Pete's Irish Lighthouses

The good residents of Bearna (or Barna), some five miles west of Galway city, will doubtless recognise the picture above, even though its quite some time since this P. Philips sketch was commissioned. Couples still promenade along the elegant east pier to the smaller lighthouse, gazing across at the barques and brigs and quinquiremes of Nineveh lined up along the west pier outside the magnificent Midland and Great Western Train Station. They admire the ornate gas lamps along the mile-long pier, wish passers-by 'Good morning' and maybe listen to the chatter emanating from the far quay with its passengers bound for Amerikay.

But mostly they will gaze in awe at the incredible, stately lighthouse that adorns the west pier, wondering, possibly, how the pier wall could possibly withstand such weight. Towering above the harbour like the Pharos of Alexandria, it has become one of the wonders of the modern world, worth a minimum five stars on Trip Advisor, a tourist destination in its own right. Up above on the balcony, a cheery keeper doffs his cap to indicate a hearty 'top o' the morning' to one and all.

The plans above (which bear a close resemblance to those of Dun Laoghaire harbour) date from the early years of last century, when Bearna was yet again proposed as the major port for journeys westwards across the Atalanticle Ocean. Blacksod and Wesport in Mayo, Limerick and Valentia in Kerry had also been mooted and great plans and notions occupied many minds for well over a century.

Unfortunately (or maybe not) for Bearna, it never happened. Despite millions being invested in the project, the difficulty of leasing the necessary land and the withdrawal from the scheme by the railway meant that the plans were dead in the quite deep water by 1916. So no trips to Bearna for lighthouse enthusiasts like myself.

Lighthouseless Barna pier today

However, not many people are aware that Bearna did once have a lighthouse. Saunders Newsletter from 8th November 1784 reported that the local bigwig, Mr Lynch, had just finished building an elegant pier on his lands at Bearna and had gone to wash his hands. It was large enough for 'one hundred fmall fail of fifhing boats', which is not easy to say while eating a boiled egg.

Fast forward in the Tardis to 1837 when a fisheries report described its history. It had been built by the father of the present proprietor, it said, and had extended some 470 feet and had a lighthouse on the head. It also had an inner dock totalling around 620 feet. The pier had been slightly damaged (some trifling injury) at one time but this had led to its total destruction in a storm one night, due to it not having been repaired.

By 1837, the pier had been partially rebuilt to 300 feet but there was no mention of the lighthouse. I imagine its still a nice walk in the summer, particularly without the noise of trains disgorging westward bound families onto the quay.

(photo Brian Nolan)

Knocknarea from Strandhill

In the west of Ireland in the modern-day county of Sligo, there stands a mountain overlooking Sligo Bay called Knocknarea. It is an energetic walk to the top from Strandhill near the coast and the top of the mountain is covered in a huge mound of stones, said to hide the tomb of Queen Maeve, famous for her cattle-raiding exploits.

The Shanachies had a story about Knocknarea which must pre-date Queen Maeve, who was said to have lived in the 300s AD, about a century before St Patrick. At the time, the native Irish had been joined by two separate bands of settlers, one small and dark from the southern latitudes; and the other tall and blonde who had arrived from the north. I can't vouch for this because I wasn't around at the time. Both of the immigrant tribes built settlements on the coast and all three lived relatively peacefully together.

The native Irish at the time still worshipped the sun. The settlers worshipped their own gods, or maybe none but their differences were tolerated in the name of peace, love and understanding. Until the love part of the trilogy became threatened.

Once a year on midsummer's day, the native Irish held a ceremony on top of Knocknarea, upon which four groves marked the points of the compass, marking out a flat square, in the middle of which stood the Stone of Sacrifice. All the sun-priests were obliged to attend and all the local people too. Non-attendance meant your crops would fail and your cattle would die. Some of the people were starting to wonder why their crops failed and cattle died whether they turned up or not, but they always attended, in much the same way that I always say 'Good Morning, Mr Magpie' every time I see one of those blasted birds. Just in case, just in case. And their faith was not helped by the settlers taking the piss out of them when their crops failed anyway.

Queen Maeve's tomb on top of Knocknarea, from an old postcard

The highlight of the ceremony was the sacrifice of a local virgin upon the Stone of Sacrifice. This was done by the High Priest, probably dressed in a robe and black cowl, with fanatical eyes and a name like Blackie or Evil Pete. He used a sharp knife heated in the sacrificial fire.
This particular midsummer, the girl selected for the honour was called Eilith and she was the daughter of the Chief of Cuil Irra. Not only that but she was in love with the head of one of the Northern tribes who had settled in the locality, a man called Finn the Fearless, which must have been quite the alliterative cliché, even in those days. Naturally, he was tall and strong and handsome and a brave leader of men.

No longer worshipped in Ireland, the sun now rarely bothers to put in an appearance

As the sun began to set, the High Priest appeared from an underground passage with Eilith. He threw her onto the stone, laughed demonically and then began to walk around her, chanting incantations as he did so, like Christopher Lee in Hammer Horror films. His lips curled into a satanic grin and his cruel eyes glinted in the growing darkness. He raised the blazing knife high above his head, preparing to plunge it into Eilith's untouched body when, a shout arose, and Finn and fifty men leapt out from other underground passages. Finn drew a bow and let loose an arrow at the High Priest's heart. A look of pure hatred flashed across his face, a second before he fell down dead. The rest of the priests fled. The onlookers clapped, maybe thinking it was part of the performance. Finn's men tied cowhides around the Stone of Sacrifice and dragged it to the edge of the mountain and rolled it off. It crashed to the ground far below, turning into thousands of Pebbles of Sacrifice. Finn snatched up Eilith and they embraced, silhouetted against the setting sun, as the credits began to roll.

Ascending Knocknarea from the North

Eilith's oul' feller, the Chief, was quite happy with the outcome. Eilith and Finn got married and went to live in Finn's gaff, right on the coast at the end of a stone road on the far side of Coney Island. It was the only stone house in the settlement because Finn was the chief. They had about a thousand children, the girls all ravishingly beautiful like their ma, the boys all fearless warriors like their da. Finn and Eilith lived long, happy lives, never quarrelling once, and when they died, they were buried in the Giant's Grave, which today lies just outside the gates of Sligo Airport.

And, many hundreds of years later, long after Finn and Eilith's house had succumbed to rising tides, another stone edifice was built in the exact same spot where they had lived.

Blackrock lighthouse.

Blackrock lighthouse c.1925 with Ben Bulben behind

Photo by marinas.com showing the 'stony road' down which Finn and Eilith used to drive home when the water levels were lower.

I am delighted that this blogpost is not from myself, not simply because I'm very lazy, but because it is by someone who is sickeningly young.

Ciaran Newcombe is a student in Transition Year in Christian Brothers College in Cork City. He is 16 and he undertook this research into Ballycotton lighthouse for the Cork Heritage Project led by Kieran McCarthy, former Lord Mayor of Cork. Ciaran is at pains to point out that the drone footage is not his, but the research, narration and editing is all his own work.

As well as the video, he also produced a 28 page pdf on Ballycotton lighthouse, which is full of interesting facts on its history, fogbell, wrecks etc. I'm not sure why I'm mentioning this because I haven't managed to figure out a way of displaying a pdf on this page.

From the Robinson family album, early 1900s (NLI)

The Mystery of the Missing Perch

a play in one act by

The Drogheda Independent

first performed on 5th December 1896 at Drogheda Harbour Office

Scene: the Harbour Office at Drogheda, 1st December 1896

Cast of Characters, in order of appearance:

The Engineer - dressed in filthy blue overalls, face coated in oil, wields a spanner

The Secretary - lips blue from chewing a biro, frequently goes and makes cups of tea for those in attendance

Reynolds - a foreshore worker, wears a cloth cap and hobnailed boots

Messrs McEvoy and Nulty - board members, wear bowler hats and frock coats

Mr Weldon, the Chair - four legs, made of pinewood

Curtain opens

The Harbour Board is in session
The Engineer is explaining that the South Bar perch, 300m out to sea from the Aleria beacon, has disappeared and he can't find any other explanation, except that it had been knocked down by a passing vessel. He suspects a certain screw boat has hit it (it seems to show traces of a recent impact) but both the captain and the pilot have denied all knowledge of a collision.

Engineer: The perch is only three years old and last Sunday night was very calm,
Secretary: None of the Boyne Commissioners' men reported the matter to the Harbour Office. An employee of the Commissioners, it appears, made ineffectual efforts to find Pilot Garvey and I have summoned this employee to see if further light can be shed on the matter.
Enter Reynolds, smoking a cigarette. He is made to stand before the board

Reynolds: The bar perch was all right on Sunday night but it was down at daylight on Sunday morning.

Secretary: Did you send word to the office here?

Reynolds: I sent a son of mine to the Engineer and told him to tell Captain Morgan (of the Steam Packer service) and Mr Archer too, and to call at the Harbour Office as well.

Secretary: He didn't call here.

Reynolds: I understand there was one before me here but I didn't send him off at once as I wanted to see whether I could make out was the perch broken or what. (To Mr McEvoy) I couldn't say how it was knocked down but it didn't fall anyway. I was up at 3 o'clock and it was a fine night.

Secretary: Did you tell me a few minutes ago that it was dark?

Reynolds: Allow me for one moment ...

Secretary: Answer my question!

Reynolds: It was that dark I couldn't see the bar from the bank.

Mr McEvoy: It was a beautiful morning.

Secretary: A fine moonlit morning, as bright as it is now.

Reynolds: I never passed any remark about it.

Mr Nulty: Did you see it? You said you were up at 3 o'clock? Did you see the perch there then?

Reynolds: I never passed any remark upon it.

Mr Weldon: You weren't struck as strange that the perch wasn't there?

Reynolds: No, not until the daylight came.

Mr Weldon: Did you see the North Bar Perch?

Reynolds: I didn't pass any remarks on anything. The first time I noticed that the South Bar Perch was gone was about 7 o'clock.

Mr Nulty: And what time did you send in word?

Reynolds: Going on to 10 o'clock.

Mr Weldon: From 9 to 10 you did nothing about it?

Reynolds: I went out to see how the perch fell.

Mr Nulty: That was three hours after. What time, Mr Engineer, did you get word?

Engineer: A little before ten?

Reynolds: I went out to see did anything strike it but there was a strong ground swell on at the time and I couldn't get aside of it to see.

Mr Weldon: Your son didn't come near the office at all, it appears?

Reynolds: It was always to the Engineer I used to go with such messages.

Mr Nulty: But you sent word to Mr Archer?

Reynolds: Yes, as well as to this office.

Mr Nulty: If this office sent you to Mr Archer for your cheque, what would you say?

Reynolds: Sure, ye wouldn't like anything to happen one of the steamboats?

Mr McEvoy: If there was any damage done to a ship in consequence, who would have to pay it, do you think?

Secretary: He doesn't know. You'd have to pay it.

Mr McEvoy: And it wasn't worth his while to send word in here!

Reynolds, in reply to Mr McNulty: The screw boat passed up that morning about half past five. I saw her and Garvey was the pilot on her.

Mr Nulty: That is an important thing to know.

Reynolds: I wasn't out but the light keeper, Mr Tottenham saw her up and down. I saw her going on the bar and went away. The screw could get near enough to strike the perch and get off all right, as the ground sloped very quickly there. I saw a wooden vessel perform this feat many years ago. Reynolds is ordered to be in attendance before the board at its next meeting.

Secretary: Why did you tell me it was dark at half past five yesterday morning?

Reynolds: You wanted to know from me why I didn't see it

Mr Nulty: What induced you to say it was dark when it was light?

Reynolds: The Harbour Master asked me twice why I didn't see it and I suppose I said it was too dark.

Secretary: Did you tell me it was dark?

Reynolds: I did indeed but it was a bright night.

Mr Nulty: You admit now it was light. What induced you to say it was dark?

Reynolds (indicating Secretary): He induced me. (laughter)

Secretary: I did not. That's not true.

Reynolds: You asked me why I didn't see the perch and why I didn't report it.

Mr Weldon: You are to be here on Tuesday next and you'll have the pleasure of paying the man that reported the matter here.

Mr Nulty: As the lightkeeper saw the screw, perhaps he'd be able to give us definite information on the point?

Engineer: I was talking to the light keeper and he said that anything he would say to me would be in the strictest confidence, as his board would not allow him to mix himself up with these local matters at all.

Mr Nulty: That is strange, as the present light keeper's predecessor had no such instructions, as far as I know.

Secretary (to Reynolds): There is an order of the board that 5s is to be stopped from you and given to the man who reported this matter here.

Reynolds: Ye ought to keep it all, I suppose.

In reply to questions from the board, the Secretary says the Steampacket Company had paid £70 towards the re-erection of the North Bar Perch which had been knocked down by one of their vessels a few years before.

Exeunt, pursued by a bar

From James Morrissey's wonderful 'A History of the Fastnet Lighthouse'

I came across this interesting snippet in the Irish Examiner of 19th October 1883, two years after its sister lighthouse on Calf Rock was swept from its perch off Dursey Island. The 1880s seems to have been a time for gales, with damage being done to the Fastnet and maroonings, at least one of which caused severe hardship for the keepers.

Isaac Notter was the head honcho down in Crookhaven, owning much of the land and, for many years, held the contract for relieving the Fastnet. He also owned several pilot cutters and had his fingewr in many pies. In 1885, he commandeered 60 police officers in an abortive attempt to seize cattle from his tenants in default of rent. As a result of this, most of his employees downed tools in protest, including the crew of the lighthouse tender.

Picture courtesy Joanna Doyle

The two keepers who were accidentally relieved were PK James Walsh and AK Hamilton Kennedy.

James Walsh would be awarded Service number 25, when they were introduced in 1900, by which time he was PK at Blacksod. A Dubliner, he married Wicklow girl Elizabeth Redmond in 1867 when still a seaman. Shortly thereafter, he joined Irish Lights and was promoted to Principal Keeper three months prior to the incident above.

Hamilton Kennedy, Service number 48, was the son of a coastguard, born in county Kerry around 1856. He would get married to Dora Harris three years after his enforced leave-taking and would die of natural causes aged 52 while serving at Valentia in 1908.

One wonders how adept the four seamen left on the Fastnet were at tending the light!

James Morrissey again

Irish Lights inspection time, Clare Island c.1905 (NLI)

John Gillespie was born around 1859 in that hotbed of lighthouse keepers, the north Foyle estuary. His father, Neil, had been a river pilot there and the Gillespie name would become synonymous with that body of water, with many Gillespies working as pilots, fishermen, sea captains etc. Neil had married one Ellen Loughrey - another Shrove maritime name - prior to 1857.

I haven't been able to find out very much about his career as a lightkeeper. Given his age, he would probably have joined the service in the early 1880s. Certainly he was an AK at Haulbowline in 1885 and shortly thereafter rocked up to Clare Island on the boat from Roonagh to take up the position of AK there.

I am surmising that it was "shortly thereafter" because John married Mary Jane Hurley on 20th April 1887 in Westport. The daughter of a farmer from Inchireagh, Dunmanway, Mary Jane was employed as a school teacher on Clare Island.

A baby girl, Mary Anne, was born to the couple on 12th January 1888. Unfortunately, as 1888 turned to 1889, things started going very wrong.

Mary Anne died of consumption at the lighthouse on 8th March 1889.

On the 15th July of the same year, John Gillespie also died. A cold, which he had neglected to treat for two months, turned to consumption and he succumbed. He is buried outside the ancient abbey on Clare Island, wherein the remains of Grace O'Malley are said to lie. The inscription reads "O Lord have mercy/ on the soul of/ John Gillespie/ Lightkeeper/ who died 15th July 1889/ aged 30 years"

Under normal circumstances, Mary Jane would have continued with her teaching after returning to her schoolteacher's cottage on the island. Unfortunately, barely six weeks later, she died of consumption at her mother, Julia's house in Inchireagh, north of Dunmanway, aged a mere 20 years.

John Gillespie's headstone at Clare Island Abbey

Incidentally, the lighthouse compound at Clare Island is currently for sale for $5 million. Philip Wells, who has been given the contract to sell, sent me the accompanying sales video, which is quite long but contains many shots of the inside of the two towers that I've never actually seen.

Huge thanks to Joanna Doyle for sending me these photos of the best seller Telephone Directory which she found at her parents' house. Joanna, as she has mentioned once or twice, is descended from a long line of Loughrey and Ryan keepers.

Tantalisingly, Joanna only sent me a few pages to whet my appetite and it certainly is rip-roaring material, though slightly too racy for my taste. Joanna estimates the book, which is now, incredibly, out of print, dates from the early 1980s. I believe it was nominated for the Booker Prize one year but lost out for reasons of length.

South Arklow lightvessel c.1906. The Relief was sold in 1867

(This article originally appeared in Lamp 142, Autumn 2024)
Despite having boasted the world’s second ever lightship in 1736, it was not until the mid-1820s that Ireland invested in her first purpose-built lightvessel when, like the buses, three came along at once. All were wooden ships, built by W. Roberts of Milford Haven and they were named the Seagull (1824), the Star (1825) and the Relief (1826). They were destined for the existing station on the Kish Bank and the two new stations on Arklow Bank and the Coningbeg Rock.
The northern and western coasts of Ireland are rocky, while the eastern and southern shores are sandy, hence the need for floating lights (later light vessels) in these latter two quadrants. Many a ship had foundered on the treacherous sandbanks between Belfast and Cork. The ship, which had been positioned on the southern end of the Arklow Bank, now drifted a mile inside the very danger she was supposed to warn other vessels about. There was still one length of chain hanging from the bow and this was dragging her back towards the bank. The captain decided there was no other option but to cut the chain and let the vessel roam free.
The Relief spent eleven years in Dublin Bay on the Kish and then four years as a spare vessel. By Friday, 20 November 1846, she was on the Arklow Bank. Well, for a few hours of it anyway. A south to southwest gale sprang up and quickly became a gale to hurricane-force storm with mountainous seas. At 7am, the seas had turned southeasterly with a flood tide running and around 8.30am, the mooring chain broke. The Relief was adrift.

William Braddon's home Maryville in Courtown

The captain was a Cornishman named William Braddon. Born around 1810, he had been the master of a merchant vessel, the Boykett, trading between Dublin and Bordeaux before throwing in his lot with the Ballast Board and their three floating lights in 1842. Seemingly, he joined as a mate, rather than a captain, though there was precious little difference between the two. On every vessel, there was a master and a crew of four, who served for four weeks before being relieved by a mate and another crew of four. Therefore, the mate was the de facto captain while onboard. In fact, when William finally got promoted to captain in 1857, there was no need for him to go and obtain his captain’s certificate.
It is a known fact that light vessels were engineless and, when loosed from their cable, were at the mercy of the seas. Well, not quite. The early floating lights, in Ireland anyway, packed a lot of sail too and William set about extricating himself from his precarious position and got the vessel moving with the main staysail and mizzen, followed by a jib set as a staysail. The latter soon went to pieces and the mizzen boom broke too but they were able to move northwards, still inside the bank. Eventually, they reached the Wicklow Swash, a small gap between the Arklow Bank and the India Bank to the north. The men took their chance and sailed through the gap and out into the Irish Sea.
Bending the topsail and setting it for a square foresail (I hope somebody else understands all this because I certainly don’t), William and the lads headed northeast throughout Friday night and by dawn on the Saturday morning, they were just south of the Calf of Man. The wind had moderated to westward, so they set new sails and aimed for Holyhead. Several hours later, they had made very little headway, so decided to run the vessel into Douglas. By Sunday morning, they were off Port Lynas in Anglesea!
With the weather remaining dirty and the small crew very tired, William decided to run for Liverpool, taking advantage of the shelter of the North Wales coast. Hopes were raised with the appearance of the paddle-steamer, Dundalk, whose offer of help was gratefully accepted. Unfortunately, both seven-inch hawsers broke and the Dundalk sailed on to Liverpool.
By 14.30, the Relief reached either the Bar or the North West light vessel and a pilot came aboard. When they reached the Rock lighthouse near the mouth of the Mersey, a tugboat arrived, summoned by the Dundalk, and the Relief was brought into the Sloyne. William concluded his report to the Superintendent of Lightships, apologising for the badness of his scrawled report, but his hands were stiff and sore.

Michael Costeloe sketch of the lightship being towed past Rock lighthouse and the fort at New Brighton

Items detailed lost were the mushroom anchor, chains, ropes and sails. The deck would require caulking and one pump was out of order. The Relief was taken into Brook and Wilson’s yard in Birkenhead for repairs. These were carried out by 8 December. For some strange reason, William decided not to sail the Relief back across the Irish Sea, leaving the steam tug Powerful to do the job instead.
As we have seen, William got his captain’s certificate in 1857. Little is known of any previous marriages but as a widower he married Margaret Boyle in 1865, with whom he had four children. He continued with Irish Lights until around 1873 when he retired. After his death in 1878, his widow sold their house, Maryville, in Courtown Harbour and took the children to America, where one of them, Jack Braddon, played a big part in designing and producing film sets through the heyday of the silent movies.
Sources for this piece are Michael Costeloe’s ‘An Enforced Weekend Cruise’ in Beam Vol 3 No 2 in 1971, together with genealogical and newspaper archives.

The wanderings of the Relief

It would be fair to say that the Stocker line of Irish lightkeepers is one of the longest in the country, dating back to at least 1818 when Edward Stocker was first sent down to the Tuskar. Henry Aquila Stocker was on Tory when the Wasp was wrecked in 1884. Former keepers may remember Stephen and Henry and Lenny Stocker, who were all cut from the same cloth.

One of the later Stockers who should really have continued the lightkeeping line was Leonard Vincent Stocker, born at the Baily lighthouse in Dublin on 5th August 1944. He later went on to write a remarkable book called Born on the Edge of White Water, in which he describes his lighthouse life through the eyes of his childhood self.

His father was also called Leonard, though Leonard junior was always called Vincent from the day of his birth. In fact he never realised his name wasn't Vincent until much later in life! Leonard retired from Irish Lights in 1958 and Vincent wanted to sign up when he was old enough. Unfortunately, he was dissuaded from doing so by his very forceful father, who maintained that automation was just around the corner. As it happened, Vincent could have got a good 30 years of a career out of Irish Lights but it was not to be. Definitely one who got away.

Vincent sadly died last April in his eightieth year, leaving three daughters, four grandchildren, (Shannon, Joe, Ben and Megan) and two great-grandchildren, (Oscar and Caspian.) In the autumn, his daughters Gaynor, Laura and Michelle, and Laura's daughter, Megan, came over to Ireland to scatter his ashes at the three lighthouses that their father remembered with fondness in his book.

Michelle, Laura, Megan and Gaynor at the Baily

The first was the Baily lighthouse, training ground for new keepers and the very last lighthouse to be automated by Irish Lights in 1997. Through forward planning and the assistance of Irish Lights and the relevant attendants, the girls and their families were able to access all three lighthouses. All photos courtesy the three girls

Then it was a trip across to the west coast and across on the ferry to Arranmore Island. This was in fact Vincent's final lighthouse and, although he lived with his mother on the mainland at Burtonport, holidays were spent on the island with his Dad at the lighthouse. The family was shown around by attendant Danny Boyle, who had been at school with Vincent many moons ago. He showed them a ship in a bottle that Leonard had given him.

And finally it was down to Mine Head on the south coast. Despite it being situated on the mainland, it is one of the most remote lighthouses in Ireland, in so far as shops, schools, churches and pubs are concerned. Vincent's book tells of going to the nearby farmyard to get milk, the outdoor toilet, John Crowley the AK, and the one-room school.

I bet there are names written on the back of that wardrobe!

Didn't realise those gates opened!

And so the Irish Lights Memorial Tour came to an end and Vincent was back in his childhood homes.

It was an incredibly emotional but also heart warming experience fulfilling dad's wishes, said Gaynor. Losing our mum the previous year and then our dad just a year later was so very hard for us all. We're so grateful to all the wonderful people we met during our visit and leave with a greater sense of belonging. A massive thank you to the lighthouse keepers Barry, Brendan, Danny and Lee for all your help as we won't ever forget you.

When you think of Connemara and the business of keeping lighthouses burning on its rugged coast, one family immediately springs to mind - the King family of Keerhaunmore in Ballyconneely.

As well described in Bright Lights White Water by Bill Long - taken from Michael Costeloe's writings in Beam - the road to Slyne Head lighthouse was a long one. Donkeys were used to carry bags, baggage and personnel to the little quay at 'Slackport' and then hardy rowers took over to bring them to the furthest island in the Slyne Head archipelago, whereupon the two lighthouses stood.
The lights on Slyne Head were, of course, established in 1836 and it is surmised that the Kings were the first boat contractors to the lighthouse, as well as running the donkey cavalcade. Certainly, they were in charge in 1852 when Thomas King and his brother Festy and nephew (or son) John were drowned bringing an impatient keeper back to his post.
Following Thomas' demise, the Ballast Board contract was taken over by his son John, who held the position for roughly fifty years. John seems to have been a remarkable man who, it is alleged, fathered roughly twenty children.

John King

One of these, Thomas King, became a lightkeeper himself, and fathered the last child to be born on Skellig Michael. All in all, the Kings kept the boat contract until the helicopters took over in the late 1960s, which I believe is a record on the Irish coastline.

Last year, on a week's holiday in Roundstone, I was pleasantly surprised to learn that in 1962, one Joe King, had been harbourmaster there and as such had been responsible for lighting the two minor lights at Inishnee and Deer Island. I later learned that he was part of the Ballyconneely Kings.

And now, courtesy of a very interesting mail from Éamonn King in Shanghai, who references a post I did about Cleggan Point lighthouse two years ago. His family, who are from Knockbrack in Cleggan, were, apparently the keepers of that light.

"I want to gather as much information as I can before our history fades into obscurity and is lost forever," says Éamonn. "It’s a real shame it’s so hard to find any written documentation on the history of Irish lighthouses. The history that I have about our involvement in the lighthouses has been mostly oral history, there is very little written." Which, as many of you know, is the whole reason behind this blog - to get stories down in black and white before they are forgotten.

Éamonn then details the lighthouse links of his family in Cleggan.

"My father, Tom King, currently serves as the lightkeeper of Cleggan lighthouse," he says. "This role has been passed down through generations of the King family. The lineage of lightkeepers in our family likely dates back to the original construction of Cleggan lighthouse.

'Our family has deep roots in Cleggan, residing on Dock Road near Cleggan Pier for generations. The Kings originally hail from Keerhaunmore in Ballyconneely, where we are part of a branch of the family associated with Slyne Head Lighthouse. For over 150 years, members of the King family have served as lighthouse keepers along the coast of Ireland.

'Myles King / Maolra bán (circa 1810 – after 1869), an ancestor from Keerhaunmore, settled in Cleggan. It remains uncertain whether his relocation was connected to the construction of a new pier or lighthouse in Cleggan or other factors.

'There is also ambiguity surrounding the original date of construction for Cleggan lighthouse; it may have been built around 1852, coinciding with Myles King's arrival in Cleggan from Keerhaunmore. This date aligns with a tragic event in which many members of the King family in Keerhaunmore, Ballyconneely were drowned while transporting provisions to Slyne Head lighthouse. Following this disaster in 1852, it is possible that the Ballast Board provided an opportunity for Myles King to participate in constructing a lighthouse at Cleggan Head. In 1852, the Ballast Board had promised to look after the families of those drowned off Slyne Head. It may be possible that Myles King was promised work at a new lighthouse to be built on Cleggan Point."

(In my original post, I had said that the light on Cleggan Point was built between 1896 and 1901 but there was a strong possibility that there had been an earlier light there since the mid-nineteenth century. Early maps suggest an entity called Cleggan Tower on that headland. This was a signal tower built in 1816, though. But 40m west of the ruined tower, there are the remains of another tower. Intriguing.)

Thanks to Richard Sharpe, I was able to post that the current light was erected in 1961 by John O'Toole, (Richard's grandfather,) Tom King and J. Lynch. Éamonn's later confims this:

"The current structure of Cleggan Lighthouse was constructed in 1961 by my grandfather Tommy King (Lightkeeper), John O’Toole [John O’Toole was married to my grandfather’s first cousin Margeret King, Trean, Cleggan], and J. Lynch [Foreman]. I’m not sure which department J. Lynch worked for, it may have been from the Office of Public Works. The materials used for this rebuilding were more than likely transported along the road and then via tractor across the Cleggan Head peninsula."

As this year of 1961 corresponds with the year that the aforementioned Inishnee and Deer Island lighthouses were automated, one presumes that Cleggan Point and Lyon Point went automatic at the same time.

Finally, Éamonn lists his lineage at Knockbrack and their connections to the lights.

Needless to say, its absolutely brilliant to have all this information recorded and my sincere thanks to both Éamonn and Richard for committing part of their family history to paper.

From last year's holidays. Tom King's Bar in Clifden

Photo marinas.com

Despite being notable as the last lighthouse established on these shores (I think!), it comes as a great shock to realise that only one of my 600+ posts on this blog features the Angus Rock lighthouse, and that was back in 2009, when I was only dolloping out a quick photo and 'how to get there' info.

Situated at the entrance of Strangford Lough where the currents run fast and dangers are numerous, there has been a beacon on the rock for over 300 years but it was never lit until as recently as 1983. We will visit the history of the beacon in Part Two but, as an introductory piece, I offer you this poem by the Rev. W.E. Kennedy of nearby Ballyculter church. The reverend gentleman was an avid local historian and not averse to turning his hand to poetry when the Muse hit him. The poem was obviously written in the early 1980s but I found it in the 2001 issue of From Inverbrena, a wonderful local history magazine that promotes the Strangford area.

NB Prior to Angus Rock being lit, apparently the local knowledge of how to find the right channel through the lough entrance was to line up the beacon with the spire of Ballyculter church in Lecale.

Blacksod lighthouse (photo Richard Cummins)

The following unnoteworthy correspondence is taken from the War and Raids collection at UCD and rivals the 'Small earthquake in Chile . Not many dead' headline in the 'Move on, nothing to see here' category.

Irish Lights Office

Dublin

14th June 1922

To PK, Blacksod,

You are to forward a special report of the incident mentioned in your Journal for the 19th May, stating that the Station had been raided by a party of men, some armed; and explain your apparent omission to do so in the first instance,

Secretary

Blacksod when it was painted white!

Sir,
I respectfully beg to report that this Station was raided on the 19th May at 2.30am by a party of about twenty men, three of whom were armed with rifles.

These men were in search of arms, ammunitions and explosives. They entered the premises, forcibly searched kitchen and lower room of tower and left after a stay of ten minutes without taking anything or doing any damage.

My reason for not officially reporting this occurrence at the time it took place was that I feared that, if I did so, the raiders might return on some future occasion and destroy the Station,

I am, Sir, Your Obedient Servant,

T. Glanville PK

The Granuaile heading out of Blacksod Bay

And that seems to have been the end of the affair. The Board was notified and, as there was 'no damge done and nothing taken,' the unexciting story stopped there.

Thomas Glanville (88) had been born in Suffolk in 1863 and had joined Irish Lights in 1889. He was made PK in 1904. Stations that we know he served at were; Ferris Point (1891), Rathlin Island (1893/4), Sligo Lights (1899/1900), Galley Head(1901/03), Roancarrig (1909), Carlingford (1911/12), Loop Head (1915-18) and, obviously, Blacksod (1922) by which time he would have been close to retiring. At least one of his sons, John Kevin, (318) followed Dad into the lightkeeping business.

Thomas Glanville, with daughter, Alice, wife Kate Byrne, from Monkstown, daughter Mary and, probably, son Thomas around 1914

Warren Point (Photo by Chris Newman)

Warrenpoint co. Down is a small town on the northern shore of Carlingford Lough and has no further involvement with this article.
Warren Point co. Donegal, on the other hand, is not even a small village. It is merely the point where a small headland hits the Foyle estuary. It is situated alongside the fairway of the 12th hole of a golf course and the only building on it is a small lighthouse.
In the 1850s, the Londonderry Port and Harbour Commissioners, as was, finally got their act together and started erecting lights from the city all the way up to the mouth of the Foyle estuary. Well, almost to its mouth. The two Inishowen lights were deemed to be sea lights and thus under the jurisdiction of the Dublin Ballast Board but the next light southwards, 2.4kms (1.5 miles) upriver, Warren Point, was at the full extent of the Commissioners' jurisdiction.
A lighthouse was built here in 1861 to provide a link in the chain between Inishowen and Redcastle light in Moville Bay 'so as to avoid the Colloway Rocks and McKenny's (now McKinney's) Bank.' The first house was a temporary wooden structure painted black - 'unsightly' as one commissioner called it in 1864 - but shortly thereafter, the present stone and brick structure was erected. According to the Commissioners' report, Warren Point shone a 'light red light.' (Pink???) The report also damned the commissioners for the poor rates of pay to the keepers.
The tower was 8m (27ft) tall and its focal plane was another 1m on top of that. These days it flashes once every 1.5 seconds but in 1861, it had a fixed red light. This was altered in 1876 to red and white lights, the latter to guide marine traffic down the coast, the red to mark the McKinney's and Tun's Banks. Originally painted white with a red abutment (to mark lights and beacons on the starboard side when coming into a harbour,) the abutment changed to green when the colour scheme changed in the 1930s.

The change of colour of the abutment was probably the moxt exciting thing that has happened in the lifetime of this small and retiring lighthouse. I could find no tales of steamers grounding on the rocks beneath its gaze. Doubtless in latter years, a wayward tee shot may have bounced off its unperturbed back.

It would have had a keeper, of course, but I have so far been unable to come up with a name. As it happened, the last of the keepers departed when the light was made unwatched, automatic in 1947 and the oil lamp replaced with a new acetylene gas flashing light. It was the last of the lights under the Port and Harbour Commissioners' jurisdiction to go unwatched.

Photo by Richard Cummins

Photo by John Hamilton

Photo by Richard Cummins. Note name on the tower, in case it gets lost

Photo Damien Mcaleenan

In early July 1851, a man called Mr Leslie, who was apparently the superintendent for the boring of the tunnel under the barracks, for the Great Southern and Western Railway Company - whatever that meant - purchased a diminutive little screw steamer called Witch. The boat, with a registered weight of only eight tons, had been built in Bristol and was intended to ply a coastal trade around the villages near Queenstown (Cobh) in Cork harbour.

On 11th July, the Witch left Bristol in the hands of Mr Leslie and three seamen and that evening put into Swansea. The following morning, she left Swansea and reached Milford harbour. The next morning, the 13th, she left Milford with the intention of crossing over the Irish Sea but, upon sighting the coastline, a gale sprang up and they decided to head for Waterford.

The wind however, which was coming from the northwest, had other ideas and blew her away from the harbour mouth back towards the Tuskar Rock off the southeastern point of Ireland. Perceiving the danger, the principal keeper of the 34 metres-tall lighthouse thereon, signalled the crew to run in under the lee of the rock, as the sea rose higher and higher.

Tuskar c 1908 (photo National Library of Ireland)

The crew succeeded in this and the keeper managed to pass a rope to the boat. Thus they held on for two hours. The seas several times washed right over the boat and eventually she began to fill with water. As the pumps had become choked with coal and she was doomed, the four men decided to abandon her. They ran her in as close to the shore as they could and then each made a daring leap overboard. By some providential intervention, the keeper and his assistant managed to pluck each of them out of the angry sea and hauled them up to safety, at great peril to themselves. Just as the last man was rescued, the Witch struck and immediately went to pieces before their eyes. Alas for Mr Leslie, she was not insured but the compensation lay in the fact that all men were saved.

The name of the assistant keeper was not recorded by the Cork Constitution which was credited with the stirring story. It may well have been Edward, or Edouard, Lezarde, the Frenchman, whom we know was on the Tuskar in 1849. But fortunately, we know the name of the principal keeper - Thomas McKenna - the heroic and romantic Maidens lover who had eloped with Mary Redmond one night in 1839 when the pair were living at the North and South Maidens off the coast of Antrim.

Tuskar c. 1905 (photo the National Library of Ireland)

As some of you will know, I started to write a book on Eagle Island several years ago. Many people gave generously of their time to help me and the book was to all intents and purposes, finished by the autumn of 2023.
That was the fun bit.
I hawked it around the usual publishers. Those who answered all agreed it was 'far too long.' So, no bother, I decided to self-publish. I got quite a shock, it being several years since the publishing of When the Light Goes Out to realise just how much printing and postage costs had risen in the intervening years. Nobody was going to buy a book by an amateur for the €30+ it would cost me to print it. Unless I pared it down.

I started to do this, losing many of the beautiful photos I had been sent, losing whole chapters from shipwrecks to butterflies, but it was a hard slog as the formatting of the whole book changes every time you change a Word doc. In addition, I felt the book was becoming emasculated, just like the lighthouse of the subject.

A couple of weeks ago, with this project weighing on my shoulders, I decided to go ahead and make the pdf of the longer version available to anybody interested. That way, the history of the light will be available to anybody interested and I can move on to other projects. It has been a labour of love and I enjoyed every minute of writing and researching it.

The pdf basically charts the history of Eagle Island from the 1830s to the present day. Be warned, though, its 139,000 words long! Doubtless I have made errors and I apologise!

Anybody who would like a copy, please mail me on gouldingpeter@gmail.com and I'll send it on, free of charge, probably via Google Drive. Feel free to share with anyone who might not see this.

It may come as a surprise to some (as it did to me) to learn that there has been a beacon on the Angus Rock for over 300 years.

It was back in 1715 that the brig, Eagle's Wing, got caught in a storm at the entrance of the lough and was blown onshore on the Angus Rock. 62 people lost their lives and, as a result, a beacon was built on the offending rock in 1720. It was 30 feet tall, painted white and lacked a light.

With the strong currents and narrow passages of reasonable depth, accessing Strangford Lough could be extremely dangerous for sailing ships, and wrecks were legion. Ships could not negotiate the passage to the west of the rock and the channel to the east was barely 300m wide. A deputation of traders called for the tower to be lit in 1839 to no avail. It has been suggested that merchants and shipowners from Belfast, eager to protect their own interests, had a hand in defeating the motion.

In 1845, the Ballast Board announced that they were placing a 40-foot unlit beacon on nearby St Patrick's Rock. This was in response to traders in both Downpatrick and Portaferry, who were experiencing a surge in maritime trade. Rock Angus was surveyed the following year but nothing came of it. Eventually, though, a 40 foot granite tower was erected on the rock. It remained unlit.

From the Down Recorder 1969

Our old friend, John Swan Sloane, commenting on this many years later with one massive chip on his shoulder, gives his take on the reason for the lack of illumination. (the Irish Builder, 1st September 1882) "When in 1853, the Board of Trade got powers to confiscate the funds of Irish lighthouses," he wrote, "several towers had been built around the coast and were ready for the erection of the lanterns and lighting apparatus; among these was the Rock Angus or the 'Rock and Goose' as the locals call it ... Lord de Ros and Lord Bangor, with Colonel Nugent, had used their influence to get the tower erected; but what cared the Board of Trade for mere Irish harbours? Vessels for Downpatrick might founder before they reached the Quoile; the debts of Trinity House were of much more consequence." Swan kind of spoils his argument by citing Capel Island as another victim of the Board of Trade, when the decision to replace Capel Island with Ballycotton was very much Halpin's.

From the shore, the Angus Rock looks like one long, thin rock. The marinas.com photo above shows just how treacherous the area can be. Incidentally, there is a small stone rounded beacon near the lighthouse. It can just be seen in the very top right of the picture above. I know absolutely nothing about it

On the 6th February 1861, whist seeking refuge from a gale, the collier Manchester made a slight mistake locating the correct channel and was sunk with all hands, including the Captain, Michael Sanderson and his son. The press had a field day. How could she miss the channel when the entrance was so admirable lighted? asked the Freeman's Journal. It is called a real Irish lighthouse, without a light in it, said another. Dark Lanterns! the Nautical Magazine called them. The jury at the inquest went so far as to say that if there had been a light on the Angus Rock, the ship and all the people on it would have been saved.

Stung into inaction, the powers-that-be - the Ballast Board, the Board of Trade and Trinity House - did absolutely nothing, except to repeat the old tired phrase that the traffic in Strangford Lough did not warrant proper lighting. So slack was the trade that it was calculated that between 1867 and 1874, 3357 vessels entered the lough for trade and almost half as many again for shelter.

Photo Strangford Sea Safari FB page

In fact, it took until 1969, when the 500-ton coaster Kingsgate grounded on the Angus Rock, that Irish Lights said they would light the beacon thereon, providing that all the other leading marks up the lough were lit. Even so, it took another 14 years until, in April 1983, the Angus Rock finally got its light after a 250 year wait. Desmond Rogers was the attendant for many years.

A company called Strangford Sea Safari used to bring people out to picnic on the rock but since Covid they seem to have disappeared. I should have taken the opportunity to do it at the time.

3 x marinas.com photos

Video by the quite wonderful Irelandscapes who roam around Northern Ireland (mainly) recording ordinary life

A lot of people are calling it grossly unfair but Wicklow town (Irish: Cill Mhantáin or 'Wickler') is getting another lighthouse.

Not content with having three beautiful specimens on Wickler Head and a very chic lighthouse, complete with new bonnet, on the pier, a fifth pharological building is being erected just south of the Black Castle by the harbour. There won't be any shipwrecks for want of a light on this part of the coastline anyway. I bet they're bullin' down in Arkler, a town famous for its lack of lighthouses unless you count that pole on a corrugated iron shed at the end of the Roadstone jetty.

This post could really be subtitled 'How to build a lighthouse,' if you're one of those people who learns how to do exciting new things, like changing a hoover bag or putting the clock forward an hour in your car, from YouTube videos. Ikea have a range of flat-pack lighthouses in stock. Open the boxes, heeding the no-knives symbol and using your fingernails, and then spread the contents out on the ground and check them off against the incomprehensible contents sheet. Then go and have a cup of coffee and a lie down.

When you've run out of excuses, you build the ground floor. It is important not to build the first floor first (despite its name) because it raises a lot of logistical problems. It may be necessary, as in the Jimmy O'Connor photo on top of the page, to hire a man with extremely long legs to stand in the middle of building to keep an eye on its roundness. There are, granted, some square or even octagonal lighthouses, but roundy ones are the best and you wouldn't want to stray into the elliptical.

The Michael Kelly photo above clearly shows the benefit of correct planning. The 1st floor has now been built over the ground floor and it too is of circular design. It is not recommended to mix mathematical shapes in lighthouse construction, particularly in the tower. Note the long-legged shape-watcher is now walking on stilts like the entertainment at a street festival. Some people build the first floor separately and then lift it into position but that only works om really small lights.

The Michael Kelly photo above shows that a door and a window have been placed in the tower. Eagle-eyed viewers will of course have spotted the glaring design flaw, that the door has not been inserted at ground level. This means only agile keepers who can perform a decent Fosbury flop will be able to access the entrance.

It is advisable at this stage to start building the ancillary buildings, the keeper's dwelling, the oil sheds, the barn for the goat, and the toilets. As can be seen in Michael Kelly's picture above, these can be made out of cardboard, Simply cut out the windows and doors (get a responsible child to help you), stick them all together with sellotape and Fanny's your aunt. They'll be sturdy enough for the benign and balmy Wickler weather, that's for sure.

At this stage, you might consider giving your tower a lick of paint. Cobalt blue is a good colour and one that has been successfully tried at practically no Irish lighthouses whatsoever. Then it is time for the lantern housing. You'll probably need to erect a scaffolding first as Daddy Longlegs might not be able to reach it, even on tippytoes. With the help of a few strong and sturdy men (of which there is an abundance in Wickler), gently lift the five-ton lantern up the outside of the tower and place it carefully on top. Try and centre it, or it will look silly. And make sure you have it the right way up.

Now, look around and try and remember where you left the dome. It's the strange hat-shaped object with the ball on top (see phot by Jimmy O'Connor photo above, if you're unsure) Then hire a competent and preferably sober helicopter pilot to lower the dome carefully onto the lantern. It may be an idea, as Michael Kelly's snap below clearly demonstrates, to have a man in a red jacket standing on the scaffold to catch the dome if it slips off.

Now its time to affix your railings. These are important as it gives resting seabirds somewhere to alight and shite all over your gallery floor. The railings come in sections and you will need an Allen key to join them together. It is important that the sections of railings completely encircle the lantern, particularly if you will be using the lighthouse as a party venue.

Remove the scaffolding. Look how well it blends into the landscape, like a chameleon. Well, actually, it's pretty useless as a daymark if its indistinguishable from its surroundings. Only thing missing now is the light.

Buy an LED bulb from Delahunt's, which used to be next to the Forge but probably isn't any longer. Shows how long I've been away. Can you still buy a pint of Guinness and a block of cheese in Paddy O'Connors? (photo Trevor Quinn)

Train up a current popular thespian in the art of wick-trimming. We used someone called Jason Statham (photo by Jimmy O'Connor)

There are times, when researching local maritime history, when you come across a seemingly innocuous building, or an old slipway, or a weir and it spirals out of all control, opening up avenues that you'd love to have the time to pursue.
The iconic Red Hut on the Newry River (aka the Clanrye River) is a perfect example. Basically its just a corrugated iron shed, painted an unusual rusty colour almost on the border between county Down and county Louth, the Republic and the North of Ireland, the EU and the UK. As far as I can see, it has no protected status at all.

Back in the 1830s, the Newry Navigation Company, eager to get decent sized ships up to Newry and beyond, were keen to enlarge the Newry Ship Canal, a three-and-a-half mile stretch of water that linked Newry to Carlingford Lough. The canal stopped short of the lough itself with a small portion uncanalised (if that's a word) around Narrow Water.

In order to maintain this small stretch, the river was dredged and the mud and silt deposited between the southern mainland and Nun's Island. (This island had at one time housed a small mediaeval convent. Perversely, there is another Nun's Island near Haulbowline at the entrance to the lough - the sisters obviously loved a bit of insularity) This formed a causeway, locally called the Looby or Luby, at the end of which the Red Shed now stands.

The manmade embankment constructed from the mud and silt dredged from the Newry River. From the Lawrence collection of the NLI, dated roughly 1900, there is a complex of huts and sheds at the end of the embankment

The huts and sheds at the end of the new embankment (under progress in the map above) were for a variety of different purposes. There was a ferry across the river going from county Louth to within a mile of Warrenpoint, which linked in with the Great Northern Railway spar line between Newry and Warrenpoint. In fact there was a station at Warrenpoint and at one point, the station master also ran the ferry boats. Naturally, the ferry company needed premises for storage of equipment and such, so they had a building at the end of the Looby. Later on, after 1923, when the country was partitioned, the customs officials in the Republic used the location too.

Photo by Lee Maginnis

But the red shed itself, (and I have no idea when it was built and if it had any predecessors at all,) was used by those hardy men known as lamplighters, whose thankless task it was to go up and down that stretch of the river and light all the buoys and beacons every evening and dowse them every morning. The shed would contain oil and other spare parts used for the job. Presumably, when the two magnificent round towers designed by Allan MacDonnell to lead boats from the lough to the river came into operation in 1887, they became an additional part of the lamplighters' work schedule.

Another photo by Robert French from the NLI Lawrence collection, looking towards the lough from the northern terminus of the Narrow Water ferry. Note the perches in the river that would have been lit by the lamplighters as well as the leading light round tower on the right hand side of the image. Note also the absence of the stone beacon adjacent to the Narrow Water keep, and the rail line (bottom left) which closed in 1965

Lamplighters operated in Dundalk Bay, in the Boyne estuary, on the Shannon and the Foyle and possibly the Liffey. They could well have been in other places as well. They normally used flat-bottomed boats that could approach beacons. Often the lighting of the lamp involved climbing up the beacon and its a wonder that more weren't killed in the course of their duties than actually were, particularly when the weather suddenly turned foul.

The red shed from very close to the border on the northern side of the river. Note the sweeping in a downward direction towards the sea of the Mountains of Mourne on the northern side of the river.

It seems that one Thomas Boyle of Drummullagh, Omeath was a lamplighter on the Newry River in the latter part of the 19th century. A former seaman, he was also a river pilot. On the 1911 census, he was described as a 64-year-old lightkeeper under the (Warrenpoint) Harbour Authority. Later on, three generations of Quinns tended the lights, the last of them being Tom Quinn from Omeath. In the locality, the red shed was always known as Tom's shed.

Owen Connolly photo

And so a simple shed in a lazy backwater can lead to lamplighters, a ferry service, a railway line, and a custom's post. For Lee Maginnis, who visited recently, the Narrow Water keep has strong ancestral links, as the Clan Magennis attacked and overran the castle in the 1600s as a reprisal for the death of Laressa Magennis there.

Many motorists catch a glimpse of the shed as they fly down the A2 or the R173. It is doubtful that the majority of them are aware of the rich history of the area that can be gleaned from such a humble edifice.

Galley Head light c.1906

This poem, by an Irish emigré, was sent by the author's daughter, Eileen McGowan, to the Museum of the O'Connell Schools in North Richmond Street, many, many years ago, accompanied by a note that said:

We were living at 194, Richmond Terrace, Staten Island, at the time this poem was written, so it is safe to say it was one of Papa's last compositions. We moved to St. George in 1902 and Papa was waked there in 1915. He was forever fascinated by the way the Robbin's Reef lighthouse and the Statue of Liberty light blinked and shone into his bedroom window. Our home was on the Shore Road and we faced the waters of Kill von Kull Straights and the New York Bay. Lying in his bed, he could easily see the lighthouse and Statue, just as though they were in his own front yard.

The first Fastnet

My Lighthouse

Where I grew up on Ardagh’s Heights,

I’d see the bright, revolving lights

Of Fastnet Rock and Galley Head

That round about their brilliance shed

To guide the ships to Cork.

Where I grew up on Ardfield’s Heights,

I’d see the bright, revolving lights

Of Robbin’s Reef and, up the bay,

Bartholdi’s Liberty’s calm ray

That guide ships to New York.

And there or here, in youth or age,

The selfsame goal my thoughts engage:

My lighthouse – Irish Freedom – streams

O’er life’s rough wave, her fervent beams

In Cove or in New York.

Robbins Reef lighthhouse

Oh, nearly forgot. The name of the poet was Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa.

Some little-known lighthouse in New York

According to one definition of an island, there are 281 of the little buggers around the coast of Ireland, which can be split up into three categories - those that have a resident population; those that have never had a population; and those that once had a population but now have one no longer. To me, all islands are magical places, each with their own distinct identity, and I would love to be an islander now, leaning on the pier rail and telling tall tales to the tourists that visit.
The saddest islands are the ones whose resident population has left - some of the Blaskets, Scattery, several islands at the mouth of the Fergus, many islands in Clew Bay, the Inishkeas, Inishmurray, Gola, Inishsirrer and Inishtrahull, to name but a few. The latter, Inishtrahull, Ireland's most northerly island, has always fascinated me and, visiting for the first time last year, dispels the myth that you should never meet your heroes. It is an incredible island that changes with the weather and the ghosts of the former inhabitants crouch behind every gable wall, waiting for us visitors to leave.
For me, of course, it has the added attraction of two lighthouses, one ancient, one comparatively modern at opposite ends of the island.

Seán Beattie is well known on the Inishowen peninsula for writing several books on Irish history and is the editor of the journal of the county Donegal Historical Society. Often seen around the pier at Culdaff, his research into the island he could see when growing up produced a booklet called The Book of Inishtrahull, published many moons ago. It was a valuable companion for my visit last year and I noticed several other passengers carried a copy too.

Now, Seán has gathered together all the gleanings since that booklet was published in 1992 and brought out a beautiful new book called 'Inishtrahull - Isle of Ships' (I have to admit, I'm slightly stumped by the title. Aren't all islands isles of ships?) It is much expanded, beautifully presented book, detailing the story of the island from pre-history to the present day, with many photographs old and new that I have never seen.

Naturally, my interest is primarily in lighthouses and I was very surprised to learn that the introduction of the first lighthouse in 1813 was the catalyst for re-populating the island after one of its many terms of abandonment, with some of the lighthouse builders settling down and being joined by local fishermen. There are also details of an earlier 1695 light fired by faggots and sea-coal and a later light called the Goose Light on the pier at Portmore. There is also a fascinating account of the island by former keeper, naturalist and poet DJ O'Sullivan, which ranges from human habitation to folklore and from flora to geology.

Outside of the lighthouses, there is plenty between the pages of this book to satisfy anybody interested in maritime heritage. The struggles, sometimes against starvation, of the island community, the ingenuity in supplementing their income, the reliance on salvage, their system of self-government and avoidance of paying taxes, their brazenness in boarding passing ships, their battles with the customs men, the incredible community spirit and the eventual desertion of the island - all are examined by Seán in an extremely readable way.

Inishtrahull - Isle of Ships is a tour-de-force, rolling inexorably like an ocean wave towards the present day. Priced at a miserly €25, p and p free to the UK and Ireland, it is a wonderfully entertaining addition to the local history of our coastline. Seán is contactable via Facebook. I give you his FB icon, as I'm sure there is more than one!

I have been unable to blog the past few weeks so I am doubly grateful to Jim Gallagher for giving me permission to use his post on the Burtonport Heritage Facebook page. For many people, beacons and perches are just part and parcel of maritime street architecture but posts like these show they each have a story if only you dig a little. Thankfully Jim did his digging while it was still possible. Many similar stories from around our coasts will soon be lost forever.

This post is about the building of the leading lights and navigation lights which take you from Arran bay (Rosses bay) into Burtonport.

For people that are not familiar with the sea. You will see in the picture of the navigation chart a lot of lights and shapes; every single one of these are required for safe navigation to get to and from Burtonport pier. If you look at the left hand side of the picture you will see two yellow circles and then a direct black line going out the bay. The two yellow circles are leading lights. When coming in the bay you need to have these lights in a direct line (transit) and that is the safe passage into Arran roads. If you veer of this line, you have rocks above the water and under the water which you do not see. The board of works started to install these in 1960. The man leading these works was a Dublin man called Bill Walsh; the rest of the team were locals Hugh (Corney) McCole (Rutland), Paddy John Gallagher (lived next to Acres school), Danny Condy (Acres,) Joe Boucher (Arlands) and Big Neilly Gallagher (Milltown.)

After putting up some perches they had to toss them back down as they were not in the correct position. Then in 1961 James Mickey Gallagher joined the team. They worked Monday to Friday and half a day on Saturday; the wages were £4 14s a week. They hired Joe Joe Phil Boyle’s boat, the Ard Cronin, to get the first set of perches, the two I spoke about on Arranmore. They had no radios so they used flags to give signals to move to left or right from the boat to the people on the island using binoculars. It took a lot of time to get it right but they got it correct.

Then they worked on the next leading lights on Eighter Island to bring you through what they call the Narrows - that is the narrowest point you are to rocks on either side of you when traveling to and from Arranmore on the ferry.

Then they built the next leading lights on Rutland and then they built the last ones on Burtonport. You can see the last light when passing the new chalets opposite the coast guard station. There were no lights before this for navigation to take you into and out of Burtonport. They also had electric lights fitted for night navigation.

They then built a light on the narrows at Eighter; it is a red perch. Then another red perch in the Black Hole. There was another dangerous rock in the middle of the Black Hole that was submerged. It did have a perch on it before as you can see in the picture of the sailing ship, but it got washed away.

The picture with the green perch is outside Mc Cole’s (Dinsmore’s) where the new house is now built. This was an extremely difficult project. At low tide you could stand on the rock but it was still three feet below water. James Mickey had a punt and a Seagull outboard engine, so the Board of Works increased his wages to £5 to use the punt for this job.

They dropped a few anchors to try and position the punt over the rock and try and work at low water to drill holes in the rock. They could not hold the punt in position with the tides flowing. So the only option was for James Mickey (as he was the youngest) to stand on the rock at low water in spring tides holding a drill rod in his hands and the other men hit it with a sledgehammer. This was the only way they could drill it.

It took a long time but they got the first drill hole drilled and put a steel bar in the hole and I believe they filled the hole around the bar with boiled lead to hold the steel bar in position. Once they got the first bar solid, they then used that to hold the punt steady and they then continued to drill as many holes as they required. Once all the bars were solid in the rock they then built a 4 foot x 4 foot wooden frame which fitted outside the steel bars and they used weights to sink it to the rock. Then they removed the seaweed from the rock. They then used what was then a special quick setting cement and working on the tides built up the base of the perch. They then tapered it into the size you see today above the water added more steel and built it up to what you see today. So it is there since 1961 and hasn’t washed away yet and for whatever more years it will last.

There have been more leading lights added this past 20 years to make it a little easier for navigating the channels. If you are on the end of the pier in Burtonport at night, you will see all these lights flashing; these are the lights which seamen use at night. The next time you go to Arranmore on the ferry look out for these leading lights and watch how the ferries use them to lead them through the channels; every one of them are needed.

Before there were lights and boats with engines, they use to have to use ropes and winches. They had big steel rings on the rocks and ropes attached and with winches they slowly winched the schooners and sailing ships down the channels. You can still see them today if you look closely from the ferry.

You see in the picture this sailing boat is sailing at half tide and sailed down the channel this is great seamanship to sail through the Narrows without an engine. There is NO room for error.

The entrance to Burtonport from the open sea is a fantastic experience for pleasure sailors; it is a great challenge for them. The views and the navigation is about as good as you can see or get anywhere.

You will often see a sailing yacht following one of the ferries into or out of the port. The reason for this it is challenging to amateur sailors and you can get confused and they prefer to be safe and follow a ferry or fishing boat.

That, folks, is how the perches and lights were installed in the channels to Burtonport.

Commissioner of Irish Lights flag pre-1970 with the St George's Cross

I recently came across this short debate on the ownership of Irish Lights in Dail Eireann on 10th July 1929: -

Seán Lemass (Fianna Fail) asked the Minister for Finance whether he can give any information as to the probable date when the Irish Lights Service may be transferred from the control of the British to the Saorstát Government; whether the representations made by the Provisional Government against the dividing up of this service and its objection to handing over the administration of the lights on the North-East coast to any Northern authority is to be maintained; and if it is proposed that the lights, etc., in the area of the Northern Government are to be administered from the Saorstát as at present, and, if not, by whom is it proposed that they will be administered.

Fionán Lynch (Cumann na nGaedheal): Negotíations for the transfer of the Irish Lights Service are proceeding, but it is not yet possible to state the probable date of transfer. No conclusions have yet been reached as to the future administration of the lights on the North-East coast.

Nineteenth century cap badge with crown

Seán Lemass asked the Minister for Finance if he will explain why the flag of Saorstát Eireann is not flown from the flagmasts at lighthouses and ships in the Irish Lights Service, as was the British Ensign heretofore, and if he will take steps to have this matter rectified; and, further, if he will direct the Commissioners of Irish Lights to have their official correspondence printed as "Dun Laoghaire" instead of "Kingstown," as at present, and a more suitable badge than that surmounted by the Crown, now worn by employees, substituted forthwith.

Fionán Lynch: Pending the conclusion of the negotiations contemplated in the annexe to the Treaty, I have no responsibility for, nor power to give directions to, the Commissioners of Irish Lights.

Hugh Law (Cumann na nGaedheal) : Arising out of the answer, may I ask the Minister whether there is any reason why the Crown of the King of Ireland should not appear on a badge worn by public servants in this ancient Kingdom of Ireland?

Seán Lemass: Is it not correct that the lighthouses controlled by the Irish Lights Commissioners are the property of the Free State Government?

Fionán Lynch: I presume they are.

Seán Lemass: And if they are our property, are we not in a position to issue orders in connection with the use to be made of them?

Fionán Lynch: I gather from the reply that pending the negotiations contemplated in the annexe to the Treaty nothing has so far been done about the matter.

Post 1970 Irish Lights badge with the St Patrick's cross

Just a couple of my own observations. Firstly, I don't think the lightship and lighthouse shown on the new and old Irish Lights flag are actual Irish lights, though I'm open to correction on this. It seems more probable that they are generic pictures that could easily have been AI generated by an Irish Lights whizz-kid way ahead of his time in the nineteenth century.

Secondly, the relationship between the three lighthouse boards - Trinity House (England and Wales), the Northern Lighthouse Board (Scotland and the Isle of Man) and the Ballast Board/Irish Lights has always been very nuanced. Although nominally equal, Trinity House - being the oldest of the three - was perhaps seen as the dominant body. Certainly in the nineteenth century, permission was always sought from TH for the erection of new lighthouses, which added another layer of procrastination to an already slow-moving body that had the financially-minded Board of Trade to pacify as well. Whether this permission was sought out of legalities or politeness - or a combination of the two - is a moot point.

Even after independence, Trinity House controlled the purse-strings. Monies collected from passing ships went into a central fund and were dished out by London, later Harwich. Lemass, above, although deeming it right that Ireland should control its own waters and maritime beacons, probably realised, from a practical point of view that, the new government had only been left twenty quid to run the country and maintaining lighthouses, vessels, buoys and staff cost a lot of money.

Added to which, what do you do about the lights off the north-eastern coast? Would they get transferred to one of the other two boards, or remain a part of the Irish one? Maybe the fact that pre-independence Irish Lights adopted a strict policy that a person's religion was immaterial in keeping our shoreline safe resulted in these lights continuing under Irish Lights as always

During the 2nd World War, the Irish Lights tender Isolda was sunk with the loss of six lives while flying the Georges Cross flag and the Union flag. It was not until 1970, when the Troubles were erupting, that the Board adopted the new ensign, with the St Patrick's cross, a move which, naturally, did not go down well in all quarters.

The old Lower Skellig lighthouse c. 1903 (courtesy NLI)

There is a line in Compton McKenzie's novel The Lunatic Republic in which an astronaut is trying to explain literary fiction to the moon's inhabitants. But why would you want to read about things that never happened? came the unanwerable rejoinder.
I am afraid I read very little fiction, though when I do, I am normally gripped from start to finish. But when I saw that the Lighthouse Keeper's Wife, the debut novel by June O'Sullivan, recounts the tragic events at Skellig Michael lighthouse in the late 1860s, I was intrigued, not least because I had done a lot of research on the Callaghan family for When the light goes out.
So I bought it, started it and then life got in the way and I stopped about a quarter way through. It was not until a four-hour downpour on Inishturk last Saturday that I finished it.
This is not a review of the book. For a start, I am not qualified to review fiction. My one attempt at writing a novel was a disaster. Secondly, I was very conscious, before I'd even opened it, that I would be minutely searching for inconsistencies and incomplete research, which would not be at all fair to Ms O'Sullivan.
But I give my thoughts on the book, from my very jaundiced perspective.

The story, as mentioned, is that of William and Kate Callaghan, who move to Skellig Michael off the coast of Kerry, when William is appointed PK there. Their third child Mary Anne is born there but their two young boys, William and Patrick, both die and are buried up at the monastery (the gravestone, probably the most westerly in Europe (excluding Iceland and the Azores) is still visible) William senior writes an impassioned letter to the board of Irish Lights asking to be removed from the island as he has buried two sons and is fearful for the life of his daughter. The Board complies.

Around these bare facts, June O'Sullivan has woven a tale that is both compelling and believable and to be fair, her research has been top-notch. She shaves the number of lighthouse stations from two to one deliberately, to enhance the isolation of the family when joined by the assistant keeper and his wife, who are both weird and sinister. A man called Jeremiah runs the lighthouse tender to and from the island and Jeremiah Trant, who along with his son John later became a lightkeeper, used to run the tender, albeit a couple of decades later than the events in the book. The names of the main protagonists are changed too, out of deference to the fact that this was an actual family.

The old lower light c. 1960 (courtesy Shay Farrell)

The plot itself is very cleverly done, using the facts as we know them. There are no death certs for the Callaghan children and so the author has the freedom there to choose the deaths of the Carthy children. But what shines out is the life of the keepers on an isolated rock, the claustrophobia, the weather, the tension within the family and between the families. It is something people like me, who research lightkeepers don't truly appreciate. The antagonism between the families even has an echo in reality as one keeper called John McKenna was actually dismissed around the same time for beating up a keeper at the upper lighthouse.
I have to say I enjoyed the book immensely and it deserves the acclaim it has received. My one reservation is that I thought the ending was a little Disneyesque with everything turning out right and the baddies getting their comeuppance very neatly. Of course, with the tragedies that lay in store for the Callaghan family, there's ample scope for a sequel!
And did I spot any obvious factual errors? Well, not in the book itself, which was, as I said, very well researched. But in the author's note at the back, she quotes Des Lavelle in wondering whether Eliza's Corner on Skellig Michael was named after Eliza Callaghan, mother of Patrick and William (their mother was actually Kate Callaghan)
June also says she has taken liberties with the frequent visits to Skellig Michael by Jeremiah, in the lighthouse tender, which she says only visited twice a year. In fact the 'two-visits-a-year' tender refers to the large Irish Lights tenders who would deliver bulky items like water and oil twice a year. Jeremiah would probably have visited once a week in summer and twice a month in winter with fresh food, mail and small provisions, as well as relieving keepers.

But, yes, I'd recommend it whole-heartedly. It puts meat on the bones and shows us dreamers that life on a remote station wasn't always the idyllic heaven we think it was!

The current lower light (photo courtesy John Hamilton)

The Lighthouse Keeper's Wife by June O'Sullivan is published by Poolbeg and is widely available in bookstores and online. ISBN 978-178199-676-8

When the Titanic arrived at Queenstown (now Cobh) on the morning of 11th April 1912, 123 people (63 men and 60 women) boarded the PS America and the PS Ireland and travelled out to the great ship anchored outside Roches Point. They were accompanied by many smaller boats determined to sell lace and other wares to the rich passengers onboard.

Passengers waiting to board the paddle-steamers at the White Star Line wharf in Queenstown (Cobh Museum)

Those who joined at Queenstown were not the elite: only three travelled first class, seven were second-class passengers and 113 were third-class, all seeking to find a better life in America. Only 44 of them survived to see the New World.
Among the 123 were listed four passengers from the small town of Askeaton in county Limerick – Bertha Moran (32), her brother Daniel (27), her fiancé, Patrick Ryan (32) and a friend Margaret Madigan (21). The women would survive, the men would not.

Bertha Moran (above) and her brother Daniel (below) were children of a local labourer and boatman called Patrick Moran. It is said that Patrick had been a lightkeeper for a few years in the west of Ireland. I can find nothing on Patrick being in the lighthouse service, though there are doubtless many keepers (particularly temporary or local ones) who have flown under the radar of a badly-documented Irish Lights archive.

It is also said that Patrick ran the boat service that brought keepers to and from Beeves Rock lighthouse. There were two houses built on the Beeves Rock for the families of the keepers but, probably around the 1890s, houses were built for the families just to the north of Askeaton, beside the River Deal, or Deel. The river entered the Shannon near the lighthouse.

Patrick's wife had died in 1891 and he never remarried. The large family would not have survived if they hadn't emigrated. Daniel went to America where he became a policeman in the Bronx and Bertha followed later.

A story circulated later, probably by a sensationalist press, that, when their father died in 1909, he left a huge will amounting to anything up to £30,000. The pair had apparently travelled home to sort out the will and Daniel was carrying their share of the money on his person when he was lost.

Of course, one wonders how a poor boatman/labourer could leave such a vast sum of money. One wonders too why the suddenly very wealthy siblings would choose to travel third class on their return to America. The tale has since been debunked by family members.

It has been suggested that Patrick Ryan, above, was the reason for the Moran's visit from America. He had known Bertha Moran from childhood and the two were engaged to be married. He had remained behind in Ireland when Bertha had left to help his father but he had decided to emigrate too. Bertha came back to accompany him over and Daniel came along for the ride, so to speak.

Patrick's sister, Ellie, was married to a man called Paddy Frawley and, when the Titanic sailed, it was Paddy who had the boat tender for Beeves Rock, possibly helped out by Bertha's brother, Pat Moran. It was Paddy and Pat who first brought news of the Titanic's sinking to Askeaton, after hearing it from a boat on the Shannon estuary.

Paddy Frawley later that year commissioned the St. Patrick - named after his brother-in-law Patrick Ryan - the first motorised boat tender on the Shannon. It was built by Attie Boland in Ballylongford. It continued to bring keepers and provisions out to Beeves lighthouse until automation in 1932. In 2012, it was revamped by Patrick Ryan's great-nephew, Cyril Ryan at his boatyard on the Deel. Cyril was shore attendant for Beeves for many years.

Extract from the Limerick Leader 15th December 2012, on its centenary.

Bertha later said it was her brother Daniel who saved her and Margaret Madigan from drowning that fateful night, physically fighting people to get the two ladies up on the deck where the last, heavily-overloaded lifeboat was leaving. She said she later saw him dive into the water as the ship sank.

Bertha lived a long life in America. She never married.

The wonderful Beeves Rock lighthouse

Michael Woods was at Mew Island in 1918

This is a list which might be of interest to some readers who have lightkeepers in their family tree. And to former keepers who will doubtless recognise surnames from their own service. It lists all Irish Lights keepers as of 1918, giving such information such as service number, rank, date and place of birth, date of entering service, date of promotion to present rank, present station and date of being posted there, marital status, number of dependent children and special notes.

The lighthouses at Bearna

A tale of ancient times in Sligo

The story of Ballycotton lighthouse

The Mystery of the Missing Perch - A Play in One Act

A state of chassis on the Fastnet

A tragedy from Clare Island

The Irish Lights Phone Book

The roaming Relief

South Arklow lightvessel c.1906. The Relief was sold in 1867

Bringing Dad back to the lighthouse

The Kings of Cleggan

The Angus Rock Part One - a poem

No damage done and nothing taken

Warren Point revisited

An old friend on the Tuskar

Green Seas and Small Boats

The Angus Rock Part 2 - the history

Teach solais nua do Cill Mhantáin

The Red Hut aka The Red Shed, Newry River

My lighthouse - a poem

Inishtrahull - Isle of Ships by Seán Beattie

The building of the navigational lights leading into Burtonport

A 1929 Dail debate on the ownership of Irish Lights

The Lighthouse Keeper's Wife by June O'Sullivan

Beeves lighthouse and the Titanic

Roll call of Irish lightkeepers 1918