Cover Reveal: New cover for Broken Hero, WWII novel.

I'm enjoying re-releasing my old back list into ebook formats on all Amazon sites.

The latest one I've put online is my World War II novel, Broken Hero.

Blurb:
Audrey Pearson's life changed dramatically when WWII broke out and her large home, Twelve Pines on the East Yorkshire coast, became a convalescence home for wounded soldiers. Her life is no longer lavish with entertainment, beautiful clothes and surrounded by a loving family. Soldiers, physically and mentally wounded now fill her home. The smell of disinfectant replaces her mother's perfume and gone are the friends and acquaintances - instead nurses roam the hallways. 
Captain Jake Harding, a doctor training in psychiatry arrives at Twelve Pines. Audrey immediately finds herself attracted to the Captain, but he is remote towards her. Puzzled by his cold behaviour, Audrey tries to learn more about the handsome Captain. He reveals that he's lost a wife and baby in childbirth and refuses to ever remarry. 
However, despite this, Audrey believes she can change his mind and make him aware he doesn't have to spend his life alone.The ice around Jake's heart begins to melt. For years he has rejected the possibility of finding love again because of the pain it caused him before, but the beautiful Audrey shows him her love and she needs someone to love her in return. 
Could he honestly walk away from her, from the love that could be his? 


Available for Kindle and all other online forms of reading devices.
Amazon USA
Amazon UK

Historical Research: Estate Garden and workers

To continue my research on manor houses and their estates, specifically showcasing Normanby Hall where I spent the day a couple of weeks ago. (See previous blog post)

The Walled Garden of Normanby Hall, supplied the fruit, vegetables and flowers for the hall. It was built in 1817, the high wall protected the plants and the glass houses were built along the south wall to take advantage of the sun.

 Details on the Gardeners and their accommodation

The Greenhouse

The family would visit the greenhouse after church on Sundays and the Head Gardener would have something special each week to show them.

Splayed fruit trees. Even pineapples were grown in the greenhouses.

The next post will be on the house itself.

On the best seller's list!

Just had to share my news, Kitty McKenzie's Land, (it's a sequel to Kitty McKenzie) is #20 on the best seller's list on Amazon Australian historicals! Yay!

1866 
Kitty McKenzie's path has taken her from the slums of York to the inhospitable bush of colonial Australia. Yet, when she believes her dreams will never be attained, she is shown that sometimes life can be even better than what you wish for. 
Kitty McKenzie is gifted land in the far north of New South Wales. Life at the northern property is full of hardships as she learns how to become a successful landowner. 
However, Kitty’s strength of will and belief in herself gives her the courage most women of her time never realize they have. A decided thorn in her side is the arrogant and patronizing Miles Grayson, owner of the adjourning run. He wants her gone so he can have her land, but he wants her even more.

Available on 
Amazon USA
http://tinyurl.com/pfz7673
Amazon UK
http://tinyurl.com/q9bvjnq 

This book is the sequel to Kitty McKenzie, the start of Kitty's journey when her world is turned upside down by the death of her parents, and she is left penniless and must take care of her siblings in a world totally unknown to them.
Find out more about Kitty on Amazon USA  or Amazon UK

Thank you to those readers who take the time to leave reviews. They are so important to authors! Thank you!

Historical research: Horses, carriages, stables and automobiles.

On a recent trip to Normanby Hall, a local historical manor house a few weeks ago, I spent a lovely few hours in the sun strolling around the estate and gaining knowledge that will come in handy for writing my historical novels.
I thought I would write a post on each part of the house and grounds, and I'm starting with the stable block.



Horse stalls, made of brass and timber, and note the floor for easy cleaning. The stable block was built in 1818, and was a walled square with open arches. It was a hive of activity and the meeting place for hunts and shooting parties.


The daily duties of a Groom or Coachman

Morning:
 Feed and Muck out the horse.
Breakfast at the Hall.
Rub down and groom the horses.
Clean and put away any tack (riding and carriage equipment used).
Prepare the coach for the family.
Feed the horses.
Lunch at the Hall.




Afternoon and Evening:
Get horses ready for any family members wishing to ride.
Sweep out the stableyard.
Clean and put away any tack used.
Exercise any of the horses that have not been ridden that day.
If carriage not needed again, carry on with any odd jobs around stable.
Feed horses.
Supper in the servant's hall.
Rub down and give the horses water and hay for the night.
Maintenance work on the carriage - cleaning, brass polishing, and touching up paint.
Soak wheels of carriage to prevent wood from shrinking and spokes becoming loose.

Carriage Lanterns

                                                                                                                                    Carriage interior, with glass windows.   

 Early forms of transport.

The estate had its own horse drawn fire engine, with working water pump. The unit was used for the local village as well. It was officially retired in 1953.

The grooms and coachman lived in housing above the coach house but ate with the household in the Servant's Hall. The groom had to sometimes act as a footman if the family held a large dinner party.

Census records between 1841 - 1891 show that none of the grooms or coachmen were local Lincolnshire men. They came from neighbouring counties, and as far away as London. This shows that people were prepared to travel for work.

By the 1920s, only one side of the stable block was in use as a stable. With the introduction of the motor car in the early 1900s, the stable block was adapted to house up to six motor vehicles.

Normanby Hall.

North Lincolnshire

http://www.normanbyhall.co.uk/

Next post will be on the estate's garden.

Wartime Secrets by Mary Nichols

Wartime secrets

Almost everyone in my second world war novel, We’ll Meet Again, has a secret. First and foremost are Lady Prudence Strange and Sheila Phipps, two girls from very different backgrounds who become friends. Their secret is that they work at the Government Code and Cypher School, usually referred to as Bletchley Park. It was here that coded German radio messages were interpreted.

'The enemy uses a very clever machine called an enigma, to encypher their radio messages,’ Prue is told when she first arrives. ‘Our job is to find the key to unscrambling it all. We have a modified Type X machine made to work like an enigma, and other more complicated electro-mechanical machines called bombes, which do the job of checking, but they won't work unless we have a crib to start them off, things like call signs, transmission times, the length of the message and - more often than Herr Hitler would like if he knew about it - the silly mistakes of the German operators.  Without those there are 58 million million million possibilities.

'Our work is further complicated because there is no universal setting, every section of the German army, navy, air force and intelligence services, use different settings and they are changed every twenty-four hours. Then we have to begin all over again.'

'Gosh! What a task.  Can it be done?'

'Oh, yes we are doing it. In this hut we are dealing with German army and air force signals.  Other huts are working on different aspects of decrypting, but you don’t need to know about those. I have only told you this much so that you can understand how vital the work is and how important it is to be accurate and never breathe a word to anyone of what you do. It is painstaking work and needs accuracy, dedication and the utmost secrecy. The enemy must never know how we have obtained our information. In fact, most of our own side don't know either.  When we send on the information we to say it comes from a most reliable source.  Sometimes we make it look as though it is a report from a spy.'

This is the secret the girls have to keep. Others have their secrets, some in the national interests, some private and mysterious, all of which affect their relationships with family and boyfriends, who do not understand the reason for it.

 

We’ll Meet Again is out in paperback now. ISBN: 9780 7490 17040.

Website: http://www.marynichols.co.uk

Lizzie of Langley Street & great covers!

Asda is a busy, bustling store and always has an awesome display of books. So it was great to see ‘Lizzie of Langley Street’ on the shelves this month. Lizzie was my first heroine more than a decade ago and Simon & Schuster have brought her back with a new and fabulous cover. ‘Lizzie of Langley Street’ is the first book of my Lizzie Flowers series, with The Fight for Lizzie Flowers following in September. And both covers are super showing period detail that means so much to the reader! The winds of change blow fairly frequently through publishing but it was wonderful to note so many other hard-working historical writers on Asda’s shelves along with their breathtaking covers. Cross-fingers for us all for 2015!

1932 and the year in which 800m runner Tommy Hampson won one of the four golds for Britain in the Los Angeles Olympics and when, more famously, Aldous Huxley published his controversial novel, Brave New World. His was a repellant vision of the future, that at the time, seemed too far fetched for public consumption. Whoever could have imagined 83 years later, that Huxley’s fictionalized babies fertilised in laboratory bottles, would resemble today’s cloning? Or his sleep-learning to brainwash the young to be obedient citizens, the precursor to George Orwell's spinechiller, Nineteen Eighty Four. Or Huxley's conception of the Talkies to become Feelies, now upon us in our riveting 4D cinemas. And how chilling it is to compare his fictional drug Soma to those used today in our clubbing scene. During this wildly paradoxical decade of the 1930’s, I continue the tale of my Great War cast, the Flowers family, in THE FIGHT FOR LIZZIE FLOWERS, published September. The Flowers, like many others worldwide after the mass slaughter of millions, are trying to balance conscience with survival in a contemporary age. 83 years down the line from Huxley's vision of doom and gloom, we are still trying to improve the world. On the one hand our daily doses of social media and smart phones give us a power that even Huxley could never have conceived possible. On the other, underlying this sophistication and the digital masks we wear, the real problems still exist. How to make money. How to pay bills. How to work faster. How to hold family together. How to live and love and find our individual space. Like us all, Lizzie Flowers is trying - and trying hard to meet the challenge of everyday life. When she thinks she’s a breath away from success, her brave new world starts to tremble, like a distant earthquake. Who of us haven’t felt that same tremor, or waited breathlessly on the brink for the danger to pass? One last word, Lizzie’s journey may be hard, but it’s hopeful too. Huxley may not have agreed with me, but I’m ending this post with an old and rather cliched quote; to every cloud, there is a silver lining. Simple wisdom. But I like it better than doom and gloom any day, don’t you?

www.carolrivers.com

Pigeon Power by Janet Woods

Pigeon Power

During WW11, pigeon extraordinaire number 139 was based at Madang in New Guinea.

               Along with the rest of his attachment, number 139 served with the Australian Corps of Signals Pigeon Service. Their members were a hush-hush unit with superior navigation skills. They were able to fly at a moment’s notice and at a high altitude.

               Usually, the birds went about their business silently and mostly they remained undetected as they breasted the tough and muddy trails and high mountains of Papua New Guinea. Their main job was to send and receive messages and maps that reported the position and movement of enemy troops. Sometimes the Pigeon Postmen were detected and brought down by enemy fire - sometimes killed. There were those who were intercepted by the enemy and used for counter espionage by sending false messages back.

               One of the drawbacks of being a pigeon: Quite a few would have been posted as lost while serving their country – but alas, some of those would have been dished up as a tasty meal for hungry allied soldiers and enemy soldiers alike! Not many survived to pass on the tale of the cooking pot I would imagine.

               Several thousand homing pigeons served with the British in WW1. Far fewer were needed during WW11 due to the improvements made in radar, radio and telephone communications, approximately a quarter of the amount.

               Still, it was a lot of pigeon power, and it would be fair to say that, generally, the pigeon postmen were a brave and fearless unit that made a significant contribution to winning the war. Reports show that the birds flew with bullets lodged in their bodies and wings, trying to complete the tasks they were trained to do until they could go no further and fell out of the sky. 

               Pigeon 139’s unit was especially suited for marathon flights since Australia and its war zone had wide open spaces of sea and land that need to be covered quickly. They are truly power-packed birds. Pigeons can manage a mile a minute and sustain the pace for hours on end, apparently without any stress. Previous to his award winning dash, pigeon139 had clocked up over a thousand miles during 23 operational flights without fraying a feather.

Pigeon 139 joined the army in 1943. Bred by pigeon expert, Gordon Whittle, he was one of several birds recruited by George Adams from the Yarraville pigeon club and donated to the Australian fighting services, where he shared mobile quarters in an uncomfortable, but portable bamboo cage when he wasn’t as base or on the wing. This was probably carried on a man’s back. It was a far cry from the spacious loft accommodation with views over the rooftops that he’d left behind in Yarraville.

So how did pigeon number 139 win his medal? He was in a boat running much needed stores. The weather in the South Pacific was unpredictable on his tour of duty and there was a heavy tropical storm brewing. The boat’s crew was dismayed when in heavy seas the engine failed and their craft was washed ashore on Wadou beach in the Huon Gulf, leaving them in a vulnerable position.

               Pigeon 39 did his utmost to carry out his duty to the letter. Taking to the air he flew through the storm, travelling the 50 miles back to base in 40 minutes, the mayday message secured in the little canister attached to his leg. It advised the recipient that the boat was carrying ammunition, stores and much needed equipment. The engine had failed in heavy seas and they desperately needed help. The boat and its crew survived to deliver their cargo safely, and it was all due to one little pigeon.

               For his valiant rescue effort in 1943, Pigeon 139 was honoured with the

 * “Dickin” medal. This medal is the animal equivalent of the Victoria Cross. It was one of two awarded to Australian Pigeons.

I can find only limited information about the second awarded pigeon, Q879. He was bred in Elwood, Victoria by A.J. Flavell and donated for war duty. It appears he was attached to the US forces.

Q879’s brave feat of endurance took place in 1944 and his story was similar to that of 139, I imagine. The award was made for gallantry after the plucky little Aussie bird carried a message through heavy gunfire to fetch help for his beleaguered human compatriots. Surrounded by enemy fire they had no other means of communication to draw on at the time.

Both medals were awarded in 1947 and the heroic birds’ bodies returned to Australia, where they now have a special place of honour in the Australian War Memorial Museum in Canberra.

 *The Dickin Medal is a British award supported by The People’s Dispensary for sick animals. The citation advises that it is awarded to “animals that display conspicuous gallantry and devotion to duty while serving or associated with a branch of the armed Forces or Civil Defence Units.”

Janet Woods

Thank you.

On behalf of my fellow authors, I'd just like to say a big thank you to all our readers of this blog. We've received over two and half thousand page views last month alone. We obviously have a faithful band of followers and regular readers of this blog, and although not all our authors are regular contributors, we must be doing something right with what we do post.

So thank you for reading, and hopefully buying our stories. We appreciate it very much.

Inspiration for the book For All Our Tomorrows

Why did the Yanks come? The river valley and creeks of Fowey were well defended, as they provided a relatively secure place to hide munitions which the enemy would more likely expect to find in Plymouth, surely never thinking to look in this secret, wooded hideaway.

 The docks, from where the ammunition was shipped and the china clay dispatched, were guarded around the clock, with nobody allowed in without a pass. There were guards stationed in the Pillbox at Whitehouse, and Albert Quay had tank traps across the centre with barbed wire along the seaward edge, as did many of the beaches. In addition, at St. Catherine’s, closer to the mouth of the river, there was a gun point, and one on the opposite side at Polruan.

The navy came first with their minesweepers and Z boats, armed trawlers and motor gunboats, swiftly followed by the RAF, the Royal Army Ordnance Corps, plus many units doing jobs nobody quite understood or dared question. Situated as the town was, relatively close to the Channel Islands and to France, the movement of the French fishing fleet within these waters was common place, and who knew what they were up to half the time? Hush-hush boats, they called them.

All my interviewees remembered the American soldiers with great affection, how they were great at throwing a party for the children, and Santa Claus would arrive in an army truck loaded with sacks full of presents, one for each child. The local girls clamoured to get to know them, as do the two sisters in my story. For fun, they went dancing to the Armoury, up near the doctor’s surgery, or to the flicks, which was near Berrill’s yard. So many lovely memories were told to me.

Sara is asked if she would help organise the school children into collecting bagfuls of seaweed. This was a special commodity which the coastal towns of Cornwall could provide, being a variety known as gonothyraea, used in the making of penicillin. Janet, one of my interviewees remembers doing this as a girl – I think she quite enjoyed the excuse to miss school.

By December Sara has been co-opted onto the War Weapons Week committee where plans are in progress for a major fund-raising event the following year. They also had something called Salute the Soldier Week. In reality the town raised tens of thousands of pounds to buy boats and equipment although they had no real idea what operation was being carried out in Cornwall before their very eyes. They collected vast amounts of salvage, old magazines, letters, books and paper of every sort. Tin and other scrap metal, rags and bones. Jam jars, bottle tops and old iron bedsteads. Apparently the pavements were piled high with the stuff. The council paid 10 shillings a ton to the St John Ambulance for each ton of salvage they received. And all this from a population of no more than 2,000 living in 600 houses.

They put up a sign outside the Council offices as the salvage collected increased: ‘Hitler sank into a barrel.’ Even the children were involved, saving for Tommy Guns. What would our education officials think of that today?

So what was all in aid of? Operation Overlord. This was to be the master plan for an Allied invasion of Europe. Everyone knew that something was going on, but nobody dared speak of what they saw or knew. Edna, another of my interviewees, remembers being brought from her bed as a young girl, and told this was a moment in history that she must see.

Excerpt: 
‘Ships filled the River Fowey, so many that you could have walked from one shore to the other without getting your feet wet. A living mass of men and machines, seething with activity and noise: a throbbing, whining, whirring and rattling; a clattering of gas masks, canteens and weapons, and the endless chatter of hundreds, packed tightly into every corner, waiting for the order to leave. 

Hour upon hour they waited, cold and damp, sick to their stomachs with apprehension and fear, in full combat gear, weighed down with equipment. 

The loading had been done chiefly at night, scores of vehicles driving straight onto the LSTs; thousands of foot soldiers directed up the gangway and counted on board. 

It was June 4 and they left later that night but by the following day were driven back by the weather to spend yet another night in harbour. After all these months of preparation, all the careful planning and organising, the fate of Operation Overlord appeared to be at the mercy of the elements. There was a storm brewing and if the weather did not improve, there would be further delays. 

Twenty-four hours later the decision finally came. This time for real. On the night of June 5 they left the safe waters of Fowey, Falmouth and the Helford River, and all the other ports along the south coast for the last time and headed out to sea. Operation Overlord was underway at last.’ 

We all know the heavy toll of their victory in reality. What it brings to the lives of my characters I’ll leave you to discover for yourselves.

So many memories, of rationing and making do; colour prejudice, fights and love affairs; Fowey Home Guard who once sank the boat they were towing upstream; French Fishing boats and Secret Operations; the huge camp up at Windmill; the wounded being brought home on soiled and stinking mattresses and nursed back to health in lovely quiet Fowey; school children competing to collect the most salvage and being told off for straying under the coils of barbed wire.

There were tragedies, of course, much pain and suffering, fear and trauma, and no one will ever forget those brave men. But most of all we like to remember the good times, and the spirit that is essentially Fowey.

Buy it now or download a sample - Amazon

The Values of Newsletters, Google+, FB and Twitter

Why the title, "The Values of Newsletters, Google+, FB, Twitter"? Well, because the value is in the connection. Great ways for writers to get to know more about their readers. And even more so now after the publication of my recent first Newsletter - the next will be in summer when my new book Lizzie of Langley Street is published. Social media such as Google+, FB and Twitter, are perfect vehicles for learning more about your lives and what you enjoy reading. These little pearls of information help me to know where you're coming from and how I can improve in delivering my stories to you. Almost everyone has a computer in the house and I'm happy to say that my books are gathering great reviews. Giant online retailers like Amazon invite readers to discover the best Family Saga Fiction in the Best Sellers lists and find the top 100 most popular items. And I've accepted this offer many times and count myself lucky to have my sagas featured. One click for an instant ebook, or just a day or two’s wait for a paperback by post. How I love to receive a paperback in the post wrapped in its trendy parcel! Paperbacks are still hot and my readers tell me that just the smell of the pages transports them into another world. Audio versions of my Best Sellers are available for those who want a laid-back form of reading or enjoy browsing the libraries. So it's a big hurrah for books of all shapes and sizes in 2015 and just as big a cheer to the social media platforms supporting them! I'll be waiting to hear more from you in response to my next Newsletter, complete with a competition, pics, prizes and hot gossip. Meanwhile, if you haven't received my Newsletter already, go to this link, subscribe - and read all about it. With love and very much more to follow! CAROL'S NEWSLETTER

Great Recipes ...

During the wartime era we were slim! Housewives dreamed up recipes from the basics. Austerity recipes? I hear you gasp. Well, yes, but great recipes all the same. 40's recipes avoided the more harmful fat and preservatives we eat today. Here's a pic of a 1944 mutton and mash recipe, ingredients used from the weekly basic allowance for one. I've added celery as a 2015 treat! It would more likely have been carrots, cheaper and easier to source unless you grew your own. (Which everyone was urged to do!) Coupons were a way of life during the 40's and 50's. Rationing didn't completely end until the mid fifties. In those 15 years, we changed our shapes and our stomachs grew accustomed to smaller proportions. We appreciated the coveted treats of tea, coffee, chocolate and tinned fruit - to mention just a few. Enter the 60's and sex, drugs, and rock n' roll kicked off. With affluence, we started to pile on the pounds. (Or ounces as they were in those days.) In came the slimming fads and the dietary meals, the G5 slimming machines and the appetite suppressants. No wonder the previous generation were astonished! They'd only had a world war to contend with to maintain a slim figure! So, if you'd like to know more about all things 40's and 50's, why not try some of my novels as well as the nosh? I love writing about these eras. And I can heartily recommend the corned beef and lentil hotpot illustrated here as I cooked it only yesterday! The ingredients are included in my March newsletter. So if you are keen to know more, please click on this link carol rivers.com 

Normanby Hall my inspiration

After a three year break from writing new work, I've had thoughts to get back into it. More than thoughts really, as I've gone as far as opening an old, unfinished manuscript and reading it. Naturally, reading led to editing and fiddling with sentences. It's been so long since I started writing this story, I found that the characters jumped from the page, as if to say, hey here I am, you've forgotten me, but once I started reading, I knew I hadn't forgotten them -- life had just sidelined them and my writing ambitions for a while.

So now I thought to make a promise to myself. I'm going to try and finish the story. Write the novel. Not think ahead to the agonies of promoting it. Just write. I'm hoping this will help me to keep opening the manuscript and plugging away at it.

Also, to help this process I've been looking at historical research, since the book I'm writing is set in the Edwardian era, starting at 1912, and research is very important to me.

Harry, the male character, owns an estate, and much of the surrounding village and the local coal mine. For his home I found inspiration from Normanby Hall, a local grand estate near where I work.
Visiting places like this helps the imagination, fills the creative well, so to speak.

I've decided to share the some of my research. Obviously, Harry's home isn't Normanby Hall, but I can create something similar in my story to make it lifelike and more true to the times.

If you wish to learn more about Normanby Hall please visit this link.

To Take Her Pride is only £2.99!

I love all my novels, but one of my favourites is To Take Her Pride and it's currently on Amazon Kindle at £2.99!

Back blurb:
Aurora Pettigrew has it all, a loving family, a nice home, a comfortable life. She’s waiting for the right man to offer her marriage, and the man for her is Reid Sinclair, heir to the Sinclair fortune and the love of her life.
But, Reid’s mother, Julia, is against the match and her ruthlessness unearths a family secret that will tear Aurora’s world apart.
Unwilling to bring shame on her family and needing answers to the allegations brought to light by Reid’s mother, Aurora begins a long journey away from home. She leaves behind all that is familiar and safe to enter a world of mean streets and poor working class.
Living in the tenements of York, surrounded by people of a class she’d never mixed with before, Aurora struggles to come to terms with the way her life has changed. By chance, she reconnects with a man from her past and before he leaves with the army to war in South Africa, he offers her security through marriage.
Aurora knows she should be happy, but the memory of her love for Reid threatens her future.
When tragedy strikes, can Aurora find the strength to accept her life and forget the past?
You can view it here. To Take Her Pride

Life as a Governess in Russia

Imperial Royal Family - 1912

Hiring a British governess was quite fashionable among Russian aristocracy during the late nineteenth and early twentieth century. They loved English style and wished their sons to turn into little Lord Fauntleroys. Being able to speak English was considered to be a necessary social accomplishment. French too was fashionable among the upper classes so employing an English governess who could speak the language was ideal. A tutor might also be hired to provide instruction in Russian and history, and perhaps someone to teach the piano or violin, but the governess was in charge of everything else. Lessons would take place in the mornings with the afternoons devoted to teaching drawing, painting and sewing for the girls. Boys spent the afternoons taking part in field sports and fishing. Very much in the style of British aristocracy.

Books were hard to find. Those brought into the country were often assumed to be politically suspect and not allowed in, a situation which worsened once the revolution started. Education was seen by the Bolsheviks as a problem since it gave people ideas and tended to make them difficult to rule. Families who owned precious books learned to keep them hidden away, along with their jewels and personal treasures.

Children were expected to take afternoon tea and dinner with their parents, and the governess must accompany them. This requirement differed very much from the situation in England where a governess was held in something of a limbo between servants and master. Millie was thankful that she’d learned about aristocratic etiquette from her former employer. The children, however, were quite capable of embarrassing her.

Discipline was an important part of a governess’s job. Not always easy with children who had led sheltered, spoiled lives. Some governesses lost patience and made them stand on a table, or put sticky paper over their mouth. Millie did not approve of such punishment.

A governess was also expected to attend church with the family most Sundays. The congregation would stand throughout the long service, even the Tsar and Tsarina, and all servants of the household must wear their best clothes. A fine hat was essential, the more flamboyant the better.

She could also visit the British and American Chapel in St. Petersburg on her day off, which Millie did, once she had convinced the Countess that she was entitled to some free time of her own. After the service the governesses would get together to chat as this wasn’t simply a place of worship, but also a social club. It provided evening classes, a library, chess club, choir, amateur dramatics and jolly picnics. It was the place to make friends, and hear of new jobs on the chapel grape-vine. Very much a home from home for ex-pats. It was here that Millie met the love of her life, but did he feel the same way about her?

Set against the backdrop of revolutionary Russia, The Amber Keeper is a sweeping tale of jealousy and revenge, reconciliation and forgiveness. 

English Lake District, 1960s: A young Abbie Myers returns home after learning of her mother’s death. Estranged from her turbulent family for many years, Abbie is heartbroken to hear that they blame her for the tragedy. 

Determined to uncover her mother’s past, Abbie approaches her beloved grandmother, Millie, in search of answers. As the old woman recounts her own past, Abbie is transported back to the grandeur of the Russian Empire in 1911 with tales of her grandmother’s life as a governess and the revolution that exploded around her. 

As Abbie struggles to reconcile with her family, and to support herself and her child, she realizes that those long-ago events created aftershocks that threaten to upset the fragile peace she longs to create. 

 

Excerpt from The Amber Keeper 

And there they all were, a dozen or so young women gathered in the vestibule area, all welcoming me with smiles, and lots of hugs and kisses. As they quickly took my coat and settled me into a chair with a cup of tea and a bun, I instantly felt as if I was among friends. ‘No picnics at this time of year, sadly, but there are one or two concerts lined up. Even the odd bridge night. And the Christmas party, of course. Plenty of fun to look forward to,’ a blonde-haired young woman who introduced herself as Ivy, assured me.
     ‘Are you musical? If so then don’t bother to join the choir as it seems to be a requirement that members should not be able to sing,’ another warned.
      Everyone laughed, seeming to think this highly amusing.
     ‘I doubt I shall have much time to join anything. The Countess and the children keep me pretty busy.’
     ‘Oh, do make sure you get it written down what time off you are to be allowed.’
     ‘And when you are to be paid,’ another girl added. ‘Employers in financial difficulties can put off paying your wages, which isn’t right at all.
     ‘The Belinskys are definitely not in any financial difficulties,’ I hastened to assure them. ‘I’m sure everything will fine, once I’ve settled into a routine. But first I have to organise the refurbishment of the schoolroom.’ I went on to explain how the Countess wanted it to be in English style, so more advice followed on how best to achieve this in Russia. The most useful information came from Ruth.
     ‘I can certainly recommend a good carpenter to build the toy cupboard and everything you need. Stefan attends here regularly as his own mother came over last century to work as a governess herself for a Russian factory owner. She eventually married one of the employees. He’s bilingual and feels very much a part of the English community. He might well be around this afternoon. We’ll go and look for him after we’ve had tea.’
     I set down my cup and saucer. ‘Perhaps we should look now as I really should be getting back.’
     We found the young man in question and Ruth quickly explained my need for a good carpenter. He was tall and lean with well-muscled shoulders, red-brown hair and only the finest bristle of a moustache on his upper lip, rather than the heavy beard that was considered fashionable. I thought him rather good looking.
     ‘So you work for Count Belinsky? Interesting. He is said to have considerable influence with the Tsar.’
     ‘That’s not what I’ve heard.’ I remembered the conversation over afternoon tea when the Count had spoken of the bullying uncles.
     ‘Oh, so he tells you his secrets, does he?’
     ‘That’s not what I meant.’
     ‘Ah, so you were listening in to a conversation? That’s interesting too.’ My cheeks grew warm, and, noticing my embarrassment he laughed out loud. But I could hardly deny it to be true.
     ‘Stop teasing her, Stefan.’ Ruth chided him. ‘We all hear things we shouldn’t. It’s part of life in service, as you well know. And Count Belinsky is a very important minister.’
     ‘He’s certainly that,’ he agreed.
     ‘Although whether I’m prepared to work for a member of the rich aristocracy is open to question.’ The man was beginning to irritate me but, stiffening my resolve, I looked him straight in the eye. They were a fascinating greeny-blue, sparkling brightly as if he was finding this entire conversation hugely entertaining.
     ‘It’s the Countess who has ordered this work, but if you’re not interested then I’m sure I can find another carpenter, equally good.’
     ‘I very much doubt that. I’m the best there is.’
     ‘Oh, and do you have any references to that effect?’ I must have sounded rather haughty for he laughed all the more. ‘I can provide any number, should they be necessary.’
     ‘It is not I who will require it, but her ladyship may well demand assurance of your …’
     ‘… competence? Can it even be in doubt?’
     I almost wanted to slap his arrogant face, and was grateful when Ruth again intervened with a chuckle. ‘Do behave, Stefan. Millie is only doing her job as well as she can, otherwise she might lose it.’
     He sobered instantly, and giving a little bow of the head agreed to come round to the Belinsky’s flat the very next day to discuss what was required. I was glad to make my escape. But there was something about the way his eyes followed me as I left the building that set my heart beating just a little faster.

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Website: http://www.fredalightfoot.co.uk.
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Free Short Stories

My publisher has 5 short stories of mine, which are completely free.

Apart from A New Dawn (based on the Titanic, written under old pen name Anne Whitfield), the other four stories are all linked, starting with The Lieutenant's Lady, A Most Serious Gentleman, A Most Damaged Gentleman & An Adventurous Lady. All written during the Edwardian Era, 1914, then through to 1922.

The link to download the stories - http://www.knoxrobinsonpublishing.com/authors/anne-brear/

100 years on: Armistice and Remembrance

My husband and I sit on a quiet Sunday afternoon, collecting the images for a YouTube video available to watch on my website www.carolrivers.comhttp://www.carolrivers.com/together-for-christmas-youtube/

As we work, the trees in the garden sway softly in a mild November breeze. Somewhere church bells are ringing, so faintly we hardly notice them. Crisp, dry leaves scuttle along the garden path and swirl by the garage doors. Life is perfectly normal and yet as we study the faces of the Fallen, young boys and men, who a hundred years ago were losing their lives in the hell of war, the moments stop still. Fathers, husbands, sons; these men all had hope of a future before 1914. But the Great War machine ripped apart millions of families worldwide. So we chose the most poignant image of all to begin our trailer. The Christmas Truce of 1914. There were  just a few hours when troops on both sides put aside their weapons and played football. The conflict could have ended there if it had been up to those men. And millions of lives saved. But sadly history tells another story.

“They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old: Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning, we will remember them.”

To view our Centenary video visit http://www.carolrivers.com/2014/11/01/100-years-on-armistice-and-remembrance-day/

Thinking of Christmas Shopping?

October 23rd is almost here, the day when my 2014 novel, TOGETHER FOR CHRISTMAS is published in paperback form. The book's beautiful cover shows my central character, Flora Shine, dressed in her Great War nurse's uniform. Together with her two close friends depicted in the background, this clever artwork hints at the story inside. I'm so grateful to Simon & Schuster, my publisher, for taking such care to make the tale come alive for the reader from the moment the book reaches the shelves. But no sooner than TOGETHER FOR CHRISTMAS is done and dusted, my attention turns to next year's story, where the characters impatiently wait in the wings, eager to be written into life. September's amazing weather has allowed me to work in the garden on my laptop where intoxicating scents of bonfire and horse manure fill the air. I am at once transported back to the blackened chimneys and dilapidated 1930's terraced houses of London's East End, my writing turf . If you've read my first novel, Lizzie of Langley Street, set in 1919, you'll know costermonger Lizzie Flowers is as stubbornly determined to succeed in business as she is to protect her family from the hard men of the capital's underworld. In this sequel, my cast of characters have moved on from their horse-drawn carts and into the modern world of motorized vehicles. Lizzie plans to open a  cooperative for women, giving hope to those families who are burdened by poverty and destitution. But the criminal gangs soon get wind of her enterprise and demand a large slice of her investment. Lizzie knows she has some difficult choices to make. Does she pursue her dangerous path, refusing to give in to the racketeers and perhaps putting her family in danger? Or will she finally realise that survival is more important to her than success? Well, you'll have to join Lizzie next year to find out -  and I promise it will be worth your wait! Meanwhile, with Christmas shopping already underway, TOGETHER FOR CHRISTMAS might just prove the surprise stocking-filler you're searching for!

AMAZON 

New Release: Woodland Daughter

Woodland Daughter is set in Yorkshire in 1902, Queen Victoria has died and the new century has brought in many changes, including another Boer War in South Africa, which features a little in this story.

Blurb

A new century brings change to the carefully ordered world Eden Harris maintains, change that threatens all she holds dear. Despite years of devoted service to the Bradburys, the leading family of the community, Eden hides a secret that would affect them all. When an enemy returns, her world is shattered and her secret exposed. Torn and provoked, she strains to protect her family until a devastating accident leaves her alone and frightened. As the threat against her grows, Eden takes her precious daughters and flees from the only place she's called home, to live amongst masses in York. Her attempt to start anew is not so simple as the past haunts her, and the one man she thought lost to her so many years before, returns to claim what has always been his. Eden must gather her strength and look into her heart to accept what the future offers. Can she find the happiness she longs for?

Excerpt.

Joel rested his body against the ship’s rail, bracing himself for the slightest pain in his shoulder. With one arm in a sling tucked beneath his uniform jacket, he was careful to keep out of the way of people. The slightest touch could have him sweating in pain. The sea breeze lifted the hair on his forehead and neck, cooling him slightly. He needed a haircut, but he’d wait until he’d reach England before attending to that.

Below him on the deck, he watched the crowds scurrying about like ants. Soldiers, nurses, travellers, ship crew, dock workers all hurried back and forth. Behind him, from within the ship, came the noise of eager travellers settling in for their ocean journey.

He stared out into the distance, where Table Mountain dominated the view. He was sad to be leaving Africa. He’d come to think of it as home in a way. The sights and sounds, the heat and people were familiar now. Of course nothing competed against Bradbury Hall, but he’d been in Africa for seven years. It was a long time. The army had replaced his family. He’d learnt to rely on his fellow officers to ease the loneliness, and at first it had worked well. The adventure and excitement kept his mind from thinking of home. But lately, for the last year and a half, a yearning to return home had claimed him and not let go.  

The ships funnels belched smoke and the boarding siren wailed. Under his feet he felt the deck shudder as the enormous engines surged with power. Anticipation welled. He was going home. Despite the ache in his shoulder, he smiled. Time to start a new phase of his life. Time to reaffirm the links with his family, the estate, old friends, and… Eden.

He was conscious of the changes awaiting him back home. Much had happened in his absence. Not long after he joined the regiment, his mother died. That had been a blow, but on the whole he had managed to keep the family and home intact in his mind. When he’d left England, his father had been alive, Charlie well, Annabella cheeky, pretty, naive and Eden… Eden had been beautiful, a free spirit of the woodland where she lived.

What awaited him now?

The ship eased from its berth and glided out into the harbour. The breeze sharpened and Joel turned away from the rail. He glanced at a crippled solider standing near the door leading into one of the saloons. The soldier swayed on his crutches, one leg gone in battle.

“Major Bradbury?”

Joel checked his step and hurried over to steady the man with his good arm.

“Thanks, Sir.” The solider smiled.

“Stevens, isn’t it?” Joel mused, helping the man to lean against a wall and out of the way of other passengers.

“Stevenson, Sir, Corporal Dave Stevenson.” He leaned against the support and breathed out slowly. “I still haven’t got the hang of these things yet.” He held up the crutches.  

Joel grinned. “I think it might be an art that takes practice, Corporal.”

Dave took of his hat and wiped the seat off from his forehead, his fair hair stuck to his head. “Do you mind, Sir, if I sit down? This leg isn’t used to holding all the weight and gets a bit shaky, like.”

“Of course, man, sit.” Joel again aided Stevenson in lowering to the deck. There were no chairs about and after a moment’s hesitation, Joel join him and gently eased his backside down, careful not to jar his shoulder. “We should have gone inside, it would be more comfortable.”

“Sorry, Sir, but I’m no sailor. Once inside my stomach has a mind of its own. I’m better out here.”

“Well, I’ll keep you company for a while until dinner is announced. My stomach is the opposite of yours. Once on the ocean I’m always ravenous. I do nothing but eat.”

“You might struggle with a knife and fork, using only one hand.”

Joel chuckled. “Yes, true. So far I’ve had only soup and sandwiches.”

Stevenson laid his crutches beside his good leg and gazed out through the iron rail. “So, we’re going back home to England. I’ve been away three years. I should be happy to be going back, but I’m not as excited as I should be, I don’t think.”

“It affects men in different ways.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, Sir, how do you feel? Was your clipped wing the reason for you to go home?”

“Yes. My shoulder stopped a bullet.” He glanced down at his padded and bandaged left shoulder. “Normally they’d take it out and I’d be back in the mix of things, but this Boer bullet went in at an angle and wedge itself deep. The surgeon managed to get it out, but he wasn’t sure what damaged had been done. Only once the swelling has gone down and the soreness gone, will I know what strength remains in the arm.”

“Does your family know about it yet?”

“No, not yet. It didn’t seem worth writing when I was going home anyway. What about your family?”

“Oh aye, they know. I’ve been in hospital a while, long enough for letters to go back and forth.” Stevenson bent up his leg and rested his elbow on it. “They say they don’t care if I come home missing a leg, as long as I’m coming home to them. I’m an only child see, and I used to help my father run our grocers shop.”

“Will you do that again?”

“I guess so. Funny how things change, isn’t it. I hated working in that shop as a lad. All my friends would be out playing football or cricket and I’d be stuck behind a counter. The first opportunity I got to leave I took, and that was the army.” He tapped the toe of his boot on the deck. “Now, I can’t wait to get back there. I miss me mam and dad, and me gran, who lives with us. My mam makes the best jam roly-poly you’ve ever tasted. Dad brews his own beer in the back shed and Gran used to be my partner in cards.”

“There’s nothing better in this world than returning home to a family that loves you.” A picture came into Joel’s mind of the estate in autumn, the tall graceful trees, their leaves turning gold and amber, the squirrels scurrying around in the wood, collecting the last of their booty, harvest time and bringing in the hay, the smell of open fires as the gardeners raked up and burnt the fallen leaves.

He leaned his head back and smiled in remembrance. “I long to go riding with my brother. We used to ride for miles. Sometimes we’d stop at a pub and have an ale and a hot pie smothered in gravy.”

“Me mam has written of a neighbour’s daughter, Vera, who she hopes I’ll one day marry. I’m not so sure what Vera has to say about it though. We got along all right before I went away, but…well, I’m not as I once was.”

“If this Vera is a decent woman, she’ll not mind.”

“Maybe.” Stevenson lifted his face to the breeze. “Will you have a girl waiting for you at home, Sir?”

Joel’s stomach clenched. “Perhaps. I’m ready for a family. However, I’ve been away longer than you, and I’m not sure what to expect when I arrive home.”

“None of us are, Sir, none of us are.”   

A group of children ran by, the shoes thundering on the timber deck. One cheeky boy paused and waved to Joel and Stevenson before scampering off again. A harassed nanny tried to catch up as she wheeled a pram after them. Joel watched until they turned a corner at the bow of the ship and were out of sight. His heart constricted, thinking of the boy’s lively face. A son. He wanted a son so badly it hurt. A boy to teach all the things his father taught him, to hunt, to fish, to ride, to play sports. He thought of Charlie. Two sons perhaps. Two fine boys to grow up together like he and Charlie did.

Emotion clogged his throat and he coughed to clear it.  He’d been away from home too long…

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I hope you enjoy it.