Cursive script cross design on paper

The gale came round to the north on Tuesday and took the drying loft roof clean off, so you'll find me in the back kitchen with a basin of wet twine and the wireless turned low. Mrs Penhallow sends her regards and says the Ellen Rose is due in on the morning tide if the bar stays quiet. I've stopped counting the hours. Your mother always said that was a sin, though she counted everything else.

Did I tell you Reverend Hosken has had the old chapel board repainted? He had the psalm lettered out along the lintel in black, in the same looping hand the schoolmistress used for birthday cards. Your grandmother would have sniffed at the spacing. The words run down each arm of a cross, and every fisherman's wife in the parish has walked under it twice this week just to check it still says what it said. In the depth of every... I can't remember the rest without looking, and I've been too frightened to look.

Stand still, it says, and know. That is harder than rope work, Tom. I tried it on the quay this morning with my shawl pulled tight and the wind trying to lift me off the stones. I stood still, and the water came in regardless, the way it always does, and the gulls went on shouting at nothing.

Come home safe. If the Ellen Rose is late I'll keep the kettle on the hob and not take it off, and when you come up the hill I'll have the door open before you reach the gate.

Love, Aunt Agnes