Here comes 2022

Here comes 2022 at Writing with Labradors, though it’s arriving a little late. Many apologies, and Happy New Year to you all. In many ways, though, the fact that I’m late with my usual New Year’s greeting is in keeping with the whole of the past year. I had such big plans for 2021 and very few of them came to fruition. Mired down in the misery of restrictions, and beset by family difficulties, it’s been a slow year here at Writing with Labradors and at times, I’ve felt like a complete disaster. Still, things are steadily improving and it’s good to look back because it reminds me there have been some highs as well as lows during this year.

#Low. Restrictions didn’t go away. Instead, we had more lockdowns and vaccine passports

#High. Vaccines mostly work.

#Low. My sister became very ill after her vaccine, and I couldn’t go to see her.

#High. She’s slowly improving, and I’ve seen her now.

#Low. Three of the five members of my family had covid at different times despite being vaccinated.

#High. None of them were really ill.

#Low. All my planned research trips were cancelled due to restrictions.

#High. Once I could travel to the UK, I organised my very own writer’s retreat which was absolutely brilliant and improved everything.

#Low. I didn’t manage to publish a book last year, for the first time since I began publishing.

 

#High. I finished book 7 of the Peninsular War Saga and it’s currently with my editor, so will be out very soon.

#Low. Writing this year has been difficult.

#High. I published my usual three free short stories this year, plus a bonus one in the spring. For Valentine’s Day, we had A Winter in Cadiz, a romance set during Lord Wellington’s brief trip to Cadiz in the winter of 1812-13. My spring story was The Pressed Man, a story of the fourteen-year-old Paul van Daan’s impressment into the Royal Navy. For Halloween, there was an Inescapable Justice, a ghostly tale of bloody mutiny set aboard a Royal Navy frigate. And for Christmas, a favourite Peninsular War Saga character discovers a new responsibility and the merest hint of a future romance, in The Gift.

#Low. I’ve been struggling with chronic pain due to arthritis, and in the current situation, there isn’t a chance of any treatment.

#High. For the first time I have published a short story in an anthology. Hauntings is a collection of ghost stories by writers from the Historical Writers Forum and came out for Halloween last year. (Yes, I did have to come up with two ghost stories in one year. Don’t judge me.) My offering, An Unquiet Dream, is a spooky tale set in an army hospital in Elvas in 1812 and features a regular minor character from the Peninsular War Saga.

 

 

 

#High. I was also asked to be part of an anthology of short stories edited by Tom Williams (author of the Burke novels and the Williamson books) which will be published this year. The story is called The Recruit and is set in Ireland during the 1798 rebellion. (I see my regulars with their ears pricking up there. “Really? Who could that be about?”)

#High. My immediate family are great and doing very well. My son and his girlfriend are settled in their jobs and looking to move out soon. My daughter is in her final year studying history at the University of York and is getting firsts so far.

#High. Alfie. After a long period of Oscar holding the fort alone at Writing with Labradors and doing a splendid job, we welcomed our new baby into the family in May, and despite his well-deserved nickname of the Chaos Demon, he has proved to be a valued and much adored member of staff.

#High. I had a great time with the Historical Writers Forum last year, including taking part in a panel to talk about writing battles in historical fiction.

 

#High. Oscar. Still my baby, and possibly the most well-behaved Labrador in the country.

#High. You see, this is why it’s really good to actually write out a list of highs and lows of the past year. Because I ran out of lows, which pretty much proved that despite everything, my life is good.

There’s one very big low that I’ve not included as part of the list because it would be crass to do so. In August, after several years of watching them struggle and a year of frantic anxiety during Covid restrictions, we finally managed to persuade my in-laws to move to the Isle of Man on a trial basis.

Sadly, it didn’t go as we’d hoped. They’d left it too late, and it was very quickly clear that my mother-in-law’s dementia had got significantly worse, while my father-in-law was very unwell. Malcolm died suddenly on 30th October, of a massive heart attack, and after a difficult period, Irene returned to London to go into a care home near her daughter. The funeral was held just two weeks before Christmas.

I miss Malcolm. He was only here for a few months, but I got very used to him being around. From the earliest days of my relationship with Richard, almost thirty years ago now, Malcolm and I had a special bond. He shared my enthusiasm for history, and years ago, before I’d ever published, he bought me my first biography of Wellington, the Longford one, from a second-hand book shop. He got on well with my parents, although they didn’t meet that often, and he adored his grandchildren. He loved books and music and was interested in current affairs. He also loved technology, especially cars, and when he was younger, he could fix anything. Before I was even married, he took me for a day out to Silverstone, to watch a Formula One Grand Prix, and we had a fabulous time.

Malcolm was kind and funny and was unbelievably proud to have a daughter-in-law who was an author. One of his last acts was to blag a free copy of An Unconventional Officer for a doctor at Nobles Hospital who had been good to him during a recent stay. His favourite spot, when visiting, was my reading corner in my study. He loved the armchair and would sneak in when he got the chance and take an afternoon nap or browse through one of my books while I was working.

Richard and I went to London with a van to collect some of their possessions when we still thought they might make a go of living over here. I rather fell in love with a beautiful collection of wooden boats that Malcolm had in his study and mentioned how much I liked them as we were unpacking. To my surprise and delight, he insisted on giving them to me, to go with my wooden model of the Victory in my study. They look beautiful, and I feel as though there’s a little part of him sharing my workspace still. I’m working on a proper obituary for Malcolm. He had an interesting life, and I’d love to share it with people.

The end of the year was sad, and it wasn’t helped with two family members having covid over Christmas, though neither had anything more than cold symptoms. By New Year’s Eve, both were clear, which meant we could host what is rapidly becoming our traditional young people’s New Year Party. The kids all had a great time and we drank a toast to Malcolm at midnight.

And now it’s 2022 and we’re still struggling to sort out care homes and financial matters for Richard’s mum, which is even harder long distance. I’m trying to look ahead into 2022 and be hopeful, but I think I’m a lot more cautious than I was at the beginning of 2021. I think back then, with the vaccine in the offing, I was naively hopeful that the world would begin to calm down. This year, I’m less sanguine. The wounds left by the past few years are going to take a while to heal but heal they will. History suggests they always do eventually.

I’m hopeful for myself, though. I feel as though I’ve got my enthusiasm back for my writing, and my brain is teeming with ideas. I’m looking forward to Tom’s anthology coming out, and I’m excited for the publication of An Indomitable Brigade. Currently I’m finishing the edits for the rest of the paperbacks, and then I’m returning to This Bloody Shore, which is book three in the Manxman series.

At the beginning of last year, I had a long list of things I wanted to achieve during the year. This year, I’m reluctant to come up with a list, and yet looking at this blog post, although I didn’t manage to get the book out, I was very close, and I did manage quite a lot in very difficult circumstances.

So here goes. This year, I’d like to finish the paperback edits once and for all. I’ve got An Indomitable Brigade coming out very soon, and Tom’s anthology, and I’m determined to finish This Bloody Shore by the end of the year. I’ll be writing my usual three free short stories, and I’ve been asked to write another episode from Paul van Daan’s boyhood, which I’d love to do. I also have an invitation to write a story for another anthology which is completely out of my period and out of my comfort zone. It will be a challenge, but I’d quite like to give it a go, so we’ll see if it comes off.

I’d like to travel again. I dream of going to Castro Urdiales or Tarragona or Santander or Gibraltar, but I’m not prepared to book until I’m very confident I won’t be caught up in some last-minute lockdown. This year I suspect I’ll confine my travels to the UK, and possibly Ireland. After the restrictions of the last two years, even that will seem like a blessing.

In the meantime, Happy New Year from all of us at Writing with Labradors. I know all of you will have had your highs and lows this year, and many will be a lot worse than mine. Thank you all so much for your support and enthusiasm and your sheer love of the books, the characters and the history. Let’s hope things improve steadily through 2022.

Angry White Popham Duck II

It’s been very quiet here at Writing With Labradors, but I’m delighted to tell you that I’m kicking off a new season of blog posts with Angry White Popham Duck II.

I know that since I wrote the original post which conclusively identified Angry White Duck from our local duck pond as a quackers reincarnation of our hero Sir Home Riggs Popham, many of you will have wondered how Popham Duck has been getting on.

Popham Duck has been absent from time to time as we wandered through the winter months and into spring. For a while, he moved into the second pond, and seemed to have decided to live a quieter lifestyle with his new friends. Oscar and I quite enjoyed the break, without him yelling his litany of complaints as we passed.

Both lockdowns brought Popham back into the main pond, though. The kids were off school ( again) and that meant an endless supply of loot (bread) from bored children and desperate parents. Popham loved it, and was to be heard vocally demanding more than his fair share, protesting about the injustice of other ducks taking what was rightfully his and yelling in sheer rage any time a dog was seen in the vicinity. Even Oscar, who saved him from being eaten by a runaway dog called Nero, was not exempt from his relentless, aggressive quacking.

Since the arrival of Alfie, we’ve not spent much time up by the pond. Occasionally I’ll take Oscar up there for his solo walk, but as Alfie gets bigger we like to include him as much as possible, and I’ve been a bit wary of how he’ll be if a large white duck starts calling him rude names. Not all dogs are as placid as Oscar, and as Alfie is still very much a novice in terms of lead walking, I didn’t want to find myself jumping in the pond after him.

Today we set off for a short walk as it was a warm afternoon. I didn’t consciously think about heading for the ponds but Oscar paused by the path leading up that way, looking at me hopefully. Alfie was being particularly good on the lead today, so I decided to be brave and go for it.

The walk up to the ponds was fairly uneventful, apart from a delightful moment when three small children playing in a front garden managed to kick their football into the road. Mum must have been in the house and the kids were very well trained and knew they shouldn’t go after it. They stood staring at it, trying to work out what to do as we came past. There were no cars passing, so I crossed the road towards them, and allowed Oscar to push the ball back to them with his nose. I could hear one of them running shrieking with excitement into the house, shouting that a lovely dog had brought their ball back for them. Oscar strutted away, looking proud.

As we arrived at the pond, it was very quiet. There weren’t even any kids in the play park, I’ve no idea where everybody was this afternoon. I approached the edge of the main pond very carefully, and there he was. Initially, he was sitting on Duck Island dozing with his friends, but Popham Duck has a special dog warning sensor (probably invented by him, and better than all other dog warning sensors, because he’s a genius) and was very quickly in the water and swimming towards us to check us out.

Oscar stopped to watch the ducks. Alfie was initially fascinated by the smells on the grass beside the pond, probably because it smelt mostly of duck droppings. Eventually though, he realised that something interesting was afoot and went to join Oscar in observing the approach of Angry White Popham Duck. I took a very firm hold of both leads and waited.

Popham came on. It was very clear that he had seen the lurking dogs. Alfie’s tail was wagging furiously, but he said nothing. I was holding my breath. Most puppies will bark when they see a new creature, out of sheer excitement. Alfie couldn’t take his eyes from Popham but he still made no sound. He glanced sideways at Oscar a few times, maybe for reassurance. Oscar was his usual calm self and it worked. Alfie watched Popham for a bit longer then settled down for a rest.

Popham swam up and down for a bit, but strangely, he didn’t say a word. I was baffled. It’s so unlike our belligerent hero not to make his views known that I was beginning to wonder if one of the residents of the nearby houses had buckled under the strain and had his quack surgically removed.

It wasn’t until we walked further round the pond, that Popham gave a few quacks. They were nothing like his usual aggressive yelling. It was more like a friendly warning not to get too close. And I could suddenly see why. There were ducklings, swimming frantically around their mother.

We stood and watched them for a while, since I am a sucker for ducklings. Popham swam backwards and forwards, clearly on sentry patrol. After a bit, Alfie started to get restless so we set off on the last part of our walk. He didn’t bark once. I’m very proud of my little boy.

I’ve no idea why Angry White Popham Duck was so unusually mellow today. Maybe it’s the warm weather or perhaps he had an enormous shipment of bread today and is too stuffed to quack. Perhaps those ducklings are related to him, and he’s looking out for their welfare. I did wonder about that, as there were an awful lot of them and we know the Pophams ran to big families…

Alternatively of course, it might be that there is a worn out and angry mother duck on that pond, who has been up every night for two weeks, guarding her babies from passing seagulls and visiting Assassin Cats. Many of us would understand her feelings when her brood finally settles down for a nap and are immediately woken up by Angry White Popham Duck giving his all on the subject of a passing poodle.

“Popham, is it you making that racket?”

“It is indeed, Madam. I was made aware of an approaching threat in the form of two spaniels from the east and a white poodle from the south, and I felt it was my duty to warn you all, before seeing them off in fine style. No need to thank me…”

“Thank you? Listen to me you noisy, overbearing, meddlesome duck, if you do that once more when my ducklings are trying to sleep and I’m just catching a nap myself, you are going to find yourself locked inside the rusty shopping trolley in the second pond with half a ton of duckweed tied around your enormous webbed feet! Have I made myself clear?

“Admirably so, ma’am. Although I was only trying to help…”

“Don’t.”

“And I thought that if your ducklings were in danger…”

“They’re not. You will be, if you do that again.”

“Well. Very well. If that is your idea of gratitude, I shall keep perfectly silent from now on.”

Whatever the story, it was certainly a pleasant introduction to the duck pond for Alfie. It was quite a long walk for him at this stage, and on a warm afternoon as well.

“Did you enjoy meeting the ducks, Alfie?”

“I did, Mum. And seeing all those people, and the cars and the trees and the flowers…zzzzzzzzzz”

“Did you enjoy it, Oscar?”

“I loved it, Mum. Reminds me of when I used to go out with Joey. He’s pretty good on the lead now, isn’t he? Alfie, I mean.”

“He is. I’m looking forward to many more walks with you both, baby boy.”

“Looks as though Alfie is taking a nap before dinner. I might just join him…”

I hope you’ve enjoyed reading Angry White Popham Duck II. Check in again with Writing With Labradors for further adventures of Oscar and Alfie, history posts both silly and sensible, travel posts, free short stories and plenty of news about my books. You can follow me on social media for more updates.

 

Twitter:           https://twitter.com/LynnBry29527024

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Welcome to Alfie

“Today I am giving command of Writing with Labradors to our newly promoted officer, Captain Oscar so that he can post his very own Welcome to Alfie. Oscar, are you ready?”

“Ready? Ready? Are you kidding me, I have never been more ready in my life! I’m so excited! I’m so happy! I’m so proud! I’m so…sorry, Mum, I just have to go and run around the garden a few times more!”

“Carry on, Oscar. Let me know when you’re done.”

“Right. Okay. Yes, I think I’m done.”

Well then, this is my first official post as Captain Oscar, senior officer at Writing with Labradors. I can remember being with Toby and Joey when they wrote their blog posts a few years ago. I was very young then, just a puppy, and it seemed very exciting but a big responsibility. I used to dream of the day when I’d be able to do a blog post of my very own.

I’ve done a few posts now, as part of our very popular #OscarWalks series which has taken us out and about around the Isle of Man, where I live. Toby and Joey are no longer with us, although I still talk to them sometimes, when I need advice or help with something. It’s not that far over the rainbow bridge and they can still hear me.

I’ve been excited all week because Mum told me that Anya-human was FINALLY coming home. She’s been gone for far too long this time and I’ve missed her dreadfully. I’ve been looking forward to long evenings on the sofa with her, reading or watching TV or helping her study. And if the weather is good, I love sitting in the garden with her, especially on the hammock. Mum says I’m too big to share the hammock now, but that’s nonsense. Anya always lets me.

Nobody told me just how exciting this homecoming was going to be. Rachael-human went off to pick Anya up in her car, which meant it was very quiet for a few days. But when they arrived…OMG WHAT A SURPRISE!!!

Meet Ensign Alfie, the newest recruit to the staff of Writing With Labradors. Alfie is my new little brother, and I love him already. He’s a fox red Labrador, just like my Mum, Poppy and he came from York.

I can’t believe Mum managed to keep this a secret. Alfie is still very little, so I can’t take him out to show him all the fantastic places on the island yet, but I can play in the garden with him as much as I like. I’ve always wanted another brother or sister, ever since Joey died. I love meeting other dogs and playing with them, and I love it when my friend Roy comes to stay. I can’t believe that I’ve now got a friend with me ALL THE TIME!

Of course, being a big brother brings new responsibilities. I can remember Joey telling me how important it was to carry on the traditions and I’ll try to do my best. I have so much to show Alfie and so much to teach him. At the moment Alfie is a bit nervous about playing with me because I’m so much bigger, but he’s getting more confident all the time, and this morning he came close to playing tug of war with me in the garden.

“OMG, Mum, I can’t do anymore, I need to go and run around in the garden for a while again, I’m so excited. Is Alfie awake yet? That’s great! Come on, Alfie, I want to show you how to dig a hole. Though obviously not in Mum’s vegetable garden. We’d never do that…”

I don’t think we’ll get much sense out of Oscar for a bit. He and Alfie seem to be getting on very well, and I have a feeling that Writing With Labradors is in good hands for the future. Or rather, good paws. We’ve all settled down for a rest now, although it isn’t clear how much of her essay Anya is going to get done today.

Readers may have guessed that I chose the name Alfie after one of my favourite characters from the Manxman series. I would have liked to have called him Wellington, but my family were very firmly against that idea. I can’t imagine why they didn’t want to run along the beach yelling “Wellington, here boy!”

I’ve had a few tears here and there since Alfie arrived. The first was when he came to sit on my feet while I was cooking dinner, which was exactly what Joey used to do with me. The second was watching Oscar with him in the garden, very excited but also very much on his dignity, very much the senior dog. My baby puppy has grown up and he reminded me so much of Toby, when first Joey and then Oscar first arrived.

We’re fully staffed again here at Writing With Labradors and while we have a bit of work to do training the new recruit, having two dogs in my study with me while I’m working feels very right. Expect many more photos and videos as the boys settle down together and really bond as brothers.

 

 

Angry White Duck: the Popham Connection


Angry White Duck: the Popham Connection

The adventures of Angry White Duck have been a regular feature on my Twitter feed for quite some time. During the working week, I tend to take Oscar out on a local walk every day and we often walk past the local duck ponds. There is a collection of ducks who inhabit these two small areas of water, and most of them are peaceful creatures who spend their time swimming about, gobbling up bread from the local kids and cleaning their feathers.

Then there is Angry White Duck. A photograph of Angry White Duck doesn’t really do this chap justice and I’ve never managed a successful video of him in action. This is because it’s hard to take a video with a lively Labrador on a lead, and Angry White Duck only kicks off when he sees a dog. He hates dogs. This must be exhausting for him, because the pond is in the middle of a busy estate where dogs go past all the time.

I’m assuming that at some point in his life, Angry White Duck had a bad experience with a dog. That dog was not my dog. Oscar is angelic around ducks and I can walk him right past them on the lead and he doesn’t even bark. By now all the other ducks on the pond are used to him and don’t even bother to jump back in the water as we pass. This is Oscar, they seem to say, and Oscar is all right. Oscar likes to watch the ducks and if it’s not too cold we sit on our favourite bench for a bit to observe that all is well in duck world. But the moment Angry White Duck sees Oscar, all hell breaks loose. That duck has the loudest quack I have ever heard, and it’s incredibly aggressive. The minute he sees a dog he will swim backwards and forwards or sometimes perch on Duck Island, quacking furiously until somebody takes the four-legged fiend away. Often, we can still hear him yelling after us into the distance.

Can we see a resemblance?

During a recent discussion on Twitter, my friends came up with a number of theories about why Angry White Duck is so furious. Given that this is Napoleonic Twitter, where literally anything can happen, it quickly became established that Angry White Duck was probably a duck reincarnation of Sir Home Riggs Popham who wants to vent about the unfair treatment he gets from the other ducks and how they don’t appreciate his genius. Since then, Angry White Duck has been formally renamed Popham.

A few weeks ago, Oscar and I went out later than usual It was dusk when we reached the pond. Popham was sitting on one of the two little islands in the middle of the main pond, looking important. It was too cold to sit, so we made our way past, grateful that in the fading light, Popham did not seem to be able to see us. For once he was quiet, cleaning his feathers and preening himself. There was nobody about and it was a pretty evening.

Suddenly, without warning, there was an almighty noise of barking, followed by a great deal of ineffectual screeching. Something very fast went past us, and then there was an enormous splash. A woman ran past shrieking:

“Nero! Nero!”

Nero appeared to be a fairly young and very large dog who had pulled away from his owner and dived into the pond. Dogs aren’t allowed in the duck pond, but Nero didn’t care about that. Nero had seen the ducks and he had a plan. Clearly he was a naval chap, and he was swimming strongly towards the ducks. In the background, his owner screeched a lot and waved her arms in the air.

The ducks weren’t happy. They all kicked off. For once, it wasn’t just Popham expressing his views. There was a lot of quacking. Popham the Angry but Aggressively Handsome and Resourceful Duck stood atop Duck Island, louder than any of the other ducks in his squadron. But the other ducks quickly realised it was time to retreat. They left the islands and began to swim towards the opposite shore. Pretty damned fast.

Popham Duck was horrified. The cowards! It was just like the Red Sea all over again. Only, you know, different obviously. By now, it was clear that Nero the Dog was in the employ of Lord St Vincent, Popham’s arch enemy. Popham Duck stood his ground, quacking even louder. He was not going to retreat.

At this point, I was beginning to think that Popham Duck might be about to join his long-departed namesake in the history hall of fame. But there was a new hero.

Oscar had been staring at the chaos in stunned silence up to this point, but he suddenly discovered his inner policeman. Oscar knows that there are places you swim and there are places you don’t. And the duck pond is one of the latter. Oscar began to bark furiously, something he very seldom does, and it was clear that in dog language, he was yelling:

“Get out of that pond, you numpty.”

Nero took no notice at all. His eyes were on the prize and he was getting closer to Popham Duck. At this point, Oscar realised he needed to intervene personally. After all, Popham Duck might be annoying, but a trusty Labrador can’t stand by and see him murdered. He took off at speed. Oscar has never done this before, and it turns out he’s a lot stronger than I am. I let go. It was better than being dragged into the pond.

Oscar ran into the pond and then stopped and barked at Nero. Nero turned in some surprise. Oscar barked again. To my amazement, Nero abandoned his assault on Duck Island, changed direction and swam back to join Oscar. Both dogs trotted out onto the bank and had a good sniff at each other. I retrieved Oscar and Nero’s sobbing owner retrieved him with heaps of thanks. I don’t know why, I didn’t do a thing. I just smiled.

Popham Duck stood alone on his island glaring at the other ducks. You could see that he was thinking that they weren’t getting a share of the prize money (bread) as they’d done nothing to earn it. As Nero left, he quacked a few more times then settled down for a snooze. Oscar and I walked home, and I gave him a treat for saving Popham Duck even if he didn’t deserve it.

Continuing with the Popham theme, and in conversation with our Popham expert, Dr Jacqueline Reiter, we have come up with the theory that if Angry White Duck is Popham in this scenario, and Nero was clearly hired by Lord St Vincent to make this cowardly attack on our hero, then is it possible that Popham Duck sees Oscar as Lord Melville, his long-time patron. This would make perfect sense, if all that aggressive quacking were not Popham complaining about Oscar, but Popham complaining TO Oscar, giving him a long list of problems that need solving.

Presumably, after this traumatic event, Popham Duck went off to compose a lengthy explanatory memorandum about the incident which he recited to Oscar next time we’re passing. To me, this sounded like a highly aggressive version of:

“Quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack…”

But according to Dr Reiter, who knows about this stuff, it really means:

“When I was totally minding my own business doing something great and secret (see attached letter from Lord Grenville, which is totally unrelated but shows how much trusted I have been by high-ranking people who can crush my enemies like a gnat, especially savage dogs with no manners), an agent of Lord St Vincent came charging at me and it was only by the skin of my beak that I survived at all. Now, sirs, let me continue at great length about how persecuted I have been by…etc, etc, etc.”

We didn’t see Popham Duck for about a week after that and I was a bit worried, although reassured by the expert that he’d probably just popped off to mount an illegal invasion of South America and would be back on Thursday. This proved to be the case. Popham Duck shows no gratitude to his brave rescuer and still recites a long list of complaints every time we walk past.

I’m in two minds as to the motives behind Oscar’s rescue mission. It’s possible that he just snapped because Popham was getting on his nerves and he wanted him to shut up, or maybe he really did feel obliged to help. Myself, I think there was a policeman element to it.

“Now then, my lad, you can’t go around scaring the ducks in this pond, it’s just not on. I know that one’s irritating, but you just have to learn to ignore him.” Probably the real Lord Melville felt the same way about the real Popham.

With Popham Duck back in his rightful place, things have continued as usual on our walks and up on the duck pond until today. With this blog post in mind, I wanted to try to get a couple of photos of Popham Duck, so I stopped off on the way back from the post office and Oscar wasn’t with me. Just as well, as it turns out, because the policeman in him would certainly have objected to THIS.

Clearly, after the failure of Nero to deal with the most irritating duck in the world, Lord St Vincent found a new and far more subtle agent. Assassin Cat strolled out of the bushes just as I was snapping a few sneaky photos of Popham, gave me a swish of the tail, then sauntered down to the water’s edge.

Astonishingly, Assassin Cat seemed to have no fear of the water. He paddled daintily in the shallows and had a drink. I could tell that this was a ploy to throw our hero off his guard and I’m sorry to say that it worked a treat. Popham Duck clearly thought that compared to Nero, this was a negligible threat, and made straight for the intruder, quacking furiously. He wasn’t the only one. Once again, all the other ducks (the ones with brains) swam AWAY from Assassin Cat, quacking loudly. I don’t speak duck, but even I could translate this.

“What are you doing? Popham, you bleeding idiot, come away from there! He’s a cat, he’s not going to jump in and swim, but DON’T GET OUT OF THE WATER!!!”

Popham ignored them. He always does. He swam closer and closer, and Assassin Cat pretended not to look. I wasn’t fooled. That cat had his orders, and he was prepared to carry them out. I wasn’t sure who I was worried about. Popham is a good sized duck, and that cat wasn’t very big. One thing was certain though. Somebody was going to get hurt unless I intervened.

Before Popham got to the edge, I went to stroke Assassin Cat. Being a typical feline, it wasn’t hard to distract him. A few compliments and a tickle under the chin, and he was following me back up the bank. Behind me, I could hear Popham’s enraged quacking.

“Come back here, you furry coward! I’m not afraid of you. You’re looking at the duck who once guided the entire navy through treacherous waters into the safety of a place that they weren’t supposed to be. You don’t scare me.”

I am hoping that with Assassin Cat out of the way, the ducks of Popham’s squadron will manage to explain to him that when you’ve got an advantage, you don’t squander it by making an unnecessary attack. If they don’t, sooner or later, that duck is going to get himself into a situation he can’t get out of. Who knows what will happen then, possibly an unwelcome posting to India or the West Indies.

In the meantime, I think Oscar has become so used to Angry White Popham Duck, that he quite enjoys his regular rants. He looks over at the pond as we go past, knowing that at any moment, the litany of complaints are going to begin.

“Quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack…”

“He’s in good voice today, Mum.”

“He is, Oscar.”

“Maybe we should bring him some bread tomorrow, see if it will cheer him up. And a treat for me, of course.”

“Why not. You’re a very good boy, Oscar.”

“Thanks, Mum. You’re a good girl, too.”

My thanks to John Haines who came up with the original identification of Angry White Duck as Popham and Jacqui Reiter who contributed to the rest of the story. Maybe we’ve all been in lockdown for too long…

Also to Oscar, for being wonderful.

 

 

Lockdown with Oscar: the End

Lockdown with Oscar: the End

When I began these posts I wasn’t sure if I was going to continue them all the way through lockdown. I didn’t really have a plan when I started, I was just trying to cheer myself – and any readers – up a bit. It did work to begin with, but after a few days I experienced a bit of a lockdown slump, and that is definitely not something I wanted to share with my poor readers.

I wanted to come back to this though, now that it’s over. We’re back to where we were before as from today, with life returning to normal in our lovely little bubble, apart from closed borders and even more stringent quarantine restrictions for anybody who leaves and wants to return. And the vaccine of course, which is being rolled out gradually, and which we hope one day will allow us to make choices about our own lives again.

At least daily walks with Oscar should get easier. After a few days of experimenting with the best way of walking Oscar in lockdown, I decided that driving to somewhere a bit less busy is a good idea. Usually in the week I just walk him from our front door, but the streets have been much more crowded through lockdown with people getting their daily exercise. Some of the pavements and footpaths are very narrow, and some people are more nervous than others. Add dogs into that mix and it’s just good to find some space. Accordingly my daughter and I have been taking him to the beach or down to St Michael’s Isle where it’s relatively empty and he can run around, swim and jump in puddles without upsetting anybody.

It’s been a joy to have my daughter on our daily walks and I’m going to miss her dreadfully when she goes back to University, which she’s decided to do this weekend. There will be on online teaching of course, and the library is still closed, but now that she can travel, she wants to be back in her student house with her friends, even if they can’t see anybody else. She’s already left home in her head and these weeks of uncertainty and not knowing when she can go back have been miserable. I’ll miss her, but I understand.

Covid rules do odd things to people. I heard a story from somebody I know  about being yelled at for not wearing a mask in the street. From the other side of the road. Needless to say there were no rules about wearing masks out on a walk, and there is no way to know if somebody has a good reason for not doing so anyway. It’s extraordinary how this crisis brings out the best in so many people and the worst in others.

I’ve set myself some difficult writing goals for this year, but since I’m unlikely to be interrupted very much by inconvenient holidays or family visits, I’ve decided to go for it. I’m currently four chapters in to book three of the Manxman series, which is called This Bloody Shore and it’s going very well. I struggled this time to decide which book to write next. Technically, it should be the Manxman, as I tend to alternate the two series, but when I finished An Unmerciful Incursion I was so immersed in the world of the 110th that I began book seven straight away.  For a few weeks I worked on both, then Hugh and Durrell began to demand my attention and point out that it was their turn.

For the first time in a few years, I’m aiming to get two books out this year. Both of these are already well planned out, and as the subject of book seven is relatively easy to research (although the plotline is difficult) I think I might well manage it. Certainly it will keep me very busy and that’s a good thing. I’m incredibly lucky to have a job that I love so much that I can completely immerse myself in it. I am not convinced that life in 1811 would have been much fun, but writing about it is a wonderful way of removing myself from the current situation.

It’s good to know that we have a measure of freedom again, although I think I’m very aware of how fragile that can be. I really hope that my friends elsewhere in the world can achieve the same thing soon. I miss you all very much.

I miss travel and libraries and seeing my sister. I miss planning research trips and going to conferences. I miss big things like my holidays and I miss silly things like watching football on the TV and seeing real fans at Old Trafford. I miss my daughter being able to come and go from Uni freely, without worrying. I miss new films at the cinema, and shows coming over from the UK at the theatre and being able to look ahead and plan. I think we all miss different things, and I don’t think we should feel guilty about it. Whatever the awfulness in the world, it’s natural and normal to miss things that have been taken away from us. The key is to try to find other things to make us happy.

In the meantime, some lessons from Lockdown with Oscar: the End.

  1. I really hate lockdown
  2. Oscar really loves lockdown. “All my people are here!!!”
  3. Reading the news in lockdown is a form of self-harm
  4. So is talking to people about lockdown, Covid or Brexit
  5. Talking to people about history is great
  6. Also dogs
  7. I’m not good at rules
  8. Or being locked up
  9. Given 7 and 8, probably best not to take to a life of crime
  10. Dogs don’t understand social distancing
  11. Sensible creatures
  12. I love my study and my own desk with a deep and abiding passion
  13. I’m incredibly lucky
  14. The Isle of Man is pretty good at working together when it has a common aim
  15. Even if the aim is to go out and get blind drunk in the pubs on Saturday night
  16. I’m sort of proud of us
  17. Did I mention I hate lockdown?
  18. The phrases “covidiot” “stay safe” and “new normal” cause actual psychic trauma by now every time I read or hear them
  19. I’m pretty odd though
  20. My family are great and I adore them
  21. My friends, both local and online are also great and keep me sane
  22. So I need them all to stay safe. 
  23. Can’t believe I just said that.
  24. I want this to be over for everybody.

“Mum. Mum. What are you going on about, you said this would be a short post and then we’d go out.”

“Just coming, Oscar.”

“Is it true I can play with all my friends again?”

“Yep.”

“And their humans won’t be wearing muzzles?”

“That’s right, Oscar.”

“That sounds great to me. Let’s go to Derbyhaven Beach.”

“Come on then, I’ll get your lead.”

Lockdown with Oscar: Day Five

Lockdown with Oscar: Day Five

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After a very successful walk yesterday, it’s both raining and blowing a gale outside. Oscar has made a few forays into the garden to do the needful, and a quick trip up the road, but apart from that, he has decided against the outside world today.

When he doesn’t want to go for a walk, Oscar actually drags his paws. You wouldn’t think a Labrador could do that, but in fact this is the second one I’ve had. Joey, our old yella fella, would stride out in any weather regardless but Toby, our first black Labrador would get to the end of the driveway and freeze in position if he didn’t like the look of the weather. Nothing shifted him. I tried bribery, training, yelling and tugging on the lead. Toby would do his business against the gate post then turn back towards the house in a purposeful manner.

I don’t bother to argue with Oscar. He’s so active that the odd day without a long walk doesn’t hurt him. I’m not so keen myself today either. I had a poor night last night and after a reasonably productive day work wise I hit a serious afternoon slump at about ten to four. I’ve officially given up now and I’ve lit the fire and am dozing on the sofa with Oscar as I’m not cooking tonight.

One of the good points of my son working from home and being unable to go out with his friends is that he’s almost always willing to cook. He’s an excellent cook who can produce restaurant quality food and it’s quite a nice break for me. Steak is happening in the kitchen and it smells good.

I’ve almost finished chapter two today. I don’t yet have a sense of how long this book is likely to be. My last couple were fairly long, but the Tarragona campaign itself was very short. Still, there are several plotlines running through it. More to the point, I will actually get to spend a bit more time at sea during this book. Both my previous naval books have been joint campaigns featuring both the army and the navy, but this one is purely from the naval point of view, so I’m doing a lot of background reading. Oscar is doing less background reading and more snoring, but he seems happy.

“I’d be a lot happier if you’d move that laptop, Mum. That clicking is disturbing me.”

“You mean my typing?”

“Yes. So noisy.”

“I do apologise, your Lordship. I was trying to do some work.”

Lockdown is odd, because my own routine doesn’t really change that much, but because my family is all at home all the time, my schedule is very disrupted. I quite like them all being around though, it’s very social. Oscar adores it and spends the day going from one workplace to another so that none of us feels left out.

The Man I Married is a bit obsessed with the news at the moment. Mostly, I try to avoid it, but when we meet up for lunch, I get my daily rundown of the latest from the USA. It’s like watching a really weird version of the West Wing but without a lot of the witty remarks. Still, it does take your mind off the UK.

My daughter has finished her essay. The pain is over. The trauma is gone.

“Mum. I’m bored.”

“When does your new reading list come out?”

“This week, I think.”

“Why don’t you e-mail them?”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“Not permanently, love. Just until you’ve got something else to do…”

In the middle of all this, I find myself thinking about people with kids who are both working and trying to home school during this chaos. I remember how I was when the kids were young, and I was utterly devoted to them both and couldn’t wait to get them out the door to school or nursery. They needed the stimulation of mixing with other kids and adults and I needed some time away from them. It’s much the same now.

“Mum. I’m so ready to go back to York.”

“I know, love.”

“Bet you’re ready for that too…”

“Mmmm.”

Evenings are nice, though. Generally, we have a tendency to drift off to do our own thing, but without the social aspect of work or seeing friends, our youngsters are more inclined to hang around the kitchen or living room watching TV, playing games or just listening to music. I’ve heard a few parents with teenage or adult kids saying the same. Ours are quite lovely generally, but very busy, so this is a bit of an oasis.

I’m also very happy that my son’s girlfriend has chosen to isolate with us again, and grateful that her poor mother doesn’t mind. She’s a joy to have and I don’t know how either of them would have coped apart. It does make me think about all the couples who weren’t at the point of living together who must have struggled with very tough choices through this.

We’re lucky. We’re lucky to be able to be together, even though we can’t all be where we really want to be. We’re lucky that so far we’ve had no job losses or financial disasters because of this mess. I’m so conscious of those who have, that I almost feel guilty. It’s a fragile security, but sometimes that has to be enough.

Lockdown minus point 6: When it’s raining there’s nowhere indoors to go.

Lockdown plus point 6: Apart from home, which is a pretty nice place to be.

Lockdown with Oscar: Day Four

Lockdown with Oscar: Day Four

It’s Sunday, and after a wild night of compulsory Beer Pong with some of the younger members of the household, neither Oscar and I are up for an early start.

The Essay from Hell is almost done. We’re at that stage where Girl Child is studying it, and saying in dispassionate tones:

“This is actually not bad.”

Given that at various stages, this was the worst essay ever written and she was going to fail her entire degree because of it, that probably means she’ll get a first. All I have to do now is proofread, admire and leave her to it. Phew.

It’s quite a nice afternoon, so Oscar and I take the car and head up to Groudle Glen. I was hoping it would be quiet, but it turns out that on a dry afternoon in lockdown, the glen is the place to be. Some of the paths are very narrow, so there’s a lot of stopping and stepping to one side to let people pass. It’s all very amiable though. We meet a few dogs including an alarmingly cute pair of dachshunds.

“Mum, this is fun. Why are some people wearing their muzzles?”

“People are worried about catching Covid, Oscar.”

“You’re not wearing one.”

“You don’t have to, out here, only in shops or indoor places. We’re not getting close to people, I’m not worried about catching it here.”

“Why is that dog wearing a muzzle?”

“That’s got nothing to do with Covid, Oscar. Probably she bites.”

“Ugh. Can I paddle in the river?”

“A bit further down. Once we get past the water wheel.”

It’s the first time I’ve been down the glen since the old Victorian water wheel was back in place. It was removed for restoration, and it’s lovely to see it back, looking splendid. Oscar was very interested, but the water is very fast here, with a series of rapids, so we moved on to shallower parts before I let him off the lead to play in the water. He loves it, and will just run up and down in the river for the sheer joy of it.

“Mum, can we go to the beach?”

“If it’s not too busy, Oscar. There are a lot of children about today.”

“I won’t chase the children, I promise. I just want to SWIM!!!

The beach was fairly deserted apart from one family group and a woman with a teenaged daughter and their dog.

“Mum! A DOOOOOG! Can I go and play?”

“I think so, Oscar. Off you go.”

Meet Moz. I didn’t get too many details about him, as we had to socially distance, but he was lovely. His owners and I took turns to throw sticks in the water and Oscar and Moz chased them. It was a lot of fun. At one point they were actually swimming while holding the stick between them, which reminded me of Toby and Joey. I wish I’d got better photos, but they didn’t keep still for long enough.

“Mum, that was GREAT! Where shall we go tomorrow?”

“I don’t know, Oscar, let’s see what the weather is doing then decide.”

“Can I run and play over there?”

“NO! Absolutely not.”

“Why?”

“Because that area is pure bog, and if you run into it, you might get stuck. When Toby was young, before we even had Joey, he took a flying leap into there thinking it was solid ground, and couldn’t get out.”

“Ugh. What did you do?”

“I waded in to rescue him. Above my knees in black, smelly mud. It wasn’t good.”

“I’m glad you told me. I’ll give that a miss.”

Back at home, the essay is over and Girl Child is finishing the referencing. I head out to start cooking dinner and there’s no sign of Oscar. After a while, I go to check.

“Are you tired, Oscar?”

“Very tired, Mum. Is it dinner time yet?”

“Almost, baby boy.”

“Think I’ll stay here with Anya until it’s ready. She says I’m a big help…”

“It looks as though you are, Oscar. Sweet dreams.”

Lockdown minus point number 5: Playing hide and seek on narrow paths through the glen.

Lockdown plus point number 5: We have the glens

Lockdown with Oscar: Day 2

Lockdown with Oscar: Day 2

Today was meant to be a Shopping and Errand Day. With this in mind, I set up shop in the kitchen, so that I could use the table to sort out my overflowing admin file and work out what needed to be done. This is always a job I have to do early in January. I have the sort of brain that has to make admin a project. I’ve been trying for my entire adult life to deal with paperwork as it comes in and not let it pile up, but I now understand that I am never going to be that person. Over any busy period, such as Christmas, I am never going to deal with admin on a daily basis, so I’ve trained myself to keep a proper file so that when I do get around to doing it, I’ve got everything in one place and I don’t have to search for vital pieces of paper stashed in odd drawers and on shelves.

I didn’t do badly with the admin and as a reward, I allowed myself to sit and write for a bit. Three hours later, I am willing to acknowledge that Shopping and Errand Day might not happen today. We’ve got enough to manage…

Essay writing is going well, I think, but as it’s happening in a different room today, I’m not quite so involved. Occasionally the laptop is thrust under my nose and I get to learn new and interesting facts about seventeenth century government finance, but mostly life is peaceful. Even my afternoon walk with Oscar didn’t happen today, as he was stolen by my son’s girlfriend, who is on a fitness kick. Oscar bounded out the door with huge excitement, and returned an hour later full of beans.

“OMG, Mum, I went on a walk with Rachael!”

“I know you did, Oscar. Did you enjoy it?”

“It was brilliant. We’re going to do it again! We saw loads of people again. Some of them were wearing muzzles again!”

“Masks, Oscar.”

“Whatever. It stops them from biting each other, which is good. Anyway, I’m just off to tell Rachael how much I love her again.”

I leave Oscar to it, listening to the shrieks from Rachael as Oscar leaps onto her as she’s sitting on the sofa and tries to climb onto her head. I’m sure she’ll be fine…

Eventually, worn out with so much love, Oscar comes back to the kitchen. We’ve moved his favourite bed next to my chair so he can be nice and close, and it’s clear the walk has worn him out.

“Mum. Is it dinner time?”

“No, you’ve got a couple of hours yet, Oscar. Have a snooze.”

Ten minutes pass.

“Mum. As we didn’t get a walk today, do you think we could go down the glen this evening, to see the lights?”

“If it’s not raining, Oscar.”

“It’s not going to rain. I can feel it in my tail. What’s for dinner?”

“Dog food, Oscar.”

“What else?”

“We’re having take away, it’s Friday.”

“Mmm. That sounds interesting. I might go and see Jon, he’s talking to the computer again.”

“Oh no you don’t. He’s on a zoom call with work.”

“Oh. Don’t you think they’d like to meet me?”

“Maybe later. Settle down, baby boy.”

Another ten minutes.

“Mum. I like lockdown.”

“Why’s that, Oscar?”

“You’re all here.”

“That’s a fair point, Oscar. Want to come into the garden and play?”

“Yes, please! Now, who shall I bring? Red snake hasn’t been out for a while.”

Sometimes, I think Oscar is a very wise dog. Maybe there are some good points to lockdown after all.

Lockdown plus point 3: We’re all together.

Lockdown minus point 3: I will need to wear my muzzle in the supermarket and the post office when I go tomorrow. Still, at least it will stop me biting anybody…

 

 

 

Lockdown with Oscar: Day 1

Lockdown with Oscar: Day 1

It’s the first proper day of lockdown on the Isle of Man.

It’s raining.

I awoke with great intentions of getting up early and taking Oscar for a walk, but grey skies and a steady drizzle put paid to this. Oscar got as far as the front gate, sneered a bit, did a wee over the footballing garden gnome as he usually does, then went back inside for breakfast. After that he headed for the sofa with the air of a dog who has seen what the outside world involves and has no further interest in it. We’ll try again later.

We’re working in the living room today, since my son is now working at home for three weeks so I’ve heroically given up my desk to him, as multiple zoom meetings are difficult to manage in the middle of family life. I don’t mind working in the living room, but today it includes my daughter writing an essay discussing whether or not the seventeenth century could be called a century of revolution. My girl is a very vocal worker and likes to share the experience of essay writing with anybody who is willing to listen. Or anybody who would rather not listen. It goes rather like this.

“Mum, listen to my opening paragraph.”

“Have you changed it since last night?”

“No, but I’m about to.”

“Why don’t you rewrite it and then read it to me.”

“Because you’ve probably already forgotten it from yesterday, and I want you to tell me if you think the new one is better or worse.”

“What makes you think I won’t have forgotten it by the time you’ve rewritten it.”

“Don’t be silly, you’re not that demented yet.”

That’s possibly true, but I’m going in the right direction.

One of the things I enjoy about lockdown is how quiet it it. We live fairly close to a main road, and though the traffic here is nothing like the traffic in the UK, we can hear a steady stream of cars when we’re outside in the garden during rush hour. This morning there was nothing, just the pitter patter of raindrops and the sound of a seriously aggravated bird in the Rowan tree. I’ve no idea what upset him this morning, maybe a seagull got to his breakfast first, but it was the most aggressive tweeting I’ve ever heard. Must put bird food out shortly to shut him up.

Going into the kitchen was the first irritation of the day. As my son and his girlfriend cooked last night (delicious stir fry with crispy chicken) I cleared up. It’s good for my mood to come down to a clear kitchen so I religiously loaded the dishwasher and washed all pots and pans. Coming down this morning, I realised that the Phantom Night Chef had been at work. My son has the ability to eat at all hours, and it doesn’t occur to him to make do with a packet of crisps if he wants a snack at midnight. God knows what he cooked, but the smell of garlic is going to keep us safe from vampires for months. Ignored pots and pans and sat down to work.

“Mum. Listen to this and tell me if you think I’ve got two separate arguments in this paragraph.”

Twenty minutes goes by.

“Mum. You need to see this.”

“You want me to read another paragraph?”

“No, I want you to look at this video of polar bears playing in the snow.”

“Maybe it’s lunch time.”

Oscar jumps off the sofa. He understands the word lunch.

I managed to get a good couple of hours in this afternoon and I was pleased with what I’d done. The rain finally stopped so I called Oscar for his walk before it started again. Oscar looked at me. I think he’d decided we weren’t going to do that today. Eventually, grumbling a bit, he heaved himself off the sofa. There was a bit of a discussion in the kitchen about whether we could take Stripy Bunny with us. Getting bored with the tug of war, I gave in. Three minutes up the road, I stooped to pick up Stripy Bunny and put him in my bag. We’ve done this before.

There are some things about the previous lockdown that I rather liked. One of them is the variety of artwork that sprang up on fences and walls around the island. I’m not sure if they were done by bored children or if some of the adults decided to break out a bit during their time off, but they do brighten the place up on a grey afternoon. This one is in the next road to us and I’m very fond of it.

In the same road, I could hear loud music. As I reached the house, the garage door was open and a young couple were on the driveway washing their cars with a hose. It was freezing out, but they were wrapped up in hats and scarves and dancing around to the music as they worked. Spotting us, she grinned and waved, while he looked a bit embarrassed but then waved as well. Oscar was dying to go and say hello but we’re socially distancing so we didn’t.

After half an hour, I remembered the things I love and the things I don’t about lockdown. The lack of traffic is a joy. We have at least one quite awkward road to cross on this route, and it’s bliss just to stroll across. On the other hand, the island is now full of people with bored kids and it’s finally stopped raining. The world, his wife, their entire families including their dogs were out and about, with bikes and scooters. Oscar’s tail was wagging frantically at the sight of ALL THE NEW FRIENDS!!!!! Mine was not.

“Oscar, sit. Stay. Let them go past.”

“But she’s smiling at me, Mum, she wants to play.”

“I know, Oscar, but you can’t. It’s lockdown.”

“Boo. Don’t like…OMG look!!!! It’s a dog!!! He wants to be friends!!!!”

“Oscar, come back. Sit. Stay. We can’t, not today.”

On the footbridge we met a small boy wheeling his bike, probably about eight, whose face lit up.

“Can I stroke your dog?”

“No…”

Too late. Clearly this kid comes from a dog loving family and his arms were around Oscar before I could say any more. Oscar enthusiastically returned the love. I waited a moment, at the length of the lead, then gave a gentle reminder to wait for permission next time,  because of social distancing and because the dog might not be friendly. I got a big gappy grin in return.

“Oh, it’s all right. I could see he was friendly. And you as well.”

Sussed out by an eight year old, we carried on.

Further down the narrow path we met a selection of people with dogs, kids, bikes and scooters. It was a challenge, but we all managed to keep the distance until we came across an older couple with a small dog which was off the lead. I pulled Oscar over to the side yet again, but their dog waddled up to say hello. 

“It’s all right, dear,” the old lady said. I gritted my teeth a bit. It was all right, but she didn’t actually know it was going to be, not knowing my dog, and if they’d got into a spat, we’d have had to get very close to separate them. Dogs are supposed to be on a lead down this path, but usually I wouldn’t care. This week I’m trying to do the right thing.

Almost home, and we met a genuine challenge, The dog was huge, a big black bear of a hound, being walked along the narrowest bit of pavement by a woman. She saw us and paused, looking around. There was nowhere to pull over and it was clear that both dogs wanted nothing more than a play session right here and now. Which would be great on the beach but this was not the time or place. I called Oscar to heel and crossed the road for a minute, out of the way. She passed with a big grateful smile and a wave. Her dog glared at me for spoiling his fun.

“He looked like fun, Mum, why couldn’t we play?”

“Not by a road, Oscar. Cheer up, it was a nice walk and if it’s better weather tomorrow, we’ll take the car and go somewhere I can let you off for a run.”

“Great idea. It’s getting dark now anyway.”

“Here we are. Let’s get your lead off and have a drink.”

“And dinner. Is it dinner time, Mum?”

“Another hour, Oscar.”

“Boring. Might have a nap then. I’ll just settle here by your feet with Owl and Floppy Bunny and Hilda the Sheep.”

“Enjoy your sleep, baby boy. Now where was I? Ah yes, a beach in Norfolk, 1810…”

Lockdown plus number 2: People are so friendly out and about. Although I loathe the phrase with a passion, I have to admit there is a genuine sense that we’re all in this together. Except when I remember the Panic Buyers Without a Brain Cell but as I avoided shops today, I could forget about them.

Lockdown minus number 2: I miss working at my own desk in my own study. I know it makes more sense for my son, but I still miss it.

 

Summerhill Glen #OscarWalks

Summerhill Glen #OscarWalks is the first post Oscar and I have done for some time. We’ve been out for walks, of course, but I’ve been away a few times and Oscar had his little operation, which meant we’ve not been out and about around the island as much as we’d have liked. Needless to say, we’re going to be a bit limited for a while, but even close to home, there are some interesting places to go, and one of our favourite places for a daily walk is Summerhill Glen, which is only five minutes from our front door.

 

“Are we going down Summerhill Glen today, Mum? I love Summerhill Glen.”

“We are, Oscar, but I’m afraid we won’t be able to play with any other dogs at the moment. I doubt there will be many about.”

“No, it’s very quiet. I like the quiet, though. Not so many scary cars and lorries on the road. Easier to cross.”

Summerhill Glen has two entrances.  The top entrance is on Victoria Road near Governor’s Bridge, and the main entrance is on Summerhill, just up from Douglas Prom. It was apparently originally named Glen Crutchery. The water from the river was used to provide power to a snuff mill on Strathallan Crescent, but the mill burned to the ground in the late eighteenth century. The road became known as Burnt Mill Hill, and then later, Summerhill from a mansion house at the bottom of Blackberry Lane.

In 1833, the glen was purchased by Douglas Waterworks to provide water for the first Douglas reservoir. The reservoir was still in use in the 1970s, to provide water for washing down the prom, but after a fatal accident, the reservoir was filled in although it is still possible to see where it was. The glen as we know it today was developed in 1932-1933 by young men aged between 18 and 22 on a ‘work for the workless” scheme.  It was then leased by Douglas Corporation. Initially, there was a proposal to call it Waterworks Glen but this was rejected in favour of Summerhill Glen, which I personally think was a good decision.

Summerhill Glen is a beautiful little oasis close to the centre of Douglas, with a series of paths leading between trees and shrubs, alongside a stream with a little waterfall. In the 1980s a fairy grotto was created, and this has been upgraded several times since then, with carved wooden seats and illuminations during the summer season and at Christmas and Halloween.

“I didn’t like the Halloween lights, Mum. That dog.”

“You mean the Moddey Dhoo, Oscar? You got used to him.”

“I know. I don’t mind him now, but when I first saw him, with all that fog around the marsh, and that howling noise, he frightened the life out of me. Now, I just think he reminds me of old Toby.”

“Toby and Joey both loved this glen.”

“And who wouldn’t? There are trees and flowers and bushes and mud and water and ALL THE SMELLS!!!!!”

“There are also a lot of steps and it’s quite steep, Oscar, stop pulling.”

“Sorry. Got a bit excited. What’s that?”

“It’s a waterfall, Oscar.”

One of the advantages of the glen for us, is that we can walk down to the prom and the beach from home. It’s possible, during the summer months, to take the horse drawn tram from the bottom of the glen right down into town, which is a picturesque, if not particularly speedy way to get to the shops. Alternatively, we can just walk along the prom, or take Oscar onto the beach.

 

 

Spring is particularly lovely in the glen, with daffodils and wild flowers forming splashes of colour in the middle of the dense green of the vegetation. The main path is very good, although some of the side paths can get a bit boggy and slippery which can be an issue with an over enthusiastic labrador. Oscar has got so good on the lead now, though, that I don’t have to worry about him.

 

Oscar’s first visit to the cannon at Summerhill Glen. He’s grown a bit since then…

“What are those?”

“Cannon.”

“I’ve seen cannon somewhere else, haven’t I?”

“You have. There were some in the little fort on St Michael’s Isle. I believe these are here because there used to be some kind of fortification here as well, to defend this part of the island.”

“It’s a shame you can’t use them against this virus-thing.”

“Isn’t it just, Oscar? Right, are you ready to walk back up?”

Look at these ones, Mum, they’re quite high. I suppose fairies can fly, though…

“Yes. Can we look at the fairy doors?”

“We can. We should get two with Toby and Joey’s name on one day.”

“And mine?”

“Why not?”

“I like it down here at night, when it’s all lit up. Will that happen this year, Mum?”

“I don’t know, Oscar. It’s a bit different this year, they might not have the summer illuminations. But I think we’ll be back on for Halloween and Christmas.”

“Christmas was my favourite, it was like magic. I’m sure some of those lights looked like fairies.”

“They really did, Oscar. You tried to chase the moving ones. Beautiful. We’ll keep an eye out for the summer though, they might be back on around August time.”

The fairy doors throughout the glen were created by local schools, play groups and other organisations, and they give a real sense of magic to the glen. It’s a favourite activity for  local children to run through the glen spotting new doors and reading out the names on them. Oscar always gives the ones he can reach a good sniff, but he takes them in his stride, unlike my old fella Toby, who always took exception to ANYTHING NEW on one of his regular walks. Over the years, in addition to the fairy doors, he was know to lose it with such disparate items as new rubbish bins, a new bus shelter, a statue of a pig in somebody’s front garden and a Christmas tree on the quay. Toby didn’t like change, whereas I think Oscar has a sense of adventure.

You find fairy doors in the strangest places in Summerhill Glen, those fairies get everywhere
Oscar checking out some of the fairy doors in the glen
Fabulous tree carving at the top of the glen

“Look Mum, it’s the big wooden thing.”

“You mean the tree carving, Oscar. Yes, it’s lovely, isn’t it?”

“I remember coming here when I was a puppy. I loved this tree, there are so many different carvings on it.”

“You were a lot smaller then, Oscar. You couldn’t get up onto this seat back then. Want to have a sit down?”

 

 

Oscar is enjoying having a sit down on the seat which is part of the tree carving.

“Yes. This is such a cool seat. What’s that?”

“It’s an owl.”

“Really? Let me see. I like owls. I got an owl toy for my birthday, didn’t I? I love my owl. Let me see this one close up.”

 

Oscar investigating the owl carving
He really likes this owl

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Are there any more owls round this side?

“Right, let’s get home, Oscar. I need to get some work done.”

“Will Jon be there?”

“Yes.”

“And Anya?”

“Yes.”

“And Dad and Rachael?”

“Everybody’s working at home for a while, Oscar, they’ll all be there.”

“That’s great. You know, it’s a shame we can’t go far, Mum, but this lockdown isn’t all bad, you know… I think I’ll cuddle my owl when I get home and have a nap.”

“Sounds like a plan, Oscar.”

Oscar and I will be keeping closer to home for a while, but we’re looking forward to the challenge of finding some interesting places for #OscarWalks to investigate nearby. 

Don’t forget that there are eight short historical fiction stories available here, which will give you a flavour of my writing and give you something to do during lockdown.

 

If you enjoyed Summerhill Glen #OscarWalks and want to hear more from Writing with Labradors, or find out about my books, why not follow me on Facebook, Twitter,  Instagram or  Medium?

 

Oscar has grown a bit since this early photo beside the tree carving at the top of the glen
Definitely Larger.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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