Young Storykeeper Volume III

254 | STORYKEEPERS VOLUME III AGE TWELVE | 255
FIONNACHTAIN AG TEACH
SOLAIS CHEANN LÉIME
“Téigh a chodladh díreach,” arsa Emma.
Leag Liam a shú oráiste ar an mbord agus
bhí Emma an-chrosta. “Ach ní dhearna mé
tada,” a phléadáil Liam. “Anois,” shín Emma
a méar chuig seomra leapa Liam. Bhí Liam
agus a theaghlach ar laethanta saoire i
dteach solais Cheann Léime i gcontae an
Chláir. “Tá mo mham chomh cantalach an
t-am ar fad,” a dúirt Liam i gcogar. Shuigh
Liam ar a leaba. Rinne sé gach iarracht dul
a chodladh ach níor éirigh leis. Sheas sé
suas agus chuaigh sé go dtí an leithreas.
Ar an mbealach ar ais, chonaic sé pictiúr
de longbhriseadh ar charraig leis an teach
solais sa chúlra. Chroith sé píosa, shiúil sé
ar ais chuig a sheomra codlata. Thuisligh
sé ar chlár urláir a bhí scaoilte. Rith sé ar
ais chuig a leaba. D’fhan sé nóiméad ionas
nach ndúiseodh sé aon duine. Shiúil sé ar ais
chuig an chláir urláir agus d’fhéach sé ann.
Dialann Henry Crowley a bhí ann; seanfhear
an tí solais. Thosaigh sé ag léam
23 Mean Fómhair 1872
A Dhialainn, Mo bhreithlá atá an inniu. Bhí
mé ag cabhrú le mo dhaidí sa teach solais.
Trí bliana ó shin a d’athraigh sé chuig solas
fleascadh. Dúirt sé nuair a fhásaim suas go
mbeidh mé mar fhear an tí solais. Tá mé
ag súil go mór leis an lá sin. Tá eagla orm
roimh an bpictiúr sa halla.
4 Meitheamh 1899
A Dhialainn, Is é seo mo chéad lá ag an
bpost agus is breá liom é. Gaoth éadrom
ón deisceart le dhá bhád iascaireachta ar
an taoide. Bhí cúpla cuairteoir agam inniu.
Fear an phoist, Patrick Keane, a thug post
an lae dom. Tá mé fós scanraithe roimh an
bpictiúr sin sa halla.
9 Nollaig 1911
Inniu bhris díon an tí solais agus fuair
mé Simon Brennan an siúinéir chun é a
dheisiú. Freisin fuair mé an feirmeoir John
Fitzgibbon chun bainne a thabhairt dom.
Bhí comhrá an-fhada againn. Tá an pictiúr
sin fós ag cur eagla orm.
Ansin chuala sé buille ollmhór. Chuala Liam
coiscéim. “Tá an púca ag teacht chun mé
a ithe,” arsa Liam Bhí Liam an-scanraithe.
Chuaigh sé i bhfolach faoina leaba. Ansin
shiúil Emma, Olivia (deirfiúr Liam) agus
James ( daidí Liam ) isteach. “Níl sé
greannmhar,” arsa Liam. “Bhí a fhios againn
go raibh eagla ort roimh an bpictiúr sin agus
d’imir muid cleas ort,” arsa Olivia. “Cad é an
buille sin mar sin?” arsa Liam. “Phléascamar
balún,” arsa James. Thosaigh Liam ag gáire.
Ansin thosaigh siad ag gáire le chéile.
Alex Ó Tuama
Co Dublin
THE LIGHTHOUSE ON SALT
WATER ROCK
It was a cold, wind-whipped night. Ben
was travelling to his uncle’s lighthouse on
Saltwater Rock while his mother went on
her honeymoon with his stepdad. Everything
about this place was creepy. Jagged rocks
were sticking out like thorns. Algae that
looked like a sea monster’s hand shined
whenever his mother turned a corner.
“Now Ben, you told me you would give
this place a shot while your dad and I are
away.”
“Stepdad,” Ben remarked.
His mother sighed and said, “Why
won’t you accept the truth, Ben?”
He shrugged and watched the
lighthouse grow nearer. They stepped out
into the freezing mist and got soaked to
the bone. Uncle Walter appeared at the
lighthouse door. As usual, he had a sour
demeanour. Ben was unsure whether his
beard was white because of the sea spray
or if it was his natural colour. He grunted and
ushered them inside.
It was a tall building with spiralling
staircases. The entrance was built out of
a small alcove. It had a small coat rack, a
place for boots and one well-worn mat. They
followed Walter up the staircase to a sitting
room furnished with a couple of couches
and a small fireplace. The next floor held a
kitchen with four cupboards, a sink and a
table. Finally, they reached the top of the
tower with a giant rotating light.
“So, there’s your tour, now how long
will he be staying?” he asked.
“Three days, minimum,” his mother
replied. She quickly departed, leaving them
alone together. It was late so Ben went to
bed but he was kept awake most of the
night by the whirring sounds of the light, the
constant crashing waves and the howling
wind.
Ben’s uncle woke him from his meagre
five hours of sleep. He nearly stumbled down
the stairs, but his uncle caught him and
pulled him back. They set off to the beach to
check out the shoreline for any rock pools.
They searched for hours but only came up
with a crab and a bunch of plastic bottles.
As they were about to leave, a glimmer
of light caught Ben’s eye. It was an old
compass. It was covered with barnacles and
seaweed. They brought it into the lighthouse
to put on Ben’s bedside locker.
Walter said, “Why don’t I keep it for a
while? It’s covered with barnacles; you might
cut yourself.”
Ben said it was fine, but his uncle would
not take no for an answer. “Give it to me
Ben. Give it to me!”
Ben ran for his life, but he knew he
couldn’t go to the coast as it was high tide.
Instead, he ran up the spiralling staircase
towards the light. It blinded him but then it
would blind his uncle too, so he would be
safe at least until the tide went out.
But suddenly, his uncle, wearing
polarized glasses said, “That’s a family
heirloom. GIVE IT TO ME NOW!”
Walter launched forward and fell over the
railing……
David Nally
Co Cork
LIGHTHOUSES
Lighthouses so big and tall,
Standing strong, making us all seem small,
Up in the air a beacon of hope,
Up there how some will cope,
Up incredibly high, so much excitement and fear.
Beside the sea, beautifully clear,
The light to warn those too near,
So many ships to the pier.
The large scale of the waves,
Like huge watery caves.
The lighthouse keeper all alone,
Making this huge building his home,
So cold and empty,
Time on their own is plenty.
Lighthouses are so important all year,
Dealing with a crashing fear,
Lighthouses keeping us safe,
Lighthouses, a wonderful place.
Joe Wilk
Co Down