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Thursday 4 March 2021

The Tally Ho


The Village Lighthouse!

by our own reporter

    At the far end of the cliff walk, heading towards the outer zone, there is a stunted metal tower fitted with a bell. It is known as a Lighthouse to the citizens of this community, yet who is there who can give reason for its construction when as we know, no shipping comes along the estuary. The presence of any such Lighthouse is made clear to warn shipping of the presence of dangerous rocks. And yet there are no dangerous rocks, there is no shipping to warn.
    The Lighthouse has no light, is not fitted with a fog horn, but there is a bell and the bell has been heard. So is this Lighthouse manned by a Keeper of the light, or rather bell keeper? Because what else would cause this great bell to chime, other than by the hand of a keeper? Or perhaps the Lighthouse be haunted, and if it is what kind of wet, green slithery thing is at the door trying to get in…..trying to get in, well it would if the Lighthouse did in fact have a door! What kind of thing do haunt it that rings the bells so its eerie knell sounds out across the estuary? They do say there was a yacht or ketch which was caught in a storm many, many years ago, the Amis Reunis she was. She was swept away by strong winds and currents, capsized and sank they do say, now the wreck lies at the bottom of the estuary. But when the tide do go out, there’s no sign of the wreck, when she sank she must have been sucked down into the depths of the soft, the soft is what we call the sands here abouts, quicksand’s. Now and again when the sands shift, and they do shift tons at a time, the ghostly timbers of the wreck of the Amis Reunis is revealed. Some say she was a trim craft which was used to move slate from the quay along the estuary, but that she was converted into a yacht or ketch. But she aren’t pretty to look upon now, her decks have gone, the timber frames be skeletal, the wheel house rotten, the windows like eyeless sockets as she lies there in her watery grave. And the lighthouse, no-one goes there, no-one dares not at least on long dark stormy nights. And yet graffiti is inscribed on the inside wall. “No.2 is a damned sadist.” “Music makes for a quiet mind,” “a still tongue makes a happy life,” “I am a prisoner here for God’s sake help me,” and “No.18 loves No.52.”

Be seeing you

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