Weeks after the departure of the ss Great Britain from the UK, the fair maid Clare, wandering by a (muddy) Western Australian shore, sighted this raft.
Clearly it was the handiwork of a shipwrecked tin of anchovies (those knots bear all the hallmarks of a deft tab).
But the anchovies had gone!
She fell to her haunches in sorrow and disbelief. They must have fallen overboard in high seas and been unable to clamber back on or (somewhat ironically) swim to shore.
Through her tears (their saltiness a cruel reminder of her loss) she spied something – a little green something.
The anchovies had made it ashore! They’d sought shelter in a marron hole and, hoping against hope, awaited her arrival.
And so we leave the little tin and its anchovic contents for another day, another adventure. Who knows where the whims of women will take it. Stay tuned.