At the height of the Great Depression, when few families could afford holidays, Herbert Dyce Murphy invited groups of children to his seaside house on the Mornington Peninsula. He built a tiny railway for them in his garden, took them on picnics and sailing trips, and told them wonderful stories about his past; elaborate tales of whaling ships and royal soir�es, of espionage and Antarctic blizzards, full of adventure, intrigue and romance. How much of it was true? Does it matter? What sort of person was Murphy?