Lil

but it's also served as a safe haven for many a ship seeking refuge from raging storms over the centuries, including one that made it from the front page of the Whitby Gazette newspaper straight into the pages of Dracula, the Dimitri of Narva, or, as Bram Stoker calls it in his novel, the Dimita of Varna.

Through journal entries and cuttings of the fictional Daily Graph newspaper, Stoker paints an atmosphere of expectant tension, as at the end of a sultry summer's day, a great storm starts to brew.

Through journal entries and cuttings of the fictional Daily Graph newspaper, Stoker paints an atmosphere of expectant tension, as at the end of a sultry summer's day, a great storm starts to brew.

In a clever juxtaposition, we have the lightness and innocence of happy holidaymakers making day trips to nearby tourist attractions such as Mulgrave Woods and Robin Hood's Bay, whilst off the coast, dark clouds begin to gather. Old salts squint at the horizon from their favourite weather-watching spots on the East Cliff and warn of something vicious rolling in.

In a clever juxtaposition, we have the lightness and innocence of happy holidaymakers making day trips to nearby tourist attractions such as Mulgrave Woods and Robin Hood's Bay, whilst off the coast, dark clouds begin to gather. Old salts squint at the horizon from their favourite weather-watching spots on the East Cliff and warn of something vicious rolling in.

And, as readers, we understand that those gathering storm clouds signal something even more vicious than they know, because Dracula is about to arrive at Whitby.

And, as readers, we understand that those gathering storm clouds signal something even more vicious than they know, because Dracula is about to arrive at Whitby.

Tensions suitably built, the tempest breaks with terrifying speed, sending small fishing boats hurtling for harbour before a growing fury of spume-topped waves. Onlookers watch in horror as a schooner just off the coast, still in full sail, and having apparently ignored all warning signs of the coming danger, careers towards a treacherous reef that lays between it and the port.

Tensions suitably built, the tempest breaks with terrifying speed, sending small fishing boats hurtling for harbour before a growing fury of spume-topped waves. Onlookers watch in horror as a schooner just off the coast, still in full sail, and having apparently ignored all warning signs of the coming danger, careers towards a treacherous reef that lays between it and the port.

With the tide high, gale force winds in her sails and mountainous waves lashing the vessel, no one can see how the ship could possibly make entrance to the harbour without being dashed to bits on the reef. But then, in a rush of dank sea fog and a crash of thunder, the schooner sweeps between the piers and into the harbour to the relief of the onlookers.

With the tide high, gale force winds in her sails and mountainous waves lashing the vessel, no one can see how the ship could possibly make entrance to the harbour without being dashed to bits on the reef. But then, in a rush of dank sea fog and a crash of thunder, the schooner sweeps between the piers and into the harbour to the relief of the onlookers.

But the celebrations are short-lived because the vessel does not pause, instead hurtling on towards Tate Hill Pier. And as the ship crashes into the sand and gravel bank of Collier's Hope, the onlookers realise that the steersman, who had seemed to so skilfully guide the ship's perilous entry, is actually a dead man, whose lolling corpse is lashed to the ship's wheel.

But the celebrations are short-lived because the vessel does not pause, instead hurtling on towards Tate Hill Pier. And as the ship crashes into the sand and gravel bank of Collier's Hope, the onlookers realise that the steersman, who had seemed to so skilfully guide the ship's perilous entry, is actually a dead man, whose lolling corpse is lashed to the ship's wheel.

As the schooner rams into Tate Hill Beach and parts of the rigging come crashing down, a huge black dog appears from below decks and leaps onto the sand, pelting away towards the cliff and the churchyard of St Mary's. Dracula has arrived.

As the schooner rams into Tate Hill Beach and parts of the rigging come crashing down, a huge black dog appears from below decks and leaps onto the sand, pelting away towards the cliff and the churchyard of St Mary's. Dracula has arrived.

This event was immortalised by pioneering local photographer Frank Meadows Sutcliffe, who became famous for branching out from the Victorian trend of posed portrait photography and made a name for himself, capturing candid shots of Whitby life.

This event was immortalised by pioneering local photographer Frank Meadows Sutcliffe, who became famous for branching out from the Victorian trend of posed portrait photography and made a name for himself, capturing candid shots of Whitby life.

Featuring working class residents going about their daily chores, children playing, scenes of the town's picturesque landscape, a glimpse into the real Whitby of the 19th century and a chronicle of the events that affected its residents, including the wreck of the Dimitri.

Featuring working class residents going about their daily chores, children playing, scenes of the town's picturesque landscape, a glimpse into the real Whitby of the 19th century and a chronicle of the events that affected its residents, including the wreck of the Dimitri.

I purchased a print of the scene a long time ago on one of my younger visits to Whitby and it's a photograph that I can stare at for hours. Sutcliffe's candid photographic style that tells a story with every shot is so unexpected for the era that I almost feel like if I look hard enough at the scene I'll be able to see the characters moving and the story will play out in front of my eyes.