Hank Marvin at an Irish lighthouse

Hank Marvin with shadow at a lighthouse

If you didn't already know, and were asked at which Irish lighthouse the first helicopter rescue occurred, where would you say? And what was the reason for it? And who was rescued?

Possibly, like me, you'd probably plump for some lighthouse off the west coast, maybe Tearaght or Skellig, where a keeper had suddenly become very sick and had to have urgent medical attention. Somewhere noted for its maroonings and overdue reliefs and not being able to get home for Christmas. And like me, you'd be wrong on all accounts, except the fact that it was off the west coast.

Black Rock Sligo (like its namesake in Mayo, I never know if its one word or two) was not a station that made headlines for its overdue reliefs, particularly as it had been automated very early in 1934, more than 99 years (but less than 100) after the light was first established. From the shoreline at Rosses Point, it doesn't seem that far away – almost wadable at low tide – though please don't try it. Aerial photographs show an old track connecting the rock and the mainland and, being nestled in the southeast corner of Sligo Bay, it generally avoids the very worst of the weather, except when it comes from the northwest. Although beware, plenty of people have drowned in that short stretch of water over the years, including Eagle Island keeper, Jim Leyden, in 1972.

Black Rock Sligo. Photo John Hamilton

So, the first helicopter rescue at an Irish lighthouse took place at Black Rock Sligo on 26th October 1956, 22 years after the last keeper left. It all started when three men employed by Irish Lights were brought, by boat, to the lighthouse on Monday 15th October to carry out maintenance and repair work, mainly on the generators. They were Dick Delaney (38) of Rafters Rd, Crumlin; 55 year old James Lambert of Donnycarney Rd; and Thomas McMorrow, aged 'about fifty', of Greenland Villas, Rosses Point. The first two were technicians whilst Thomas was employed to do all the work.

They arrived at the station on the Monday with bedding and enough food to last for a week, with the relief boat due to either pick them up or replenish supplies on the Saturday. Unfortunately, just prior to the relief, a gale sprang up and the relief boat could not return. On the Sunday morning, a motor boat with three men, locals Austin Gillen and Joseph Haran, and Oyster Island principal keeper Hugh Duggan attempted to make the crossing but were thwarted by mountainous seas.

Black Rock Sligo just prior to automation with extra panniers for accommodation

Meanwhile, with the gale showing no sign of abating, the men held a conflab and decided that they needed to initiate a rationing system for the small amount of food they had left. They also raised a distress flag, sightings of which prompted a phone call being made to Irish Lights' head office, at that time in D'Olier Street in Dublin. There was of course no radio communication between the lighthouse and the mainland, which meant that nobody knew exactly what the distress actually was.

Irish Lights sent down a representative, W.D. Clotworthy, on Wednesday night with rescue gear. I'm intrigued by the nature of it but it couldn't be used because the gale had not subsided. Undaunted, WD contacted a local businessman Kevin Murray, who owned a plane, then parked at the golf club airstrip. On Friday morning, Murray and a former Irish Air Corps pilot, Padraig Ferguson flew, in the light aircraft, a Miles Messenger, over the lighthouse, where they saw two men on the balcony waving and pointing to their mouths. They were either playing charades or indicating that they were Hank Marvin.

Returning to the airstrip, the men decided they would make another run and drop food parcels for the men. However, the food parcels would not be ready until 2pm. Unknown to anybody in Sligo, though, Irish Lights in Dublin had made contact with the British army base at Eglinton in Derry and word finally got through to Rosses Point that an RAF helicopter was on its way. Shortly before 3pm on Friday 26th October – eleven days after the hungry threesome had arrived – the helicopter landed on the rock (it was low tide) and began transporting them one by one to Oyster Island. All except McMorrow, who had already been eaten by the Dublin lads.

Black Rock at low tide. Note the rocky road to Rosses Point leading to the mainland. 

Photo Marinas.com

The men were later brought to Austin Gillen's house in Rosses Point where, their mouths stuffed with sausages and rashers, they told their stories to an uncomprehending world.

They told how they had watched the motor boat come around the Wheaten Rock buoy on the Sunday and, as it did so, it suddenly turned up on its end so it seemed planted vertically in the sea, and they knew then that it would never get near. They picked periwinkles on the rocks but couldn't find any crabs or lobsters. Lambert hated the periwinkles. On the Wednesday, their only food was a tin of peas and one onion, and their drinking water was perilously low. The cold was intense. They had no tobacco. Even worse, they hadn't had a part to fix the generators they were working on, so they would have to return and complete the job.

For the record, the crew of the RAF helicopter on that historic day was Lieut. Comdr, C.C. Thornton (pilot) and leading Telegraphist B. Brindley.

An S51 Dragonfly, in use at Eglinton in 1955. Photo By RuthAS - Own work, CC BY 3.0