And still the two lights stand guardian on the treacherous waters of our southern seas and too often their light has flashed across the bows of ships disintergrating in devilish seas.

Books write of the romance attached to lighthouses but I can’t get too romantic standing amidst the seventy-six painted stones marking the graves of the Ly-ee-Moon.

The wind moaning in the wires of the signal tower and the bitter crouched heath trees leaning away from the wind, are a better reflection of the mood and tell a far more realistic story of the anguished cries of lives surrendering to thrashing foam.