Caught between two worlds—Tricia McGill

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As writers, we usually live in two worlds—the one we are creating

and the real one where we have to do the dishes and other mundane activities. Needless for me to say, I prefer the imaginary world sometimes. Currently immersed in life as they knew it in London during the blitz (1940) for my current book, I can’t help comparing those days to the weird lives we are being forced to live these days as we cope with enforced separation and the rules of self-isolation.

Just when we thought life was about to get back to normal in my part of the world things have gone back a few paces. No visitors unless they are essential for your care, no nipping out to the shops unless it is an urgent matter. Thank heaven for our TVs and computers. Imagine a world without them—and without streaming TV watched by most of the population in one way or another. I can’t imagine living without my personal choice—good old Netflix.

During WW11, radio (called a wireless back then) was the most popular form of entertainment. Many shows became popular, and quickly gained influence. Radio broadcasts were regulated by the government—as was most entertainment at the time. One popular radio program back then was Tommy Handley's “It's That Man Again”, which continued airing until 1949. Comedian Handley used radio to keep the spirits of the British population high. His last show aired on January 6^th 1949 and sadly, he passed away just three days later. 

Then there were singers like Vera Lynn, whose beautiful rendering of songs like ‘We’ll Meet Again’ gave heart to her listeners. I recall my sisters who lived through those years as young women telling me how they danced to the music of bands like Joe Loss and Oscar Rabin who played at local dance halls and gained a huge radio audience.

Thank heaven for the cinema (called the flicks in those days). I had to use a movie in my latest book that my characters saw back in 1940 and chose Cary Grant and Rosalind Russell in “His Girl Friday”. Cary Grant was very popular then along with great actors like Tyrone Power, Humphrey Bogart and Jimmy Stewart. As with radio, the film industry was an important source of communication in a time when TV was unheard of. Much like media today, it was also a great means for the government to use propaganda to influence the public.

Just like recently there was a shortage of essentials, but panic buying by a selfish few didn’t bring this about—no this was because the ships carrying food and raw materials were attacked regularly. One noticeable thing when this pandemic started was that there were not so many cars on the road. Back then, most of the population didn’t possess a car but caught public transport. So we grumble because we can’t get hand sanitizer or tissues—how about living at a time when soap was rationed to 3 ounces a month, and there was no white bread available—at all.

I’m off back to that other world now—but first I might have a cup of

tea. And that’s another thing I forgot to mention, their cup of tea seemed to be a mainstay back then, even if perhaps there was a lack of sugar to sweeten it.

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A modern Miss and a modern kiss...by Sheila Claydon

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With teenage grandchildren I am under no illusion that today's writers have to look to their politically correct credentials if their stories are to pass muster. My goodness how times have changed!

I was first published in the early 1980s when it was still entirely possible for the heroine to be kissed against her will or, through lack of a voice, be coerced into doing something that was anathema. Of course we all know this still happens in real life, in sad situations where women and, more often, young girls remain powerless, but there is no longer any place for this in the sort of escapist romances I write.  Nowadays the heroines are all feisty (and rightly so). They have careers and independence. Their sexual back history is usually alluded to sufficiently to make it clear they are not entirely innocent. They are also prepared to walk away from any romantic liaison that doesn't satisfy them emotionally.

They are, of course, also computer savvy, carry cell phones, drive, often own property and are frequently fearless when faced with either physical or emotional dilemmas.

The only way around this is to write historical romances when life and behaviours were very different, and this became very clear to me when I wrote Remembering Rose, the last book I had published.  It is a story of several romances, one of them being that of Rose who lived in the 1800s. The juxtaposition of Rose's life and that of her great-great granddaughter (researched from historical accounts by real people) is a real eye-opener. I am old enough to remember the attitudes of past times, however, and the practical reasons behind them, whereas modern teenagers and twenty and thirty somethings are not, and why should they be. Life has changed almost beyond recognition and is continuing to do so, and writers have to try to keep up with it.

Lisa, the heroine in that first book of mine, Golden Girl, now republished by Books We Love as a retro romance, is light years away from Rachel, the heroine of Remembering Rose. And so is the storyline. Nobody would ever try to push Rachel around whereas Lisa had to fight off unwelcome advances and suffer in silence when nobody would listen to her voice.

So what does that say about me? Someone who lived in London in the swinging sixties, which, unless you were part of a small coterie of celebrities, were far, far less swinging than history would have us believe! It says I started off as a Lisa but have ended up as a Rachel, something that has happened to many women of my generation but certainly not all. To keep up a writer needs to mix with people of all ages, especially younger ones, and learn from them, or become irrelevant.

I thought of this when I revisited the half written manuscript of my latest novel, the one that has been sleeping on my computer for almost two years while I concentrated on other things. After a hiatus I can feel the need to write stirring again but, because life changes are moving exponentially nowadays, I read it was some trepidation.  What was I going to have to change? Fortunately it looks OK. The language and attitudes are fine and the storyline is still relevant. I am having trouble with moving it forward though because this time there will be teenagers involved as well as the main protagonists who might end up as step parents ( a first for me)...oh yes, and a ghost as well...just like in Remembering Rose. It seems that the village of Mapleby, which is the setting for both books, and for a further one in the future, is haunted...not by ghouls or goblins but by the spirits of past romances. Writing again promises to be an interesting ride.

Ever changing times—Tricia McGill

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 I often wonder what my mother would think if she were to return to the world as it is today. She was born over 130 years ago, so when she was a child there were horse driven buses on the roads of London. A horse drawn vehicle was still delivering the milk, bread and coal, even when I was a child. To her last days, our mother was scared of a telephone and didn’t understand how it could possibly work. It was a struggle for her to get used to her first refrigerator. She reared a huge family and kept them all as clean as she was able without a washing machine. No wonder her hands were wrinkled and her fingers bent with arthritis in her later years. I can recall when I was small that she sat in the armchair some afternoons and said, “I will just close my eyes for five minutes.” And, that was what she did, within minutes she was up and being busy again.

All these thoughts were brought to mind again because of writing my latest book; Crying is for Babies, as the story begins in 1931 when one of my sisters had just begun at school at the age of three. They started early in those days and finished usually at fourteen, when they went straight out into the workforce. There were no kindergartens or creches. If a mum had to work then a neighbour or relative would look after her baby.

My older sisters all worked in the clothing industry as I did eventually, where there would be dozens of machinists slogging away over their sewing machines. How times have changed in that department, you’d be hard-pressed to find a factory in Australia and I guess England, that produces clothing, as every item we buy nowadays is made in China, Bangladesh, or similar.

Our coal was delivered by a coal-man who hoisted a huge bag of coal onto his broad back and then opened the coal-hole in our front step, and shot the contents of the bag down into our cellar. I loved the smell of that little room. The coal had to be then brought up in the coal-scuttle to keep the fire going in the living room. Our mother would bank it up every night before going to bed with coal dust so that it was still smouldering next morning and we had at least one warm room. We could bake potatoes in the ashes, or chestnuts (Mm, I haven’t tasted a roasted chestnut in years) or sit there holding our bread to toast it by the fire.

The younger generation with their spotless homes and gadgets that

perform every task under the sun for them at the touch of a button, or the sound of their voice, don’t know what they are missing. Our whole family would get together around the fire in winter and talk about everything and anything. I’ll bet most families these days do not even spend more than a few minutes just sitting and discussing what is going on in their lives. I know of families who do not even sit together at mealtimes. I’m glad I have these memories to cherish, but what memories will they have—they are mostly staring at their mobile phones and overworking their thumbs. Even in the doctor’s waiting rooms, nobody chats to their neighbour any more as they are all too busy on their phones.

I guess as a writer I shouldn’t condemn computerised gadgets, as I could not live without my PC, but think of how the writers of years ago sat with inkpot and quill and yet managed to pen masterpieces. Even I began by scribbling my stories using a pencil on paper. When graduating to a typewriter, we had no spell-check or in-built thesaurus, which meant we had to ensure our spelling was correct the first time round, especially if we were typing carbon copies, or spend precious time going back over our work to correct any mistakes. There is no doubt the computer makes us lazy, as I tend to rely on it at times to correct me as it saves me time. One thing I have no arguments with is Google—the best thing since sliced-bread was invented. I do not have to leave the PC, get in the car, drive to the library (even though I love the place) and spend hours swatting over research manuals. I do not even have to leave the page I am working on and can have any answer I am searching for within minutes.

One thing my mother would have loved would have been a vacuum

cleaner. Imagine having to take the rugs outside to bash the dust out of them. Later she had one of those carpet sweepers that you push along, but even they did not collect all the dust left behind by many feet. Floors were scrubbed by hand—no electric mops or carpet shampooers back then. The chimney had to be swept by a professional chimney-sweep, unless you had a brother like one of ours who decided one day that he could do a better job. Imagine my mother having to clean up an inch of soot that covered everything in the whole room, including furniture, with no vac!

We certainly have it easy these days, and I love my washing machine, microwave oven, and computer, but not in that order, but there are times when I hanker for the simpler life I knew as a child growing up in the forties and fifties.

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