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The Keeper's Light

Once there was a tall lighthouse. Which was very high and very bright. And the light that shone from the top was so good at its job that one day it was promoted. So a new light came to take its place.

The keeper who looked after the lighthouse was old and very kind, so when, on the first morning, he found the new little light sitting in the stairwell, shining out of the lowest window instead of the big glass room at the top, he patiently sat down to hear why.

"Hello," he said casually. "You're supposed to be up in the glass room aren't you."

"Um," said the little light. "Yes, but I noticed that it was very foggy down here - it's quite clear up there, you see - so I thought I ought to come down and shine out through this window, through the fog."

"Uh huh. Why's that then?" the old keeper asked.

"Because the ships will be on this level and they will need to see me shining through the fog - not over it." The little light beamed a bit brighter, proud of its spontaneous logic.

"I see," said the keeper, drawing gently on his pipe. "Thing is, it don't quite work that way. You see, if you're not high enough, them ships can't see you."

"R-really?" the little light said in a slightly squeaky voice.

"Oh yes," the keeper went on. "It's 'cause of the way the world works," he explained. "There's a curve on the surface of the sea. So you need to shine from a high place. Otherwise they can't see you."

The little light thought for a moment, then said: "But if they were close, the ships I mean, this curve wouldn't matter then would it?"

"No," the keeper admitted. "The curve only effects those a long ways off."

"So," the light said, brightening. "Then I really should be down here, so the ones nearby can see me through the fog."

"Er, no."

"No?" The disappointment in its voice was tangible.

"No. It's because, you see, when you're up there above the fog, there's less fog for the ships to have to look through, to see you. Down here, it's fog all the way between you and ships. That might be too much for your light to get through."

"But... but. Um..." A touch of panic could be heard in the little light's voice. "What if the fog was to get so thick that it covered up the glass house?"

The keeper tutted. "Oh, it don't never get that high. No, no. This old tower is much too tall for that."

The little light shook slightly. "Yes," it said in a quiet voice. "It is tall, isn't it?" A couple of the light's beams shot momentarily upwards, in what could be described as a glance.

"Oh yes, this old boy's pretty high." The keeper paused a moment, before adding. "It wouldn't be… the height that's a bothering you, would it?"

"What? No!" the little light laughed nervously. "No, of course not."

"No," the keeper repeated. "’Course not." He puffed gently on his pipe, waiting. For a while the two sat in silence.

"It's just..." the little light murmured.

"Yes?"

"Well, um, you see..." The little light looked down, which made the stairwell dim dramatically. "When I'm up there, I can see such a long way that I feel really nervous - well, a bit that is - about how much there is."

"How much what?"

"Everything!" the little light said dramatically. "It just goes on and on. For... forever. And I just don't feel I should... " It stopped, its glow flickering uncertainly.

"What?" the old man pressed gently.

The little light dimmed a bit more, and said in a quiet voice. "I don't feel it should be me... shining like that."

The man shifted a bit closer, bending his head down. "Like what?" he whispered.

The light flicked a couple of beams hesitantly into his face. "Like ev...everywhere," it muttered.

"I see," said the keeper. "So you think it’s better to stay down here in the fog? Where you're a bit hidden like?"

The light beams bobbed up and down in a nod.

"Now, let me tell you a thing I bet you don't know. That old boy who left before you came. He felt like that once."

"He did?!"

"Oh yes. So I says to him, I did. 'Now, you're a light, right?' 'Yes,' he says. 'So what you does is shine, right?' 'Yes,' he says. 'You can't change that,' I say. 'No,' he agrees. 'Now,' I goes on. 'Them ships out there, they sees your light, right?' 'Yeess,' he says. 'And they use them own eyes to do it, right?' 'Hmm,' he goes, not quite sure where I'm going. 'So,' I tell him. 'There ain't nothing you can do about what their eyes is seeing. Ain't nothing you should do, neither. You just do your shining.'

"'But,' he says. Always had a but, that old boy did. 'But, I feel scared when I'm up there. It's so high, so clear,' he tells me. 'Tell you what,' I say to him. 'You see them old stars up there. Now they're really high. Real bright too. Now, if you was to keep you attention on them, you know, you wouldn't feel like you were so high yourself. And another thing,' I goes on. 'Them old stars don't worry what's made of them by the folks down here. Whether a ship sets its course by them - or even when some folks set their whole lives by them. They just shine away. So, if you just sit up there, as you should, and keep your mind on the stars, you'll find you won't going getting all het up about what you're doing yourself.'"

The old keeper chuckled to himself, remembering. “Oh yes, that fixed that old boy. He was all right after that.” The keeper slowly eased himself to his feet. "Now, you have a think about what I've said," he told the little light. "While I get myself up these stairs and give them windows up a good clean. See, I've got my job too, you know."

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