'Knowledge is Power' - The Victoria Gallery & Museum, Liverpool

The closure of many public libraries is currently a contentious issue, widely discussed in the media, so what better time to visit the Victoria Gallery's exhibition 'Knowledge is Power' and discover the roots of Liverpool's own library services. The exhibition opened last November and runs until the 18th of June, 2016. On the Gallery's website, I read about the drop-in reading group sessions, Reading is Power, run by Richard every Wednesday at 1pm as part of the exhibition. These sessions were described as friendly, informal, and free, with no prior booking required, which meant I could attend as and when it was convenient for me, without having to make a long-term commitment. Its intention is to 'explore stories and poems by great writers', no prior reading required, another plus, although I did hope that I would be familiar with some of the works.

It was the Wednesday of Easter week before I had a chance to 'drop in' and the timing probably explains why only four of us, two men and two women, turned up that particular day. It also explains why Richard was unavailable, although we were lucky that Kate, one of the Visitor Services Team, stepped in to lead us, handing out photocopies of an extract from George Eliot's Silas Marner. We each read out a short section of the extract and then discussed it as a group. The reading aloud is voluntary. I can vouch for the description 'friendly and informal', as I spent a very enjoyable hour in the company of others who also love reading. Which brings me to the exhibition itself.

I arrived early and had time to look at the exhibits before the reading session began. The first thing to catch my eye was the quote from Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice : 'I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading! How much sooner one tires of anything than of a book!' This statement by Miss Bingley is a ploy to attract Mr D'Arcy's attention but is none the less true for many of us. There were very few books in my childhood home yet thanks to the local library, I became an avid reader at an early age. I wonder whether the character in Sheridan's, The Rivals (1775) reflected the playright's own view when he says, '...a circulating library in a town is an evergreen tree of diabolical knowledge! Had I 1,000 daughters, by heaven! I'd as soon have them taught the black art, as their alphabet!' The Public Libraries Act 1850 was introduced by Liverpool-born MP William Ewart and funded by taxpayers; without this free service my access to 'the tree of knowledge', diabolical or otherwise, would have been very limited.

There were 'public' libraries long before the 1850 Act, of course, but they were available only to privileged members of society, allowing them to pool resources and gain access to commercial and professional information. Liverpool's Athenaeum (1797) was a private members' club and in 1802 the 40 guineas fee to join, and therefore have access to its library, was prohibitive to all but the wealthiest men in the city.

Books from the Medical Library (1779) which individual members of the medical professional would not have been able to afford, gave valuable information on the symptoms and cures of diseases. Some of these books were on display in the exhibition, along with pieces of equipment such as a Georgian Resuscitation Kit - a rather gruesome contraption!

There were books on display that I would love to handle, my fingers itched to turn the pages of William Enfield's The History of Liverpool (1758). Almost 50 years later, The Strangers Guide to Liverpool described the city as '...one of the finest towns in the world; the abode of industry and of opulence; the home of commerce and magnificence', and William Roscoe believed it was 'the new Florence'. I knew a little about William Roscoe, the abolitionist, but I didn't know that he was 'one of the best-selling historians of his generation'. Both the draft copy and the final printed version (1805) of his Life of Pope Leo X are on display in the exhibition. They are huge tomes and he must have spent years handwriting that first draft; I wonder how many modern writers would have been up to the task.

There is a large Survey Map of Liverpool on one wall, dated 1836, and I was able to find Upper Frederick Street, where my mother grew up in the early years of the 20th century. There is also a hand-written census from 1801, the first to document the whole population of the city; it was interesting to see the mix of occupations in one street - a Turnkey (at the Bridewell), labourers, mariners, and even a doctor.

The Athenaeum and The Lyceum shaped the elite culture in Liverpool but it was interesting to read that Henry Gearing, the Athenaeum's first librarian was 'reprimanded for drinking spirits'. It seems he wasn't dismissed from the post, which he held from 1799 to 1817! During the  late Victorian era, the working class began to benefit from free libraries; access to knowledge was the means to self-education, and reading for pleasure a welcome relaxation. Richard Warbrick's English and Foreign Circulating Library on Lime Street held 6,000 titles - which could be borrowed for a day, a week, or a month. The annual subscription was £1.10s, or you could borrow novels, romances and plays for the cheaper rate of £1.00! Also, the Athenaeum began taking boxes from Mudie's Select Library Ltd - there is one of the original boxes on display in the exhibition.

The philanthropist, Andrew Carnegie became the main force behind the spread of the library service. Between 1883 and 1929 he donated funds for over 2,500 libraries, 660 of them in the UK and Ireland, with a dramatic increase from 1899 onwards. Many of us will have a Carnegie Library in our town - if it hasn't already been closed! He required each town to make some financial commitment towards the cost, believing that people would feel more involved in the service if they had some input. And, of course, Liverpool is indebted to Sir William Brown MP, who paid the entire cost of the Brown Library in 1860, now the Central Library in William Brown Street. Later, six branch libraries were funded by Andrew Carnegie. My local library, built in 1906, is a Grade II listed Carnegie building. Fortunately, after a public compaign and consultations with the Council, this has remained open, although with reduced hours; another Grade II listed library some five miles away has been converted into office space.

As readers, we have much to thank those early benefactors for. I think everyone who is interested in keeping our libraries open should visit the VGM's exhibition to appreciate how much effort went into opening up the world of books and knowledge to the wider population. The rise in the popularity of e-books does not mean we have to make a choice, the physical and the digital can co-exist happily. When travelling we can have an unlimited supply of reading material at our fingertips without the extra baggage charge! In whatever form,  'I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading'!

When exploring the Victoria Gallery and Museum, a visit to the Waterhouse Café adds to the pleasure. Being surrounded by stunning architecture makes it a unique place to enjoy lunch, or one of their delicious cakes with a coffee.

Photographs courtesy of The Victoria Gallery and Museum

Reader's Digest 100 Word Story Competition 2016

As last year's winner, and as the deadline for this year's competition draws ever closer, I would like to wish everyone who enters, the very best of luck.

My winning story was inspired by a painting by a Victorian artist, L C Henley, which depicts a young woman reading by the fireside and idealises Victorian domestic life. I wanted to twist the title and approach it from a modern, chilling perspective.

A Quiet Half-Hour

A quiet half-hour was all she needed. Settling in her favourite chair, she closed her eyes and let the silence wash over her. No sounds to disturb her thoughts, no banging doors, no raised voices - just peace, perfect peace. The peace she had craved for months but never expected to experience again. It couldn't last, of course. Reality would come crashing in and her life would change forever. But she still had this half-hour. She felt the tenseness leave her body.
Only twenty-five minutes left now. And then she would telephone the police and tell them what she had done.

I was thrilled with the judges' comments:

'This story is full of unspoken, suppressed emotion. It crackles with underlying tension and never overplays its hand. A hugely impressive piece of writing.'

Click on my earlier posts which tell of my great excitement on learning I'd won the 100 Word Story Competition, and all about the photo shoot that followed - the latter giving an insight into the work that goes on behind the scenes to make Reader's Digest such an enjoyable read.

Visit the Reader's Digest website.

My prize money of £500 paid for a trip to Santiago de Compostela to research my Spanish roots - I hope that this year's winner will also spend the prize money, now increased to £2,000, on something really special. Good luck everyone!

An Hispanic Liverpool Heritage Walk

On Tuesday, 29th December, Dr Kirsty Hooper of the Hispanic Liverpool Project - www.hispanicliverpool.org - arranged a meeting at the Baltic Fleet pub so that members of the group could catch up on the latest developments, pore over maps, and generally chat and exchange family stories before taking our heritage walk.

The Baltic Fleet - www.balticfleetpubliverpool.com - proved to be the perfect place to gather. It's more than likely that any seafaring ancestors would have stepped through its doors when coming ashore after a long trip, and some members of the group have happy memories of drinking at the Baltic in more recent years. Although not everyone in the Hispanic Liverpool Group was able to join us, we were still quite a large group, but the Baltic's Landlord, Simon Holt, was happy to accommodate us. We arrived after lunch, but the sight of their signature dish, Scouse, (adopted by Liverpudlians from the Norwegian Lapskaus) being carried through to other customers, made me determined to return one day soon to sample it. I did enjoy the coffee though, and according to the men in the group, the beer was excellent!

When I look back fifteeen years to when I first began researching my family history, I am amazed at the progress Kirsty has made in placing Hispanic immigrants in Liverpool's history. I spent the early years of my research frustrated at the lack of information; for all my efforts, it seemed my Spanish ancestors had arrived, lived, raised a family, and died in the city without leaving any trace. There was a thriving Chinese community, celebrated by a splendid Chinese gate, even an area called Little Italy, but what of the Hispanic immigrants? I knew my grandparents couldn't have been the only Spaniards to arrive in Liverpool at the beginning of the 20th century. My research was made more difficult because my family had moved from the heart of Liverpool, way out into the suburbs, at the outbreak of WWII; perhaps if we'd stayed, I would have met other children of English/Spanish heritage and perhaps heard their family stories.

I have mentioned in a previous blog, that I met Kirsty when she was head of Hispanic Studies at Liverpool University and I attended one of her lectures. That night was a turning point for me, for the first time I was in a room full of people who had a shared heritage; whose grandparents had lived in the same streets as mine; whose grandfathers had worked alongside mine for the Larrinaga Shipping Line. That was the first time I gained a sense of my place in the city's rich multi-cultural history. Now, thanks to Kirsty and her team's ongoing, tireless, research, we have the Hispanic Liverpool Project, where we meet up, in workshops and on line, to share photographs, memories and family stories, and discuss our ongoing personal projects.

Before setting off on our walk to trace the homes of our Spanish parents and grandparents, using maps and old photographs to try to trace where their long-gone homes once stood, we gathered outside the Baltic Fleet while Simon gave us a brief, but very interesting, talk on the history of the building. We plan to meet there again at some point in the future and hear the full story - ghosts and secret tunnels, I can't wait!

After a December of above average rainfall, the weather that day proved kind to us, perfect for strolling, taking photographs, and above all reminiscing. We all had different addresses we wanted to trace and by physically walking the area around Park Lane we could get a sense of just how many Hispanic people lived in that part of the city. I could see Liver Street, my grandmother's first destination on arrival; and although there is now no trace of the house in Greetham Street where my mother was born, the street sign is still on the wall and part of the cobbled street remains. I was able to walk in my grandmother's footsteps and imagine her pushing my mother's pram, the first child of her Liverpool-born family.

Kirsty had taken a packet of chalks along on our heritage walk, and was soon marking precise spots on lamp-posts and pavements.

Old photographs and maps made it possible to trace where the homes and businesses of other Hispanic families once stood. We learned where Christina's grandparents had their fish and chip shop, and a secret family recipe - but that's her story to tell!

What Liverpool has suffered over the years, especially in the Blitz, has made it almost impossible for a family historian to find physical traces of their ancestors' homes. I have had more luck in Santiago de Compostela, where I have been able to trace, stand outside, and photograph, every house that my grandmother lived in, the churches where her family were baptised and married, and the cemeteries where they are buried. My next project is to trace my Spanish grandfather's roots - and, with a great deal of help, I am on the verge of an important discovery!

Until then, I am extremely grateful, and proud, to be a member of the Hispanic Liverpool community and I look forward to our next get-together. Thank you all - including my very patient other-half, who took the photographs!

National Short Story Week 2015: Strangers in the Night

In celebration of National Short Story Week, 2015, I hope you enjoy my short story.

Beryl put her paperback away and glanced around at the other occupants of the station waiting room. Her fellow travellers were two middle-aged couples - the women looked like sisters - and an elderly man, who seemed immersed in his newspaper. She shifted on the hard seat. The numbness that had begun in her feet about half-an-hour earlier as she waited for her connecting train, had now travelled up through her legs and she wondered whether, if a train eventually did arrive, she would be able to get up.
   The elderly man glanced up briefly, nodded his head, and said, 'Jolly bad show this, isn't it?' The other travellers didn't respond, but she smiled, noncommittally. Jolly bad show? Where did he think he was - in a scene from Brief Encounter?
   He folded his newspaper, placing it neatly on the seat beside him, and leaned forward. 'I noticed you earlier, on the last train. I was going to sit next to you but the train was so crowded I had to make do with a seat further down the carriage.'
   'Just as well; I wouldn't have been in the mood for conversation. I had a book I wanted to finish.'
   'But you've finished it now. You've just put it in your bag.' So he hadn't been as immersed in his newspaper as she'd thought!
   'Going anywhere special?' he continued. The other two woman had stopped chatting and were trying to look as if they weren't listening in to the conversation.
   'A family party.'
   'Me too, or at least I was until this fog came down. There doesn't seem to be anyone about to ask for information.' He glanced around the waiting room. 'We must be the only ones waiting for a connection.'
   Beryl nodded in agreement. 'I'm on my way to visit my grandchildren,' she volunteered. I don't see them all that often; their parents are very busy and I find this journey a bit daunting in the winter. But I couldn't miss this weekend; the whole family is getting together for Sunday lunch. It's going to be really hectic.'
   'That's a coincidence, that's exactly what I'm heading for this weekend too, a family get-together - or it was. What do you think are chances are of making it?'
   Before Beryl could answer, the waiting room door opened and a railway employee popped his head in. 'Sincere apologies, ladies and gentlemen, we've just had word that there are no more trains leaving from this station tonight, the fog's too bad. I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave so I can lock up. We should have closed hours ago, that's why the heating's gone off and the coffee kiosk is shut.'
   Beryl stood up stiffly. 'Are there any hotels nearby?'
   'Yes, madam, there's one just across the road. You can't miss it, even in this fog; it's called the Railway Hotel.'
   The elderly gentleman laughed. 'Reminds me of a song, something like, And all I could find was the Railway Hotel! Here, let me carry your case,' he said, turning to Beryl. 'It's the same size as mine and I can easily manage both of them. By the way, my name's Ken.'
   'And mine's Beryl,' she replied. 'So you'll be going across to the hotel too?'
   'Looks as though I've no option, even the taxi drivers have given up and gone home, and I'm not going to drag my son all this way out to pick me up - not in this weather. You don't mind do you?'
   'Mind? No, of course not. Why should I mind? I just hope they've got rooms.'
 

They ventured out into the foggy night, crossing the road with care, although there was no traffic about, and entered the warm and brightly-lit hotel foyer; closely followed by the two middle-aged couples, who were obviously still eavesdropping on their conversation.
   'This is more like it,' Ken said, putting down the cases. 'I'll check if they have any rooms then we could have a stiff drink. Or do you need something to eat?'
   'A drink sounds fine to me. I had a snack on the train.'
   'Me too.' Ken walked briskly to the reception desk. Beryl waited just inside the doorway, smiling as the two women glared at her. She looked over to Ken and thought how distinguished he looked; that silver hair and neatly clipped mustache. He carried himself well, and she liked to see a man in a suit. Too many men slopped around in so-called 'sports gear' nowadays, although they often looked as if the only exercise they took was a walk to the pub, or the chip shop.
   The receptionist was a young, pretty blonde. Beryl worried how the girl would get home when her shift ended, then comforted herself by surmising that there was staff accommodation on the premises.
   'Yes, sir, you're in luck, we have a number of vacant rooms tonight; cancellations due to the fog. Will that be a single, sir?'
   After glancing across to Beryl, who had begun quietly humming, Strangers in the Night, Ken turned back to the receptionist. 'No, a double please. King-sized bed if you have one, and if it's a four-poster that's even better. In the name of Smith, Mr and Mrs Smith, and I'll pay in cash.'
   Five minutes later, they were in the best room in the hotel, door locked, giggling like a pair of teenagers. Beryl sat on the edge of the bed and kicked off her shoes.
   'Ken! You are awful. Did you see the reaction of those two couples? They were so obviously shocked, staring at us quite openly! Will you ever grow up and stop playing games?'
   'Why should I, pet? Anyway, you're just as bad, and it adds a bit of spice to life. Let's give the kids a quick ring to tell them we won't be there till tomorrow. Then open that mini-bar!'


Image courtesy of radnatt at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Out of the Shadows - Part 2

In Part 1, I mentioned the newspaper extracts provided, and translated, by Kirsty Hooper, which had given me an insight into my Spanish grandmother's family background. One item in particular solved a mystery which had puzzled me for the past 15 years. I had always been told by my mother that my great-grandfather was an artist and I understood that the painting of the Madonna and Child which hung in my grandmother's house in Liverpool, and was buried with her when she died in 1950, was one of his. I was also told that my great-grandfather used to travel between Spain and Buenos Aires to sell his paintings, and undertake commissions painting murals for churches. Yet on my grandparents' marriage certificate, Micaela's father is described as a 'labourer'. A Spanish newspaper extract from 1904 which mentioned his return from Buenos Aires was proof that he did travel to Argentina, unlikely if he was a labourer, but there was more exciting information to come.

An article in El Compostelano dated 16 July 1923 describes a 'Regional Exhibition of Painting and Sculpture' taking place in the Casino de Santiago, and lists a selection of the works on display. These included two paintings - Fuente de las Platerias, (Fountain in Silversmith's Square) and Interior of St Mark's Venice, (oils), both by José Vilarelle Vázquez - my great-grandfather! I reasoned that if he had been so well-known as a painter that he had exhibited, then perhaps I could find some record of his paintings and that was the main aim of my trip to Santiago de Compostela last March.

We had visited the Museo do Pobo Gallego - the Museum of Galician People - on previous trips to Santiago de Compostela simply as a matter of interest, now that I had some clues perhaps I could find out more. Ever the optimist, I was hoping the museum might even have one of his paintings! The young woman on the reception desk spoke excellent English and I had no difficulty in explaining my mission. She introduced me to Rosa, who I think was the head archivist, and translated my request. Within minutes, we were being led down corridors, up staircases, in and out of lifts, until we reached the administrative heart of the museum, where it is unlikely any other tourist had ever been admitted. For the next hour or so, Jim and I sat at a desk, in awe at the willingness of Rosa and an assistant to search through boxes and boxes of documents looking for paperwork relating to the Exhibition. I was beginning to feel embarrassed at the time they were investing when Rosa, smiling triumphantly, handed me an original catalogue. It was small, unlike the expensive, glossy catalogues one would expect at modern art exhibitions; photographs of some of the paintings had been glued onto the pages, and at the back of the catalogue were printed the names of the exhibitors and the titles of their paintings, in alphabetical order. Sadly, there were no photographs of my great-grandfather's two works, but there was his name and I was holding physical evidence of his profession.

Obviously, I was unable to keep the original, how wonderful that would have been, but Rosa did scan the front of the catalogue and the relevant page to take away with me, and that was the next best thing. Rosa thought she remembered seeing one of the paintings, she wasn't sure where, but it might have been the Consorcio de Santiago, and we left with the address, again in the Rua do Vilar, the street which seemed to have so many connections with my ancestors, and the name of the man to ask for. Unfortunately, despite my best efforts at trying to explain in Spanish, we were asked to return the following day and when we did were simply handed a business card with an arrow pointing to the address of their website!

We had more luck in the History of Art Archives at Santiago's University, where again two archivists were more than generous with their time and efforts. Another couple of hours produced a second catalogue; in August of 1923 the Exhibition had moved to Coruna and there was my great-grandfather's name, but this time only one of his paintings was listed - Fuente de las Platerias. Did this mean that the other painting had been sold? I hope so.

Another department of the University Archives holds plot numbers of the graves in Boiseca Cemetery, where my great-grandparents were buried but despite a thorough search, and finding their names and dates of burials in the archives, the plot numbers were missing. I've visited the cemetery several times, but it covers acres of ground, and together with the Spanish system of removing bones and 're-using' graves after a number of years, it's impossible to find an original burial place without an exact plot number. So my wish to place flowers in memory of my Spanish great-grandparents, on my grandmother's behalf, has to remain unfulfilled.

However, this latest trip had proved fruitful. I now had definite proof that José Vilarelle Vázquez was an artist whose paintings were worthy of exhibiting. Not only that - the Casino de Santiago, where the Exhibition took place, is now a café bar, and is only a couple of doors away from where my great-great-grandfather had his hat shop! A very fitting place to end my visit, enjoying churros, the treat my grandmother used to make, but this time dipped in thick, hot, melted chocolate, unimaginable in those war-time days of my childhood.

Interview with Mary Rensten author of Letters from Malta

Today I am delighted to welcome Mary Rensten to my website. Mary is a Vice President of the Society of Women Writers and Journalists and the author of Corazon’s new release, Letters from Malta.

Mary, you have many years’ experience of writing for magazines and newspapers – how long have you been a Vice President of the SWWJ? Perhaps you could give me an insight into what the position means to you?

I’ve been a Vice-President since the 1990s – I can’t remember the exact date, but I know that it was just after I’d steered the Society through its Centenary year 1994. The honour was bestowed upon me, I was told, for all the work I had done to make our celebrations the success they were. We had so many big events that year… Looking back it’s hard to believe we did so much: a major literacy campaign, a reception at the House of Lords at which we honoured exceptional women of the year, a national Biography competition, a national library programme with SWWJ speakers in libraries up and down the country… and lots more. Lady Longford was our Life President and Nina Bawden our President. I am very honoured to be a V-P of such a prestigious writing organisation. Although it is now 120 years old, it’s bang up-to-date. Do have a look at the new website www.swwj.co.uk

Was it difficult making the change from journalism to writing fiction and what inspired you to write Letters from Malta?

No, not really difficult. I am also a playwright and there was always dialogue in my magazine interviews, so writing a novel was a case of combining the skills, for want of a better word, that I had been using in my other work, including creating a good plot, of course!

As to what inspired me to write Letters from Malta … it was visiting the military cemetery at Intarfa on my very first trip to Malta. My husband and I came across it quite by chance. It was so different from other military cemeteries I had seen; no serried ranks of white crosses, just weathered stone slabs and headstones, a worn path and cypress trees with fallen cones around them. So peaceful, so very like an English country churchyard. I looked at the graves of soldiers and airmen, even the graves of children, and wondered about their lives, and how the British boys had come to die and be buried so far from home. There had to be a story here!

Had you visited Malta previously, before you even thought of writing the book, or was your research trip your very first experience of the island?

This was my first trip, and it was purely a holiday – but since when did writers not make use of a holiday in a new place, even if only to store up mind-pictures for a possible future piece of writing! The research visits came later, including a major one in 1995, the year in which the book is set.

What was the reaction of the Maltese people to your research – were they helpful? Were you able to speak to people who had lived on Malta during World War II?

Oh yes, very helpful, one person sending me on to another – ‘He will know, he was here in the War.’ ‘Her father worked at one of the airfields.’ So much information, some of it you wouldn’t find in the official records, poignant family stories.

Which sparked your interest first, the period in which Letters from Malta is set, or the island itself?

The island. Definitely. Of course, I knew a bit about Malta’s part in WWII, the George Cross and all that, but being there was such a revelation. You know, meeting people, hearing their stories, seeing where the airfields had been, the amazing harbour at Valletta … also things like the birds and the wild flowers … and the prehistoric stuff, ancient cart tracks and stone altars … and the Blue Grotto and … You’ll have to stop me; I could go on and on!

Have you been back to Malta since completing the book?

Yes, once. I’m hoping to go there later this year.

I am always interested in how other writers plan their writing days. Do you have set times in which you write – or, like me, are you easily distracted by other demands on your time?

I plan, yes, but the plan doesn’t always work out! But if it does, it’s 10am to 1pm, with a quick break for coffee, and then, again if there’s no distraction, another hour in the late afternoon for revision. I don’t always enjoy this bit – everything might look wrong, and I’d have to start again. On the other hand, it might be okay, and then I can go straight ahead the following morning!

Do you need a special place to write; a room of your own, a desk, or just the corner of the dining room table, and do you jot down ideas on paper first, or write directly onto a PC or laptop?

I have a study/office, and my computer is there … and there’s no phone unless I choose to take it with me. There’s quite a lot of ‘thinking writing’ time - the process in my novel that my heroine’s husband doesn’t understand. Mine did. - with jottings in a notebook: a time line, characters’ ages and background, etc. and an outline of the plot, which every now and then becomes a full chapter with dialogue, or a scene in a play. Time for the computer now, just a rough document, full of typos, but at least it is down! Then it’s back to the note-book, unless I’ve got carried away on the computer and found myself well into the next chapter or scene. Nice if it happens, but it’s not often.

How long did the research for Letters from Malta take? Did you make more than one trip to the island? I know that it is possible nowadays for some research to be done without leaving home, but your novel gives a real sense of place that I recognise from having visited Malta myself.

Thank you for that. The research took a long time, but like many writers, I enjoy doing it. Once I knew I was going to write this book there was plenty of research about the war years I could do in the UK, and of course there were letters! This all started pre-Google, so the correspondence I had, via SAGA Magazine, with dozens of ex-service personnel who had been stationed in Malta, was invaluable. For the 1990s part of the book, which is totally fictional … well, I simply had to go back to the island! Especially as I now had friends there, friends I had made doing research in the cemetery at Imtarfa: I couldn’t have known what the interior of an old |Maltese house was like if I hadn’t been invited into one.

Thank you so much Mary, for sparing the time to speak to me today and I wish you every success with Letters from Malta, an intriguing and most enjoyable read.

Thank you for inviting me. I am so pleased you liked the book.

Letters from Malta by Mary Rensten

When Jane Thornfield finds an envelope hidden in her mother's bedroom drawer it heralds the beginning of a journey of discovery. Long buried family secrets are unearthed and Jane is forced to question her very identity.

Jane's search for the truth takes her to Malta, where she learns about the harsh realities of life during the Siege of Malta in the Second World War. But her attempts to unlock a fifty-year-old secret are met with suspicion and a wall of silence.

Letters from Malta is about a woman's quest to make sense of her present and her past. The setting of Malta is brought vividly to life in this moving, perceptive tale of love and loss.

www.amazon.co.uk/Letters-Malta-secret-kept-years-ebook/dp/B00YCKQVO8/

Out of the shadows - Part I

When we begin to research our family history, obtaining birth, marriage and death certificates is usually quite straightforward. Except of course if the side of the family you are interested in lived and died abroad. In this case, you need more than a little luck; for me it was a series of small miracles, as related in my book Chasing Shadows. 

It is very exciting when you discover these certificates. I have amassed quite a collection over the 15 years I have been researching my Spanish roots. When my Spanish grandmother left her native Santiago de Compostela to settle in Liverpool in 1904, she left behind a large family, parents, siblings, grandparents, and because they lived out their lives in the heart of that historic city, untouched for centuries, it was possible to locate all the houses they lived in, the churches where they married and the cemeteries where they were laid to rest. This is not the case in Liverpool, where the bulldozers and the Blitz wiped out all traces of the Hispanic society that once existed in the city.

Obtaining these certificates fulfils your basic curiosity; they can reveal some family secrets - and tragedies. Other records are also useful, my Spanish grandfather's seaman's certificate reveals that he was 5'6" tall and had a tattoo on his left forearm, but they can't tell us what our ancestors were really like, the minutiae of their daily lives. What do we know of those who were neither rich, famous, nor infamous enough for their lives to be of interest to the general population? Is it ever possible to find out what kind of people they were? To my eternal gratitude, Kirsty Hooper, co-ordinator of the Hispanic Liverpool Project - http://www.warwick.ac.uk/hispanicliverpool - was able to unearth information about my family that gave me a window into their lives.

I first met Kirsty when she was head of Hispanic Studies at Liverpool University and I attended one of her lectures. We kept in touch and in December, 2014, I was delighted to be asked to speak at the Information Afternoon on Liverpool's Hispanic History, held in the Central Library. Earlier this month, I was invited to contribute to the Hispanic Liverpool Community Collection project, hosted by Fact. After so many years trying to trace a Liverpool/Spanish connection, through these projects I have been able to meet families from similar backgrounds to mine and compare notes. I spoke to people whose Spanish grandparents were neighbours of my Spanish grandparents. I learned of a tight-knit community of Hispanics whose men, like my grandfather, mostly worked for the Larrinaga Shipping Company, or kept the boarding houses where those who hadn't settled in Liverpool stayed when on shore. However, I never dreamt of discovering any facts about the social lives of my grandmother's family back in Spain, any letters that were exchanged having long since disappeared. Following the December meeting, I learned that Kirsty, very generously, and quite unknown to me at the time, had carried out a piece of research on my behalf. Accessing the archives of various Santiago newspapers for the period 1885 to 1945 she had unearthed information that would make my trip to Spain in March this year even more special than usual.

Various certificates had proved that my great-great-grandfather was a sombrerero, or hatter, but it was a different matter to see the report of an attempted break-in in 1883, 'at the business of the well-known hatter... by one of the nasty little thieves who currently thrive in this city...' In 1885, another newspaper had an advert for his shop, which gave the address. No longer a hat shop, it is now a cafe bar - El Paradiso - and we were able to lunch there each day, following my ancestor's footsteps over that threshold some 130 years later.

His son, my great-grandfather, must have been of some standing in the city for his return from 'America' - presumably Buenos Aires - to have been reported in January 1904, the same year that my grandmother emigrated to England. Another extract reports that Carmen, my great-aunt, was preparing for her first communion in July, 1920. On an earlier trip, I had visited the church where my great-aunt Maria was married in July 1925, but the newspaper report of her marriage, describing her 'natural charm and beauty highlighted by a delightful silk dress and the classic Spanish mantilla' brought the bare facts to life.

I have a photo of my great-grandparents. It shows a stern-looking couple, sitting well apart, who don't look particularly appealing, yet the detailed report of their Golden Wedding celebrations in the newspapaper El Compostelano on 24 December 1930 describes them as 'both beloved and appreciated by all the social classes of Santiago, as are their children...who have been able to create, by their assiduous labour, one of the most honest homes in Compostela'. It appears they were able to put the indiscretions of their youth behind them - their eldest daughter, my grandmother, was born three years before they married and their second child followed barely two months after their marriage! The obituary for my great-grandmother in El Compostelano on 7 April 1945 is fulsome in its praise, describing her as 'a kind-hearted person who enjoyed general admiration', and in her funeral cortege two days later 'were full representations of all the sectors of the city, showing plainly - albeit for such a sad reason - the general sympathy enjoyed by the deceased and her family'. A sad contrast to the funeral of her daughter in Liverpool less than five years later - buried in a pauper's grave far from the land of her birth.

Newspaper reports also gave an indication of where the family's sympathies lay - in January 1934, one of my grandmother's sisters subscribed to a 'Children's Festival - organised on behalf of the poor children of Santiago', and also that month, four sisters subscribed to a 'Regional Tribute to the Secretary of the Committee for Autonomy'. 

All of these newspaper extracts have strengthened my connection to Santiago de Compostela, the city I've grown to love; there is also a sense of sadness that my grandmother lived out her life without this strong network of a well-respected family to help her through the bad times. But she wasn't the only one of my great-grandparents' children to cut themselves off from what appears to have been a comfortable life in Spain. And what did I discover about my great-grandfather the artist? Did the newspapers help in that search? More in Part 2...