The ocean doesn’t seem to like Hondeklip Bay. Angry waves batter the rocks as if trying to push the land away, back into Namaqualand.
In the cemetery, on a sandy hill outside town, you can count how many lives have been taken by those waves. Gravestones are etched with long lists, sometimes five people with the same surname. Father, sons and uncles, all pulled down into the cold, salty darkness.
Nearby, on a veranda facing Foxterrier Street, Myrtle Lewis looks towards the horizon. “The sea has changed completely,” she says. “Look, it’s always been like a wild mare, but over the years she’s been biting and kicking even more.”
Tannie Myrtle has lived in this house for many years, with the roar of the waves smashing into Spitfire Rock always…
