Lightkeepers

light keepers

Geraldin e O’Sulliv an

INTRODUCTION

F

or the last three years I have been immersed in the unique world of Irish lighthouses. Being fortunate to live under the sweep of the Galley Head lighthouse beam, I have painted the lighthouse and headland many times and my curiosity as to what it must have been like to live and rear a family in these remote structures led to this exhibition.

So began three years of research and practice, that brought me around the coast of Ireland to some of the most desolate and beautiful headlands and offshore lighthouse stations.

I wanted my paintings not only to show the physical structures and the scapes but also to capture the echo of the lives lived by the keepers and their families. I have tried to do this in my Lifescapes using old family photographs and memorabilia given to me by the families. With the photographs came the stories and where possible the stories are retold here by the keepers and their families. It was the stories, that governed my choice of locations to paint.

Today, there are no longer any full-time lighthouse keepers in Ireland, attendant keepers are employed in a caretaker capacity. Families no longer live in keeper’s cottages; their histories are confined to archives, anecdote and a diminishing number of first-hand narratives. Alongside this change is the modernisation of the lighthouses themselves.

This July 2018, the existing light at the Fastnet will be replaced with a LED light, placed on the roof of the old lantern. The range of the new light will be 18 nautical miles compared to 27 of the old light.

Nevertheless, the sweeping beams of light will still be visible at night from the balcony of the Galley Head lighthouse, as has been the case for the past 125 years. Time is bringing change to lighthouses but the keepers and their families, will soon be gone, confined to the world of memory.

Geraldine O’Sullivan

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THE FASTNET RACE, AUGUST 1979 Li fesca pe C o l l a g e o n c an v as bo ard 4 3 cm x 4 3 cm 2

THE FASTNET RACE, AUGUST 1979

The ill-fated 28th Fastnet Yacht Race ran into severe weather. The course ran from Cowes to the Fastnet rock, rounding the lighthouse and finishing at Plymouth, passing south of the Scilly Isles.

During the evening of Monday August 13th the weather depression deepened rapidly and turned north-easterly towards Ireland. The storm hit violently, ranging from force 5 to force 6, eventually hitting storm force 10 by the early morning of August 14th. Rescue services came from all areas; lifeboats, helicopters, and ships took part in what was to become the largest-ever rescue operation in peacetime.

On duty at the Fastnet lighthouse were keepers Reggie Sugrue, Louis Cronin and Gerald Butler.

As keepers on the Fastnet they maintained radio-listening watch and had to pass on any messages that had not been acknowledged by the intended receiver, as well as providing an aid to navigation by keeping the lighthouse beam shining.

Fifteen sailors and three rescuers lost their lives during the storm. Out of the 303 ships that started in the race, 194 retired and only 86 finished. Five boats sank and 18 others were abandoned but recovered later.

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FASTNET LIGHTHOUSE, LATE EVENING Acr ylic on Canvas 140cm x 111cm

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THE MORNING AFTER THE STORM A cr y l i c o n C anv as, 1 1 3 cm x 1 1 6 cm 5

EAST PIER LIGHTHOUSE, DUN LAOGHAIRE

The East Pier lighthouse was a keeper and family occupied lighthouse up to 1955.

Along with all the other lighthouses in Ireland, the UK, America and Canada, it had a box library mounted on to the wall. This bookcase was supplied by the Carnegie Library Service.

Andrew Carnegie was a wealthy Scottish businessman and philanthropist who built 2,509 libraries in the USA, Canada, Australia, South Africa, New Zealand, Serbia, Belgium, France, the Caribbean, Mauritius, Malaysia and Fiji.

He did not forget the lighthouse keepers and provided these unique bookcases to all the lighthouses in Ireland. The books were exchanged when the service ships brought supplies and crew changes.

It is interesting to note that the Carnegie motto, which is carved over the door of his American libraries, is “Let there be Light�.

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EAST PIER, DUN LAOGHAIRE Li fesca pe C o l l a g e o n c an v as bo ard 4 3 cm x 4 3 cm 7

EAST PIER, OCTOBER Acy li c o n Pa per, f ram e d u n de r gl ass, 6 0 cm x 7 7 cm .

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A GIRL’S ADVENTURE M ar y Ruth Mc Cart hy, perso nal acco unt .

Taken from Irish Women Speak, Clonakilty Women of the 20th Centur y by Alison Wickham My father Sam Glanville was a lighthouse keeper, as was his father before him, and we lived a somewhat roaming life as we moved about the Irish coast. He and my mother Jo were from the south of Ireland; Michael my brother (born 1930), Martha my sister (born 1933) and I (born 1932) were all born near Kilkeel, Co. Down. A lighthouse keeper had to have experience of life at sea, or a trade, in order to undertake the training for light keeping, and my father had both.

In 1936 we lived in Inishowen, Co. Donegal, then moved to Cobh, Co. Cork in 1939, where my father ‘kept the light’on Spitbank in the harbour. Furnished dwellings were provided on site, for keepers’ families, the exception being Cobh. Here we lived in rented accommodation. This consisted of a large house divided in two. I called it ‘half a house’, because another family occupied the other half. There was a large garden behind the house, very sheltered, so apple trees and fruit bushes thrived, and there was plenty of ground space to grow potatoes, onions, carrots etc. In 1942 we moved to Skerries, Co. Dublin. The lighthouse was on Rockabill, some way off the Dublin coast.

In December of the same year we made our next and final move to Galley Head Lighthouse, situated on a headland eight or nine miles from Clonakilty town, West Cork. Back then this location was seen as somewhat isolated and consequently backward. My mother was very concerned about Michael’s secondary schooling. It was accepted in those days that a girl’s further education was of less importance.

Near the houses at Galley Head there was a huge rainwater tank and a cold water tank in the pantry that had a sink. My mother cooked on the coal range in the kitchen. We also had a Scandinavian primus stove for quick cooking. She made delicious beef stews, Irish stews, and frequently cooked fish, mackerel or the less favoured pollock. My father caught the fish from 9

A GIRL’S ADVENTURE Li fesca pe C o l l a g e o n c an v as bo ard 4 3 cm x 4 3 cm 10

a rowing boat with a friend, or from the rocks with rod but no reel. Although we ate rashers as a treat for Sunday breakfast, we seldom ate pork in any form, as there were disease concerns about its consumption at the time.

The only form of transport we had was my father’s bicycle; my mother never cycled. She was taken to town once or twice a month in the local farmer’s horse and cart, or occasionally in a pony and trap. My father wore a uniform provided, but clothes for the rest of the family came from Cash’s and O’Mahoneys, drapers on Rossa Street. We did not have modern conveniences so we washed ourselves in a galvanised bath in front of the fire.

The Galley Head had a telephone line, possibly because of its coastal monitoring role in wartime. Occasionally a local person came to use the telephone to ask for the doctor or vet to be called out. The Second World War was raging in Europe at the time; although Ireland was not involved, its Government co-operated with the Allies. There was rationing of clothes, tea, cigarettes etc.

The nomadic life we lived we enjoyed very much. This meant we attended 4 very different primary schools. All Michael ever wanted to do was ‘go to sea’ and following 2 years’ attendance (by bicycle) at St. Mary’s Secondary School in Clonakilty, this is what he did.

Martha died before her 15th birthday; this was a very sad time for us. Following my father’s retirement we continued to live in West Cork. I spent some years in England, first as a teacher in Kidderminster and then nurse training in Birmingham, later returning to Ireland, where I worked as a nurse.

My husband Jerry and I married in 1961, raising our six daughters and two sons in rural West Cork. Our great treat in those days was to take a picnic and go by car to the seaside, often visiting Galley Head Lighthouse.

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In her true story Ger man Cre w Ashore from U-Boat, Mary Ruth writes about her memories of a real event.

‘My father opened the door of the bedroom where Martha and I slept and, as if it were an everyday occurrence, said: ‘There are German soldiers in Joe’s house, do you want to see them?’

This statement was beyond our understanding. Why were they in Joe’s house? Why were they in Ireland? Germany, we understood, was at war with other countries somewhere in the world but not in Ireland. Bewildered, we got out of bed and went with Michael and my mother into Joe’s kitchen. The following are my impressions of that night. I was 13, Michael 15 and Martha was 12.

On the cliff-top, not far from the white-washed walls which surround the lighthouse at Galley Head, West Cork, stands a roofless small hut. This is what remains of a concrete lookout post and is one of many which were constructed on the coastline around Ireland in the 1940s.

Men who knew the cliffs, inlets and shores of each particular place underwent a period of training and performed their duties, two at a time, day and night, as coast watchers. The hut had a telephone.

The assistant keeper at Galley Head was Joe O’Byrne, who lived beside us with his wife and baby daughter. A third building called ‘The Spare House’ was alongside Joe’s. A telephone was located there as well.

On the night of March 13th 1945 all of us, except my father, went to bed. He said: ‘I will stay here in the kitchen, for a short while.’ That puzzled me as he was not on duty. Joe had lit the lantern at sunset and he would keep watch until sunrise. The man on duty stayed in a room in the tower or in his kitchen, where the range was always lighting.

Sometime after we went to sleep a loud explosion woke us and our bedroom was flooded with a pink light. My mother came to reassure us. There was a second loud bang and more pink light.

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We were alarmed for a while but quietness ensued and we went back to sleep. Our second disturbance was my father telling us about the soldiers. Of course we wanted to see them.

We rushed to Joe’s kitchen where we saw my father and Joe with five or six young men in uniform. The strangers were talking cheerfully together and did not have guns.

From his experiences during World War I my father had a smattering of French and German, which enabled rudimentary conversation to take place. Soon afterward a coast watcher came with more uniformed Germans, making a total of eleven. All were happy to see each other.

Joe’s baby was brought in to be admired by the soldiers. One was their captain, according to my mother, and had children in his home country. They had scuttled their submarine U260 and made their way to the cliffs in a rubber dinghy. The pink light we had earlier seen was from flares set off by them.

‘Which cliff ?’ I asked, since I had explored many of them, being an agile cliff climber. My father said he did not know, but I suspect he did. How did they manage to get safely up the cliffs? Their uniforms, as far as I could tell, were not wet with seawater.

We took a great interest in the discussion as to what food to give them. Tea was rationed and very precious. It was decided to give them coffee because they were ‘from the continent’ and were accustomed to that and not to tea. Ground coffee was not available. Irel coffee was made with boiling water added to the sweet syrupy essence. What food they were given I cannot remember. The ‘Cork Examiner’ with ‘EIRE’ printed on it was shown to them and they were delighted. The men knew Ireland was neutral.

All the while, my mother and the three of us were observing and enjoying the excitement.

Either my father, or Joe or a coast watcher, telephoned the authorities somewhere to inform them of the situation. There were procedures to be followed in an event like this at the Galley; there had been similar instances in other parts of Ireland.

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GALLEY HEAD LIGHTHOUSE & PAT JOE’S BAY, DUNDEADY, WEST CORK Acr ylic on paper framed under glass, 99cm x 69cm

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At sunrise a member of either the LDF (Local Defence Force) or LSF (Local Security Force) from Clonakilty, with perhaps a Garda Siochana, arrived in a small lorry. They had come to take these sailors or soldiers to the Curragh Camp, where they would be interned until the war was over. They were happy as they left Joe’s house. They gave us cigarette tobacco, much appreciated by my father, strange-tasting white chocolate, and pemmican, a dried, powdered beef which also tasted strange. Joe gave us the paddle or oar which the men had used. I have it still. This I will always remember: as they were walking towards the lorry a soldier noticed a young woman who had come from the village with the local men to see what ‘was happening on the headland’. He gave a flirty skipping dance towards her and went away in the lorry. I never knew any of their names.

We went to school that morning with our friends and talked about all that had happened. In school Master Griffin asked me to stand up and tell him the story. I was completely tongue-tied and could only think he should be asking Michael, who was older than me and would know what to say. Somehow or other he got the information by question and answer and to my great relief that was the end of it. When we got home from school we were told more men from the same U-Boat had been picked up off the coast. Michael and I later found a small white silk parachute on the cliff. We decided it was from one of the flares. The U-Boat is at the bottom of the sea. Divers have been down to explore the wreckage. All I can think of is how dark and eerie it must be to travel under the sea in a U-Boat’.

Postscript: Two months later the war in Europe ended. It had been going very badly for Germany towards the end. Were the men in the U-Boat aware of this? If they were seamen, and not soldiers as my father described them, they would have known they were in neutral Irish waters. Did they scuttle the vessel to avoid further involvement in the war?

On a small circle of paper in my mother’s handwriting is the following: ‘March 13th 1945, German crew ashore from U Boat. 11 in all’.

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THE CLIFF DIVERS PERCH II Acr y l i c o n c anv as 1 1 3 c m x 1 1 6 cm 16

BLACKSOD, CO. MAYO

In 1944, the weather forecast that decided the time and date for the British and Allied troops to make the planned D-Day landings came from Blacksod Point meteorological station, which was at Blacksod lighthouse and was reported by Ted Sweeney, attendant lighthouse keeper.

Just after 2am on June 3rd 1944, Ted Sweeney delivered his weather report from Blacksod, Co Mayo’s most westerly point. Forecasts in 1944 were based on a combination of land-based observing stations and reconnaissance flights. The date initially chosen for D-Day was June 5th 1944, coinciding with a full moon when tides were suitable. When the generally settled weather of May that year deteriorated in early June, the proposed D-Day date of June 5th was delayed.

Ted Sweeney reported in his two-hourly forecast a warning of ‘a Force 6 wind and a rapidly falling barometer’. This report went to Group Captain Stagg, who in turn advised General Eisenhower to postpone the planned invasion. On June 4th at 12pm Ted Sweeney reported that heavy rain and drizzle would clear. Eisenhower’s long-awaited weather clearance had finally arrived and he gave the order for Operation Overlord to proceed on June 6th 1944.

In 2014 the D-Day museum in Portsmouth was presented with high-quality copies of the Mayo man’s original Blacksod observational sheets, containing the information so crucial to the lives of the 150,000 Allied troops and the success of Operation Overlord.

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BLACKSOD, CO. MAYO Li fesc a pe C o l l a g e o n can v as bo ard 4 3 cm x 4 3 cm 18

EAGLE ISLAND, CO. MAYO

Two towers were constructed on Eagle Island in 1835, Eagle Island East and Eagle Island West, and in addition a massive sea wall was built on the seaside of the two towers. The two towers, 64 feet and 87 feet high, were 132 yards apart with their lanterns at the same level, 220 feet above high water.

The storm which struck Eagle Island on December 29th 1894 damaged the dwellings of the East station beyond repair and it also broke the lantern glass, put out the light and damaged the protecting wall. Excerpts from a letter written by Polly Ryan describe the violent storm.

In 1894, keepers and their families lived on rock stations. Family were not just husband and wife; single men who were keepers were encouraged to bring with them a sister to help keep the lighthouse station. One such sibling group was Tom Ryan and his sister Polly. Their father was at that time stationed on the Fastnet Rock. Ryan, Lavelle and Corish are all names of generational lighthouse keepers serving Irish Lights right up to the 1980s.

After the December storm the women and children were brought ashore. By 1900 shore dwellings for keepers and their families were built at Corclogh on the Termoncarragh road, ending family life at Eagle Island’s rock station lighthouses.

Excerpts from a letter written by Polly Ryan on January 1st 1895 from Eagle Island east lighthouse to her sister Kate and mother can be read overleaf. At that time both were living in accommodation for Fastnet light keepers’ families at the Rock Island Dwellings, Crookhaven, West Cork.

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STORM, EAGLE ISLAND CO MAYO A cr y l i c o n Pa per unde r gl ass, 5 5 cm x 5 4 cm 20

It was blowing a terrible gale all night but we never expected anything like what occurred. The Green Seas were going over our houses as fast as if we were on the Alderman*.You can imagine when we got up to see the door broken down, and the rooms all filled with sea. My Lord, how we were, the roof being stripped of every slate and the sea raging outside, the Lantern was out.

However we thought it best to be all together as window frames, roofs and the entire house was going to pieces. We went in to Mrs Corish and we were all in a state waiting every moment to see what might turn up.

The slates were being lifted off like ies. The youngsters were all brought down stairs, as the sea was coming down on their beds, and lucky they were, for had they remained there, killed they would have been.

Our suffering was terrible. My Lord to see the sea breaking over us tearing all away and no chance of escape, we all expected to be in the other World before now. *Alderman; name of a rock outside of Crookhaven bay, West Cork.

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EAGLE ISLAND, CO. MAYO Li fesca pe C o l l a g e o n c an v as bo ard 4 3 cm x 4 3 cm 22

A LIFETIME IN THE LIGHTHOUSE SERVICE

by Pau lin e Bu tl er From a Lighthouse Kee per’s daught er and a Li ght ho u se Ke e pe r’s w i fe, t o a Li ght ho u se A t t e n dan t ‘How do you live in a lighthouse?’ people ask. ‘It must be very lonely and boring’.

Well, not one bit! There is a certain mystique about a lighthouse and, far from being lonely, a lighthouse is very much alive. It resembles a gracious old lady, winking and blinking, watching over us. I have always had great pride and satisfaction living in these magnificent buildings.

Seventy-one years ago I was born in Lame. My father, Edmund Fitzgerald, was a young lighthouse keeper at Maidens Rock Lighthouse. He entered the Lighthouse Service in 1923 after serving in the First World War and having been a prisoner of war in Germany. My mother was a businesswoman from the midlands and knew very little about the sea or lighthouses. Once Dad sent her a cooked lobster ashore from the Maidens; when Mum opened the basket she quickly dumped both lobster and basket into the tide. But after some time she got quite used to the life and appreciated it. In Lame I started my very happy life as a Lighthouse Keeper’s daughter.

Two years later we moved to Fanad Head, and by this time I had a sister. Life at Fanad was fun but dangerous - cliffs and steps. I know I kept my Mum and Dad very busy minding me.

No Rabbit When I was about seven Dad was transferred to Inishtrahull, while we lived ashore on the mainland. It wasn’t easy for my mother, with Dad away, to keep track of four of us, two boys and two girls. After a long time we moved again, this time to Inishowen, a beautiful land station and, boy, did we have a good time - beaches and sandbanks and fishing for tiddlers among rocks. Summer and winter was all the same, never a dull moment.

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THE KEEPER Li fesca pe C o l l a g e o n c an v as bo ard 4 3 cm x 4 3 cm 24

I remember going to school one morning and meeting our cat Minty waddling up from the sandbanks with a fair-sized black rabbit. When we got home from school there was rabbit for dinner. We asked Mum where she got the rabbit and, jokingly, she said, ‘Oh the cat brought it in’. Of course, we believed her. None of us would eat our dinner and gave all kinds of excuses.

Never again was rabbit on the menu. It was years later that we told Mum the story about Minty.

We had great excitement each year when the Alexandra came with the commissioners. They always brought sweets for the children and, of course, we were all dressed up in our best.

Inishowen holds a lot of happy memories for me.

Next stop North Aran (Eeragh). I was just thirteen and had to go to a boarding school in Galway. I enjoyed my vacations on the island and even had a few trips out to Eeragh by currach. Holidays on Aran were fantastic, with plenty to do and see. I was always intrigued by the old churches, cliffs and rocks, and the old fort at Dun Aengus. By now I was starting to take an interest in young single keepers coming and going to Eeragh, all looking smashing in their uniforms.

Dad’s promotion to Principal Keeper necessitated his transfer to a remote land station, Loophead, again a beautiful station with lovely houses. My mother kept hens and ducks and geese, as well as a fine vegetable garden, and we had goats for milk. I still had two years to do at school, so I was only home for vacations.

Romance After two years, we were transferred to a rock station, Eagle Island. I was making arrangements to go nursing in Belfast but my mother became ill and had to spend some time in hospital in Dublin, so I stayed at home. Just after Mother was back on her feet, Dad got sick and was also hospitalised in Dublin. In the meantime, I met this dashing young Assistant Keeper named Larry Butler and, as the song says, all the nice girls love a sailor. Larry had been a sailor in the 25

GALLEY HEAD AND THE RED STRAND, BIRD’S EYE VIEW Acr ylic on Canvas, 101cm x 140cm

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Merchant Navy for three years and then joined the Lightships, where his father was Master.

His family were all seafarers. He joined the Lighthouse Service at the start of the war and after a spell at Mine Head and Blackrock Mayo he was now at Eagle Island. I quickly learned semaphore and spent a lot of time talking with the flags.

Elopement Eventually I was caught by my father and packed off to my uncle in Dublin, in the hope that I would go on with my nursing career. Meanwhile, I managed to get word to Larry and tell him where I was. I was waiting for a letter from him when he walked into my uncle’s public house!

Imagine my excitement when I saw him - my heart missed a beat and nearly went out through the top of my head. At this stage I had thought he was still out on the lighthouse. There he stood and said, ‘Will you come back to Belmullet and we will get married’. ‘Now?’ I asked and he answered, ‘Yes. I have all the arrangements made and have been to see our parish priest.’

I said ‘Yes’ and we headed back to Belmullet. I had only one request. I wanted my sister Margaret, who was at home, as my witness. To arrange this was a problem, as my mother thought I was still in Dublin.

We contacted a friend of Larry’s, Tom Shevlin, who had a car, and told him our plans. We went in the car to collect Margaret. Tom called to the house and said Margaret was wanted in town.

Mother said ‘OK’ but she would come too. Panic! Tom raced out to tell us. Fortunately, his car was a big Ford V8. He put both of us on the floor in the back and covered us with a rug. When Mother and Margaret came out he put the two of them in the front seat beside him and we headed off for town. When Mother got out we popped up from the back and told Margaret our plans. We kept in hiding until we were sure Mother had gone home, then off to see Fr Kilgallon. He was a good friend of Larry’s, a very understanding man who had been an army chaplain in World War I.

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Wedded Bliss The knot was tied, and I exchanged my life as a light keeper’s daughter for life as a light keeper’s wife. All this time my father was out on the lighthouse and didn’t know what was happening ashore. However, we were all reconciled after floods of tears, and a clear assurance that I was not pregnant - a crime in those days. My parents had to wait four years for their first grandchild.

Three months later, after a chat with the inspector, we were transferred to Wicklow Head, where we spent a three-year honeymoon - it was bliss. When he was on watch, I was on watch with him. We had fantastic times. Our mode of transport was a gent’s bike, and I sat on the crossbar. It was fun.

Living at Wicklow Head, was living in another world. We were halfway down a cliff and had to come to the top to see civilisation. Our house was built on top of a cave and we could hear the tide swirling in and out over the stones. Sometimes we could hear the seals moaning and groaning and, of course, seagulls would perch on our window sills. All too soon the honeymoon ended and we headed for Castletownbere, where Larry was to be stationed at Roancarrig.

Life was totally different now, completely opposite to Wicklow Head. All my beautiful privacy gone. Larry gone out to the rock for twenty days and only ten days ashore - a prison sentence.

Three months later our baby arrived and I had to settle down to housework, polishing and shining, nappies and bottles, and going for walks with the pram.

A Growing Family By the time we left Castletownbere I had three children, including twin boys. We were back to a land station again. My father and mother were at Galley Head and Dad was Principal Keeper.

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It was nice being with my parents. They were a great help with five children. After two years we moved to Ballycotton, a lovely seaside place. I had plenty of relations near - aunts and uncles as my father was a native of Ballycotton. Larry would spend three weeks out at the lighthouse and one week ashore. I would often visit the rock in a fishing boat for a few hours. I brushed up on my semaphore and learned Morse code, so I was always in contact with Larry.

By the time we left Ballycotton I had eight children. We went north to Dundalk, where I picked up two more children under a bush. I found the going tough at Dundalk; the children were getting older and going to school, and being so close to a big town brought its responsibilities.

Through the kindness of a very accommodating inspector we got back to another land station, Mine Head, and it was heaven. Life was much easier and more enjoyable, now that we had a car.

It was so much easier to manage and control the children. When they came home from school they played, did homework and watched TV. Yes, we got a TV and a washing machine; no more scrubbing clothes every single day. In 1965 we returned to Galley Head, where, a few years later, Larry was promoted to Principal Keeper.

Attendant Galley Head Lighthouse was electrified in 1969 and the Assistant Keeper was transferred. I was appointed Female Assistant Keeper. This meant a welcome extra few bob, and we had the whole station to ourselves. By this time I had fifteen children, enough for a football team.

The family were now starting to move out, some to college, nursing, two light keepers, two to Irish Shipping, marine engineers, the Civil Service, Customs and Excise, and one a Garda. They had all done very well, thank God, and Larry and I were proud of them.

In 1979 Larry retired as Principal Keeper but stayed on as Attendant of Galley Head for twelve years. Then he passed away after suffering a stroke. I was appointed Attendant, and it meant so 29

much to me. I don’t know how I would have felt leaving the shelter of the lighthouse. With all my family gone it wouldn’t have been easy to make the change. However, stepping into Larry’s shoes I feel he is still there keeping a check on everything, polishing brasswork and cleaning the lens.

I see the Fastnet flashing to the west, Old Head of Kinsale to the east, and the sea all around me. Even when it’s blowing a gale and the spray is lashing my windows, it has its own magic and romanticism. My gracious old lady keeping a watchful eye on me, five blinks every twenty seconds.

Art i cle tak en from T he Beam , Vo l ume 25, 1 9 9 6 -1 9 9 7

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VIOLENT STORM, 11 FOR A TIME Acr yl i c o n c anv as board 1 1 0 cm x 1 3 2 cm

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FASTNET A Brief Histor y

The Irish name for the Fastnet Rock is An Charraig Aonair or ‘the lonely rock’. The word Fastnet probably comes from old Norse for ‘sharp-tooth isle’. Both descriptions are apt for the isolated outcrop that is the southernmost point of Irish soil. It lies some 19 km (10 nautical miles) from Baltimore and 7 km (4 miles) off Cape Clear. For ships crossing the Atlantic it is often the first, or last, sight of Europe. There is no firm evidence of ships actually striking the rock, but one can imagine that were some near-misses in the days before a lighthouse was built.

Impetus for building the lighthouse came from the sinking of the Stephen W hitney, which struck the head of the West Calf Island in 1847 with the loss of 92 lives after mistaking her position on passage from New York to Liverpool. Prior to that there had been a light on the highest point of Cape Clear island, but it was frequently obscured by low cloud. The first Fastnet lighthouse was made of cast iron and finished in 1854. However, the structure proved unequal to the rigours of the environment and was soon in need of reinforcement. Today the black base of this original lighthouse, converted into a fuel store, is still visible on top of the rock.

In 1895 the decision was taken to build a completely new lighthouse, and work commenced two years later. During construction the foreman in charge, James Kavanagh, sometimes stayed on site for a year at a time. Sadly, he did not live to see the finished fruit of his labours.

The graceful upward curve of the new lighthouse is composed of more than 2,000 interlocking granite blocks quarried in Cornwall. Before their departure from England each course of blocks was assembled in the yard to make sure it was a perfect fit with its neighbours. The blocks, 32

FASTNET PASTIMES Li fesca pe C o l l a g e o n c an v as bo ard 4 3 cm x 4 3 cm 33

SUMMER AT THE FASTNET Acr yl i c o n Pa per, f ram e d u n de r gl ass, 6 0 cm x 7 7 cm

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some weighing three tons, were transferred to the Fastnet by a specially built steamer, the Ier ne.

The light itself was provided by oil burners mounted within twin four-sided lanterns.

The whole mechanism, weighing six tons, floated and revolved in a vat of mercury. The first attempt to install the light in October 1903 was thwarted by a sudden storm which swept much of the apparatus into the sea.

The new Fastnet lighthouse was eventually commissioned in June 1904. The entire project, one of the most ambitious feats of lighthouse engineering ever attempted, had cost ÂŁ90,000.

The lighthouse was manned by four lighthouse keepers. In 1969, oil lighting was replaced by electricity supplied by diesel generators. The light retained the same characteristics as the original — one flash every five seconds — but it was brighter, with a range of 27 nautical miles.

At about the same time a helipad was constructed on the rock. Until then keepers had to be transferred by boat, a somewhat hazardous undertaking in such an exposed location.

Finally, in 1989 the Fastnet became fully automatic and the last keepers left the rock.

With their departure An Charraig Aonair was truly the lonely rock once more.

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THE LOST BROTHERS Li fesca pe C o l l a g e o n c an v as bo ard 4 3 cm x 4 3 cm 36

SKELLIGS A Brief Histor y

Legendary references to Skellig rocks go back to pre-Christian times, but the collection of beehive dwellings, oratories and crosses are attributed to Saint Finian around the sixth century.

Located close to the beehives are a medieval chapel and two wells dedicated to Saint Michael, Patron Saint of High Places. Occupation of the monastic site by monks would have probably ceased with the dissolution of monasteries in 1538 by Henry VIII. Subsequently, the settlement seems to have been periodically visited by pilgrims, either for fervent religious reasons, or just simply for peace and quiet.

Compared with the monastery, the lighthouse presence is comparatively short (1826); nevertheless its history is, in its own way, just as fascinating.

George Halpin, Inspector of Works and Inspector of Lighthouses, made his report to the Board, in which he recommended Great Skellig rock, instead of Bray Head, as the best position for two lighthouses. His reason for two lights was to avoid confusion, with the fixed light at Loop Head to north and the flashing light on Cape Clear Island to the south.

Construction work on the rock appears to have started in August 1821. The buildings, rock cutting and roadways were designed by inspector George Halpin and carried out under his direction by workmen of the Board. At each station, the tower and dwelling were built of rubble masonry with slate cladding on the outside walls.

The dwellings were semi-detached (one house for the Principal Keeper and one for the Assistant); the lower was two-storey, the upper single. Each had attic rooms. The pitched roof of the lower house was flattened circa 1910. Each house had its own cast-iron porch and all four are 37

still in situ. Unfortunately, there are no detailed records of the building and construction of either station or the approach road from the East landing at Blind Man’s Cove.

Two incidents are however recorded in the Board’s minutes. The first occurred in December 1821 when Mr. Hill’s sloop was burnt off Port Magee whilst conveying materials to the rock.

Hill looked for compensation but the Board declined to pay. The other was more serious and happened on the 16th November 1825, when one of the labourers, Peter Cane, was killed during a rock-blasting operation. His wife submitted a petition the following February pointing out her distress, so the Board awarded her a pension of £6 per annum and £3 for each of her children by her husband under the age of sixteen.

Prior to the early 1900s light keepers’ families lived on remote rocks such as Skellig, Inishtearaght and Eagle Island. The keepers’ wives would go ashore twice a year, these trips would take place, weather permitting, in spring and autumn and were used to buy clothes, shoes, fabric and wool for making children’s clothes, leather for repairing shoes and boots.

In times when medicine was unavailable and health services non-existent, families living in such remote locations were very much at risk, especially during long periods of bad weather when the service boat could not approach the rock station. Minor illness and infections could prove fatal, especially with children.

In April 1869 William Callaghan, principal keeper at the Skellig lower station, requested removal to another station, stating he had buried two of his children on the rock and another was lying ill. This was noted by the inspector, but the request was not immediately carried out. The small grave in the medieval chapel on Skellig rock reminds us of the two unfortunate brothers, Patrick, aged 2, who died in December 1868, and William, aged 4, who died in March 1869.

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MIST DOWN ON SKELLIGS

SKELLIG ROCK LIGHTHOUSE

Acr ylic on Paper, 67cm x 85cm

Acr ylic on Paper, 67cm x 85cm

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SKELLIGS A Brief Histor y, Co nt i nued.

Cut off as they were for months, with no access to the mainland, life for the families of lighthouse keepers was unsustainable. In 1896 the families on Skellig and Inishtearaght requested Irish Lights to make the stations relieving, with accommodation for the keepers’ families on the mainland. This request was granted and the families were lodged, at the commissioners’ expense, on the mainland at Valentia.

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A KEEPER IN THE MAKING E x c erpt from T he Li ght Kee per; a Memo i r, by Ge ral d B u t l e r w i t h Pat ri c i a A he r n

At the lighthouse depot in Dun Laoghaire, I collected my bed bag, which was a stiff, green bag, made of sail canvas, with a stitched, hinged cover secured with a pull cord, and lined with PVC material to keep the contents dry. It contained all my bedclothes: a pillow; linen pillow cover; two linen sheets; three Foxford Woollen Mills blankets; and a mattress cover made of rough fabric. Then, I headed for the Baily lighthouse on the hill at Howth Head, on the north coast of Dublin Bay, as this was the base for all the supernumeraries, or trainee lightkeepers.

The Baily light guided ships in and out of the port of Dublin and stood as a familiar landmark to ships sailing along the east coast.

At the time, 30 supernumeraries were on the books at the sta­tion, all coming and going at different times. The lighthouse had bunk beds for about 12. When the numbers swelled, some of us slept on the floor. All of us shared the food and ordered our sup­plies by phoning Kitty in Gaffneys’ shop at the top of the hill. The Gaffneys also ran a pub and restaurant, and we went there for lunch most days. Whenever we did decide to cook, there was al­ways plenty of messing about, with tossed pancakes usually land­ing on the floor and eggs being thrown from one to the other with gusto.

Mainly, training consisted of learning the skills on the job. The principal keeper instructed us on dismantling and reassembling the paraffin vapour burner, which was a bright, treble 50-millimetre regenerative burner, with three mantles on top - the largest paraffin burner used in lighthouses and consuming about six gallons of paraffin each night. Paraffin oil was delivered up through the centre of the burner and some oil was diverted to heat retorts, which were gun-metal tubes with a very fine nipple on top and were kept constantly hot by small flame burners.

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The pres­surised, heated paraffin oil in the retorts turned to vapour, which in turn changed to gas. The gas spread out into the three mantles and these emitted a brilliant white glow.

At two million candelas, the Baily light was one of the most powerful on the Irish coast. Its double bull’s-eye lens panels focused the light to this level and gave it a distinctive flashing char­acter. Because of the optic’s massive weight, it floated in a bath of mercury. Its timing machine, powered by the standard weights, was capable of rotating the optic. The timing machine had to be wound every forty minutes.

We learned how to operate a fog signal, which at the Baily was called a diaphone.

It gave off a loud, droning sound, like a bull in agony.

The radio-telephone at the Baily was the hub for all messages being sent to and from Irish Lights, as well as from all lifeboats at sea to the various honorary secretaries. The principal keeper in­structed us on the use of the marine radios, for which we had to be certified with a radio licence. We practised radio communication with offshore lighthouses, such as Tuskar Rock off the Wexford coast, and Mew Island off Belfast, as offshore lighthouses had no telephones then and could only make contact by radio. The VHF frequency ranged between 30 and 50 miles, while the Medium frequency ranged up to 150 miles, depending on the weather.

If we needed to contact our head office in Dublin, for example to request an extra keeper if one of our keepers took ill, we used our own in-house alphabetic code. If a vessel was sinking and unable to make contact, we sent off a ‘May Day Relay’ on its behalf. A ‘May Day Relay’ is a call for help for a capsized boat and the mes­sage begins by repeating the words ‘May Day Relay’ three times.

When we issued a May-Day Relay from the Baily, it reached every ship within range, from Wexford to Belfast and over to the Welsh coast. We described the capsized boat and gave its position in rela­tion to the lighthouse. We also contacted Dun Laoghaire Lifeboat or Howth 42

THE BEGINNING & THE END Li fesca pe C o l l a g e o n c an v as bo ard 4 3 cm x 4 3 cm 43

Lifeboat and directed them to the casualty. We contin­ued our radio watch by keeping in constant radio communication with the lifeboats until the rescue was complete.

Then, we finished our transmission with the words, `Baily listening out’.

Under the supervision of the principal keeper, we practised Morse code, semaphore and the international code of signals, which we learned off by heart from a booklet entitled `Brown’s Signal Reminder’. Every lighthouse keeper received the booklet on joining Irish Lights. From the manual, we learned the cor­responding flag mast colours for each letter of the alphabet.

For example, the letter `A’ is represented by a white and blue flag, with the white colour to the mast and the blue colour flying. If the flag is flown on its own, it means a ship has a diver down underneath the vessel. Use of the international code of signals makes it pos­sible to communicate with all mariners, regardless of language.

We also learned how to use ropes for rigging derricks, for land­ing equipment safely onto a rock and for tying up a boat. We were taught how to splice ropes and steel wire, as well as how to make an eye on the end. We became skilled at making an array of knots, such as the clove hitch, rolling hitch, carrick bend and reef knot. We practised these loops, as well as everything else that we learned at the Baily, over and over again at the lighthouses to which we were assigned during the probation and training period.

At night, the senior trainees filled us with tales about certain principal keepers around the coast who were sure to make our lives hell if we were unlucky enough to be landed at one of their stations, which was all a load of guff. But they managed to put the fear of God into some of the lads, especially guys from the inland, who had no idea what to expect.

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THE BAILY, HOWTH, CO DUBLIN Acr yl i c o n pa per, f ram e d u n de r gl ass, 6 9 cm x 9 0 cm

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MY LIFE AT LIGHTHOUSES B y Rita O ’Sullivan, 10t h o f May 1979

In this age of scientific development lighthouse keepers are becoming a thing of the past. The progress of new inventions urges the Irish Lights Commissioners to rely now on many electrical gadgets which will ensure that their aids to mariners can co-operate without human involvement. Steadily the island rocks and their dwellings will be devoid of manpower.

Among those lighthouses threatened with the axe is Rockabill - they give it three years - from which my husband retired in 1968 after forty-three years service.

Where I was born on Valentia Island there were always lighthouse keepers attached to Skelligs and Tearaght rocks and I went to school with their children, and these children’s knowledge of the geography of Ireland was a never-ending source of envy to me and the other island children.

Eventually I married one and thus began my roving life around the coast of Ireland, starting with the Aran Islands in 1936. This was very different from Valentia Island, which was only half a mile from the mainland with plenty of shops there. Aran is thirty miles from Galway but occasional trips were made to Connemara by the turf boats in and out – yawls, these were called, and not the nicest way of travelling, nine miles to Carraroe or any part of the mainland.

There were no lighthouse dwellings so we rented a cottage for the princely sum of twenty-five shillings a month. This was a roughly made unfinished cottage; the young man who built it died before he could finish it. It was alleged to be haunted; people wondered how I could stay there alone.

I didn’t like it, but then I had insisted on coming to the island rather than live in Galway city.

It was a two-roomed dwelling with a loft, which was divided into two bedrooms, the roof 46

SEMAPHORE Li fesca pe C o l l a g e o n c an v as bo ard 4 3 cm x 4 3 cm 47

sloping almost to the floor and reached by a glorified ladder from the kitchen. The fireplace was a bare hole in the wall about three feet high and three feet wide, with the fire, as in most country houses of the time, laid on the floor, just turf which was raked at night to keep it red for the morning. We needed a range for cooking and it arrived eventually from Galway, while David was on the rock.

The landlord and two sons came to install it. The only way they could fit it in the space was by taking off the legs and even then I could scarcely get the kettle on. It’s quite funny now, but it wasn’t at the time. When David saw it, he said the equivalent of today’s “I don’t believe it”.

He said the wall should be broken down but the landlord said the house would fall. They talked! David put a crowbar through the wall so they had to enlarge the space. He made a nice mantelpiece and front and he made quite a good house of it before we left.

Between this fireplace and the ladder was a heap of turf from which slaters crawled all over the place even into the bed! So we moved the turf out!

The terms on the rock were supposed to be six weeks on and two weeks ashore, but the rock ones were often extended to eight or ten, depending on the weather. Somehow it always seemed to be fit to go out when it was David’s time to go back! The first morning he went off for his six weeks on a side car, six miles to Bungowla and two in a currach, and the man whom he relieved came to my house on his way to Kilronan and I knew I would not see anyone until Mass next morning and then the talk would be all Irish. My Irish was what I had learnt in school - longer ago than I cared to remember, but to my relief the people were more anxious to learn English than I was to learn Irish. I wasn’t long making friends as they were a kindly people, but very inquisitive. The other light ­keepers living in Aran then were Mr. Michael Roche and his family. Their house was four miles away and we visited each other constantly.

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As the film “Man of Aran” had just been completed there were many visitors to the island; famous artists like the late Sean Keating and Elizabeth Rivers and many others whom I have forgotten. The late Barbara Mullan lived there with her father and brother. Her father Pat Mullan was known as “the Philosopher” and played host to many of these and other wellknown people. I quite enjoyed my sojourn there. The highlight of the week was the arrival of “S.S. Dun Aengus”.

After sixteen months we were transferred to a land station, Roches Point, Co. Cork, where we again met the Roche family and enjoyed reminiscences of Aran. Our house was attached to the lighthouse and was luxurious in comparison with the cottage we had left. There were no more worries about reliefs or food but we had the bane of all light keepers - commissioners, engineers and inspectors. As soon as I would decide to stay late in bed, there was surely a message that one of these people was coming; and indeed often came without any warning.

My only outstanding memory of Roches Point - apart from the birth of a daughter - was the handing over of the ports in 1938. That was great. There was of course the fog signal over my bedroom window, which I got quite used to.

In November 1939 we moved to the North of Ireland, Blackhead, Co. Antrim. The Second World War had started in September and we had all the excitement of aeroplanes, warships and convoys passing. Air raid warnings, when we were supposed to go down to the bowels of the earth under the lighthouse. I never ventured. The Admiralty telephoned to put out the light, the planes were continually over us, we witnessed the bombing of Mew Island lighthouse about three miles away and could see Belfast, burning. One night the whole of the coast, as far as we could see, was blazing with incendiaries.

We were issued with gas masks - one for the baby which I was expected to keep pumping while I put on my own. It was anybody’s guess which of us was going to suffocate first. At this stage I had two girls, one with a crown on her birth certificate.

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Eighteen months there and we were transferred to Skelligs rock and to my own home, Valentia Island, and back to the long terms on rock and meagre rations- half an ounce of tea a week, I think it was, whereas we had 2ozs each in Belfast- to mention but one drawback. We were still aware of the reality of the war, with soldiers guarding the wireless and cable stations.

I had another girl and boy born there. The commissioners did not make their annual inspections during the war. Another bane of the light keepers’ families were the painters. Every few years they descended on us and were often months and months at the station. It was infuriating to see them hanging around for weeks, doing nothing.

From Valentia we went to the village of Ballycotton, Co. Cork. The lighthouse there was only one mile from shore and the custom was to go up the cliffs and wave. The only communication in those days was by semaphore, which I became quite good at. We left after two years for Skerries. This was much the same life as at Ballycotton, only the reliefs were longer – 6 weeks on rock and 2 at home. Again, we used the semaphore at the White Wall at Red Island, which is now a car park, and we visited the rock occasionally on the relief and coal boat. It was a great treat for all the children of the station to go on the coal boat with the late Mr. Harry Boylan.

There was talk in Skerries of a holiday camp to be built on Red Island. There was the usual talk - the town will be ruined, etc. Anyway, it was built and we danced there before we left.

I remember the tragedy of three people crashing in over the pier one night after a dance two sisters and the boyfriend of one were drowned opposite the Pier Hotel as it was then.

Another girl was born here so we have one Skerryite. (Description of a child born in Skerries).

After two years we went to Clare Island, Co. Mayo. This was what was known as an island station, where we all lived at the lighthouse. Life in Clare Island was a very simple, typically Irish one. The people were small farmers who believed in late nights and late mornings.

“Visiting” began there about 11.00pm, and ended several hours later, so we had to adjust to this change of lifestyle. Nobody ever came to the house without bringing something; a few potatoes 50

ROCKABILL, SKERRIES CO DUBLIN Acr yl i c o n pa per, f ram e d u n de r gl ass, 5 5 cm x 5 4 cm 51

or a bottle of milk. In winter, milk was very scarce so the bread had to be made “with water no wonder some light keepers can’t eat homemade bread”! Needless to say it was difficult to get provisions. Bread and meat came from the mainland, only at weekends and sometimes less often due to bad weather. Once the boat was overdue for 3 weeks and when, at last, the postman arrived, he turned his bag upside down on the floor in our living room and let 20 newspapers roll out.

My younger son was born here without doctor or midwife or any of the visits to the hospitals which they have today. The only entertainment on the island was sitting around an open fire telling stories. The fastest mode of conveyance was a side car, the teacher in the one-teacher school was untrained and the “street lights” on the narrow, mountainy, twisty road consisted of the intermittent flashes from the lighthouse.

But the children saved the hay with the neighbours, lit bonfires on St. John’s night and enjoyed the feel of the bog under their bare feet. The soft-spoken people of the west won their way into our hearts. In this fast-moving world of the ‘70s we will always remember Clare Island as a paradise where there was always plenty of time to “stand and stare”. There were no inspectors coming and we picked up lighthouse news on the newly installed radio telephones which were on most rocks.

Twenty years later we visited the place: the tower was bare, all equipment gone and moss growing over everything we had kept so well.

We hated leaving Clare Island, but some of the children were going to secondary school and we returned to Ballycotton. There, for another three years, we were transferred to Roancarrig, Castletownbere, Co. Cork. We thought it was the back of beyond, 86 miles from Cork, 30 miles from Bantry and 30 miles from Kenmare. Roancarrig was a small low rock, two keepers on and one ashore. The dwellings were the same as Skerries, but built in a lovely cove where we had a 52

small pier and beach which we cleaned early every summer for swimming. The grounds were well kept and with banks of rhododendrons around the houses it really was a beautiful station.

The lighthouse was six miles down the bay, out of sight of the dwellings.

There were special times for calling on the radio telephone but all the keepers spoke home at agreed times. We couldn’t talk back but a friend of ours made me a walkie-talkie which I used frequently for years, until one day the delivery man came in and said, “You’re sending out a great signal”. It was a shock as my walkie-talkie was illegal, so I had to use it late at night.

Here, there was a secondary school for girls, but the boys had to go to boarding school. Many years later when my daughter was teaching there, the bishop said the convent school had to take boys. They were the first co-ed school in Munster.

We had inspections there but the commissioners got a bit more civilized and would telephone times of arrival. We were very sorry to leave Castletownbere, but glad to be coming back to Skerries. A boy and girl still had to do the Leaving Certificate. Three were working in Dublin and we left our eldest daughter in the capable hands of the Sisters of Mercy, Castletownbere.

The house we lived in is now full of electronic equipment, which enables the attendant to know what is happening at the lighthouse, as this lighthouse is now automatic.

Back to Skerries after eighteen years. Long reliefs again. There were often trips to Rockabill in the summer, which was very enjoyable. After a while the commissioners’ ships took over the reliefs and came into the harbour every fortnight and the carefree trips with the late Harry Boylan were over. The Lar r y J was cruising and often went to Rockabill. If we didn’t go out we inevitably got a letter!

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Then, after five years on Rockabill, David retired and we finished with lighthouse keeping.

Though it’s nice to get into a home of your own, there’s a certain amount of nostalgia.

We didn’t completely lose touch as there were people still in the dwellings and the ships still came in.

Eventually the helicopter arrived, the dwellings were sold and the keepers could live where they liked. A big change from the days where they could not be left unattended. No more worries about commissioners, inspectors, or engineers.

We still meet many of our friends at the light keepers’ annual dinner dance but there is always the odd one missing each year. With all its hardships and inconveniences I look back on it as a happy life and as I must be one of the few women in Ireland with a child born in each province - four green fields if I had a choice - I’d re-live it all over again.

Reproduced by kind per mission of Sker ries Historical Society Time & Tide Vol. 4

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A LEGACY OF LOSS Li fesca pe C o l l a g e o n c an v as bo ard 4 3 cm x 4 3 cm 55

A LOSS AT BULL ROCK

Eugene O’Sullivan, stationed at the Bull Rock Lighthouse in 1917, was reported missing, believed to be drowned, while on duty at the offshore rock lighthouse on Bull Rock off the south-west coast of Ireland.

His wife Bridget and their five young children, Nelly, Danny, David, Eugene and John, were in residence at the keeper’s shore cottages on Dursey Island, when their father was reported missing.

Bridget placed a lost-person notice in the local newspaper at her own cost, in the hope of finding her husband. His body was never found.

Bridget vacated the cottage that was provided to families of serving keepers and moved with her children to Northern Ireland, where she worked as a seamstress, providing for her five children.

Later she moved back to Whitegate, East Cork, where her family originally came from.

Three of her sons entered the service and served as light keepers; David O’Sullivan, Eugene O’Sullivan, Daniel (Danny) O’Sullivan. John O’Sullivan served as a crew member on the Commissioner for Irish Lights service ship, the Ier ne.

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THE BULL ROCK LIGHTHOUSE Acr yl i c o n pa per, f ram e d u n de r gl ass, 7 9 cm x 7 0 cm

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PERSONAL DETAILS Geraldine O’Sullivan is a full time artist with eleven years experience of exhibiting and selling her work in Ireland and the UK. A native of West Cork, she graduated from the National College of Art and Design, Dublin, with First Class Honours. She now lives and paints from her studio in Ballylibert, Castlefreke, West Cork.

EXHIBITIONS 2004 West Cork Artists at the West Cork Art Centre, Skibbereen ,West Cork 2005 The Gate Gallery ,Skibbereen ,West Cork.

2006 The Lavitt Gallery, Cork 2007 ‘Our Unfenced Country’, Buckley Fine Art Gallery, Clonakilty and The Irish Landmark Trust, Galley Head Lighthouse 2007 The Greenlane Gallery, Co Kerry 2008 ‘Land and Sea’, The Oratory Gallery, Cahersiveen, Co Kerry 2008 ‘10 Impressions’ The Doswell Gallery, Rosscarbery, Co Cork 2009 RHA Summer Show, Gallagher Gallery, Dublin 2009 The Origin One Woman Show ”Out of the marvellous”, Harcourt Street, Dublin.

2010 Irish Contemporary Art at the Barbara Stanley Gallery, Putney, London 2011 The Bowlish Gallery, Shepton Mallet, Somerset.

2011 The Affordable Art Fair, Battersea, London.

2012 Listowel’s Writers Week Nominated Artist to Exhibit.

2012 The Boathouse Gallery, Kinsale, Co. Cork 2013 The Lightscape Exhibition solo show at the Grainstore, Ballymaloe, Co Cork.

2013 The Boathouse Gallery, Kinsale, Co. Cork.

2013 ENGAGE Art Festival, Bandon, Co. Cork 2014 The Barbara Stanley Gallery, Putney, London 2015 The New York Foundation for the Arts, Brooklyn, New York.

2016 ‘16 Letters’ The Irish Repertory Theatre, New York 2016 ‘16 Letters’ The 1916 Centre for Commemoration, Cork.

2017 ‘Siar’ Group Show, Doswell Gallery, Rosscarbery, Co Cork.

2018 ‘Light Keepers’, Lexicon Library, Dun Loaghaire, Co Dublin 2018, ‘Light Keepers’, The Custom House Gallery, Westport, Co Mayo.

COLLECTIONS OPW, Department of the Marine.

HSE Nenagh Hospital, Co. Tipperary.

Aras an Uachtarain.

Institute of Technology, Tralee, Co. Kerry.

Zagreb University, Croatia.

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PERMISSIONS & ACKNOWLEDGMENTS All image and transcripts in this catalogue are within the purview of copyright laws in Ireland.

No part of this resource may be copied and /or reproduced without the specific written permission of Light Keepers project, and the following: Commissioner for Irish Lights Archive / Frank Pelly Beam / The Journal of the Irish Lights Service National Archives of Ireland Lightkeeper / A Memoir by Gerald Butler & Patricia Ahern.

Women Speak Editor Alison Wickham & Mary Ruth McCarthy / German U-Boat Come Ashore My Life at Lighthouses by Rita O’Sullivan Skerries Historical Society /Time & Tide Vol. 4 1979 From a Lighthouse Keeper’s daughter and a Lighthouse Keeper’s wife, to a Lighthouse Attendant,

by Pauline Butler / Butler Family Archive & The Beam Vol 25 1996/1997 RESOURCES Bright Light White Water by Bill Long ISBN 1 874597642 The Lighthouses of Ireland by Richard M Taylor ISBN 13978190517215x The Lightkeeper- A Memoir by Gerald Butler & Patricia Ahern ISBN 978 1908308252 IN GRATEFUL APPRECIATION TO Dr. Marian Keyes, Lexicon Library & Dun Laoghaire Rathdown Co Council Dee Forbes, Director general of Raidió Teilifís Éireann The Arts Department, Cork County Council, County Hall, Cork Davidine Grimes, Gerald Butler & Meria Doyle, Giles Newington, Alex Streuli, Kate O’Brien, Mary Ruth McCarthy & Frank Pelly.

CONTACT geraldine@geraldineosullivan.com Ballylibert, Castlefreke, Clonakilty, West Cork 023 8840829 / 087 6831751 www.geraldineosullivan.com

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light keepers