husband.
Nothing more could be done because of the weather but a grim relic turned up on 8th February when portions of human remains were discovered, and on 11th February a headless corpse with one arm missing was seen in the creek. Because of the continual heavy surf no attempt could be made to recover the body, which then disappeared for ever.
Now Mary had to face the reality of the horror, starting with the fact that the Requiem would have to be said without any coffin. Somehow she felt detached from everything, though for the sake of her children she had to carry on as best she could.
Now, a new worry: the Commissioners were polite, but insistent - she had to vacate the house so that the new Keeper could move in. So to her grief was added the trauma of leaving; and where could she go?
Meantime police investigations were proceeding, to establish the truth if possible. Ned McKinley, reported by the police to be of good character and sober habits, stated that his friend 'had a little drink taken but was well able to look after himself.' You may place whatever construction you wish on that but certainly no foul play was suspected, and the verdict of the Coroner's Court would be Accidental Death.
Mary had to bid farewell to Fanad, which she had now come to hate, and returned to Rathlin Island from whence she had come so long ago as a bride. She had met her husband when he was stationed at Rathlin Lighthouse1. At the time of her marriage her father was still alive and was the publican on Rathlin, but by the time of Francis's untimely death her mother was a widow; all the same, she took in her daughter and her grandchildren.
As if the tragedy and removal were not enough, more was to follow. The Assistant Keeper had naturally been asking about his pay for January, and since the money had been in the possession of Francis at the time of his death, the Commissioners were now requesting repayment from Mary. At the same time the insurance company was asking quite a number of questions, as is their way when they have to pay out on a policy.
At that time the Commissioners insured the lives of Lighthouse Keepers. In Francis's case the sum assured was £184, a considerable sum for those days. Not only were the Commissioners asking, legally but rather uncharitably, for repayment of the Assistant Keeper's wages, but they also stated that the money would be taken from Mary's share of the insurance proceeds.
She wrote several dignified but sad letters protesting about this, pointing out that if the total sum was paid to her she could invest it in a business to keep her and her children. Eventually the Commissioners agreed that the sum due should be taken from the whole estate before settlement was made, which was the correct thing to do in any event.
Mary dealt with the problem created by the absence of a will by suggesting that her husband had intended to make one but that she had demurred, and so the present circumstances had arisen. I think she was sincere in her protestations about this. People used to think that if they made a will they were likely to die soon afterwards. But the Commissioners were not impressed and the money was divided out as the law demanded.
Author's Note: In so far as I have quoted facts I am indebted for these to the Commissioners' staff in Dublin, since they have been good enough to supply me with a copy of the file relating to my great uncle's tragic death. So far as I have embroidered these with my interpretation or imagination, no one is to blame but me!