Cambridge IGCSE First Language English
Text 9B
The lighthouse keepers
We were a hardened lot, the lighthouse keepers of the
Flannan Isles. The Outer Hebrides do not breed soft
men; if it does, they do not live long. The storms come
screaming down from the Arctic, and we are often cut off
from the world outside for weeks on end. It is impossible
to feel more alone – or so I thought until that day in
December 1900 – a propitious day, it should have been,
looking to the new year and the new century.
I was sailing with Captain James Harvey, an
experienced sailor for the Northern Lighthouse Board, on
a routine trip to replace one of the three keepers of the
Eilean Mor lighthouse. Our sailing had been delayed by a
fierce storm, but the seas were calm as we approached
the landing stage. It was immediately clear that all was
not well, because there was no keeper waiting to greet
me. The captain sounded his fog-horn and launched a
flare as I rowed over, somewhat concerned.
As I climbed the steep rock-cut stairs, I felt an
overwhelming sense of foreboding. It has always been
said that the island was an evil place, and none but the
keepers would spend a night there. When I reached the
lighthouse the door was open, two oilskin coats were
missing – and keeper was there none. I searched, in
increasing agitation, but there was no denying it; and the
kitchen clock had stopped.
I hastened back to the landing and the ship; the good
Captain was nonplussed, and sent two stout sailors to
pass the night with me while he sought assistance. I can
say that we did not sleep easy that night.
We searched every inch of that cursed island over the
next three days, but to no avail, except to note that all
was not as it should be at the landing stage – the storm
had damaged the crane and loading installations, and
loose ropes were strewn around. But of the three men
with whom I had worked for years, no sign or hint.
© Cambridge University Press 2018
Response to Reading
Mr Robert Muirhead, the Board Superintendant,
came to the island in person, and he it was who came
upon the journal which told an incomprehensible story.
Starting on the 12th December, the diary told of storms
fierce beyond living memory, and of keepers – hardened
men, all – in fear for their lives and weeping. The storm
continued unabated, from the diary entries, until 15th
December, when the final entry stated: ‘Storm over. Sea
calm. God is over all.’
Well, indeed He is, but what in the name of the heavens
did that mean? There was no further entry to dispel the
mystery. Shortly after, all three men vanished from the
island and from this life as if they had been swept up.
But what is passing strange is that there was no
storm on the 12th, or 13th, or 14th, or 15th December.
The tempest which wrought such destruction upon the
landing stage started only on the 17th December. The
island is clearly visible from the mainland and nothing
had been reported.
Muirhead investigated the damage to the landing
stage and pronounced that the destruction of the storm
had been exceptional. Had the keepers ventured forth to
attempt the rescue of their equipment? But why, contrary
to all regulation, would all three go? And if so, why had
one left his oilskin behind, in a raging winter tempest?
And if the third had not been swept away with the other
two, where then was he?
No body was ever washed ashore. No trace was ever
found. No explanation was ever offered which I could
put my hand to. It is my profound belief that the ancient
curse of the Island brewed up a false storm to terrify the
keepers and lure them to their death. The temerity of
Man in building the new lighthouse just the year before
would surely have been an affront which needed to be
avenged. And avenged it was.
Unit 9 Missing persons