The short play is meant to be inspired or provoked by the events of 31st January 1953, when the worst storm since 1703 (which was the subject of Daniel Defoe's The Storm) struck Britain, causing catastrophic damage and killing hundreds of people. It was a bigger blow than the hurricane of 1987, but unlike that event - Michael Fish and all that - has been omitted from what you might call the historical consciousness.
I've chosen to write a piece with the storm as a kind of moral force, an avenging wave, as in Genesis (but not the kind Spindleshanks was on about recently). It has four characters, and features a murder, a sexual assault, and a woman in labour. (Though I hasten, the labour and the murder and the assault happen to separate people. I'm not that messed up.)
It's called A Sphinx On Clacton Sands.