Young Storykeeper Volume III

266 | STORYKEEPERS VOLUME III AGE TWELVE | 267
MR SHERMAN’S LIGHTHOUSE
Mr Sherman was an old, anti-social, grumpy man. He hobbled along on his stick.
He was skinny, unhealthy and frail. He owned a lighthouse on the tip of Malin
Head.
Mr Sherman stayed to himself. He lived in the lightkeeper’s cottage. He only
left his house twice a day, to go to his lighthouse. The red and white paint was
peeling off and the walls were eroding. The inside was cold and damp. A headaching
leak dripped down relentlessly on the banister of the rusty, spiral staircase.
The glass was covered in condensation and mould. The light was the only thing in
some way respectable because Mr Sherman cleaned it every so often.
Mr Sherman regretted that he had never had a son. He inherited the lighthouse
from his father, who inherited it from his father. Unfortunately, the lighthouse would
not run through the Sherman family any more.
Lugha had loved lighthouses ever since he was little. Sadly, he was never
even in the lighthouse in his own parish. One day he was walking home when he
saw the lightkeeper outside the local lighthouse having a heated conversation with
two suited men and a Garda.
One of the men spoke. “I am very sorry, Mr Sherman, but I’m afraid you can
no longer live under this lighthouse. It’s ready to collapse.”
The Garda then had to step in because Mr Sherman was swinging his stick
violently at the suited men.
Two days later, Lugha saw Mr Sherman on the streets. He went over to him.
“Hello there, Mr Sherman, I’m Lugha Mac Aodh. I saw what happened to you
and I was wondering if you wanted to come home with me?”
Mr. Sherman looked up timidly. “You’d do dat for me?” He spoke in a smoky,
unused voice.
The Mac Aodhs took good care of Mr Sherman. One evening Lugha spoke
with his parents.
“I want to do something for Mr Sherman, to raise money so he can live in his
cottage again.”
Lugha’s dad had a brilliant idea. “We‘ll have a swimming fundraiser!”
For the next week, Lugha hung up posters all around the village to advertise
the event. When Sunday came the whole parish was out by the sea, ready to start.
The race cost €5 per entry. People were also buying food from the stalls to help
the cause. Everyone had a great day. That evening a cheque was presented to Mr
Sherman to repair the lighthouse.
In two months the lighthouse was restored. Lugha heard a knock on the door.
It was Mr Sherman. “Lad, I CAN’T explain how grateful I am. I know, Lugha, that
you love lighthouses and I don’t ‘ave a son. I’m too old to look after my lighthouse
anymore.”
Slowly Mr. Sherman produced a key from his pocket, and said, “I want you
to ‘ave it.”
To this day, Lugha lives with his wife and children in the lightkeeper’s cottage
and in the future he will pass on the lighthouse to his own son.
Luke Collins
Co Meath
THE LIGHTHOUSE THAT BURNT DOWN
One sunny morning in mid-June, Diarmuid was told he would be spending the summer
holidays with his granny beside Hook Lighthouse in County Wexford. He was really
excited because he had never been to Wexford before even though his granny lived
there. He knew his granny was associated with Hook Lighthouse but he didn’t know
how.
Eventually the day came for Diarmuid to leave for the lighthouse. He couldn’t
contain his excitement. His mother drove him to The Hook early so he could look around
when he arrived.
When they arrived, however, there was no lighthouse, just what looked like a ruin!
“Are we in the right place?” asked Diarmuid.
“Yes,” replied his mother.
They saw his granny through the window of the lighthouse keeper’s house and
rushed to her, to see what had happened. His granny told him that some sailors had
ruined the lighthouse because they didn’t want anyone to ever sail past here again
without crashing. Diarmuid could not believe his ears, the lighthouse he had been looking
forward to visiting for weeks, was gone. Diarmuid’s mother asked whether she should
take Diarmuid with her but Granny said it was fine. That night Diarmuid had dreams of
what would have happened that day if the lighthouse hadn’t burnt down.
When he awoke the next morning there were three men in the kitchen sitting
opposite his granny. They were debating about what they should do.
“I think that we should try to replicate the original lighthouse,” said one man.
“But what happens if the sailors come back again?” argued another with a beard.
“I think that would cost too much money and anyway all our money was in the box,”
replied the third.
“I think we should discuss this somewhere more private,” announced Granny
because she had just noticed Diarmuid standing frozen in the doorway. “Guys,
this is my grandson Diarmuid,” Granny told the men.
“Hi Diarmuid, I’m Kyle,” said the man with the beard.
Diarmuid shook hands with all three of them and found out they all worked
with his granny. Granny told Diarmuid to help himself to breakfast and then left
the room with the three men.
After breakfast, Diarmuid decided to have a look around the ruins of the
lighthouse. He looked around until he found a box; the box was heavy so he
couldn’t lift it. Beside the box, there was a key. Diarmuid put the key into the
lock and when he opened it there were lots of lighthouse designs and money.
Immediately, he went to find his granny.
He found out that the lighthouse had been built in 1172 but had
been burnt down as Granny had said. His granny was trying to find
out how she could rebuild it but didn’t yet know the right way.
Diarmuid couldn’t wait to tell everyone about his granny and
her lighthouse but until the lighthouse was rebuilt he couldn’t
say a word.
Aoife Kehoe
Co Wexford