Apparently, so the story goes, the cottage was built after the Battle of Trafalgar, 1805 as we all recall, for the widows of the slain. As there are only five in the terrace I would guess it was limited to officers wives with no private income.
I guess their families turned to fishing as a quieter way of life and the strange tall net drying huts were built down on the shore.
The Art Gallery is to be built next to the huts so they all sport signs stubbornly saying NO TO THE GALLERY, totally ignored by the workmen constructing avidly beneath them.
The fishing boats still sail in on the high tide straight up onto the shingle where tractors pull them up onto the beach out of the water.
Hopefully the shoals of intelligentsia expected next year will still enjoy fish and chips and jellied eels.
We spend a lot of each day pottering on the cliff tops, there are at least half a dozen magpies nesting, rooks [or are they crows] and crowds of very raucous seagulls. The gorse is a gorgeous buttery yellow, the bluebells are still there hiding under the trees, as everything is late here too.
Hattie the dog ignores it all and scurries back and forth tail wagging and hoovering up rabbit poo - her favourite delicacy.
Happily east and west cliff each have a funicular / lift thingy for when the steps down to the cottages seem too many.
They were out of commission for a year, but are now renovated and smoothly slide up and down like vertical ski lifts if you see what I mean, they don't make any horizontal progress. Slowly the place is being gentrified, public buildings gtting a face lift, junk shops are getting rid of their junk and importing tat, maybe the fishermen are right.