FitzRoy – a story of the weather

The black clouds had returned. They swirled around Robert Fitzroy, battering him. He struggled to breathe, assailed by rage and confusion. Somewhere, crystals were forming, delicate, feathery, in the storm glass that bore his name. The reports which would enable his office to produce the forecast would be ready by now, sitting on his desk….

German Bight – a story of WW1 at sea

“Dogger – Cyclonic four or five. Moderate. Fog banks. Poor or very poor. German Bight…” “It’s not the German Bight! Because we kicked them out of it!” The only time I saw my Grandfather angry was in 1956 when someone accidentally left the wireless on long enough for him to hear the shipping forecast. I…