Jimmy Packham

''One night when the breeze, tired of whispering its weird messages to the bare branches, and chasing the withered leaves along the lanes, had begun to moan a hushed prelude to the music of a storm, through the mist that had crept over the bay, and which obscured even the white-crested wavelets at the foot of the hill on which stood the sacred old church, there came at measured intervals the melancholy monotone of the Bardsea passing bell for the dead.''

Water nymphs, shadowy figures, spectres, strange creatures, myths and legends from the coasts of the British Isles, in an atmospheric, haunting volume.… (mer)