When I hear
people complain how boring their lives are, I realise just how lucky I have
been. My life, trials and tribulations all, has been at worst interesting – at
best, fascinating – never dull.
Recently, I
went on a nostalgic trip while downsizing the junk that was taking up far too
much space in my office. With a few treasures, there emerged memories galore;
some writers who had been personal friends or acquaintances; some non-writing
people who had had a great impact in my life. The experiences I had with these
people made me what I am. Without them I could have grown up to be the shy little
mouse that I was, with her nose always in a book or a pencil in her hand. Some
of them made such an impression on me that they later turned up in my novels.
My grandparents – Granddad in particular; my three maiden aunts, sisters in
their nineties – perfect material for secondary characters in my historic books
– one of them was mortified to be fined at the age of 85 for driving too
slowly. Then there was the nightmare marriage to my first husband who…well,
you’ll find out all about him in my memoirs, if and when I write them.
Now, here are
a few anecdotes about some of the other people who touched my life and who I
feel honoured to have known:
ARTHUR APPLETON, sports
journalist who wrote The Story of Sunderland - Centenary 1879-1979 but the book
he was better known for was the story of the murderess, Mary Ann Cotton. I got
to know Arthur when he was President of the Newcastle Writers’ Circle [N.E.
England]. Over the years I attended his tutorials at Beamish Hall in Durham
where he used to organise writers’ weekends. White-haired, softly spoken – he
was the ultimate ‘gentleman’ and everybody who knew him, loved him. His
experiences while researching for the Mary Ann Cotton book were not always
pleasant as her descendants were reluctant to cooperate. The research took
three years to complete, but he kept at it and succeeded in the end. Being a
journalist and a writer wasn’t enough in this case. Arthur had to be a
detective too, but writing this amazing story left its mark.
ROBERT HUGILL.
Another lovely old
gentleman whom I met through the Newcastle Writers’ Circle. Historian and
writer of books on pele towers and castles and a stand-alone book: “I Travelled
Through Spain.” When I met him he was already 89
and had just published his
first crime novel, “Said The Spider to the Fly”, which I enjoyed reading and was
surprised to find some sexual content in the prose. Bob was hoping to have his
second novel published, but unfortunately died before this could be achieved.
He had a mind as sharp and clear as a thirty-year-old, but I remember him
shaking his head and saying: “You know, June, old age isn’t so great. It’s the
legs that go first.” How right he was, and this is especially true with
writers.
I speak from experience.
GORDON PARKER is a British
novelist and playwright. He has been a literary critic for Tyne Tees Television
and BBC Radio Newcastle.
I met Gordon
at a writers’ weekend at Beamish Hall, though I doubt he will remember going
for a walk with me through knee-deep snow, talking about the difficulties of
being a writer. Gordon was already published then. I was still a ‘wannabe’. He
wrote somewhat controversial books about local politicians. His books,
apparently, sold well in Russia at the time, but he could only spend his
royalties there in Russia. It’s good to see that he is still writing and being
published after all these years.
BENITA BROWN, best-selling
novelist whose sagas were, and still are, loved by many. I met Benita through
my husband, Brian, who had known her and her husband for some years. Their
children and Brian’s son attended the same school. Norman Brown was a
photographer and had photographed my husband [manager of Sir Peter Scott’s
wildfowl park in Washington, North-East England] on many occasions. They became
personal friends and Benita, encouraged me in my writing. She was the person
who kept on insisting that I should join the Romantic Novelists Association,
but I stubbornly refused as I never considered myself to be a writer of ‘love
stories’. However, I finally gave in, joined the association and, with all the
help and support of the many members, ended up writing my first romance and
getting it published – though I sneaked in a bit of suspense. Benita was a
great loss to the Association and to all her friends when she died a few years
ago, but I see that her books still go on. Thank you, Benita, for giving me
that very necessary push that led me to my own success.
T. DAN SMITH:
T. Dan Smith
aka ‘Mister Newcastle’ was a notorious councillor with a questionable past, but
an admirable passion for his fellow Geordies and his town, Newcastle upon Tyne
[N.E. England]. He had great charisma and was an undeniable enigma of a man,
adored by some, hated by many. How I became his personal secretary at the age
of 23 is a long and intricate story. He was a workaholic, totally dynamic, and I
was expected to be ‘on-call’ 24/24 as part of a team headed by a man who later
became Lord Mayor of Newcastle. He was famous, rich and powerful and Newcastle
was a better place for him. He dealt with a variety of businesses, and fought
for the ordinary people. He would stop
to shake hands with a lowly tramp in the street as well as have meetings with
the then Prime Minister, Harold Wilson. He was a great orator and politician,
but to me he was just a man who could sit and talk to me for hours about painting
and poetry. I had already moved on when Dan was charged with bribery and
corruption and, eight years later I found myself giving evidence for the
prosecution at his trial. This was a pretty scary moment standing in the
witness box looking at a grim-faced judge, a tiny man smothered in a long white
wig and scarlet robe, who stared at me accusingly over his bifocals and ordered
me to speak up because my terrified voice was so weak it was no more than a
whisper.Microphones in court didn’t exist then. “You have nothing to fear,” he
told me, then added: “Or do you?” Dan Smith pleaded guilty and was sentenced to
6 years in an open prison. The pleasant experience was how well I was treated
by detectives of Scotland Yard. And when I was reported in the local newspaper
as being the winner of the annual Catherine Cookson Award, Dan sent me a letter
of congratulations.
The above
biography was written by Chris Foote Wood, who came all the way to the Hautes
Pyrenees in France in 2010 to interview me about my time, short though it was,
as Dan’s secretary. I had plenty of anecdotes to relate, but after so many
years some of my memories were a bit blurred around the edges. Still keeping to
writing, I discovered that Chris Foote Wood was the brother of the lovely comedienne,
writer and actor, Victoria Wood. I had already thought that if ever my book,
When Tomorrow Comes, became a film, she would be perfect as my favourite
heroine, Hildie Thompson. I sent her agent a copy of the book and was
graciously thanked and she said she would enjoy reading it. But, of course,
that can never be as she has recently died.
JONATHAN EDWARDS
Jonathan
David Edwards, CBE is a British former triple jumper. He is an Olympic, World,
Commonwealth and European champion, and has held the world record in the event
since 1995. No-one,
yet, has beaten this record.
Before he
became known as an athlete, Jonathan, at the age of 19 came to work in the
Human Genetics Department where I was P.A. to the world famous human geneticist
Professor Sir John Burn. He was a laboratory technician, shy and retiring – and
I was given the job of being something of a ‘mother hen’ to him during his
first weeks. I’m so proud to have played just a very small role in this lovely
young man’s life.
SIR PETER SCOTT:
Sir
Peter Scott was the son of Captain Scott of the Antarctic. As a young man he
was an expert skater, sailor and hunter, until he lost his taste for killing
wildlife and became one of the most famous naturalists in the world, setting up
the charity, Wildfowl and Wetlands Trust – and he was my husband, Brian’s, boss.
Brian was the manager of the Washington [UK] branch of the trust where there
was a hundred acres of wetlands, woods and lakes. We lived on site in an old
farmhouse with 1200 endangered wildfowl for company.
His wealthy
background allowed him to follow his interests in art, wildlife and many
sports, including wildfowling, sailing and ice skating. He represented Great
Britain and Northern Ireland at sailing in the 1936 Berlin Olympic Games,
winning a bronze medal in the O-Jolle dinghy class.
Steam Gun
Boat, MGB S309, under the command of Lieutenant Commander Peter Scott, underway
at sea
During the
Second World War, Peter served in the Royal Navy Volunteer Reserve. As a
Sub-Lieutenant, during the failed evacuation of the 51st Highland Division he
was the British Naval officer sent ashore at Saint-Valery-en-Caux in the early
hours of 11 June 1940 to evacuate some of the wounded. This was the last
evacuation of British troops from the port area of St Valery that was not
disrupted by enemy fire. Then he served in destroyers in the North Atlantic but
later moved to commanding the First (and only) Squadron of Steam Gun Boats
against German E-boats in the English Channel.[7] He was awarded the Distinguished
Service Cross for bravery.
Peter and his
wife Philippa [who took the photograph for this book cover] often came up to
Washington for meetings. I remember the first time I met them. I had rushed
home from work [I was then a medical secretary for Newcastle University] and
was changing my clothes – standing in my underwear – when I heard an almighty
crash from the kitchen. A wall cabinet full of my precious collectable crockery
had fallen to the floor, knocking over the kettle, which in turn knocked over a
tea caddy and there was an unholy mess. We were still mopping the floor when
the Scott’s arrived, but they were very sweet about it and Peter even found
time to congratulate me on the painting of a bird I had done. Peter was quite a
character, loved wearing bright red socks and often played practical jokes on
people.
HRH PRINCE CHARLES:
Which
brings me nicely to the end of my name-dropping blog. I met HRH Prince Charles,
President of the Wildfowl & Wetlands Trust, on two occasions. One meeting
on the coldest January day in the north-east of England when he came to open a
new wing of the Washington branch. We were all frozen to the bone, waiting 45
minutes while the official photographers assembled us into the correct
positions. I was first to be introduced [husband Brian is standing next to me
in this photo] after Charles had signed the register. He muttered an aside in
my direction, saying that he was having bother joining up his letters that day
and announcing to me that he had caught baby William’s cold. I gripped his hand
a little tighter than I perhaps should have, but I was perched on the top of a
flight of stairs and my heels were hanging over the edge. All I could think of
was “Please don’t let me fall and pull HRH on top of me!”
Our other meeting
was at the AGM of the Trust in Slimbridge. We were last in the queue, waiting
to be introduced, but were then told that there wasn’t time as lunch was about
to be served. We were disappointed, but by some quirky act of fate we found
ourselves alone with Prince Charles as the two men he had been in discussion
with both left him standing there – unheard of! We put on a brave face, not
knowing what to do and walked towards the prince, who spun around on his heel,
smiled broadly and came to us, hand outstretched. Brian introduced himself and
[we weren’t married at the time] simply introduced me as “This is June”. Prince
Charles grasped my hand – he has a very firm handshake – and said: “Hello,
June.” He had a few words with Brian, then turned to me and asked me what
should be done about the north-east of England. “There’s a great lack of
culture,” I told him. “They need more.” He looked thoughtful, smiled and
nodded. I’d like to think that my remark had a little bit to do with the
wonderful cultural place that the north-east of England has now become.
The three of
us walked slowly towards the dining room, I by the prince’s side and Brian
bringing up the rear. I had no idea of protocol and Charles knew that without
being told. He placed his hand at my back, bent towards me and whispered: “You
go first and I’ll follow.’ Any protocol I might have recalled went right out of
the window as I simply whispered back to him: “Thank you!” The minute we
reached the dining room all eyes were on me and my cheeks were burning as the
ladies in their Ascot and Wedding hats crowded around, desperate to know what
HRH had said to me. It was one of the most memorable moments of my life – a few
personal moments with the future king of England.
