The Building of Bell Rock Lighthouse

I am of good fisher stock like the kinsfolk all before me
Our daily battle with the sea to land what bounty lord provides
The North Sea is such an unforgiving place where nets are cast and laid
And in our prayers; hope that the yields are equal to our efforts made.
The war with France takes heavy toll
When pressgangs make so dearthly a patrol
Widows and orphans come cheaply like the price shot and grape
Then in the barrels bottom with nothing more to scrape
Old men and young boys scarce strong enough to land the meagre catch.

A new century is upon us yet I fear we’ll fare no better
And even weathered wrecks like me will take King Georges shilling
Yet fortune spares me from that plight as I open up a letter
An important pressing of a different kind with words to make me willing
I am noted for my seamanship and knowledge of the hazard
For none knows the Inchcape better.
Save for the poor souls that sleep within her depths.

To Robert Stevenson I will answer when I land him on the reef
Of his youth and skills I’ve heard much but I have yet to see his measure

He is going to survey the reef to build a lighthouse on
What kind of madman is this Robert Stevenson
Does he sample he the amber liquid that flows so freely hereabouts,
but barely does the Cape stand high enough to land a boat
let alone for long enough to build anything upon it.

I’ll give him his due for I have seen his light at Frazerburgh Port
and it still shines after a score of years but was founded on a fort
It does not face the North Sea swells
Or battered by ferocious gales

Yet when I take measure of my own tasks, I find that I too must be afflicted.
For seldom does man venture to such a place even if so gifted
The Bo’sun of the barque from which our skiff was bound
said “None but Saints and Angels on Inchcape tread”.
I feel no wings a sprouting nor a halo o’er my head,
three times my feet have trod on that less than hallowed ground.
This Rob’s a man of purpose, though barely half my years,
he stands like a cocky midshipman with his foot upon the prow.
One hand grasps an upright oar while the other wipes his brow

The gully mouth it starts to close as swell into it fills.
With fenders out to halt the clash with rocks
But not protection from the boat to spill
The movement now was over swift, I give counter to the action,
“ Back oars “, I cry and the oars are braced,
The forward oarsman extend the un-feathered end in a fraction
and heave with  all their might
till stroke and boat are reversed
to spare us from some predecessors plight

Rob gives up his careless stance for a safer standing,
humbled by the whims of nature yet still steadfast in his ambition.
Five times we tried and five times were repelled from landing
Destined we were to try once more for expedition
Or on the morrow if in weathers favour finds us better grounding
As if by grace and favour brought a break in force of swell
brimming with new found confidence he deftly leaps ashore
He tippy-toes on every rock like a ballet dancer without an orchestra
all the rocks on footfall lands as slippery as ice

We have a pair of Smithies who have fashioned mooring rings,
should we e’re return  and the endeavour  be undertaken.
Robert measured every surface of this most inhospitable of places.
Drawing every detail and every outline that he traces
My doubts increased with every stroke that Rob marked with his pen
For such an undertaking would need qualities rarely found in men
The work by weather and tide’s permission take,
would make the building slow in progress make
How ever noble a cause as this; the cost would prove too much.

It was in the year of our lord 1807 that Robert came to me.                     

I had retired and spent most my time mending nets not casting them.

Yet God had been kind and had granted me                                             

with the strength that younger men envied

but not the will to continue fishing for so meagre a catch.

So once more with the added praises of one Robert Stevenson,

I took up the challenge just to see to fruition this young mans vision.

Now with rank of coxswain, and new Captain too

I was in the pay of Stevenson but part of the Pharos crew

To be retained as senior till the Lighthouse Light

was lit by Keepers trained to do.

Captain Reid was as mad as Rob, and not daunted by his mission

to moor his ship within two miles of Cape,

fool-hardy for any mariner not under commission so to do.

Then while he was moored he must show the light.

Naked flames and ships just do not go together, however well protected

the threat of fire in bad weather all to present

my task would be to act as ferryman twixt the two

The working season would be short,                                                                          

 then the Inchcape lighthouse would replace us

and I could go back  to my nets;

I doubt that I shall be spared to see the lighting of its light.

Or gaze upon its brilliance as the day turns swift to night

My knowledge of the Inchape Reef would be passed down through the ages

But there’s scarce the men to pass it to, though two are brought to mind

who’s worthy-ness is up to scratch should the mantle fall on them.

I watch in awe as masons chip away at rock forming a foundation

The heavy stones that as yet were still on paper

Or in the minds of their creators

I see another structure built I mistook to be for the light

It was erected at a pace before the seasons finish.

On it a beacon was mounted and at some height

it would provide better light than the torches used at night

Its spindly iron legs seemed unlikely to stand a storm

and we feared that when we returned nought would be in place

Robert a religious man though not pious to the extremes

gave Sabbath blessings on all the crew before any work began.

Before too long all work had ceased

and to my other duties on Pharos I must attend.

Next summer when our Rob returns

the Lighthouse work resumes again.

Yet more masons, builders and Smiths set to the task.

A track is laid to carry stone from gully up to site,

and derricks loading stone on bogeys like those of mining sites.

Rob looks on with pride as the work takes on a pace

Yet the work was to be hampered as bad weather set its course

and only twenty two days toil could be produced.

July 10^th was a momentous day as the first of the stones arrived,

by the end of the season four courses now were laid.

I am no engineer and I could only stand in awe

as every surface of the stone was shaped

locking it to it’s neighbours side to side ,from above and from below.

So the weight of stone would simply have nowhere left to go.

I am but a simple man not learned like our Rob

but now I see his vision clear and know his wisdom right,

for all the stresses when its built will be equal and throughout.

My wonder at this bright young man

and the admiration lavished on him by his crew,

I am drawn to the Bosun’s words and believe them to be true.

For if ever Saintly or Noble deeds surpass;

then this man’s effort should in canonising find just rewards;

Or in heaven find his grace.

The men have grown to love him and respect all of his commands

only perfection will serve him right and that’s what he demands

the masons in Arbroath turn out work of the highest order

No stone has been returned to them or re-fashioned so to fit

April 1809 and work began again.

I had misjudged old spindly for she still stands, for her beacon to be lit

we each took wager as to how long she would last.

Our Captain holds the purse;

he holds it still and so now silent is our curse

The beacon became a barracks and my work lessened by degree.    

It was Rob’s design for me to stay though idle I may be

The base in stature grows to tower thirty feet,

Yet still not safe from tempest swells that it had to meet

By start of work in 1810, completion was not certain.

Tremendous was the effort made that soon it was the vision

Soon even the iron watch-room and light-room were in place

Encompassing  the all important light and lense

capped by a big brass dome to give her added grace.

It was tears and cheers that resounded around the Inchape Reef

The lighthouse now stood her ground defiant but as yet unlit.

All gazes turned toward our Rob though his plaudits shore-side yet to come,

it was with his beloved crew that he let his emotions slip.

Only two men had lost their lives on this brave endeavour,

Clasping hands gave; praise to the Lord for all his favour

Praising too his gallant crew

Close was the call that there were so few

Twice I could have been in their number.

One of the boats had broke her lines

stranding thirty men with only boats for a score.

It looked like short straws were the order of the day

Rob in traditional style thought it his right to stay.

We tried to explain the custom but Rob insisted and got his way.

I had seen many years so broke in twain my stick.

The boats were cast away and for the Pharos bound,

no chance for a return trip

before the water has us in its grip.

With water lapping at our feet we prepared to meet our maker,

 then the sight of sail was heralded and we looked for our deliverance.

The Arbroath mail boat had come just in the nick of time

and had turned her duty into that of saviour.

The second time though not so obvious a plight;

was when I was standing on the platform perched high at thirty feet,

a mischance took the grip away of a labourer on his climb.

His last effort for a purchase he grabbed at my boot

but then it was gone and so was he

Rob his work all finished has gone to other ventures

I glance at his eighth wonder of the world

and still wonder at its creation.

I am still with Pharos till the Keepers are all trained;

The Principal is our Captain Reid

though quite a different quarterdeck with just a crew of two.

I start to feel my age now but before my duties done,

I will walk upon Inchcape’s not so barren rocks,

as token for my servitude and respect from lighthouse crew.

I take in the magnificence of the tower now before me

and remember the first day and the sceptic sneering

of Rob’s great leap of faith as he set his foot

and his other in engineering.

Her bell like skirt does justice for I hear that what she’s called

Bell Rock Lighthouse has ring to it, let it shine for all eternity

As I make my way down grating to the awaiting boat

a sudden pain racks at my chest like crushing weights upon me

The pain subsides but darkness now encroaches and I see no…………

Two days out and two to go, progressed slowed
by a tempest thrown by Thor’s great hand checks our course.
Tyne was left in the glowing embers of an autumnal dusk
that gave lie to the Shepherd’s promise of fair passage.

I stand this watch with helmsman and like kinsmen

tied and bound to the mighty wheel.

Brothers standing firm gainst the strife of storms creation

We sink or swim together; though neither thought has but a moments fleeting

as we battle natures wrath.

Our Captain grasping what e’re he can

casting skyward glances at the set of sails

 as equally on the tempests progress;

looking for the slightest clue on its abatement.

He was loath to surrender and head for the shelter of Forth’s comely bays.

And the owner’s of this well rigged barque did not pay to see her languish

or struck idle and though in part by investment made our Captain’s

power over life and limb could n’er to better judgement be attested.

He presses onward come what may.

The sails are full and the yards scream out;

all crew save for the mess-deck boys have joined the fight

and there is comfort in the camaraderie that still abounds

given the nature of the ever present threat.

The Elspeth Grey of hearty oak was fashioned for such a purpose;

to what e’re heaven or hell had in mind to throw in her course.

New from the yard and blessed by Royal blood

even if such blood was tainted and watered by the passing flow of time

its symbolism and patronage counted for so much

Yet had her shipwright’s given her eyes and soul;

 then she would have chosen better path

 regardless of the whims of men

 and the forlorn paces on the quarterdeck.

The only eyes that can see any hazard that may lie before us;

 belong to my young nephew whom I’d begged

 in his sixteenth year to join our band o’ brothers.

Three years have passed and blessed years they be

 his majesty’s pressgangs have left him alone.

In stature and in promise swelled

to the  rank of bos’uns mate,

his keen and youthful eyes followed by a hearty and well-timed cry;

are all that stand between an onward passage or dining in the depths with Mr Jones.

How the lad can see at all as wind swept rain lashes salt,

whipped cat-like into the faces of all who’s duty calls upon them

to embrace the torment of natures punishment

Not free to turn in shelter with their backs

but encumbered by a burden with hands not free to shield

Tis not with Neptunes tears that soak my skin, but labour at the helm

As with my brother helmsman we fight the rudder to obey all Masterly commands

A cry of “Shoals! “ and “ Shoals!” like gulls cry on the wind

Then again in fervent plea from crows nest down to quarterdeck;

followed closely by the Masters cry of “hard a lee!”-, “hard a lee!”.

Just so none are in doubt to note the import of what danger lies before us.

An age it seems to pass before the great wheel moves,

 yet her stubbornness relaxes, more so when

 the Master in the light of all the perils joins us at the helm.

At last the wheel it moves with ease.

The sails are limp and the rudder at the mercy of the tide;

 but direction and way had to be curtailed in the speediest o’ manners

Lest we meet my nephew’s prophetic bane in more hastily a fashion.

All cries of “ shoals” have now ceased

I glance heavenward to see both nest and chick are gone

as we turned our beam to broadside a third of the main was lost.

No time to mourn the boy I loved my tasks were still a plenty,

the loss of main and progress were but forecasts for our doom;

as broaching almost stern first came sounds to wrench a sailor’s heart

as oak was torn apart by rock. We foundered in the blink of eye

so sudden our demise; no time to see our Captain fall

as yard and rigging gathered him up and cast him from his charge

the barque that bore the name of his beloved’s; divorcing in a moment both

as wind and tide dragged him from our side.

No time to hear the cries of my fellow crew as each by fates

attachment made them follow their master down below

No time to worry about my fate for surely I would follow?

I thought to have some company on my journey to another realm

But alas the helmsman’s hand and arm were still tied

to the wheel that we were bound.

My tethers had all but withered and barely left a trace.

Two days immersed in salty brine had left wrinkles in their place.

I was found by Cutters crew lashed to a decking grate,

she was sent out from Arbroath when the tide

had washed some wreckage on a nearby beach

"Inchcape claims another ship,” the local papers said

but the words that will haunt me the most

was the adage “Sole Survivor, second mate”.

That filled my eyes more bitterly than any sea on earth

My mind cast back to the friends I’d lost and a boy that I held dear.

There was nothing but his treasured cap to take home to his mother;

there were only words of condolence that I could give my brother.

As mariner-to-mariner we hug and share our grief.

As fine a ship and as fine a crew were lost upon that reef.