![]() The Keepers were under orders not to disturb my little flower bed, as those flowers were nurtured like newborn babies, protected from the winds that blew from north, south, east, and west. Windows were cleaned and grass margins were mowed by hand. The stairs were swept down and washed, well over one hundred of them. Brass-work, which is plentiful in a lighthouse, was polished no housewife could do a better job. Each Friday Mr Moran took me to Campile to do my shopping – sometimes the highlight of my week, but that is another story! The routine work of caring for the Lighthouse was done by the Keepers each morning. Mr Moran was the car contractor employed by Irish Lights the only mode of transport if you did not own a car. A mug of tea, and off to bed for a few hours only to be woken a short time later by a hooting car horn, the signal for me that the school car had arrived to take the children to school some miles away in Templetown. Woe betide any Keeper who left the burner dirty. Once extinguished, the burner was carefully brought down the tower to be cleaned and left ready for re-lighting at dusk. The Keeper would then scan the horizon for anything unusual, check weather conditions and record them in the log book, and note the time the light was extinguished. The light would be extinguished after dawn by the Keeper of the watch. The light in those days was a mantle lit by simply striking a match, having first fuelled the burner with paraffin brought up from the fuel store halfway down the tower. THE Keepers each kept watches of four hours on and eight hours off, around the clock, seven days a week. ![]() They played happily about the large grass area with toys made by the Keepers, and each night went to sleep with the beam from the light passing their bedroom window. There was an innocence about the lighthouse children. ![]() It was a great place to rear children, though danger lay outside the lighthouse walls with the Atlantic Ocean raging against the rocks in bad weather. Living at a lighthouse gave one a sense of importance, as Lighthouse Keepers were looked up to in small rural communities. There was always a blazing coal fire in the hearth, as our coal bunkers were filled annually. The crockery was beautifully decorated with the crest and motto of the Commissioners of Irish LightsIn Salutem Omnium (For the Safety of All). All kitchen utensils, even down to the knives, forks, and spoons, were supplied. All the houses were furnished by Irish Lights, not luxurious by today’s standards but including good quality pine tables and dressers, and the best linoleum floor coverings polished to perfection. ![]() The other two dwellings were large, spacious two story buildings. I was allocated the bungalow which was situated at the base of the tower. Most of the Keepers were married men with families, but this was not always the case. My husband was one of two Assistant Keepers, with a Principal Keeper in command. The following three years were the happiest of my life. This was the first time we were together at a shore lighthouse as a familya rare situation indeed, as one might have to wait years to get such a transfer. MY thoughts slipped back to 1968 when, as a young married woman with a son aged three and a one year old daughter, I first arrived at Hook Head Lighthouse to join my husband who had been transferred there from Tuskar Rock Lighthouse. I had to visit Campile recently with a colleague who had never been to that part of Wexford, so I gave her a guided tour and took her to one of my favourite places, Hook Lighthouse, where I lived for three years with my husband who was a Lighthouse Keeper there where my third child was born.Īs I drove down the familiar roadway, past the haunted Loftus Hall, I could see the tip of the lighthouse in the distance and, somehow, felt a warm feeling of security as I approached it. The Hook Head Lighthouse, majestic and proud on the tip of the Hook Peninsula, Co Wexford, now stands alone as if in mourning for the Lighthouse Keepers and their families no longer there. Eileen Wickham revisits Hook Head and reflects on a way of life now passed into history.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |