Frank Leigh Dearie leaves London on a train from St. Pancras station. When the train reaches Yarmouth, he alights on the platform as if his wingtips were winged. The ocean before him is a viscous maw, and he realizes immediately that his trip is in vain, for no swimming can take place in that vortex. He jots it all down in his little notebook, under the heading »A Childhood in East Anglia.«
