Journal

At the Southern end of the Bay, a large rust pocked pipe, emerged from the cliff face and described an uncertain line down the inclined beach towards the sea, sagging where subsidence had shifted and weakened the concrete piles that once supported it. The heavy grill which once screened its open mouth, had long since…

When storms filled the bay, and the winds worried at the fabric of the old boat house, so much so, that it seemed it might rip and fly away, that very instant, and the sea driven hard on shore, seethed and picked, spume tipped, at the flaking supports of the pig iron pier; he would…

His name was: MAX HELTER He had legs of tin (well greased against the brine.) and lived in a derelict Boat House, at the northern end of a small isolated Bay. The Boat House had once served as a Life Boat Station.