Hooker approaching Spiddal Pier (photo by Major Ruttledge c. 1892 National Library of Ireland)
Among the glittering pantheon of Irish lighthouse builders, with star-spangled names such as Burgh, Rogers, Halpin, Halpin junior, Sloane and Douglass, it is very possible that the name Patrick O'Donnell doesn't rank very highly among the lighthouse cogniscenti. Very possibly, it doesn't rank very highly in his own family but this master builder, determined to light the seas for confused navigators on the north shore of Galway Bay, deserves belated recognition.
It is unknown when Derrynea native, Patrick, first took an interest in marine navigation. A tenant farmer, he was in his early sixties when his innate yearning transferred to a more physical demonstration of the pharological art. Unfortunately for the world of Irish architecture, it was a short-lived and controversial foray into the field.
The story began on 8th December 1916 at around 8.30pm, according to the court reporter of the Galway Express. The night, as nights frequently were, and are, was dark and the pier at Spiddal was just a vague block jutting out into the black waters. The light at Mutton Island could be discerned to the east and the Straw Island light on the Aran Islands was also visible southwards to sea but there was no light to guide a boat into the harbour at Spiddal. And Patrick knew there was a boat out there, desperaterly seeking the harbour, the captain probably stiff-faced and stoic, trying to pick out landmarks. Any women and children would probably have been hugging each other and praying for salvation. But what was a poor tenant farmer to do?
It is unlikely that O'Donnell used concrete or limestone to build his lighthouse. It was probably constructed of wood, maybe some shrubs pulled hurriedly from the shore. The focal plane would probably have been the height of the pier and the light characteristic white and probably waxing and waning. And flickering.
Constable Finn, in his evidence at the Petty Sessions in February 1917, declared to the court that he had found the defendant sitting on top of the pier next to the lighted fire. When he questioned why, he was told that Mr. O'Donnell intended it as a guide for an incoming boat. Obviously not in favour of safety at sea, the constable ordered him to extinguish his Aton, which the farmer proceeded to do.
Charged under the Defence of the Realm Act, Mr. O'Donnell said in court that it wasn't any harm as he had been guiding a boat into the quay. The judge asked him whether he wanted the Germans to come in but unfortunately the Galway Express did not record the reply. Maybe he had been guiding a U-Boat into Spiddal.
For his spontaneous and altruistic efforts, he was fined 6d. George Halpin surely never suffered such ignominy.
It is unknown when Derrynea native, Patrick, first took an interest in marine navigation. A tenant farmer, he was in his early sixties when his innate yearning transferred to a more physical demonstration of the pharological art. Unfortunately for the world of Irish architecture, it was a short-lived and controversial foray into the field.
The story began on 8th December 1916 at around 8.30pm, according to the court reporter of the Galway Express. The night, as nights frequently were, and are, was dark and the pier at Spiddal was just a vague block jutting out into the black waters. The light at Mutton Island could be discerned to the east and the Straw Island light on the Aran Islands was also visible southwards to sea but there was no light to guide a boat into the harbour at Spiddal. And Patrick knew there was a boat out there, desperaterly seeking the harbour, the captain probably stiff-faced and stoic, trying to pick out landmarks. Any women and children would probably have been hugging each other and praying for salvation. But what was a poor tenant farmer to do?
It is unlikely that O'Donnell used concrete or limestone to build his lighthouse. It was probably constructed of wood, maybe some shrubs pulled hurriedly from the shore. The focal plane would probably have been the height of the pier and the light characteristic white and probably waxing and waning. And flickering.
Constable Finn, in his evidence at the Petty Sessions in February 1917, declared to the court that he had found the defendant sitting on top of the pier next to the lighted fire. When he questioned why, he was told that Mr. O'Donnell intended it as a guide for an incoming boat. Obviously not in favour of safety at sea, the constable ordered him to extinguish his Aton, which the farmer proceeded to do.
Charged under the Defence of the Realm Act, Mr. O'Donnell said in court that it wasn't any harm as he had been guiding a boat into the quay. The judge asked him whether he wanted the Germans to come in but unfortunately the Galway Express did not record the reply. Maybe he had been guiding a U-Boat into Spiddal.
For his spontaneous and altruistic efforts, he was fined 6d. George Halpin surely never suffered such ignominy.
The lights on Spiddal pier today, built on the legacy of Patrick O'Donnell, to whom there isn't even a plaque
No comments:
Post a Comment