Martin Lake's Blog, page 24

BBC News – Charles Dickens characters displayed on Royal Mail stamps

BBC News – Charles Dickens characters displayed on Royal Mail stamps.

First steps in planning my new novel

A few days ago, while lounging on the terrace, an image on a poster I had seen many years ago flung itself into my mind.

I knew at once that this image would be the source of a new novel.  I immediately hit the internet and got copies of the image.  Then I began to reach out and searched for all the relevant information concerning the character in the image.

Whoopee.  There was hardly anything.

This might give you pause.  Having little information about the person who you’re planning to use as your next protagonist is surely something of a problem.  Not a bit.

It gives me a huge amount of freedom.  There’s hardly anything known about him.  It gives me the opportunity to develop him in terms of personality, what he does, who he relates to and how he views the world.  I started to write about him, using the first person and then the third person.  The first two attempts looked stale.

The next step was to find the sort of people who he might have come into contact with.  Two or three were obvious because he was involved with English kings.  Others took a little more detective work but soon I had three more central characters.  One of the three was just a name, the second was wonderfully enigmatic and potentially sinister.

The third was relatively well documented already.

I wrote a third piece with the third character meeting the protagonist.  Great.  They related well and, even more important, I had found the voice and general characteristics of my protagonist.

Today I have got down to the essential for the historical novelist.

This is getting a fix on the events which took place in the period of the protagonist’s life.  This by the way is a moveable feast at the moment.  I have already altered his date of birth to make him five years younger than I had originally planned and I might alter it yet again in light of the chronology I’ve found.

Undertaking this trawl of events can throw up surprising things which are well worth noting down.  A couple of strange new taxes.  A woman who was punished terribly for speaking her mind.  A riot which put recent riots in perspective.  I was most surprised at my reaction to one of the two kings in the novel.  I shall remember that feeling of surprise and keep it as a central perspective of my protagonist.

Next step is to find the antagonists, some love interest and then the conflicts which will inform the novel.

‘Artful’ #SampleSunday #Free today #Kindle #amwriting

Chapter 6 New Horizons

The prisoners were taken out of the barracks and mustered along the quayside.  A party of Government officials appeared and, together with Lieutenant Bolt, passed up and down the line of men, studying their papers as they did so.

If a man looked as though he might prove particularly useful one of the officials pointed him out and a guard led him away.  Beresford was one of the first to be selected.

‘No,’ cried Jack.

‘Shut it,’ said the guard.

‘But he’s my father,’ Jack pleaded.  ‘You wouldn’t want to separate an orphan child from his father would you?’

The guard raised his hand to cuff him but one of the officials signalled to him to desist.

He was a tall man with a well-groomed beard and a thick head of hair with straggly locks framing his face like the ears of a basset hound.  His spectacles balanced upon the end of a sharp, thin nose.

‘Are you really trying to tell me that this man is your father?’ he asked.

Jack nodded.  The man consulted his papers.

‘It says here,’ he read, ‘that you are called Jack Dawkins and that this fellow, who you claim to be your father, is called Beresford.’

‘It’s his first name.’

The official tapped his fingers on his chin and turned to Beresford.  ‘Is this boy your child?’

Before Beresford could answer, Jack threw himself upon his knees and held his hands up to the official.  ‘I’m a bastard,’ he said.  ‘There’s no record of us.  We’ve just found each other after years of separation.’

The official shook his head and patted Jack on the head.  ‘Good try but I fear not good enough.  Even if you were related I’m afraid that the colony could not easily find work for one such as you.’

‘Come along, Dr Fowler,’ said the leader of the party, ‘we haven’t all day.’

The doctor patted Jack on the head and moved on.

The guard pulled at Beresford’s arm.  He resisted for a moment and clasped Jack on the shoulder.

‘I thought we’d not be able to stay together, lad,’ he said.  ‘But I’ll always remember you.  Look after yourself and remember; keep a lid on your swagger.’

The guard led Beresford away.  A familiar snigger sounded from further down the line.

‘Get lost, Crimp,’ Jack said.

Beresford need have had no worries concerning Jack’s behaviour at this moment.  No matter how much he tried to swagger, the chill in his heart prevented it.

The official party worked its way down the line, selecting about a third of the men for government work.  Those who were selected either had specialist skills or were particularly strong-looking men like Beresford and Trench.  Those left over were as varied a looking bunch of miscreants as could be found in Newgate or the House of Lords.

They were now herded close together and a new party of men strolled up and down, documents and little purses clasped in their hands.  These were the free settlers.

Some were inhabitants of Sydney wishing to be assigned servants.  Others were settlers from further away, many of them men termed squatters who owned vast tracts of land out in the wilderness.  They were looking for experienced men to tend their flocks or till their fields, or, failing this, men who looked strong enough to work until they dropped.

The wealthiest looking settlers were at the head of the line and they made selection of all the best men.  The whole process was much more chaotic and speedy than the measured progress of the government officials.  The settlers were in a hurry to get the choicest men possible and they knew they dare not linger over-long for fear of losing out to a rival.

In the end there were only two prisoners left on the quayside; Dodger and Crimp.

There were very few settlers either.  They looked long and hard at the two remaining figures before shaking their heads and leaving.

‘What’s the matter with you?’ cried Dodger bitterly.  ‘Can’t yer see what a bargain I am?’

Only one man scrutinised them still.  He was a huge man, nearly six feet tall and broad and fat.  He leaned upon a thick walking stick.  His right foot was swaddled in bandages.

Although the man was big his head was very small, looking like the head of a fox or weasel jammed onto the neck of a man.  His beady eyes were cold and unreadable.  A raw, red scar ran from just beneath his left eye to the edge of his lip.

He chewed tobacco and every so often spat it out, staining his bandaged foot brown.  Dodger noticed him staring and fell quiet, having no wish to attract his attention.

They continued in this impasse for a few minutes, until the man lurched over to him.  He held Dodger’s chin and scrutinised him carefully as if he were a horse or a dog.

‘Open yer mouth,’ he growled.

The voice was so harsh, so reminiscent of the all too-familiar one of Sikes, that Dodger obeyed.  The man peered at his teeth and shut his jaw with a snap.  He then turned and did the same with Crimp.

‘Take your glove off,’ he told Crimp.

Crimp gave an anxious look and shook his head.  The man lifted his fist and, muttering, Crimp inched it off.  Dodger gasped.  The top of the fingers had disappeared; the stumps which remained were blackened and charred.

The big man examined the hand for a moment and then shrugged as if he expected little different.

‘They’ll do,’ he said to the one remaining official.  He reached into a mud-stained purse and pulled out a sovereign and some silver.

‘It’s two pounds, Mr Stone,’ said the clerk, ‘one pound per convict.’

‘He’s only a lad and a puny one at that,’ Stone said, poking Dodger in the chest. ‘And the bloke’s not much better.  I think I should get a discount on account of the lack of eye and hand of the one and the puniness and ugliness of the other.’

‘How much are you offering?’

‘Thirty bob for the pair.’

The clerk considered for a moment, pocketed the money and thrust two sets of papers into Stone’s hand.  ‘Fred Crimp and Jack Dawkins,’ he said.  ‘Yours for thirty bob and no questions asked.’

He turned towards Crimp and Jack.  ‘This is Seth Stone, your new master,’ he said.  ‘Do well by him and he’ll do well by you.’

I doubt that, thought Dodger.

‘My carriage is there,’ Stone said, pointing to a tumble-down crate.  A donkey with a hang-dog expression stood in the traces.  ‘You can walk behind.’

The clerk handed Jack and Crimp a parcel each which contained some bedding and clothing.

As they walked towards the cart Crimp muttered, ‘I must have died and gone to heaven.  Do you know why?  Because I’m going to make your life hell.’

 ’Artful’ is free today on Kindle and all Kindle apps.  Click on the pictures to the right to buy.

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David Gaughran on ‘A Storm Hits Valparaiso.’

Martin: Hi David and thanks once again for agreeing to do a second interview on my blog.

My pleasure, Martin. Good to speak with you again.

  Martin: Before we focus on ‘A Storm Hits Valparaiso’ I wonder if you could tell me when you first know that you wanted to be a writer.  Was there a specific event that made you decide?

David: I’ve wanted to be a writer for as long as I can remember. However, I didn’t really do anything (other than talk about it, or daydream) until I read Stephen King’s On Writing. It’s truly a great book, and it gave me the confidence to get going and turn that dream into a reality.

You have written a very successful book on self-publishing and two collections of short stories.  Your first novel, however, is a classic historical novel.  What drew you to this genre?

My reading is all over the chart, but I suppose I read historicals more than anything else. I write all sorts of stuff too, but historical fiction is my “main” genre. I’ve always enjoyed big, sweeping stories – especially those that have a new take on a well-known event, or, even better, books which uncover a lost piece of history, or a fascinating figure who has slipped from the collective consciousness. I can spend days at a time on Wikipedia bouncing between unknown battles or forgotten generals, or poring over maps of fallen empires.

The struggle for South American Independence was epic and full of heroic and dashing figures such as Simon Bolivar and Bernardo O’ Higgins.  Yet you chose to write about San Martin, a private man, less well-known, who spurned fame and heroics.  What attracted you to the challenge of writing about him?

The original plan was to write about both San Martin and Bolivar, but, as you have pointed out, Bolivar’s story was (relatively) more familiar, and half the fun (for me) is uncovering something less well known. On top of that, the scope of the story was already spiralling out of control and I needed to make some big decision early on regarding what to focus on and what would make a coherent story. I already had seven main characters, and I felt that was about the limit in terms of what a reader could keep fresh in their minds (and that I could keep track of).

Aside from that, there was something terribly seductive about focusing on the man who walked away when power was within his grasp. What would lead someone to do that? That question powered the whole novel.

You slaughtered a number of your characters which made this reader, at least, feel sad.  Do you regret losing any of the characters in this way and, if so, who and why?

The whole backdrop of the novel is a bloody twelve-year independence struggle, and given that most of the characters were in the army, it would have been stretching credulity that all of them could survive. I was very concerned with conveying the dark side of war – even when the cause was as just as this one. The independence forces were quite progressive in terms of freeing slaves, and allowing Indians to serve in the army as equals, but I also wanted to reflect the fact that independence didn’t solve all ofSouth America’s problems. The lot of the poor and the minorities didn’t change hugely, and, as such, I felt it essential that certain characters didn’t have a happy ending. It’s always a strange feeling to kill off a character, but war is brutal, and the novel had to reflect that. But, to answer your question more directly, I did feel some emotion in snuffing out the lives that I had created. It always feels somewhat strange.

Which authors had the greatest influence upon you in framing and writing your novel?

Gabriel Garcia Marquez and Louis de Bernières – two of my favourites – hugely influenced the kind of style I wanted to achieve for this book. I could live for a thousand years and never write as well as those guys, but it gave me something to shoot for. I especially enjoy the way that Garcia Marquez can describe an entire character in a sentence and their life in a paragraph – without you ever feeling he left anything out. Louis de Bernières can do that too, is a deft hand at weaving together a succession of captivating narrative strands. Both have a beautiful, lyrical style, and their books are among the few I re-read over and over – especially Birds Without Wings by de Bernières and One Hundred Years of Solitude by Garcia Marquez.

This might sound a little strange, but this book was also greatly influenced by some of the Cold War thriller writers like Tom Clancy. I don’t read him so much now, but devoured his work as a teenager. I loved the way his books would have one chapter inMoscow, then another inNew Mexicowith a different character, then the next inAfghanistan. As a reader, you were trying to figure out how the hell all these characters were going to meet up. I tried to replicate some of that structure. I think readers like a puzzle.

How did you research your novel?  Did you do it before you started to write or was it more of an ongoing process?

I first got the idea while travelling aroundSouth America. I came across the story of San Martin and Bolivar meeting in that room inGuayaquil, and I was hooked. I was in the middle of writing something else (terrible) at the time and I was merely satisfying a curiosity about what transpired between the two men. I began making notes, sketching out scenarios, and, before I knew it, I was outlining a novel. It was all a happy accident, to be frank.

I didn’t get to properly commence until a few months later, when I spent the summer inThailand. I had three months to myself, with nothing to do but write, and I took advantage of it. I had been reading background materials for months, but I only had a vague outline of a story and half of the characters in mind. I began writing the separate narrative strands in isolation, then had to figure out where and when they could begin meeting up. The story changed a lot as I wrote it, and research was virtually continual until the book was done. There was always something else I didn’t know enough about.

I went back toSouth Americain 2008 for another nine-month trip. It was great to walk down the streets again, and breathe in the air. I had set the book (mostly) in locations I had been in before, but it was good to refresh the memory. I also got to visit a few museums and talk to some local historians – that added an extra dimension to the whole book.

I didn’t actually finish the book until late 2009, and rewrote it several times before eventually releasing it in December 2011. There were moments when I thought I would never cross the finish line. However, just shy of the sixth anniversary of when I first got the idea, I published it

Which research tools, sources and web-sites did you find most useful?

Wikipedia is a great starting point. It allowed me to get a quick primer on a subject, before ordering a few books and researching the old fashioned way: a big table, lots of scattered, barely intelligible notes, and a generally frantic demeanour.

What would be a typical writing day for you?  Do you have set times, spaces, routines or rituals?

I wish. I’m not disciplined enough to have a set schedule. I’m a binge writer, who works in spurts, then lets ideas stew for a while and recharges for the next session. I can be quick enough in getting the bones of a story down, but can fiddle interminably. My first drafts tend to be quite rough – full of plot holes, mistakes, scenes that need a lot of work – and then I will cycle through successive drafts, usually focusing on one aspect, until I feel like I’ve taken it as far as I can. Then the beta readers get to kick it around for a while, and once I fix all that stuff it goes off to the editor.

You have moved countries a couple of times and, as someone who has also recently moved I wonder if the change of culture and language has had any effect upon your writing.

I don’t know. It certainly helped in getting some of the details right in this book, but I’ve moved around so much in the last ten years that it’s hard to say what is influencing what. I suppose it has directly influenced the setting of my stories –South America,Sweden,CzechRepublic– but there is nothing really deliberate about that, the story decides the setting, not the other way around.

What is your next writing project?

I’ll be releasing another historical next month – Bananas For Christmas –about a colour-blind railroad engineer with the unlikely name of Lee Christmas who swapsNew Orleans for the Tropics and gets caught up in a Honduran civil war. He was one of the most famous people inAmerica 100 years ago – regularly featuring in the Sunday supplements – but he has largely been forgotten today. That story was so much fun to write. If you think Cochrane was a colourful character, wait until you see this guy.

On top of that, I’ll be updating Let’s Get Digital *and* releasing a sequel, aimed at writers who have already taken their first self-publishing steps and who are looking to take things to the next level. The French version of Let’s Get Digital will be out in a couple of weeks, followed by some of my shorts – other languages are planned too.

In terms of new fiction, I’ve started work on a dystopian novella called Supertramp which is twisted take on the reality TV shows that are clogging the screens, and that will be quickly (I hope) followed by another historical, also set in Latin America, and plenty more short stories. I have a few more historicals planned for Latin America, and then I’ll be trying something totally different with a book set in theMiddle East. Too many ideas, not enough time!

Thank you so much for taking the time to chat on my blog, David.

*******

You can find out more about David Gaughran and his work at the following places:

http://davidgaughran.wordpress.com/

David also has a blog focusing on South America.  This can be found at southamericana.com

‘A Storm Hits Valparaiso’ can be found at:

US: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006OPORV8/

UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B006OPORV8/

Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/116662

Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-storm-hits-valparaiso-david-gaughran/1108178310?ean=2940032953050&format=nook-book

His new novel: ‘Bananas For Christmas’ should be available at the end of July.

*********

Join me next Saturday when Ty Johnston talks about his work.

Lean and Hungry or Fat and Content?

I’ve just been watching a man on the beach.  He could have been me.  He was the same shape and weight, he had the same hair or rather lack of hair.  He chatted to some friends employing the same extravagant gestures which made Steve, one of my friends at the age of eleven, ask me if I was French.  In the twinkling of an eye my doppelganger had wandered around the beach engaging many different people in conversation.

I saw the virtual double of the same friend Steve in the pub a year ago, although many years older than eleven.  He looked incredibly alike in physique and looks.  What astounded me, however, was how this man’s body language was virtually identical  to Steve’s.  He gestured in the same way, he emphasised facts in the same way, he even listened to other people as Steve does.

Seeing my mirror image on the beach got me thinking along a now familiar path.

The more I look at people the more I come to think that their appearance says a great deal about their personality.  Men who look like me smile at toddlers and help them blow bubbles.  Short and skinny men are often quick in thought and movement.  I won’t go on.

I saw a man in a French town who looks like George Cole playing the spiv ‘Flash’ Harry in the 1950′s St Trinian’s Films.  He’s a young man, he’s French, he’s almost certainly never seen George Cole in the part.  Yet he acts and moves exactly like Cole.  He even dresses like him.

 

 

 

 

Perhaps Shakespeare had it right.

Caesar:

Let me have men about me that are fat,

Sleek-headed men and such as sleep a-nights.

Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look,

He thinks too much; such men are dangerous.

Julius Caesar Act 1, Scene 2, 190-195

I find it useful to follow the idea of shapes mirroring personality when I’m plotting and planning.  Yet, to use it too directly in my writing would make the character seem too much of a caricature.

It’s a fine balance.  Get it right and you create an archetype.  Get it wrong and you create a cliché.

Finding new authors

I’ve been meaning to tell you about a site I love.  It is called literature-map.com and is a fantastic means by which you can find authors similar to the ones you like already.

I guess in a way it’s like Goodreads and Shelfari but I think it must be run by robots because I can’t understand how it works.  It doesn’t seem to work for indie writers which is a shame and which also suggests that it is linked into traditionally published works and not e-books.  Maybe this will change.

Nevertheless, it’s a great resource and fun to play with.

The idea is simple.  You type in the name of an author you like, press a button and, hey-presto, a constallation of stars explodes onto your screen before settling down into a galaxy of similar authors.  Those closest to your named writer are most like him or her, those furthest similar but less so.

I love it.  Try it.  If anyone knows how it works please let me know.

Martin Lake

PS It also works for films.

Part 2 of my new novel. #SampleSunday #amwriting #histfic Still trying to find a name for it.

No sooner had Alan and Simon stepped through the gates than they saw crowds of people lining the road, jostling for position closest to it.  The sheer numbers pressed them back until their legs were slammed up against a shrine.

Two small boys had clambered onto the shrine and were shouting to each other in excitement

‘What’s happening?’ Alan asked them.

‘King Guy,’ cried the youngest boy, ‘King Guy is going to war.’

Almost immediately a trumpet sounded from deep within the city.  A heavy and regular beat sounded in the distance.  It got louder and louder and soon the reverberation of it jarred the ground beneath their feet.

A huge cheer rose from the crowd and the children shrieked with delight.  Alan and Simon followed their gaze.  Riding through the gate came two lines of armoured knights, pennants high, bright armour glistening in the sun.  The knights closest to them wore red surcoats with white cross emblazoned upon it.  The knights in the far column wore white coats emblazoned with stark red cross.

‘Who are they?’ Alan asked.

‘Knights of the Hospital and of theTemple,’ cried the youngest boy.  ‘I am for the Templars but Claude-Yusuf is for the Hospitallers.’

‘Gerard is too young to know better,’ explained the older boy with what he thought was a condescending look.

Behind the last of the knights there was a gap of ten yards before two men on great horses rode alone, side by side.

The older man was a red-head with rough beard and close-cropped hair.  He sat forward in his saddle as if hoping by his stance to make it go faster.  His eyes were wide and shining, and he glanced about him with an exultant look.

‘Who is that?’ asked Alan.  He did not say but he was disturbed by the look of the knight.

‘Raynald of Châtillon,’ said an old man in the crowd.  He leaned closer.  ‘If you are wise you would make no comment about him, no matter what anyone says, good or ill.’

Alan and Simon exchanged wary looks.

‘And the other?’  Alan stared at the man who rode beside Raynald.

He was tall and slim, with thick, flowing hair and neat trimmed beard.  His face seemed carved from stone.  He was handsome and dignified, with regular features and strong chin.  His eyes were bright and imperious and he glanced about him at the crowd and acknowledged their cheers with a courteous bow.

‘That is Guy of Lusignan,’ said the old man.

‘King Guy, King Guy,’ cried Gerard.  ‘Hooray for King Guy.’

The king, hearing the cry, searched out the owner of the voice and held out his hand.  Gerard gasped and reached up for the king’s hand.  Guy took it, shook it in a sign of triumph and smiled.

Delighted, Gerard grinned at Claude-Yusuf.  ‘King Guy has shaken my hand,’ he cried, ‘King Guy has shaken my hand.’

The king was followed by long lines of knights and foot-soldiers.  The boys became even more excited than earlier and Claude-Yusuf began to yell at the top of his voice.

One of the soldiers heard his voice and turned, searching the crowd.  His face lit up and he waved with wild enthusiasm.  He called to the boys but could not be heard.

‘Goodbye, father,’ Claude-Yusuf cried, ‘goodbye.’  But his voice was lost in the tumult.

Eventually, the last company marched through the gate and disappeared down the road that had brought Alan and Simon to the city.

 

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Using the Disney Strategy in Your Writing

Robert Dilts is one of the key thinkers in Neuro-Linguistic Processing (NLP) and a number of the tools used by business on a day to day basis owe something to him.

I attended his Master Practitioner course in 2003 and it certainly opened my eyes to a wealth of new ideas.

I am going to look today one of them.  This is Dilt’s analysis of Walt Disney’s creative strategy and how it man have a bearing on writing.

One of Disney’s closest associates said: “…there were actually three different Walts: the dreamer, the realist, and the spoiler. You never knew which one was coming into your meeting.”

By this he meant that Disney approached the creative act in distinct phases.  First he would imagine what the finished product was like.  Next he would breathe life into it, often by acting out the parts himself.  Finally, he would evaluate it and criticise it, thinking especially how the audience would react to the film.

Here’s what Disney himself had to say about the art of making animated films.

“The story man must see clearly in his own mind how every piece of business in a story will be put. He should feel every expression, every reaction. He should get far enough away from his story to take a second look at it…to see whether there is any dead phase…to see whether the personalities are going to be interesting and appealing to the audience. He should also try to see that the things that his characters are doing are of an interesting nature.”

As a writer this translates to me as:

1.  researching, planning and plotting.

2.  doing the actual writing, acting out the characters and action in words, being there.

3.  getting distance from the writing.  Seeing what works and what doesn’t.  Trying to see it through other people’s eyes, the eyes of the people you hope will read and enjoy it.

Physical environment is important for me in this.  I often get my best ideas when I’m dreaming in a cafe, away from where I normally work, without the distractions of friends, laptop or internet.  I also find I get great ideas if I’m sitting with my feet off the ground.  I’ve no idea why this is; perhaps I’m tapping into being like a little child sitting on a swing or a chair that’s too big, perhaps it’s because I’m not tied down to the ground.  This is clearly the dreamer stage.

When I write I write on a laptop and it could be almost anywhere.  I do need space, however, and I need sufficient privacy, or comprehension from my wife, to talk to myself and act out the parts.  I’ve had sword-fights with adversaries. imagined a long ride on a horse and even tried to pick pockets.  This is the realist stage where I work at my novel.

The final stage, the critic, I do in a number of ways.  I leave as much time as I can between writing and doing a re-read and starting to edit. This is getting the distance that Disney recommends.  I put the book in PDF format onto my Kindle so I can see what the reader will see.  I then put the Word Document into ‘Read’ view to give myself another different perspective.  I give it to my beta readers and my editor before taking the cut and paste to the document again.  If something doesn’t sound right then I read it aloud.  (A recent book I’ve read ‘Can’t Sell, Won’t Sell’ by Sean Campbell and Daniel Campbell suggests using the Text to Speech function which I think is a great idea.  It’s a good book, well worth reading.)

The important thing to remember is that you cannot miss out any stage or minimise it’s importance.

For indie writers, especially, who don’t have the benefits of publishing house editors, copy-editors and readers, the final stage of critic may be the most difficult and, therefore, the one that is likely to be more rushed.

You need them all, I reckon.

Robert Dilts gives lots more information about the Disney Strategy.  Check out what he has to say and then give it a try.

http://www.nlpu.com/Articles/article7...

Sensational Discovery. Oscar Wilde interviews.

I recently visited Paris with my wife.  One day, as we strolled along the Left Bank, a tremendous rain-storm sent us scurrying into an alley for cover.  It was quite dark in the alley and I banged my shin against something hard and sharp.  I bent down to examine it and was astonished to find a battered old suitcase with rusty lock.

It is not something I would normally do but I decided there and then to take the suitcase.  I brought it home to Menton and tried to get into it.  No luck.  In the end I had to buy a hack-saw and cut the lock completely.

I looked inside and my jaw dropped open.  (This is the second time in my life that I have had such a comic book reaction but I promise you, drop open it did.)

Inside the suitcase were a mass of papers which proved to be interviews which Oscar Wilde had conducted with prominent people of his time.

I aim to post these periodically on my blog, starting with the first interview when the fifteen year old Wilde interviewed Charles Dickens only two weeks before his death.  (In fact I begin to wonder whether the two events were in any way connected.)

However, I start not with any of Wilde’s own interviews but by one from his friend, Lord Alfred Douglas, known affectionally to his friends as Bosie.

For lovers of history there is an added piquancy.  This interview took place the day after Valentine’s Day 1895 which was the opening night of ‘The Importance of Being Earnest.’

The Bosie Papers

15 February 1895

Following the triumphant first night of Oscar’s latest play we were visited at our hotel by a hysterical old woman by the name of Lady Flashman.  Apparently she had seen ‘Earnest’ the night before and, being as empty-headed as she was wealthy, took it into her head that Oscar, the darling of the London stage, would like nothing better than to write a play about her decrepit old husband.  She must have imagined that he would swoon at the very idea.

Strangely enough, Oscar decided to see the woman.  He was clearly in an exultant mood after the astonishing success of the first night.

As always he was courtesy itself although I could see through the façade that he was utterly disgusted by the aging harpy.  He pretended that he was beguiled and besotted by her and she flirted with him in a manner more suited to the madam of a bordello. 

To my astonishment Oscar agreed to undertake an interview with her husband and asked me to pass him his day-book so that he could find a suitable time.  The old baggage fluttered her eyes at him and said that there was no need to make an appointment. 

‘I’ve brought my Hector with me,’ she said.  ‘He is waiting in the lounge.’

Oscar was so delighted with her that he agreed to meet with the old man there and then.  I tried to dissuade him from this but he brushed aside my objections which I must say I found very wounding.  Then, to rub salt into my wounds, he asked me to be the amanuensis of the interview. 

Naturally I determined to refuse and make a wounding departure.  However, Oscar had made his request in front of the fawning Lady Flashman so I had to swallow my chagrin and agree.

A servant was summoned and sent to bring her old fool of a husband to meet us. 

As events unfolded I surprised even myself by discovering that I was, in fact, a superb amanuensis.  Here is my record of Oscar and Harry Flashman’s first meeting. 

Picture if you will, the refined Oscar sitting at his ease in his Norfolk jacket with the gorgeous silk handkerchief I had bought him drooping from his pocket.  Then picture the nature of his visitor.

Sir Harry Flashman was a hulking great creature, six feet tall, as broad as a navvy with moustache and whiskers from a previous century.  He looked to be aged about fifty-five or so although he was actually in his early seventies.  There was a toe-curling revoltingness about him, something which made my nostrils contract.  At the same time, I must admit he had something about him, some charisma or animal force.  It made me want to run to the toilet.

Sir Harry – G’day to you Mr Wilde.

Oscar – (rising and taking the brute by the hand).  Good day to you, Sir Harry.  Your wife tells me that you would like me to write your memoirs.

Sir Harry – (staring venomously at his wife) That’s what she said, is it?

Oscar – It most certainly is.  She tells me that you’ve had a fascinating life.  She even went as far as to call you ‘Her Hector.’

Sir Harry – (to his wife) That’s so flattering of you, Elsbeth.  Now, why don’t you get yourself off to Oxford Street and buy yourself something for the weekend.

At this point, with much false cooing and curtseying, Lady Flashman made her departure.

Oscar – Charming woman, your wife.

Sir Harry – Aye, she’s a charmer right enough.  You’re welcome to view her charms (sitting forward in his chair suspiciously) but only from a distance.  Now then, Mr Wilde, my idiot of a wife has got it into her head that you’d be the perfect person to write my memoirs.  I can’t see for the life of me why anybody would want to read them and even less so if you were to write ‘em.

Me – How dare you, sir.  Oscar is the darling of Literary London.

Sir Harry – (turning to me with a belligerent look) When I want to be cheeked by some office boy, I’ll let him know, thank you kindly.

Oscar – Sir Harry, this is no office boy.  This is Lord Alfred Douglas, son of the Marquess of Queensbury.

Sir Harry – (with a repulsive leer) Oh, so you’re the one.  Not much like your old man, are you?  I can’t see you watching at a Boxing Ring.  Or riding a horse.  (Turning to Oscar.)  Or perhaps I’m mistaken.  Perhaps you like to go riding with this young man, Mr Wilde?

(Long silence.)

Oscar – Lord Alfred’s father is a great hunter of the fox but Bosie, dear child, is more a poet by inclination.

Sir Harry – I didn’t come here to talk about inclinations if you take my meaning, Mr Wilde.  Nor about hunting.  I’m here because my wife wants you to memorialise me.

At this point I made to rise, thinking that the time to end the interview had arrived.  But Sir Harry Flashman gave me a glance like a viper which made me feel quite giddy.

To my astonishment, Oscar said that he concurred with the notion of conducting the interview.  Imagine my horror.

The brute staggered to his feet, gave me the filthiest leer I have ever received and stuck his card in my waistcoat pocket.

Sir Harry – There are Office Boy.  Get in touch when your friend has a free moment.

Then he stalked out of the room but not, alas, out of our lives.

Oscar – (with a grin) Oh do lighten up, Bosie.

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We travelled easily that morning with a short stop mid-morning and then a longer one at noon to rest the horses and eat.  We set out after an hour but the clouds opened and a fierce rain-burst hammered down upon us.  It was as short-lived as it was intense, however, and all at once the sun shone out fiercely and the clouds melted away.  At the same moment a huge double rainbow arched across the sky, glimmering like a jewel on fire.

‘Ah,’ said a voice close to my ear.  ‘God’s promise to Noah.  I wonder if it will be as hopeful for us.’

I turned abruptly.  Stigand had crept up on my unawares.  I tried to move away but his hand reached out and grasped for my bridle.

‘It is long since I have seen you, Edgar,’ he said.  ‘Are they treating you well?’

‘What would you care?’ I said.  ‘You betrayed me and our countrymen.’

He looked down at the ground and did not answer for a moment.

‘It must seem like that to you,’ he said at last.  ‘But believe me; I did it for your sake and for that of our countrymen.  There had been too many deaths already and I had visions ofEnglanddrowning in blood.’

‘We could have defeated theNormans,’ I said.

‘Do you think so?  Do you really think so?’  He stared at me.  ‘And just who would have led our warriors?  You?  Me?  Or our brave Edwin and Morcar?’  He gestured towards them.  ‘Look at them, riding fretful and cowed.  Do you think they have it within themselves to take up the mantle of Harold?’

‘They fought bravely against the Danes atYork.’

‘Perhaps they did.  But Harold still had to race north to succour them and defeat the Danes.’

I did not reply for I guessed in my heart that he was right about them.  They were not of the mould of Harold.  Nor, I had to admit to myself, of William.

‘None of that gave you the right to betray us,’ I continued.

He let go of my bridle.  ‘Perhaps you are right,’ he said wearily.  ‘But to me it seemed to be the least of all the evils facing us.  Maybe, in the long end, you will thank me for it.’  He kicked his heels and trotted his pony forward to rejoin the Earls.

                                         

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