Stargazing

When he was nineteen Peter Hill was interviewed for the job of Relief Lighthouse Keeper by The Commissioners of the Northern Lights in Edinburgh. His hair hung well below his shoulders, he had a great set of Captain Beefheart records and he walked about with a permanent grin on his face as he had recently, finally, lost his virginity. He rolled his own cigarettes, was a member of Amnesty International and had just read Jack Kerouac’s Desolation Angels. The perfect person for the job.

It was 1973 and he spent that year on three lighthouses off the west coast of Scotland. From these rocky outcrops and uninhabited islands he came of age listening to the tales of the older keepers. One had worked on a submarine, and had also witnessed the fire-bombing of Dresden; another had been a gold prospector in Western Australia; while a third was a gourmet chef.

They took turns at keeping watch throughout the night in the light chamber, and by day (when not laying lobster creels) kept in touch with the outside world through television. Vietnam burned, the Watergate hearings were beamed in live by satellite from Washington, and Peter played Jimmy Hendrix on his bigger-than-a-phonebook cassette player.