Season's Greetings

 

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Season’s Greetings

Greetings to all who celebrate Christmas. I hope you have a wonderful time, and enjoy meeting up with family and friends during the festive season.

By the time you read this, I will be about 10,000 miles away from my home in the UK, and enjoying Christmas and the New Year in Australia with my daughter and her partner who live near Brisbane. They emigrated in the summer of 2019 with every hope that they could return to visit us the following year. Then, as we all know, Covid struck in early 2020. Flights were restricted and Australia closed its borders until earlier this year. To begin with, Australia was not as badly affected as the UK, but my daughter worried as she watched the news from the UK, with several lockdowns and tragically huge statistics of infections and deaths. Although Covid did eventually reach Australia, they seem to have been more prepared to deal with it quickly and decisively.

Hopefully, we are now over the worst. Even though Covid is still around, we now have the benefit of vaccinations and boosters to protect us. So, in September, I took a deep breath and booked my flights to Australia.

As I have severe mobility problems due to arthritis in both hips, I’ve requested ‘meet and greet’ and wheelchair assistance at airports. I’m also flying business class – admittedly the cost is eye-watering, but at least it means I will have a seat that converts into a bed for the 13-hour flight to Singapore, followed by the 8-hour flight from there to Brisbane.

I can’t say I am looking forward to such long flights, but I have been sorting out my Kindle and now have 36 books in my ‘to be read’ folder – more than enough to keep me occupied, I think!

My daughter has also booked us on a 5-day cruise from Brisbane to Sydney which will be my first experience of ‘large ship’ cruising. She is hiring a wheelchair for me which will make getting around the ship easier. I am looking forward to my first view of the famous Harbour Bridge and the Opera House.

I’m also looking forward to seeing kangaroos jumping along the road and koalas hugging trees, but hopefully no large spiders or snakes!

Next month I’ll tell you some of the highlights of my visit, but meanwhile my very best wishes to you all during the festive season.

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Remembrance Day

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Remembrance Day

 Earlier this month, Remembrance Day was observed in the UK and in many Commonwealth countries. It commemorates the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month – 11am on November 11th 1918 – when the guns fell silent along the Western and Eastern fronts in Europe. An armistice had been signed, and the Great War had ended, after over four years of the bloodiest warfare ever.

There is an almost cruel irony in the fact that the first and also some of the last shots of the war were fired within fifty metres of each other in a small village called Casteau near the Belgian town of Mons which I visited several years ago.

On August 22nd 1914, a British cavalry troop, the 4th Dragoon Guards, were involved in the first skirmish with the Germans at Casteau. During this short battle, Captain E Thomas fired at the enemy, and killed a German cavalry officer.

Over 4 years of conflict later, on the morning of November 11th, 1918, a Canadian Infantry Battalion were on the trail of retreating German soldiers, and after firing their final shots, they stopped firing at 11 o’clock at the village of Casteau.

In between those first and last shots in this small Belgian village, hundreds of thousands lives had been lost in the trenches and battlefields on the Western and Eastern fronts.

                                                                         1914 Dragoon Guards Memorial           1918 Canadian Memorial

In 1915 Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, a Canadian medical officer, wrote a poem after presiding over the funeral of a friend who died in the Second Battle of Ypres:

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row, 

That mark our place; and in the sky 

The larks, still bravely singing, fly 

Scarce heard amid the guns below. 

The reference to the red poppies that grew over the graves of fallen soldiers in France and Belgium led to the poppy becoming one of the world's most recognized memorial symbols for soldiers who have died in conflicts.

In Britain, a Festival of Remembrance is held at the Royal Albert Hall in London on the Saturday nearest to November 11th. It commemorates all who have lost their lives in conflicts. Part concert, part memorial service, it concludes with a parade of representatives of all the armed forces as well as the uniformed volunteer organisations. Once they are all in place in the large arena, there is a two minute silence, and thousands of poppy petals are released from the roof. It is said there is one poppy petal for each person who has died in conflicts during and since the First World War.

The following morning, a memorial service is held at the Cenotaph in London’s Whitehall, and at the same time, similar services are held at hundreds of war memorials in every part of the country, and also wherever British troops are serving overseas.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years contemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

(Lawrence Binyon)

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More Memories of the Queen

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More Memories of the Queen

Last month I told you about my early memories of Queen Elizabeth II shortly after her accession to the throne in 1952. Here are a few more memories:

Two years after the Coronation, the Queen visited my home town as part of her tour of Lancashire. By then, I was a Girl Guide, and we formed a ‘guard of honour’ along one of the roads her car travelled into the centre of town. Being at the front of the crowds lining the route, we had a quite a good view of her – I remember she was wearing a purple coat. Once the car had passed us, my friend and I decided to run as fast as we could the half mile or so to the centre of the town in order to see her again on the steps of the Town Hall – and caught another (distant) glimpse of her from the back of the crowd there.

It was forty years later before I saw her again. By this time I was a Girl Guide Commissioner, and returned home from a Guiding event one Saturday to find a letter awaiting me from the office of the Lord Lieutenant of Manchester with an invitation to a Buckingham Palace Garden Party. About ten minutes later, I had a phone call from our Region Commissioner, telling me that she would be sending me an invitation to one of the Garden Parties. So you wait all your life for an invitation to Buckingham Palace – and then you get two in one day!

Anyway, on a sunny July day, one of my Guiding friends and I joined the queue outside the Palace, showed our tickets, and then we were free to wander around the Palace gardens – along with about 8,000 other people! We found it fascinating to see all the uniforms, traditional dress, and of course the hats of many of the other guests. The Queen and Duke of Edinburgh appeared about 4pm, and walked along a cordoned off area surrounded by crowds. We decided instead to stand next to the rope cordon near the Royal tea tent, so not only did we get a close-up view of the Queen, but also several other members of the Royal Family as they walked across the lawn to the tent. They included Princess Anne, and also Prince Michael of Kent who, with his full beard, was the spitting image of his grandfather King George V.

At the end of the afternoon, we exited through the Palace – through a hallway with wide, red-carpeted staircases at each side, then across the gravelled inner courtyard, and out under the arch into the forecourt of the Palace where there were several photographers offering to take our photos. Of course we said, ‘Yes, please!’

The next event was again thanks to the Lord Lieutenant, who sent me two tickets for the Millennium Service at St Paul’s Cathedral on 2nd January 2000. Outside St. Paul’s, we saw that people were clutching yellow, green, and pink tickets. As our tickets were white, I joked to my friend that they probably meant we would be seated behind one of the white marble pillars, unable to see anything! Imagine our wide-eyed surprise, therefore, when an usher looked at our tickets and said, ‘Ah, white tickets. Go right down to the front, under the dome’. Which was how we ended up on the sixth row from the front, next to the aisle. It was a case of ‘spot the famous faces’ as the Prime Minister (Tony Blair) and his wife, and several other government minsters took their seats on the first two rows. Then the Queen and Duke of Edinburgh came down the aisle, escorted by the Archbishop of Canterbury. The service lasted about an hour, and as the Queen walked back up the aisle, she smiled at me! Maybe she recognised my Guiding uniform – or maybe she just smiles at everyone!

My last story is one of ‘just missed seeing the Queen.’ In 2002, we held an international camp at the Guide Activity Centre about 20 miles from Preston, and at the end of the event I had to take six Canadian Guides and their two leaders to Preston station in the minibus. As I approached the centre of the town, it was apparent from the crowds lining the pavements that something was happening. A policeman stopped me and said I couldn’t go any further because the Queen was due to arrive at Preston Station and all the roads were closed. When I explained that the Guides and their leaders had to catch a train in 30 minutes, he spoke to someone on his radio, and then told me which streets to use to reach the station. He added, ‘But you’ll have be quick. Drop them off at the top of the station approach and then carry on down Fishergate.’ The Guides delightedly waved to people as I drove along the crowded street to the station, and another policeman told me where to stop. After hasty goodbyes to the girls, I continued past the station, away from the crowds. Later, I learned that one of the station staff, recognising Girl Guide uniforms, very kindly took the girls onto the platform where the Queen’s train was due to arrive. The Queen actually stopped to speak to them, asking where they were from and why they were visiting England – a very memorable ending to their international camp. Meantime, I was frantically trying to find my way out of the town, avoiding all the streets which had been closed to traffic!

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The Queen

 

 

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The Queen

 Earlier this month we in the UK (as well as many people throughout the world) were shocked to learn that Queen Elizabeth II had died. Yes, she was 96; yes, she had just celebrated her 70th year on the throne. Maybe we should have been ready for it, but somehow we weren’t.

Only two days earlier, she had been photographed asking our new Prime Minister to form a government. True, she looked frail, but we still didn’t expect her to die two days later.

For the majority of people, she was the only sovereign they had ever known. I am actually in the minority, as I do remember her father, King George VI. The Brownie ‘Promise’ I made when I was seven included the words “To serve The King and my country.” About a year later, the head teacher came into my school classroom to inform us that the King had died. I only remember seeing black and white newspaper photos of his funeral.

The following year, there was great excitement about the Queen’s Coronation. Streets were decorated, and street parties were held. My mother had a wool shop and I helped her make a display for the window, with the Union Flag in red, white and blue balls of wool surrounding a photograph of the young Queen.

On the actual day people crowded into the homes of those who actually owned a television, which were few and far between at that time. My parents arranged for me to visit a friend of theirs who did have a television set, and so I watched the Coronation on a black and white, nine-inch TV screen. As a nine-year-old, I confess to becoming somewhat bored by the lengthy ceremony, apart from the actual crowning when everyone shouted ‘God Save the Queen’. After that a few friends and I went out to play in the garden, but we were called back to watch the newly-crowned Queen return to Buckingham Palace in the ornate state coach.

Ten days after the Coronation, we had a school trip to London, at that time a five-hour journey by train. I’m not sure how our teachers coped with about thirty excited youngsters, but we went to Westminster Abbey and also saw all the decorations in the streets, especially the huge arches in the Mall.

We were outside Buckingham Palace, where a lot of people seemed to be congregating on the pavements. One of my teachers asked a policeman what was happening, and was told the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh were due to arrive back from a visit to Greenwich. The policeman then allowed us to climb into one of the VIP stands which had been erected outside the Palace for the Coronation. As a result, we had a wonderful view of the Queen when the open carriage came round the Victoria Memorial and entered the Palace forecourt.

That was my first sight of Queen. Since then, I’ve seen her three more times, and on one occasion I met and spoke to Prince (now King) Charles, but I’ll tell you more next time!

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My Links with 'Jane Eyre'

 

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My 'Links' with 'Jane Eyre'

I first read Charlotte Bronte's 'Jane Eyre' when I was about 11 and loved it. My mother took me to see a stage adaptation performed by our local repertory company, which was one of the events that led to my lifelong love of theatre, and I read the book more times than I can count.

About three years later, the story was serialised in 6 parts on BBC, in the old days of black and white television. Stanley Baker played Rochester and Daphne Slater played Jane. This was made doubly interesting by the fact that my class tutor at the time had been at school with Daphne Slater and used her 'connections' to get the autographs of both lead characters for us all (which I still have!) 

 

Fast forward about 30+ years. I started researching my family history and dscovered a link (in my father's family) to landed gentry in the county of Derbyshire. One of my ancestors was Robert Eyre (1390-1459) who fought at the Battle of Agincourt in 1415. He owned land in the county and married Joan Padley, the heiress to other estates. They lived in the small village of Hathersage and when they died, their tombs were surmounted with brass effigies. These are the most famous effigies in the church.

Even more fascinating (for me at least) was the connection between these brasses and Jane Eyre. 

In 1845 Charlotte Bronte went to stay at the Rectory at Hathersage with an old school friend, whose brother was the vicar. It was here she started to write her novel about Jane Eyre. It is said that she was inspired by the brass effigy on the tomb of Joan Eyre (nee Padley).

So it seems Jane Eyre was named after my 15-times-great grandmother! Maybe that is why I have always had an affinity with Charlotte Bronte's novel?

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Born to Write?

 

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Born to Write?

Were you ‘born to write’ or did you make a conscious decision to become a writer?

A few years ago I read P.D. James’ top tips for writers. She died in 2014 aged 94 and is probably most famous for writing the Adam Dalgliesh mystery series.

Her first point was: You must be born to write.

She said: You can't teach someone to know how to use words effectively and beautifully. You can help people who can write to write more effectively and you can probably teach people a lot of little tips for writing a novel, but I don't think somebody who cannot write and does not care for words can ever be made into a writer. It just is not possible.

Nobody could make me into a musician. Somebody might be able to teach me how to play the piano reasonably well after a lot of effort, but they can't make a musician out of me and you cannot make a writer, I do feel that very profoundly.

This really intrigued me. Was I born to write? All I know is that I’ve written stories ever since I was about 8 or 9. Throughout my teens, I wrote cheesy romance stories one after the other. I also kept long diaries – I remember one (when I was 16 or 17) which ended up as a folder about 3 inches thick by the end of the year (oh, how I wish I had kept that diary!). I wrote lengthy letters to penfriends and, later, when I moved away from home, to several friends back home.

In that sense, I have always been a writer. I’ve always had a feel for words and phrasing, and the flow of sentences. It really is something I ‘feel’, rather than something I know.

That doesn’t mean my writing is as good as P.D. James’ writing, although during the past few years, I think I have learnt to write more effectively. Not necessarily following all the ‘rules’, but certainly making my writing ‘sharper’, using simple techniques like getting rid of speech tags and overused words, etc

One thing in P.D.James’ words struck a chord with me. Unintentional pun there, but as child I learnt to play the piano. I wasn’t good, I knew I wasn’t good, but I persevered and by my late teens I played adequately enough to accompany the hymn singing at my local church. However, I wasn’t a musician. I played from technique, and not the ‘feel’ of it. There is a world of difference between technique and that ‘feeling’.

I’ve read blogs and articles where some people have said they ‘decided’ to become a writer. That’s something I’ve never understood. Can you ‘decide’ to become an artist or a musician – or a writer? In my case, there was never a conscious decision. Writing is as integral a part of me as breathing!

What do you think? Can you ‘make a decision’ to become a writer, or are you born with something within you to create stories and write them?

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Romance Novel 'Snobbery'?

 

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Romance Novel 'Snobbery'? 

In the past, I’ve had comments from two different acquaintances that have made me think. Here is the gist of the conversations.

First conversation:-

Her (with a smirk on her face): Please tell me you don’t write for Mills and Boon.

Me: No, not now, but I wouldn’t mind being published by them again.

Her (with mouth dropping open): Why? Their novels are rubbish.

Me: How long is it since you read one?

Her: I haven’t read any. I wouldn’t be seen dead reading one of that bodice-ripper kind of book.

Second conversation (on the phone with someone I hadn’t seen for several years):-

Her: So what have you been doing with yourself?

Me: Actually I’ve been writing novels.

Her: Really? Have you had anything published?”

Me: Yes, over a dozen in the past ten years.

Her: Oh, well done. What are they about?”

Me: They’re romances.

Silence, then Her: Oh, sorry, I never read romances. They’re so predictable, happy ever after and all that.

I’ve paraphrased these conversations, but you get the idea.

The first conversation made me realise the stereotypical image of romance novels has persisted, at least for my generation, for 30+ years. The “bodice-rippers” were the hallmark of Mills and Boon/Harlequin in the 1970’s and 1980’s, and, in my opinion, gave romance novels a bad rap. They had archetypal characters and contrived plots, usually involving a virginal heroine who was ‘rescued’ by a alpha hero, and often contained a barely disguised rape scene. On the whole, this kind of novel has gone ‘out of fashion’ (with a few notable exceptions which have dominated the best-seller lists!). However, a kind of stigma still remains.

The second conversation made me wonder about the word ‘predictable’. Yes, romances have, if not a ‘Happy Ever After’ ending, then at least a ‘Happy’ ending where the hero and heroine overcome the obstacles in the path to reunite. Aren’t thrillers, detective stories, and mysteries equally predictable? The goodies will triumph, the baddies will receive their deserved punishment, and the crime or mystery will be solved. What’s the difference? Why are romance novels considered predictable, while other genres aren’t?

And why are romance novels considered by some to be the ‘lowest form of literature’? Why do people want to disassociate themselves from reading romance novels? I’ve had a few reviews which start, “I don’t usually read romances but …” as if that is somehow praiseworthy. It seems to be okay to say you read thrillers or mysteries, but not the ‘done thing’ to admit to reading romances, even though thousands (millions?) of women obviously do!

Have you come across this kind of ‘literary snobbishness’ and, if so, what’s your response?

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Can anyone write a novel?

 

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Can anyone write a novel?

One of my last talks before Covid struck was to a local book club. It was a similar talk to several I have done in the past, as I talked about my writing ‘career’, including the differences between writing in the 1960s and writing today, and then giving some examples of where my ideas come from.

At the end of previous talks, I’ve had various questions, ranging from ‘How much research do you have to do?’ to ‘How much do you earn? (to which I usually reply, ‘Probably not even as much as J.K. Rowling would earn for one page of her Harry Potter novels!’)

This time I had a different question. Someone said, “They say there is a novel in everyone. Do you think anyone can write one?’

I had to think on my feet! In the end I said something like, “First I think you have to want to write and then you have to make the time to do it, rather than just write when you happen to have some spare time or feel like writing. It can take a lot of time and hard work – not just the actual writing, but also the research you need to do, even for a contemporary novel. You might also have to learn about plotting, using dialogue, and developing your characters, and you need to have a good grasp of grammar, punctuation and spelling.”

That’s a summary of my ‘off the cuff’ answer, which I’m aware (a) might have over-emphasised the time and hard work elements but (b) at the same time, only covered part of what is involved in writing a novel.

While we were having a cup of tea and cake afterwards, someone else said to me, “I couldn’t write a novel. I don’t have the imagination to create a story.”

On my way home, I thought about this and realised this person was right. The need/desire to write (which means you make the time to do it) needs to be combined with the imagination to create characters and their story. You can learn all the other things (and indeed, we all learn as we go along).

What do you think? Can anyone write a novel? And how would you have answered that question?

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Alpha-minus, Beta-plus Heroes

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Alpha-minus, Beta-plus Heroes

We’ve all read the ‘romance’ novels where the domineering alpha hero forces himself on to the weak/innocent/naïve heroine, but she still falls in love with him and/or somehow 'tames' him. Personally, I’d kick him where it hurts. The extreme Alpha man is often portrayed as Mr. Machismo, an abrasive, ruthless, overbearing jerk. Maybe it’s what some women fantasize about, but it leaves me cold. An ‘Alpha-plus’ man like this is more likely to be the villain in my story, not the hero.

With all the emphasis on Alpha men, the Beta man has got a bad rap. I’ve seen him described as “an unremarkable, careful man who avoids confrontation, and who lacks the physical presence, charisma, and confidence of the alpha man.” He can come over as a boring Mr. Nice Guy. Carried to its extreme, i.e. the ‘Beta-minus’ level, he is an unremarkable, passive, non-confrontational wimp. 

Hardly the kind of hero for a romantic novel, you might think. But think again!

How about a combination of both Alpha and Beta?  The man who combines the best qualities of both and loses the worst? He’s what I like to call the Alpha-minus, Beta-plus hero.

Alpha-plus loses his macho arrogance and egomaniacal behaviour to become Alpha-minus. He retains his strength, charisma and a self-confidence which is respected, not intimidating. He seeks a mate who is his equal, not one he can dominate.

At the same time, Beta-minus loses his reticence and passiveness and climbs up the scale to Beta-plus, retaining his sensitivity, his loyalty, and his compassion. 

To my mind, an Alpha-Beta man represents a more rounded idea of what masculinity is really all about. He rejects the all-conquering, competitive model of the Alpha because he is secure in his own strengths. He isn’t threatened by intelligent and/or strong women because he doesn’t have to be in control of every situation to maintain his sense of self. He isn’t abrasive, ruthless, or overbearing. Instead, he exudes a quiet self-assurance that has its own charismatic appeal. His so-called ‘introverted character’ may in fact indicate a thoughtful and capable man. He doesn’t see compassion or sensitivity as weaknesses, and he has the character traits which, in my opinion, women really admire – intelligence, honesty, and faithfulness.

With the Alpha minus/Beta plus man, we get the best of both worlds – strength combined with sensitivity. John Hughes, the 'hero' of my novel 'A Family's Secrets' is that kind of man. Mature and self-confident, especially in his role of captain of a steamship, he's nevetheless aware of his own faults. He may keep a tight grip on his emotions at times, but deep down his feelings can be intense, whether they be joy or grief. He also recognises and admires Betsy's strength of character, while at the same time being there to defend or protect her when necessary.  

What is your ideal 'hero' in a novel? 

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First Lines

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It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.

However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families that he is considered as the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters.

"My dear Mr. Bennet," said his lady to him one day, "have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?"

A modern editor would probably use a red pen on Jane Austen’s first two paragraphs, both of which are author statements. He/she might say the story should begin at the third paragraph – or maybe even later in the conversation between Mrs. Bennet and her husband. Thus we would lose one of the most quoted ‘first lines’ of any novel.

I’ve sometimes wondered about the emphasis that the ‘advice givers’ put on the first lines of a story. The first line, ‘they’ say, must hook the reader, but is that true? Do readers really get pulled in by the first line of a story? Do they decide whether to buy or not to buy based on the opening sentence or paragraph?

It seems to me that this advice is based on an image of someone standing in a bookstore and picking up a book. In that scenario, the cover, the back cover blurb, and the first few lines of a book are probably the most important ‘hooks’ for a reader.

However, in this digital age and with Amazon’s facility of ‘click to look inside’ i.e. a sneak peek at the first few pages of a novel, the reader is sitting at a computer or using a laptop or tablet. They have more time – and therefore, in all probability, will read more than the average person standing in a bookstore.

I’ve done this many times before downloading books to my Kindle, and have usually read far more than the first sentence or even the first page (unless that happens to be riddled with grammatical errors or typos etc). Therefore I’d hazard a guess that the majority of readers with e-readers will make their decision based on part or even the whole of the Amazon excerpt, and not just the first line or paragraph.

Therefore, instead of agonising over our first lines, perhaps we should be thinking more about whether our first few pages will hook our potential readers into downloading our books. Those pages should pull them in somehow and stimulate their interest and curiosity about the story. It’s been said that a character doesn’t come to life for the reader until he/she speaks, so a conversation of some kind on the first page can be a good way of attracting a reader.

In my experience, as a reader rather than a writer, any long introspection or back story at the start of a novel is a big turn-off. Neither should the first page contain a lengthy description of a place. A couple of well-chosen sentences can be equally effective.

Finally, while it’s not essential for the main protagonists to meet on the first page or even for some kind of ‘conflict’ to be introduced immediately, it’s probably better to introduce some kind of surprise (pleasant or otherwise) or an unexpected event for the main protagonist in the first couple of pages.

I’d be interested in your thoughts about the first few pages of a novel – what attracts you and what puts you off?

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Family History

 

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I first became interested in my family history when I was in my twenties and asked my grandfather and my grandmother’s brother to write down what they knew about their families. In those days, before computers and the internet, the only way to find out more was to visit Somerset House in London, which held all the birth, marriage and death records since 1837, or to visit local churches to look at original parish records and gravestones. With a young family and a full time job, that was impossible for me, so the family tree information was put in a file and almost forgotten.

Fast forward about thirty years, and a friend who was researching her family history told me about a couple of resources available on the internet. When I got home, I found my family tree file, searched for one of my great-grandfathers in the parish records which were online, and found him, along with several of his siblings. After that, I was hooked, and have spent many hours finding out more about my family, which has been a fascinating voyage of discovery. With some lines, I have been able to get back to the 17th century; with others, I have hit ‘brick walls’ in the early 19th century.

When I first started researching (in the late 1990s), online resources were fairly limited, but since then millions of genealogy records have been digitised. The information from my grandfather and great-uncle Joe proved to be an invaluable start, as it gave me the names of their siblings and parents, and also some details about their grandparents.

One of these always fascinated me – Uncle Joe’s grandfather i.e. my great-great-grandfather John, who was born in Liverpool in 1815 and became a mariner. This is the only photo (unfortunately damaged) I have of him, taken in the 1860's when he was in his fifties.

I obtained copies of his Mate’s and Master’s Certificates from a cousin which showed that he was first employed as a seaman in 1830 when he was fifteen. Uncle Joe said his grandfather John ‘sailed the world’ before joining the Isle of Man Steam Packet Company in 1838, which I was able to confirm. About six years later, John was promoted to captain of the paddle-steamer Ben-My-Chree and in the 1850s commanded other boats owned by the company, which transported cargo, mail, and passengers from Liverpool across the Irish Sea to Douglas in the Isle of Man.

Paddle Steamer Ben-my-Chree

I visited the Isle of Man about fifteen year ago and spent a rewarding day at the Heritage Centre in the town of Douglas, trawling through microfilms of the minutes of the Steam Packet Company and making notes of every entry that mentioned John. I also took dozens of photos of the inner harbour where the boats used to moor in John’s time, and visited the graveyard where three of his infant children were buried.

A few years ago, I discovered that the archives of Isle of Man newspapers had been digitised and indexed. £6 for 24-hour access – I stayed up very late that night! My reward was dozens of articles about John, many of them praising his excellent seamanship during stormy weather or with mechanical problems on his ships. I began to feel quite proud of my g-g-grandfather.

In 2019, having written several novels based in Ireland, I decided I need a change of direction. But in what direction should I go? One evening, after doing some more family research on Ancestry about John’s parents, I started to wonder about a family saga, covering three generations – John and his wife Betsy, their daughter Lizzie, and their granddaughter Beth. After a couple of false starts, I realised one novel covering all these would be far too long. It was as if John was telling me, ‘Write our story first.’ So I did, and gave my imagination free rein to bring John and his wife to life, along with other members of their families, in a story of secrets, jealousy, tragedy, and of course love and loyalty.

The result is my novel, ‘A Family’s Secrets’, the first of my ‘Follow Your Heart’ series, which will be published by BWL on February 1st. I hope you will enjoy it!