The Irish Lights Phone Book

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.

A tragedy from Clare Island

 

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. 

A state of chassis on the Fastnet

 

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

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

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

The story of Ballycotton lighthouse

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.

A tale of ancient times in Sligo

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.

The lighthouses at Bearna

 

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)