Barbara Warren's Blog, page 3
June 27, 2016
Why did you write the novel?
Why did you write a novel?
Great question.
Before writing my first novel, I was a teacher in elementary school, who loved to teach writing. I loved challenging my students with words; encouraging them to find different words. To question each other to find a better word for the existing word they were using, stretching their imagination.
After retirement, I developed my creative traits, and began taking classes and workshops: different drawing classes, for example figure, animals, portraits. Painting workshops in watercolors, pastel and acrylic. Pottery and stained glass classes, but never anything on writing!
But this story of my maternal grandparents, and the information that I knew from my genealogical research, kept going around in my head and was now demanding to be noticed! It was in 2013, that I made the announcement that I was going to write a novel!
So like many other people who want to write. I turned to books on writing! How to write a story, how to develop a character, how to outline the plot! Jeeze, this was all in my head. Oh, I needed counseling!
I had coffee with my counseling friend, Mary. I told her what I was thinking, she asked about the plot, the characters and their relationships. All of which I was excited to tell her about, at great length!
Smiling as we left the coffee shop, Mary simply said, “Go home and start writing now.”
So, this fantastic journey began.
I loved being the detective and researching for hours. Then, taking knowledge to paint the picture with words, and weave into the story that I was writing. I loved writing about the history and exploring the relationships between the characters and why they changed.
After much research and long days at the keyboard the first draft of Everlasting Lies was finished in August 2014 and sent to my editor Tanis Nessler. Two additional edits for content and another for the technical aspects of spelling, syntax and sentence structure followed it. During this time I was also busy searching for a respected self-publishing company and am very happy with my choice of Friesen Press. All my efforts came to fruition when Everlasting Lies was published on March 31st 2016.
I had proved to myself that I could meet any challenge. Enjoy.
Why did you write a novel?
Great question.
Before writing my first novel, I was a teacher in elementary school, who loved to teach writing. I loved challenging my students with words; encouraging them to find different words. To question each other to find a better word for the existing word they were using, stretching their imagination.
After retirement, I developed my creative traits, and began taking classes and workshops: different drawing classes, for example figure, animals, portraits. Painting workshops in watercolors, pastel and acrylic. Pottery and stained glass classes, but never anything on writing!
But this story of my maternal grandparents, and the information that I knew from my genealogical research, kept going around in my head and was now demanding to be noticed! It was in 2013, that I made the announcement that I was going to write a novel!
So like many other people who want to write. I turned to books on writing! How to write a story, how to develop a character, how to outline the plot! Jeeze, this was all in my head. Oh, I needed counseling!
I had coffee with my counseling friend, Mary. I told her what I was thinking, she asked about the plot, the characters and their relationships. All of which I was excited to tell her about, at great length!
Smiling as we left the coffee shop, Mary simply said, “Go home and start writing now.”
So, this fantastic journey began.
I loved being the detective and researching for hours. Then, taking knowledge to paint the picture with words, and weave into the story that I was writing. I loved writing about the history and exploring the relationships between the characters and why they changed.
After much research and long days at the keyboard the first draft of Everlasting Lies was finished in August 2014 and sent to my editor Tanis Nessler. Two additional edits for content and another for the technical aspects of spelling, syntax and sentence structure followed it. During this time I was also busy searching for a respected self-publishing company and am very happy with my choice of Friesen Press. All my efforts came to fruition when Everlasting Lies was published on March 31st 2016.
I had proved to myself that I could meet any challenge. Enjoy.
June 17, 2016
The Fletcher Family...meeting.
John Fletcher had lived his whole life in Farnley, West Yorkshire, and had been working in the Farnley Mine since he was eight years old. His father worked in the same mine.
John was a good looking eighteen-year-old lad and had worked his way unto the best-paid job at the mine, a hewer, and he worked on the face of the mine. He had been thinking about settling down and making his own life.
One day as he was walking home after a long day and there was a young woman in front of him. He watched the sway of her hips as he walked faster towards her and, as he drew level with her, he doffed his cap and said,
”Evening miss.”
As she turned to him he noticed the blue of her eyes. She smiled and shyly said,
“Evening.”
She cast her eyes back to the track they were walking on.
“My name is John, and I work at Farnley mine.”
She simple nodded. “Well then what’s yer name?”
She looked at this very forthright young man and replied, “Esther”
“ Umm that’s a pretty name, where d’yer work?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth he thought what if she didn’t work.
“Up at the Farnley Hall.”
“What yer do there?”
“ I’m a scullery maid.”
“Are you on your way back?”
“I am that, just was in the village visiting a friend.” Esther said easily.
“And who’d that be?”
“Emily Walters”
“Na gone on, married to Jimmy?” said John.
She turned to him with those big blue eyes, which made him melt.
“That’s right, how did yer know?”
Stuttering with excitement, “Well Emily, she be my sister and recently married Jimmy!” With that he said to Esther, “Well let me walk you to the hall.”
They carried on like two long lost friends. Little did they know this was the beginning of a long relationship.
In November 1877, John William Fletcher married Esther Ilses in a Civil Ceremony with Emily and Jim Walters as their witnesses.
John had rented a small but pretty miner’s cottage from Farnley mining company close to the mine and had insisted that Esther give up her work at the Farnley Hall. So Esther became a miner’s wife.
Esther understood that her role was to support her husband in his very demanding and tiring job. She got used sending him off in the morning with sandwiches. She watched him walking to the mine and said a silent prayer that he would return home safely at night.
On his return she brought the bathtub that hung on the wall outside their little cottage indoors and had water, which she had pumped from the well, warming on the coal stove. Beside it would be a large pan of soup, which might only be broth, and bread that she had baked during the day to fill her hungry new husband.
The door banged shut and John came in black faced, filthy dirty and smelling of coal. He picked up his pretty little wife and danced around with her, while all the time she was squealing to be put down but laughing at his antics. He gently placed her down and kissed her gently. Smiling, he watched Ester fill his bathtub with the water she had heated. She had left another bucket of cold water beside the tub and put this on the stove to heat up, so she could warm the tub as it cooled down.
Ester had placed the bathtub in front of the roaring fire and this made the parlour very cosy. There was a couple of old but comfy chairs, one each side of the fireplace and a small table, which was already laid for their evening meal, was across the room in front of the window.
After she had placed the bucket on the stove in the kitchen she joined her husband in the parlour, where he was slowly taking off his dirty black clothes and dropping them on the floor. She would later retrieve and put them into one of the buckets to soak, but at this moment she was watching her young husband, whose face and arms were as black as the coal face that he had worked on all day, and she admired the whiteness of his skin that had been protected by his clothes. Unlike some men, John kept his clothes on in the mine preferring not to get coal dust all over him. As he took off his shirt the muscles in his shoulders glinted in the firelight as he bent down to test the water. Ester had a placed a small three-legged stool beside the tub for him to sit on, so he could remove his shoes and socks. He then removed his pants and underwear and Esther noticed that his buttocks were small and tight from all the heavy work he did every day. He looked as his wife in a certain way that she knew there would be love making that night. Sheepishly John tested the water and purposely took the cold jug of water, posing for Esther to enjoy the sight of her husband in all his glory, a black and white vision.
As John lowered himself into the tin tub, she quickly gathered his clothes and put them in to soak. He lounged in the bathtub as she sat down and started to put the black dubbin on his shoes, ready for him to wear in the morning. They chatted easily about his day. She left and put his shoes in the kitchen and got a towel and draped on a chair for it to warm by the fire. She continued to chat as she put everything on the table, except the soup.
With that, John looked her and said, “Com’on, over here missus and bring me my towel to me.”
Ester picked up the warmed towel and held it out to John, as he slowly rose up out of the bathtub, bending down to kiss her, which sent shivers through her body. He stepped out of the bath wrapped in the towel, slowly drying as Esther began the back breaking task of filling the jug and pouring the water into the bucket to be taken to empty into the kitchen. John put on his cosy pajamas and sat down at the table waiting for Esther to bring the soup from the stove.
They ate together, laughing and telling stories of their past and made plans for the future. Soon as they had eaten, they took the dishes to the scullery; Ester would attend to these in the morning. But now it was time for their love making in front of the crackling fire.
John was a good looking eighteen-year-old lad and had worked his way unto the best-paid job at the mine, a hewer, and he worked on the face of the mine. He had been thinking about settling down and making his own life.
One day as he was walking home after a long day and there was a young woman in front of him. He watched the sway of her hips as he walked faster towards her and, as he drew level with her, he doffed his cap and said,
”Evening miss.”
As she turned to him he noticed the blue of her eyes. She smiled and shyly said,
“Evening.”
She cast her eyes back to the track they were walking on.
“My name is John, and I work at Farnley mine.”
She simple nodded. “Well then what’s yer name?”
She looked at this very forthright young man and replied, “Esther”
“ Umm that’s a pretty name, where d’yer work?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth he thought what if she didn’t work.
“Up at the Farnley Hall.”
“What yer do there?”
“ I’m a scullery maid.”
“Are you on your way back?”
“I am that, just was in the village visiting a friend.” Esther said easily.
“And who’d that be?”
“Emily Walters”
“Na gone on, married to Jimmy?” said John.
She turned to him with those big blue eyes, which made him melt.
“That’s right, how did yer know?”
Stuttering with excitement, “Well Emily, she be my sister and recently married Jimmy!” With that he said to Esther, “Well let me walk you to the hall.”
They carried on like two long lost friends. Little did they know this was the beginning of a long relationship.
In November 1877, John William Fletcher married Esther Ilses in a Civil Ceremony with Emily and Jim Walters as their witnesses.
John had rented a small but pretty miner’s cottage from Farnley mining company close to the mine and had insisted that Esther give up her work at the Farnley Hall. So Esther became a miner’s wife.
Esther understood that her role was to support her husband in his very demanding and tiring job. She got used sending him off in the morning with sandwiches. She watched him walking to the mine and said a silent prayer that he would return home safely at night.
On his return she brought the bathtub that hung on the wall outside their little cottage indoors and had water, which she had pumped from the well, warming on the coal stove. Beside it would be a large pan of soup, which might only be broth, and bread that she had baked during the day to fill her hungry new husband.
The door banged shut and John came in black faced, filthy dirty and smelling of coal. He picked up his pretty little wife and danced around with her, while all the time she was squealing to be put down but laughing at his antics. He gently placed her down and kissed her gently. Smiling, he watched Ester fill his bathtub with the water she had heated. She had left another bucket of cold water beside the tub and put this on the stove to heat up, so she could warm the tub as it cooled down.
Ester had placed the bathtub in front of the roaring fire and this made the parlour very cosy. There was a couple of old but comfy chairs, one each side of the fireplace and a small table, which was already laid for their evening meal, was across the room in front of the window.
After she had placed the bucket on the stove in the kitchen she joined her husband in the parlour, where he was slowly taking off his dirty black clothes and dropping them on the floor. She would later retrieve and put them into one of the buckets to soak, but at this moment she was watching her young husband, whose face and arms were as black as the coal face that he had worked on all day, and she admired the whiteness of his skin that had been protected by his clothes. Unlike some men, John kept his clothes on in the mine preferring not to get coal dust all over him. As he took off his shirt the muscles in his shoulders glinted in the firelight as he bent down to test the water. Ester had a placed a small three-legged stool beside the tub for him to sit on, so he could remove his shoes and socks. He then removed his pants and underwear and Esther noticed that his buttocks were small and tight from all the heavy work he did every day. He looked as his wife in a certain way that she knew there would be love making that night. Sheepishly John tested the water and purposely took the cold jug of water, posing for Esther to enjoy the sight of her husband in all his glory, a black and white vision.
As John lowered himself into the tin tub, she quickly gathered his clothes and put them in to soak. He lounged in the bathtub as she sat down and started to put the black dubbin on his shoes, ready for him to wear in the morning. They chatted easily about his day. She left and put his shoes in the kitchen and got a towel and draped on a chair for it to warm by the fire. She continued to chat as she put everything on the table, except the soup.
With that, John looked her and said, “Com’on, over here missus and bring me my towel to me.”
Ester picked up the warmed towel and held it out to John, as he slowly rose up out of the bathtub, bending down to kiss her, which sent shivers through her body. He stepped out of the bath wrapped in the towel, slowly drying as Esther began the back breaking task of filling the jug and pouring the water into the bucket to be taken to empty into the kitchen. John put on his cosy pajamas and sat down at the table waiting for Esther to bring the soup from the stove.
They ate together, laughing and telling stories of their past and made plans for the future. Soon as they had eaten, they took the dishes to the scullery; Ester would attend to these in the morning. But now it was time for their love making in front of the crackling fire.
June 8, 2016
Pelican Ballet.
We are so fortunate to have the White Pelican spend their summers with us. One morning early in the spring I was walking in one of our beautiful local parks, when I came across this strange sight one I have never seen since.
That morning I was in Pavan Park and walking along one of the trails beside the river. A group of pelicans flew passed , traveling up the river against the current and I stopped to watch their beautiful flight. The adult pelicans were attractive in flight swooping down to be just above the water. But the youngsters often when they tried to imitate the adults would lose their balance and momentum in the air, dropping and swooping trying to regain their flight and I am sure I could hear the word ‘whoops’ in all their squawking.
I continued my walk and eventually the pelicans floated silently past, they had gathered together in a circle and were floating as one. These 10 to 12 pelicans, all at exactly the same moment dipped their heads into the water, bums up, showing their feet and spreading their large wings. To me it looked like a ballerina’s tutu balanced on the water, just as gently as one they came upright. This pelican ballet continued, much to my enchantment.
Just as suddenly as they appeared the pelicans took flight and flew back up the river against the brilliant blue sky, and landed in the river with a swoosh and instantly formed the circle again. It became apparent to me that by forming a circle the birds pushed the fish to the heart of the circle and the fish became mesmerized by the pelican’s feet and the fish crowded together, so it was a snap for the birds to tip forward and fill their pouches.
June 7, 2016
Background Story to Everlasting Lies
A Spiritual Journey, on the Ghats.
John and I were woken at 4.45 am for our journey to the Ganges. We were walking down the steps among thousand of others, who mostly were going to bathe. As we walked it was astonishing to me that anyone would consider bathing in this filthy water! Drainage systems empty into this river; there was a possibility of seeing body parts floating by in the water. Not only did we see people bathing but washing their hair and cleaning their teeth in the Ganges, yikes.
As we got on our boat, a young girl sold us a leaf with a candle, which we would light and as we moved into the current, we floated this as an offering to Ma Ganges. This is a form of puja, at that very moment; all of my ancestors who had lived in India were in my thoughts. This was an offering to the gods from me to them.
Dawn was only moments away, gentle golden light was peeking above the horizon. Many, many other boats were pushing off, sunrise was one direction and the Ghats the other. My eyes, full of tears, were focused on the amazing stream of flowers and candles floating on the current.
The rowers in our boat worked hard as they pulled us upstream. We quietly watched as hundreds of devout Hindus walked down the steps and into the river as the sun rose casting golden light on people offering their mantras to the gods of their choice. Remarkable.
There was bathing Ghats and burning Ghats, where people are cremated on the river. We passed a few crematorium Ghats where bodies were burning. Every Hindu wants to be cremated in Varanasi and to have their ashes committed to the Ganges, The Holy River.
There are many Shamans on the steps of the Ghats. Mostly dressed in saffron, but occasionally bright red, many are naked, covered in the ashes of someone. Simply meditating on a rock in the Ganges.
The burning Ghats, thick smoke; the air was heavy with the smells of burning wood and incense. Extraordinary. The bamboo poles with baskets attached contain oil lamps, an offering to ancestors to brighten the way for the journey.
Hindus traditionally see death as an occasion for celebration. The deceased is headed for a better rebirth, or even heaven. The procession that accompanied the body is cheerful, as it is solemn. Crying at funerals is discouraged; it is not viewed as a sad occasion. Bodily fluids, like tears, are considered ‘pollutants’ at these religious rites.
Constantly pestered by beggars, sacred cows were everywhere as were their feces, making walking hazardous. Passing dozens of shrines to many different gods. This is not a journey for the feint-hearted, but the morning was so intriguing, our group of travellers asked if we could return to see the sunset.
Which we did and where I had an extraordinary experience.
Experiencing the emotional feeling that my ancestors are here, especially my mother, right beside me.
I had pulled away from the group, looking across the Ganges rather than at the Ghats, I certainly was thinking of my mother, and wished she had talked more about India having lived the first eight years of her life there.
Suddenly, beside me in the water was this creature, whitish with a long snout, it swam like a dolphin. Its eyes were small and I later found out that they are really ‘no functional eyes’ and can only distinguish between light and dark. This is because of the murky environment they live in. Like bats, they use echolocation to locate their prey. But I did not know this at the time. This creature appeared to be looking directly at me and swam extremely close to the boat. My heart was beating, pounding, exceedingly fast, our eyes seemed to be locked. There was this quick moment where I was pulled into the spirit world. I felt convinced this was my mother, telling me that she knew I had made this journey to India.
Though this moment seemed like it was an eternity, it was over in the blink of an eye.
I turned to our naturalist leader and told her what I saw and even drew it for her. She consulted her book and showed me a picture of the River Ganges Dolphin. It was very scarce, and implied that this must be a sign of good luck.
***
I would recommend a journey on the Ghats to anyone who has and open mind and heart.
John and I were woken at 4.45 am for our journey to the Ganges. We were walking down the steps among thousand of others, who mostly were going to bathe. As we walked it was astonishing to me that anyone would consider bathing in this filthy water! Drainage systems empty into this river; there was a possibility of seeing body parts floating by in the water. Not only did we see people bathing but washing their hair and cleaning their teeth in the Ganges, yikes.
As we got on our boat, a young girl sold us a leaf with a candle, which we would light and as we moved into the current, we floated this as an offering to Ma Ganges. This is a form of puja, at that very moment; all of my ancestors who had lived in India were in my thoughts. This was an offering to the gods from me to them.
Dawn was only moments away, gentle golden light was peeking above the horizon. Many, many other boats were pushing off, sunrise was one direction and the Ghats the other. My eyes, full of tears, were focused on the amazing stream of flowers and candles floating on the current.
The rowers in our boat worked hard as they pulled us upstream. We quietly watched as hundreds of devout Hindus walked down the steps and into the river as the sun rose casting golden light on people offering their mantras to the gods of their choice. Remarkable.
There was bathing Ghats and burning Ghats, where people are cremated on the river. We passed a few crematorium Ghats where bodies were burning. Every Hindu wants to be cremated in Varanasi and to have their ashes committed to the Ganges, The Holy River.
There are many Shamans on the steps of the Ghats. Mostly dressed in saffron, but occasionally bright red, many are naked, covered in the ashes of someone. Simply meditating on a rock in the Ganges.
The burning Ghats, thick smoke; the air was heavy with the smells of burning wood and incense. Extraordinary. The bamboo poles with baskets attached contain oil lamps, an offering to ancestors to brighten the way for the journey.
Hindus traditionally see death as an occasion for celebration. The deceased is headed for a better rebirth, or even heaven. The procession that accompanied the body is cheerful, as it is solemn. Crying at funerals is discouraged; it is not viewed as a sad occasion. Bodily fluids, like tears, are considered ‘pollutants’ at these religious rites.
Constantly pestered by beggars, sacred cows were everywhere as were their feces, making walking hazardous. Passing dozens of shrines to many different gods. This is not a journey for the feint-hearted, but the morning was so intriguing, our group of travellers asked if we could return to see the sunset.
Which we did and where I had an extraordinary experience.
Experiencing the emotional feeling that my ancestors are here, especially my mother, right beside me.
I had pulled away from the group, looking across the Ganges rather than at the Ghats, I certainly was thinking of my mother, and wished she had talked more about India having lived the first eight years of her life there.
Suddenly, beside me in the water was this creature, whitish with a long snout, it swam like a dolphin. Its eyes were small and I later found out that they are really ‘no functional eyes’ and can only distinguish between light and dark. This is because of the murky environment they live in. Like bats, they use echolocation to locate their prey. But I did not know this at the time. This creature appeared to be looking directly at me and swam extremely close to the boat. My heart was beating, pounding, exceedingly fast, our eyes seemed to be locked. There was this quick moment where I was pulled into the spirit world. I felt convinced this was my mother, telling me that she knew I had made this journey to India.
Though this moment seemed like it was an eternity, it was over in the blink of an eye.
I turned to our naturalist leader and told her what I saw and even drew it for her. She consulted her book and showed me a picture of the River Ganges Dolphin. It was very scarce, and implied that this must be a sign of good luck.
***
I would recommend a journey on the Ghats to anyone who has and open mind and heart.
June 3, 2016
My Mother, the same Mantua that is in my Novel, Everlasting Lies.
End of World War 11.
One of my happiest memories with my devoted mother was outside the colossal Buckingham Palace on Tuesday May 8th 1945 at the celebration of the end of WWII.
Mummy and I had traveled by steam train from Brentwood to London, which was my first time on a train. I was fascinated by “chug chug” of the engine which surprised me, even though I had many stories read to me about trains ,when me and Mommy where cowering under the stairs during the many air raids we endured. Who would have thought that these sounds were true? The train was quite frightening to me as I was a small child unaccustomed to being in crowds. So many people travelled to celebrate and me standing below most peoples hips squished and unnoticed by most . I clasp my mother’s hand tightly. I know she was excited and happy, but I had no idea why!
Since my Dad was in the army we didn’t see him very often. Mummy and I had spent so much time alone since I was born when she was only 20. Her responsibilities for us both during the air raids must have been very terrifying, as we were in the direct path of the assault on London. Even to this day I remember the sound of the doodlebugs. I still admit to the goose bumps on my arms as I listened to the sound of the doodlebugs, knowing that as long as we could hear them, we were safe.
The train journey was hot and steamy, as it was a beautiful sunny morning. At every stop more and more people crammed onto the train. The noise of people laughing and singing “Roll out the Barrel” was deafening but it was nothing to what I was to experience later in the day.
The train arrived in Liverpool Street Station and the crowds spilled out onto the platform and became a heaving mass of humanity. Not in a alarming way but not one you could resist until we poured out on the street, melting into thousands of people already walking.
The London landscape was very weird and wonderful to me…tall gray buildings, some standing alone amid rubble, blacked by soot . There had been a constant assault by the Germans on our beloved capital. Many, many derelict buildings standing partly there but it seemed with their heart was missing, the sun causing grotesque shadows that made me see giants and evil.
As if by magic the crowds moved as one, passing streets where people were dancing, singing, eating and drinking, which looked like a lot of fun. People wrapped in Union Jacks, our flag. I even saw dogs that has flags wrapped around them. Already, I was tired but my mother was determined! She somehow maneuvered us to a staircase where thousands of people were going down the stairs into the bowels of the earth. I hesitated but the crowds surged forward pushing us deeper and deeper until we arrived on a platform. I was about to experience my first underground train journey. I knew that the train was coming as the ground beneath my feet began shaking and cool air was being pushed out of the large black cavern ahead of the train. Once on the train, someone gave my mother a seat and we could both sit down.
We were on the train to Green Park station, I remember walking out onto the sunny street with a huge park across the street. Music was blasting out of loud speakers. But my dear mother was intent upon getting us as close as possible to the palace. I now believe, that she wanted to be sure her only daughter, me, experienced this moment in time.
We walked along the park with its tall trees. Other people shuffled along with us, one song that they kept singing was “Rule Britannia’” waving their flags energetically, “Britain never,never never shall be slaves.”
Slowly we moved into a street called The Mall, thousands of people were here but somehow my mother managed to keep squeezing us forward. There was this huge golden statue, shaking my mothers hand hard I pointed to this. My mother smiled and told me it was Queen Victoria’s Memorial and the golden figure on the top was a representation of victory and that if I looked carefully I would see Buckingham Palace behind.As we continued to press forward the loud speakers started to crackle and a hush came over the crowd and a very familiar voice was heard.
It was that of Winston Churchill declaring peace... “Unconditional surrender....brief period of rejoicing....Advance Britannia, long live the cause of freedom GOD SAVE THE KING. ” with this the crowd erupted, shouting,laughing, crying and singing, ‘for he’s a jolly good fellow.’
My mother pushed us closer to Buckingham Palace, this huge, grey formidable building. We passed the statue of Victory shining in the afternoon sunlight, with people dancing in the water. I knew as my mother’s eyes glistened with the tears that were on the brink of rolling down her face that this moment was special, she had this wonderful smile and look of hope on her face, that I had never seen before. She clasped my hand that was so gentle rather than fearful and I had never felt it this way before. The crowd started to call,”We want the King...we want the Queen.”
Never did I believe that I would see our beloved King George and Queen Elizabeth. The doors on the balcony started to move, the crowds screamed and jumped. Some stranger lifted me onto his shoulders so I could embrace this moment, as out stepped the King and Queen with the Princesses Elizabeth and Margaret to the cheers of the people standing outside and in all the streets around. That day they apparently made eight appearances on the balcony and were accompanied by Winston Churchill later in the day
The journey home I do not remember. But this is one of my strongest memories, seeing my mother in this blissful state that I had not seen in my lifetime and this memory has stayed with me long after the principal character, my mother died. At the time of the war ending she was 25 and had lived on her own with the responsibility of me during all the raids on London.
One of my happiest memories with my devoted mother was outside the colossal Buckingham Palace on Tuesday May 8th 1945 at the celebration of the end of WWII.
Mummy and I had traveled by steam train from Brentwood to London, which was my first time on a train. I was fascinated by “chug chug” of the engine which surprised me, even though I had many stories read to me about trains ,when me and Mommy where cowering under the stairs during the many air raids we endured. Who would have thought that these sounds were true? The train was quite frightening to me as I was a small child unaccustomed to being in crowds. So many people travelled to celebrate and me standing below most peoples hips squished and unnoticed by most . I clasp my mother’s hand tightly. I know she was excited and happy, but I had no idea why!
Since my Dad was in the army we didn’t see him very often. Mummy and I had spent so much time alone since I was born when she was only 20. Her responsibilities for us both during the air raids must have been very terrifying, as we were in the direct path of the assault on London. Even to this day I remember the sound of the doodlebugs. I still admit to the goose bumps on my arms as I listened to the sound of the doodlebugs, knowing that as long as we could hear them, we were safe.
The train journey was hot and steamy, as it was a beautiful sunny morning. At every stop more and more people crammed onto the train. The noise of people laughing and singing “Roll out the Barrel” was deafening but it was nothing to what I was to experience later in the day.
The train arrived in Liverpool Street Station and the crowds spilled out onto the platform and became a heaving mass of humanity. Not in a alarming way but not one you could resist until we poured out on the street, melting into thousands of people already walking.
The London landscape was very weird and wonderful to me…tall gray buildings, some standing alone amid rubble, blacked by soot . There had been a constant assault by the Germans on our beloved capital. Many, many derelict buildings standing partly there but it seemed with their heart was missing, the sun causing grotesque shadows that made me see giants and evil.
As if by magic the crowds moved as one, passing streets where people were dancing, singing, eating and drinking, which looked like a lot of fun. People wrapped in Union Jacks, our flag. I even saw dogs that has flags wrapped around them. Already, I was tired but my mother was determined! She somehow maneuvered us to a staircase where thousands of people were going down the stairs into the bowels of the earth. I hesitated but the crowds surged forward pushing us deeper and deeper until we arrived on a platform. I was about to experience my first underground train journey. I knew that the train was coming as the ground beneath my feet began shaking and cool air was being pushed out of the large black cavern ahead of the train. Once on the train, someone gave my mother a seat and we could both sit down.
We were on the train to Green Park station, I remember walking out onto the sunny street with a huge park across the street. Music was blasting out of loud speakers. But my dear mother was intent upon getting us as close as possible to the palace. I now believe, that she wanted to be sure her only daughter, me, experienced this moment in time.
We walked along the park with its tall trees. Other people shuffled along with us, one song that they kept singing was “Rule Britannia’” waving their flags energetically, “Britain never,never never shall be slaves.”
Slowly we moved into a street called The Mall, thousands of people were here but somehow my mother managed to keep squeezing us forward. There was this huge golden statue, shaking my mothers hand hard I pointed to this. My mother smiled and told me it was Queen Victoria’s Memorial and the golden figure on the top was a representation of victory and that if I looked carefully I would see Buckingham Palace behind.As we continued to press forward the loud speakers started to crackle and a hush came over the crowd and a very familiar voice was heard.
It was that of Winston Churchill declaring peace... “Unconditional surrender....brief period of rejoicing....Advance Britannia, long live the cause of freedom GOD SAVE THE KING. ” with this the crowd erupted, shouting,laughing, crying and singing, ‘for he’s a jolly good fellow.’
My mother pushed us closer to Buckingham Palace, this huge, grey formidable building. We passed the statue of Victory shining in the afternoon sunlight, with people dancing in the water. I knew as my mother’s eyes glistened with the tears that were on the brink of rolling down her face that this moment was special, she had this wonderful smile and look of hope on her face, that I had never seen before. She clasped my hand that was so gentle rather than fearful and I had never felt it this way before. The crowd started to call,”We want the King...we want the Queen.”
Never did I believe that I would see our beloved King George and Queen Elizabeth. The doors on the balcony started to move, the crowds screamed and jumped. Some stranger lifted me onto his shoulders so I could embrace this moment, as out stepped the King and Queen with the Princesses Elizabeth and Margaret to the cheers of the people standing outside and in all the streets around. That day they apparently made eight appearances on the balcony and were accompanied by Winston Churchill later in the day
The journey home I do not remember. But this is one of my strongest memories, seeing my mother in this blissful state that I had not seen in my lifetime and this memory has stayed with me long after the principal character, my mother died. At the time of the war ending she was 25 and had lived on her own with the responsibility of me during all the raids on London.
June 1, 2016
Reviews
Kobo – Review
If you like to get involved with characters that are passionate, spiteful, devious and down-to-earth you’ll enjoy this story. It starts when Edina is a promiscuous young teenager and follows her life and loves through the early years of the twentieth century until she arrives in India at the height of the British Raj. Once there, she finds the coloured skin and the good looks of her husband’s boss to be very attractive.
Edina’s first lover is both despicable in his treatment of her and cowardly when he gets to the trenches of Europe in WW1 and his sexual appetite is insatiable but there seems to be hope for reconciliation between he and Edina as the book ends.
This book shows a different England than that of Downton Abbey!
The only thing it needs is a sequel.
Amazon – Review
What a page-turner. I couldn’t put this one down! From the time that the twelve-year-old, Edina, first felt the lips of her older school friend on her upturned mouth she was hooked on sex. Charles, her first lover was rude and crude but managed to entice her away from her parents to marry at a very young age. After working in England’s coalmines as a young man Charles found himself tunnelling for the British army in the trenches of WW1. He was invalided out and sent to recuperate in India where his sexual appetite was satisfied by a number of women in a number of ways. Returning home, he collected his wife and children and returned to India as a privileged manager of a coalmine. His wife, Indian lover and his Indian boss form an interesting love quadrangle.
If you like to get involved with characters that are passionate, spiteful, devious and down-to-earth you’ll enjoy this story. It starts when Edina is a promiscuous young teenager and follows her life and loves through the early years of the twentieth century until she arrives in India at the height of the British Raj. Once there, she finds the coloured skin and the good looks of her husband’s boss to be very attractive.
Edina’s first lover is both despicable in his treatment of her and cowardly when he gets to the trenches of Europe in WW1 and his sexual appetite is insatiable but there seems to be hope for reconciliation between he and Edina as the book ends.
This book shows a different England than that of Downton Abbey!
The only thing it needs is a sequel.
Amazon – Review
What a page-turner. I couldn’t put this one down! From the time that the twelve-year-old, Edina, first felt the lips of her older school friend on her upturned mouth she was hooked on sex. Charles, her first lover was rude and crude but managed to entice her away from her parents to marry at a very young age. After working in England’s coalmines as a young man Charles found himself tunnelling for the British army in the trenches of WW1. He was invalided out and sent to recuperate in India where his sexual appetite was satisfied by a number of women in a number of ways. Returning home, he collected his wife and children and returned to India as a privileged manager of a coalmine. His wife, Indian lover and his Indian boss form an interesting love quadrangle.
May 31, 2016
New Author..Everlasting Lies
I had no idea that when I started this that publishing a novel was going to be so time consuming. I started writing in November 2013 ,in Mexico. Finished writing it mid August 2014 in Montana.But I am happy to report that my first novel is now published, Everlasting Lies is the title, and it was published by Friesen Press. April 2016. Available at all the regular outlets.
