December 27, 2024 • 33 mins
With Unexplained on a short break we're dipping into the archives again.
This week’s story is a true ghost of Christmas past, reaching out to us from almost 124 years to the day.
It was late one night on December 26th
1900, when a telegram was received by the Northern Lighthouse Board.
It was sent by a member of a rescue crew, dispatched to the Flannen isles, the site of the UKs most remote lighthouse, located way out in the Atlantic, beyond any sign of civilisation.
They were sent to investigate why the light was no longer shining,
The telegram read:
A dreadful accident has happened at the Flannans. The keepers, have disappeared from the Island...
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Episode Transcript
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Speaker 1 (00:01):
With Unexplained on a short break, We're dipping into the
archives again. This week's story is a true ghost of
Christmas past, reaching out to us from almost one hundred
and twenty four years to the day. It was late
one night on December twenty sixth, nineteen hundred when a
telegram was received by the Northern Lighthouse Board. It was
sent by a member of a rescue crew dispatched to
(00:24):
the Flannan Isles, the site of the UK's most remote lighthouse,
located way out in the Atlantic, beyond any sign of civilization.
They were sent to investigate why the light was no
longer shining. The telegram read, A dreadful accident has happened
at the Flannins. The keepers have disappeared from the island.
(00:48):
This is Unexplained, Season one, episode eight, when the Light fades.
(01:10):
When I'm considering what stories to feature on the show,
there are really only a few criteria that must be met. Firstly,
it has to be more than just an event. There
must be a story, a set of events with which
to thread and weave our way through. Secondly, that there
be something ultimately very human in the tales. And last,
(01:31):
but by no means least that the peculiarity of the
story has yet to be satisfactorily explained. Of all the
unexplained mysteries I have come across so far, there is
one that for me has left the most indelible impression.
As far as mysteries go, you couldn't invent a better story.
A story that has over time led to some of
(01:52):
the most extraordinary of speculations, and has since evolved a
folklore all of its own. This is that story you're
listening to, unexplained, and I'm Richard McLean Smith. The Flannan Isles,
(02:15):
also known as the Seven Hunters, are located at the
farthest reaches of the Scottish Outer Hebrides, a collection of
seven rocky islands, they form a small but majestic archipelago
of startling isolation. To the east, approximately seventy miles away,
lies the Isle of Lewis. To the south, by forty
miles the deserted Isle of Saint Kilda, and if you
(02:37):
were to venture west, you would need to travel more
than two thousand miles of uninterrupted ocean before hitting the
coastline of North America. The Flannan Isles are named after
an Irish priest known as Saint Flannan, who is believed
to have made his home on the islands as far
back as the seventh century. The remains the chapel in
which Saint Flannan is thought to have lived can still
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be found on eilean Moore, the groups Its largest island,
translated from Gallic to mean simply big island Islean Moore
rears out of the sea, a vast hulk of gray
black rock, topped by a rugged grassy plateau, its sheer
cliffs measuring well over one hundred feet, with its highest
point reaching almost three hundred feet. Although uninhabited, many crofters
(03:21):
from nearby Lewis would regularly visit the islands in the
summer months to graze their sheep. Others would arrived to
pill for eggs and feathers from the island's bountiful population
of sea birds. Over time, due in no small part
to the association with Saint Flannan, the island developed a
strange mystique all of its own, becoming a place of
inherent sanctity to many of those who visited. To view
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the island in its isolation, it is easy to understand
the ore with which it would have filled those early visitors.
There were many who believed, and some still do, that
the Isles were a place of great otherworldly magic, home
to a host of fairies and nature spirits, and not
all of them good, an attitude borne out in the
customs and superstitions of any person daring to set foot
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on one of the Seven Hunters. If, when approaching the
islands on an easterly wind, the gust were to suddenly switch,
you wouldn't think twice before turning the boat around and
heading straight back home. For any that arrived successfully, it
was customary to immediately uncover the head before performing a
complete turn clockwise while thanking God for your safety. So
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you can imagine the sense of trepidation many would have
felt when it was announced that a lighthouse would be
erected on the especially sacred Eileen More, a sense of
trepidation that was somewhat justified when barely more than a
year after opening, the lighthouse was to become the tragic
scene of one of the UK's most enduring of mysteries.
What exactly happened on the island some time in December
(04:52):
in the year nineteen hundred has never been fully accounted.
For it is quite simply a mystery that remains to
this day unexplained. In seventeen eighty two, a series of
ferocious storms batted the Scottish coast, resulting in the deaths
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of many seamen, including those of two herring boats that
were smashed on the rocks of the Kintyre Peninsula on
the West coast. As a result, the Northern Lighthouse Board
was established to oversee the construction of a number of
lighthouses to be stationed on the most treacherous of Scottish coastlands. Although,
as ever initially motivated by trade, the ensuing feat of
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engineering was driven by a genuine desire characteristic of the
Scottish Enlightenment, to work not for individual prestige, but for
the greater good of mankind. Leading the team of engineers
was Thomas Smith, the great grandfather of none other than
famed Scottish author Robert Louis Stephenson. Although the family profession
would prove ultimately unfitting for Robert, it was nonetheless his
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uncle David who oversaw the construction of the lighthouse on
Island Moor. However, it would be some time before such
a plan would come to fruition. Maybe it was concern
over the exposure of such a location to the harshest
of the Atlantic's uncompromising weather, or perhaps it was a
reluctance to build on such mystical ground. But finally, after
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forty years of pleading, the Lighthouse Board agreed to the construction.
The build began in eighteen ninety four and was due
to take two years, but was beset by the tumultuous
weather and even rougher seas characteristic of the area. The
lighthouse was to be built on the south side of
the island, where the rock reaches its highest point, surrounded
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on both sides by sheer cliffs, none of which were
less than one hundred fifty feet in height, meaning that
all supplies had to be hauled by hand up the
cliff side. A perilous set of steps were carved into
the rock leading to the building. At the top for support,
there was only a modest iron railing to remind you
of the rocky peril that lay in weight for anyone
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foolish enough to deviate from the path. Such was the
steep incline of the steps. A small service railway was installed,
where a cable supported railcar could be used to transport
heavy goods to and from the landing platform. Shortly before
the build was completed, the foreman, Mister D's died suddenly,
an event that in hindsight could be considered a disturbing
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portent of what was to come. It certainly wouldn't have
been lost on many of the construction workers, well accustomed
with the superstitions related to the island. Nevertheless, a full
two years after construction was due to complete, on the
first of December eighteen ninety nine, the one hundred forty
thousand candle power lamp, perched atop a majestic white tower
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two hundred seventy five feet above sea level, was lit
for the first time as the rotation device kicked into life.
Out of the darkness shone a beam of light, illuminating
the black North Atlantic waters for miles around. Though were
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fore keepers required to operate the newly opened lighthouse as
a psychological necessity, there would only be three men on
the island at any given time, while the fourth took
a fortnight's leave. The first man to be stationed on
the island was forty three year old principal keeper and
married father of four, James Duckett, a seasoned lighthouse practitioner
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with over twenty years of experience. James hailed from ar
Broth on the east coast of Scotland. He would later
be joined by first assistant keeper William Ross and twenty
eight year old second assistant keeper Thomas Marshall. As the
first Christmas of the New century approached, Ross was forced
off the island due to ill health, with regular light
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keeper Joseph Moore not due for a further two weeks.
Ross was replaced by forty year old occasional keeper and
ex soldier Donald MacArthur. Donald, who was also married with children,
hailed from the nearby town of Breiscleet on the Isle
of Lewis. I often wonder how it might have felt
for the men returning to the lighthouse after their regulatory
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breaks at that moment, having stepped off the delivery boat,
watching the last contact with civilization disappear from view. Perhaps
there was some relief at returning to the quiet sanctuary
away from the daily hassles of life. Or perhaps it
was more with great sadness that they found themselves again
alone on a distant rock, far away from their wives
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and children. With the switch over completed on eleventh of December,
MacArthur promptly banished all thoughts of home and quickly settled
into his role. As the night approached, the men set
about doing what they did best, duly noting the day's
observations in the lighthouse log book. At the end of
the day, with the familiar sounds of a North Atlantic
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storm rattling around the island, the men settled in for
the night as a waning moon appeared in the sky above.
Down below the island, moor light shone far and wide,
as it had done for every other night of its
year long life. The first sign of trouble came at
(10:16):
midday on Tuesday, December fifteenth, Roughly one hundred and twenty
miles to the northwest of the Seven Hunters, a cargo
ship named S s Arch Tour was making steady progress
on her route toward the port of Leith in Edinburgh.
The steamship, captained by Thomas John Holman, had left the
American city of Philadelphia on the twenty eighth of November
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carrying over four and a half thousand tons of cargo.
Although most of the voyage had been beset by stormy
weather by late afternoon on the fifteenth, the storm had
abated somewhat, leaving fine, clear skies above a few hours later,
and the ship was fast approaching the Flannan Isles. On
deck stood a greatly perturbed Captain Holman. By his estimation,
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they should have been no more than five miles from
Eileen Moore, But as he stood under the vast expansive sky,
surrounded by only the darkest of seas, he could not
make out any sign of the lighthouse, or, more precisely,
its light, the beam of which on a night such
as this, would have been visible for over twenty miles.
Assuming a miscalculation on his part, Captain Holman continued to
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steer the vessel on its course towards Edinburgh. The following day, however,
the ship appeared clearly to be plotting a correct course.
The captain resolved to uncover the discrepancy of the night before,
but was almost surprised to find nothing wrong with his calculations.
The ship had indeed passed by the lighthouse, so where
then was the light disturbed by the apparent blackout of
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the lighthouse, Captain Holman planned to report the matter to
the relevant authorities on arrival to Leith. Unfortunately, that message
never arrived. Two days later, Captain Holman and the SS
arch Tour ran aground on the approach to Leith Port.
Perhaps it was the shock of the event that had
dislodged the Flanninisles from Captain Holman's mind, or perhaps with
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his navigation skills now under heavy scrutiny, he was reluctant
to bring up the possible miscalculation from the two nights before.
With no news to the contrary, the lighthouse board would
have no reason to think anything strange had taken place
on Eileen Moore. But with the next rotation of keepers
due a few days later, all that was about to change.
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On the twenty sixth of December nineteen hundred, the lighthouse
tender boat, a long steamer named the Hespiras, made its
way towards the largest of the Flannan Isles. The ship
had been due to arrive the previous day, but severe
storms in the area had delayed its departure. On board
was regular keeper Joseph Moore, who was scheduled to start
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his latest shift that day, But as Captain James Harvey
brought the ship closer to land, it was clear that
something wasn't right. It was common practice for the keepers
to raise a flag in preparation for the next rotation,
but as Captain Harvey scoured the island, he could see
no sign of the flag. His concern turned to alarm
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when several blasts from the ship's horn brought no response
from the three light keepers. The subsequent firing of a
distress rocket again failed to yield any response. Greatly unnerved,
the captain ordered the rowboat into the water and sent
Joseph Moore to investigate. It is difficult to imagine just
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what was going through Moore's mind as the small boat
pulled up below those towering cliffs, the gray, murky waters,
seeming unusually calm for the bitterly cold December day, Moore
stepped off the boat and cautiously made his way up
the steep stone steps. As he approached the summit, the
top of the light house came into view. Passing the
(14:02):
ruins of the ancient chapel. He called out to the men,
but again there was no reply, no familiar faces to
greet him. Something was deeply wrong. A short time later,
Moore arrived outside the lighthouse and slowly opened the front door.
What he discovered has formed the basis for one of
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the greatest maritime mysteries of modern times. After entering the lighthouse,
he found the inside door also closed, but curiously, the
kitchen door was wide open. The fireplace was cold, indicating
it had not been lit for some days. One of
the chairs appeared to have been pushed away from the table,
perhaps in a hurry. The rest of the room was
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spotlessly clean. When he entered the bedrooms, he found them empty,
left as they would have been since the morning. In fact,
everything was in perfect order. The lamp for the light
was clean, the foundation was full, and the blinds on
the windows correctly orientated. The only thing that was missing
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was the men. They had simply vanished from the face
of the earth. As if to add a further twist,
Moore also noticed that every clock in the building had stopped.
The thoroughly spooke Moore returned to the row boat and
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requested the help of second mate McCormack, who, along with
another seaman, followed Moore back to the lighthouse to renew
the search of the area. Unable to find any clues
as to what had happened, the three men promptly returned
to the boat and made their way back to the Herspiris. Ever,
the professional Captain Harvey's first instinct was to make sure
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that the light would be up and running again. That night.
Moore was ordered to return to the island along with
three volunteers, the boy Master Alan MacDonald and two seamen,
Messrs Campbell and Lamont. Having dropped the men off again,
Captain Harvey set off immediately for Braiscleet in Lewis. Later
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that day, Harvey sent his now infamous telegram to the
Secretary of the Northern Lighthouse Board in Edinburgh, the immortal
first line, reading, A dreadful accident has happened at Flannet's,
but the mystery had only just begun that first night.
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Taking over from the missing lighthouse keepers would not have
been easy for the four volunteers, having no doubt been
upset by the turn of events. It would have taken
some strength to stop their minds from wondering as to
what exactly had taken place. It would have been a
very somber night. Indeed, the following day, Moore and his
companions renewed their search of the island, but found no
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clues to help with their investigation. That was until they
came across the western landing point. Approaching the landing, the
men found that a number of iron railings of the
tramway had been ripped from their foundations and mangled out
of shape. A box containing mooring ropes had vanished despite
having been firmly wedged into a crevice and then anchored.
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Despite some of the more fanciful thoughts that may have
sprung to mind, the first assumptions of the replacement crew
centered on some kind of freak storm that may have
blown the men from the island. However, when Moore submitted
his report at the events two days later, it contained
one startling detail. All men stationed at Eilean Moor had
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a set of wet weather were to cope with the
extreme conditions. In the case of Ducket and Marshal, this
took the form of weather proof boots and oil skin coats. MacArthur, however,
only being an occasional keeper, was not so well equipped
and had only what he called his wearing coat at
his disposal. When Moore searched the lighthouse, he discovered Duckett
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and Marshall's gear was missing, but MacArthur's coat was still
on its peg, which could only mean that whatever had happened,
MacArthur had left the lighthouse in his shirt sleeves, a
strange fact if you consider just how severe the weather
must have been to blow the men from the island.
What could possibly have happened that would send MacArthur running
out into a severe storm without his jacket. A few
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days later, the Northern Lighthouse Board sent Superintendent Robert Muirhead
to investigate further. Muwhead confirmed More's initial findings and pointed
to a particularly heavy storm front that was believed to
have hit the island during the time of the men's
disappearance as the most likely culprit. A boy that had
been fastened to the railings one hundred and ten feet
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up had vanished as well. A large block of stone
weighing upwards of a ton had been clearly dislodged by
something before falling onto the path below. In conclusion, it
was his belief that a freak wave had hit the
island and somehow whisked the men clean from the rock.
The report was published a few weeks later, and the
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case was officially closed. There have been many falsehoods surrounding
the Flannenile's mystery, most often to do with reports of
strange recordings apparently found written in the log book shortly
before the men disappeared. They speak of something dark brewing
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and the fracturing of the men's mental states. One log
had supposedly noted that all had been calm, suggesting initial
reports of bad weather to have been mistaken in truth.
Thanks to an exhaustive study on the subject by writer
Mike Dash, it appears this part of the story and
some other questionable elements, were in fact fabricated some years
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after the event. What is known is that the last
recorded log entry seems to have been made on Tuesday,
the fifteenth of December. Needless to say, in the absence
of a satisfactory explanation for the event, many are only
too keen to fill in the vacuum, with theories ranging
from the workings of malicious spirits to straight out alien abduction. Certainly,
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at the time of Muwhead's original report, there weren't many
willing to believe the conclusion that a mere wave could
be responsible. After all, such a thing was widely held
to be nothing but a myth itself, or at least
it was. On the first of January nineteen ninety five
measuring equipment located on the Dropner oil rig in the
North Sea, just off the coast of Norway, recorded what
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is now considered the first official evidence of a freak wave,
crashing into the platform at a staggering sixty one feet
at peak height. And yet, in twenty thirteen, author and
historian Keith McCloskey conducted his own research into the incident.
Enlisting the help of Eddie Graham, a meteorologist from the
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University of Highlands and Islands in Invernesse, McCluskey reanalyzed the
weather patterns for the flann And Isles around the time
of the fifteenth of December nineteen hundred. What he discovered
was startling. Although the weather appears to have indeed been rough,
it certainly wouldn't have been anything that the three seasoned
light keepers hadn't experienced before. What's more, with windspeed estimated
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to have peaked at roughly sixty miles per hour, any
waves generated by such a storm would barely have made
it above thirty feet, a fact all the more incredible
when you consider that McCluskey's own findings and Superintendent Murehead's
earlier report suggests that the men would have been at
well over one hundred feet when they were supposedly taken.
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The largest freak wave ever accorded was ninety five feet high,
so if it was a freak wave, it would have
to have been the largest wave ever known. And what
of the strange case of MacArthur's jacket. A senior keeper
of the Northern Lighthouse Board, Alistair Henderson, is insistent that
under any normal circumstances, the lighthouse would never have been
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left unattended. It is a fairly standard rule followed by
all lighthouse keepers, let alone one so experienced as Duckett,
Marshall and MacArthur. Perhaps more disturbingly, referring to the Muwhead report,
it is Henderson's belief that the true events were in
fact covered up. After all, Murehead's was the only official
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report to emerge from the incident. There was no fatal
accident report that would have been standard for such an event.
Even more alarmingly, key documentation that contained evidence of everything
that happened on the island disappeared mysteriously after Muhead left
the island. If MacArthur never left the lighthouse, where exactly
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did he go, or if he did indeed leave the building.
What possible reason could he have had for breaking such
a fundamental convention. Might ultimately MacArthur hold the key to
the mystery. In an age well before social media and smartphones,
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working on the rock in the year nineteen hundred would
have meant a complete and utter cutoff from all communication
with the world, a state of affairs comparable to astronauts
traveling through the isolation of space, who even then are
able to communicate with others on the ground to alleviate
the psychological confinement. Furthermore, it is a condition that astronauts
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today will spend months preparing for under constant psychological analysis,
as scientists seek to determine their capability to endure such
a situation. Is it possible that MacArthur, who it is reported,
had worked almost consistently without a break for two and
a half months leading up to December the fifteenth, had
simply snapped, having been cooped up on what must have
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at times felt like the very edge of the world,
miles from civilisation, with gale force winds battering the coast
all around. The circumstances were certainly ripe. Perhaps with the
other two men having left the building to undertake some
routine operations. MacArthur had simply lost his mind and wandered
coatless into the storm, bludgeoning his companions to death before
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throwing himself into the waters below. It wouldn't be the
first time that such conditions had driven somebody to madness.
On Thursday, eighteenth of August nineteen sixty, eighteen year old
David Colin and his father had decided to take a
day trip to visit Ross Island, off the southwest coast
of Scotland. On the island stood a lighthouse that had
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been built in eighteen forty three by Alan Stephenson, another
uncle of Robert Louis Stephenson. David and his father set
off from the local sailing club and arrived at the
island shortly before lunch. As a courtesy, David thought it
right that they should inform the lighthouse keepers that they
were there. After knocking on the door, David received no response,
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except from a rather over enthusiastic dog that he assumed
must have belonged to one of the keepers. Unperturbed, David
and his father returned to their walk, but as the
day wore on, the keepers had still not returned. The
only sign of life being the ominous ringing of an
unanswered telephone coming from inside the lighthouse. Eventually, David's father
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plucked up the courage to enter the building. Inside, he
found lighthouse keeper Hugh Clark dead, with fellow keeper Robert
Dixon nowhere to be seen. After an extensive manhunt, the
twenty four year old Dixon was eventually apprehended and brought
to trial for the murder of Hugh Clark. The trial
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was no less dramatic, as David himself recounts. As Lord
Cameron donned the hideous black cap and prepared to pronounce
a sentence of death by hanging, the court room grew
darker and darker until coinciding with the judge's awful words,
the court room was shaken by an enormous flash of
lightning and a colossal peal of thunder. Dixon's execution was
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set for the twenty first of December nineteen sixty. However,
five days prior to the fateful day, Dixon was reprieved
on account of what was judged to be his unstable
mental condition at the time of the crime. Robert Dixon's
apparent moment of psychopathy was thought to have been stimulated
in no small part by the stress of working in
(26:21):
such close proximity with others in a state of such
intense isolation. Was it a similar fate that befell the
island more keepers? Or was it something even more sinister
at play? In nineteen o four, four years after the
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disappearance of the men, newly installed lighthouse keeper John McLachlan
was cleaning the glass casing of the light when he
slipped and fell to his death. Counting the foreman who
died shortly before the lighthouse opened, five people had died
on the island in less than five years since the
lighthouse was constructed. No other lighthouse in the UK has
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been beset by such tragedy. Was the island simply cursed
by what locals sometimes refer to as the phantom of
the hunters taking its revenge for the careless invasion of
its unearthly realm. In the memoirs written by relief keeper
Joseph Moore many years later, it is clear that the
event had affected him profoundly. Thinking back on that chilly
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December day in nineteen hundred that he first came upon
the empty lighthouse, he writes of a mysterious event from
the night before. That night, he hadn't been sleeping well,
and for some reason had been drawn to the window
looking out. He thought that he saw the boat house
on fire, but when he investigated further, he found it
to be just a figment of his imagination. He knew
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instantly that it was a portent for something awful, detailing
again the event, which he described as very strange. Indeed,
he believed as all to be cast in some way.
In truth, we will never know exactly what happened on
that cold December day in nineteen hundred. On September twenty eighth,
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nineteen seventy one, the eileen More Lighthouse became fully automated
and continues to guide ships through the dark North Atlantic nights.
Perhaps what appeals most about this story is the sheer
improbability of the most rational explanation. But might there be
something else, something that strikes at the very heart of
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all of us? For aren't we all, in a way
keepers of the light, isolated on a rock forever on
the verge of being swept from existence by a giant
mythical wave. And for what it's worth, my own view
as intriguing the notion is that the men were the
unfortunate victims of some other worldly event. I believe what
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occurred was a little more prosaic, but no less extraordinary.
For is there anything more incredible than the notion that MacArthur,
having watched his colleagues become endangered by some unfathomable storm,
had rushed from the safety of the lighthouse to help them,
and in so doing had lost his own life in
the process. That ultimately it was in trying to protect
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the lives of each other and the many others passing
by on the stormy seas that these ordinary folk, doing
a job that was far from ordinary, lost their lives.
When I think about this story, i'm reminded of Cormack
(29:35):
McCarthy's incredible post apocalyptic novel The Road, And forgive me
for those who haven't read it, as this will contain
a spoiler. The Road details a terminal, obleaqu journey of
survival as one man and his son try to reach
the south coast of America in the aftermath of a
catastrophic event. As they grow increasingly weak and the journey
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becomes more and more dangerous, the father fights desperately to
g keep his son from harm. He tells him they
must survive because they are the good guys who are
carrying the fire. The phrase seems glib, but it's enough
to keep the boy going, even though he doesn't quite
get it, and nor do we really, that is until
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the novel's fateful end, when both we and the boy
finally understand the fire was him.
Speaker 2 (30:28):
Those three men dwell on flattered isle. It's a kihi
the lamp lie as westd under the lee. We can't
no glimmer through the night. A passing ship at dawn
(30:55):
had bra the news, and we said, saying, to find
out what strange thing? Why all the keepers of the
deep sea life? The winter day broke blue.
Speaker 1 (31:22):
And fry.
Speaker 2 (31:25):
With a glancing sun and a glancing spray. As for
the swell above made way as gallant has a goal
in flight, But as we need the lonely I looked
(31:50):
up at the naked high saw the lighthouse towering, why
with blind de lanter that all night had never share
a spar of comfort through the.
Speaker 1 (32:11):
Doll Unexplained is an Avy Club Productions podcast created by
(32:39):
Richard McClain Smith. All other elements of the podcast, including
the music, were also produced by me Richard McClean smith Unexplained.
The book and audiobook is now available to buy worldwide.
You can purchase from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Waterstones, and
other bookstores. Please subscribe to and rate the show wherever
(33:01):
you get your podcasts, and feel free to get in
touch with any thoughts or ideas regarding the stories you've
heard on the show. Perhaps you have an explanation of
your own you'd like to share. You can find out
more at Unexplained podcast dot com and reach us online
through Twitter at Unexplained Pod and Facebook at Facebook dot com,
(33:21):
Forward Slash Unexplained Podcast
With Unexplained on a short break, We're dipping into the
archives again. This week's story is a true ghost of
Christmas past, reaching out to us from almost one hundred
and twenty four years to the day. It was late
one night on December twenty sixth, nineteen hundred when a
telegram was received by the Northern Lighthouse Board. It was
sent by a member of a rescue crew dispatched to
(00:24):
the Flannan Isles, the site of the UK's most remote lighthouse,
located way out in the Atlantic, beyond any sign of civilization.
They were sent to investigate why the light was no
longer shining. The telegram read, A dreadful accident has happened
at the Flannins. The keepers have disappeared from the island.
(00:48):
This is Unexplained, Season one, episode eight, when the Light fades.
(01:10):
When I'm considering what stories to feature on the show,
there are really only a few criteria that must be met. Firstly,
it has to be more than just an event. There
must be a story, a set of events with which
to thread and weave our way through. Secondly, that there
be something ultimately very human in the tales. And last,
(01:31):
but by no means least that the peculiarity of the
story has yet to be satisfactorily explained. Of all the
unexplained mysteries I have come across so far, there is
one that for me has left the most indelible impression.
As far as mysteries go, you couldn't invent a better story.
A story that has over time led to some of
(01:52):
the most extraordinary of speculations, and has since evolved a
folklore all of its own. This is that story you're
listening to, unexplained, and I'm Richard McLean Smith. The Flannan Isles,
(02:15):
also known as the Seven Hunters, are located at the
farthest reaches of the Scottish Outer Hebrides, a collection of
seven rocky islands, they form a small but majestic archipelago
of startling isolation. To the east, approximately seventy miles away,
lies the Isle of Lewis. To the south, by forty
miles the deserted Isle of Saint Kilda, and if you
(02:37):
were to venture west, you would need to travel more
than two thousand miles of uninterrupted ocean before hitting the
coastline of North America. The Flannan Isles are named after
an Irish priest known as Saint Flannan, who is believed
to have made his home on the islands as far
back as the seventh century. The remains the chapel in
which Saint Flannan is thought to have lived can still
(02:58):
be found on eilean Moore, the groups Its largest island,
translated from Gallic to mean simply big island Islean Moore
rears out of the sea, a vast hulk of gray
black rock, topped by a rugged grassy plateau, its sheer
cliffs measuring well over one hundred feet, with its highest
point reaching almost three hundred feet. Although uninhabited, many crofters
(03:21):
from nearby Lewis would regularly visit the islands in the
summer months to graze their sheep. Others would arrived to
pill for eggs and feathers from the island's bountiful population
of sea birds. Over time, due in no small part
to the association with Saint Flannan, the island developed a
strange mystique all of its own, becoming a place of
inherent sanctity to many of those who visited. To view
(03:44):
the island in its isolation, it is easy to understand
the ore with which it would have filled those early visitors.
There were many who believed, and some still do, that
the Isles were a place of great otherworldly magic, home
to a host of fairies and nature spirits, and not
all of them good, an attitude borne out in the
customs and superstitions of any person daring to set foot
(04:06):
on one of the Seven Hunters. If, when approaching the
islands on an easterly wind, the gust were to suddenly switch,
you wouldn't think twice before turning the boat around and
heading straight back home. For any that arrived successfully, it
was customary to immediately uncover the head before performing a
complete turn clockwise while thanking God for your safety. So
(04:29):
you can imagine the sense of trepidation many would have
felt when it was announced that a lighthouse would be
erected on the especially sacred Eileen More, a sense of
trepidation that was somewhat justified when barely more than a
year after opening, the lighthouse was to become the tragic
scene of one of the UK's most enduring of mysteries.
What exactly happened on the island some time in December
(04:52):
in the year nineteen hundred has never been fully accounted.
For it is quite simply a mystery that remains to
this day unexplained. In seventeen eighty two, a series of
ferocious storms batted the Scottish coast, resulting in the deaths
(05:12):
of many seamen, including those of two herring boats that
were smashed on the rocks of the Kintyre Peninsula on
the West coast. As a result, the Northern Lighthouse Board
was established to oversee the construction of a number of
lighthouses to be stationed on the most treacherous of Scottish coastlands. Although,
as ever initially motivated by trade, the ensuing feat of
(05:33):
engineering was driven by a genuine desire characteristic of the
Scottish Enlightenment, to work not for individual prestige, but for
the greater good of mankind. Leading the team of engineers
was Thomas Smith, the great grandfather of none other than
famed Scottish author Robert Louis Stephenson. Although the family profession
would prove ultimately unfitting for Robert, it was nonetheless his
(05:57):
uncle David who oversaw the construction of the lighthouse on
Island Moor. However, it would be some time before such
a plan would come to fruition. Maybe it was concern
over the exposure of such a location to the harshest
of the Atlantic's uncompromising weather, or perhaps it was a
reluctance to build on such mystical ground. But finally, after
(06:19):
forty years of pleading, the Lighthouse Board agreed to the construction.
The build began in eighteen ninety four and was due
to take two years, but was beset by the tumultuous
weather and even rougher seas characteristic of the area. The
lighthouse was to be built on the south side of
the island, where the rock reaches its highest point, surrounded
(06:41):
on both sides by sheer cliffs, none of which were
less than one hundred fifty feet in height, meaning that
all supplies had to be hauled by hand up the
cliff side. A perilous set of steps were carved into
the rock leading to the building. At the top for support,
there was only a modest iron railing to remind you
of the rocky peril that lay in weight for anyone
(07:02):
foolish enough to deviate from the path. Such was the
steep incline of the steps. A small service railway was installed,
where a cable supported railcar could be used to transport
heavy goods to and from the landing platform. Shortly before
the build was completed, the foreman, Mister D's died suddenly,
an event that in hindsight could be considered a disturbing
(07:25):
portent of what was to come. It certainly wouldn't have
been lost on many of the construction workers, well accustomed
with the superstitions related to the island. Nevertheless, a full
two years after construction was due to complete, on the
first of December eighteen ninety nine, the one hundred forty
thousand candle power lamp, perched atop a majestic white tower
(07:47):
two hundred seventy five feet above sea level, was lit
for the first time as the rotation device kicked into life.
Out of the darkness shone a beam of light, illuminating
the black North Atlantic waters for miles around. Though were
(08:08):
fore keepers required to operate the newly opened lighthouse as
a psychological necessity, there would only be three men on
the island at any given time, while the fourth took
a fortnight's leave. The first man to be stationed on
the island was forty three year old principal keeper and
married father of four, James Duckett, a seasoned lighthouse practitioner
(08:29):
with over twenty years of experience. James hailed from ar
Broth on the east coast of Scotland. He would later
be joined by first assistant keeper William Ross and twenty
eight year old second assistant keeper Thomas Marshall. As the
first Christmas of the New century approached, Ross was forced
off the island due to ill health, with regular light
(08:50):
keeper Joseph Moore not due for a further two weeks.
Ross was replaced by forty year old occasional keeper and
ex soldier Donald MacArthur. Donald, who was also married with children,
hailed from the nearby town of Breiscleet on the Isle
of Lewis. I often wonder how it might have felt
for the men returning to the lighthouse after their regulatory
(09:11):
breaks at that moment, having stepped off the delivery boat,
watching the last contact with civilization disappear from view. Perhaps
there was some relief at returning to the quiet sanctuary
away from the daily hassles of life. Or perhaps it
was more with great sadness that they found themselves again
alone on a distant rock, far away from their wives
(09:31):
and children. With the switch over completed on eleventh of December,
MacArthur promptly banished all thoughts of home and quickly settled
into his role. As the night approached, the men set
about doing what they did best, duly noting the day's
observations in the lighthouse log book. At the end of
the day, with the familiar sounds of a North Atlantic
(09:53):
storm rattling around the island, the men settled in for
the night as a waning moon appeared in the sky above.
Down below the island, moor light shone far and wide,
as it had done for every other night of its
year long life. The first sign of trouble came at
(10:16):
midday on Tuesday, December fifteenth, Roughly one hundred and twenty
miles to the northwest of the Seven Hunters, a cargo
ship named S s Arch Tour was making steady progress
on her route toward the port of Leith in Edinburgh.
The steamship, captained by Thomas John Holman, had left the
American city of Philadelphia on the twenty eighth of November
(10:37):
carrying over four and a half thousand tons of cargo.
Although most of the voyage had been beset by stormy
weather by late afternoon on the fifteenth, the storm had
abated somewhat, leaving fine, clear skies above a few hours later,
and the ship was fast approaching the Flannan Isles. On
deck stood a greatly perturbed Captain Holman. By his estimation,
(11:00):
they should have been no more than five miles from
Eileen Moore, But as he stood under the vast expansive sky,
surrounded by only the darkest of seas, he could not
make out any sign of the lighthouse, or, more precisely,
its light, the beam of which on a night such
as this, would have been visible for over twenty miles.
Assuming a miscalculation on his part, Captain Holman continued to
(11:24):
steer the vessel on its course towards Edinburgh. The following day, however,
the ship appeared clearly to be plotting a correct course.
The captain resolved to uncover the discrepancy of the night before,
but was almost surprised to find nothing wrong with his calculations.
The ship had indeed passed by the lighthouse, so where
then was the light disturbed by the apparent blackout of
(11:48):
the lighthouse, Captain Holman planned to report the matter to
the relevant authorities on arrival to Leith. Unfortunately, that message
never arrived. Two days later, Captain Holman and the SS
arch Tour ran aground on the approach to Leith Port.
Perhaps it was the shock of the event that had
dislodged the Flanninisles from Captain Holman's mind, or perhaps with
(12:10):
his navigation skills now under heavy scrutiny, he was reluctant
to bring up the possible miscalculation from the two nights before.
With no news to the contrary, the lighthouse board would
have no reason to think anything strange had taken place
on Eileen Moore. But with the next rotation of keepers
due a few days later, all that was about to change.
(12:37):
On the twenty sixth of December nineteen hundred, the lighthouse
tender boat, a long steamer named the Hespiras, made its
way towards the largest of the Flannan Isles. The ship
had been due to arrive the previous day, but severe
storms in the area had delayed its departure. On board
was regular keeper Joseph Moore, who was scheduled to start
(12:57):
his latest shift that day, But as Captain James Harvey
brought the ship closer to land, it was clear that
something wasn't right. It was common practice for the keepers
to raise a flag in preparation for the next rotation,
but as Captain Harvey scoured the island, he could see
no sign of the flag. His concern turned to alarm
(13:19):
when several blasts from the ship's horn brought no response
from the three light keepers. The subsequent firing of a
distress rocket again failed to yield any response. Greatly unnerved,
the captain ordered the rowboat into the water and sent
Joseph Moore to investigate. It is difficult to imagine just
(13:40):
what was going through Moore's mind as the small boat
pulled up below those towering cliffs, the gray, murky waters,
seeming unusually calm for the bitterly cold December day, Moore
stepped off the boat and cautiously made his way up
the steep stone steps. As he approached the summit, the
top of the light house came into view. Passing the
(14:02):
ruins of the ancient chapel. He called out to the men,
but again there was no reply, no familiar faces to
greet him. Something was deeply wrong. A short time later,
Moore arrived outside the lighthouse and slowly opened the front door.
What he discovered has formed the basis for one of
(14:22):
the greatest maritime mysteries of modern times. After entering the lighthouse,
he found the inside door also closed, but curiously, the
kitchen door was wide open. The fireplace was cold, indicating
it had not been lit for some days. One of
the chairs appeared to have been pushed away from the table,
perhaps in a hurry. The rest of the room was
(14:45):
spotlessly clean. When he entered the bedrooms, he found them empty,
left as they would have been since the morning. In fact,
everything was in perfect order. The lamp for the light
was clean, the foundation was full, and the blinds on
the windows correctly orientated. The only thing that was missing
(15:05):
was the men. They had simply vanished from the face
of the earth. As if to add a further twist,
Moore also noticed that every clock in the building had stopped.
The thoroughly spooke Moore returned to the row boat and
(15:27):
requested the help of second mate McCormack, who, along with
another seaman, followed Moore back to the lighthouse to renew
the search of the area. Unable to find any clues
as to what had happened, the three men promptly returned
to the boat and made their way back to the Herspiris. Ever,
the professional Captain Harvey's first instinct was to make sure
(15:47):
that the light would be up and running again. That night.
Moore was ordered to return to the island along with
three volunteers, the boy Master Alan MacDonald and two seamen,
Messrs Campbell and Lamont. Having dropped the men off again,
Captain Harvey set off immediately for Braiscleet in Lewis. Later
(16:07):
that day, Harvey sent his now infamous telegram to the
Secretary of the Northern Lighthouse Board in Edinburgh, the immortal
first line, reading, A dreadful accident has happened at Flannet's,
but the mystery had only just begun that first night.
(16:31):
Taking over from the missing lighthouse keepers would not have
been easy for the four volunteers, having no doubt been
upset by the turn of events. It would have taken
some strength to stop their minds from wondering as to
what exactly had taken place. It would have been a
very somber night. Indeed, the following day, Moore and his
companions renewed their search of the island, but found no
(16:53):
clues to help with their investigation. That was until they
came across the western landing point. Approaching the landing, the
men found that a number of iron railings of the
tramway had been ripped from their foundations and mangled out
of shape. A box containing mooring ropes had vanished despite
having been firmly wedged into a crevice and then anchored.
(17:16):
Despite some of the more fanciful thoughts that may have
sprung to mind, the first assumptions of the replacement crew
centered on some kind of freak storm that may have
blown the men from the island. However, when Moore submitted
his report at the events two days later, it contained
one startling detail. All men stationed at Eilean Moor had
(17:37):
a set of wet weather were to cope with the
extreme conditions. In the case of Ducket and Marshal, this
took the form of weather proof boots and oil skin coats. MacArthur, however,
only being an occasional keeper, was not so well equipped
and had only what he called his wearing coat at
his disposal. When Moore searched the lighthouse, he discovered Duckett
(17:58):
and Marshall's gear was missing, but MacArthur's coat was still
on its peg, which could only mean that whatever had happened,
MacArthur had left the lighthouse in his shirt sleeves, a
strange fact if you consider just how severe the weather
must have been to blow the men from the island.
What could possibly have happened that would send MacArthur running
out into a severe storm without his jacket. A few
(18:23):
days later, the Northern Lighthouse Board sent Superintendent Robert Muirhead
to investigate further. Muwhead confirmed More's initial findings and pointed
to a particularly heavy storm front that was believed to
have hit the island during the time of the men's
disappearance as the most likely culprit. A boy that had
been fastened to the railings one hundred and ten feet
(18:44):
up had vanished as well. A large block of stone
weighing upwards of a ton had been clearly dislodged by
something before falling onto the path below. In conclusion, it
was his belief that a freak wave had hit the
island and somehow whisked the men clean from the rock.
The report was published a few weeks later, and the
(19:04):
case was officially closed. There have been many falsehoods surrounding
the Flannenile's mystery, most often to do with reports of
strange recordings apparently found written in the log book shortly
before the men disappeared. They speak of something dark brewing
(19:26):
and the fracturing of the men's mental states. One log
had supposedly noted that all had been calm, suggesting initial
reports of bad weather to have been mistaken in truth.
Thanks to an exhaustive study on the subject by writer
Mike Dash, it appears this part of the story and
some other questionable elements, were in fact fabricated some years
(19:47):
after the event. What is known is that the last
recorded log entry seems to have been made on Tuesday,
the fifteenth of December. Needless to say, in the absence
of a satisfactory explanation for the event, many are only
too keen to fill in the vacuum, with theories ranging
from the workings of malicious spirits to straight out alien abduction. Certainly,
(20:09):
at the time of Muwhead's original report, there weren't many
willing to believe the conclusion that a mere wave could
be responsible. After all, such a thing was widely held
to be nothing but a myth itself, or at least
it was. On the first of January nineteen ninety five
measuring equipment located on the Dropner oil rig in the
North Sea, just off the coast of Norway, recorded what
(20:32):
is now considered the first official evidence of a freak wave,
crashing into the platform at a staggering sixty one feet
at peak height. And yet, in twenty thirteen, author and
historian Keith McCloskey conducted his own research into the incident.
Enlisting the help of Eddie Graham, a meteorologist from the
(20:53):
University of Highlands and Islands in Invernesse, McCluskey reanalyzed the
weather patterns for the flann And Isles around the time
of the fifteenth of December nineteen hundred. What he discovered
was startling. Although the weather appears to have indeed been rough,
it certainly wouldn't have been anything that the three seasoned
light keepers hadn't experienced before. What's more, with windspeed estimated
(21:16):
to have peaked at roughly sixty miles per hour, any
waves generated by such a storm would barely have made
it above thirty feet, a fact all the more incredible
when you consider that McCluskey's own findings and Superintendent Murehead's
earlier report suggests that the men would have been at
well over one hundred feet when they were supposedly taken.
(21:36):
The largest freak wave ever accorded was ninety five feet high,
so if it was a freak wave, it would have
to have been the largest wave ever known. And what
of the strange case of MacArthur's jacket. A senior keeper
of the Northern Lighthouse Board, Alistair Henderson, is insistent that
under any normal circumstances, the lighthouse would never have been
(21:58):
left unattended. It is a fairly standard rule followed by
all lighthouse keepers, let alone one so experienced as Duckett,
Marshall and MacArthur. Perhaps more disturbingly, referring to the Muwhead report,
it is Henderson's belief that the true events were in
fact covered up. After all, Murehead's was the only official
(22:18):
report to emerge from the incident. There was no fatal
accident report that would have been standard for such an event.
Even more alarmingly, key documentation that contained evidence of everything
that happened on the island disappeared mysteriously after Muhead left
the island. If MacArthur never left the lighthouse, where exactly
(22:39):
did he go, or if he did indeed leave the building.
What possible reason could he have had for breaking such
a fundamental convention. Might ultimately MacArthur hold the key to
the mystery. In an age well before social media and smartphones,
(23:00):
working on the rock in the year nineteen hundred would
have meant a complete and utter cutoff from all communication
with the world, a state of affairs comparable to astronauts
traveling through the isolation of space, who even then are
able to communicate with others on the ground to alleviate
the psychological confinement. Furthermore, it is a condition that astronauts
(23:21):
today will spend months preparing for under constant psychological analysis,
as scientists seek to determine their capability to endure such
a situation. Is it possible that MacArthur, who it is reported,
had worked almost consistently without a break for two and
a half months leading up to December the fifteenth, had
simply snapped, having been cooped up on what must have
(23:46):
at times felt like the very edge of the world,
miles from civilisation, with gale force winds battering the coast
all around. The circumstances were certainly ripe. Perhaps with the
other two men having left the building to undertake some
routine operations. MacArthur had simply lost his mind and wandered
coatless into the storm, bludgeoning his companions to death before
(24:08):
throwing himself into the waters below. It wouldn't be the
first time that such conditions had driven somebody to madness.
On Thursday, eighteenth of August nineteen sixty, eighteen year old
David Colin and his father had decided to take a
day trip to visit Ross Island, off the southwest coast
of Scotland. On the island stood a lighthouse that had
(24:32):
been built in eighteen forty three by Alan Stephenson, another
uncle of Robert Louis Stephenson. David and his father set
off from the local sailing club and arrived at the
island shortly before lunch. As a courtesy, David thought it
right that they should inform the lighthouse keepers that they
were there. After knocking on the door, David received no response,
(24:54):
except from a rather over enthusiastic dog that he assumed
must have belonged to one of the keepers. Unperturbed, David
and his father returned to their walk, but as the
day wore on, the keepers had still not returned. The
only sign of life being the ominous ringing of an
unanswered telephone coming from inside the lighthouse. Eventually, David's father
(25:17):
plucked up the courage to enter the building. Inside, he
found lighthouse keeper Hugh Clark dead, with fellow keeper Robert
Dixon nowhere to be seen. After an extensive manhunt, the
twenty four year old Dixon was eventually apprehended and brought
to trial for the murder of Hugh Clark. The trial
(25:37):
was no less dramatic, as David himself recounts. As Lord
Cameron donned the hideous black cap and prepared to pronounce
a sentence of death by hanging, the court room grew
darker and darker until coinciding with the judge's awful words,
the court room was shaken by an enormous flash of
lightning and a colossal peal of thunder. Dixon's execution was
(26:01):
set for the twenty first of December nineteen sixty. However,
five days prior to the fateful day, Dixon was reprieved
on account of what was judged to be his unstable
mental condition at the time of the crime. Robert Dixon's
apparent moment of psychopathy was thought to have been stimulated
in no small part by the stress of working in
(26:21):
such close proximity with others in a state of such
intense isolation. Was it a similar fate that befell the
island more keepers? Or was it something even more sinister
at play? In nineteen o four, four years after the
(26:43):
disappearance of the men, newly installed lighthouse keeper John McLachlan
was cleaning the glass casing of the light when he
slipped and fell to his death. Counting the foreman who
died shortly before the lighthouse opened, five people had died
on the island in less than five years since the
lighthouse was constructed. No other lighthouse in the UK has
(27:03):
been beset by such tragedy. Was the island simply cursed
by what locals sometimes refer to as the phantom of
the hunters taking its revenge for the careless invasion of
its unearthly realm. In the memoirs written by relief keeper
Joseph Moore many years later, it is clear that the
event had affected him profoundly. Thinking back on that chilly
(27:27):
December day in nineteen hundred that he first came upon
the empty lighthouse, he writes of a mysterious event from
the night before. That night, he hadn't been sleeping well,
and for some reason had been drawn to the window
looking out. He thought that he saw the boat house
on fire, but when he investigated further, he found it
to be just a figment of his imagination. He knew
(27:50):
instantly that it was a portent for something awful, detailing
again the event, which he described as very strange. Indeed,
he believed as all to be cast in some way.
In truth, we will never know exactly what happened on
that cold December day in nineteen hundred. On September twenty eighth,
(28:11):
nineteen seventy one, the eileen More Lighthouse became fully automated
and continues to guide ships through the dark North Atlantic nights.
Perhaps what appeals most about this story is the sheer
improbability of the most rational explanation. But might there be
something else, something that strikes at the very heart of
(28:32):
all of us? For aren't we all, in a way
keepers of the light, isolated on a rock forever on
the verge of being swept from existence by a giant
mythical wave. And for what it's worth, my own view
as intriguing the notion is that the men were the
unfortunate victims of some other worldly event. I believe what
(28:53):
occurred was a little more prosaic, but no less extraordinary.
For is there anything more incredible than the notion that MacArthur,
having watched his colleagues become endangered by some unfathomable storm,
had rushed from the safety of the lighthouse to help them,
and in so doing had lost his own life in
the process. That ultimately it was in trying to protect
(29:15):
the lives of each other and the many others passing
by on the stormy seas that these ordinary folk, doing
a job that was far from ordinary, lost their lives.
When I think about this story, i'm reminded of Cormack
(29:35):
McCarthy's incredible post apocalyptic novel The Road, And forgive me
for those who haven't read it, as this will contain
a spoiler. The Road details a terminal, obleaqu journey of
survival as one man and his son try to reach
the south coast of America in the aftermath of a
catastrophic event. As they grow increasingly weak and the journey
(29:56):
becomes more and more dangerous, the father fights desperately to
g keep his son from harm. He tells him they
must survive because they are the good guys who are
carrying the fire. The phrase seems glib, but it's enough
to keep the boy going, even though he doesn't quite
get it, and nor do we really, that is until
(30:16):
the novel's fateful end, when both we and the boy
finally understand the fire was him.
Speaker 2 (30:28):
Those three men dwell on flattered isle. It's a kihi
the lamp lie as westd under the lee. We can't
no glimmer through the night. A passing ship at dawn
(30:55):
had bra the news, and we said, saying, to find
out what strange thing? Why all the keepers of the
deep sea life? The winter day broke blue.
Speaker 1 (31:22):
And fry.
Speaker 2 (31:25):
With a glancing sun and a glancing spray. As for
the swell above made way as gallant has a goal
in flight, But as we need the lonely I looked
(31:50):
up at the naked high saw the lighthouse towering, why
with blind de lanter that all night had never share
a spar of comfort through the.
Speaker 1 (32:11):
Doll Unexplained is an Avy Club Productions podcast created by
(32:39):
Richard McClain Smith. All other elements of the podcast, including
the music, were also produced by me Richard McClean smith Unexplained.
The book and audiobook is now available to buy worldwide.
You can purchase from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Waterstones, and
other bookstores. Please subscribe to and rate the show wherever
(33:01):
you get your podcasts, and feel free to get in
touch with any thoughts or ideas regarding the stories you've
heard on the show. Perhaps you have an explanation of
your own you'd like to share. You can find out
more at Unexplained podcast dot com and reach us online
through Twitter at Unexplained Pod and Facebook at Facebook dot com,
(33:21):
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