Long Ago on the Internet

 

Roan Rose   ISBN:  149224158X

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Way back, more than 25 years ago, the Internet was a fairly new thing. Ordinary people, from their home personal computers, were finding their way into all kinds of list serves, usually aligned with some niche interest, from TV shows to movies to genealogy, to nascent gaming platforms. There was electronics tech talk, as well astronomy, mechanics, philosophy and music. Universities began connecting, sharing their resources. Fiction began to appear online. This was the time of the birth of what is now today's globe-spanning "social media" and the genesis of many mega-billion dollar fortunes, whose troll lord owners tyrannize the internet -- and the politics - of today's online world. 

In those innocent days, however, the internet was a magical open door for those of us fortunate enough to have a desktop computer and dial up service. Through that electronic door people with all kinds of interests could connect, people from all over the world, in my case, the English speaking world. We could make friends everywhere we shared a language; we could travel vicariously to places like England and Australia, or to the West Indies or Canada.

Through an online friend, I discovered sites for history lovers--one in particular called "Later Medieval Britain" (LMB) where people who were fascinated by the Wars of Roses had debates and heated exchanges with one another. Many of these folks were British, some were Australians. I was one of the first Americans on the list, because the fate of "the princes in the tower" had been an obsession of mine since childhood. (My own on-the-spectrum "penguin.")                                                                          Below: Richard III

  

I'd been advocating for the Yorkist side of this ancient strictly regional spat since I was a bookish kid, even arguing ("Rude American child") with the Beefeaters at the Tower of London in my young teens. I passionately believed that Richard III had been maligned, that he had not killed his nephews as his successors, the Tudors (Lancastrian side) alleged. Whatever the truth is, 500+ years later any evidence can only be circumstantial; we shall probably never know what truly happened to these poor little dynastic pawns, but that's not the subject here. 

My subject is the friends I made--on the Yorkist side of the ancient quarrel, naturally! As time passed, we shared about other things: our families, children and grandchildren, pets, gardens, as well as all the historical sources which were passed around and discussed at length. I didn't have a lot of money, but here was a way I could travel without going overseas. Looking back, I loved the time spent on the LMB and then searching libraries for the books about which I'd heard, but most of all, I loved these people, who were as touched as I was. 

I was writing a novel and many others on the listserve were too. We all had our own solutions of the whodunit, of course. When I finally got together the money to go to the UK, I managed to meet several of these much esteemed online voices. One of them drove a group of us around to various historical sites and museums. We had supper together in York in a little restaurant inside the medieval walls. One venerable gentleman, Geoffrey Richardson, who lived near York, had written books on the Neville/Plantagenet clan which were available in museum stores at the local castles and battlefields. I'd hoped to meet and walk upon his favorite battleground, but it never happened, for flooding rains drove all the tourists out of York. I was lucky to catch the last train that made it to London that week, and never had another opportunity again, for he passed away later that winter, taking all his wealth of knowledge and his caustic wit and unique northern turn of phrase with him.

Death happens more frequently in my world these days. I opened FB today--something I don't do much anymore. What used to be news from far-flung friends is now all advertisements, not the warm virtual connection that once was so reliably there. After scrolling down a bit, I suddenly came upon a funeral announcement for an old LMB Australian friend, one who was younger than I am. 

I was shocked and saddened. Meredith was a fellow Ricardian, a fellow writer, a spirited member of our listserve. Later, she became my online publisher and a talented editor too, but besides that I was acquainted with her husband, her children and grandchildren, her garden and her home. I knew her kitties too--these often pictured lounging luxuriously in bed.  Unasked, Meredith spontaneously sent several Aussie children's books which were informative, clever and funny for one of my southern granddaughters, kindly providing this little girl she'd never meet her first real view into life in far-off land. Another beautiful mind, full of learning, opinions, memories and humour, gone forever. RIP my dear friend!

~~Juliet Waldron      

The 25 Mile Accent Rule....by Sheila Claydon

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So I got it wrong! My latest book, Many a Moon, Book 3 of my Mapleby Memories trilogy, is not due to be published until June. I said April in my last post. So what to blog about? The April 11 blog by Karla Stover, a Books We Love fellow author, soon gave me a topic.

Karla has written a very entertaining piece about an English TV series, Midsomer Murders. In it she wonders, tongue in cheek, how true to life in the UK it is. As an English person who has lived in a number of different parts of the UK I can assure her that some of it only too true while other bits are vastly exaggerated. I will leave you to read Karla's blog if you haven't already done so, to decide for yourself which is which. All I am prepared to say is that nobody in the UK would dream of moving to the fictional village of Midsomer because of all the murders that take place there. Apart from Oxford in the Inspector Morse series if you have been lucky enough to see that, it must be the most dangerous place in England.

However, her blog made me think about the background of other TV series and remember Ted Lasso, one of the most enjoyable I have watched this year.  It is about an amateur American baseball coach who somehow ends up in England coaching a poorly performing football team. Watching him slowly become an honorary Brit is both engaging and, at times, very touching. Learning to drink English tea for instance! Facing the fans when he visits the local pub after his team has lost! Making friends as he walks to work through narrow cobbled streets...often in the rain! Learning how reserved many English men are emotionally. Accepting the quirks and humour of some of the very English characters.

These are things that are a small part of a much larger story, but for anyone who is interested they certainly highlight the peculiarities of life in a small English town. The characters, who apart from Ted Lasso and his sidekick, are all British, are often larger than life, but only just. There is a kernel of truth in every relationship and behaviour. And Ted himself gives the English viewer a very heartwarming view of an American who wants to fit in and eventually manages to do so. 

Then I thought about other UK TV programmes. Series set in the North East of the country, in Yorkshire, in Shetland, in Dorset, in Wales, Ireland and Scotland, in Liverpool, and London, and how they are all fairly true to their roots. Not just because of the different accents and an occasional word of local dialect but because of the different attitudes, geography and lifestyles. 

Although the UK is geographically small, the ancestors of its modern population arrived around 10,000 years ago and for thousands of years lived scattered across the land. During that time each tribe or group developed its own language and dialect and it was only when people began to travel that a more universal language evolved. Even today people from different parts of the country still have to concentrate hard to really understand someone with another accent and dialect. In the UK accent and dialect changes approximately every 25 miles, which is an almost unbelievable statistic in the modern age. Living where I do, close to Liverpool but in a small seaside town that still likes to think of itself as a village, it's not unusual for me to hear at least 9 different  accents in one day from the visitors who travel from nearby towns and  cities.  And I add to them because I'm a southerner, or a blow-in as I'm known locally, so my accent is very different from those of my northern neighbours!

Because I've lived here for a long time, however, I have adopted quite a number of local customs, words and phrases. Some, however, are impossible. For example, I cannot conceive eating chips (fries) with gravy, or having what is known as a chip butty, which is thick fries in a  heavily buttered bun (also known as a chip barm, chip sandwich, chip cob or chip roll depending of which part of the country is selling it) Why? Because although in recent years it has started to travel, it is not a southern thing so I never had it when I was growing up. To me chips (fries) must be dry and salty.  On the other hand I have learned to abandon my southern reticence and, like most northerners, talk to anyone and everyone, and what a joy that has proved to be.

Many of the series on UK TV portray just how different every part of our small country is which has made me realise how much we unconsciously learn from fiction, not only as viewers but as readers and writers too, because most of those series are an adaptation of different books. 

That got me thinking about my own books and how amazing it would be if someone discovered them and decided to televise one of my stories or, even better, all of a series. Pie in the sky of course but it does no harm to dream. To know too that all the best writers work hard at making the background to their stories authentic even if, at times, the story is fantastical...unless, of course, you believe in all those murders.  In which case, keep well away from anywhere in the UK that resembles Midsomer.