Whitsand Bay

Prologue

A freak storm occurred in the year 1947. The Second World War had
ended, and the little cove of Whitsand Bay was just recovering from the
terrifying bomb raids, which had been continuous for the last six
years. The wind whipped at the feeble fence posts and sent them hurling
over the edge into the dark, swirling abyss of the sea. The seagulls
which hung on for dear life, died protecting their nests. And the
waves. They hurled, and crashed and threw themselves onto the sand.
Thrashing and lashing at the cliffs, the storm blew even more
ferociously as the night wore on. The cove had plunged into darkness a
long while ago, and now all that could be heard was the creaking of
broken windows and doors, soft rumbles as rocks slid down the cliffs,
and the waves as they rose up and crashed onto the shoreline.
As sudden as it came, it went like that. The wind died down, the waves
stopped launching itself onto the beach and instead tickled the sand,
washing over it softly. No one saw the metal object roll onto the sand,
no one heard the cries, and no one saw the shadow creep out of it and
head for the mainland.

Chapter 1

Dipping her feet slightly in the water, she sighed and stared out to
sea. A soft breeze blew her hair off her forehead and she closed her
eyes, letting the mellow sunlight filter through her eyelids. The wind
picked up a bit and she wrapped her anorak around her for more warmth.
The sound of the sea snaked into her ears, and sitting there, her legs
dangling over the sturdy boulder, was her haven. Her sanctuary from the
troubles at home.
Just half an hour ago, she had walked into the kitchen to witness a
horrible row between her parents. They were screaming, and fighting,
their faces going red and gesturing madly with their hands. She grabbed
her anorak and boots and stormed out of the cottage.
As she sat there, being the only person on the beach, she stood up and
started twirling around, dancing in the sand. Spreading out her hands,
she twirled even faster, her hair soaring out behind her.
"Nice dancin' there," came a voice.
She spun around. In front of her was a tall, old man. He wore a long
black angler's coat, large dark boots, and his hair, which was a soft
grey, was brushed back. Her heartbeat quickened, her breath came in
short gasps and she stared feverishly around her.
"Don't worry, I'm not 'ere to cause harm," he laughed, raising up his
hands in protest. "I just enjoy the quiet on the beach. You know,
sitting 'ere, listenin' to the waves."
She swallowed the lump in her throat.
"You don't 'ave to say anything, I understand," he said, settling
himself down on the sand, his elbows resting on his knees.
"I'm sorry," she said, remembering her manners. "You scared me, was
all."
She sat down next to the man, placed her elbows on her knees and
stared out to sea.
"So why are you down 'ere?" he asked.
The little girl looked down at the sand between her legs. "My Mam and
Daddy had a fight, and I didn't wanna stay at home."
The old man looked at her. There she was, sitting there with ripped
leggings on, a man's anorak and muddy Wellington boots. Her russet
coloured hair was blown back from her face and her eyes were a
startling green.
"So, what's your name, young lady?" he asked, and when she looked at
him he gave her a warm smile.
"I'm Annie. Annie Turner."
"I'm Edward Tregareth. Nice to meet you, Annie."
She smiled and stared back out to sea. Then she frowned, and turned to
him again.
"I know Whitsand Bay isn't a very big place, and most people know
everybody who practically lives here, but I've never heard of you.
Why's that?"
"I wasn't born 'ere. I have no family 'ere. That's why."
"That's so sad. It's only me Mam and me Daddy here. All my
Grandparents have died and I have no sisters or brothers. That's why I
come down here, because it's so lonely at home, I feel as though the
beach and the sea are my real friends."
"Well it was nice to meet you, Annie. I hope I shall meet you again."
He stood up, and with that, was gone. Annie scanned her eyes over the
beach, searching for Edward, but he was nowhere to be seen.
Running back up the well-worn path, which led down to the beach, she
made her way back to the cottage, pausing every now and again to stop
for her breath.
Bursting through the kitchen door, she tripped on an old fishing
bucket, which stood in the hallway, adding to the decor.
"Why are you in such a hurry?" came a voice form above.
Annie looked up to see the kind face of her father looking down on
her, his eyebrows furrowed in laughable curiosity.
"I was&;#8230; I was&;#8230; just&;#8230;.down," she tried to
say, gasping.
"Spit it out girl."
"I was on the beach, and this man came up to me, and-"
"Now what have I told you about strangers," he warned.
"He started talking to me, saying how he had no family and he lived
here, and he told me his name, only I've never heard of him before and
I was wondering who he is," she said, ignoring her fathers scold.
"Well? What's his name?"
"Oh, Edward Tregareth."
Her fathers face changed. It went from interested to cold. His eyes
narrowed, his mouth twitched, as though he were about to say something,
and his began wringing his hands.
"Whatever you do, do not go looking for him. He may seem nice and
charming, but he's not. Stay away from him."
Annie frowned, but decided not to argue. If Mr Tregareth had done
something, she wanted to find out what it was and why. No matter
what.

*

She sat there, twiddling her thumbs, peering over her shoulder for any
sign of Mr Tregareth. It was a cool day, the sea was a little choppy
and the horizon was hazy. Clouds fluttered past overhead and the slight
breeze swirled and twirled around the cliffs.
Annie sighed. It was yet another day, and nothing had happened. No
matter what she said, her father wouldn't give her an excuse or any
information involving the Edward Tregareth case.
She waited there for two hours, her hands and feet turned numb, her
eyes drooped, and she yawned. Eventually, she left the beach.
As she headed back up to the road at the top of the cliff, she didn't
see the tall stranger in a long black anglers coat step out from behind
a rock. But he saw her. He stood by the great iron cylinder, staring
out to sea.
"God, help me," he muttered.

She wondered into her classroom on Monday morning, the great sheets of
rain battering against the windows. Her mind jumped from different
scenarios, how could she find out about Edward? What was his secret and
why would her father not talk about him?
As Annie slid into her hard backed chair, she smiled at her best
friend, Joey. Outside, the sky turned a vicious black; the huge rain
clouds cluttered up the sky and soaked up the rays of sunshine. A
forceful wind blew the trees and sent pedestrians clinging onto
lampposts and garden fences for dear life.
Throughout the morning, Annie tried to keep her head focused on her
work, but her thoughts kept wondering outside into the storm, flying
over the cliffs and searching for Edward, searching for his past,
searching for his present.
"Annie Turner, you have hardly paid any attention in class. Either you
buckle down and work quietly, or you can sit outside Mrs Atchison's
office. It's up to you," her teacher said.
"Sorry Miss, but there's a lot of things on my mind."
"Penny for them?" she asked.
"I met someone yesterday, and I don't know who he is. I mean, of
course you don't know who strangers are, but he said he's lived here
all his life but I've never heard of him."
"Well? Who is he? Maybe I might know him."
The whole class was listening now.
Annie took a deep breath. "Edward Tregareth."
The sound of this name rippled through the room, an effect making
everyone's heads turn towards their teacher. She went deathly pale, her
hands began to shake and her eyes blurred.
"Miss? Miss?" Annie whispered.
Her teacher coughed. "Sorry, never heard of him." She turned her back
and began writing maths equations on the board, keeping her eyes fixed
to the crumbling chalk.
Joey looked at Annie. What was that? She mouthed.
Annie shrugged.
The day continued in boredom. The sky hardly changed, and if it did,
it was only getting darker. Huge raindrops splashed onto the
windowsills outside, and it seemed night, not day. As Annie trundled
home, fighting the raging storm and wiping the rain out of her eyes,
she thought about her teacher's reaction. It was exactly the same as
her father's. What had Edward done to turn everyone against him? What
was so bad that whenever anybody mentioned his name, they went deathly
pale and began stuttering?

*

She sat down and stared ahead at the towering stack of papers. They
wobbled helplessly, and one by one, the yellowing newspaper titles slid
across the table.
Annie sighed, and picked up the one nearest to her. It was a Saturday,
and whilst her friends were playing down on the beach, Annie was
nestled in the back of the library, sat alone at a huge table. Her eyes
scanned the main heading, and quickly averted to the subtitles, looking
for the headline, which would catch her eye.
"What are you so emerged in?" a voice spoke from above Annie's head.
She turned around and saw Mrs Taylor, the librarian peering, amused,
over her shoulder.
"I'm looking for a certain story in these old newspapers."
"Well, if you tell me the story, maybe I can help you."
Annie knew she should do the right thing and ask, therefore she could
find out the truth quicker, but Annie also knew how strangely adults
reacted to this man's name, and she was apprehensive.
"I would tell you, Mrs Taylor, but everyone I've talked to told me not
to worry about it, and they went really weird on me, like they were
scared to talk about it."
"Well? What's the story about? You don't need to tell me who it's
about, but if it's a certain event, maybe I can help."
Annie sighed. "Well, I don't know what actually happened, all I know
is something happened about fifty years ago, which made everyone living
in Whitsand Bay hate a certain man."
Mrs Taylor closed her eyes. "I assume you're talking about the famous
Mr Edward Tregareth."
Annie's mouth gaped open.
"But how did you-?" she stuttered.
"Annie, not everybody wants to talk about him, and I know everyone
feels very uncomfortable even hearing his name, but I'm going to tell
you exactly what happened of what I know, and you must promise not to
interrupt."
Annie nodded.
"A year after World War II ended, 1947, I think it was, everyone was
waiting on the shore for the soldiers to come home. My eldest, Harry
was meant to be returning, not to mention Duke Turner, Adam Atchison,
George Collins and many other's sons."
"But those names," Annie butted in. "I know 'em! That's my uncle,
Duke, and Adam was my headmistresses son, and George was my Daddy's
best friend."
Mrs Taylor stared down her spectacles at Annie, and stiffened.
"I know. They'd all gone to serve their country, including the young
Mr Edward. He was also one of your father's close companions." Annie
gawked. "It was a dark day, when we the ship didn't come. A ferocious
storm blew, worse than any other in history. So there was everyone, on
the shore, waiting for that huge Neapolitan ship to arrive and give us
back our loved ones. But the ship never came. We waited, and waited.
From dawn till dusk. But we never saw that ship. In the end, we all
left, swearing to ourselves that the ship was late and it would come
tomorrow. But your father remained on the beach, convincing himself
that we weren't the people he thought we were, that we obviously didn't
care, and that he would wait for that ship. In the end, he left. The
storm got too rough, and if he'd stay, he would've been killed."
Mrs Taylor swallowed a lump in her throat.
"But that can't be the whole story?" Annie said, leaning forward on
her elbows as the librarian sat down opposite her.
"It's not. The ship never came. They say it hit an iceberg and sunk.
Some say the German's bombed it, as one last hit. Others say nothing.
Whatever happened on that ship, five men, five utterly brave men
managed to escape and stow away into a safety boat, a metal cylinder
with one porthole."
"Who were the five men?" Annie asked, bending forwards.
"Duke, Harry, George, Edward and Adam. They'd all been injured in the
war, all of them except Edward, so he ushered them aboard and they set
off back to the Whitsand bay. And they arrived."
"So what happened next?"
"Well, it was about four in the morning, the sun was just rising and
the sea washed the boat up onto the shore. But none of them
prevailed."
"But, Edward! I saw him last Sunday! He can't be dead!"
"You saw Edward? Gosh, I haven't seen him for decades. But yes, Edward
survived. The others died of loss of blood and pneumonia."
"So that's why everyone blames Edward! They think he killed the
others! They think he left 'em there to die!"
"Exactly. So, where did you see him?"
Annie stared down at her feet. "By that old rusty cylinder thing on
the beach."
"Are you sure?" Mrs Taylor asked. Annie nodded. "Oh, my."
"What's the matter?"
"That old cylinder in the sand is the safety boat. That's where the
others died. That's what brought my Edward home."
"Your Edward?"
"Edward was my fianc?. I loved him, but ever since everybody said he'd
left my son to die, I've never spoken to him, let alone seen him. But
there's one last thing you should know."
"Yes?"
"They never found Harry's body."
She walked away, tears clinging to her lashes. Annie gulped, and
stared down at the paper left in front of her. Across the front read,
"SOLDIER LEAVES ALLIES TO DIE". Next to the headline was a young,
smiling Edward. His bright eyes burned into Annie's, and she had to
turn away. Folding up the paper, she shoved it in her pocket, and left
the library.
Annie walked away from the library in the direction of the cliff.
There she stood, watching out to sea, wondering what could've happened
to that Neapolitan ship. In her mind endless consequences raced
through, picture after picture, just death and destruction.
She stood up and picked her way carefully down the path to the shore.
Once her feet had touched the soft wet sand, she jogged to the metal
object, which protruded out of the soil. Cold seawater washed over her
feet as she slung her sandals aside.
Peering through the small porthole, the stench of rot and death filled
her nostrils. A hand rose quickly to her mouth and she retched. Making
sure her jumper sleeve covered her nose and mouth, she peered in
again.
Dirty water swirled around the bottom, seaweed and dead fish floating
on the top. Starfish and sea snails clung to the sides, and the
darkness reeked. But what caught Annie's eye was a black thing floating
in the murky water. It was smooth, and consisted of many different
items.
Reaching in to get it, Annie lost her balance and toppled in, landing
in a pool of slime. Crying, she jumped up and quickly tried to get
herself out, but her hands slid and her feet found no grip on the
gunk-covered sides. So instead, she shouted.
"Help! Someone, please! Help!" she cried.
This continued for another ten minutes, with no reply. All she could
hear were the seagulls calling and the wind blowing. Resting back on
her heels, she braved herself, and felt through the sticky substances
looking for that black metal object. Her hand caught hold of
something.
It felt like rough, like canvas, and bits flaked away in her hand. It
seemed heavy, and it felt like it was a sack. Annie grabbed it with
both hands, and held it up to the light. Her mouth gaped open.
Upon the front was written the words, "PROPERTY OF HARRY TAYLOR -
FIGHTER NO. 09582736".
"It's Harry's rucksack! Oh my gosh! I can't believe it!" Annie
exclaimed.
"Who's down 'ere?" shouted a gruff voice.
Her heartbeat quickened, and she peered out of the small porthole. It
was Edward, and he was staring straight at her.
"Edward! Edward, its Annie Turner! I'm stuck! Please, help me out."
Annie slung the mouldy rucksack onto her back, and watched as Edward's
wrinkled but firm old hands came through the little window.
"Grab hold," he instructed.
She grasped his hands, and he pulled her through, make into the
sunlight and fresh air.
"Thank you so much, thanks," she gasped, and turning her back she
jogged away, back up the path.
"That's okay!" he yelled after her, frowning as she stumbled up the
cliff. "That's okay," he whispered.
She ran, falling and slipping as she did so, grabbing onto stones and
footholds. Her breath came in short gasps, her heart beating as she
sprinted to the library.
Annie reached the door, and threw it open.
"Mrs Taylor!" she shouted, getting evil looks from the people who sat
around the tables studying or reading. The librarian came out from
behind a bookcase, alarm in her face.
"Annie, what's wrong?"
"Follow me," Annie said, grabbing her arm and leading her to the back
table, hidden in the corner, away from prying eyes.
"Now Annie, I really don't know what on earth this commotion is all
about, and it's very rude you coming in here and shouting your head
off," Mrs Taylor scorned, pulling her arm back.
"Believe me, Mrs Taylor, you will."
Annie took the bag off her back and laid it down on the table. She
looked at Mrs Taylor, her eyes eagerly on the librarian.
"What?"
Annie pointed to the bag.
"I'm really not in the mood for guessing games."
"Just look."
Mrs Taylor picked up the bag and read the writing on it.
"Property of Harry Taylor, fighter no. 09582736." She gasped. "Oh my
god, it's Harry's bag!"
Annie nodded and grinned.
"Where did you find this?" Mrs Taylor quickly asked, frowning.
"In the safe boat, why?"
The librarian's reaction was not what she had expected. Annie had
imagined it would be relief, or happiness, not puzzlement and
anger.
"What on earth were you doing in the safe boat? What made you go down
there?" Mrs Taylor questioned, her voice raising an octave.
"I&;#8230; I was just looking, honest, I didn't mean no harm," she
said.
"It doesn't matter whether you meant well or not, Annie, the fact is
you should have left it there. It's all that's left of him."
"But-."
"Also there's the fact that if this gets out, everyone will be wanting
it, and they'll reduce this last piece of history to dust."
"Does this mean you want it?"
"No Annie. Get it away from me."
"But he's your son!"
Mrs Taylor looked at her, her eyes piercing Annie's. "He was my son.
Not any more."
A soft, salty tear rolled down the librarians face. Annie watched her
walk away, and frowned. For once, something in her life was going
strangely, and she didn't like it one bit.

*

'Dear Diary,' she wrote, speaking aloud as she did so. 'Today was very
boring. I didn't see Edward and the only things that has changed is Mrs
Taylor isn't speaking to me.'
Annie was lying down on her bed writing her diary and staring out of
the window ever so often. It was a cold day, frost spiked the long
grass and the sheep on the hillsides were huddled in little groups. The
frost around Annie's window's made unusual pattern's, and Annie sighed
as she traced them with her finger.
Another autumn come and gone. It was winter, no doubting that. Annie
liked the winter. She loved sitting by the fire reading a book and
sipping hot chocolate whilst her parents read or listened to music. She
loved being wrapped up in her mother's soft husky cloak which she'd
bought on a trip to Iceland. It's smooth fur rubbed up against her bare
arms and legs, and she'd squirm with delight.
And Annie always took part in the annual Christmas play, for Annie had
a great talent when it came to singing, dancing and acting. For days on
end she would practise and practise, and early each morning she could
be seen dancing on the beach, twirling as she did that early autumn
morning. Except this time it wasn't merely for pleasure. She danced
because she had to.
But this morning wasn't a day for dancing. After writing in her diary,
she sat up and brushed the messed up hair out of her eyes. Looking out
beyond the frost on her windows, she gazed down at the beach; a
ferocious wind blowing the cliff hedges in every direction. The waves
crawled onto the beach, their fingers spread long and hard as they
searched the sand, throwing pieces of driftwood onto the beach and
reaping in seaweed in exchange.
Annie was just about to turn away from the window when a black figure,
which was slowly walking across the sand, caught her eye. Its long
black coat blew out behind him, and the dark hat, which he wore, showed
that his head was looking down, gazing at his feet most likely. She
stood up watching the figure for one moment, before grabbing her
anorak, jumping inside her waking boots, not bothering to do up the
laces, and ran out of the house.
She pounded down the cliff steps and jumped onto the sand. She
straightened herself before running after the man.
"Edward!" she shrieked over the wind.
He carried on walking, and she took another deep breath before
shouting again.
"Edward! I know what happened! And I don't believe 'em!"
He stopped and turned around to look at her. He saw the innocence in
her eyes, and the deep concern that she had for him. His expression
softened, and he walked towards her.
"What did you say?" he whispered softly, his voice hardly heard above
the wind.
"I - I said that I didn't believe 'em! I know what they say 'bout what
happened, and I wanna hear you side of the story."
"That happened a long time ago. It's history. So there's no reason why
you, or anyone should be bringin' it up."
He turned away from her, but she grabbed his arm.
"Edward, you can't shut it out! Everyone's blamin' you when you did
nothin' wrong! You been shut out yurself when you did nothin'
wrong!"
"I don't care Annie! It's been like that for at least fifty years and
nothin' will change. They'll blame me cos they aint got anyone else to
blame."
He sat down and laid his head in his hands, propping his elbows on his
knees.
"I didn't think they'd react this way. I thought they'd be grateful,
happy maybe, that I'd brought 'em home." Annie didn't know what he was
trying to say, but she listened anyway, patting his arm reassuringly.
"I made 'em get in the boat. I thought that if I got us all home, we'd
survive. I'd jump out of the boat as soon as we caught sight of
Whitsand Bay, and I'd get help, as I was the healthiest and the
fittest. I thought that the villagers would help me. I especially
thought Olivia would. Mrs Taylor," he added, noticing the blank look on
Annie's face.
"But it turned out wrong. They weren't pleased. They hated me."
"Why didn't you tell anyone the truth? Why didn't Mrs Taylor stand up
for you?" Annie asked in a quiet voice.
Edward looked at her, and laughed a cold, cruel laugh.
"Olivia wouldn't stand up for me. In her eyes I killed her son, her
only son, and the rest of 'em thinks that. Scum."
"But I know the truth! I believe you Edward! I'll tell 'em! It wasn't
your fault!"
But he didn't answer. The wind had died down and as he stood up,
brushing sand of his trousers, the beach went uncannily quiet. He
walked over to the safe boat, and stroked it, the roughness of his
hands catching on the roughness of the discarded boat.
A series of images raced through his mind, flashbacks of over fifty
years ago. It was dark, the wind and the sea had combined to make the
worst storm imaginable, and one by one, the five seamen slipped into
coma's, their lips turning blue and their skin turning paler which each
passing minute. However, two, brave, strong men wrestled the cold, and
clung to the sides of the boat, the stench of death and excretion
clinging to their clothes and nostrils.
Harry had turned to Edward. And Edward had seen the look of defeat in
his eyes.
"Harry," Edward had warned.
"Ed, tell me Mam, tell her that I love her. I know you love her, but
tell her I do to."
"Harry, I won't have to. You will, 'cos you'll get out of 'ere. We
both will."
A small, unnoticeable tear had leaked out of Edward's eye and dropped
onto his hand. And that was when Harry had lain his head down, and
closed his eyes. He sat, transfixed, as he'd watched his fianc?e's son,
his step son-to-be, die.
But as the boat rocked, Edward grabbed Harry and shook him.
"Harry, Harry, wake up! You can't quit on me now!"
But it was no use. He was gone, and there was nothing he could've done
to prevent it.
As Edward came back to reality, he shook his head. There was juts no
point in thinking about the past. It was dead and gone. Like
Harry.
"Edward? You know it weren't your fault. It weren't anyone's. Don't
eat yurself up about this."
"There's nothing you or anyone can do. I've told you, so leave it
be!"
And with that he walked away, his coat flapping behind him. Annie
watched him for a moment or two, before turning away and heading back
up the well-worn cliff path.

*

Annie didn't see Edward again. She'd looked for him again, with Mrs
Taylor, but there was no trace. He'd disappeared. And no one saw him
again.
Annie sat on the beach. It was spring now, and there'd been no sign of
Edward for a whole season. The light, warm breeze ruffled her hair. She
slipped off her cardigan, and let the sun shine down onto her bare
arms. She hitched her long skirt up further, and lay down on the bare
rock. She hadn't been down to the beach in a long time, but today, she
felt almost drawn to it. Her mother was due to the end of her
pregnancy, and Annie wanted to get away from the maternal atmosphere.
She was just drifting off to sleep, with the sound of the gulls and the
waves in her ears, when she heard a shout.
"Annie! Annie, girl! The baby's comin'!" her father was yelling from
the top of the cliff path.
Annie scurried across the beach and ran after her father, leaving her
cardigan on the rock. A few moments later, when the clouds had hidden
the sun from view and the temperature had dropped, a tall, black figure
in a long dark coat and a russet coloured hat stepped out from behind
the rocks and walked towards the place where Annie had sat. He picked
up the cardigan, rubbed it against his cheek, and breathed in the
smell. He pocketed it, and looked up in the direction of where Annie's
home was.
"Sorry Annie. Sorry."