It was the contrast that intrigued Rosalind each and every time she picked her way down the metal staircase. She had been frequenting this usually deserted section of the harbour for over a decade. She had progressed from mother to grandmother over that time. She felt older than Methuselah, or at least as old as the rocks which littered the shoreline.
She remembers the day when she first learnt that these pipes were neither water nor sewage conduits, but were wedged full with communication cables stringing from one defence facility on the south of the harbour to another on the middle headland. That the pipes and the cables therein were instrumental to the boom gates strung across this section of the harbour during the world war to protect the inhabitants of the city further down the harbour.
Rosalind spread out her yoga mat and unbuckled the strap on her brassiere.