Helen L. Lowe's Blog

Short Story: Silly Superstitions

This supernatural short story was inspired by the The King’s Theatre, Southsea, Hampshire, where my daughters performed in dance shows and pantomimes. It opened in 1907, and has acquired several resident ghosts over the years. There were some areas backstage, where the children in the shows were too scared to go on their own.

‘It’s only a stage kiss, Sally,’ Andy whispered, as we stood behind the musty velvet curtains at the side of the stage, ‘actors have to do them all the time.’

‘Yes, I k...

Fred Lowe Blog Series: Chapter 1 – The Magical Suitcase

After numerous enquiries regarding my father’s magic, and fans in The Magic Circle wanting to know more aboutthe man behind the magic; I have finally decided to share my father’s story in a Fred Lowe blog series. A story told from the eyes of a child, through my eyes, but also with some insight from historical artefacts and other members of the family along the way. To kick it off here is an introduction, a first step into the world of Fred Lowe…

From an early age, my sister and I, were press...

Are You Really Ready To Write The Next Novel?

When are you ready to write the next novel? ‘When you’ve finished the previous one, obviously,’ I hear you say but, unfortunately, I discovered that it’s not as straightforward as that.

My first novel was published and, naively, I thought I would just go straight onto the next. I wrote a detailed outline, sorted out the scenes into chapters and then sat down to write. By the end of the first week, I’d written a few painful paragraphs and then ground to a halt.

I couldn’t work out what was wro...

How to make your dreams become a reality

 

Everyone has dreams and goals for where they want to be in the future. This could be anything from starting a business, going back to school or quitting your job to travel the world.  But how many people actually take the necessary action to get those plans off the ground? Not many.

And it isn’t because people don’t have plans or lofty goals for themselves. Making plans and setting goals is the easy part of the process. The hard part comes in taking the necessary action to make those plans a reality. You should spend the least amount of time necessary to make your plans. While taking time to make good plans is important, any longer than needed just means you are putting everything off. Eventually you find that you never get around to actually doing them.

In most cases it’s better to do what you want as soon as possible. Always look for reasons to start something instead of how to push it into the future. Turning plans into action requires this imperative thinking so procrastination doesn’t sink in.

Find Meaningful Purpose and Motivation

If you can find enough motivation and passion for your plans, everything else becomes much easier. Examine the reasons behind what you want to do. Is this something you’re really passionate about? Why?

The more you understand the purpose behind your plans, the better. Finding the meaning behind your plans can tap into a powerful way to drive action. You’ll naturally become more motivated to take action if you can let the passion of what you’re doing come out.

But sometimes you might need a jump-start to get you going. One thing you can do is ask yourself, ‘Will you regret not doing your plans later in life when you’re too old to do it?’ Personally speaking, this question has provided me with more motivation to take action than anything else.

If you need to, imagine an older version of yourself that didn’t even attempt your plans. Imagine the regret you have for missing out on those plans and use that as motivation to move forward.

Face -down Your Fears

Finding motivation and purpose is only the beginning. You also need to address the fears and doubts you possess about the course of action you want to take. These can be quite debilitating and create a serious roadblock to taking action.

You need to accept and acknowledge that any plans worth doing will be scary at first. Realize that you’ll never be able to get rid of fear completely; you can only control it. However, you can’t let fear stop you from doing what you want to do. Otherwise you’re not really making the decisions for your life – your fear is.

It’s important to understand one thing about fear: It’s always worse in your head. What you imagine happening is never as bad as what it actually turns out to be in real life.

Plus, having fear is a sign that you’re heading in the right direction. You’re breaking out of your comfort zone and trying to make a better life. This is always something that will be scary. Make it a habit of running towards things that scare you instead of running away.

Take the First Step and Don’t Look Back

The first step towards your dreams is always the hardest, but it is also the most important. It’s the moment where you’ve built up enough drive and motivation and controlled enough of your fear. This is the crucial point where you stop making plans and actually put things into practice.

It’s important how you make the first step. If it’s too small a step, you give yourself too much room to pull out. You’re not really investing enough of yourself into it. It’s like putting your toe into a swimming pool as a first step to learning how to swim. It’s something you can easily pull back from and quit. It’s often best to not give yourself such an easy exit.

While I don’t really recommend burning bridges to your past, I still think any plan worth doing should be something you invest in completely. Having an easy exit you can do at any moment will just be too tempting to take when things get rough. Have faith that things will work out for you and just do it.

Jump Into Action

Taking time to fully make plans about your future is important and you should always think things through as thoroughly as possible. However, too much planning can be a bad thing when it prevents you from actually taking action.

Remember that plans are only as good as the action you take on them. The sooner you take that first step towards your goals and dream, the sooner you can make them a reality. Taking action is the basis for what living a great life is all about. After all, you don’t want to be someone who later in life thinks back and wonder what might have been.

 

Debut Novel Out Now!

Yesterday was a very exciting day for me – my debut novel (Hartmann – Malicious Rules) went out live and is now available to buy on Amazon Kindle, on KOBO and various other platforms. I was so happy, I didn’t sleep a wink last night and today I just can’t stop smiling.

Novel Synopsis

‘Hartmann – Malicious Rules’, Book 1 of the Hartmann Thriller series, is set in London in the swinging sixties. It chronicles Dr. Julian Hartmann’s search for his 16-year-old son, Sam, who is missing against the backdrop of the Thames Butcher murders.

In December 1966, a dismembered body is discovered by children playing on the Thames shoreline by Execution Dock. It’s the fifth victim of the Thames Butcher, and London is gripped with fear by the horrific murders.

When Dr. Julian Hartmann, a lonely 34-year-old bachelor with suppressed memories of childhood abuse, bumps into an ex-girlfriend and lost love of his life, Lizzie, she tells him he has a 16-year-old son, called Sam. Julian, although initially shocked, quickly bonds with Sam and he’s overjoyed to have a son but his joy is short-lived when Sam goes missing in London. Desperate to find Sam, Julian leaves his hospital job in Hampshire and moves up to London to search for him full time.

Meanwhile, the growing media panic about the Thames Butcher murders escalates after the police disclose that all the victims are young men and that it may be a homophobic crime. The homosexual community, already discriminated against and persecuted by the police, goes into a spiralling panic. And Julian’s search for his son takes a sinister turn when he discovers that his son frequents the Coleherne, a known gay pub in Earls Court, to earn money for drugs.

When Julian, coincidentally, meets the prime suspect for the Thames Butcher murders, John Erikson, at the Coleherne, he’s pressured into helping the police gather evidence against him. Erikson, a known homosexual with a criminal record for violence, is immediately attracted to Julian and introduces him into London’s seedier side; a world of illegal drugs and porn. But Julian will allow nothing to deter him from finding his son, and that unrelenting desire leads to a terrifying ordeal and into the fires of hell . . .

Buy it online now, alternatively it’ll be available in physical book form very soon, and on Nook, Barnes & Noble and Smashwords.

So, what happens next?

I suppose I’d better get a move on with the sequel.

Extract: Hartmann – Malicious Rules

A writing extract from ‘Hartmann – Malicious Rules‘, Book 1 of the ‘Hartmann Thriller’ series. Set in London in the swinging sixties, it chronicles Dr Julian Hartmann’s search for his missing son, Sam, who is missing against the backdrop of the Thames Butcher murders.

(Extract from CHAPTER 28)

It was daylight when Julian opened his eyes and he stared straight ahead. He saw a naked man tied spread-eagled to a large wooden rectangular platform. The man’s face was hidden behind a black hood that had slits for the eyes and mouth. It took time to realise he was looking at his own reflection through a mirror suspended above him.

After a few moments, he heard himself saying “sortez-moi de là”. He repeated the phrase twice more and in desperation yelled, ‘get me the fuck out of here.’ He listened, straining to hear a sound but there was nothing, not even London traffic.

He tried to see past the mirror, which covered the whole width and length of the platform and appeared to be suspended from a very high sloping ceiling. There was a skylight window in the ceiling giving him a view of clouds, spots of rain and a few lightning flashes that jarred his already strung out nerves. Sometime later after that, he heard a door open and footsteps coming towards him and behind him, out of his line of sight. When he heard a hoarse chuckle, he knew it was Erikson. He came into view, walking around the platform to stand by Julian’s feet with his arms spread out in a theatrical gesture.

‘Julian, you look magnificent.’

Julian swallowed hard to clear the vomit that had just hit the back of his throat.

‘What – no quick witted reply from our clever doctor? Makes me wish I’d thought of this a whole lot sooner.’ He ran his hand along Julian’s left leg up to his scrotum, giving his genitals a sharp slap with the flat of his hand before taking it higher to stroke and slap his chest and twist his nipples hard. He pulled the hood off Julian’s head and grinned down at him. ‘Now, that’s the look you had in the club – scared shitless – it suits you.’

‘Why are you doing this? I thought we were . . .’

‘Friends – is that what you were going to say? But you’re right I should explain.’ He sat down on the edge of the platform next to Julian. ‘Mm, now let me see – where to begin? Perhaps it has something to do with the flat being bugged – or perhaps I’m just PISSED OFF because you’re helping the fucking pigs?’

Julian had to swallow more vomit. ‘I’m just trying to find my son – surely you can understand that.’

‘Yes, I think I can and I have some good news for you.’ He was grinning insanely. ‘You’ve only gone and done it – you’ve found him – see what I did for you, I kept him safe.’ He slapped Julian’s face hard. ‘Come on, show some gratitude.’ He suddenly grinned and looked around the room. ‘By the way, you must have realised by now that we’re not in the flat, so there’ll be no-one listening in, recording every word. Your magic French words won’t work here but maybe you’re thinking the police followed us.’ He leant over to stare, with a look of pure evil, into Julian’s face. ‘Well, no-one is out there. Do you understand? There’ll be no rescue by our wonderful police force. You’re all mine.’

He stood up and checked his watch. ‘I’ll be back later and we’ll have a good old heart to heart, you know the kind of thing – I’ll tell you what’s going to happen and you’ll have a chance to plead and beg for mercy. This isn’t going to be all one way – my way – it will be something we have both contributed to. So, I’m going to tell you a little about it now because I’d like you to think about it and try to come up with some exciting scenes. Basically, you’re going to star in a film – I bet you never thought you would be a film star – and I think Sam could have a role in this film – you and Sam – Sam and you – the possibilities are endless.’

He walked over to a table on the right of the bed and came back with a needle and syringe which he held in front of Julian’s face. ‘Recognise this? I found it in your jacket. It’s an odd thing to carry around with you. Were you expecting to have an opportunity to use it – on me, perhaps?’

Julian had lost his power of speech.

‘Now, I wonder what the dose should be – let me see, there are ten millilitres of something in the syringe and I presume that is the dose you would have given me?’ He laughed. ‘This is fun.’ He examined Julian’s right arm. ‘I think intravenous would be the best way – works quicker, so I’m told.’ He looked at the blood vessels in Julian’s neck. ‘Some nice ones here as well.’

‘You can’t,’ Julian blurted out.

‘Sorry – I didn’t quite catch that. What did you say?’

‘You can’t give me all of that.’

‘Really? Why – what is it?’

‘It’s a sedative.’

‘And what dose would I give if I wanted to knock someone out for a few hours?’

‘Half that.’

Erikson laughed. ‘You really do think I’m stupid, don’t you.’ He stood up. ‘But – I’ve changed my mind. I’ve got something better than that.’ He went back to the table and came back a minute later with another loaded syringe.

Julian was alarmed by the glass syringe and rusty metal needle. It looked like something a junkie would use; old and definitely not sterile. ‘What’s that?’

‘Heroin – top quality.’ He grinned at Julian. ‘Feel better now you know?’ He waited for a response. ‘No, I didn’t think so.’ He looked at Julian’s right arm again. ‘Nice healthy veins – much better than your son’s. I can see you haven’t been shooting up in dark alleys.’

‘For fuck sake – John, you can’t . . .’

He chuckled. ‘Yes, I can.’ He tied a strip of thin rubber tubing around Julian’s arm above the elbow.

‘John, please – can’t we talk . . .’

‘The time for talking has long since passed.’

‘I’ve never used heroin – given IV it could be fatal.’

‘I know – it’s another first for you. Your life just keeps on getting better, doesn’t it?’ He slapped the vein that was starting to swell up.

‘If it’s to keep me quiet . . .’

‘It’s not to keep you quiet.’

‘Then why?’

Erikson grinned at him. ‘Because I want to.’ He pushed the needle through the skin and into the vein, releasing the strap with his other hand. ‘Any last requests?’

Julian’s fear was replaced by sheer panic . . . last requests? ‘For God’s sake – how much?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘How much – what dose, are you giving me?’

‘Enough,’ he said, as he pushed the plunger steadily home. ‘Enjoy the trip, dear boy.’

 

Want more? My debut novel is now available to buy on Amazon Kindle and other popular platforms.

 

To Outline Or Not To Outline? That is the question.

This is probably the subject that inexperienced writers think about most before they start work on a novel. If you ask successful authors for their advice they’ll probably say that there’s no wrong or right way. It’s all about what works for you. I haven’t got a stream of successful novels under my belt (yet) but I have attempted five novels over the years and have only managed to complete two.

There are three, maybe four, approaches you can take before starting that exciting but ‘a little bit scary’ first draft. I’m going to walk you through the different ways that I’ve tried myself, and describe what was good or not so good about the different methods.

Before we start, I’m assuming you have a story in your head wanting to come out. This may be a complete story or just parts of it. You may know where you want to start but don’t have a clear idea of how it ends, or you have the middle and end, or only the middle. But whatever part of the story you’re sure about, what you must have is characters because without characters you have no story.

The first novel I wrote, when I was 31, was science-fiction (sci-fi) of approx. 90,000 words. I had the story in my head fairly well established, but there were areas that were hazy and not thoroughly thought out. I didn’t write a plot or outline at all. I just typed it up on an electric typewriter (no home computers then) and kept going until I reached the end. When I had an idea, a direction, that was interesting, I just went for it. I remember a real feeling of excitement as I diverted off in another direction. It was fun. But when I got to the end and started to edit, I found holes and dead-ends all over the place.

Having only a hard copy to work with, the editing was slow and extremely time consuming. I read it and corrected it by hand and ended up crossing out whole pages. Then it had to be typed up again.  I did the whole process twice, and the results were less than perfect. I sent if off to only two publishers and despite getting positive feedback the rejections hit me hard. One of the publishers said it would have probably been accepted ten years ago, but now the standards for publication were higher. Thinking back on the story, which I have read parts of since, it has a strong plot with good characters but it’s overcomplicated and goes off at too many tangents. What I should have done, was restructure the plot and edit it at least twice more before sending it out again. The novel is now on my ‘to do’ list.

My second novel was a historical/supernatural cross-over story. I had read several books on writing by this stage and my writing had definitely improved. I wrote a loose outline. I had the beginning and end but nothing concrete for the middle. And I was fortunate to have a computer to work on. I managed to write about 30,000 words but then got stuck. While I tried to work out the plot, which was starting to look like a spaghetti junction, my conviction in my own ability started to waver and my writing came to a shuddering halt. At the time, I thought I had writer’s block but now I think the rejections of my first book made me doubt that I would ever write something good enough to be published. Again, this story is on my ‘to do’ list.

My third novel, about ten years later, was another sci-fi. It had a strong medical theme and with my medical background I found it a lot easier to write. I had completed a writing course since my last attempt and read many brilliant books which helped enormously. Some of my favourites are, Sol Stein’s ‘Solutions for Novelists’, Nancy Smith’s ‘501 Writers’ Questions Answered’, Johnny Payne’s ‘Voice & Style’, and Michael Legat’s ‘Writer’s Guides’. I was feeling a lot more confident about my writing now but like my first novel, I didn’t write an outline and decided to ‘wing it’. It was a mistake and I stopped at around 50,000 words. This story is, yes, you’ve guessed it, now on my ‘to do’ list.

About six years later, I attempted yet another novel (my fourth), a thriller set in London in the 1960s. It had been in my head for decades, ever since I worked as a nurse in London. I wrote a detailed outline and followed a structure from Christopher Vogler’s ‘The Writer’s Journey’ (a revised version of Joseph Campbell’s ‘Hero’s Journey), which is a mythic structure for screenwriting and fiction. I planned it so carefully and rigidly that I had no room for flexibility. I ground to a halt at around 15,000 words.

Over the next ten years I completed a second writing course, wrote short stories, a screen play, and a comedy series for TV, which amused family and friends but I was totally convinced that, no matter how long I worked at it, I would not get a work published.

Three years ago, at the age of 63, I was planning my retirement. I had just started a third writing course and was surprised when my tutor said there really wasn’t anything else he could teach me. He said that my writing skills were very good and all I lacked was confidence. With his encouragement, I began writing again and my mind was back on that thriller. I looked at the outline, that rigid structure, and realised it was too inflexible for my own writing style. But the mythic structure, from Campbell’s ‘Hero’s Journey’, was good. About the same time, I heard about ‘Indie publishing’, particularly Amazon Kindle. I had been given a Kindle for a Christmas present and found it brilliant for keeping up with my insatiable appetite for books. For the first time, I could see that I could publish a book myself. I was able to retire at 64, and I made myself a promise that I would write that thriller and get it published.

I started from scratch with the outline, and again used Campbell’s mythic structure which has twelve stages i.e. ordinary world, call to adventure, refusal of the call, meeting with the mentor, crossing the threshold, tests/allies/enemies, approach to the inmost cave, the ordeal, the reward (seizing the sword), the road back, the resurrection and return with the elixir. I had all the stages of the mythic structure marked out on an arc, with their corresponding plot points, and the quite artistic drawing was up on a pinboard by my desk. So I had enough ‘mapping’ worked out on the story but not the ‘nitty gritty’ details of how the characters moved the story forward from one stage to the next. I decided to let the characters tell the story for me and they didn’t let me down.

When the headstrong lead character (the protagonist) decided to deviate from the plan, all I had to do was get him back to the arc structure and make sure the stages continued to build up the tension. The results were staggering. There were no periods of writer’s block, no feelings of self-doubt. I just wrote that first draft straight through to the end in two months. When the first draft was finished, I patted myself on the back, had a glass of champagne, and then started the first rewrite. I was excited about finishing the first draft, but I was also convinced I had found a method of planning that gave me the best of both worlds; a strong outline and structure and the flexibility to follow my creative whims.

‘Hartmann – Malicious Rules’, Book 1. of the ‘Hartmann Thriller Series’, will be published on 04 December 2015 on Amazon Kindle, and other popular platforms such as; Sony Nook, Barnes and Noble and Apple iTunes.

 

Ten Top Tips For Fledgling Fiction Writers

I have done my share of research and read numerous books on writing tips but ultimately, I learned the hard way what does and doesn’t work for me. Here are my ten top tips for fledgling fiction writers, because they are the tips that most helped me . . .

Decide what genre of fiction you enjoy most. If you like reading about romance and love then writing a horror story may not be the best choice for you. If you like murder mysteries and crime, then a romantic love story where the climax of the story is wedded bliss would probably bore you to tears. If you write what you love to read, you’re half way to creating a story you’ll be proud of.
Give yourself permission to write. That may sound a bit weird. Why would you need permission? Many ‘would be’ writers find it hard to allocate a time to writing when so many (more important) things in their lives are pulling them in different directions. Until you give yourself permission, writing short stories or novels will be an uphill climb and one that you may never achieve.
Don’t listen to what friends or family say about your desire to be a writer and author. Most people who are not writers think that great writers are born, and not made out of blood, sweat and tears. The truth is, that all writers, even those that seem to make writing a best seller look easy (e.g. Hilary Mantel, JK Rowling, Stephen King, John Grisham, Ernest Hemingway) had to work damn hard. They had to ignore their self-doubts and plough on through their dark moments, but they didn’t give in because good writers don’t stop when the going gets tough. If you have a burning desire to write then do it and develop a thick skin so that the opinions of others, like water, roll off your back.
To be a writer you need to write. That sounds really obvious, but you would be surprised at how many would-be writers just talk about writing, go to numerous writing classes and writing groups, and do anything rather than sit down every day and write. By all means, go to writing classes and groups, but don’t forget to write.
To be a writer you need to read. There was, and maybe still is, a school of thought that believed that if you read other writers’ work, your own writing voice would be influenced and you would unconsciously copy other writers’ styles. Yes, of course you do to begin with, that’s the whole point. The more you read from a wide variety of authors the more comfortable you’ll feel with the written word. Subconsciously, you’ll absorb a myriad of styles but eventually you’ll develop the one that is just right for you; your unique voice, your style. If you don’t read you simply won’t have the tools to write.
Keep a notebook and pen with you. When you’re writing fiction, ideas about your story can come at any time but if you don’t write them down, chances are you won’t remember them later. And this is especially true at night. The best ideas often come when you’re either drifting off to sleep or waking up, and you’re in a kind of ‘no-mans’ land of consciousness. Have you ever noticed that when you wake up from a dream, you can sometimes remember everything about the dream but as the day goes on, often by the time you’ve sat down to breakfast, the dream starts to fade. Similarly, when you’re drifting off to sleep, you may have a really good idea and promise yourself that you will act on the idea in the morning but when the next day comes that idea has completely escaped you. You probably won’t even remember that you had an idea. This ‘no-mans’ land of consciousness is quite magical and deserves to be utilised. So keep pen and paper by your bedside and write those little gems down, even if it’s only a few keywords, because when you read them back to yourself the next day, you’ll remember exactly what that magical thought or dream was.
Get the first draft onto paper (or computer or laptop) as quickly at you can. The aim of the first draft is to get the story out of your head because until it is, the craft of writing; the second, third and possibly fourth draft can’t begin. It doesn’t matter whether you write it by hand or type it on the keyboard of your computer, laptop, tablet or whatever modern technology you prefer. When it’s out, the real writing can begin. To get the first draft out, some writers prefer to do detailed outlines so that they know exactly where, when and how the plot unfolds. Others prefer to wing it. The common term for this is ‘by the seat of your pants’ or ‘pantsing’. And some prefer to do a brief outline and allow themselves to deviate off it when an idea pops into their head. The only way to find out which one works for you is to try them all. Above all, when writing the first draft, don’t read through and edit as you go along. During the first draft, you’re using the creative side of your brain. When editing, you’re using the logical side of your brain. The last thing you need is the logical side of your brain butting in and picking that first draft to pieces before you’ve finished it. If it does, it’s likely that you will be filled with such self-doubt, you’ll never finish it. I say this from bitter experience.
Read aloud when editing your work.If you think your story is as good as it can get, try reading it aloud to yourself. Any parts that sound false or stilted when read aloud need to be revised. Another way to do this is to use a piece of software that converts your written text to speech. You can find free ones if you search for them online or pay if you want a better choice of voices. When your text is spoken, errors in spelling, grammar, and readability stick out like a sore thumb. It’s also worth doing your final read through from a printed copy. You’ll be surprised how many more errors you detect when the work is on paper and not on a computer screen.
Write regularly and often and don’t get impatient. When deciding on when you’ll allocate writing time, be aware of how frequently you plan this. Writing a small amount at regular intervals is more important and beneficial than writing a lot once in a blue moon. Too long a gap between writing sessions can affect the flow of your work. You can become detached from your characters and lose momentum. So, schedule regular writing sessions and give yourself a target word count or a minimum time slot. Personally, my target is a minimum of 1000 words but often write nearer 2000. However, when my children were young and I was working as a nurse, I remember thinking I was lucky if I managed 250 words written early morning before the family woke up.
Don’t worry about finding clever words. If you’re in doubt about a word’s meaning or usage, then check it in a thesaurus (the one on your computer will do fine) but in most situations, the word you first thought of is probably the best one to use. The best advice I was given in my early writing days was write as you speak. It’s the best way to create fiction that readers will find easy to read. How many times have you read a book and needed to re-read sentences or paragraphs several times to understand what the writer is trying to say. Personally, if I’m reading a fiction book that’s hard to read, I eventually give up and toss it aside. Fiction should be entertaining – not hard work – that’s my opinion, anyway.

 

The Magic In My Childhood – A True Story

There are many lucky people who’ve had magical childhoods but unfortunately, there are millions more who didn’t – it’s a very cruel fact of life. But the magic I’m talking about isn’t just about a wonderfully close and loving family. It’s true that my sister and I were lucky to be born to two loving parents who did everything they could to make our futures bright, but the real magic came from somewhere else.

My father, Fred Lowe, besides being an RAF pilot in bomber command during WW11, and afterwards a police officer in Liverpool, was a brilliant magician. When he was in Liverpool, he was called The Magic Policeman by the press, for the free charity shows he did in his spare time. His hands became famous all over the world when they were filmed wearing white gloves performing close-up magic, which looked amazing on our black and white television screens. Some of the more senior readers may remember that in the days before adverts on television, they used to have breaks (interludes) when some short entertainment came on. His white-gloved hands were shown for years on British television and many other countries. Eventually, as his enthusiasm waned for the police force and his skill improved as a magician, he left the police force and brought his family down to the south coast in Hampshire, for a fresh new start.

Since our early years, my sister and I were given the job of watching our father’s close-up magic tricks to see if we could spot anything that shouldn’t be seen. His premise was if a child’s keen eyes couldn’t see how a trick was done then it was good enough to perform in front of adults. But in my early childhood, I believed he was a real magician so I was a little confused that we were asked to look out for mistakes. It was a sad day when I discovered his clever tricks were done by sleight-of-hand and not a magical spell but deep inside I think I still believed that he was a real magician pretending to be a fake.

As well as close-up magic, he did a mind-reading act with our mother – The Amazing Lowe’s – it was a very clever act that required our beautiful mother to stand on the stage wearing a blindfold while he walked around the audience asking them to give him objects that he could hold up while she used her telepathic powers to say what the object was. It was a very successful stage act.

Fred Lowe became famous within the Magic Circle and took his turn as Chairman in the early 1970s. His clever and unique close-up coin tricks, that he had designed and handcrafted, sold worldwide with celebrities such as Orson Wells as customers. Even today his coin tricks are sort after by today’s close-up magicians. At the magic conventions, we met British stars such as Eric Morecombe (who loved magic), Ken Dodd, Tommy Cooper and Paul Daniels. Having Fred as our father certainly put magic into our lives and we have memories that we cherish. Unfortunately, he died young at the age of 56 from a heart attack. Some of the magic from our lives was snuffed out too but, after the grief subsided, we had some very happy memories.

My Wounded Heart – A True Story

I’ve thought long and hard about posting this story because it’s a painful memory that’s hard to talk about, but I feel it’s worth sharing because it may help other women who have had similar experiences.

When I was fifteen I fell in love with a tall, handsome young man, just one year older than me. It was my first love and like most of us experiencing our first love, it was special. Tony was handsome, clever and ambitious. We met at college. I came straight out of an all-girls private school where I was safe and protected from the outside world and Tony came from a grammar school.

Tony had a burning ambition to go to Sandhurst. The army was in his family and he wanted to continue the tradition. I had less grand ambitions and wanted to be a nurse.

I can still remember how I felt when I was with him. When we held hands walking to college, I was so happy I thought I would burst. It was the happiest time of my young life. A year passed by and we were still in love, and I thought it would last forever.

I used to do babysitting for several young families and I eventually succumbed to the temptation of Tony babysitting with me. My mother had always warned me not to be alone with a young man in a warm room. Unfortunately, like many of my mother’s obscure rules, I had no idea what she meant. I was ridiculously uninformed about sex and boys, and even the sex education at school was all about rabbits.

I really was innocent to the point of being stupid. I hadn’t even heard of contraception and looking back on it, I’m not sure if Tony was as uninformed as me by not wearing a condom or whether he just didn’t care. The result of all this ignorance was (you guessed it) a pregnancy.

When I think back on it, Tony’s behaviour towards me in the months that followed (and after the baby’s birth) was unkind and spiteful so I’m pretty sure that he simply didn’t care about me or our baby. He got what he wanted and that was the end of it as far as he was concerned. Do I sound bitter? Yes, I think I am, even now after all these years. We were both very young, I know, but that shouldn’t have stopped him showing me some kindness.

From the moment it was confirmed I was pregnant, my life with Tony ended. He said he loved me but had his career to think of. He thought it best that we didn’t see each other anymore and from that moment on he treated me like a leper. We still passed each other in the college passageways, we saw each other in the canteen, but there was no communication. He would sit with his friends and snigger, often looking my way before they all burst out laughing. What I wanted to do was walk out of that college and never return but I was about to take my GCEs and had no choice if I wanted some qualifications.

When news of my pregnancy was out, my parents were mortified. At first, my mother and my sister were so upset they could barely speak to me but worse of all, my loving father said I had behaved like a whore and he was ashamed of me. Years later, when I had my own teenage daughters, I vowed I would never do this to them. If they were in trouble, whatever they had done, I would sympathise and show them some kindness, support them in any way I could so they could make a decision that was right for them. But to be fair to my family, this was the 1960s, and a teenage pregnancy was seen as a tragedy for the whole family.

My father, who I knew loved me, reacted badly because he knew or thought he knew, how badly it could affect my future. He was a lovely father, so kind and gentle, but he just wasn’t equipped to deal with a situation like this. He ignored my pleas to keep my baby and insisted on adoption, and he made it clear that he could not support me if I didn’t go through with the adoption. He said it was best for me and my future, and that a young married couple would give the child the best chance in life.

So when I was four months pregnant, I was sent away to relatives in Liverpool. It was the first time I had been away from my parents, particularly my mother, and I was terrified. But my Aunt and Uncle opened their arms to me and gave me the love and support I badly needed.

I went to ante-natal classes and had my first lessons in contraception and childbirth. I remember being shocked to learn how a baby was born but I was also excited when I thought about it growing inside me. When I went into labour and was admitted to hospital, I was put in a delivery room. I was alone for twelve hours. The midwife only came in at intervals to check my progress. I wasn’t allowed a visitor or birthing partner. Only husbands could stay.

I had a normal delivery of a boy – 8lbs 3oz – and he was beautiful with the most amazing eyes. I called him Sean. On the post-natal ward, I felt completely lost. I was taught how to change a nappy, but I was told I had plenty of milk and had to breastfeed. I tried to give him some love, held him when he cried, rocked him to sleep during the night but inside I was crying, already grieving for the loss that was about it be. It was five days of pure hell.

When I was discharged from hospital, a social worker drove me straight to the foster mother’s home. I hugged Sean as long I could, and he had to be taken from my arms. But they were kind and kept asking me if I was still in agreement with the adoption. I remember feeling terribly cold, like ice, inside and I signed the adoption papers like a robot, just going through the motions, doing what I was told.

When I left the foster parent’s home, I sat in the back of the car knowing I’d done something terrible. If I had known then how much pain my son and I would endure for decades to come, I wouldn’t have agreed to the adoption. I would have defied my parents, left my family home and done anything to keep my beautiful boy. I had torn a hole in my heart and betrayed myself and my son.

For the next thirty-eight years, I thought of Sean every day. During the first fifteen years, I used to watch children, boys who would be the same age as Sean. I tried to imagine what he would look like.

When I had my daughter, ten years after Sean, I hung onto her and wouldn’t let anyone else hold her. At one point, the midwives and doctors were really concerned by my possessive behaviour but when I explained my history they understood. Having another baby and being able to keep her went some way to healing the wound inside. My second daughter was another blessing. My desperate need to be a real mother was at last coming true but still there was Sean. The beautiful boy I gave away.

I told my daughters about Sean as soon as they were old enough to understand. As they grew older they would often see me crying for Sean and they tried to persuade me to find him. I resisted for years because I was convinced he wouldn’t want to see me, that he must hate me for giving him away.

Then, when I was fifty-five, I had this overwhelming feeling that Sean wanted to find me. I registered with a website that linked birth mothers with their adopted babies. It was only three weeks later when I received an email from them saying that Sean Lowe had also just registered with them. He was looking for his birth mother, Helen Lowe. They named the hospital he was born in and his date of birth.

I was beside myself with happiness and fear, but the fact that he was looking for me encouraged me to send him an email. It was the weirdest email I’ve ever written. How do you find the words to speak to a child you gave away? Well, I found the words from somewhere and I cried while I typed them. We chatted via emails for a couple of months. No phone calls because he said he wanted to hear my voice for the first time when we met.

We arranged to meet at a local hotel by a lake in their grounds. He was standing with his back to me as I approached and when I was just a few feet from him, I said his name. He turned to face me and there we were, smiling at each other through the tears. I will never forget the joy in my heart when we hugged.

We talked for hours, trying to cover as much as we could, to fill in the gaps. When we found out that we had both registered with that website within weeks of each other, both of us wanting to find each other at the same time, it made us think that we must have a connection that’s deeper than anything we can understand.

It’s now eleven years since we met and we’re still close and happy to have found each other. I’ve met his beautiful wife and their two gorgeous children (my grandchildren,) and although I still deeply regret the decision I made years ago, that painful wound in my heart has finally healed.