Angela Petch's Blog, page 11
February 15, 2019
Guest Interview – Angela Petch
Talking about books with Patricia Osborne – but, mainly, Mavis and Dot. Still trying to raise as many pennies as possible for #cancerresearchuk.
Today I am joined by fellow Chindi author, Angela Petch, to talk about her writing including her latest novel, Mavis and Dot. This week Angela is Chindi’s Author of the Week.
Hi Angela, thank you for joining me today. Mavis and Dot is your latest novel, can you tell our readers what inspired you to write it?
Thanks for having me on your blog. It’s always great to have the chance to talk books.
Mavis and Dot had been on the back burner for more than thirteen years, since losing my best friend to ovarian cancer. We used to enjoy charity shops and auctions and when we went out and about, we nicknamed each other Mavis and Dot.
When she fell gravely ill, I wrote her a silly story about Mavis and Dot and it made her laugh. Out came her paints and she sketched a cartoon, which I still…
View original post 1,948 more words
Guest Interview – Angela Petch
Talking about books with Patricia Osborne – but, mainly, Mavis and Dot. Still trying to raise as many pennies as possible for #cancerresearchuk.
Today I am joined by fellow Chindi author, Angela Petch, to talk about her writing including her latest novel, Mavis and Dot. This week Angela is Chindi’s Author of the Week.
Hi Angela, thank you for joining me today. Mavis and Dot is your latest novel, can you tell our readers what inspired you to write it?
Thanks for having me on your blog. It’s always great to have the chance to talk books.
Mavis and Dot had been on the back burner for more than thirteen years, since losing my best friend to ovarian cancer. We used to enjoy charity shops and auctions and when we went out and about, we nicknamed each other Mavis and Dot.
When she fell gravely ill, I wrote her a silly story about Mavis and Dot and it made her laugh. Out came her paints and she sketched a cartoon, which I still…
View original post 1,948 more words
February 13, 2019
Love and the beauty of age…
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I read that in Finland and Estonia, Valentine’s day is an occasion for honouring friends and “significant others”. Well, today, I’m honouring Mavis and Dot and senior people.
Mavis and Dot are both retired, in their late sixties. Walk down any high street and you’ll pass them by, maybe dismissing them as being tired and dowdy, of no interest. If you’re quite young, maybe you’ll never imagine yourself becoming like them, letting yourself go, your hair grey, your tights a little wrinkled, your clothes unfashionable and baggy.
Stop! You’re being judgemental. I was going to write, ‘look beyond the wrinkles,’ but I won’t. Admire those beautiful wrinkles. They’re signs of a long life. They’re laughter lines and sorrow scars. The grey is silver and the “crow’s feet” are simply life showing in a person’s face. To fear growing old is to spend a huge chunk of your life being unhappy; it’s a waste of time, so stop it!
My elderly, Italian mother-in-law sparkled with true accounts of her years in war-torn, occupied Italy and I was able to thread her stories into my first novel, which is being edited and re-released in June 2019 with Bookouture. My second Tuscan novel, Now and Then in Tuscany was written as a result of talking to my old friends in the area where I live in the Apennines. They shared memories of the annual transhumance, the ten-day trek from the hills down to the milder coast, each winter. Without the wisdom and experience of the old, we would be a little lost, I feel.
In my latest book, Mavis embraces life. She has a bucket list of things she wants to do. She confuses her words sometimes, but we sense what she is trying to tell her new friend, Dot, as they share tea and cake.
“‘There’s no excuse for boredom here in Worthington-on-Sea. I’ve decided to tick off a list of activities in alphabetical order. Archery appeals — but that doesn’t start until early summer. Athletics is just not for me. I’m not into Agoraphobics and now I’ve decided Bridge is definitely off the list for good. Belly dancing next, I think.’
Dot spluttered into her teacup, ‘Belly dancing? Are you serious?’
‘Perfectly. Life’s too short not to try these things, don’t you think?’
‘Well, that certainly does not appeal to me one iota. But you have a point about the brevity of life. Agoraphobics, you say. I’ve never heard of those.’
‘You know. People in leotards leaping around in a gym, all hot and bothered,’ Mavis said, speaking with her mouth full of cake.
Dot laughed, ‘I think perhaps, you mean aerobics.’”
Love and romance are not off Mavis’ agenda either. And why should they be? She’s prone to Italian men and there are a couple of dalliances with Latin lovers, including a brief encounter with an Italian gentleman in Arezzo. Mavis returns to the small hotel after an evening out. Dot is reading in bed and interrogates her tipsy friend.
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“’Signor Martelli took me to the concerto,’ Mavis said, pulling a scarf from her neck and performing a deep curtsey, from which she struggled to rise.
Dot raised her eyebrows. ‘Did you have more Camparis?’ she asked.
‘Si, si, si,’ Mavis replied. ‘And they were all delicious – especially the one with a dash or two of Prosecco and an olive on a stick,’ she added, with a hiccough.
‘New scarf?’ asked Dot, peering over the top of her glasses.
‘Si, si…’ Mavis aid. ‘A little gifty-woo from Signor Martelli. He owns a shop in the piazza and he opened it up, so I could choose this.’ She held up the scarf that depicted the most visited spots of Arezzo. ‘I chose this as a souvenir of tonight,’ she explained.
‘Why did he give you that?’
‘Why not?’ said Mavis, plonking herself down on Dot’s bed. ‘You sound just like my horrible foster mother with all your questions.’”
I’ll stop there and leave you to imagine the rest of the scene, especially when Mavis jokes with her friend that ‘[she] had wild, rampant sex with him under the table in the loggia, while nobody was looking.’
Dot is not beyond romance either. She confides in Mavis about a tragedy she endured as a teenager, when she fell in love with the wrong boy. Prickly and eccentric, she presents a peculiar figure to the looker-on: tall and stringy, usually dressed in baggy, seated trousers and a smelly Afghan coat. But inside is a heart of gold. And there is a certain gentleman who becomes very fond of her by the end of the book. No spoilers.
The point is we all (hopefully) grow old and it is too easy to be ageist and non-inclusive of our elderly. I myself am in my sixth decade. How I suddenly arrived her so quickly, is beyond me. But I’m welcoming it, loving it in fact. My best friend passed away too early from ovarian cancer in her mid-fifties and I wrote Mavis and Dot in her memory. All profits from sales are for Cancer Research.
As Mavis walks along the promenade, she thinks back to Dot’s sad, teenage story. She’s begun to understand why lonely Dot had given up on ever finding happiness.
“This retirement town was probably brimming with sad stories, but life had to go on and most people of her generation had learned to keep feelings buttoned up. It was very easy to be judgmental of folk…Life was very short and she and Dot both needed to get on with the rest of it. They could both do with a large helping of happiness. They deserved it…”
So, on this Valentine’s Day, buy roses, wine and chocolate for your elderly friends and tell them you love them. Spend time listening to their stories, be patient and celebrate them.
Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone!
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“I loved the two characters and hope to be half as adventurous as the at their age.” {The Spoonie Mummy – Amazon reviewer}
“I loved Mavis, I want to be her when I grow up…” {The Midnight Review}
Beach hut escapades
Thinking about acts of kindness… and Mavis and Dot. Thanks to Lexi Rees for inviting me to chat on her blog.
Every time I walk my dog past the cute wooden huts on West Wittering beach, I dream of owning one. I’ve even got a shortlist of my favourites. I chat to the owners of several regularly and they tend to be passed down the generations, and every hut has a story to tell. So fellow Chindi author Angela Petch’s latest book, Mavis & Dot, totally appeals. For the avoidance of doubt – this is a grown up book not a kids book! It was written in memory of a friend who passed away from ovarian cancer, and the icing on the cake is that all profits from Mavis and Dot will go towards cancer research, so I’m adding this to my “to be read pile”. Now I just need the weather to warm up a bit – deck chair and thermos at the ready, since we’re going a bit retro.
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February 9, 2019
Talk about it…
On the eve of my Author Week with CHINDIAuthors, of which I am immensely proud to be a member, I am talking to Joanna Mallory about her recent setback. Be in her company for a few seconds and you quickly realise she is a fighter. I make no excuses for putting her first in my series of interviews. My latest book, MAVIS AND DOT, was written in memory of my best friend, who didn’t realise how ill she was and who shouldered on, ignoring symptoms, putting up with warning signs. I feel guilty too. She told me her tummy was bloated and she had persistent back ache; she didn’t feel right. To many women this is a normal part of every month and so neither of us worried. But she was suffering from ovarian cancer and it was too late by the time the doctors diagnosed it.
We have to talk and share our problems. Don’t keep them bottled up.
As Dot says to Mavis, in Chapter Nine of MAVIS AND DOT, after revealing a secret that has tormented her since she was a teenager and which shaped the rest of her life and caused much misery:
“ ‘Do you know, I feel a lot better now. Telling you seems to have helped – like lancing a boil.’
‘A problem shared is a problem halved, as they say. Now let me put the kettle on and make some fresh toast – your eggs have gone cold.’
‘Tea again,’ laughed Dot, ‘we’ll start to look like teapots.’”
But enough of Mavis and Dot. It’s time to meet lovely Joanna, a fellow Chindean.
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Thanks so much for having me on your blog today, to talk about an issue that is so close to both our hearts.
Just to give a little background; I was whipped into hospital just before Christmas, after experiencing sudden and unexpected abdominal pain.
They found a mass on my ovary, and couldn’t rule out ovarian cancer… Which is a funny way to word it, I know. But I have to say it like this, as it helps me to process what I’m dealing with. And at this stage, if you are going through something like this, my biggest advice tip is; if you have to trick your brain – Go for It. Whatever little methods you use so that you can keep moving forward is key.
And if someone you love is going through something like this, don’t correct them if they brush it off, or make light of their situation. It may be how they’re coping.
After spending a couple of days in the hospital with my iPad and lots of time, you can imagine how my Google search history looked. It was at this point that I knew I wanted to talk about what I was going through, and how it made me feel – for no other reason than to hopefully help women just like me.
You see, there was very little out-there about living each day, or what happens next, or even just sharing stories. Which is why I took to YouTube. It’s hard and scary to share, there are so many difficult things to talk about. But sitting in the hospital, I so wanted to read and see the success stories, to hear the voices of women who’d been through things like this and come out fighting.
And that’s why I’m here today to wave the flag for my little channel and say ‘come on over, we’re all in this together. Let’s raise awareness and take good care of our uteruses.
Can you tell us a little bit about how you soldiered on (in typical woman-mode)? When did you seek medical help?
This is a tough one to answer – because the truth is; I was foolish. I did the ‘Mum thing’ and kept going. When the pain hit I was sat in a chilly Sand School waiting for my daughter to finish her riding lesson. And it was awful, I struggled back to the car, and I remember being so grateful that the place was deserted as everyone was in lesson.
Pretty daft really.
My legs and soon my whole body was shaking. As I got to my car I was sick – this is one of the oddest things I’ve struggled to say when I’ve told people. I don’t know why, but it just felt like an awful thing to admit to.
I now know the pain was caused by my ovary moving and the tube twisting; being sick is a reaction to the pain and the movement.
I sat in the car for nearly forty minutes, waiting for the pain to subside. But it didn’t. I thought it was food poisoning, all I could think about was getting home.
My brain, I suppose had gone into protection mode; two of my teenage children were home, my youngest daughter was with me, and my husband was at work. I just had to get home, and everything would work out. It was just some nasty upset stomach that would pass…
I got home, took some paracetamol and laid down, hoping that would be it. I managed to sleep, and by evening I felt frail but okay-ish.
(Now I know the ovary had rolled half way back, releasing some of the pressure on the tube.)
It’s the most surreal thing, now I look back on it; I would have route-marched any of mine straight to the hospital. But I just kept insisting I was fine. After all, there was nothing wrong with me. I’m fit and healthy – a few extra pounds I’d like to be rid of, sure. But otherwise, I’m okay.
And I think this is a problem for so many of us; we push on. Early diagnosis for any condition is paramount. Don’t wait.
I’d suffered with heavy periods for years, I take (prescribed) iron because of it. I missed my last smear-test because I just felt too icky about having it done to go…
What a wally I was.
It was Sunday night, thirty-six hours later, that I lay in bed and everyone was asleep that I woke up. I was just all over uncomfortable, and the pain in my abdomen had dropped to the right-hand side, and I remember drowsily thinking ‘you’re an idiot, this could be an appendicitis, what are you playing at?’
Monday morning, I dropped the children to the station, drove straight to my doctors and told the receptionist my suspicion. My doctor saw me within twenty minutes and had referred me straight to the surgical assessment unit at the hospital. And then the roller coaster really got started.
My goodness, Jo. What an ordeal. Now it’s out in the open, how has everybody reacted? Friends? Family?
It’s been a strange time, impossible to imagine until you’re living it. My parents-in-law and my step-mum are worried – very worried. But my step-mum had something very similar that resulted in a full hysterectomy at twenty-five, so I focus on that.
My friends are mostly shocked, and I think this is because we’re all so busy rushing around, juggling children, work and life, that all of sudden life feels very grown-up. The biggest factor that stands out to me is that it was unexpected, this is the hardest thing my friends and family struggle to cope with. They get a strangely confused look on their faces – and I’m right there with them. There are times when I can almost forget. When it doesn’t seem real.
Moving forward I’m doing okay, uncomfortable by okay – we’re controlling the pain so the results of MRI had chance to get lots of eyes and medical opinions. And now I have surgery on the 13th of February, for a full hysterectomy. It’s most likely to be full open surgery as the mass is quite big, and they don’t want to risk perforation. The rest of my blood levels are normal and clear, and they are positive that the risk of ovarian cancer is low. Which is what I’m staying centered on. Once the surgery is done my aim is to get well, and deal with the menopause as it decides to come at me. I nervous about the healing, as I’m not good at sitting still and waiting but I have my writing, so I can escape to the outside world. And I want to keep making YouTube videos talking about this; the stages, the healing and what comes next. Because I think we need to share more than facts, we need to share our stories, to encourage women of all ages to go to the doctor, to have smear tests, to ask the difficult questions.
Thanks so, so much for being open with us. I know there will be so many positive thoughts winging your way on the 12th February. It’s my Mum’s birthday, so I’ll have both of you in my heart on that day. And thanks for letting us hear you open up on your You-tube vlog. Here is the LINK everybody.
Please spread the word to all and sundry about opening up and taking care of ourselves. We have to listen to our bodies and the little voice whispering that all is not right.
If you would like to get in touch with amazing Jo, here’s where:
January 20, 2019
Truth or Fiction?
The start of a brand new week and time to chat to a fellow historical fiction writer. Look at Rosemary Noble’s impressive array of work.
Rosemary has written the Currency Girls trilogy, an entertaining an edifying series of novels set in Australia and the UK. Search for the Light is the first and follows Nora, transported to Van Diemen’s Land in 1820. The same family (incidentally, the author’s husband’s relations), appear again in The Digger’s Daughter and my favourite, Sadie’s Wars , is the latest addition, set in England and Australia during both World Wars. Check out Ranter’s Wharf too: gritty socio-historical fiction covering the rights of ordinary people, rebellion and the rise of non-conformism in Lincolnshire, in the early 19th century.
I asked Rosemary if she ever massages the truth when she writes her books. I am particularly interested in this relationship between truth and fiction in historical novels.
“What is truth in fiction? My stories are based on real people, but the story still has to be one people want to read. As an author, I am constantly massaging the truth about my characters because I wasn’t there. I can only put myself in their shoes at the time they lived. If you are asking if I massage known facts about the period, I try not to. I might put my own spin and interpretation on to them. For example, in The Digger’s Daughter, I was pulled up for criticising Peter Lalor, who is seen as a hero of the Eureka Rebellion, but his later actions showed he was no true friend of the working man. Did power corrupt him? Most probably.”
Interesting, Rosemary. It’s a fine balance, between truth and fiction. We don’t always know what is true and we have to judge how far we can embellish facts. A good story, however, is paramount.
Personally, I enjoy researching for my books. I’m lucky that I speak Italian fluently and live in Italy for half the year, so I can access documents and primary sources. I asked Rosemary what sources she uses.
“Newspapers especially the Trove Australian newspaper database – it is the most amazing free resource and I have to give credit to the government for giving them the funds to put all their newspapers online. I have spent many happy hours researching and correcting it. I have also had some snippets of memories from family members. Sometimes I suspect they may have become garbled or changed over the years and generations, so I have to be selective about using them. Sometimes a tiny nugget will take me off in a new direction, adding depth and my own imagination to run riot.”
How do you know when to stop researching?
“Never – is the answer. You are always finding new snippets. Oh, if only I had known that before, could be a constant refrain. It doesn’t mean that you would add it into the book in any meaningful way, but sometimes it helps. One of the advantages of books being on Kindle is that you can reedit at no cost if something vital emerges. For example, I will be visiting Australia again this autumn. I will be attending the Female Convicts Research Group Seminar at the Orphan School. One of my characters attended that school briefly. Will I find out something that will change the emphasis of a previous book? Maybe, I have to be prepared for it.”
Indeed, adding “new snippets” to your book once it is published, is another advantage of being an indie author. Rosemary, can you give an example of a historical blunder you almost included in your story?
“In Ranter’s Wharf, I was perplexed about where the steam packet from Grimsby landed in Hull. I pored over old maps of the docks and worked out that it must have gone into the new docks which had been opened a few years before 1819, when my character travelled there. I went to Hull to check on some other things to do with steam travel and the old town, visited the Hull Maritime Museum and saw a painting which showed the packet tied up at a jetty. The penny dropped with a veritable clang. It was the exact place where the Humber Ferry used to dock. The ferry I had travelled on numerous times as a child. It was on the Humber itself, at the edge of the city. I had known the answer all along, just not recognised it.”
It’s hard to say goodbye to your characters once you’ve written THE END. Which character did you most enjoy writing?
“Strangely the one who wasn’t real. That must say something, I hope it doesn’t. In Search for the Light, I needed a character who would be a friend on the voyage. Sarah came to me, she chose me because she wrote her own story. She is the only one who speaks in the first person. I had no idea where she would take me, what would happen to her, whether she would survive or die on the voyage. She is the one who readers love and cry over. I would love to find another character like Sarah.”
I love it when the character you’ve conjured does that: takes you by the hand and shows you the way. It’s magical!
What would be your number one tip for writers of historical fiction?
“No piece of historical fact is worth detracting from the flow of the story. Everything must be worked into how the characters experience what is happening to them. For that reason, you will discard at least 80% of your research.”
Absolutely agree. We have to be really careful not to pull the narrative out of shape by too much obvious research. I would put the discarding as high as 90% – as painful as it might feel.
I’d reinforce that we should never forget the story is an entertainment. We need to find a way to animate our historical characters and not deliver a history lesson. Look for gaps in spaces in history where we don’t know where they were and feel free to create imaginary situations in these gaps. I was listening recently to the wonderful Sebastian Faulks talking about his latest book, “Paris Echo”, and he said (in so many words) that history isn’t a pageant that happened to somebody else. Our characters should resonate with the modern reader, whilst remaining true to their era.
I asked Rosemary for a 250-word extract from my favourite of her novels, “Sadie’s Wars”.
“She paced the jetty, unaware that her wild eyes and tear-streaked cheeks were drawing looks. Her beloved Papa’s face. Would she ever forget how his eyes streamed with tears to watch his grandchildren’s terror, knowing all hope was lost? His life’s work in ruins, his reputation sullied, his children thrown onto the scrapheap.
A woman stepped towards her, a gloved hand outstretched, almost touching her arm. Her kindly eyes showed alarm; she looked motherly, concerned. Sadie’s heart screamed in silence. Was the horror of the morning written so plainly on her face? She attempted a smile to reassure the woman, nodded as the woman withdrew her arm, eyes flickering in relief.
Sadie slowed her pacing, drawing her collar around her face to hide her anguish from the curious. Stay calm, think it through. Her hand strayed to her hair, the dark bob beneath her cloche hat felt strange – a recent act of independence. No, she would never give in, never let the bleakness in her heart take over. She must learn to be a lioness when it came to her boys. They needed her, only her and she would do anything to protect them. At the end of the jetty, Sadie stared at the ocean as though its inky depths would answer her lurking questions.
Far out on the horizon, a band of sunshine highlighted the cumulus clouds, a kingdom of snowy peaks, dark hills, even a crenellated castle. Another land; mysterious, unobtainable. The light drew her in, calming her. Her pounding heart began to quieten; she counted the wheeling gulls, anything to still her nerves. The guilt weighed in on her. All she could think to do was to run, run far away from the memories.”
Very moving. Why did you choose this particular passage?
“This extract was almost in chapter one but is now near the end of the book. Sadie is about to leave Australia for a new life in England. The big question in the book is why did she have to leave? What event was so traumatic that it forced her into that decision? It helped me to write it early on because I knew how distressed she was and how it coloured the rest of the book.”
Thank you for chatting to me today and I wish you all the very best with your writing. Here is my review of Sadie’s Wars.
I always enjoy Rosemary Noble’s books – she is a passionate historian and I learn from her pages. But Sadie’s Wars has taken her writing to another level. I was swept away by the narrative this time. She has obviously done her research, but the story is paramount.
Sadie is always at the centre of two periods. The First World War, as experienced from Australia, where war seemed distant. I’ve never visited this continent, but I enjoyed the descriptions, “the harsh beauty” of this place: “rose-winged galahs amongst rustling river gums”; the battle with the land of kangaroos and pepper trees. The author has a deep respect for these new arrivals – in fact the story is largely based on fact; recounting her own husband’s family’s past. Towards the end of the book, when Sadie faces a difficult decision to return to England, she feels she is almost betraying these courageous settlers:
“She imagined their feelings as they left the ship and set foot on the strange land… While they faced an uncertain future building a home and a life in this hostile environment, she was contemplating abandoning their endeavour”.
Sadie’s life back in Cleethorpes is also beautifully written, with great attention to detail. This time, the Second World War is very real, with bombing raids, rationing and loss of life. “This was war her husband and brothers had faced… Before, it was words, written in the newspapers, or images in films. Now it was real, her reality too.”
There are moments in the book that are deeply moving and there is passion. Sadie’s passionate nature is almost another of her wars. She feels and loves deeply, and I felt Rosemary’s writing opening up. She seems to have grown into it: “… his eyes kissed every inch of her before his mouth even touched her skin.”; “… sometimes she felt like an overripe peach, hanging by a whisker from a tree. A small breath from Rob on her cheek would send her tumbling down to burst open on the ground.” After she suffers abuse from a man she thought she loved, she walks to the sea and “…pleaded silently with the seagulls to swallow her up, fly out to the sea and spit him out to sink and drown.”
So, a story about the settlers in Australia, about two world wars, wrapped up in a powerful love story. Quite an achievement. Congratulations, Rosemary Noble! More, please!
[image error]Bio
Rosemary Noble lives in West Sussex and worked as an education librarian. Books have been her life, ever since she walked into a library at five-years-old and found a treasure trove. Her other love is social history. She got hooked on family history before retirement and discovered so many stories that deserved to be told.
Her first book, Search for the Light, tells the story of three young girls transported to Australia in 1824. Friendship sustains them through the horrors of the journey, and their enforced service in Tasmania. The Digger’s Daughter tells of the next generation of gold-diggers and a pioneering woman who lives almost through the first hundred years in Victoria. The third in the trilogy, Sadie’s Wars takes the reader to the fourth generation and into the twentieth century. The trilogy is based on the author’s family. It tells of secrecy and lies, of determination and grit and how all can be done or undone by luck.
Rosemary is a member of CHINDI independent authors and is involved in literary events in and around Chichester. She also loves to travel, especially to Australia and Europe and not least, she loves spending time with her grandchildren, one of whom is a budding author herself.
To find out more about Rosemary, follow these links:
January 7, 2019
Eric Newby’s classic WW2 account
Here is my review of “Love and War in the Apennines” that I finished reading again today. I would have given it more than 5 stars. If you are at all interested in Italy, then I recommend this wholeheartedly.[image error]
I wish I could give this classic more than 5 stars. I’ve just read it for the second time since I bought it just after university in 1976. All these years later, it makes sense, now that I live in a similar area in the Tuscan Apennines that he describes so beautifully.
Anybody with the slightest interest of WW2 in Italy should read this book. It’s autobiographical.
Eric Newby, at the tender age of 22 was an escaped POW and his account shows how truly generous and courageous ordinary Italians were to young British men. They reasoned their own sons were far away, fighting, and it was their duty to help other people’s sons. Despite their own difficulties in procuring food, and with the threat of execution if they were discovered harbouring POWs, they went to great lengths to look after Eric and others. This happened up and down the length of Italy and after the war, the British government was rather pathetic in the way they recognised these acts. In his Epilogue, Newby writes: “As is usual when official attempts are made to repay something with cash which was given freely at the time out of kindness of heart, a great deal of ill-will was created in this case by the Treasury, or whoever held the purse-strings, who decreed that any money that was disbursed to these people in 1946 should be at the old, pre-Armistice rate of exchange… which by now was absolutely nothing.” Shame!
Anyway – back to the book. Despite the background of war and death, Newby writes with such humour that I laughed out loud frequently. The personalities he describes, the places where he slept, the scenery, the Italian temperament and the predicaments he found himself in – is all spot on. I loved it. It is also a love story. He met his lovely wife during his escape. I slowed down at the end of the book because I didn’t want it to end. There is also interesting insight into the mind of a young man who feels guilty at times about not being in the thick of war, and we know now that they were (unfairly) given the description of “D-Day dodgers” by many. But, read the book for yourselves and make up your own minds. What would you have done in this situation?
I walk in the Apennines south east of where Newby hid, and this terrain is very similar. There are ruins scattered all over the place and now when I gaze on the crumbling stones, choked in ivy and brambles I will picture what they looked like inside and wonder if a POW was harboured somewhere nearby.
Eric Newby has written several books. He died at the age of 86 in 2006. How I wished I could have met him in real life and chatted to him, glass of wine in hand. RIP and many thanks for this masterpiece.
If you’d like to find out more about this enterprising gentleman, then his obituary in the New York Times is a good place to start.
If you want to buy your own copy, (but I prefer the battered copy of my old Penguin), then here is the link
January 4, 2019
p.s. to Old and New
I hope this link to the film about the Wolves (that doesn’t work for my last blog) is now correct: The Snow Wolf
January 3, 2019
Old and new
We’ve seen in New Year in Tuscany. It’s crisp, clear and cold here. At night it descends to -10 and and remnants of snow cling to the hillside by day. It’s refreshing. I love Christmas; I love to be with family, but it all becomes a little excessive, so we’re happy to escape. Maybe I prefer all the preparations.
I’ve sent in my edits for a rewrite of Tuscan Roots. I could see there was need, so fingers crossed my editor at Bookouture will approve of what I’ve done. And I’m now directing my energy to a brand new book set in Tuscany, during World War 2 and the present day.
In the few days we’ve been here, I’ve been so lucky to chat to Italian friends and glean more information. Pleasant research indeed.
[image error]Each day, Maurice and I have walked in the still, frost-cold mountains. Tomorrow we have planned an all-day trek. And as I’ve wandered past the many ruins, I’ve thought about the hardships that peasant farmers endured here in this harsh landscape over the years. Many left on their annual winter trek down to the coast and never returned to their hills, and I’ve written about that in my second novel,Now and Then in Tuscany
While the men (and boys and women sometimes) were away in Maremma for five long months with the cattle and sheep, the women stayed behind, eking out their days, eating what they had managed to store during the summer and autumn months: chestnuts, polenta, dried fruit, sometimes meat products cured into salame and sausage, cheeses made from their own cattle. On New Year’s Eve, our starter in Piero and Manuela’s restaurant, Il Castello consisted of tasty morsels based on these foods: mushrooms, wild plants, bottled tomatoes… [image error] But we ate this in a warm dining room, with electricity, dressed in our glad rags and being waited on. Back then, in the old, there was no central heating. Just warmth coming up through floorboards where a cow, sheep or goats in the stables below would radiate a little heat. And of course there was the hearth upstairs, where family clustered around the fire, burning precious firewood gathered in warmer months.
A favourite book of mine is “Il Paese sul Paradiso”, which talks of the life in a mountain village high above us (only inhabited now by holiday makers). Marta Bonaccini describes winter evenings up in Montebotolino. How poor they were materially, but rich in community spirit. There was always snow and they felt separated from the rest of the world. The snow, although an inconvenience, was also a blessing. Roughly translated, the author writes: only those who have lived in the heart of the Apennines can appreciate the tie that we mountain people have with snow: it’s freezing, everything becomes more difficult, but it is part of us and our surroundings; it turns winter squalor into something precious; provides us with magical moments. Snow and silence, candour and peace feed the soul.
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As we walked on up to 1,000+ metres to a ridge that I love (Monte Faggiola), we came across a pile of stones in the middle of a meadow. Nearby were the stools of a wolf. [image error]
It’s wild up here. (Incidentally, if you have not managed to watch the recent, brilliant BBC documentary on the wolf, make a point of doing so. It was filmed mostly in the Apennines.) Wolf film review
The piles of stones reminded me of an excellent book written by Eric Newby: Love and War in the Apennines
Newby was an escaped POW and found shelter with Italian farmers on the Apennines. In recompense for food and shelter, he had the boring task of clearing the fields of stones.
“Come with me,” a voice said. It was Luigi. It was the first time he had spoken to me, apart from wishing me buongiorno. I followed him round to the back of the house where the fields swept uphill to the edge of the woods in all their stoniness. Many of them could scarcely be called stones. They were rocks and boulders which had come rolling down off the mountains. It was like looking out on a parable.
“I want all those fields cleared of stones,” he said, quite casually.
Maurice and I were pleased we didn’t have to complete this task!
If you’re interested in a classic, superbly funny, exciting (true) war account, do read Newby’s book.
I’m also reading a book “Fuochi sui Monti” by Antonio Curina, kindly given to me by our local tourist officer, about partisan activity in our Tuscan Apennines. The book contains unbelievable accounts of bravery and suffering in bitterly cold conditions by courageous men and women. I think we do take our freedom for granted nowadays.
As I write this by our stove, safe from war and hardship, I’d like to remind you that the sun isn’t always baking in Italy.
Happy New Year to you all. I’ve not made resolutions as such. They are so easily broken. But, I do have many plans.
FELICE ANNO NUOVO!
December 30, 2018
Why on earth do I stay?
I love this blog, written by a young woman who still loves living in Italy, despite the earthquakes, severe weather, state bureaucracy, etc etc… I hope you enjoy reading it too. Check out her other blogs about earthquakes in her corner of Le Marche, Italy.
Land of the Forgotten Earthquakes
The question that friends abroad often ask
The short answer is that I live here
I live here.
I’ve lived here for about 6 years. I’m not on a vacation. My life here is not a hobby nor an experiment. It is – for better and for worse, my life. The life that Steve and I have here is a good life, a better life than we had in London. I work here (well, not at the moment obviously!), I pay taxes here, I’ve had major surgery here, I’ve been to funerals here. I see beauty here that surpasses my wildest dreams and I see it every day. I am part of a small, basically healthy, civic society.
And the longer answer …
We don’t have much crime and we don’t have much violence. We don’t drop litter, we don’t get drunk and throw up in the streets and we…
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