It was a late December day in the Scillies on the headland of St Agnes. The wind cut to the bone and was cold and sharp against my face. Low clouds scudded by as I stood looking westward, out over the grey sea. It was time to get warm. Retreating to the cottage fireside, I pulled down a book from the shelves, by Richard Larn. Idly leafing through, I fell on a photograph taken in the 1880s of the pilot cutter lying derelict on a beach in St Martin’s. It was a fine photograph, a beautiful
