Jen Black's Blog, page 48

Viking Scotland II

Early History The tribes to the north of Hadrian’s Wall were largely undisturbed by the Roman occupation of Britain. A Roman document of the 3rd century mentioned the Picti, a new tribal group that had established a dominant position in the country. Scholars suggest this was a Romanised version of a tribal name, or that they tattooed their bodies (picti is Latin for 'painted people'). They are thought to have been an indigenous people with a non-Indo-European language. They were later subdued by Celts - not from within Scotland, but from overseas. In the 5th century a Celtic tribe from Northern Ireland settled on the west coast of Scotland.
The ScotsThe invaders were called Scots. (Yes, the original Scots were a tribe from Northern Ireland). The Scots established the kingdom of Dalriada in both what is now Northern Ireland and the south west of Scotland. By the 9th century the Irish Dalriada succumbed to Viking raids, but in Scotland the Dalriadan kings established themselves and withstood constant Viking pressure from all sidesThe VikingsMonasteries of the time owned sufficient wealth to attract Viking marauders. Lindisfarne on the east coast of Northumberland was raided in 793 and Iona, on the west coast of Alba, three times in a decade (in 795, 802 and 805). Even monasteries which seemed secure on inland rivers fell victim to longships rowing upstream. During the 9th century, the raiders settled in the Scottish islands and the Isle of Man and seized territory on the mainland of both Britain and Ireland. In 838 Norwegians captured Dublin and established a Norse kingdom in Ireland. From 865 the Danes settled in eastern England.
The MacAlpin lineA recognizable Scottish kingdom had appeared by the mid-9th century. Some suggest the year 843 to be the important date, but it was Kenneth MacAlpin, king of the Scots since 840, who won acceptance as king of both Picts and Scots. The MacAlpin kings took Strathclyde and Lothian into Scotland and Kenneth's male descendants provided kings for the next two centuries. The separate Pictish kingdom disappeared. All that remains are the beautiful carvings of weird beasts.

Viking Scotland I

When writing historical novels with Vikings as central characters there is much scope for where to place a story. I like to place them in the north-west Highlands because I have enjoyed so many holidays there. Vikings settled in the northern and western isles and along the coastline of Scotland from Caithness to Argyle during the early part of the ninth century. By the middle of that century a Viking kingdom had been set up.I soon found that research in this area is sketchy and conclusions were hard to come by. For example, Laithlinn was the Viking name for Scotland. Laithlinn is also written as Lothlend, Laithlind and later Lochlainn, and not all scholars believe the name refers to Scotland. Information in the Irish Annals, the Icelandic Sagas and Norse histories of South West Norway often contradict each other. Old languages present further problems and to add to the confusion, writing itself was not the precise thing it is today. Spelling of names was inconsistent and punctuation often absent. There are also all the problems of who is writing, who paid him to do so and how one-sided was the view put forward. In all of history it is usually the victor who dictates the story.
Scholars continue to argue about terms such as Dane, Norseman and Viking, who they were and where they came from, but proof is sadly lacking. Viking itself isn’t really a name, but a verb; to go “a-viking” was to travel by ship in search of adventure and reward. It is easy to see how the term became a description of a shipload of hungry men waving axes.
The first systems of writing developed and used by the Germanic peoples were runic alphabets and the runes that were carved in stone still exist. Paper evidence of the period is almost none existent. When Edward I invaded in 1296 he ordered all the symbols of Scots nationhood removed to London. A treaty provided for the return of the records but they remained in London until 1948. Only about 200 documents remained.
The archives had an unlucky life. The records that built up after Edward’s time remained safe in the Castle until its capture by Cromwell's army in December 1650, when they were removed to Stirling Castle. When Stirling fell in 1651, the records were carried off by the garrison, or sent to London. Some were returned in 1657, other were sent back in 1660, but the 'Elizabeth', one of the two ships carrying the archives, sank in a storm off the Northumbrian coast.

The surviving records were deposited again in Edinburgh Castle then transferred in 1662 to the Laigh Hall on the Royal Mile. Damaged by damp and vermin, the great fire of 1700 saw them removed to St Giles Church. Eventually they were given a safe and permanent home, but early records pre 1296 are almost non-existent. The King lists survive, but little else.

A Poldark Moment

There are several marriages portrayed in the Poldark series currently airing on tv. The third  element of series came to an end last Sunday, so it seems to good time to look back on the entire series so far. The prominent couple, Ross and Demelza,  is shaping up to be a match of equals in spite of her having been brought into his house as a lice-ridden kitchen maid. Ross acknowledged that he needed a wife who can skin a rabbit as well as wear a pretty frock, and Demelza fits that very well. Perhaps even Ross didn't expect her to be capable of taking on the running of the farm and the mine as well as the kitchen and the family. Because she has the intelligence to do that, she is slowly starting to come into her own, accusing him of not asking her opinion of anything. She is beginning to think like a modern women. 
Then there’s Elizabeth and George. He has loved her since forever and tries to woo her still with expensive gifts of jewellery that she knows are perfctly vulgar in their situation. She manages to  accept them without wearing them, which takes some tact on her part. I’m not sure what Elizabeth feels for George, just as I was never sure what she felt for Francis. I know she loved Ross, but that turned to hate for a while, and then simmered down to match his fondness for an old love. Perhaps she’s a pragmatist and makes the best of what she has -money, power and positon in society. It is interesting that she is old Cornish gentry and he is a self-made millionaire.
Higher in society we have Caroline Penvenen and Dwight, with no worries about money, power or position since she inherited money and estates. Separated first by Dwight being considered unsuitably lower in rank, and then by his terrible time in a French prison, I think they know how lucky they are to be reunited, and they too seem to be equals, but without the problems that face Ross and Demelza. perhaps it is their honeymoon period. Her  recipe for a happy life appears to be bon bons, kisses and lots more lying in bed, and nice as that is, it surely can't last. THe  poor little pug has his nose well and truly out of joint now that Dwight is home.

As for Morwenna and Oswald, we have an arrange, one could say a forced marriage where the husband is a bombastic, insensitive brute (even though he is a vicar) who drives his wife to threaten the life of their child rather than submit ever again to his demands for sex. Dangerous stuff. The vicar is just the kind of man who would, with tears in his eyes,  have her whipped off to Bedlam. There is no hope for happiness for Morwenna unless she can somehow return to Drake Carne. George, of course, was to blame for forcing Morwenna to marry by threatening to have Drake Carne sent off to prision if she refused.
Morwenna's sister has somehow persuaded the red-headed librarian to aid and abet her plans to wangle money, that will allow them to marry, out of Ossy by blackmailing him over his liaison with her. One wonders if the librarian knows the full extent of her cunning and determination. 

On the road

I'm so deep in edits that I can hardly think of anything else, which means I don't have anything memorable happening in my life. I have a few pics of my French holiday as yet unseen on here, like this one. I often take them from the car as we journey along, and sometimes they are clear and sometimes they're just a blur, but with modern digital cameras this really doesn't matter. If I get a good pic, I'm happy and if I get a blurred one, I simply delete it. (I did not do that in the days of my old Olympus and film!)

This is another house in France - they're all so different - and one thing I notice is that the French are not fussed about wires trailing over their heads. I think almost every pic I have has a telephone/electricity wire in it, mostly with a pole right beside the house.

Alba is Mine

I’m close enough to publication of ALBA IS MINE to reveal the cover. I think it is wonderful and I hope it encourages people to take a look and – who knows? – buy. 
It will be available only on Kindle, as I’ve found that for me, sales of paperbacks are not worth the effort it takes to get them out and I’ve never ventured into Smashwords or Nook. Keep things simple is my motto.
I’m looking to have it available by 1st October, so in order to make that happen, I shall get to work right away. The printer died on page 29, but when the new one arrives (any day now) I shall have a fourth edit ready to print out and read through. By then it should be good to go.
Most of you will know that Alba was the ancient name for Scotland at a time when Vikings and various other peoples fought for supremecy north of the border. 

The Journey

Tuesday 25th July Awake at 5am and it is hardly light, but we rise even if we don’t shine. Tim has been getting steadily more anxious over the last few hours. He trots after us, crying, as we move about, his nose only inches away from me. Showers, breakfast on the run. Tim would not go for his walk because he wouldn’t leave Bill behind. (I suspect he thinks Bill will disappear again for 5 weeks as he did in March to go to Australia) As Bill was busy stripping the bed, he didn’t want to come for a walk. Anyway, we were ready to leave by seven, bang on schedule. We stopped in Brantôme because Tim was shrieking in the back of the car. I thought he wanted a poo, but when we opened the boot, Tim shot out and raced around the car park barking at the top of his voice. How French residents of the town must have loved us, with a beserk dog being very naughty. Still it wasn’t that early, perhaps 8.30 by then. When I say Tim is in the boot, he has plenty of room and windows he can see out of to each side as well as the big window at the back. He has water there, biscuits and his quilt that he leep on every night.

It seemed a long trek to Abbeville, where we had booked in for the night, and we had several more Tim stops on the way. When we got there our plan to have dinner outside on the patio with Tim came to nought, for the weather was too chilly. The waiting staff told us to take him into the restaurant. In England this would never happen, so we walked in very slowly, checking to see that we were welcome. We chose a corner where he had the window and a wall behind him, and he sat beside me very quietly and watched everyone come and go. He was big enough to see everything on the table, and was fascinated. Of course, he got “perks” from me, which helped to keep him attentive. The only time he barked was when a small white poodle came in. The poodle owners quickly vanished behind the wall into the larger part of the restaurant, and all was peace once more. Then a quiet night upstairs in crisp white sheets, and an early start the following morning. 

The great packing

Saturday 22nd July Last weekend. So a general tidying up and a sense of doing things for the last time. Bill cut the grass for the last time of this holiday, I trimmed a few branches I’d missed earlier – though some I could not reach, not even if I stood on the pool house roof! We didn’t actually do much after that, just sat in the sun, which was finally at a pleasant temperature. We don’t have much to show in the way of suntans, for many days it was just too hot to sit out in it. In between times we wandered about the fields with Tim and played with him.
Sunday I spent sweeping, hoovering and wiping down sinks and stuff. I did two stints of editing that day, and finished the last page at about 6pm – just in time to make dinner. So I can go home with an edited manuscript to look over yet again.
Monday 24th JulyDrove into Vergt and visited Monsieur le vet for his exit examination. We can't get back into England without it - or at least Tim cannot. He gets weighed and then the nurse gives him a big wodge of chocolate-looking stuff laced with the worming ingredient. He loves it, woofs it down and looks for more. Then we wait and the vet comes and checks his eyes, ears, skin, teeth, listens to his chest and manipulates his abdomen and undercarriage. Tim doesn’t seem to mind. Then we’re good to go – except for a small payment – 58 euros this year, up slightly on last year.

Then back to the mill and the dreaded packing begins. Not only for me, but for Bill and Tim, too. Things get scattered all over the place in six weeks, so it takes time to track it all down. 

Lost in France

Thursday 20th July On Tuesday saw a single deer leave the sweetcorn and bound up the bank! Seems like it’s a deer thoroughfare. The heat is ramping up again, 38 degrees according to the thermometer in St George in the afternoon. We bought what we wanted at Madam’s little shop but decided it was too hot to walk around so we headed straight back home – and enjoyed the car’s air conditioning! It was cloudy all day and so hot we slept downstairs in the mill room that night. A violent thunderstorm woke me, and I watched the sheet lightning through the glass doors.
Wednesday night it got cooler after six, so we slept back upstairs and left the windows open. (We’ve tried all tactics – windows open, windows shut, shutters closed and windows open, everything at half-mast but nothing is ideal. It stays uncomfortably hot until about three in the morning and then the temperature plummets to about 16 degrees. That’s when I wake up feeling cold. In the morning we count our insect bites. I’ve been thinking of a mosquito net over the bed, but there’s nowhere to hang it. Perhaps more garlic is the answer!
Friday 21st July Lamonzie MontastrucA lazy morning and down to Lalinde in time for a longer walk by the canal – yes, it is a canal – le canal du Lalinde and then into the square for lunch. Bill ordered bavette, which turned out to be Charolais steak and I order the mushroom omelette. Both turned up with not chips but sliced potatoes with their skins on, curled up and slightly brown. Like chips, but not chips. Not fried. We think they must have been done in an oven, and will experiment when we get home. Tim liked them. Eight euros cheaper, even with the beer, than the other café we tried last week. On the plus side they brought water for Tim, but none for us. Today we received chilled water in a thermos bottle, but not for Tim, so we gave him water in a clean ash tray. We felt the first few drops of rain as we walked back to the car, and raced the black clouds all the way home.

The journey was longer than anticipated because instead of following the sat nav we disagreed with it and took the route we knew. Fine. But then Bill pointed to a sign for Banueil and said Shall we go that way? In the split second of decision time I said why not. Big mistake. We saw a few pretty villages, some old, one very modern, but ended up back in Lalinde. Well, no, not quite. We came out on the Porte de Cruz on the canal and had to drive nearly all the way to Bergerac before we were reasonably sure that a right turn would take us home. We ended up joining the D21 at Lamonzie. From there, a straight run home, a quick walk with Tim and then we got in and hunkered down, because the rain came down. Real rain. On the Dordogne

Thunder and lightning, too. I went and had a nap.

French adventures - a continuation

Sunday 16thJuly(Quick note: I was unable to keep blogging, but now I'm back home again I can load the later blog post of my holiday)
The hot weather is back again, so I’m up early in the morning to walk Tim before it gets too hot. After our disaster yesterday (Tim found a deer leg and ran off home with it, leaving me in the field looking for him) we walked with him on a lead this morning and headed up towards Fouleix. It was early, the sun was pleasant and with a ten or twelve foot bank on my left I happened to be looking at it when two deer appeared. They were large and golden brown, running as if they would have bounded down the bank, across the road and into the sweetcorn field on my right. On seeing me they wheeled about and disappeared. So quickly, and so silently. It was hard to believe they were there.
I’m watching Poldark even though I’m recording it back home. (one never knows when a recording is going to fail for some strange reasons.) The story follows Demelza more than Ross in series three, though George Warleggan featured very strongly in tonight’s episode. I seem to remeber the second volume was actually entitled Demelza. Poor Morwenna has been forced to wed the slimy fat man – very much a fate worse than death.

Some other thing I notice – Demelza, Caroline, and Elizabeth – even Morwenna – they are all so skinny a puff of wind would blow them away. The men wear shirts, waistcoats, jackets and even overcoats and yet the women swan around in silk and linen gowns cut so low they must surely have caught a chest infection. Strange. 

Lunch out

Friday 14thJuly An even bigger trip today. We drove to Lalinde via St Foy where there are roadworks. I mention them because the traffic lights display the time you have to wait before it is your turn to drive off (which I think is a very good idea and worth adopting in England) We arrived with a couple of minutes to wait, and the car before us in the queue had roared by us several miles back! He must have waited maybe four or five minutes..
It was a perfect day for walking Tim along the canal with its huge trees – I’m never sure if it is a river or a canal. There are lock gates, but it also seems to be an off shoot of the Dordogne which is not 500 yards away. The sun was shining, but the heat was not as excessive as it has been lately. We chatted with a lady who turned out to be one of a group called Les Temoins de Jehovah. Of course, Tim was the attraction.
Then we turned back into town and headed for the market square. Lunch service was beginning, so we chose a quiet corner by a pillar under the old market hall (called the Halle) roof and sat back to enjoy the surroundings. http://www.northofthedordogne.com/lalinde.php
We knew it was Bastille Day, and were not surprised that the shops were closed and a band struck up the Marseilais (must check the spelling!) by the town’s flag draped war memorial. The pompiers de Lalinde made some kind of impromptu parade – or maybe they were just passing through and decided to open their windows and yell something en Francais!
When we order our food and drinks, the waiter, unasked, brought a bowl of water for Tim and he very nearly drained it. Bill ordered a wild mushroom omelette and I chose Fish and Chips. Yes, I know,, but I wanted to see how it would be presented. We waited a long time for it. Pizzas came out faster for people who arrived after us, but there was no hurry. My fish was very white, tasted lovely, and had a very light batter. Frites in a cone came with it, plus a single carrot served with its stalk stub, a little green salad and thinly sliced courgette and lemon, plus a herby sauce. Delicious. I ate every scrap except for feeding Tim a few frites. It kept him quiet instead of threatening to pounce on the pigeon that wandered too close to our table.
We walked down to the river, which is running faster than we’ve ever seen it in many years of visits. Usually there are sandbanks and lots of weed clumps, but right now the water is flowing very fast bank to bank. Lots and lots of swans on the opposite bank where the trees swoop down to the water – a whole flock of swans - maybe fifty or seventy, just cruising the shallows.