Any Given Sunday
by Peggy Hernon
Sunday is one of my regular working days at Inis Mor airport which, like Aer Arann Islands, is open seven days a week, 362 days a year. Opening up on this cold, clear Sunday morning, I headed first for the heating switch while a crewman lit a fire in the fireplace. The voice of a private pilot in a Cessna came over the radio announcing his intention to do “Touch & Go” landings on all three Aran Islands. He was promptly answered by Charlie Gulf (EI-BCG), the Irish Coast Guard helicopter operating in the Bay, and Charlie Echo (EI-BCE), the Aer Arann Islands aircraft about to depart Inverin for Inis Oirr. A pause and the private pilot said he would land at Inis Mor if it was attended. “Yes”, said our crewman who had been listening out, “it’s Inis Mor”. While I checked bathroom supplies and straightened waiting room chairs, information was exchanged on the radio about positions, altitudes, and ETAs. Like the private pilot, I thought it would be quiet here when I first signed up for Sunday duty, but soon found out otherwise.
The Aer Arann Islands 10.00am flight from Inverin brought in two hikers who claimed their packs and walking sticks from the luggage trolley, and an island-born man who lives in Galway but travels out regularly to Arain to visit his mother. Today he’s brought his two youngest children to visit Gran. They took a boxed kitchen lighting fixture from the trolley and headed for the airport bus. Left on the trolley were two birthday bouquets wrapped in cellophane and marked “for collection” that will await pick-up in the shelter of the garage.
Inside I got a coffee and called Inverin to check the schedule. Calls are exchanged throughout the day, everyday, as frequent flights can mean frequent changes. I was adding passenger names to my list for a second flight at 4.15pm when the island electrician swung in the door wearing the bright orange gear of the Irish Lights, the service that keeps the lighthouses of Ireland blinking steadily. I waved my biro and he headed to the back for a word with our crew while he waited to be picked up. Routine maintenance is unusual on Sunday; one of our two lighthouses must have developed a hiccup. India Tango (EI-LIT), the Irish Lights helicopter, called in and in a few minutes departed again with the electrician for the Straw Island Light.
“Is that Mr. Conroy?” asked the young lad who was waiting for me at the airport door as Whiskey (EI-CUW) taxied out for departure on a Sunday morning a few years back. Mr. Conroy is Captain Peadar Conroy, whom we saw regularly on Sundays, but seldom on weekdays as he taught Math and Physics on the mainland. In pilot’s uniform Peadar still has the manner of everyone’s favourite teacher - the one who helped you see a connection between disparate things, find the key or apply the rule, come up with the right answer, and maybe even earn the elusive “A”. I told the young lad that the pilot of the departing aircraft wasn’t Mr. Conroy, but he was flying that day and I expected another flight in shortly. I asked if he was one of Mr. Conroy’s students and he nodded “Maths”. I said we’d hear soon on the radio if Mr. Conroy was the pilot of the next arriving aircraft, and he was welcome to wait at the airport to listen. He beamed, turned and gave an ear-splitting whistle that brought the rest of the class at a gallop from where they had been waiting on the rise just above the airport. When the next aircraft called in, two dozen heads turned to the sound of Peadar Conroy’s voice on the radio stating he was inbound to Inis Mor . A chorus of “Coo-el” went up, accompanied by some high-five hand slaps in the air. I told them Mr. Conroy would be landing in about five minutes; I could tell him the class was here, and they could say hello to him. “No Ma’am, thanks, Ma’am, don’t tell him, Ma’am. He’d wonder what we’re doing here when we have a test first thing in the morning”. “That’s coo-el with me” I said, giving “cool” a tryout as a two-syllable word. They spotted the approaching aircraft and waited to hear Peadar call finals. Then they hared out the gate and were back in place on the rise to watch Mr. Conroy land EI-AYN and depart again.
The 12.45pm flight bound for Inis Meain stopped briefly at Inis Mor to drop off a Garda returning to duty and pick up our parish priest who was transferring to Inis Meain to celebrate Mass.
Next departing was a group of 36, made up of 22 eight-year old football players from the midlands and 14 dads and coaches who had travelled here yesterday for a match with Inis Mor’s eight-year olds. At check-in, all 22 kids asked to sit in seat one next to the pilot. On four outbound flights only four passengers can be assigned to that coveted seat. I’m still grateful to whatever angel inspired me to choose the smallest child on each flight for seat one and buttress him with two Dads seated right behind in row 2. The smallest ones were delighted with getting the plum, and I could tell the other 18 hopefuls, “You are too big for that seat, Declan (Charlie, Sean, Matt, et al.)”. “Too big” isn’t all that bad when you’re used to hearing “Too small” When the last aircraft taxied out, I called Inverin to tell them EI-BCE was headed in full of Smarties – not future doctoral candidates, a full box of the little sweets had been spilled during seating.
The electrician was dropped off by the Irish Lights, the birthday flowers were picked up, the Coast Guard helicopter announced it was leaving the area and our radio frequency, and the private pilot stated he was departing in the Cessna on runway 14 for Weston.
The Sunday afternoon exodus from Inis Mor began on full flights that began at 2.45pm and were a mix of visitors and island residents. Amid foursomes and threesomes, two island students returning to university in Cork left in good time to connect to the Aer Arann flight to Cork that would depart later in the day from Galway airport. A solicitor who has a summer house on Arain departed with his family at 3.15pm and left his house key with me for the plumber coming in on the first flight in the morning. A woman passenger reclaimed her purse that she left on the bus and promptly left it again on the table by the window. I put the purse on the first aircraft departing at 4.15pm and dodged a pair of walking sticks when I seated the hikers. I wished good luck to a neighbour taking her driver’s test tomorrow, said goodbye to a young couple from Newry, and “see ya soon” to the Galway man and his children.
The group of German visitors waiting for the second aircraft were outside talking and smoking when I heard Peadar Conroy call in on the radio. These days Peadar is Chief Pilot at Aer Arann Islands in Conamara, and Administration Director of Aer Arann in Dublin, commuting regularly between the two coasts. We still see him often on Sundays, and at the ground operations course he runs for island crews. I went outside and joined our crew for the customary look-about to check that everything was in order and tidy. We do this a few times throughout the day, everyday, but always in advance of Peadar’s arrival. Peadar isn’t hard on the nerves; there are just some teachers that you never like to disappoint.
Sunday is one of my regular working days at Inis Mor airport which, like Aer Arann Islands, is open seven days a week, 362 days a year. Opening up on this cold, clear Sunday morning, I headed first for the heating switch while a crewman lit a fire in the fireplace. The voice of a private pilot in a Cessna came over the radio announcing his intention to do “Touch & Go” landings on all three Aran Islands. He was promptly answered by Charlie Gulf (EI-BCG), the Irish Coast Guard helicopter operating in the Bay, and Charlie Echo (EI-BCE), the Aer Arann Islands aircraft about to depart Inverin for Inis Oirr. A pause and the private pilot said he would land at Inis Mor if it was attended. “Yes”, said our crewman who had been listening out, “it’s Inis Mor”. While I checked bathroom supplies and straightened waiting room chairs, information was exchanged on the radio about positions, altitudes, and ETAs. Like the private pilot, I thought it would be quiet here when I first signed up for Sunday duty, but soon found out otherwise.
The Aer Arann Islands 10.00am flight from Inverin brought in two hikers who claimed their packs and walking sticks from the luggage trolley, and an island-born man who lives in Galway but travels out regularly to Arain to visit his mother. Today he’s brought his two youngest children to visit Gran. They took a boxed kitchen lighting fixture from the trolley and headed for the airport bus. Left on the trolley were two birthday bouquets wrapped in cellophane and marked “for collection” that will await pick-up in the shelter of the garage.
Inside I got a coffee and called Inverin to check the schedule. Calls are exchanged throughout the day, everyday, as frequent flights can mean frequent changes. I was adding passenger names to my list for a second flight at 4.15pm when the island electrician swung in the door wearing the bright orange gear of the Irish Lights, the service that keeps the lighthouses of Ireland blinking steadily. I waved my biro and he headed to the back for a word with our crew while he waited to be picked up. Routine maintenance is unusual on Sunday; one of our two lighthouses must have developed a hiccup. India Tango (EI-LIT), the Irish Lights helicopter, called in and in a few minutes departed again with the electrician for the Straw Island Light.
“Is that Mr. Conroy?” asked the young lad who was waiting for me at the airport door as Whiskey (EI-CUW) taxied out for departure on a Sunday morning a few years back. Mr. Conroy is Captain Peadar Conroy, whom we saw regularly on Sundays, but seldom on weekdays as he taught Math and Physics on the mainland. In pilot’s uniform Peadar still has the manner of everyone’s favourite teacher - the one who helped you see a connection between disparate things, find the key or apply the rule, come up with the right answer, and maybe even earn the elusive “A”. I told the young lad that the pilot of the departing aircraft wasn’t Mr. Conroy, but he was flying that day and I expected another flight in shortly. I asked if he was one of Mr. Conroy’s students and he nodded “Maths”. I said we’d hear soon on the radio if Mr. Conroy was the pilot of the next arriving aircraft, and he was welcome to wait at the airport to listen. He beamed, turned and gave an ear-splitting whistle that brought the rest of the class at a gallop from where they had been waiting on the rise just above the airport. When the next aircraft called in, two dozen heads turned to the sound of Peadar Conroy’s voice on the radio stating he was inbound to Inis Mor . A chorus of “Coo-el” went up, accompanied by some high-five hand slaps in the air. I told them Mr. Conroy would be landing in about five minutes; I could tell him the class was here, and they could say hello to him. “No Ma’am, thanks, Ma’am, don’t tell him, Ma’am. He’d wonder what we’re doing here when we have a test first thing in the morning”. “That’s coo-el with me” I said, giving “cool” a tryout as a two-syllable word. They spotted the approaching aircraft and waited to hear Peadar call finals. Then they hared out the gate and were back in place on the rise to watch Mr. Conroy land EI-AYN and depart again.
The 12.45pm flight bound for Inis Meain stopped briefly at Inis Mor to drop off a Garda returning to duty and pick up our parish priest who was transferring to Inis Meain to celebrate Mass.
Next departing was a group of 36, made up of 22 eight-year old football players from the midlands and 14 dads and coaches who had travelled here yesterday for a match with Inis Mor’s eight-year olds. At check-in, all 22 kids asked to sit in seat one next to the pilot. On four outbound flights only four passengers can be assigned to that coveted seat. I’m still grateful to whatever angel inspired me to choose the smallest child on each flight for seat one and buttress him with two Dads seated right behind in row 2. The smallest ones were delighted with getting the plum, and I could tell the other 18 hopefuls, “You are too big for that seat, Declan (Charlie, Sean, Matt, et al.)”. “Too big” isn’t all that bad when you’re used to hearing “Too small” When the last aircraft taxied out, I called Inverin to tell them EI-BCE was headed in full of Smarties – not future doctoral candidates, a full box of the little sweets had been spilled during seating.
The electrician was dropped off by the Irish Lights, the birthday flowers were picked up, the Coast Guard helicopter announced it was leaving the area and our radio frequency, and the private pilot stated he was departing in the Cessna on runway 14 for Weston.
The Sunday afternoon exodus from Inis Mor began on full flights that began at 2.45pm and were a mix of visitors and island residents. Amid foursomes and threesomes, two island students returning to university in Cork left in good time to connect to the Aer Arann flight to Cork that would depart later in the day from Galway airport. A solicitor who has a summer house on Arain departed with his family at 3.15pm and left his house key with me for the plumber coming in on the first flight in the morning. A woman passenger reclaimed her purse that she left on the bus and promptly left it again on the table by the window. I put the purse on the first aircraft departing at 4.15pm and dodged a pair of walking sticks when I seated the hikers. I wished good luck to a neighbour taking her driver’s test tomorrow, said goodbye to a young couple from Newry, and “see ya soon” to the Galway man and his children.
The group of German visitors waiting for the second aircraft were outside talking and smoking when I heard Peadar Conroy call in on the radio. These days Peadar is Chief Pilot at Aer Arann Islands in Conamara, and Administration Director of Aer Arann in Dublin, commuting regularly between the two coasts. We still see him often on Sundays, and at the ground operations course he runs for island crews. I went outside and joined our crew for the customary look-about to check that everything was in order and tidy. We do this a few times throughout the day, everyday, but always in advance of Peadar’s arrival. Peadar isn’t hard on the nerves; there are just some teachers that you never like to disappoint.
