Gabriele Wills's Blog

If you were a young Canadian man in 1917, you might well have been involved in the Battle of Vimy Ridge on this day. Here's an excerpt from my novel, Elusive Dawn , from the point of view of one of the Canadian officers. Some of the women working as nurses and ambulance drivers were waiting behind the lines to pick up the pieces.
Justin Carrington was thankful to be out of the deep subway and cave where the slimy chalk walls had begun to close in on him, reminding him of the suffocating mud of the Somme, making him ashamed of the panic that he had to force back into the pit of his belly. By now he should have been used to the sweat and latrine stench of war, but with men packed so tightly together in these underground tunnels grey with cigarette and candle smoke, the oxygen seemed to have been used up. So he breathed deeply of the cold, pre-dawn air.           Like most of the men, he hadn't been able to sleep, even if it had been physically possible to find a comfortable place to rest. For months the entire Canadian Corps had been training for this day. Over and over they had practiced behind the lines – their objectives carefully laid out, the timing of their advance coordinated to the split-second – so that every last man knew exactly what to do….           The men had had their rum ration, and boxes of Canadian Lowney chocolate bars had miraculously appeared. Justin savoured every bite of his, while relishing the reminder of home.            So now they all stood silently in the trenches, in the rain that was turning to sleet, many up to their knees in icy sludge. 30,000 Canadian infantry strung along the four miles of Vimy Ridge. With another 70,000 soldiers in support roles behind – the gunners, engineers, medics, cooks, and so forth – it meant that the entire Canadian Corps was here, together for the first time….           Justin checked his watch yet again. 5:15. Almost Zero Hour.            His company of four platoons would go over in the second wave, leap-frogging those leading the assault at a predetermined line. The first battalions were already in the shallow jumping-off trenches and craters in no-man's-land.           After a week of constant shelling that had pummeled the German trenches and defences with a million shells, the silence now was eerie. And taut. Every one of them knew only too well that the Allies had tried and failed to take this strongly fortified and tactically important ridge during the past two years…. Despite some trepidation, Justin felt confident that their intense preparation and unprecedented bombardment would surprise and overwhelm the Germans.           And he felt buoyed by the latest letter from Antonia Upton. She had written, "We have been evacuating the wounded from the base hospitals in large numbers recently," which, in the parlance of censorship, insinuated that she realized space was being made for an onslaught of new casualties. She went on to say:           We often hear the remorseless guns, and I wonder how you can stand the diabolical noise that surely threatens the very sanity of civilization. When we have air raids here, I sometimes find it difficult to muster the courage to keep going, cherishing the sanctity and preciousness of life too much to lose it. There is so much yet to experience, so much promise to fulfill. It seems almost treasonous to admit that I don't want to sacrifice myself or any of my friends to the dubious glory of the Empire. Forgive my womanly heart, for I do not mean to diminish what you men are trying and dying to achieve.           I expect you will soon be preoccupied, and trust you will be careful as well as lucky. I enjoyed our perambulations about the Hampshire countryside, and hope we can repeat those when the wildflowers are in bloom and the trees, lushly green. And perhaps you will take me sailing and canoeing when I come to visit your magical Muskoka. I have presumptuously included a photograph of myself in the event that you may wish to recall your correspondent.           Fondly, Toni           He had chuckled at the formality of that last sentence, which was no doubt intended to make the gesture appear less intimate. But he was delighted by the photograph and studied it frequently as if he could delve better into her psyche. To him it was evident that she was transparent, her inner beauty reflected in her outer attractiveness. From her perceptive, forthright gaze shone humour and a joie de vivre that captivated him. He had the picture tucked into his breast pocket, and felt the intoxicating stirrings of love.            Joyfully he had replied to her:           Your photo has brought me much cheer, but I hope that I may see the real you before long. Not in your capacity as an ambulance driver, however!           I applaud your womanly heart, and agree with your sentiments. I have done much soul-searching over the past two years, caught between my civilized conscience and the dictates of war. I have seen both the best and the worst that human beings can do, the many and ever more mechanized ways we can slaughter one another, although we are more alike than dissimilar.            Your friendship has revived in me the determination to survive this war and to make a difference in a world changed forever, but open to new possibilities. Our generation must try to right the wrongs that brought us here and for which so many, as Rupert Brooke so aptly said, 'poured out the red sweet wine of youth'.           Be assured that your thoughts and words comfort and sustain me, Toni. I long to sit in the sunshine with you, listening to the birds, but without the guns which now disturb their songs. The larks here seem forever hopeful. So shall I be.           Affectionately, Justin           It was snowing now, the wind whipping up a blizzard.           5:28. Two minutes to go. After a passing whisper, the tiny clinks of bayonets being fixed to rifles coalesced and tinkled down the line.

I was thrilled to receive this 5 star review from Writers’ Digest Magazine:
“In Elusive Dawn , author Gabriele Wills shows talent that is anything but elusive. Her skillfully crafted scenes populated by well drawn characters will pull readers into the story and not let go until the very last page. Although this is the second book in the series, it also works as a stand-alone. I appreciate some of the extras Ms. Wills incorporated into this book, including the map, the list of characters, and the “Author’s Notes” after the story ends. The author’s passion for this story shows through her powerful descriptions, emotional turning points, and bigger-than-life setting. The cover is attractive and simply elegant.
"With a story this awesome, I’m sure fans will be looking for more from Gabriele Wills…. The story is strong and has emotional arcs in all the right places. The most important thing Ms. Wills can do now is effectively market this book.”
Which is harder than researching and writing! So marketing has been put aside until Book 3 in the series is finished.

I was thrilled to receive this 5 star review from Writers' Digest Magazine:
"In Elusive Dawn , author Gabriele Wills shows talent that is anything but elusive. Her skillfully crafted scenes populated by well drawn characters will pull readers into the story and not let go until the very last page. Although this is the second book in the series, it also works as a stand-alone. I appreciate some of the extras Ms. Wills incorporated into this book, including the map, the list of characters, and the "Author's Notes" after the story ends. The author's passion for this story shows through her powerful descriptions, emotional turning points, and bigger-than-life setting. The cover is attractive and simply elegant.
"With a story this awesome, I'm sure fans will be looking for more from Gabriele Wills…. The story is strong and has emotional arcs in all the right places. The most important thing Ms. Wills can do now is effectively market this book."
Which is harder than researching and writing! So marketing has been put aside until Book 3 in the series is finished.

It's been 93 years since the last of the many millions of shells was fired in the Great War, but every year, farmers in France and Belgium still find dangerous munitions on their land. In Flanders fields alone, some 10,000 unexploded bombs are ploughed up each year. It's known as the "Iron Harvest", and farmers place their finds by the roadside for the bomb disposal units to collect. Ironically, people are still being killed by WW1 munitions. Canada's Vimy Memorial apparently has one unexploded shell for every square metre, which is why there are fences and signs warning people not to stray off the paths.
So imagine how hazardous the devastated landscape was immediately after the war. That's why I was surprised to discover that Michelin published tourist guides to the battlefields and cemeteries! I just read one about Ypres that was published in 1920. Illustrated with pictures of piles of rubble where villages had once stood, muddy, debris-ridden fields with water-filled shell-holes, and rough roads lined with naked, broken tree stumps, it gives detailed directions on what to see and how to get about. Some roads were not yet passable. Here's a quote: "Beyond the cross-roads there is a confused heap of rails and broken trucks in the middle of shell-torn ground."
It seems macabre to me to tour the battlefields when they are still raw, highly dangerous, and gruesome, as dead bodies were being discovered and recovered. Having said that, my own tour of them and the military cemeteries a few years ago was a powerful and moving experience.
The magnificent, medieval city of Ypres was virtually razed, as you can see in the 1919 photo above. Are the people standing there tourists, or citizens returning and trying to imagine rebuilding their homes and lives? Fortunately, they did, as you can see in this photo taken by my daughter.
Photo copyright Melanie Wills

Would you like to see what women's bathing suits looked like a hundred years ago? Watch antique mahogany boats zipping about? Listen to popular ragtime tunes? Then visit the profile for my novel, The Summer Before the Storm , on Book Drum, which uses annotations (Bookmarks) to enhance the reading experience.
I had immense fun choosing photos, videos, and music to "illustrate" various aspects of the novel, thereby providing more depth or ancillary information. Some of these I already use in my PowerPoint presentation, "Fact in Fiction", so I'm excited that they're now available to the world!
As setting is an important aspect of Book Drum, my profile also becomes advertising for Muskoka, since it is the principle focus for this novel. Already one of the key people from Book Drum has commented on the "incredible setting".
I'm planning to spend days immersed in the rich and extensive annotations of Hemingway's, A Moveable Feast , which I'm using for my own research into 1920s Paris. So a word of warning - this site is addictive!

CWGC cemetery in Etaples, France, Copyright Melanie Wills
Although the war is over when Book 3 of my Muskoka Novels begins, it lingers for many of my characters. It's perhaps hard for us to imagine trying to rebuild lives shattered in trenches or aerial warfare, and to carry on without friends, husbands, and sweethearts when life is just supposed to be beginning. Little wonder that became known as the "lost generation".
War veterans were reluctant to talk about their horrific experiences, especially to those who weren't there and so couldn't really understand. Many couldn't readjust to civilian life or were haunted by unforgettable experiences, including their own participation in the brutality. How does a young man, brought up to believe in the sanctity of life, reconcile that with his requirement to kill? The survivors often felt guilty that they didn't lie alongside their comrades.
A few eventually wrote memoirs or thinly-disguised fiction, possibly to help exorcise the demons, leaving us with valuable insight. There's a somewhat shocking line in Cecil Lewis's memoir, Sagittarius Rising . As an aviator with the Royal Flying Corp (which became the RAF in 1918), he had lots of thrilling and harrowing experiences in that dangerous job where life expectancy on the front lines was about three weeks. At the end of the war, he wonders what to do with himself, saying, "I was twenty years old."
This photo of the Commonwealth War Graves Commission (CWGC) cemetery at Etaples on the north coast of France can't even begin to convey the enormity of the site or the profound sadness that you feel when walking among the nearly11,000 graves. Seeing the ages on the tombstones is heartbreaking - they are mostly young men and a few women - a Canadian nurse lies on the front right - who never had much of a chance at life. Many in Britain felt they had lost their finest young minds and potential leaders. Back home was a generation of "superfluous" women, who, outnumbering the men, would never marry and so, had to make careers for themselves. For some, the war was never really over.

Although I love the warmth and freedom of summer - being close to nature as you swim in the lake and walk around barefoot - there is something about autumn that speaks to my soul.  For two months we've been surrounded by glowing, ever-changing colours and the rich fragrance of fallen leaves that instantly conjures up memories of childhood fun. And autumn has the added thrill of Halloween, of allowing the imagination to roam into the eerie unknown, of relishing spine-tingling tales, and dressing up as witches and monks of old.
To add some seasonal spice this year, my family did a nighttime "ghost hunting tour" of Casa Loma, that fanciful baronial castle perched majestically above Toronto. With 98 rooms, it's the largest private residence ever built in Canada, and helped to bankrupt its wealthy owner, Sir Henry Pellatt. Having spent $3.5 million already, he told his neighbour, Lady Flora Eaton, that he needed another million to finish it, which he never did. So Sir Henry and his wife didn't have many years to enjoy their castle, and certainly didn't die there, but they are apparently still there in spirit form. Other ghosts - servants, perhaps - scare people from top-floor rooms and prowl the long, creepy tunnel that connects the house with the stables. It was in that tunnel that something snarled menacingly in our ears - unheard by others around us.
When you gaze down the deep length of the darkened library toward the conservatory or climb up the narrow, twisting staircases to the top of the towers, or wander down shadowy passageways, it's easy to believe that you are not alone. And reinforces for me that I never want to live in a castle. J
The Pellatts and Casa Loma are neighbours to some of my characters, so I wouldn't be surprised if they attended a dinner or ball there, the Pellatts being renowned for entertaining regularly and lavishly. I get to join them in my imagination, and perhaps I should set it around Halloween.
For more info about Casa Loma, visit the official site.

WWI ace pilot, Lieutenant Colonel William Barker, is Canada's most decorated hero, but how many people these days have ever heard of him? 50,000 people lined the streets of Toronto for his state funeral in 1930, a fitting tribute to one of the greatest and most respected pilots in the world. He had twice taken the Prince of Wales for a flight, once while still recovering from his near-fatal wounds, and with his shattered arm in a sling. As his biographer, Wayne Ralph, states, "He was in a very profound sense the hero's hero, the man the other heroes held in awe." Among those was legendary Billy Bishop, Britain's and Canada's top ace, who became Barker's friend and partner after the war when they started one of the first airline services in Canada.
With their Curtiss seaplane, they were able to take passengers between Toronto harbour and the Muskoka lakes, and for sightseeing flights. Arthur Bishop, Billy's son, told me that they often flew family and friends to Sir John Eaton's cottage, Kawandag, on Lake Rosseau. Billy had married Sir John's niece, and one day took her aunt, Lady Flora Eaton for a trip from the cottage to the city. This is how Lady Eaton described the flight in her memoir, Memory's Wall:"I sat in the open cockpit for almost 2 hours as we made our 'lightning' trip to the city. Jack was waiting for me at the Toronto waterfront, and never have I seen a more perturbed husband! 'You, a mother of 5 children, risking your life in a thing like that!' On the way up Yonge St. his driving was so erratic that I finally burst out, 'Look dear, I may have been taking a risk when I went in the plane, but that is nothing compared to the danger I'm in right now!' He couldn't help laughing."
The Bishop-Barker Company was perhaps ahead of its time, and only survived for a few years. Bishop suffered head injuries in a crash, and didn't fly again for over a decade. He went off to Britain to make his fortune, but stayed friends with Barker and always held him in high esteem. Barker joined the fledgling RCAF, and in 1924 served as its first director. As nominal president of the young Fairchild Aircraft company, he was demonstrating a new biplane near Ottawa when he was killed in a crash. 81 years later, there will finally be a monument erected to him. See more about that here. 
Bishop and Barker appear in book 3 of my Muskoka Novels. One of my objectives in writing historical fiction is to incorporate real people whenever feasible in order to accurately portray an era. And in my own way, I pay homage to them.
If you're interested in Barker, you'll enjoy Wayne Ralph's biography, William Barker VC: The Life, Death & Legend of Canada's Most Decorated War Hero.

I've been too busy visiting and writing about Muskoka lately to have noticed that National Geographic travel editors selected it as their top destination for summer trips of 2011! Check out their website.
But why should I be surprised? The natural beauty of the area has drawn tourists and cottagers from throughout North America for well over a century. It's inspired poetry, art, and certainly my novels, as well as others. And it's a testament to its magic that many cottages have been in the same family for generations.
Muskoka speaks to my soul, and I truly believe in the tourism tagline "Once discovered, never forgotten". But if you can't get there, you can be transported to an earlier era in my Muskoka Novels. The award-winning Book 1, The Summer Before the Storm, is now also available worldwide as an e-book. Check it out on Amazon.

Because we're nearing the 97th anniversary of the outbreak of the Great War, I thought I'd invite a guest blogger to tell us something about her life at that time.
Hello, my name is Victoria Wyndham, known to close friends and family as Ria. I'd like to introduce you to some of them. Well, perhaps a few words about me first.
Grandmother says I'm incorrigible and impulsive, while Father calls me willful, thoughtless, and disobedient. My mother died when I was born and he has never forgiven me for that.
Prickly Aunt Phyllis has condemned me as a "brazen troublemaker" and "undisciplined hoyden", but of course, she has never liked me, nor I, her. Luckily Aunt Olivia and Uncle Richard have always been generous and loving, so that I feel very much a part of their large brood, and particularly close to my twin cousins, Zoë and Max, who are my age. Max is such a tease, and Zoë is clever and wonderfully outspoken, even with Grandmother. They're onboard for any adventures that I dream up.
Stuffy cousin Henry claims that I'm reckless and always venture beyond the bounds of his imagination. His younger sister, Phoebe, is surely more inclined to do that, since she is quite mad, and talks to her sinister two-faced doll - who apparently replies. Their brother, Edgar, is easily the most likeable of Aunt Phyllis and Uncle Albert's children, although Grandmother thinks him too self-indulgent.
I should explain that we have a summer home on Wyndwood Island on a pristine lake in Muskoka, about 100 miles north of Toronto, where we live the rest of the year. We Wyndhams spend three or four months together at the cottage every summer, which doesn't always make for harmonious relationships. Especially after Jack arrived.
None of us knew, until this summer of 1914, that we have more Wyndham cousins! Jack's father was disowned for marrying a "showgirl". Jack is a charmer, and devilishly handsome - "divine," as Lydia Carrington remarked. Grandmother admires him as well, although she doesn't trust him. She thinks that because he grew up so poor, he will be ruthless, and use everyone to get ahead. She would be scandalized if she knew how Jack and I first met. He has three younger sisters, one whose remarkable voice has already been noticed by a Broadway composer. The eldest, Lizzie, is a bit harder to like, although I can't put my finger on why.
Cousin Bea - Lady Beatrice Kirkland - who is visiting us from England this summer, is truly sympathetic, but she thinks that I have "the unfortunate habit of running away when things get tough". She just doesn't understand how soul shattering some "things" are!
Chas Thornton told me at a ball that I have "the most stunning eyes. Like azure pools. A chap could drown in them." Chas is an outrageous flirt! And tremendous fun. He enjoys life and radiates joy. His family, one of the richest in Canada, owns several neighbouring islands. Our friend Ellie thinks he's "absolutely beautiful" and adores him, even though she detests his lifestyle and lack of ambition.
Of course Ellie - Eleanor Carlyle - doesn't approve of conspicuous wealth. A medical student, she is also something of a crusader, with perhaps too much of a social conscience. She would populate our homes - which she finds obscenely large - with unwed mothers and orphans. But I love her down-to-earth honesty, and she is the staunchest of friends. Her brother, Blake, is already a doctor, and very much the love of Zoë's life, if only he would realize it!
Chas's younger brother, Rafe, is rather dissolute, and unsettles me with his rapacious attentions. He seems to be a frustrated boy living in the shadow of his charismatic older brother. Perhaps his aggressiveness is a reaction to Chas's gentility.
Justin Carrington, on the other hand, is the kindest and most gentlemanly friend. I had a terrific pash for him when I was fifteen, and now I fear that he has rather fallen for me. Grandmother is trying to encourage our marriage, maintaining that  "friendship and mutual respect are far better than passion for building a good marriage." But she doesn't know where my heart lies.
I have many more friends, whom you can meet if you read The Muskoka Novels - The Summer Before The Storm and Elusive Dawn .
And I fear for my dear friends, as several are going off to war, Jack and Chas to become daring aviators. But we girls are not about to be left behind! We are as patriotic and plucky as the men. Zoë intends to become a VAD - a volunteer nurse. Ellie is almost finished her studies as a doctor. And I fancy driving an ambulance. Vivian Carrington and I are going to England aboard the Lusitania, the fastest and safest ship on the seas. Vivian did her VAD training and is using this as an excuse to meet up with her forbidden love, who's already overseas in the Veterinary Corps.
I do wonder why our generation is being so severely tested. Have we been living in a fool's paradise?
As for Muskoka, it's our sanctuary. Once you visit our island with its majestic pines, sparkling granite, and distant vistas of craggy, tufted islands floating on the cobalt blue lake, you might understand why my soul hungers for it.
By the way, we always have room for guests at Wyndwood. Oh do come!