Winning the Reader's Digest 100 Word Story Competition

Sometimes – and it must be said that in later life this happens very rarely – you experience a period when exciting things happen – events which are so unexpected that you have to pinch yourself to prove you’re not dreaming! March this year was such a period for me; a month of exciting personal success.

The chain of events began in January, the deadline for the Reader’s Digest 100 Word Story Competition was fast approaching, should I enter? Since coming to writing late in life, I’ve always been intrigued by the idea of writing a story in just one hundred words. I’d used it as an exercise in my U3A creative writing group, finding it hard work but enjoying the challenge. This time, there was a story already in my head, begging to be written. The idea came from a Victorian painting by L C Henley called A Quiet Half Hour; but my imaginary ‘quiet half hour’ was very different to the cosy Victorian image depicted in the painting. Yes, I would take a chance and submit it as I knew there were a number of prizes, two runners up and a further story chosen each month throughout the year.

I’d had some success during 2014 when submitting articles for magazines, but this was a totally different challenge. For a magazine article, you can do the research, know exactly what type of article will appeal to a particular readership – and you usually have between 1,000 and 1,200 words to develop your piece of writing. Now I had just 100 words in which to bring the story to life.

Over the following weeks, I was mostly successful in putting the competition to the back of my mind. I expected the judging process to take some time and knew that due to the number of entries they would receive, I wouldn’t hear from them if my story wasn’t chosen. What happened next came as a complete surprise.

It was mid-February, I’d had a busy day and it was late evening before I had a chance to sit down, laptop on my knee, to check my emails. I was alone in the house; my other half was at Anfield watching an LFC mid-week home game. Only one email – but it was from Reader’s Digest! Before opening it, I stared at the subject line; ‘Re your 100 Word Story entry…’ Wow! I must be a runner-up… I clicked to open and read the first sentence:

Dear Joan, Many congratulations! After a long and difficult judging process, you’ve been declared the winner of this year’s 100-Word-Story Competition in the Adult Category and will receive the £500 first prize…

Anyone watching me over the next couple of minutes would have thought I was completely deranged. The laptop almost fell to the floor. I turned into a human windmill, arms flailing, as I jumped up and down, rushing from living room to hall, hall to dining room. At the same time, shouting, ‘Oh my God…Oh my God…’ And there was no-one to tell! I thought I would burst, unable to physically contain my excitement – was it too late to phone my sons, at least the two who live in this country? No, I felt justified at disturbing them; I knew they would be thrilled at the news, as Jim was when he returned home – after initially thinking my excitement was because Liverpool FC had won their match!

The following morning, after a sleepless night, I had calmed down enough to email Laura at the Reader’s Digest with the personal information she had requested. The wait until the story appeared in the May issue of the magazine would seem endless, but in the meantime there was more excitement to look forward to. Laura’s email had also said:

‘Our art department will contact you in due course about setting up a photo shoot…’

A photo shoot! It would be arranged for early March – but that’s another story…

My story is in the May issue of Reader's Digest, which is out now.

The 75th Anniversary of Rationing

When the first stages of food rationing were imposed on the British public in January 1940, only months after World War II broke out, I was eight months old. When it finally ended in June 1954, I was 15 and about to leave school. I therefore spent the whole of my childhood accepting as the norm that the amount of food my mother could buy for the family – Mum, Dad and three children – was restricted not only by what she could afford but by how many ‘coupons’ were left in the family’s ration books. I watched my mother cream together lard and margarine when she was making sandwiches, without realising that it was a thrifty measure to make the margarine ration go further. I can remember that a childhood favourite was a slice of bread spread with dripping from the meat tin, sprinkled with a little salt – very tasty! Years later, when creaming together 4ozs of margarine, two eggs, and 4ozs of sugar to make my own children a batch of fairy cakes that would disappear very quickly, I’d forgotten that I was using one adult’s weekly ration of those staple foods.

My father, a small, wiry man, had failed his medical for the army due to an untreated childhood illness (possibly polio) which left him with wasted muscles in one leg, yet throughout the war he did a physically hard job and fire-watched in the evenings. Needing energy, the meagre sugar ration was a particular problem for him; we used to joke that he put tea in his sugar rather than the other way around. As we children grew, my mother, in the interests of fair play, used to divide the week’s sugar ration into five separate jars with our names on. Of course, Dad’s jar always emptied first, and ‘selling’ him what remained of my ration at threepence a go earned me my first pocket money!

I don’t know at what age a child received its own ration book, presumably at eight months old I would not need margarine, eggs, sugar, etc, but I do remember queuing up with my mother at the Congregational church in Huyton to renew the green ration book I was entitled to up until the age of five. This enabled my mother to buy me bananas or oranges – although since it was extremely rare for these to appear in the shops during the war years, it was not much of a concession.

There were aspects of rationing which would have had absolutely no bearing on my family. I’ve read that central heating was prohibited during the summer months. To working-class families, central heating would have been a ‘pipe-dream’! The living room in our ‘two-up, two-down,’ terraced house was heated by a coal fire which scorched your legs whilst leaving your back freezing! There were also small fire-grates in the bedrooms but you had to be practically at death’s door before a fire was ever lit in those – and if it was, the black smoke that billowed back into the bedroom would probably make your illness worse. I can remember winters when there was ice on the inside of the bedroom windows and you put your socks on in bed before putting your feet down on the freezing lino. Living in the north of England, I believe that we were entitled to a higher coal ration than those lucky southerners basking in warmer climes – but the coal still ran out before the month did. It was common to see children walking along the railway line that led from the colliery to the goods yard, picking up pieces of coal which had fallen from the wagons.

Another aspect of rationing which would not have inconvenienced working-class families was the restriction on dining out. From May, 1942, the cost of meals served in hotels and restaurants must not exceed five shillings per customer and must not consist of more than three courses – only one of which could be meat, fish or poultry. The only ‘dining out’ I ever did as a child was when Dad occasionally took me to St John’s Market in Liverpool – there was a small indoor café where he would buy tea and toast before we walked the lanes of the outdoor market. I can remember getting upset at seeing the caged puppies and kittens for sale.

Any mention of sweet rationing brings back vivid memories of my local sweet shop, ‘Toffee Jones’s, so called because the paper-shop next door was owned by his brother, ‘Echo Jones’! Sweets were served, 2ozs at a time, in small, cone-shaped paper bags; Dolly Mixtures were a favourite, the smaller the sweet, the more you got in your bag.

Two sweet-related incidents stand out, both involving merchant seamen. A neighbour came home from a trip with blue 2lb sugar bags full of sweets for his two children and also one each for me and my best friend, Pat. I can still picture them, but can’t remember how long we made them last! On another occasion, when I was in hospital for a number of weeks, my seafaring uncle sent me the biggest bar of chocolate I’d ever seen. My excitement was short-lived as I was made to share it among a ward of about 20 children.

I’m surprised to learn that cigarettes weren’t rationed, because they were certainly in very short supply in our district, even after the war. I was often sent out on ‘foraging trips’ to all the local shops within a mile radius, gaining Dad’s approval on the occasions I came home bearing a packet of ten Woodbines which had been brought out from under the counter.

Clothes rationing ended around the time of my tenth birthday. Again, this would have affected the middle-upper classes more than working-class families, most of whom were already used to wearing ‘hand-me-downs’. Shoes were a problem of course; it was common practice to line them with cardboard when the soles began to wear thin – although this probably had as much to do with shortage of money as shortage of coupons, especially in large families.

My mother was a good knitter and would unravel large sweaters, leave out wool that had worn thin, and re-knit the rest into a smaller garment. A maiden aunt was also a good knitter and at the age of five I was kitted out in a warm, hooded coat knitted in dark red bouclé wool. A special treat was again due to my sea-faring uncle – on one leave he brought two gingham dresses, a red one for me and a blue one for my sister.

Often, merchant sailors would bring home jars of pickled hard-boiled eggs – a welcome change from dried-egg powder – large tins of jam, and other delights, which would be shared out among the wider family. My husband remembers his father coming home on leave from the Royal Navy with a kitbag bulging with hard, round objects. On exploring the outside of the bag, he asked what was in it and was told, ‘bombs’, and was relieved to discover the next day that they were in fact coconuts!

One thing rationing taught my generation is to hate food wastage. I will never put on my plate more than I know I will eat, and a recent innovation of our local council has met with my firm approval; potato peelings, fruit skins, egg shells etc can now be re-cycled and turned into compost. In my childhood, these were collected by ‘the pig lady’; dressed in men’s clothing and pushing a wheelbarrow, she would walk the local streets collecting everyone’s leftovers to feed her pig.

I don’t remember ever being hungry as a child. We had a garden where Dad could grow vegetables, and sometimes keep a couple of hens. There was always food on the table, although I know there were children from large families who were not so lucky. My mother was a great believer in supplements, I was regularly dosed with Virol; the iron tonic Parrish’s Food; malt extract; Scott’s Emulsion; and the orange juice and cod-liver oil available from the children’s clinic. Unlike many children, I loved the taste of all of these!

Developing chest problems at the age of eight, I also attended sessions of sun-ray treatment at a local clinic – wearing dark goggles and dressed only in my knickers. It is worrying to discover that a link has now been made between that treatment and skin cancer in later life. On two occasions I was sent to a children’s convalescent home by the sea; for three weeks at the age of eight, and later for a spell of six weeks and here, and at school, I can remember food being adequate – I even liked sago pudding, referred to by some children as ‘frogspawn’! I had my first taste of honey whilst staying at a convalescent home run by nuns who kept bees. It’s been a lifelong favourite ever since.

Whilst realising now that food rationing added greatly to the stress of wives and mothers, especially during the war years, I believe that it didn’t do the health of our generation any harm, certainly obesity was extremely rare. And medicinal supplements and spells by the sea must also have worked their magic for me, since I am still here to tell the tale!

Walking the Camino

Today, I am in conversation with Pat Dorrian who, with her husband Tom, has recently been walking a section of the Camino Francés, beginning in Sarria.

Pat, welcome. I have visited many towns and villages along the Camino, I have spoken to pilgrims and wished the walk, or even a small part of it, was something I’d done when I first began visiting Galicia in the year 2000. Can you tell me how and when you first heard about the Camino, and whether you set out on the journey mainly as a walking holiday, or as a spiritual pilgrimage?
I think I first heard about the Camino at school. I would always have been aware of the notion of pilgrimage. I set out on the journey as a walking holiday and an adventure with close friends, but would also have wanted it to be a spiritual pilgrimage.

I know that you went with a tour company – would you recommend this for less experienced, and/or, may I say, more ‘mature’ walkers? If so, what were the advantages?
Travelling with a tour company meant that we were given a lot of information and advice in advance so that we knew what clothing and equipment to take. We used a company called Camino Ways and they were very organised, providing us with a map and map notes for each day of the walk. Our luggage was always waiting when we got to our hotel, and the hotels had been carefully chosen and were extremely comfortable.

Before we discuss the more personal aspects of your walk, perhaps you can give me a brief itinerary – the number of miles walked each day, and the names of the towns or villages where you stayed each night?
We walked an average of twelve miles a day, but some days we walked fifteen and on two days we walked eight or nine hours. We began in Sarria and arrived at Santiago on day six, having passed through Portomarín, Palas de Rei, Arzúa and Rúa/O Pino.

How many people were in your group? Did you feel that the size of the group was reasonable, and did you know any of them prior to your journey?
In our group there were six; four of us were very close friends and we had met the other two and knew that they were simpatico. A larger group would be fine but there would need to be acceptance of each others’ aims, and a lot of freedom within the group.

One of the things I love about Galicia is that there are still places where you can step out of the hustle and bustle of life and enjoy the solitude of a deserted beach, forest, or hillside, with only birdsong and the hum of insects to keep you company. Did you find more enjoyment in walking with other members of the group, or did you and Tom sometimes prefer to walk alone?
Because each person was free to walk at his or her own pace, it often happened that you had time walking entirely by yourself and this was good because it left your mind free for thought. At other times, we walked with other members of the group.

On any holiday, but particularly with a trip such as this, you meet with people from a variety of backgrounds, did you find the evenings a pleasant opportunity to chat with and form friendships with other walkers – or were you all too tired to be sociable?!
We did sometimes chat with other walkers. Tom talked quite a lot with people he hadn’t met before and we all enjoyed talking with a young Spanish girl who had a drink with us on our last evening in Santiago. She was a private banker who spoke perfect English and she talked a lot with us about the Spanish economy.

As this was your first trip to Northern Spain, did it live up to your expectations, or did you set off not knowing quite what to expect with regard to architecture, scenery, etc? What were your favourite places?
I was amazed at the greenness of Galicia and at the extent of its wooded areas. It felt like authentic ‘country’ Spain. Our walk took us past so many little villages (in one of which I bought my souvenir scallop shell) and farms. We also stayed at several proud country towns. The architecture in Santiago was a delight.

Because Santiago de Compostela is so special to me personally, I am interested to hear what your impression was on first reaching the historic heart of the city – and especially your reactions on entering the cathedral.
I was struck by the proportions of the central square, the age and beauty of the university buildings and, of course, the cathedral itself. As pilgrims have done for hundreds of years, we said ‘hello’ to St James and touched the head of his statue. We thoroughly enjoyed the spectacle of the giant botafumeiro as it swung dramatically almost to the ceiling of the cathedral. It was certainly moving to see people of every race, age and colour reaching the cathedral with a good purpose.

My final question is rather a personal one. At the end of the walk, and after the mass at the cathedral, did you feel that you and Tom had taken part in a genuine pilgrimage, rather than simply a pleasant, if exhausting, walking holiday – and if so, what do you think will be the lasting effect upon you?
We both felt that this had been more than simply a walking holiday. It was certainly enjoyable – there were lovely meals and wine and lots of laughter – but at the end of it I felt a lot lighter and a lot happier, and perhaps more integrated as a person. This had not been a ‘heavy’ experience, but a very gentle one, which felt like a true blessing and for which both of us, and the rest of our group, were very grateful. The lasting effect, I hope, will be to retain and seek to continue to be open to such blessings in the future.

Many thanks, Pat, for taking the time to talk to me with such an interesting insight into a modern-day pilgrimage. I only wish I could have been walking alongside you!

A bus tour, the perfect way to get a taste of Liverpool’s heritage

Sunday, 17th August was LFC’s first home game of the new season; it was an early kick-off and a perfect opportunity for me to spend some time in the city while my husband and son were at the match. Although brought up in the suburbs, I was born in the heart of the city, worked in the Castle Street/Water Street area until my marriage in 1960 and continued my education – as a very mature student – at The University of Liverpool, so despite the many changes over the years, I feel I know the city well. I’m a regular visitor to the Central Library, the Art Galleries and the Museums, so why did the idea of a City Explorer bus tour attract me? They are surely for tourists – aren’t they? But it’s easy to take familiar places for granted, and as I’ve often noticed these buses around town, open-topped and brightly painted in red and yellow, there was something appealing in the idea of experiencing the city as a tourist would see it.

There was a timetable outside the Central Library and I didn’t have long to wait before the bus arrived and I began my journey on “The BIG Yellow Bus Tour”. Sunday afternoon was extremely windy and I opted to sit downstairs. The guide introduced himself as ‘Paul,’ his disembodied voice floating down to me for the next 50 minutes as he remained on the upper deck throughout the trip. If you are new to the city the view from the upper deck would, of course, enhance the experience but as I already know the buildings themselves well, it was the commentary that interested me – and that was excellent.

 This ‘Hop On – Hop Off’ tour stops, briefly, at 13 places of interest, and at four of these venues, the Albert Dock, the Pier Head, William Brown Street for the Museums, Gallery and Library, and Liverpool Cathedral you can buy tickets, but you can also buy tickets from the driver at any stop along the route.

This tour is perfect for tourists. If they have only half a day, they can save long walks, and therefore time and energy, by ‘hopping on’ and ‘hopping off’ the bus anywhere of particular interest to them, such as the city’s two Cathedrals, two Museums, and the iconic Three Graces. If they are lucky enough to have longer in the city, then the City Explorer ticket is valid for 24 hours, in fact during my trip the driver informed us that our tickets would be valid for two days!

As I’ve said, I thought I knew the city well – yet I was surprised at how many additional facts I picked up on this tour. As an avid Dickens fan, I knew that he visited Liverpool regularly, staying at the Adelphi Hotel and appearing at St George’s Hall, giving his Penny Readings – I was even lucky enough a couple of years ago to attend a re-enactment of one of these evenings organised by The Reader. Paul added a little colour to my knowledge by describing how, during his visits, Charles Dickens would walk up Brownlow Hill to visit the workhouse which explains the significance of the name of Oliver Twist’s benefactor – Mr Brownlow! And I didn’t know that Mark Twain, and the Roosevelts, had also stayed at the Adelphi.

I’ve walked past Wellington’s statue in William Brown Street countless times, without knowing that it was cast out of cannon from the Battle of Waterloo. I had a good view of Liverpool’s ‘gin palaces’, The Crown, The Vines and The Philharmonic – and learned that these magnificent public houses were built to actively encourage people to drink gin and beer as these were deemed healthier than the poisonous effects of the city’s water supply!

Facts and figures came thick and fast and Paul must be congratulated on his professional delivery.  I learned the origin of St John’s Gardens; how the world’s first Wet Dock at one time handled 40% of the world’s trade; that one of the Metropolitan Cathedral’s four bells is an original from the workhouse; that the area in front of Salthouse Dock is called ‘Nova Scotia’ because salt from Cheshire was sent from here to Canada, the ships returning with a cargo of wood.
Driving along Victoria Street, we were told that it was originally the home of mercantile insurers and commercial banks – one building still bears the name ‘Bank of Liverpool’ – and the city had its own currency!

I wouldn’t want to spoil the trip for future visitors by detailing the wealth of information Paul passed on – I hope that this little taster will encourage not just visitors, but people who, like me, think they know the city well, to either ‘Hop On and Hop Off’ or just stay on for the 50 minutes duration of the tour to listen to the excellent commentary. I’m trying to commit my pages of notes to memory so that on my next visit in a couple of weeks I will walk around the city with fresh eyes, saying to myself – ‘Oh yes, that’s where…’ or ‘Now I know why the bell tower of the Metropolitan Cathedral stands separate to the main building, it’s because…’     

My thanks to Paul and to Chris, our driver who joined us at the Pier Head – I wasn’t able to get the name of the driver who took the first half of the tour, but thank him also.

Going for a coffee when I left the bus, I was amazed to see a zip wire running the length of Church Street! It was extremely high above the ground and it was very windy so I wasn’t surprised to see that there was no-one taking the opportunity to zip above the heads of the shoppers at a cost of £15. I’m sure it has been well utilised during the holiday period – and I was also delighted to see ‘Tickle the Ivories’ back in the city, these events add atmosphere to a city that is already buzzing!

Family history research: hobby or obsession?

For those of us with the urge to delve into the past, to find out what our ancestors did and where they came from, there is often help close at hand. We can begin on our home computers, or at the local library, to search census records, births, marriages and deaths, etc. We ‘silver surfers’ are also probably the first generation fortunate enough to enjoy a retirement which will be long enough to indulge our ‘hobby’.

The problem is that by the time we feel the urge to search for our roots, it is usually decades too late to ask questions of older family members. Quite often, we were told family stories as children, but at that age didn’t realise their significance. And for those of us with siblings, it doesn’t always follow that we all heard the same stories – siblings often have different versions of a shared childhood.

My father came from a large family, and his mother lived until I was in my thirties with a family of my own, but there were no anecdotes passed down; they were not a family of ‘talkers’, and I was able to gain only the briefest glimpse of what life must have been like for him as a child. But with regard to actual information, a cousin had begun researching my paternal family tree long before it became ‘popular’, and at the time of his death had produced a family tree that stretched back centuries and had more branches than a forest.

With my mother’s family, it was different. She was born in Liverpool of Spanish parents and because of the stories I had been told as a child, I felt more emotionally involved. My curiosity was aroused, perversely, because the difficulties in obtaining certificates and any other ‘concrete’ evidence of my Spanish heritage seemed insurmountable.

Where do you begin when all you know about your maternal grandparents are their names and that they came from Galicia, possibly Santiago de Compostela, in Northern Spain? Where do you begin when, at the age of sixty, you find yourself with the urge to discover your grandmother’s roots – the grandmother who died in Liverpool when you were ten years old and who, to your knowledge, still didn’t speak English after fifty years in this country?

I set off to Northern Spain on my first voyage of discovery in 2000, with very little hope but a lot of enthusiasm. The full story of my search is documented in my book Chasing Shadows, but what has been important to me is not just the physical journeys – seven in the past 14 years – but the people I have met and the effect my research has had on my life in retirement. Yes, it is wonderful to have a maternal family tree going back to 1822, with the possibility of reaching even further back as time and funds allow, but the memories involved in obtaining each and every one of those birth, marriage and death certificates are priceless.

Officials in Registro Civils and in Diocesan Arquivos have gone beyond the call of duty as I’ve sat hour after hour in bright modern offices housed in medieval buildings. I speak very little Spanish and many of the people I met didn’t speak English, yet somehow we managed to communicate. And my joy at unravelling yet another thread has often been matched by the smile on the face of an official – the story of this elderly lady from England trying to find her Spanish roots has somehow touched their imagination.

Searching through BMD or census records on your computer, or scrolling through microfiches in the family history section of a public library is exciting, but it cannot be compared to the thrill of sitting in a room in a foreign city, carefully turning the pages of a book containing entries written hundreds of years ago. Even when not allowed to handle the books oneself – as in the Registro Civil in Santiago de Compostela – the air of tension in the room as my eyes followed the clerk’s finger moving slowly down the page looking for my grandmother’s family name, and the leap of excitement when I recognised the name of her sister, is what turned my love of research into an obsession.

I find it amazing that on visits to the Registro Civil in subsequent years, it was evident that the clerk remembered me. It amazes me that on visiting a bar on our trip to Galicia this summer, the owner not only remembered me and my husband but could recall every moment of the morning 14 years before when he’d introduced us to a young girl, Nicola, who was on holiday from London staying with the Spanish side of her family. Then aged only 16, Nicola has become a much-loved friend. We attended her wedding to Antonio in 2007 – it meant so much to me to be able to attend a truly Spanish wedding – and also count her parents, who live in London, as special friends. It is a joy to see Nicola and Antonio’s beautiful four-year old daughter being brought up, as was Nicola, bilingual and fully aware of her dual heritage; something that was denied me.

Other people have been instrumental in making my research a life-changing journey of discovery. Without the help of Father Joseph Fleming, originally from Liverpool and when we met him, an archivist in the Arquivo Histórico Diocesano in Santiago, my research would never have got off the ground. It is our great personal regret that he died, tragically young, before he could see the outcome of his help and influence.

Other people have filled in gaps for me. Trawling through sites connected with maritime history on the internet, I eventually met David Eccles, the author of a book on the Larrinaga Shipping Line which employed my grandfather. Through him, I met a family whose grandfather had been a chauffeur to the Larrinagas and was able to peruse family photograph albums. Kirsty Hooper, now Associate Professor of Hispanic Studies at Warwick University, was in that same post at Liverpool University when I attended one of her lectures a couple of years ago. Kirsty is compiling a database of Galician and Basque immigrants to Liverpool in the years 1850-1950 and I hope to speak at its launch in Liverpool at the end of the year. Through Kirsty, I was introduced to Xesús Fraga, journalist, writer and translator, who interviewed me for his newspaper La Voz de Galicia last year. By another of those coincidences I have experienced over the years, Xesús is from Betantoz, the Galician city where my grandfather may have been born. I say ‘may have’, as I have only the most slender of clues about his life at present. We met Xesús in person on our last visit and his help in introducing me to the director of the Museo das Mariñas which holds census records, may be the tiny thread that leads me to unravelling the mystery of my grandfather’s life prior to him arriving in Liverpool.

The city of Santiago de Compostela has become a very special part of my life. Even when I return from a trip without a certificate or a piece of definite information, I have soaked up the atmosphere, I have seen all the houses where my grandmother lived – not possible in Liverpool since they have all been demolished. I have sat in churches in Santiago where family baptisms, first holy communions and weddings have taken place. I have had lunch in a restaurant with the proof in my hand that my great-great grandmother died in an upstairs room of the building over a hundred years before. On this trip I walked through the cemetery where my great-grandparents were buried and I now have an address where I may be able to obtain the whereabouts of their actual graves.

Family history magazines are a great source of information for genealogists at all stages of their research – I have just had an article published in July’s edition of Your Family Tree – and, very slowly, some information is now coming through on the internet if, like me, your ancestors originated from another European country.

None of my research would have been possible without the support of my husband. Each time we take a trip to Santiago it has been incorporated into our annual holiday. We love staying with Nicola’s family while we carry out three or four days’ research before moving on to tour other parts of Spain. We have visited the length and breadth of Galicia; from its historic cities of Coruña and Lugo to its golden, unspoilt beaches, mountains and forests. We have holidayed further afield in Cantabria and the Picos mountains; and the beautiful cities of Oviedo, Léon, Salamanca and Cacerés – but Santiago de Compostela is still where my heart lies!

So, family history, is it a hobby or an obsession? Writing about family history research has become a very enjoyable hobby, and it still gives me a thrill when someone buys my book. But as for the actual research – the answer is definitely, an obsession!

In conversation with Mary Wood

Mary, welcome to my website. Your writing career has recently taken a very exciting turn, but before I ask you about that, I would like to begin with your earliest memories of writing.

I know that you began your love of writing in childhood – how difficult was it to find the time and space to pursue this love coming as you did from a very large family, and did any of your siblings share your creative talent?

I think it was more a question of a love of reading as a child, and any writing was confined to school work. When asked to write compositions and given a title I wrote reams. One teacher used to become annoyed at this and always gave me an instruction that he required one page and one page only, not a novel! However, his successor encouraged me to write as much as I liked, saying he enjoyed my stories and thought one day I would become an author. It took a long time, but when I did achieve it, I contacted him and he was delighted.

Finding space for yourself amongst all the comings and goings of a large family is not as difficult as it would seem. I am the thirteenth child of fifteen. Sadly three had died before I was born, so our family numbered twelve at that time. And the age-gap factor, meant some older siblings had left home by the time I needed my own space. My earliest memory is of living with nine of them. And, although we were extremely poor, I was rich in love as my elder brothers and sisters spoilt me.

My mother came from an upper middle-class family, her father was a bank manager and part-time musician with his own orchestra. When she fell in love with my father, an East-End barrow boy, and wouldn’t give him up, she was thrown out of her family and went from living in a big Victorian house where her mother had maids, to my father’s home – a very poor dwelling in London.

A remarkable woman, she coped with all that was thrown at her. A legacy from her earlier days was her love of reading, and her books – shelves of all the classics – my dream shelves. Encouraged by my mother, I read everyone and loved them.

My proudest memory is that mother often said I took after her grandmother, my great-grandmother, Dora Langlois. Dora was a published author in the late 1800s, early 1900s. Recently I had a eureka moment, when researching her I found that her book is still listed on Amazon – and I have obtained a copy! I am so proud and happy.

I have two sisters who are writing novels at the moment and give them all the encouragement I can. Also, another sister who writes poetry. And I am very proud of two of my nephews who have written and published their own life-stories. Both have been through adversity and come through the other side stronger and with a will to help others. Their books are inspirational works.

As a child, were you encouraged to read, either through visiting your local library or being given books as Christmas or birthday presents? If so, did any book have a special impact on you and encourage your dream of becoming a writer?

As above, yes, I was encouraged to read, and though I have mentioned the classics, my mother’s hunger for books meant she belonged to a book club and every month new ones would arrive. These were a variety of genres, from Agatha Christie to Georgette Heyer. Of these, I had a time when I craved Agatha’s books, but Georgette set me on the path to my love of historical novels. But none of these were the ones who really inspired me. I was married before I had the urge to write a novel of my own and that was triggered by my sister-in-law lending me a book like no other I had ever read – The Dwelling Place by Catherine Cookson. For the first time, I wasn’t just lost in, and enthralled by, the story of others’ lives, I was dragged into them. I was the young girl trying to bring up her siblings in a cave. I experienced every emotion she had. Suddenly, I wanted to do that. I wanted to write. And, I wanted my readers to get into the skin of my characters. I wanted to be Catherine Cookson.

Was there a long spell when, due to work, marriage and children, your love of writing had to take a back seat, or did you keep a journal, write short stories, enter competitions etc, whenever you could snatch a spare moment?

After the initial awakening of my desire to write, it was a long time until I did. I dreamed of doing so rather than getting down to do it. Whether that was due to bringing up my own family of four and fitting in jobs around that, I cannot say. I did enter a phase whereby nothing but Catherine’s books satisfied my reading habit. Luckily she turned out so many I was never left wanting, but I look on this period as a learning curve of what was to come, as unconsciously I stored her techniques – or thought I had. I believe they are in play now, but in the beginning, I could not master them when it came to writing my first novel.

The writing of this happened in 1989. I was nursing my mother in her last months. I needed a distraction from such a traumatic task. By now only my son lived at home as he is our youngest. So, when Mum slept in the afternoon, I began to put pen to paper – literally as I did not have a typewriter. My story flowed from me as if I had known the characters when they were alive. I thought I had written the next best-seller and block-buster film and was going to be rich beyond my dreams. That manuscript still languishes in a drawer after many knocks to my ego and dreams, as rejection after rejection piled up. But I had tapped into the real me. I had found the writer in me and she was never going to give up.

Now you have fulfilled your dream of becoming a full-time writer, can you give the readers a glimpse of your writing day? Do you have a ‘writer’s room’ and if so does it contain any objects of personal significance – for example, photographs, mementoes of family holidays etc? Do you write directly onto a PC or laptop, or do you begin with handwritten notes? And how much time do you spend researching the periods in which your books are set?

I live partly in Spain and partly in Blackpool and do not have a room in either home that I have claimed as mine. I would love one, and do have one that is suitable in my Blackpool home, I just need time to set it up. My ideal would be a room with the old cliché of walls lined with books. It would have rich old furniture and many windows. One set would be French windows that opened onto a private terrace overlooking wonderful views. In reality, I use my bedroom in Blackpool as it is never warm enough outside at the time of year I am there. I lay on the bed with mounds of pillows to support me and my laptop on a tray and off I go. In Spain, I do have the terrace and the view. There, I sit on the balcony in a relaxing chair, with a backdrop of mountains, and laptop on a tray on my knee. This is my favourite writing spot.

Research is something I do on the run. I write from my heart, until I come to a situation where I need ‘real’ information. Then I look it up. I have gone further than this in the past. I visited a working mine and went into the bowels of the earth in a quest to know what it felt like. And I went to a ‘living’ war museum in Leeds to try to get the feel of war. I really want to visit Beamish Village. I managed to get to the gates once on the only day they were closed!

At present I am fascinated by women’s roles during the wars. This was triggered by a holiday in Normandy. Though it wasn’t for research, we did visit all the war memorials and places of interest linked to the war. This seemed to clothe me in many stories I wanted to write. I now want to follow a route from France to Belgium and take in all I can of battlefields, memorials and concentration camps. I want to feel I was there at the time.

My writing day varies. I mostly begin work as soon as I wake, still in bed with a cup of tea supplied by my darling, and very supportive husband. When it gets to breakfast time I am also served that. Then I do my socialising online – a time I love – more about this later. After that, I answer emails and tend to anything else I have to do – accounts, promoting, etc… Everything is based at home at the moment, though promoting will take to the road soon. Then after lunch, it is back to my writing. I cannot live a day without writing and aim for a minimum of 2000 words a day. If I achieve this, I can have a rough draft of a full novel ready in 50 days! That is when the hard part of editing begins.

The gritty realism of your novels, such as The Breckton Trilogy, often make disturbing reading. Although your books are set in the past, did your career as a probation officer have any influence on the way you write?

I was a Probation Service Officer, which meant I held cases that were not classed as high risk. The Probation Officers held these. However, when on office duty I became involved in many cases of murderers and rapists and paedophiles. Also, in my early career with the service when I was an admin officer, I had to type up pre-sentence reports, so was seeped in the background of these heinous crimes. Always it struck me how easy it is to read of a rape, or child abduction for the purpose of sex, or a murder etc… in the paper and then turn the page to the footie or celeb page and forget all about it. The real impact of these crimes isn’t in the papers. I wanted to show how it really is. I have a desire to shake up the world and say, ‘hey, this is happening in a street near you!’ That does come through in my writing.

I know, through reviews, that for some I go too far. I accept this, there are always those who bury their head, or, maybe my writing is too near the mark for them or they are sensitive souls, we are all different and I respect this. But, there are a lot of people out there living these issues every day of their lives and they deserve a voice. That doesn’t mean I am on a mission, either to shock or to make people sit up and take notice. It just means that something in me needs to treat an issue as it is in reality, in all its raw state. I cannot pussy-foot around it. I would let too many victims down if I did.

You have acknowledged that you have a team around you, including your son James, who assist with editing, proofing, cover design, etc. but I’m particularly interestedin what lay behind your great success as a self-publisher. Had you first tried the traditional route of finding an agent and a publisher or did you decide to ‘go it alone’ from the beginning? For the benefit of those many thousands of self-published authors who are now putting out their work as e-books, perhaps you can sum-up in a few sentences what it takes to actually become a success!

Yes, I did go down, and want very much, the traditional publishing route. At the time there was nothing else anyway. But I was always writing the wrong thing. By the time I had finished An Unbreakable Bond, which is now a bestseller on Kindle, no one wanted historical sagas. There was of course this genre on offer, but publishers were not looking for any more authors of them. Martina Cole and Fantasy were happening. Then we entered, an ‘only celeb’ phase, then Harry Potter etc…

When Kindle arrived, I shied away for a long time, though other authors kept encouraging me to have a go. When I eventually did, in 2011, nothing happened for the first five months, except I felt freed from the book that had been my focus for such a long time and could begin to write another. Freed except for the promoting side of things, that is.

I did like others, I tweeted, I Facebooked, and joined this site and that one in order to get myself out there. Then at Christmastime of that year, after only selling around 20 copies a month, I suddenly sold 80! I thought I had arrived!

It grew from there, so mostly was word-of-mouth, and the sales increased and increased until I was selling over 2000 a month and readers were asking for more. I was in author heaven and held the number one spot in sagas.

How it happened is not something I did differently on the promotion side as I did nothing different from anyone else. I wish there was a magic formula that I could spell out to other authors. It is as much luck as anything else, and writing what the readers want – Downton Abbey made them crave Historical Sagas – I was writing that genre.

But, I would say the most important tool for success is writing the very best book you can. ‘Learn your craft’.

One of my brothers-in-law read a draft of An Unbreakable Bond and said to me, “You tell a good story, but you need to learn the craft of writing.” I was most put out and argued with him asking, ‘what did he know?’ He gave a very wise reply: “Think of it like this: A DIY man can make a good table fit for purpose, but would probably need a cloth on it all the time to cover the imperfections. A time-served carpenter can make a better table, with good, neat joints and able to stand in a dining-room and be admired. But, a craftsman can make a table that is a thing of beauty with carved legs and bevelled edges. Its polish will be so deep it will reflect your image and it will be sought after and he will be commissioned to make many more – you should aim to be that craftsman in your own field.”

I argued no more. I went away and read every how-to there was. I know I haven’t achieved that ‘craftsman’ status and still strive for it – you should see my editor’s work on my books!!! But, I know I have grasped a great deal of it and feel this has helped in my writing books with the potential of being well received. It works – don’t skip this stage of your writing career.

My success led to reviews, and me wanting a page on Facebook where I could interact with readers.

This page, Books by Mary Wood, is now a great source of love and support for me. My lovely followers do all they can to make every new book soar on launch day. They are involved at every stage. I seek their help on names for characters, bits of research that I cannot find, I have competitions for the best cover, (though this is out of our hands now as the publisher sees to this) and theme weeks, and I invite authors my readers enjoy to come along and spend a day interacting with them.

It is more than a page, it is where my readers, who are all very dear to me, hang out.

Now I have a following it is a big responsibility and keeps me on my toes so as not to let them down. This means I strive even harder to write each book better than the last.

And now I’d like to ask you about the recent exciting development in your writing career. You are in the enviable position of having been taken on by Pan Macmillan and a date has been set for the release of the first of a seven-book deal! This recognition of your success as a writer must be a source of tremendous pride and pleasure to you; are you able to tell the readers how it came about?

In a word, Kindle. My success on there led to my editor at Pan Macmillan seeing my book whenever she went on to check those books she was responsible for. She began to wonder who I was and why a self-publisher had this success. She decided to start by downloading my book and reading it. That particular book was Time Passes Time. The editor loved it and contacted me. (I have been told that Kindle is the new slush pile.)

Time Passes Time was written about one of the characters from the last book in the Breckton Trilogy. I wanted to take her forward and explore her story more. Up until now she had been one of the baddies that readers love to hate and yet, have a sneaky admiration for.

At the end of the book she has her comeuppence in a very sad way. I knew that could be a changing point for her and as the timeline had reached the war, I knew she had the kind of character that could do good or evil – whichever she chose she would do well. I wanted her to do good – become a war hero, and so make amends for all the evil she had spread. But there were many threads she had woven and these would come home to roost. It is a powerful story of love, heroism, hate and revenge.

It was the war aspect that really interested the editor, and she asked me if I intended to write more like it, or to continue with the northern sagas. I nearly blew my chance, as I had plans to start another trilogy and had already put up the first of the series on Kindle. The editor told me she had a writer in this genre and with the same setting and wasn’t taking another on, but if ever I did write more along the lines of Time Passes Time, to get in touch with her. I replied by return.

Not only did I say I did have plans, but I sat and wrote an outline of a book there and then to include it in the email. She loved it and asked for a 100 pages in novel form so she could judge how it would work. So, a book I had no intention of writing five minutes earlier was to be my testing ground for getting a publishing deal.

In the meantime a manager of a large print publishers had also spotted my books and approached me. I told her about Pan MacMillan’s interest and sent her my books. After a week she rang me and said she would be doing me an injustice if she bought the large print rights as I should be published, and she would spoil my chances if I did not own all the rights when approached. But, being an author herself – she is the wonderful Diane Allen, whose first two novels are soaring high in the charts – she told me she had an agent and she would introduce me to her. The agent loved my work and a sort of auction followed. To my delight Pan MacMillan came up with the best deal.

The last few months have been a journey I never expected, but am very grateful for. Now I cannot wait, though the process has been a learning curve, to see my book on the shelves.

Pan MacMillan are publishing Time Passes Time on May 22nd, and my next book, Proud of You, in the autumn. And now, I am working on a new book which I have to deliver by December. A new world of deadlines and directions I never had before, but I am loving it and feel very privileged. What has happened for me, I hope happens for all self-publishing authors out there, only long before they reach the grand old-age of 68!

Thank you so much, Mary, for taking time out from a hectic schedule to be my guest today. Your many thousands of readers will be delighted to know that there are more of Mary Wood’s novels to look forward to; I wish you every success with your forthcoming release and far into the future.

I have really enjoyed it and would like to thank you in return for giving me this opportunity. I am honoured to be part of your blog which features great writers like Freda Lightfoot and Pam Weaver. And very grateful to you for inviting me. Much love to all.

About Mary

Mary writes historical fiction books. NEW BOOK DUE ON 22/5/2014! CHECK OUT YOUR KINDLE AND ALL BOOKSHOPS FOR, TIME PASSES TIME - A MOVING STORY OF LOVE AND COURAGE DURING WORLD WAR TWO. Published by PAN MACMILLAN.

MARY'S best selling trilogy 'The Breckton Saga' - Book One: AN UNBREAKABLE BOND  Book Two: TO CATCH A DREAM, and Book Three: TOMORROW BRINGS SORROW & her fourth book. 'JUDGE ME NOT' - A Cotton Mill Saga, are Available From:

UK Link  http://amzn.to/marywoodbooks

USA link http://amzn.to/MARYWOODBOOKS-USA

Time Passes Time by Mary Wood published from May 22nd 2014

Hidden Liverpool

I was fortunate enough to visit Hidden Liverpool’s People’s History Exhibition before it closed on 29th April. It brought back many happy memories of my cinema-going youth and I was reminded of how cinema-going has changed over the years. In the late 1950s, my future husband and I would go to watch at least two films a week, even though he was only on an apprentice’s wage. With the Futurist, the Scala, and the Forum to choose from in Lime Street alone, the Odeon just around the corner, and the Tatler Newsreel cinema, young people – the word ‘teenager’ hadn’t been coined then – were never short of somewhere to go. There were more cinemas on the outskirts of the city, two in Old Swan, the Carlton in Green Lane, the Abbey in Wavertree, almost as many cinemas as pubs, which we were too young to frequent, the minimum drinking age being 21!

I can remember quite clearly a couple of incidents from those days; we sat behind Dickie Valentine in the Futurist one night – he must have been appearing at the Empire at the time. My husband will argue that it was the Forum, but after 50-odd years that’s a minor detail.

I can definitely remember that it was the Futurist where we queued to see The King and I in the early stages of our courtship. In those days the queues for popular films would be the length of Lime Street and we were often entertained by street performers while we waited. You could also get in to see the film part way through, watch it to the end, then stay for the next performance to watch the beginning! On this particular night we had been queuing for some time and were eventually allowed in but had to stand at the back of the cinema until seats became vacant. My new boyfriend turned to me and said, ‘I hope you don’t mind having to stand but you said you really wanted to see this film.’ ‘Oh no, it’s fine,’ I replied, ‘I don’t mind standing, this is the seventeenth time I’ve seen it’; that was nearly the end of the romance!

On another occasion, we’d gone to see Dirk Bogarde, my all-time favourite, in A Tale of Two Cities. The film opened with Dirk Bogarde sitting, white-faced and tragic, in the back of a coach on his way to Paris to do his ‘far, far, better thing’. I couldn’t help myself, a little shriek escaped into the otherwise silent cinema. I was reminded of this many years later when I actually had the chance to meet and shake hands with Dirk Bogarde after one of his shows at The Royal Exchange theatre in Manchester – but I wasn’t tempted to tell him.

The earliest film I can remember seeing was The Legend of the Glass Mountain, at the Carlton in Green Lane, my best friend’s mother took me with them when I was about ten. I have always loved the music from that film.

We didn’t spend all of our spare time at the cinema though; we also had a great love of dancing that was well catered for in the city. In the People’s History Exhibition there was a photograph of a building in Dale Street that housed, at one time, the State Ballroom. I have a photograph of the two of us taken there one Saturday night; I’m wearing the bridesmaid’s dress I’d worn to my sister’s wedding the year before. I have a great fondness for the clothes from the fifties, the full circular skirts of felt, or taffeta, in bright colours, the layered net underskirts that were soaked in sugar water before drying to make them stick out; the wide ‘waspie’ belts that cinched our 22 inch waists.

There was also a dancehall above Burton’s men’s outfitters in Church Street; the Peppermint Lounge in London Road; and who can forget rocking and rolling at The Locarno, or dancing to the band at The Grafton? Happy days! And I mustn’t forget The Empire Theatre, still going strong on Lime Street. We spent many Sunday evenings there watching top entertainers from the UK, America and beyond – Nat King Cole, Johnny Mathis, Shirley Bassey, David Whitfield in The Desert Song (I took my mum), Timi Yuro, Frank Ifield, to name just a few, although Bill Haley and The Comets performed at The Odeon cinema when they came to Liverpool. I also remember that every time we went to see Ken Dodd, we missed the last bus home because he would still be on the stage at midnight!

Hidden Liverpool is a year-long project from PLACED, funded by the Heritage Lottery Fund. The final exhibition ‘Looking to the Future’, will take place in May this year and will explore residents’ views on the potential of the city’s empty buildings.

Thank you, Hidden Liverpool, for unlocking such happy memories.