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By Root 718 0

arrowroot, three pots of blackcurrant, one bottle of brandy and three of port wine, all of which ‘are intended to be used, and are to be used by the Principal or Assistant Lightkeeper and their families, but only in cases of sickness and of recovery from sickness, and when recommended by the Medical Attendant’. In theory, all lights were supposed to be dry. In practice, it was as impossible to banish all alcohol from the keepers’ lives as it is in any other profession. At least one east coast light has an old smugglers’ tunnel running straight through the rock beneath the tower to the nearest pub and Robert himself made a habit of presenting keepers’ wives with several rusks and a bottle of sherry just before they gave birth. During this century, when the rules against drink became fiercer, several keepers used the lights as a treatment for alcoholism. They would drink themselves to stupefaction on leave and dry out on duty. As a self-administered detoxification programme, lighthouses might have been unconventional but they were peculiarly effective.

With the increase in lights came an increase in crimes. The General Order book filled with the babble of argument and disgrace, from the ‘untidy condition of the assistant lightkeeper’s bedding’ to ‘lightkeepers neglecting to affix requisite postage stamps to letters’, from charges of ‘intoxication’ at Skerryvore to the assistant keeper at Start Point ‘shaking his fist in the face of the Principal’. ‘The Commissioners,’ the Secretary to the NLB Alex Cuningham wrote in 1866, ‘at all times entertain a jealous anxiety for the respectability of the Lightkeepers as a body, and the Commissioners will visit with their severest censure any individual Lightkeeper whose acts tend to cast a slur upon or raise the voice of scandal against the general body of Lightkeepers.’ The worst crime of all was to fall asleep while on duty. Those who did so even for two minutes could expect instant dismissal from the service. If they didn’t inform on themselves, they could usually be confident that their colleagues would. To ensure that all keepers were properly wakeful for their spells on duty, the Commissioners insisted that they should not exert themselves unduly before taking the watch. Long walks or heavy exercise were forbidden and once in the lightroom, the keepers were banned from reading, writing or doing any other form of work. For four hours, the keepers were expected to watch the light, wind the clockwork and stare out to sea. Any other activity, however earnest or selfimproving, was a distraction. ‘The lightkeeper on duty,’ said the Instructions to Keepers sternly, ‘shall, at his peril, remain on guard till he is relieved by the Light-keeper in person who has the next watch.’

Robert in particular was disinclined to be generous to keepers abandoning their post even for more pressing reasons. In January 1813, he received a frantic letter from Andrew Darling, principal keeper at Pladda. A cargo ship had been wrecked on Arran and the crew had arrived at his light looking for shelter and help. Over a month later, they were still there, and were eating him out of house and home. ‘Sir,’ his letter read, ‘Since the 12th of December the Peggy & Betty’s crew have been living on me depending on Mr Whiteside (the captain) to send money for their relief and my good and use. Sir you cannot but see how I am served my provisions is all gone and has nothing to purchase more for my self and does not know what to do. Therefore Sir for Godsake do some thing for me as I cannot do anything for myself from this moment they are owing me twenty two pounds sterling for board and Cash for the captain.’ Robert’s reply was unsympathetic. He was sending someone over from Dumbarton with money and a message to the crew, ‘who from their stupid or criminal conduct in losing the ship do not appear to be worth house-room’. He told Darling that the incident would be investigated by the Commissioners, and furthermore that, ‘either your lighthouse must have been faulty or his [Whiteside’s] course have been strangely wrong