Author News Archives - Page 10 of 14 - Lynn Bryant’s Writing with Labradors

17th January 201822nd January 2018

Copenhagen 1807 – the Navy meets the Army, an Excerpt from An Unwilling Alliance

In Copenhagen, 1807 the British army under Lord Cathcart and the Royal Navy under Admiral Gambier cooperated to seize the Danish fleet to stop it falling into the hands of the French. Denmark was a neutral country and the bombardment of Copenhagen, although it achieved its aim, was not universally popular.

The army reserve was commanded by Sir Arthur Wellesley, keen to return to the field from his position as Chief Secretary in Ireland, and in An Unwilling Alliance a meeting of the various commanders brings together Captain Hugh Kelly, the Manx commander of the Iris and a young army major on the rise, serving under Sir Arthur Wellesley, Major Paul van Daan…

Hugh turned at a sudden noise from the stable yard. The commanders had left their horses in charge of a groom and the man had roped them to a long wooden bar outside the stables. There was no sign of him now but one of the horses, a solid piebald with knots in his mane and a thick neck, had broken loose from the rail and was backing up across the yard. His freedom was making the other horses restive and they were pulling on their tethers. Hugh swore softly under his breath and made his way outside.

Another man was ahead of him, one of the escort who had arrived with the army commanders. He was tall and fair, an officer in a red coat, his back to Hugh as he approached the piebald, placing himself between the horse and the way out of the yard. Hugh went to the bar where the other horses were tied and inspected the ropes. As he had suspected, every one of them was poorly tied, ready to be loosened with a determined tug. Hugh sighed and released the first of them, retying it.

The officer spoke, his voice a clear baritone which was hard to place. The accent spoke of privilege and wealth and the purchase of a commission but the phrasing and words were slightly unusual, as if this man had lived a varied life in many places.

“Stand still, you cross-eyed Danish bastard, I’m not chasing you halfway across the city because a groom can’t tie a knot. Come here.”

He caught the loose rein and then moved in confidently as the horse reared up in fright, putting a soothing hand on the ungroomed neck and running it down the horse’s shoulder. “All right lad, I know you’re scared. No need to be. Come on, let’s get you back where you should be and fed and watered. And by the look of you a brush wouldn’t go amiss. Come on.”

He was holding his body against the horse, steadying him, and the animal quietened immediately, soothed by the confidence in both voice and body. Hugh watched in reluctant admiration as the man turned, leading the horse back into the yard. He was wearing the insignia of a major and looked several years younger than Hugh with fair hair cut shorter than was fashionable, especially in the army or navy, and a pair of surprising blue eyes. The eyes rested on Hugh for a moment, then the major led the horse back to its place at the rail and began to tie him up. Hugh watched him in surprise for a moment, recognising the knot and then looked up into the major’s face.

“I doubt he’ll break away from that,” he said in matter-of-fact tones, moving on to re-tie the next horse.

The major did the same. “How to tie a knot that stays tied was one of the only two useful things the bloody navy taught me,” he responded, pleasantly.

“What was the other?” Hugh asked.

“How to kill people. I got very good at that.” The major tied the last knot and surveyed Hugh’s handiwork to ensure that it was properly done with an arrogance which both irritated and amused Hugh. Then the man looked up and saluted. “Major Paul van Daan, Captain, 110^th first battalion. I’m here with Sir Arthur Wellesley.”

“Sir Arthur Wellesley might have been walking back to his lodgings if you’d not been as quick,” Hugh said, returning the salute. “You’d think a groom would be better at tying up horses, wouldn’t you?”

“A Danish groom, this week? What do you think, Captain?”

Hugh grinned. “I think a pack of British commanders having to walk through town because their hired horses have buggered off might be a small victory but very satisfying,” he said. “Captain Hugh Kelly of the Iris, Major. How did you end up in the army, then? Navy didn’t suit?”

“I was fifteen and I didn’t volunteer, Captain. Put me off a bit.”

Hugh shot him a startled glance. “Christ, you don’t sound like a man who ought to have been pressed.”

“They don’t always play by the rules. But it was definitely educational.”

“How long were you in?”

“Two years. Made petty officer, fought in a few skirmishes and at the Nile.”

Hugh felt his respect grow. “I was there myself,” he said. “Let me buy you a drink. They’ll be a while, I suspect. You on Wellesley’s staff?”

The major grinned. “Not officially, although he bloody thinks I am. Let me have a word with that groom and I’ll be with you.”

Hugh watched as he went to the stable door and yelled. The man emerged at a run and stood before Van Daan, his eyes shifting to the neatly tied horses in some surprise. He looked back at the major, his expression a combination of guilt and defiance.

Van Daan reached out, took him by one ear, and led him to the horses as if he had been a misbehaving schoolboy. He indicated the newly tied knots, spoke briefly and then clipped the groom around the head, not very hard. Hugh saw him point to the feed troughs and water pump, using gestures to make up for the language difficulties. He then pointed to the piebald’s tangled mane and muddy coat and gestured again. The groom was nodding, his sulky expression lightening a little.

Having given his orders, something with which Hugh observed sardonically that Paul van Daan seemed very comfortable, the young major reached into his coat pocket and took out two coins which he held up. The groom’s eyes fixed on them and Paul van Daan pointed to the horses and spoke again. The man nodded. The major handed him one coin and put the other back into his pocket. Then he smiled, the first real smile Hugh had seen him give, and it transformed his face. The groom smiled back as though he could not help it, and the major put his hand on the man’s shoulder, laughed, and then ruffled the dirty hair with surprising informality as if he were a younger brother or cousin. He released the groom and went to the ugly piebald horse, stroking his neck. The animal nuzzled his shoulder and Van Daan smiled, reached into his pocket and took out a treat. He stroked the horse as he fed it and Hugh watched him and wondered if the small drama he had just watched played out was regularly enacted with Van Daan’s men. If it was, he suspected the man was an asset to the army.

“Major van Daan!”

The voice was cold, clipped, it’s tone biting, coming from an upstairs window of the inn, the room where the commanders were dining. Van Daan turned and looked up.

“Is there a reason why you are in the stable yard socialising with the grooms when the man I have sent to search for you is combing this establishment looking for you? Or are you under the impression that I asked you to accompany me in order to give you a day off?”

Major Paul van Daan saluted with a grin to the upstairs windows where the dark head of Sir Arthur Wellesley protruded. “Sorry, sir, didn’t think you’d need me for a bit.”

“It appears that the secretary provided speaks very little English and I would prefer to have this meeting fully documented in a language that the cabinet in London understands. Sir Home Popham appears to be of the opinion that no minutes are needed at all which makes me all the more determined to provide them. Try to write legibly for once.”

“On my way, sir,” Van Daan said. Wellesley withdrew his head and the major gave one more nut to the piebald, called a word to the groom who was filling water buckets with considerable speed and joined Hugh at the door. “I’m sorry, Captain, we’ll need to postpone that drink, it appears I am now a secretary as well as a battalion commander. Thanks for your help with the horses.”

“You’re welcome,” Hugh said. “You in trouble, Major?”

“Wellesley? Jesus, no, that’s him on a good day,” Van Daan said, laughing. “I’d better go before he causes serious offence. Good afternoon.”

An Unwilling Alliance is due for publication in April 2018. An Unconventional Officer, telling the story of Paul van Daan and the 110th infantry is available on Amazon.

15th January 2018

The National Maritime Museum and Greenwich

Working on a book based around a navy captain during the Napoleonic Wars, a visit to the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich seemed like an ideal way to start this visit to London. I can remember going to all the Greenwich museums growing up, but it has been a very long time.

The National Maritime Museum is the leading museum of its kind in the UK and probably one of the best in the world. It is part of a complex known as the Maritime Greenwich World Heritage Site and includes the Royal Observatory and 17th-century Queen’s House. In 2012 the complex was given the overall name of Royal Museums Greenwich along with the famous Cutty Sark which stands nearby.

Greenwich has always had associations with the sea and the navy has roots on the waterfront while Charles II founded the Royal Observatory in 1675 for “finding the longitude of places”. The home of Greenwich Mean Time and the Prime Meridian since 1884, Greenwich has long been a centre for astronomical study, while navigators across the world have set their clocks according to its time of day. Something about this knowledge has always given me a slight sense of awe when visiting this part of Greenwich.

The National Maritime Museum has a huge collection on Britain’s seafaring history including art, maps and charts, manuscripts, models and plans, navigational instruments and personal items belonging to important historical figures such as Nelson and Captain James Cook.

Flamsteed House, the original part of the Royal Observatory, was designed by Sir Christopher Wren and Robert Hooke and was the first purpose-built scientific institution in Britain. In 1953, the Old Royal Observatory became part of the Museum.

The 17th-century Queen’s House, an early classical building designed by Inigo Jones, is the keystone of the historic “park and palace” landscape of maritime Greenwich. The Queen’s House was refurbished in 2001 to become the heart of displays of art from the Museum’s collection.

In May 2007 a major capital project, “Time and Space”, opened up the entire Royal Observatory site for the benefit of visitors. The £16 million transformation features three new modern astronomy galleries, four new time galleries, facilities for collections conservation and research, a learning centre and the 120-seat Peter Harrison Planetarium designed to introduce the world beyond the night sky.

The National Maritime Museum has galleries exploring various aspects of Britain’s maritime history. A gallery dedicated to Nelson and the Navy tells the story of Admiral Nelson, his battles, his life and his death at Trafalgar, and sets the battle in the context of the wars against the French in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century. It describes the ships, the sailors and how they lived and the way the navy was perceived at home.

Figureheads, National Maritime Museum The gallery concerned with traders explores the relationship between Britain and the wider world, particularly the powerful East India Company which spread its influence until it controlled huge areas of territory in India. I found this fascinating, partly because I studied this at University and partly because I spent time researching the Company in India when I was writing about Assaye in An Unconventional Officer.

Another gallery covered the difficult subject of the transatlantic slave trade, both up to abolition and beyond. I thought this topic was well-handled, looking at both slavers and abolitionists as well as the slaves who fought back against their masters in places like Haiti.

Naval Heroes, National Maritime Museum Other galleries explored the maritime history of London, the first world war and in Voyagers, the personal significance of Britain’s maritime story. I particularly liked the exploration of Turner’s famous painting of Trafalgar which analysed the painting and it’s meaning in the context of national pride and naval power following the battle.

The museum is huge and there is so much to see and do that it is easy to miss things. Work is in progress on a new gallery and there are various temporary exhibitions, a children’s play area and the fabulous Great Map.

If the museum has a fault, it is that the various galleries are sometimes hard to follow in the correct order. Especially as it is sometimes possible to enter a gallery from either end it is easy to find yourself going around in the wrong order and there is no numbering of exhibits to help with this. With a fairly good background in history it didn’t really bother me that much, but I can imagine it would irritate some people.

I loved the museum along with the Royal Observatory, which completed the story of some of the scientific aspects of navigation and the Cutty Sark, standing 400m outside. I didn’t manage the Queen’s House this time around, although I’d like to go back to it.

The Cutty Sark is one of my clearest childhood memories. It was a Sunday afternoon treat, even just going to see it. Going aboard was even better. The ship was one of the fastest tea clippers in the world and there was something romantic for me as a small girl, standing on the deck gazing up at the tall masts and trying to imagine billowing sails and a fresh breeze at sea. I was devastated in 2007 when the ship was badly damaged by fire and have followed the progress of the restoration.

Greenwich Foot Tunnel We used to take the bus to the Isle of Dogs back in the sixties and seventies and then walk through the foot tunnel to Greenwich. The foot tunnel is a piece of history in itself, a masterpiece of late Victorian engineering which opened in 1902 and was built to replace an expensive and unreliable ferry service which took workers living south of the river to work in the docks and shipyards. The entrances at each end are beneath glazed domes and I can remember the joy of running through the tunnel calling out and hearing my voice echo, bouncing off the walls eerily. We used to count the steps at each end. There were lifts but for some reason we seldom used them.

The Cutty Sark A visit to Greenwich is both a research aide for the new book and a trip down memory lane. The strong sense of standing with both feet in maritime history is just what I need as I embark on the second half of my book which places me aboard a Royal navy ship bound for Copenhagen in 1807 under Admiral Gambier. But there is also a sense of standing with at least one foot in my own past, a child growing up in the East End with parents who took us to some historic site almost every weekend. There is a strong link between that excited little girl standing on the deck of an old ship and trying to imagine how it felt to sail in her and the woman writing a novel of those who did. I owe that as a debt to the parents who gave me that sense of history and why it matters to all of us.

The new book, An Unwilling Alliance, is due for publication in April 2018.

8th January 2018

South Barrule, Isle of Man – an excerpt from An Unwilling Alliance

South Barrule, Isle of Man, is the setting for one of the early scenes in An Unwilling Alliance which is due out in April 2018. It is one of the most prominent of the southern hills and its name derives from Wardfell, the hill of the ward or watch where men were stationed to watch for invading ships. In Manx folklore it is said to be the stronghold of the sea-god, Manannan Beg Mac y Lir. It is the site of an ancient hill-fort which was excavated in the 1960s.

View from South Barrule

In the following excerpt, Captain Hugh Kelly has persuaded Miss Roseen Crellin to climb to the top of the hill with him. The couple have only recently met, and Roseen’s father is keen to make a match between them. Hugh is looking for a wife and is definitely interested but Roseen is resisting the idea of being pushed into any marriage with a man she hardly knows, especially since she is pining for a young Englishman who has recently left the island. At the same time, she actually quite likes Hugh, or would do if he would stop trying to flirt with her…

There was a well marked path and although the going was steep, it was not a particularly difficult climb. Hugh kept a cautious eye on his companion but after ten minutes he relaxed. Miss Roseen Crellin, for all her dainty appearance, was as strong as a young pony and strode up the slope without struggling at all, hampered a little by her skirts. The hem was quickly muddied in some of the boggier areas but it did not seem to bother her. Hugh offered a hand on some of the rockier sections of the path and she accepted it although he suspected she did not really need it.

The breeze picked up as they climbed higher. Around them the slopes were covered with heather, the plants massing together to form a thick, bushy carpet, almost a foot tall in places, tough and strong and made to withstand the dry winds across the hills. Already it was beginning to bloom in swathes of mauve and purple and bright pink. It was springy under their feet and there was a familiarity to the feeling which made Hugh smile, remembering hours of scrambling over these hills with Isaac and other friends of his childhood.
A scrabbling made him turn and his companion stopped and put her hand on his arm to still him. They watched as half a dozen rabbits, disturbed by the unexpected human presence, scrambled inelegantly for their burrows, their short tails vanishing below ground in a flurry of panic. Above, silhouetted against blue sky and scudding white clouds, birds soared and dipped. The air was fresh and clean and Hugh felt an unexpected rush of sheer happiness at being here on these hills, breathing this air and hearing the sounds of home around him.
“Do you miss it – when you’re at sea?”
Hugh turned with the startled sense that she had read his mind. “Yes. Oh God, yes. All the time. I love being at sea – been there most of my adult life. A ship is home to me in ways you can’t imagine. But still I miss this. The smell of earth instead of salt and the solid ground beneath my feet. The sense of something real that I can touch and own. A ship can’t give you that. Even the wind smells different here. This is home. This is Mann. Have you travelled off island much?”
“Twice only. My father’s youngest sister married a Manchester cotton spinner and lives just outside the town. I didn’t like it much.”
Hugh smiled at her expression. “Not even the shops and the theatres?”
“I enjoyed the opera,” Roseen said, after a moment’s consideration. “Shops are shops. Once you have what you need, I’d rather go home.”
Hugh laughed aloud. “You’re an unusual girl, Miss Crellin. Here, give me your hand. Almost there.”
At the top they stood for a moment, catching their breath, drinking in the beauty of the landscape which stretched out before them. The wind buffeted them, cooler up here than the gentle breeze at the foot of the hill, and Hugh studied his companion. The exercise had brought colour to her face and the wind had tugged her hair loose from it’s confining pins so that part of it blew free. She did not seem conscious of it at all. Her eyes were on the silver surface of the sea, over beyond Derbyhaven. The odd T shape of the Langness Peninsula jutted out into the sea and a ship bobbed at anchor in the bay. Further out they could see, once again, a flotilla of small boats; the fishing fleet busy about its work.
“It’s so beautiful,” Roseen breathed. “Thank you for bringing me up here, Captain. I’d no idea you could see so far.”
“We’ve picked the right day, it’s very clear. I’ve been up here and barely been able to see to the bottom of the hill for the mist,” Hugh said.
“Have you? Why make the climb?”
“Playing truant from school. Nobody was going to come searching for me up here, and if you duck down behind the old rampart over there it’s very sheltered, you can hardly feel the wind.”
“I’m glad you said that, I wasn’t looking forward to picnicking in a gale.”
Hugh grinned. She was shading her eyes against the bright sunlight, looking around her. Over to the north-west a huddle of white houses and red roofs marked the location of Peel, although it was not possible to make out the distinctive shape of the castle from here. On the opposite side of the island was the larger town of Douglas, growing fast with it’s new shops and some elegant houses built by men making themselves wealthy in trade. To the south-east lay Castletown, just beyond the peninsula, and here he could see the soft grey stone of the castle very clearly.

4th January 2018

The Storming of Ciudad Rodrigo – an excerpt from A Redoubtable Citadel

The storming of Ciudad Rodrigo is the opening scene of book 4 of the Peninsular War Saga, A Redoubtable Citadel and took place in January 1812.

The light division had been instructed to storm the lesser breach, while Picton’s third division had been given the greater breach on the northwest. Paul walked up to meet his commander and found the two commanders of the other brigades already with him. Both men were relatively new in post although both had commanded brigades before. Colonel George Drummond had died of fever the previous September and Colonel Sydney Beckwith had been invalided home in August which placed Paul in the strange position of being the longest serving of the three brigade commanders albeit the youngest. It had cemented his position in the division. He was known to be close to both Wellington and Craufurd, and while Beckwith and Drummond had tended to look upon him as something of a young upstart at times, he found relations with Vandeleur and Barnard, who had not been present when he was surprisingly raised to command a brigade at the age of thirty, far easier.
Robert Craufurd glared at Paul as he saluted. “There you are! What the devil was that racket about earlier, I thought you were going over to the French!”
“Thought about it,” Paul said. “But I remembered in time how badly they tend to overdo the garlic in their cooking. I was retrieving one of my ensigns from an ill-judged attempt to join one of the forlorn hopes.”
Craufurd gave a crack of laughter. “He looking for early promotion, Paul?”
“He was looking to avoid gambling debts to some Highland major who’s been fleecing him at the headquarters mess,” Paul said grimly. “I don’t know who, but I’ll find out.”
“It’ll be Brodie,” Barnard said. “He’s known for it. Cards and swordplay. He’s a devil with a blade and he keeps up his lifestyle by challenging men to a friendly bout and betting on it. A couple of very promising young officers have had to sell out to meet their obligations, I’ve heard.”
Both Craufurd and Paul were staring at him. “Does Wellington know?” Craufurd demanded.
“He can’t, or Brodie would be up to his neck in it,” Paul said briefly. “Don’t worry, sir, I’ll deal with him after this mess is over. Trust me it’ll be the last time he tries to make money out of one of my junior officers. And if he kicks off about it, he can try challenging me to a friendly bout and having a bet on it.”
Craufurd gave a bark of laughter and the other two men smiled politely. “I admire your confidence, Colonel,” General Vandeleur said. “I believe he’s very good.”
“I’ll be surprised if he’s good enough to beat this arrogant young bastard,” Craufurd said dispassionately. “I’ve seen Colonel van Daan fight and he’s almost as good as he thinks he is. We’ll talk about it when this is over, Paul. I don’t mind you kicking his arse but I don’t want Lord Wellington on my back over it. For now, we’re going in over the lesser breach. Call them in around the San Francisco convent, I’d like a word with them before we go in. Vandeleur, your lads will lead us over, Barnard to follow. Colonel van Daan will bring his lads up behind to correct all of our mistakes.”
Barnard shot Paul a startled glance and seemed relieved to see him laughing. Neither of the other commanders had completely got to grips with Craufurd’s acerbic tongue and were not always sure when he was being genuinely offensive or when he was joking.
“It’s what I do best, sir,” Paul said. “You got any orders you particularly want me to ignore today or shall we just see how it goes?”
“You disobey an order of mine today, Colonel and I will shoot you in the head!” Craufurd said explosively.
“No you won’t, sir, you’re too fond of my wife,” Paul said with a grin. “I’ll bring them up. You going to make a stirring speech? I might make notes.”
“You should, Colonel,” Craufurd said shortly. “Then you can make another one telling them the best wine shops to loot when they get in there!”
Paul laughed aloud, aware of the shocked expressions of the other two men. “I would, sir, but I don’t know them, not been to Ciudad Rodrigo before.”
“Well for those in doubt, follow the 110th, they’ll find them! Get going!”
Paul was amused as he stood at the head of his brigade, listening to Craufurd’s speech. He was aware that not all the men would hear it all but the words would be passed among them and probably embellished. Craufurd was disliked by many of his officers but adored by his men despite his reputation as a strict disciplinarian, and his speech was unashamedly aimed at them, sentimental at times but guaranteed to touch their hearts.
“Soldiers,” he said finally, his voice carrying through the crisp cold evening air. “The eyes of your country are upon you. Be steady. Be cool. Be firm in the assault. The town must be yours this night. Once masters of the wall let your first duty be to clear the ramparts and in doing this, keep together!”
They cheered him with riotous enthusiasm and he smiled down at them, black browed and stocky, a man at home in his command and knowing himself loved. “Now lads, for the breach!”
They stirred, checking their arms, ready to move, and Paul stepped forward and stilled his brigade with a yell which surpassed anything his commanding officer had managed.
“Third brigade halt!”
The men froze and snapped to attention. Paul stepped up onto a chunk of broken masonry and looked down over them.
“Wine, ale, liquor – I don’t give a damn, providing you bring some back for me and I’m picky so make it good!” he said, and there was a gust of laughter through the brigade. “But if I catch any one of you looting houses or hurting the locals and I swear to God you’ll wish you’d died in that breach. As for the women – every single one of you bastards knows my views on rape and you touch a lassie against her will I will personally cut off your balls and nail your prick to the doorpost! You have been warned. Officers and NCOs make sure everybody heard that message, will you?”
“That’s all right, sir,” RSM Carter said pleasantly. “I’m fairly sure they heard that message in London at Horse Guards.”

(From A Redoubtable Citadel by Lynn Bryant)

1st January 2018

Welcome to 2018 at Writing with Labradors

Welcome to 2018 at Writing with Labradors. It’s New Year’s Day on the Isle of Man, and it’s raining, windy and freezing cold. In some ways this is a relief because if it had been a nice day I would have felt obliged to go out for a walk and I don’t feel like it.

It’s been a very different and very busy Christmas this year, with Richard’s family with us for the whole of the holidays, and then entertaining friends to dinner last night. I’ve had no time to write, research or do anything else and in some ways that’s been quite hard.

I think it has probably done me good, however. Time away from the current book has given me the chance to think through what I’d like to do with it and I feel a lot clearer about where it is going. I’m very happy with the few chapters I’ve written and research is going well so I’m looking forward to getting on with it. I think my head may have needed the break.

It’s made me think a bit more about how I schedule my writing time going forward. I’m very privileged that I don’t have to hold down a full time job at the same time as writing, but I do have a very busy life with a family, my dogs, a big house to maintain and accounts and admin to be done for Richard’s business. I’m aware that it’s very easy to let things slide when I’m in the middle of a book, but I realise that I need to be better organised both with the various tasks through the day and with time off to relax.

This year I’ve edited and published seven existing novels, with all the associated marketing and publicity, I’ve written an eighth book from scratch and published it and I’ve started a ninth. I’ve handed my Irish dance school over to my two lovely teachers to run, I’ve supported son and daughter through GCSEs and AS levels, my old fella Toby through an operation at the age of 13 and I’ve had a major foot operation myself. I’ve toured the battlefields of Spain and Portugal where some of my books are set and I went to Berlin, Killarney, London, Hertfordshire, Nottingham, Manchester and Liverpool. I lost a very dear old family friend and went to his funeral. And I’ve gained some amazing new friends, some of whom I’ve not even met yet, although I’m hoping to this year. I’ve set up a website and an author page, joined Twitter and Instagram and I genuinely feel I can now call myself an author, something I had doubts about in one of my first posts on this website.

It has been an amazing year and I’m so grateful for all the help and support I’ve received. I’ve not won any awards, although I’ve had one or two reviews which have felt like getting an Oscar. Still, I’d like to do the thank you speech, because it’s the end of my first year as a published author and I owe so many people thanks for that.

I’m starting with the man I married, who has been absolutely incredible throughout this. He set up my website and taught me how to use it, and has always been there to answer any questions about technology. He spent hours designing the new covers for the Peninsular War Saga and he also took the photographs which are gorgeous. He drove me through Spain and Portugal, scrambled over battlefields and listened to me endlessly lecturing with more patience than I could have imagined. He has celebrated my good reviews and sympathised over the bad ones. He’s been completely amazing this year – thank you, Richard. You are the best.

My son is studying for A levels at home and shares the study with me. That’s not always easy, as during research I tend to spread out from my desk into the surrounding area, onto his table and onto the floor. He has become expert at negotiating his way through piles of history books. He is also a brilliant cook and will unfailingly provide dinner at the point when it becomes obvious I am too far gone in the nineteenth century to have remembered that we need to eat. Thanks, Jon.

My daughter is my fellow historian and brings me joy every day. She mocks my devotion to Lord Wellington ruthlessly, puts up with my stories, lets me whinge to her and makes me laugh all the time. She drags me away from my desk to go for hot chocolate and to watch the sun go down, watches cheesy TV with me, helps me put up the Christmas decorations and corrects my fashion sense. Thank you, bambino.

There are so many other people I should thank. Heather, for always being there and for offering to proof-read; Sheri McGathy for my great book covers; Suzy and Sarah for their support and encouragement.

Then there are the many, many people online who have helped me with research queries, answered beginners questions about publishing and shared my sense of the ridiculous more than I could have believed possible. There are a few of you out there but I’m singling out Jacqueline Reiter, Kristine Hughes Patrone and Catherine Curzon in particular. I’m hoping to meet you all in person in 2018 and to share many more hours of Wellington and Chatham on Twitter, Archduke Charles dressed as a penguin and the mysterious purpose of Lady Greville’s dodgy hat. A special mention also goes to M. J. Logue who writes the brilliant Uncivil War series, and who is my online partner-in-crime in considering new ways for the mavericks of the army to annoy those in charge and laughing out loud at how funny we find ourselves.

The new book is called An Unwilling Alliance and is the first book to be set partly on the Isle of Man, where I live. The hero, a Royal Navy captain by the name of Hugh Kelly is a Manxman who joined the navy at sixteen and has returned to the island after Trafalgar with enough prize money to buy an estate, invest in local business and find himself a wife while his new ship is being refitted. It’s a tight timescale, but Hugh is used to getting things his own way and is expecting no trouble with Roseen Crellin, the daughter of his new business partner. Her father approves, she is from the right background and the fact that she’s very pretty is something of a bonus. It hasn’t occurred to Hugh that the lady might not see things the same way…

The title obviously refers to the somewhat rocky start to Hugh and Roseen’s relationship, but it has other meanings as well. The book moves on to the 1807 British campaign in Denmark and the bombardment of Copenhagen, in which Captain Kelly is involved. The Danes were unwilling to accept British terms for the surrender of their fleet to avoid it falling into the hands of the French and as an alliance proved impossible, the British resorted to force.

In addition, there was something of an unwilling alliance between the two branches of the British armed forces taking part in the Copenhagen campaign. There is a history of difficulties between the Army and the Navy during this period, and given that the Danish campaign required the two to work together, there is an interesting conflict over the best way to conduct the campaign.

An Unconventional Officer — Book 1 of the Peninsular War Saga

The naval commander during this campaign was Admiral James Gambier while the army was commanded by Lord Cathcart. While Captain Hugh Kelly served under Gambier in the British fleet, a division of the army under Cathcart was commanded by Sir Arthur Wellesley and Brigadier General Stewart and consisted of battalions from the 43rd, 52nd, 95th and 92nd – the nucleus of the future Light Division, the elite troops of Wellington’s Peninsular army. In An Unconventional Officer, we learn that the expedition is to be joined by the first battalion of the 110th infantry under the command of the newly promoted Major Paul van Daan and An Unwilling Alliance looks at the campaign from both the army and naval perspective, filling in part of Paul’s story which is not covered in the series.

I am hoping that the book will be published at the beginning of April 2018 and it will be followed by book 5 of the Peninsular War Saga, An Untrustworthy Army, covering the Salamanca campaign and the retreat from Burgos some time in the summer. After that I will either get on with the sequel to A Respectable Woman which follows the lives of the children of Kit and Philippa Clevedon or the third book in the Light Division series, set after Waterloo.

We’re hoping to go back to Portugal and Spain this year for further photography and battlefield mayhem. I’ve got some new ideas for the website and will be publishing several more short stories through the year. My first research trip is in a couple of weeks time when I’ll be visiting Portsmouth and the Victory, the National Maritime Museum and possibly the Imperial War Museum if I don’t run out of time. And the Tower of London for no reason at all apart from the fact that Wellington used to enjoy bossing people around there.

My final thanks go to the real stars of Writing with Labradors. Toby, my old fella, is thirteen now and survived a major operation this year far better than I did. Joey is eleven and needs to lose some weight. They are my friends, my babies and my constant companions and I can’t imagine life without either of them although I know that day is going to come. Thank you to my dogs who are with me all the time I’m working and who make every day happier.

Happy New Year to all my family, friends, readers and supporters. Looking forward to 2018.

22nd December 201724th December 2018

The Jolbokaflod – an Icelandic Christmas Tradition

In Iceland there is a tradition of giving books to each other on Christmas Eve and then spending the evening reading which is known as the Jolabokaflod, or “Christmas Book Flood,” as the majority of books in Iceland are sold between September and December in preparation for Christmas giving.

At this time of year, most households in Iceland receive an annual free book catalog of new publications called the Bokatidindi. Icelanders pore over the new releases and choose which ones they want to buy.

The small Nordic island, with a population of only 329,000 people, is extraordinarily literary. They love to read and write. According to a BBC article, “The country has more writers, more books published and more books read, per head, than anywhere else in the world. One in ten Icelanders will publish a book.

There is more value placed on hardback and paperback books than in other parts of the world where e-books have grown in popularity. In Iceland most people read, and the book industry is based on many people buying several books each year rather than a few people buying a lot of books. The vast majority of books are bought at Christmas time, and that is when most books are published.

The idea of families and friends gathering together to read before the fire on Christmas Eve is a winter tradition which appeals to me. Like the Icelanders, I love physical books although I both read and publish e-books – sometimes they are just more convenient. Still, the Jolabokaflod would work with any kind of book.

They are also easier to give away, and this year I want to celebrate my own version of the Jolabokaflod with my readers, by giving away the e-book versions of some of my books on kindle for two days, on Christmas Day and Boxing Day. It is two years since I first made the decision to independently publish my historical novels, and it has gone better than I ever expected. This is my way of saying thank you to all my readers and hello to any new readers out there.

Visit my Amazon page to download the following books free, tomorrow and the following day:

A Respectable Woman – The daughter of a nineteenth century missionary is torn between love and propriety

A Marcher Lord – Divided loyalties on the Anglo-Scottish borders in Tudor times

A Regrettable Reputation – A Regency romance set in Yorkshire in 1816

An Unconventional Officer - love and war in Wellington’s army An Unconventional Officer – The first of the Peninsular War Saga, a story of love and war in Wellington’s Army

An Unwilling Alliance – A Manx romance, the Royal Navy and Major Paul van Daan during the Copenhagen Campaign of 1807

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR FROM WRITING WITH LABRADORS

8th December 2017

Arriving in Salamanca – an Excerpt from An Untrustworthy Army: Book 5 in the Peninsular War Saga

Sir Arthur Wellesley, later the Duke of Wellington

I’m about half way through the first draft of An Untrustworthy Army which is book 5 of the Peninsular War Saga and thought I’d share this excerpt of the army arriving in Salamanca after the French abandoned the city in June 1812. The battle is yet to come…

Around them the people of Salamanca thronged the ancient streets. The buildings were graceful, in a variety of ochre and pink stone, soaring arches and towers giving way sometimes to a crumbled heap of stone where Napoleon’s troops had destroyed some historic foundation to use as building stone for the makeshift fortresses which had held the town.

“It’s lovely. Such a shame about the destruction,” Anne said, fanning herself. Paul surveyed the fan with some amusement. His wife, who had little interest in fashion, regarded fans as purely functional objects and he was sure he had never seen the elaborately painted article before.

“It is. A lot of these buildings would have been part of the university, but it’s basically been closed down by the French. They’ve destroyed some of the buildings and used others as barracks which will mean they’re wrecked inside. The place we’re billeted in was one of the old colleges, I’ve got some of the lads clearing it out now. It’s big and very elegant but they’d left it like a pigsty.”

“Probably left in a hurry,” Anne said, looking around her. “I wonder what happened to the students?”

“Probably most of them ended up either in the French army or the guerrillas,” Paul said.

“Or dead,” his wife said quietly.

“Yes, poor bastards. It’s funny, this place reminds me of my student days in Oxford. Hard to imagine Magdalen and Balliol ripped apart by French infantrymen. Puts it in perspective somehow.”

Anne glanced at him. “Which college were you?”

“Balliol. Have you visited Oxford?”

“No, love, I’m a Yorkshire lass, never been anywhere until I married Robert, apart from York, Harrogate and a trip to London when I was fifteen.”

Paul laughed aloud and reached for her gloved hand, raising it to his lips with great formality. “And now you speak five languages, bully the local merchants in two countries and have an Earl languishing at your feet.”

“Lord Wellington does not languish, he is far too busy,” his wife said repressively. Their byplay had been noticed by a section of the crowd. The population were cheering wildly, some of the girls running to hand flowers and fruit to the officers and men. At the head of the parade Lord Wellington’s horse was already garlanded and its bridle and saddle decorated with offerings. As Paul and Anne rode past a woman detached herself from the crowd. She was holding the hand of a boy of about six, a beautiful child with large dark eyes, dressed in Sunday best for the parade. She pushed him forward, a posy of flowers in his hand, but as he ran, one of the horses started up and the child stumbled in fright and fell hard onto the cobbles.

Anne looked over at Jenson. “Hold her,” she said, and slid from Bella’s back, tossing him the reins. Paul reined in, waving to Major Swanson. “Carry on, Carl, we’ll catch up.”

The boy was on his knees, both of them grazed and bloodied, trying hard not to cry so publicly when Anne reached him. She knelt, apparently indifferent to her riding dress in the dust.

“Are you hurt?” she asked quickly in Spanish.

His mother had reached him at the same time. The boy looked up into Anne’s face and he looked startled as he took in her beauty. Anne lifted him gently to his feet, pulled out her handkerchief and dabbed blood from his knees.

“You have battle wounds of your own, Señor,” she said gravely, and he looked down at his legs and then up into her face and laughed. His mother put her hand on his shoulder.

“You speak Spanish, Señora?”

“I do, my friend is Spanish, she taught me. You have a very handsome son, Senora, what is his name?”

“Diego,” the woman said. “He is five.”

“He is tall for five. And very brave – hardly a tear. Were these for the soldiers?”

She picked up the posy of white flowers and gently blew the dust from them. The child studied her.

“They were for you, Señora. Because you are so beautiful.”

“Diego, thank you.” Anne raised the posy to her face to smell. “So lovely. But if we are friends there should be an exchange of gifts.”

She reached up and detached one of the silk flowers from her hat, twisting the securing wire into a buttonhole which she carefully placed in the child’s dark jacket. Diego looked down at it, astonished, and then up at Anne, his face transformed. Anne laughed and handed him the soiled handkerchief. “Keep this also for your war wounds. Thank you for these, they are beautiful.”

She turned to find that Jenson had dismounted and was waiting to lift her up. He was grinning. Behind her the woman said:

“Thank you, Señora. You have children?”

“Back in England. I miss them.”

“May you see them soon, Señora.” The dark eyes shifted to Paul. “Your husband is an officer?”

“A colonel. Who is going to be in trouble if we don’t catch up with the rest of his brigade before we reach the square,” Anne said, laughing. “Enjoy the day, Señora. Adios, Diego.”

She turned back to Paul and found him laughing, and heard for the first time an enormous swell of cheering around her as the crowd acknowledged the small drama. Slightly pink cheeked, she allowed Jenson to lift her into the saddle and looked at her husband.

“Better get a move on, Colonel, before he starts yelling.”

“He won’t mind today. You should have married royalty, Nan, you’re very good at this.”

“Any more remarks like that and I’ll slap you,” Anne said succinctly, kicking Bella into a trot to move back up the parade to the head of the 110th. “Although it was a good thing you made me wear this ghastly hat, turned out to have its uses.”

“I am so glad,” Paul said politely. “Jenson, that fan does not suit your particular style of beauty.”

“I thought it was my colour, sir. You dropped this, ma’am.”

Anne reached over and took the fan. “Thank you, Jenson. I will undoubtedly lose it before the end of today anyway, but it’s been surprisingly useful in this heat.”

“Where did you get it from?” Paul asked.

“It was a gift from Don Julian,” Anne said demurely, and her husband made a rude noise.

“And what in God’s name is Julian Sanchez doing sending my wife gifts?”

“I was seated next to him at dinner one evening, in Lord Wellington’s tent. I think I’ve received some form of gift every day since, it’s embarrassing. He said that he wishes to see me in a mantilla and will find me the best lace he can in Salamanca. Although he was struggling to decide if he thought black or white would suit me better.”

“If he has the audacity to send you a mantilla of any colour, girl of my heart, I am going to punch him!” Paul said forcefully. “Don’t you already have a rather attractive one that I bought you in Lisbon?”

“I do. It is black. I did tell Don Julian that. He was quite poetic about the contrast of black lace against…”

“In a minute I am going to throw you off that horse!” Paul said explosively. Around him his officers were laughing hard. The parade was clattering into the Plaza Mayor and Anne looked around her at the glorious array of Romanesque churches and associated buildings.

“This is so lovely,” she said. “Paul, it is barely noon and you have already threatened me with violence twice, is it necessary? As for poor Don Julian…”

He had dismounted and moved forward to lift her from her horse. Across the square the Earl of Wellington was standing on the Cathedral steps, surrounded by his staff and an adoring plethora of Spanish, including half a dozen women who seemed to be vying to be close to him. Don Julian Sanchez, the leader of the Spanish guerrillas, was with him, a dark man in his thirties in a fur trimmed pelisse which must have been sweltering in the heat. Paul saw Wellington look over and Don Julian follow his gaze. He grinned and lifted Anne from her horse. As her feet touched the ground he pulled her close against him and kissed her with considerable enjoyment in a manner totally unsuitable in such a public place and in full view of the commander-in-chief.

“Colonel van Daan.”

The precise German tones of the commander of the light division made him raise his head. Von Alten was standing before him, his eyebrows raised. Paul laughed and released Anne.

“Sorry, sir. Just making a point to Don Julian Sanchez about his exact position in relation to my wife. Shall we go in?”

“By all means,” Von Alten said, smiling at Anne and offering her his arm. “If I offer to escort her, are you likely to hit me?”

“No, sir, I trust you with her.”

“I am not at all sure if that is a compliment or not,” the Hanoverian said and Paul burst into laughter. They moved towards the steps of the Cathedral. Paul paused by his men who were lined up neatly outside.

“RSM Carter.”

“Yes, sir?”

“You can stand them down. After this we go back to our billet to change and then I have to endure around five hours of bad food, long speeches and Don Julian bloody Sanchez trying to put his hand on my wife’s leg under the table.”

“Make a change from Lord Wellington doing it, sir.”

“That is not helpful. Get them back to camp, fed and watered. Half of them get town leave tonight, the other half tomorrow. Make up your mind when you go, I don’t mind.”

“Not that bothered, sir. I’ll stay up tonight and keep an eye on things. Maybe you could spare me a few hours during the day tomorrow. I’ve promised to take Teresa shopping and she’s dying to show me around, we’re close to her childhood home here so she knew the city as a girl. Thought we could have dinner in one of the taverns, take some time…”

“Take the whole day. Enjoy yourself, Danny, you’ve both earned it.”

“Thank you, sir. Hammond is going into town tonight but he’ll be back up and sober tomorrow, he can stand in for me.”

“Good lad. Oh Jesus Christ, can I not trust Charles to do anything? He’s let Wellington get hold of my wife!”

Paul marched up the steps to where Lord Wellington was placing Anne’s hand onto his arm. His expression made it difficult for Paul to keep a straight face. “Did you enjoy the parade, sir?”

“No,” his commander-in-chief said briefly. “Any more than you did. And I am sorry, Colonel, but I am borrowing your wife for a while to protect me from these blasted women!”

Paul began to laugh. “There’s a fee. I want a couple of days off with her, need to take her shopping.” He glanced at Sanchez, whose dark eyes were fixed on Anne’s lovely face. “I thought I might buy her a mantilla in white, since she already has a black one. And perhaps a new fan.”

18th November 201718th November 2017

An Unwilling Alliance – coming in 2018

When Hugh Kelly left Mann aged 16 he expected never to return. His parents were both dead, the family farm repossessed and the navy seemed like a good option for a penniless lad with big ambitions and no prospects. Fourteen years later he returns as a Trafalgar veteran with a healthy amount of prize money and his own command in refit at Yarmouth. He is in search of land and a home and a wife to look after them when he goes back to sea.
Roseen Crellin is determined not to give in to her father’s efforts to find her a good husband. The man she wanted has sailed away and she has no interest in a marriage to a man who sees her a convenience rather than a woman.
It seems a courtship with little future but fate intervenes unexpectedly and as Hugh sets sail to join the Royal Navy on it’s way to Copenhagen he is forced to reassess his feelings towards the girl he had not bothered to get to know, while Roseen discovers a world beyond the hills and glens of her island home and a side to herself she had never known existed.
An Unwilling Alliance is the first of my books to be set partly on the Isle of Man where I live. It is also the first set in the very different world of the Royal Navy. I’ve been wanted to do a Manx setting for a long time, but since I write historical novels I needed to find the right time period. I have considered, and am still considering, a novel set in the English Civil War but I haven’t studied that period since University and it will be a lot of work.

In the end I decided to stick with my current period, helped by reading the story of Captain John Quilliam, the Manxman who served with Nelson aboard the Victory. This is not his story but there are parallels between his progress and that of Captain Hugh Kelly, and like Quilliam, Kelly comes home to his island with his pockets well-lined with prize money and in search of a home and a wife.

I hope that An Unwilling Alliance will be published early in 2018 and will be followed by An Untrustworthy Army, book five in the Peninsular War Saga.

9th September 201716th October 2017

Limping with Labradors – Guest blog by Toby

Blogging with Labradors

Toby

Welcome to blogging with labradors.

Hard to believe that this is called blogging with labradors and yet this is the first time I’ve been allowed my own blog post. I mean, she’s very keen on posting ‘cute’ photos of us but do we get a say? No.

Today she’s finally agreed to let me dictate my own post. She can’t do anything else really. I’m still recovering from my recent operation and while I’m lying around looking cute in her socks, she’ll let me get away with pretty much anything…

So, first a little about me. My name is Toby, one of the two stars of Blogging with Labradors. I’m thirteen and a black labrador, born on the Isle of Man up in Ballaugh although my Dad was an Irish show dog. She makes a lot of jokes about the Irish in me, but she’s laughing on the other side of her face at the moment since she just got back the result of her Ancestry DNA test and has discovered that she’s 11% Irish herself. It explains nothing except the strange sense of humour and a somewhat dodgy taste for Irish folk music, but there you go.

I share the house with a family of four humans and another labrador called Joey who was adopted two and a half years after I arrived. Joey is Manx and from a line of working dogs, which means he’s not as good-looking as me, although he’s not bad I suppose. He used to be the energetic one, although he’s got so fat these days that his nickname is either Fattums or the King of Chins. He’s supposed to be on a diet, but that’s a bit of a joke because he’s the most talented food thief I’ve ever met. Generous too, he’s always willing to share what he gets down off the kitchen counters.

Joey the Labrador

My humans are all right really. I like the young ones best. They’re always willing to stop whatever they’re doing, especially if it’s homework, and get down on the floor to give me a bit of a hug or a tummy tickle. They also make a lot less fuss about dog hairs than the older ones.

Both the senior humans do something called “working at home”. This seems to involve endless hours sitting at desks staring at a computer screen although how much of it is work and how much is scrolling through cute dog photos on Facebook and twitter is anybody’s guess. I don’t really mind, because since she started working at home, I’m never without company. She’s moved our beds into the study with her and we pretty much spend our days in there while she mumbles rubbish about Wellington and the battle of Badajoz at the screen and piles up books on the floor because she’s run out of space on the desk. Sometimes we go and lie on the books, just for a laugh, and pretty much every one of them has dog hairs in it and at least one muddy paw print…

We live in Douglas on the Isle of Man which is a great place to live as a dog since it’s full of beaches, glens, rivers and great smells. At my age I don’t walk that far, I’ve got arthritis, but I do like to get out and have a mooch around and a good sniff.

During the past year, she’s started writing books. To be honest, she’s been writing books for years but she’s started publishing them. I have to say I mostly approve since it keeps her quiet and out of mischief and means she spends more time with us. I also like the website and blog, since a bit of publicity never does a labrador any harm, and I’m glad she’s acknowledging how important we’ve been to her success so far.

The thing that has bothered me is that up to now none of these books seems to have had much of a canine element. I mean I know they’re historical novels, but people have had dogs for a good few years now and I can’t believe she’s neglected this important aspect of the human condition. It’s true that there is a brief mention of a hound in “A Marcher Lord” but he barely gets a few lines and there’s no character development. It’s a shocking omission.

A Redoubtable Citadel

The most recent book is called “A Redoubtable Citadel” (where does she get these titles from) and it is published today. It’s the fourth book in a series set during the Peninsular War. I don’t know much about war and I’ve never thought it made much sense when you can eat or sleep instead, but people seem to like these books. However the crucial thing about book four is that she’s finally come to her senses and introduced a dog. It’s early days yet, but I think this one has the potential to be an important historical figure. He’s got a good military name and I think he’s going improve the lives of the main characters no end by scattering dog hairs all over their uniforms and leaving muddy paw prints all over the tent. I can’t wait. Although apparently a few other things happen in this book, like battles and whatnot…

Other than that, the only other excitement in life at the moment is regular visits to the vet. I had an operation a few weeks ago to get rid of an annoying lump on my foot and they’re all kicking off because I keep chewing off the dressings. I’m not sure what else they expected, those things are uncomfortable. This sock does seem to be a better solution so far and I must say I’m enjoying making a fashion statement. She’s got an endless selection of attractive socks for me to work my way through.

I’m signing off now. They’re cooking brunch and I’m hoping to cadge a bit of bacon if there’s any going but don’t worry I’ll be back soon on Blogging with Labradors with more musings on life with labradors…

Toby

26th August 201710th October 2017

Writing with Labradors Updates

An Unconventional Officer - love and war in Wellington’s army

Writing with Labradors updates

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Writing with labradors has undergone a few changes this week which will hopefully make the site easier to follow.

One new feature is the freebies page which now includes the first chapter of all seven published books. It also includes the first chapter of book 4 of the Peninsular War Saga. A Redoubtable Citadel comes out next month and takes Paul van Daan and the 110th through the horror of Ciudad Rodrigo Badajoz and puts Anne in the worst peril of her adventurous life. Read chapter one here.

A Redoubtable Citadel

In addition to the sample chapters, I intend to upload a few other freebies as I go along so watch this space for more Writing with Labradors updates and improvements.

I’m also intending to introduce a separate travel section for those of you who are interested in history and might be considering visiting some of the areas depicted in the books.

Thanks to all of you who are following both this site and the Facebook page, reading the books and taking the time to review and rate them on Amazon and Goodreads.

If you want regular updates, articles and information on history, travel, book reviews and a few freebies thrown in, you can now join the e-mail list here.

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