In the sand above the cormorant, written out in orange shells were the letters I now expected to find: Z.W. We first noticed that the cormorant was in fact made of wood. Then we noticed the shells. Only a few feet away the shells along the tide-mark has been rearranged to read: 'Stay and play. Your beach as much as mine.'
We tried to discover all we could about the Birdman, but by the end of the summer we still knew very little about him.
We did manage to find out that he was exactly eighty years old, that the birds on the island came to him because he fed them, because they knew he liked them and because they new he would never harm them.
That day on Samson we ate them until we were full and no fish ever tasted so good.
We chose to eat the pilchards because they were small and would cook quickly, but the smell of them was so good and we were so ravenous that we only half-cooked them, eating the outside of each one and throwing the rest to the gulls and terns to keep them happy.
For Daniel and me his cottage became a second home during the first year of the war.
All my life I've tried to lift the curse. I've tried to keep everyone away from Samson. That's why I row out there whenever there's a storm threatening, whenever I see fog rolling in. It's to light a beacon on the clifftop to warn the ships to keep away.
We could not leave Samson behind us quickly enough, although now with the sunlight on it, it had lost its haunted look. I thought no more of ghosts or curses but only of the joys of being home with Mother.
It's a narwhal, I do believe. Well I never. Only the males have tusks, you know. He's a long way from home. That's the kind of whale that the Eskimos hunt off Greenland. Quite what he's doing here I cannot imagine.
Never seen a fish that big; and I've seen some big ones. A monster of a fish. That horn's worth something too, I shouldn't wonder.
She moved quietly from time to time, her tiny eyes often closing for minutes on end so that sometimes I thought she might be dead. A bucket of water poured gently over her head seemed to revive her, but each time it took longer. I talked to her all the while, reassuring her as well as I could that it would not be long now before she was back with her friends and out at sea again.
If you ever do go to the Isles of Scilly, go over to Samson and look round for yourself. The old ruined cottages are still there, a mound of limpet shells outside each one; and you'll find the well of water. No one lives there, so you'll have only the terns and the black rabbits for company. You'll be quite alone.