The greasy cobbles make life difficult, and the man spends several seconds ensuring the feet of the ladders have adequate purchase before stepping up. It is not unknown for back-alley scamps to try to knock the ladders out from underneath him but this evening the streets are quiet, the rain from earlier already starting to freeze on the slates.
The well-oiled lamp casing swings open easily, and the hiss of gas seems loud in the silence. The man reaches his pole towards the jet and covers his nose with a handkerchief. It is quite the bouquet – coal gas, tannery piss, and the Thames. A greenish light flares across the cobbles and the blank, grimy windows. It is as though the street is recoiling from the sudden intrusion.
The lamplighter steps off his ladders and places one hand in the small of his aching back. He is looking forward to his supper and his bed, before dousing time in the early hours of tomorrow. There is still no sign of life from the surrounding houses, but the man knows he is being watched. No-one thanks him for bringing light to this rookery, but before long its residents will stagger tousled-haired into its glow.
Before gas lamps, the centres of these communities were legion, marked by guttering crusie lamps and sputtering, animal fat candles. People thought dark thoughts in their dark houses or scuttled along in the shadowed gutters if they dared to go abroad after nightfall.
Not now. This modern age is set to the sound of hissing gas. Its residents’ pupils eyes are the pinpricked shape of civilisation rather than the wide, black void of savagery. In another hour this street corner will be thronged with life, and yes, with civilisation of a kind. The whores and the pimps, the cutpurses and the thieves, the gin-soaked, the ragged and the desperate, the hack-coughed and the lice ridden will bask underneath the lamp – dusky, dusty moths frolicking in the light.
The lamplighter is a God-fearing man, but it is not his place to judge. Whatever one’s employment, it helps to see what one is doing.
*Thanks for reading, folks. Image courtesy of Andy D’Agorne. My recent short stories include ‘Digging‘ and ‘After‘.
Matthew Richardson is a writer of short stories. His work has featured in Gold Dust magazine, Literally Stories, Close to the Bone, McStorytellers, Penny Shorts, Soft Cartel, Whatever Keeps the Lights On, Flashback Fiction, Cafelit, Best MicroFiction 2021, Writer’s Egg, Idle Ink, The Wild Word, and Shooter magazine. He is a doctoral student at the University of Dundee, a lucky husband, and a proud father. He blogs at www.matthewjrichardson.com and tweets at https://twitter.com/mjrichardso0.
Matthew Richardson 
Not so beautiful a job but very useful and selfless: for others. 👏🏽
This story reminds me of the lamplighter in The Little Prince. Different yes, but heartwarming in that of all the characters in that novel only the lamplighter did a service for others.
Lovely story, Matthew. I truly enjoyed it. I love the detail of your lamplighter with the ladder. That moved me. Thanks.
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Thanks Selma. I always think there’s a certain romanticism about the job – a real sense of altruism about it!
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There is. You know it and I know it 👏🏽 Your words: lovely. Thank you. Xoxo
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Another great write My Friend. I can just about remember gaslit street lamps, the lamplighter as well as the cobbled streets. Thanks for rekindling the memory.
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Cheers Goff. They always strike me as so conducive to storytelling!
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Ah, the memories!
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terrific read, Matthew, you’re recreated the physicality of the place superbly; a gritty ode to the lamplighter; long ago it was one of my favorite songs: ‘The Old Lamplighter’ by The Browns: it may be on YouTube —
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Thanks John. Just had a listen to this – it is indeed on YouTube!
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thanks; will have a listen myself 🙂
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Excellent, Matthew. This is my kind of story: uplifting, but realistic.
Edit suggestion: paragraph two you said “It is quiet the bouquet.” Do you mean “quite?” Perhaps this a difference with American 🇺🇸 English.
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Thanks David and good spot – that one slipped by me!
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I can smell the gas in the street, I am sure I would enjoy lighting up time on a winter’s evening.
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It’s a role that has a bit of romanticism attached to it, isn’t it!?
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A little gem, Matthew. “People thought dark thoughts in their dark houses or scuttled along…” You’ve made the scene at once particular and sweeping. I read it three times.
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Thanks Annie. Was at a bit of a loss as to what to write this week, so I raided the past for some atmosphere!
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We in the present are grateful!
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Love the atmosphere you’ve created with the lamplighter—his task feels simple yet profoundly meaningful in a world teetering between darkness and light. Great storytelling!
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Thanks Susan. I thought it was a very thought-provoking image!
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