Isolation Breeds Appreciation

Rory couldn’t believe the spectacular view of the sea as he gazed downwards from the gantry at the top of the lighthouse. The different hues of blue and green of the sea crashing against the jagged rocks 161 feet below him were spectacular. From the towering height of the lighthouse, he marvelled at the untamed splendour of the rugged coastline.

“God, I love nature,” he said to himself. He watched as a group of seagulls flew past, noisily squawking to each other as they dive bombed the lighthouse. They were huge! He breathed in the salty sea air, mixed with the smell of brine and seaweed. “Much better than the smell of humanity.” He thought to himself.

He worked previously as a car mechanic for a large, busy garage based in Central London, and felt burned out by the daily grind of commuting to and from the garage to his flat in Clapham, South London every day. The sharp tone of annoyed customers echoed through the garage, punctuated by exasperated sighs, and heated complaints. They were either complaining about the cost of the repair work to their car, or the time it took to repair it. He was desperate for a change from his hectic London lifestyle.

An advertisement intrigued him for a job as a lighthouse technician he spotted in the Evening Standard some weeks before, and not knowing exactly what was involved, discovered the role required him to help maintain a lighthouse in Cornwall built in 1858. The duties noted in the job description seemed straightforward and were within his skillset. He applied and got the job.

Rory was still a young man by lighthouse keeper standards. In his early thirties, he wasn’t yet married, but came from a large family of eight. He loved his brothers and sisters, but they were very demanding, always wanting help with this or that. Family politics often annoyed him, and he found himself arguing with his family more often than not. Perhaps that’s also why he craved the peace and absolute isolation the lighthouse offered him. He was fit, often going to his local gym, but not muscular, just wiry in appearance.

His duties at the lighthouse were straightforward. He didn't have to worry about regulating the large sweeping beam because the lighthouse operated automatically. His main role was to observe and report on the weather. Both reporting regularly to the Coast Guard and meticulously filling out logbooks, which could be useful to scientists later on. 

He was told by the lightkeeper that he was replacing for the next few months, to take notes on the weather in total darkness. He was to estimate visibility, the intensity of rainfall, cloud cover, wind speed and sea conditions. 

Pete, the previous lighthouse keeper, wished Rory luck with a warm smile and a pat on the back. “Bishop Rock has its foibles.”

“Nah, I will be fine, Pete. If Bishop Rock is good to me, I will be good to Bishop Rock. I’m not sure about being up at 3.00am every day, though.”

“You have to, Rory. It’s crucial you send that first weather report through to the Coast Guard for the safety of the ships.”

“I better get to bed early then.”

“Aye, that’s it. You have to. But ignore the mermaid sirens, Rory.” He patted Rory hard on the back again and said laughingly. “I’ll be off now.”

Rory laughed too, thinking Pete, the old lighthouse keeper, was just teasing him. 

As he waved Pete off, watching the large, noisy, diesel engine Land Rover climb its way smoothly up a steep bank, he decided he better plan out his days. Bishop Rock was a beautiful, awe-inspiring antique. It needed constant maintenance, and Rory knew there was plenty to do, such as painting, oiling parts, and generally keeping things in order.

That first night on his own, Rory knew he needed to get to sleep, to be up at 3.00am to post his first weather report. His tired eyes scanned the clock, watching the minutes ticking away relentlessly.

He tossed and turned, imagining he heard angry voices. His sleep was fitful and unfulfilling. He knew that Bishop Rock was one of the oldest lighthouses in existence, but also one of the most isolated. His feeling of security vanished after Pete left, leaving him feeling uneasy.

“God damn it.” He said, frustrated at his inability to get to sleep. He was a night owl in London. So going to bed at 8.00pm didn’t work for him. “I guess that’s something I will have to get used to.”

The weather seemed to be deteriorating already. The wind’s force was getting up. He shivered involuntarily. The wind squeaked and squawked around the lighthouse. The sounds were different to his expectations. The lighthouse seemed to creak, as if it was bending and flexing in the force of the wind, but having stood for over 100 years, Rory knew it was rock solid.

He put the radio on in the living area for a bit of comfort. Not music, but chatter from Radio 4. He wasn’t really listening to it. It was just background noise. He made himself a cup of tea and looked out to sea. He scanned the horizon. It was forbidding and dark. He was told not to put the lights on where he was in the living space, as he needed to develop his night vision.

As he looked down at the rocks below, he thought the sea looked like it was boiling. It was bubbling and eddying against the rocks. He rubbed his eyes. What was that? A large fish? An enormous fish? He thought he spotted a large fin. He ran to get the binoculars. A massive fin emerged from the water, creating a splash before swiftly vanishing. It wasn’t a whale or a dolphin, was it?

He laughed to himself. “Stop it, Rory. No such thing as mermaids.”

The wind was really whipping up now. He looked up the weather forecast. “Oh my God, tonight there will be gale force winds. Great! My first night here, and I’m going to experience the worst nature can throw at me.”

Rory’s desire for isolation was ebbing. The gale force winds were building, and he was feeling terrified. As the wind howled round the lighthouse, he looked at his watch. 1.00am. “Fantastic, he thought, only two hours until I send my first weather report. It will read, bloody windy”, he laughed to himself.

He went back to the highest point he could without actually going outside. The sea was thrashing and pounding the rocks below. He took his binoculars but no fins in sight this time, but then he saw it. In the distance. A ship, but it wasn’t an ordinary type of ship. It was a clipper. A clipper was a 19th century sailing ship, probably built around a similar time to the lighthouse. How the hell was a clipper in the sea off the Cornish coast?

He continued to watch the wondrous ship sailing in the wild sea whilst the wind whipped up huge white horses either side of it. He knew of only two of these amazing ships to still exist. One was the Cutty Sark, located in a museum in Greenwich, and the other City of Adelaide which resided in Australia. He rubbed his eyes. He must be seeing things. Perhaps it was just a modern ship with a similar style. Maybe his night vision was just not well developed yet.

The lighthouse was surrounded by strong, battering gale force winds and the sea was buffeting and crashing against the bow of the ship. Rory was aghast. Whatever ship this is, it doesn’t seem to see the light from the lighthouse, it’s getting far too close for comfort. He checked his watch. 2.00am.

Then he heard it. A sharp wailing. It was distant, but he caught it on the wind. It was like a long scream, but also a song. It was an unearthly, beautiful, compelling, sound. It grew louder, and Rory watched in horror as the ship, the clipper, seemed to change course, and although it was near the lighthouse previously, now it seemed to be bearing down on the lighthouse and the rocks directly below it.

Rory was in a state of terror. He didn’t know what to do. “Breathe, Rory, and think.” He tried to get his emotions under control. What was the advice from Pete? Oh yes, if in doubt, call the coastguard. He paced to and from the circular living room which was only 12 feet across in diameter.

He heard the song of the mermaid sirens again. They were louder, closer now.

Rory realised they were guiding the ship, directly onto the rocks. Their song was mesmerising, haunting, an enchanting melody, and he realised that he too felt compelled to move towards the water and the rocks. Even though the wind was howling round the lighthouse and rattling the very light itself, he could still hear their song ebbing and flowing on the wind.

He took his eyes from the approaching ship and looked down into the water. He couldn’t believe what he saw. At first it looked like a shoal of dolphins. He blinked and looked again. It was four mermaids, with silvery grey scales along their backs. They moved at high speed through the water. These were the sirens directing the poor sailors to their doom.

He tried his radio, but all he heard was static. He tried over and over again to get hold of the coastguard, but to no avail. Tears welled up in his eyes. He didn’t want any harm to befall the sailors, he felt responsible, he was the lightkeeper, it was his job to keep them safe.

He screamed out now, “Someone help me, what do I do, what do I do?”

Just then, the light in the lighthouse went dark. Everything went dark. Complete silence. Rory was horrified. He stumbled around, looking for his torch. He found it and shone his torch on his watch face. It was 3.00am precisely.

The light in the lighthouse suddenly flashed on again. The storm was abating, and the gale force winds died away. It was so quiet. He contacted the coastguard again and managed to get through this time. He told them the winds were gone, and all was well.

He hesitated. He was still shaky from his experience. Should he tell them about the clipper, which he could no longer see, or the mermaid sirens which he heard, but could no longer hear? They would probably laugh at him, or think he was bonkers.

The coastguard said.” By the way, Pete the old lighthouse keeper. He said to pass you this message. ‘I told you to watch out for the mermaid sirens, didn’t I?’”

“Why would he say that?” Rory was flabbergasted.

"That's just Pete misbehaving as usual. There is a famous story about a clipper sailing ship being dashed on the rocks in 1860, not long after the lighthouse was built. Unfortunately, the keeper that night couldn’t keep the lantern working. The clipper was dashed on the rocks and most of the sailors died. The ones that lived, and there weren’t many, told of hearing a strange song from the sea. Old wives’ tale, Rory.”

Rory said, “Can you get an urgent message to Pete please. I’m sorry, family emergency. I have to leave immediately.”

“He thought you might say that. It’s not a job for everyone, Rory. You are at the mercy of the elements, and it’s lonely.”

Rory couldn’t wait to return to the hustle and bustle of his previous life. He experienced the full force of nature, and whilst it was beautiful, it was also fearful. He wasn’t sure if he imagined the clipper and the mermaids with their siren song, but the story of the historic sinking of the clipper on the rocks was too coincidental. He decided that isolation was not really for him and appreciated being with people. He learned a valuable lesson, family is everything. They always have your back. Isolation sucked, and he never wanted to be alone again.