The Offcuts of History...by Sheila Claydon

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Many a Moon, the third and final book in my Mapleby Memories series, having recently been published, I am saturated by history because the protagonists move between the present day and the thirteenth century, which took a lot of research. So when, last month, I read my fellow author's blog Orangeman's Day in Northern Ireland by Susan Calder it gave me pause for thought. Why do some historical events develop a long and legendary life while others are reduced to a footnote in the history books, only remembered by those who actually took part and forgotten when they die? 

The Battle of the Boyne that Susan wrote about has not died. It is, instead, a history that has lived on in legend and in fact and one I see enacted every year. I didn't have a thought of blogging about it until I read her piece, however, and it prompted memories of when the Orange Order comes to town! 

Possibly unusually, I have Catholic and Protestant Irish ancestry on both sides of my family history. A Catholic great-grandfather from Southern Ireland who joined the British army, a Protestant great-grandmother, also born in Southern Ireland, but into another branch of the family.  And then there's the grandmother whose parents came from opposite sides of the religious divide and who, unable to agree on her religious upbringing, took her and her siblings to their respective churches on alternate Sundays! The result of these various oddities is a family that has dispensed with any sort of religious conformity whatsoever, so this is not about the religious divide, it is about the history that lingers.

I live in a village 11 miles north of Liverpool in the UK, and Liverpool, which is just 'across the water' from Ireland, is sometimes jokingly referred to as Ireland's capital city because up to 70% of its population claims Irish ancestry. Consequently it is a place where traces of the Irish accent are commonplace. It also has a lot of Irish pubs! It is also the home of the Liverpool Provincial Grand Lodge, the place where Orange Lodges from all around the UK gather on 12 July each year to march through the city. They then travel 16 miles to Southport for another parade. Southport is a town a few miles on the other side of my village. And this has been going on for more than 200 years! 

As Susan said in her very interesting blog about her recent visit to Ireland, the aim of the march is to celebrate King William's victory at the Battle of the Boyne in 1690 when he vanquished James II. Although King Billy, as he is known in Ireland, didn't entirely achieve his aim, the superior force of his army, both in numbers and strategy, meant that James II (who was actually William's father-in-law - how is that for a family squabble!) fled to France. Many of his supporters, however, held siege in the county of Limerick in the west of Ireland until the Treaty of Limerick brought it to an end the following year. Despite this, James II remained alive and well in France under the protection of Louis XIV, which meant that the unrest continued until the end of the century. 

Like many happenings in history, however, the Battle of the Boyne was about far, far more than the divide between Catholicism and Protestantism. It was about the rising power of France, about the divine right of kings, about growing tensions between France and the Dutch Republic, it was even about the birth of James' only son and heir. As with most of the stories of history, there is always more than meets the eye. Even more strangely in this case, the Catholic Pope Innocent XI actually supported the Protestant King William.  This was because the Papacy had fallen out with King Louis XIV of France, who was an ally of King James, so again, nothing to do with religion. Even more unbelievably, a Mass of deliverance was celebrated in Rome by the Catholics for Protestant King William's victory. The stories behind the pieces of history that become legendary are often very strange indeed.

Yet despite its mixed and multi-layered past, The Battle of the Boyne has been adopted as something to celebrate by the fraternity of the Orange Order.  Even stranger, the order, which was founded by the Ulster Protestants during one of the many periods of Irish sectarian conflict, was not created until 1795, more than 100  years after the battle,  Its purported aim was to defend Protestant civil and religious liberties and in its heyday it had approximately 90,000 members. Now it's a third of that.  It still makes its mark though, not least in Southport where, despite the parades bringing thousands of visitors to the town centre every year, they are heartily disliked by many of the residents. 

Not only are the roads closed twice on the parade route to the irritation of drivers, once for the incoming parade and once for the home-going one, but many of the shopkeepers board up their windows, offices lock their doors, and locals keep away. When I worked in Southport, Orange Day was the only day my public office kept its doors locked. And when the parade is over the streets are full of litter, streamers and broken bottles. The Irish pubs do a roaring trade though!

At their best the parades can be great fun. On a sunny day the rousing music and the pride of the marchers in their bowler hats and orange sashes can lift the spirits. It just depends who is watching. Many consider them a provocation that pours flames on the troubles that have never left Ireland, while The Orange Order itself sees them variously  as a celebration of civil liberties, a time-time-honored tradition, and a confirmation of the sovereignty of the British parliament. 

Me, I'm just glad that my small village is ignored. While it might be right in the middle of the parade routes between the city and the town, it isn't considered important enough to be part of either. When the parades began it was little more than a hamlet, and now, 200 years later, although much bigger, it is protected by a busy ByPass. So although it has two small train stations, not a single marcher disembarks en route from Liverpool to Southport. Whether this is because the village is still of no importance, or whether it is a left over from the early days of railway when the Station Master refused to let the trains stop on Orange Day, I have no idea. His decision is lost in the annals of history. All that remains is a story. 

The story behind the photo...by Sheila Claydon

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Remembering Rose is very special to me because it is my take on a family history. Not my family (although I might get to that eventually) but that of another family. 

It all started when I found a sepia photo in a box of jumbled mementos. The young woman at the centre  was mesmerising, not because of her looks, although they were striking, but because of her vivacity. And it was obvious from the faces of those around her, that they were equally entranced. Of course I will never know what she was saying any more than I will ever know why she was standing while the people around her were sitting on the ground watching her. Were they playing a game like charades? Had she just jumped up and suggested they all stop lolling around and go for a walk? Was she reacting to something the blonde curly-haired child next to her had done? The only thing I do know is that it was taken in the summer because some of the men were wearing striped blazers and straw boater hats, and the women's dresses seemed to be styled from light, summery materials. 

Like all photos taken in the days before the ubiquitous cell phone camera, there had to be a story behind it. In the late 1800s it wouldn't have been taken on a whim, so maybe the group had been posing and the photographer had grabbed a final photo just as the woman jumped up ready to do something else. I was intrigued enough to store the image in my head but not quite intrigued enough to write about it until, many years later, I was shown a photo of the same woman as an old lady. The contrast was both shocking and heartbreaking. What was it that had changed that vibrant young woman into somebody so thin and melancholy.  What had life done to her? And her husband too. In the sepia photo he had been handsome and dashing with luxuriant whiskers and his straw hat tilted at a jocular angle. Now he looked old and tired and his hands were swollen with arthritis.

The writer in me kicked in and I began to ask questions. The result is Remembering Rose. A fiction of course, but with enough of their real story woven into it to ensure they are never forgotten. Because their's is a story of love...real love, not the fleeting kind that runs as soon as it encounters problems...and consequently the love experienced by all the other people in the book is the same. The blurb on the back sums it up:

Rachel has a husband who adores her, a beautiful baby daughter, and an extended family she can rely on, so why isn't she happy? She doesn't know and nor do the people who love her. Only Rose understands but she is trapped in another century. To help Rachel she has to breach the boundaries of time itself as well as risk exposing the truth of her own past. When echoes from that past begin to affect other people in the village of Mapleby, things suddenly become a lot more complicated. Can Rachel put things right without giving away Rose's secret?

Because I needed a background for Rose's story I invented the village of Mapleby and the cottage where she lived as a child, and when I did that, Mapleby itself pulled back the curtain that separates us from the past and the future and told me Rose's story. And because it told me the story of so many of the others who live there too I soon found myself embarking upon a Mapleby Memories series. Remembering Rose is Book 1 and Book 2: Loving Ellen will be published in February. Although it's part of a series, it is still a stand alone book, but to really understand the village and the people who live there, you need to listen to Rose.

And if you do read Remembering Rose you might be able to guess who the heroine of the next story is going to be. A clue. It's not Ellen because there isn't an Ellen in Book 1. Have I intrigued you enough?

Even better is the fact that BWL has just updated the cover for Remembering Rose, ready for a relaunch alongside Loving Ellen, and the new image really does look like Rachel, who is the other heroine of the story. The cover for Loving Ellen is even better and I'll be showcasing that next month.