![]() “That this can be passed on to generations to come is good. “What I think is most important now is to preserve the history and preserve the heritage.” “But life is all full of change – you must embrace it,” said Butler. There is a “sadness” at seeing a long tradition die. “Once the era changed and the light keepers were gone the tradition went with them,” said Butler. The last keeper in Ireland is at the lighthouse on Hook Head in Wexford. You tried to keep in touch but nonetheless you were away, not able to help out,” said Butler. “When you had children at home as well it was hard leaving all that. The one month on, one month off schedule could be difficult – “it was so painful leaving”, said Butler – but being reunited at the end of the month was worth it. Lighthouse keepers were trained in first aid, and kept in contact with the emergency services. I went down the next evening in the low water and ended up getting the wellingtons back. If anything happened, if I hit my head, I would have drowned. He was wearing a pair of wellingtons and an Aran sweater, but was able to kick the boots off and swim to safety. One of Fitzgerald’s scariest moments was when he fell into the sea while fishing near Ballycotton lighthouse. ![]() ![]() The use of helicopters in later years also brought danger, and new safety precautions. One of the most dangerous parts of life on the rock was arriving, where you had to be lifted up by a crane and swung over the sea. “Which is a strange thing to have to say.” “Consequently for me the month was never long enough,” said Butler. Reading was also a big thing for Eddie Fitzgerald, as was amateur radio. He kept himself busy with his hobbies – like making model sailing ships and brass replicas of weaponry – and doing a “huge amount” of reading. “When I went onto the rock I was easily able to detach myself and be where I was.” “For different people, loneliness was a difficult experience,” he said. “Here you were out on the rock in the Atlantic Ocean and you were going to spend the next 28 days there.” As soon as you landed on the rock the world was just cut off from you,” he said. “The moment you landed on the rock you felt this sense of isolation. One of those was the infamous Fastnet Rock. “The moment you landed you felt this sense of isolation”ĭuring his time, Butler worked in almost every lighthouse around the Irish coast. The keepers did a lot of domestic chores, but also routine work, like painting the station at springtime, or doing maintenance work.Įddie Fitzgerald (70) is a cousin of Butler’s, and works as a guide at Ballycotton lighthouse, after spending time in the 1960s as a lighthouse keeper. He left the job to join a successful band – “even though my mother went berserk”.įitzgerald – who still remembers his service number: 578 – said being a supernumerary was about learning to look after yourself, “and to be your own housekeeper, not depending on your mother or your wife or sister. It was very much a service. Each lighthouse had three men working in it, who each took a different shift. Trainee lighthouse keepers were called supernumerary keepers. “I am able to practically do anything in the house at home – except make the dinner.” “You have to be very prepared and prepared for all eventualities. That has stood me very well,” said Butler. He had to learn signalling, Morse code, semaphore, and seamanship skills like how to rig boats and tie rope. It took a year of preparation before he sat the entrance exam, which was followed by a year on probation. Because you lived in a lot of the stations you went home or your work was around you all the time.īutler joined the Irish Lights in October 1969, aged 19. ![]() It involved in those days spending your entire life as a lightkeeper. It didn’t involve ever going home from work. It wasn’t really a job, it was a way of life.
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