The Good, The Bad and The History (Chronicles of St. Mary's #14)

by Jodi Taylor

‘What sort of car do you own?’ Shit again. How should I know the make and model of the wholly fictitious car I was lying to the police about? ‘It’s blue,’ I said helpfully.

it’s important to have a true record of events. Not the political version, not the religious version, not the version put about by the winners – and definitely not the bought-and-paid-for version – but the actual, warts and all, correct version.

Library staff who don’t have bad backs aren’t doing their job properly. Of course, you could easily take just half the books, shelve them and then come back for the second batch, but that’s not the Library Way.

scowling at the bunch of feckless wastrels – or historians as they like to call themselves – as they burst into the Library and TOUCH THE BOOKS. AGAIN. Which, apparently, is something that is allowed to happen.

tip from the future, people – forget the paperless office. It never happens. Along with efficient public services, quality public transport and good government.

History books say the first women were allowed to vote in 1918, but I always think that assumes who could vote and at what age was the prerogative of men in the first place. That prerogative had to be wrested from them. There was no allowed about it. Women won the vote, gentlemen, and don’t you forget it.

followed my favourite strategy – that of never actually allowing my mentor to complete a sentence. Always a successful tactic if anyone wants to give it a go.

he realised he’d told me too much. Much, much too much. I saw it in his eyes. I had a nasty feeling I might have reduced my chance of survival to slightly less than that of Sean Bean surviving to appear in the second part of a major franchise.

a bank account would be opened for her since women wouldn’t be able to do that for themselves until 1975.

!!!!!!!

Pennyroyal always said to act as if I was being observed at all times and that was good advice.

‘Time Police. Halt. Hands behind your heads.’ You have to ask yourself – does anyone ever do that? You’re running for your life – presumably because you’ve been a very, very bad girl – and all the Time Police have to do is tell you to stop and put your hands on your head and you immediately abandon all hopes of escape and comply. The Time Police – eternal optimists.

Admin staff – the lethal force you never see coming. There’s probably one of them standing behind you at this very moment. DON’T look round.