The Great Sea Rescue
It was a cold September morning in 1838. The fog lingered along he cobbled streets of Hull like a veil of damp silk. I walked into a dingy hut, which smelt of stale tobacco smoke, musty and damp.
There was a middle-aged man sitting behind a small desk, his eyes, grey and
Piercing, though friendly looking. He spoke in a low husky voice. "Can I help you?"
"Umm, yes," I replied nervously. "I'm here to sign on the Forfarshire." The man opened a drawer in his desk and took out a book. "I just need your ~e and your position, then you can have a look 'round the ship"
I w…
