I’m delighted to welcome David Fitz-Gerald to the blog with an excerpt from his new historical thriller, If It’s The Last Thing I Do
From Chapter 6
On Thursday morning, Stanley asked me if he could borrow a couple of hundred dollars until next week. He said he had made some miscalculations. His checkbook didn’t add up straight and he didn’t have any savings. I asked him if two hundred dollars would get him through, and he assured me that it would.
Doyle Polk was coming up the sidewalk as I pulled my wallet from my purse and handed cash to the night watchman. I glanced at the general manager and saw his frown, and in that instant, I knew he didn’t approve and I was going to hear about it. I didn’t have long to wait. Stanley’s Plymouth had barely left the parking lot when Doyle confronted me. “What are you doing, giving that man money?”
I felt my face tighten defensively. “He said he needed money, so I agreed to help him until next week.”
“And what will you do next week when he needs money for something else, Lady Fingers?”
“I don’t know, Doyle. I guess I’ll worry about that next week.”
“And what will you do when Stanley’s coworkers find out you lent Stanley some money? Won’t be long and you’ll be making dozens of loans.”
“Good heavens, Doyle. I never met anyone with such a dismal outlook.”
“You don’t know these guys like I do, Misty. Give ’em an inch, they’ll take a mile. Give ’em a dime, they’ll steal a dollar, and ask you for change for a twenty.”
“How did you get to be so jaded?”
“Did I mention I’ve been here for a long time? When I started out, I lent a guy a hundred dollars. Just like I said, before I knew it, everybody was asking me for money. I felt like a flippin’ bank. Learned my lesson and stopped that right away. These guys lead a hardscrabble life, Misty. They go from one emergency to the next as fast as you turn the pages in the Lake Placid News. You gotta harden yourself to it. You’ve heard the story about the swimmer drowning the lifeguard, ain’t you? If you get too close to ’em, they’ll drag you underwater. Gotta stay aloof. That’s what I always say. Unless you gonna give everybody two hundred dollars, don’t give anybody money.”
Here’s the blurb
It’s 1975, and Misty Menard unexpectedly inherits her father’s business in Lake Placid, New York. It never occurred to her that she could wind up as the CEO of a good old-fashioned manufacturing company.
After years of working for lawyers, Misty knows a few things about the law. Her favorite young attorney is making a name for himself, helping traditionally owned companies become employee owned, using a little-known, newly-passed law. When he offers to help Misty convert Adirondack Dowel into an ESOP, pro bono, Misty jumps at the chance.
The employees are stunned, the management team becomes hostile, and the Board of Directors is concerned. Misfortune quickly follows the business transformation. A big customer files for bankruptcy. A catastrophic ice jam floods the business. Stagflation freezes the economy. A mysterious shrouded foe plots revenge. Misty’s family faces a crisis. The Trustee is convinced something fishy is going on, the appraiser keeps lowering the company’s value, and the banker demands additional capital infusions. Misty thought she had left her smoking addiction and alcoholism in the past, but when a worker’s finger is severed in an industrial accident, Misty relapses.
Disasters threaten to doom the troubled company. After surviving two world wars and the Great Depression, it breaks Misty’s heart to think that she has destroyed her father’s company. All she wants is to cement her father’s legacy and take care of the people who built the iconic local business. Can a quirky CEO and her loyal band of dedicated employee owners save an heirloom company from foreclosure, repossession, and bankruptcy?
Get your copy of the thrilling If It’s the Last Thing I Do now… if it’s the last thing you do!
David Fitz-Gerald writes historical fiction in his spare time, with the hope of transporting readers to another time and place.
If It’s the Last Thing I Do is his 7th novel.
Dave has worked for more than 30 years as an accountant, employee owner, and member of the management team at a “silver” ESOP (employee-owned) company. He has championed the cause in national, non-profit association leadership roles.
Dave’s family roots run deep in the Adirondacks, going back generations. He attended college and worked at a deli in Saranac Lake during the 1980s. He spent two summers as an elf at Santa’s Workshop on Whiteface Mountain in the 1970s and is an Adirondack 46-er, which means he has hiked all of New York’s highest peaks.
Penda of Mercia is famous for many things, including killing two Northumbrian kings throughout his life. He’s also famous for being a pagan at a time when Roman Christianity was asserting itself from the southern kingdom of Kent. But who was he?
Who was Penda of Mercia?
Penda’s origins are unclear. We don’t know when he was born or where he came from, although it must be assumed he was a member of a family from which the growing kingdom of Mercia might look for its kings. He’s often associated with the subkingdom of the Hwicce, centered around Gloucester. The later source, the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, written at least two hundred and fifty years after his life records,
626 ‘And Penda had the kingdom for 30 years; and he was 50 years old when he succeeded to the kingdom.’ ASC A p24
626 ‘And here Penda succeeded to the kingdom, and ruled 30 years.’ ASC E p25
Knowing, as we do, that he died in 655, this would have made Penda over eighty years old at his death, a fact that is much debated. Was his age just part of the allure of the legend? A mighty pagan warrior, fighting well into his eighties? Sadly, we may never know the truth of that, but it is disputed, and there are intricate problems with the sources that boggle the brain.
Hædfeld, Maserfeld and Winwæd
Suffice it to say, we don’t know Penda’s age or origins clearly, but we do know that he was involved in three very famous battles throughout the middle years of the seventh century, that at Hædfeld in 632/33 fought somewhere close to the River Don, in which King Edwin of Northumbria was killed. That of Maserfeld, in 641/2 in which King Oswald of Northumbria was killed, close to Oswestry, not far from today’s Welsh border. And Penda’s final battle, that of Winwæd in 655 in which he was killed while fighting in the north, perhaps close to Leeds. While these are the battles we know a great deal about, thanks to the writings of Bede and his Ecclesiastical History of the English People, a Northumbrian monk, with an interest in Northumbria’s religious conversion, who completed his work in 731, Penda was a warrior through and through. He fought the kingdoms to the south, the West Saxons, or Wessex as we might know it. He fought in the kingdom of the East Angles. He allied with Welsh kings. He meddled in affairs in Northumbria, and had he not died in 655, it is possible that Northumbria’s Golden Age would have ended much sooner than it did. His son married a Northumbrian princess. His daughter married a Northumbrian prince. Penda was either brokering an alliance with Northumbria or perhaps using marriage as a means of assimilating a kingdom that he was clear to overrun.
Bede
Our narrator of Penda’s reign, is sadly a Christian monk writing up to seventy years after his death. His commentary is biased, and his story is focused on the triumph of religion and Northumbria, probably in that order. And yet, as Bede’s work was coming to its conclusion, even he understood that the Golden Age of Northumbria was coming to an end. A later king, Æthelbald, related not to Penda, but to his brother, Eowa, killed at the battle of Maserfeld, although whether fighting beside his brother or for the enemy is unknown, was the force in Saxon England at the time. How those words must have burned to write when Bede couldn’t skewer the contemporary narrative as he might have liked.
But while Penda’s reign is so closely tied to the words of Bede, our only real source from the period in Saxon England, although there are sources that exist from Wales and Ireland, Penda’s achievements aren’t to be ignored.
Penda’s reputation
Recent historians cast Penda in a complimentary light. D.P. Kirby calls him ‘without question the most powerful Mercian ruler so far to have emerged in the Midlands.’ Frank Stenton has gone further, ‘the most formidable king in England.’ While N J Higham accords him ‘a pre-eminent reputation as a god-protected, warrior king.’ These aren’t hastily given words from men who’ve studied Saxon England to a much greater degree than I have. Penda and his reputation need a thorough reassessment.
After his death, his children ruled after him, but in time, it was to his brother’s side of the family that later kings claimed their descent, both King Æthelbald and King Offa of the eighth-century Mercian supremacy are said to have descended from Eowa.
1347. Bruised and bloodied by an epic battle at Crécy, six soldiers of fortune known as the Essex Dogs pick through the wreckage of the fighting – and their own lives.
Now a new siege is beginning, and the Dogs are sent to attack the soaring walls of Calais. King Edward has vowed no Englishman will leave France til this city falls. To get home, they must survive a merciless winter in a lawless camp deadlier than any battlefield.
Obsessed with tracking down the vanished Captain, Loveday struggles to control his own men. Romford is haunted by the reappearance of a horrific figure from his past. And Scotsman is spiralling into a pit of drink, violence and self-pity.
The Dogs are being torn apart – but this war is far from over. It won’t be long before they lose more of their own…
Wolves of Winter takes readers to the aftermath of the English ‘triumph’ at the Battle of Crecy and reunites readers with those of the Essex Dogs who yet live. Far from the promise of returning home with their forty days pay for fighting in the English king’s army, our remaining Dogs find themselves directed to Calais, which the English king has decided must be taken from French hands. What ensues is a harsh portrayal of the life of fighting men, mere pawns in the hands of the English king, his son and their battle commanders.
This is not a tale filled with lighter moments. Our Dogs are world-weary and frustrated. Loveday is bedevilled by a face from the past, young Romford is a mess, and the others have their own problems as well. They haven’t even managed to make any extra cash from war booty because they’re too slow to try and sell their captured weapons, and the king has ordered all French weapons must be handed over to prevent them being sold to their enemy.
Told from multiple points of view, both from those inside Calais and those without, and also from someone who’s lost all thanks to the English, the story feels somewhat disconnected on occasion. There are also some characters who don’t fare well, and indeed, whose part in the story seems to serve little purpose (it’s somewhat unfortunate that these are two of the only three female characters mentioned).
This isn’t a simple story of a siege. Every party has a self-interest in the success or failure of the siege or in withstanding the siege. It’s multi-layered and fulfilling on a number of levels. It does lack some of the lighter moments from Essex Dogs. Northampton, a larger-than-life character, doesn’t feature as much, and he is a bit of a miss.
The eventual ending of the siege and the final moments of the book are particularly poignant, but it does leave me wondering whether we can even talk of the Essex Dogs any more or if they have simply become a few individuals with loyalty to no one but themselves. Perhaps that, then, is the meaning behind the title. I will have to wait and see when book 3 in the trilogy is released.
Wolves of Winter is a harsh tale of war and depravation – and how the machinations of the nobility and ruling family impact the lives of those they command or wish to overthrow. And behind the royalty and nobility are those with the money who truly hold all the cards.
Dan Jones is the Sunday Times and New York Times bestselling author of many non-fiction books, including The Plantagenets, The Templars, and Powers and Thrones. He is a renowned writer, broadcaster and journalist. He has presented dozens of TV shows, including the Netflix series Secrets of Great British Castles, and writes and hosts the podcast This is History. His debut novel, Essex Dogs, is the first in a series following the fortunes of ordinary soldiers in the early years of the Hundred Years’ War. He is a Fellow of the Royal Historical Society.
I’m delighted to be sharing an excerpt from War Sonnets by Susannah Willey.
ASSAULT FORCE
The sea is calm; upon its boundless deep
Our troopship glides, lost in infinity.
Beneath her decks two thousand soldiers sleep,
Or, waking, wonder what their fate will be.
From my assigned position here on high
I peer ahead, and in the east I see
The dawn’s pale fingers clawing at the sky,
And then, a speck of land. The enemy
Will not be sleeping.
Now the troops are out
And stand in little groups beside each boat.
The gunship’s roar drowns out the sergeant’s shout.
Rope ladders fall, the LCIs, afloat,
Receive two thousand men in war array.
Each boat, full loaded, quickly moves away.
CHAPTER 18
PHILIPPINE SEA—JANUARY 31, 1945
Leo sat against a pile of life rafts, his knees bent to support the letter he was writing. Dooley perched on a pile of rafts next to him with a handful of Aussie sailors. Their ship, the Australian transport Westralia, was part of a large convoy escorted by agile destroyers. …
“I could spend the rest of the war right here.” Dooley patted the life raft. “Whatcha think, Yankee boy?” Ever since they’d left New Guinea, Dooley had acted like his outburst at Leo’s promotion had never happened.
Leo set down his pen and took a moment to stretch his arms. “I think I’d rather be almost anywhere but on a ship.”
Dooley took a last, deep drag on his cigarette. “With our luck,” he said, exhaling smoke through his nostrils, “we’ll get sunk by a submarine before we get to Luzon.” He flicked his cigarette into the water.
“Not funny.” Leo growled.
“More likely some crazy kamikaze,” an Aussie sailor said, “locked into a bomb-loaded plane they call an Okha. But Baka is more like it: a bloody fool.” His fellow seamen snickered.
“Those mates are crazy.” The sailor propped himself up on one elbow. “One of ’em nearly sent us to kingdom come a couple months ago.” He glanced at his fellow Aussies. “Ain’t that right, mates?”
“Yeah, up in Leyte,” said another. “Missed us by a wallaby’s tail.” He held up his thumb and forefinger, an inch apart.
“About eight of them just dropped from the clouds.” The Aussie launched into his story. “Before you could blink, one of them crashed head-on into one of our carriers. Our mates couldn’t do anything but watch.”
Sitting on the open deck, Leo felt exposed. He subconsciously scanned the sky for enemy planes, strained to hear their engines. His brain struggled with an indistinct image of planes impacting with ships—something he’d really rather not imagine.
“Instead of cats and dogs, it was raining planes and bodies, machine-gun fire and bombs. Seemed like those bloody bastards were hell-bent on dying.”
One of his mates picked up the story. “The ship next to us got clobbered. Bloody Baka took out half the crew. Men flyin’ through the air like rag dolls, others stuck with shrapnel. They said the deck was covered with Jap guts and brains, all kinds of body parts and plane wreckage.”
That was something Leo couldn’t begin to imagine, and he was grateful for that. He dang sure didn’t want to get obsessed about being split into pieces by a kamikaze. “Sitting ducks” was a perfect description of their situation out here in the middle of the ocean. Except a duck was a lot harder to hit than a troopship.
The Aussie storyteller looked at Dooley. “You should’ve seen it, Yank. Helluva mess.”
Dooley bristled at that last remark. “Don’t call me a Yank.”
One of the Australian soldiers snickered. “Well, that accent of yours sure ain’t Brit.”
Dooley jumped to the deck, fists clenched at his sides. “You can call Sergeant Baldwin here a Yank cause he’s a northerner. But I’m from Loo-siana, and where I come from, calling a southern boy a Yank is fightin’ words.”
The Aussie held up a hand. “Don’t go getting your civvies wrinkled, mate. It’s just what we call Americans.”
“American’s full of goddamned mongrels, and I ain’t one of them,” Dooley growled. “We got Russkies and Polacks, Wops—and Yankees.” He spat out the word as if it was the sourest bit of vomit. “We got so many Nips they had to build prison camps to keep ’em outta our hair. And that don’t even count the spics and ni—”
Leo had about enough of Dooley’s bragging and bigotry. He held his hand out for Dooley to stop. “Yeah, we get it. You southern boys are some kind of special all right.”
Dooley glared at Leo and started pacing. “All’s I’m sayin’”—his deep southern drawl thickened as he stopped and pointed an accusing finger at the Aussie—”is don’t put me in the same kennel with the mutts.”
The sailor put up his hands in a defensive gesture. “Slow down and speak English, mate. Whatever language you’re talkin’ sounds more like Chinese.”
“Ain’t no goddamned Chink, mate.”Dooley put up his fists, took a step toward the rafts.
The Aussie jumped off the raft, ready to fight. “You ain’t winnin’ this fight, Yank.”
Dooley snarled and lunged toward the Aussie sailor, who raised his fists and took a step toward Dooley.
“Come on, fellas.” Leo didn’t want any part of this fight. Dooley was being a jerk, and it embarrassed Leo. He stepped between the two men, cautiously put a hand on Dooley’s chest. “You’re making this a bigger deal than it oughta be. Step back and cool off a minute.”
Dooley glared, but what Leo noticed was beyond Dooley: a cloud of smoke bursting from a destroyer escort in the near distance. In seconds, the air boomed with the report of multiple firing K-guns.
The harsh tones of the General Quarters alarm sent the men on the life rafts scrambling. As troops en route to the front lines, they weren’t much more than cargo—there was nothing for them to do but hide.
Adrenaline surged through Leo’s body as his brain went to work. K-guns fired depth charges. Depth charges meant enemy subs. Enemy subs meant torpedoes—likely the ones the Japs called kaitens, manned suicide bombs not unlike the kamikaze planes. They were notoriously inaccurate, but how accurate did a danged torpedo have to be? His mind was spinning out of control even as he fought to stay calm.
“Leo!” Dooley shouted from under the pile of life rafts and gestured for Leo to join him.
Dooley’s shout got his attention.
Leo’s instincts took over. He looked across the ship’s deck, crowded with frantic soldiers trying to find their way, being pushed and shoved by the ship’s crew trying to do their jobs.
“Come on, Yank.” Dooley’s voice was strained and insistent. “Get in here.”
Leo scrambled under the life rafts, pushing his way well back into the pile.
All sound was muffled now, the incessant alarm, the boom of exploding missiles, the shouts of men who hadn’t yet found cover. The skirmish sounded deceptively far away.
Leo’s heart pounded. Every breath took effort in the suffocating enclosure created by the life rafts. Was that a plane he’d heard? He struggled to shut out the noise and concentrate. His body tensed, waiting for the explosion that would collapse the deck underneath him. He struggled to breathe.
This was too soon. They weren’t supposed to fight until Luzon.
Leo thought about his future, his belief that hard work and ethics were all it took to be a success. He hadn’t counted on random things like kamikaze and kaiten. He hadn’t faced the fact that life and death didn’t take sides. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, forced himself to slow his breathing.
I’m not ready to die. Not yet.
At last, the battleships went quiet, the General Quarters alarm stilled, and the order came to stand down.
Leo pulled himself from his hiding place, watching as soldiers slowly emerged from where they had taken cover. Many of them had merely lain prone on deck with their hands covering their head.
“Holy shit.” Dooley slipped out from under the life rafts. “What in hell was that?”
Leo’s hands still trembled as he brushed off his fatigues. “Too close is what that was.” He scanned the ships in the convoy. “Doesn’t look like anyone took any damage.”
Dooley stood and turned in a slow circle as he surveyed the ships. Leo noticed that Dooley’s hands trembled almost as much as his own. The sea was quiet now, the sun bright on the water as each ship sailed on its own reflection. Neither Leo nor Dooley felt compelled to disrupt the calm.
At last, Dooley completed his rounds and turned to Leo. “Yankee boy, I think we’re at war.”
Here’s the blurb
1942: In the war-torn jungles of Luzon, two soldiers scout the landscape. Under ordinary circumstances they might be friends, but in the hostile environment of World War II, they are mortal enemies.
Leal Baldwin, a US Army sergeant, writes sonnets. His sights are set on serving his country honorably and returning home in one piece. But the enemy is not always Japanese…Dooley wants Leo’s job, and he’ll do whatever it takes to get it…Leo finds himself fighting for his reputation and freedom.
Lieutenant Tadashi Abukara prefers haiku. He has vowed to serve his emperor honorably, but finds himself fighting a losing battle. Through combat, starvation, and the threat of cannibalism, Tadashi’s only thought is of survival and return to his beloved wife and son. As Leo and Tadashi discover the humanity of the other side and the questionable moral acts committed by their own, they begin to ask themselves why they are here at all. When they at last meet in the jungles of Luzon, only one will survive, but their poetry will live forever.
Susannah Willey is a baby boomer, mother of four, grandmother of three, and a recovering nerd. To facilitate her healing, she writes novels. In past lives, she has been an office assistant, stay-at-home-mom, Special Education Teaching Assistant, School Technology Coordinator, and Emergency Medical Technician. She holds a Bachelor’s Degree in Instructional Computing from S.U.N.Y. Empire State College, and a Master’s Degree in Instructional Design from Boise State University.
Susannah grew up in the New York boondocks and currently lives in Central New York with her companion, Charlie, their dogs, Magenta and Georgie, and Jelly Bean the cat.
I’m delighted to welcome RJ Lloyd to the blog with a guest post about his new book, Burning Secret.
Burning Secret is a true story. Well, almost. The novel blurs the lines between fact and fiction as it reconstructs the real life of Enoch Price, my great-great-grandfather, and is a story many can relate to through their ancestors and family histories.
Set at the end of the nineteenth century, it spans the ocean from the squalor of Victorian London to the frontier town of Jacksonville, Florida, where civic life struggled to recover from the American Civil War and the end of slavery.
The novel operates on several levels: as a fast-paced thriller with plenty of derring-do, a morality tale of good vs. greed, and how life can easily corrupt the pursuit of happiness. Some have even suggested that underneath it all lies a tragic love story.
Burning Secret took eleven years to research and write, and the more I researched, the more I realised how much more I needed to explore. In 1881, Enoch was listed in the London Gazette as a bankrupt and destined for two years in the debtors’ prison, from which few emerged unscathed. Abandoning his wife and three young daughters, he made for Florida. It was here, in Jacksonville, with his newly created identity of Harry Mason, that he carved out his future, and, by hook or by crook, he amassed a fortune and became a powerful politician. While all of this time, his wife and daughters in England, entirely ignorant of his new persona, languished in poverty.
Researching Harry Mason in Florida required patience and persistent work. Some basic information came from the public records in Jacksonville and Tallahassee, where the librarians and archivists were exceptionally helpful.
Sixteen years after stepping ashore, homeless and destitute, Harry was elected on 15 June 1897 to the Jacksonville City Council, representing the eighth ward of Ortega, Venetia and Avondale, and in 1903, was elected to the Florida State House of Representatives, where the only surviving photograph of him is archived.
From his arrival in 1881, the Jacksonville annual trade directories trace Harry as a bartender at The European House, a bar in the Dutch style run by Nicky Arend at 80– 82 West Bay.
Several academic records held by Florida’s universities mention his involvement in Jacksonville’s 1888 deadly outbreak of Yellow Fever. He again appears in 1901, when the city was razed to the ground by the Great Fire of Jacksonville.
There are several public records and court transcripts, some held in the United States Library of Congress, which cite Harry as the promoter who, against fierce public opposition, brought the 1894 World Heavyweight Boxing Championship fight between Gentleman Jim Corbett and Charlie Mitchell to Jacksonville.
His most outstanding achievement was building the Hotel Mason, at the junction of Bay and Julia Streets, Jacksonville, which opened on 31 December 1913. The largest and most opulent hotel in Florida (demolished in 1978).
Harry, aged 75 years, died on 5 November 1919 at his home, the Villa Alexandria, near the junction of River Road and Arbor Lane in the district of San Marco. The Mitchell family originally built the extensive, almost palatial, villa in the 1870s, which came into Harry’s ownership in somewhat opaque circumstances. Long after his death, the Florida Supreme Court recorded several legal challenges to his ownership.
Indeed, based on his bigamous marriage in Jacksonville in April 1883 to Bessie Nolan, his three English daughters from his first marriage to Eliza challenged his last will in the American courts.
What an amazing story.Thank you so much for sharing.
Here’s the blurb
Inspired by actual events, Burning Secret is a dramatic and compelling tale of ambition, lies and betrayal.
Born in the slums of Bristol in 1844, Enoch Price seems destined for a life of poverty and hardship-but he’s determined not to accept his lot.
Enoch becomes a bare-knuckle fighter in London’s criminal underworld. But in a city where there’s no place for honest dealing, a cruel loan shark cheats him, leaving Enoch penniless and facing imprisonment.
Undaunted, he escapes to a new life in America and embarks on a series of audacious exploits. But even as he helps shape history, Enoch is not content. Tormented by his past and the life he left behind, Enoch soon becomes entangled in a web of lies and secrets.
Will he ever break free and find the happiness he craves?
Influenced by real people and events, Enoch’s remarkable story is one of adventure, daring, political power, deceit and, in the end, the search for redemption and forgiveness.
After retiring as a senior police officer, R J Lloyd turned his detective skills to genealogy, tracing his family history to the 16th century. However, after 15 years of extensive research, he couldn’t track down his great-great-grandfather, Enoch Price, whose wife, Eliza, had, in living memory, helped raise his mother. It was his cousin Gillian who, after several more dead-ends, called one day to say that she had found him through a fluke encounter. Susan Sperry from California, who had recently retired, decided to explore the box of documents given to her thirty years before by her mother, which she had never opened. In the box, she found some references to her great grandfather, Harry Mason, a wealthy hotel owner from Florida who had died in 1919. It soon transpired that Susan’s great grandfather, Harry Mason, was, in fact, Enoch Price.
From this single thread, the extraordinary story of Harry Mason began to unravel, leading R J Lloyd to visit the States to meet his newly discovered American cousins, and it was Susan Sperry and Kimberly Mason, direct descendants, who persuaded R J Lloyd to write the extraordinary story of their ancestor.
R J Lloyd graduated from the University of Warwick with a degree in Philosophy and Psychology and a Masters in Marketing from UWE. Since leaving a thirty-year career in policing, he’s been a non-executive director with the NHS, social housing, and other charities. He lives with his wife in Bristol, spending his time travelling, writing and producing delicious plum jam from the trees on his award-winning allotment.
I’m sharing a blog post about what we do and don’t know about warfare in the Saxon era. #GodsAndKingsTrilogy #histfic #PaganKing
Here’s the blurb for Pagan King
Britain. AD641.
The year is AD641, and the great Oswald of Northumbria, bretwalda over England, must battle against an alliance of the old Britons and the Saxons led by Penda of the Hwicce, the victor of Hæ∂feld nine years before, the only Saxon leader seemingly immune to Oswald’s beguiling talk of the new Christianity spreading through England from both the north and the south.
Alliances will be made and broken, and the victory will go to the man most skilled in warcraft and statecraft.
The ebb and flow of battle will once more redraw the lines of the petty kingdoms stretching across the British Isles.
There will be another victor and another bloody loser.
Warfare during the Saxon period. What we know and what we don’t know about the battle of Hædfeld.
Thanks to some spectacular archaeological finds, we can visualise how a Saxon warrior might have looked. The reconstructions of the Sutton Hoo helm, and that found with the Staffordshire Horde (as well as a few others), present us with elaborate helmets crested with dyed-horse hair in a way very reminiscent of the Roman era. They glitter, and they seem to be festooned in gold and silver work, but whether these were actually worn in battle or not is debatable. Firstly, they would have made the kings or noblemen very noticeable to their enemy. Secondly, they were so valuable it’s impossible to consider the loss of one of them should they fall and their goods be taken by their enemy. Bad enough for their king and leader to die in battle, but to also lose such precious wealth as well seems unlikely. That said, of course, the Sutton Hoo helm was buried, and the fragments of the Staffordshire Hoard helmet were buried and lost. An image of the Staffordshire Helmet can be found here: https://www.stokemuseums.org.uk/pmag/collections/archaeology/the-staffordshire-hoard/
But there is another reason why these helmets might have existed, and that’s because they were for ceremonial purposes. Kings, before the reign of Athelstan (925-937) are not known to have undergone consecration with a crown but rather with a helmet. After all, they were warrior kings. Perhaps then, these survivals are more akin to that worn by a warrior-king when appearing before his people or for ceremonial reasons.
What then might have been the more usual garb for a warrior of the Saxon era, which at nearly six hundred years is bound to offer some variations? Shield, spear, seax, sword and byrnie. We get a feel for these items and how valuable they were from wills that survive from the later Saxon era, hundreds of years after the events of Pagan Warrior. Ealdormen had horses, both saddled and unsaddled, shields, spears, swords, helmets, byrnies, seax, scabbards and spears. The will of Æthelmær, an ealdorman in the later tenth century, records that he’s granting his king, ‘four swords and eight horses, four with trappings and four without, and four helmets and four coats of mail and eight spears and eight shields,’[1] as part of his heriot, a contentious term for something that some argue was an eleventh-century development, and others argue, is merely reflecting earlier practice on the death of a man.
There would also have been thegns and king thegns, who had their own weapons, as well as the men of the fyrd, the free-men who could be called upon to perform military service each year, as and when required. It’s often assumed they would have been less well-armed, although this begs the question of whether kings and their warrior nobility were prepared to sacrifice those they relied on to provide them with food to gain more wealth. They might have found themselves with the money to pay for food but without the opportunity to do so.
There are very few representations of warriors, but the surviving strands of the Gododdin, a sixth-century lament to the fallen of Catraeth gives an idea of how these warrior men thought of one another. There is much talk of killing many enemies, drinking mead, and being mourned by those they leave behind.
Battle tactics from the period are impossible to determine fully. Before writing my books which are blood-filled and violent, I read a fascinating account, by a military historian, on how he thought the Battle of Hastings might have been won or lost. The overwhelming sense I came away from the book with was that local features, hillocks, streams, field boundaries even perhaps the path of a sheep track might well be the very thing that won or lost a battle for these opposing sides. The land that kings chose to go to war on was incredibly important,
When trying to reconstruct the battlefield for the battle of Hædfeld, which concludes Pagan Warrior, I encountered a problem that will be familiar to writers of the Saxon era. The place where the battle is believed to have taken place, on the south bank of the River Don (although this has been disputed and work continues to discover whether the other location could be the correct one), has been much changed by later developments. It was drained in the 1600s and therefore, it doesn’t look today as it would have done when the battle took place.
I had very little information to work on. The River Don, the River Idle, the River Ouse, the belief that the ground would have been marshy, and that many men fell in the battle. And the words of Bede in his Ecclesiastical History, ‘A great battle being fought in the plain that is called Heathfield.’[2] Much of the rest is my imagination.
Can the Norse and the Scots exact their revenge over the mighty King Athelstan of the English?
AD937
After the slaughter field of Brunanburh, a defeated Olaf Gothfrithson of the Dublin Norse and Constantin of the Scots narrowly escaped with their lives. In their kingdoms, failure has left them demoralised and weak.
Olaf licks his wounds in Dublin, whilst Constantin and the Welsh kingdoms who defied King Athelstan, are once more forced to bend the knee. As Athelstan’s reputation grows stronger day by day, their need to exact revenge on the overmighty and triumphant Athelstan has never been greater.
Olaf sets his sights on reclaiming the lost kingdom of Jorvik only for tragedy to strike at the heart of England and a reluctant new King, Edmund steps in the fray.
While England mourns the death of their warrior King, her enemies gather on her borders and England stands alone against the might of the Norse, Welsh and Scots.
Can the new King be victorious and banish her enemies once and for all or will England, and its king lose all that’s been gained and succumb to a new pretender?
I’m delighted to welcome Julia Ibbotson to the blog with her book, Drumbeats
Here’s the blurb
It’s 1965, and 18 year old Jess escapes her stifling English home for a gap year in Ghana, West Africa. But it’s a time of political turbulence across the region. Fighting to keep her young love who waits back in England, she’s thrown into the physical and emotional dangers of civil war, tragedy and the conflict of a disturbing new relationship. And why do the drumbeats haunt her dreams?
This is a rite of passage story which takes the reader hand in hand with Jess on her journey towards the complexities and mysteries of a disconcerting adult world.
This is the first novel in the acclaimed Drumbeats trilogy: Drumbeats, Walking in the Rain, Finding Jess.
For fans of Dinah Jefferies, Kate Morton, Rachel Hore, Jenny Ashcroft
Buy Links
This title is available to read on #KindleUnlimited.
Award-winning author Julia Ibbotson herself spent an exciting time in Ghana, West Africa, teaching and nursing (like Jess in her books), and always vowed to write about the country and its past. And so, the Drumbeats Trilogy was born. She’s also fascinated by history, especially by the medieval world, and concepts of time travel, and has written haunting time-slips of romance and mystery partly set in the Anglo-Saxon period.
She studied English at Keele University, England, specialising in medieval language, literature and history, and has a PhD in linguistics. She wrote her first novel at age 10, but became a school teacher, then university lecturer and researcher. Her love of writing never left her and to date she’s written 9 books, with a 10th on the way.
Julia is a member of the Romantic Novelists Association, Society of Authors and the Historical Novel Society.
Gritta, Appel, and Efi managed to survive the Black Death, only to find that they are in desperate need of money. With limited options and lots of obstacles, they band together to become alewives – brewing and selling ale in the free Alsatian town of Colmar. But when an elderly neighbor is discovered dead in her house, the alewives cannot convince the sheriff and the town council that her death wasn’t an accident, it was murder. As the body count piles up, the ale flows and mystery is afoot!
Set in the tumultuous years after the most devastating pandemic the world has ever experienced, The Alewives is a playful romp through a dark time, when society was reeling from loss and a grieving population attempted to return to normal, proving that with the bonds of love, friendship, and humor, the human spirit will always continue to shine.
* * * * * A short, sharp, snappy, hugely entertaining, medieval mystery that portrays the realities of life at the time, with just the right amount of humour to make it thoroughly entertaining. A well-deserved 5/5 from me! – MJ Porter, author of Cragside and The Erdington Mysteries
* * * *.* ‘The Alewives’ is laid out with great compassion, insight and humour and the reader comes to care for these people! The strong and growing working relationship and friendship of the three ale wives in question and round which the action evolves is moving and profound. we are left hoping that good times – and further adventures – are just around the corner! – The Historical Fiction Company
You can see above that I’ve already read and reviewed The Alewives. (You can find my original review here) You’ll also see that I adored it! What you won’t know is that of late, I’m growing my interest in audio books, and I couldn’t resist this one.
While the storyline is amazing, told with just the right amount of humour, historical detail, intrigue, and the reality of the era, the narration adds a whole new dimension to the tale. Ella Lynch is fabulous in bringing the wonderful ‘real’ characters of Grita, Efi and Appel to life, as well as Colmar, and the collection of bumbling and ineffectual male characters.
This story will make you chuckle, make you grimace, make you growl at the unfairness of their lives, and also entirely draw you in to the mystery.
A fabulous mystery. I’ve read it, and I’ve listened to, and I recommend you do the same.
Meet the author
Although she spent many years of her life as a journalist, independent fashion designer, and overworked tech employee, there have always been two consistent loves in Elizabeth R. Andersen’s life: writing and history. She finally decided to put them both together and discovered her true love.
Elizabeth lives in the Seattle area with her young son and energetic husky. On the weekends she usually hikes in the stunning Cascade mountains to hide from people and dream up new plotlines and characters.
– Join Elizabeth’s monthly newsletter and receive the first two chapters of The Scribe for free. Sign up at https://www.elizabethrandersen.com
– Find photos of hikes and daily author life at Elizabeth’s Instagram: @elizabethrandersen
– Follow Elizabeth on Twitter for nerdy medieval history facts: @E_R_A_writes
My name is Ella Lynch, I am an experienced British audiobook narrator and nature-loving treasure seeker on an ever-evolving journey of connection and expansion through the art of storytelling.
I am an empathetic, married mum of 1, a member of the LGBTQIA+ community and a mental health advocate. My lived experiences inform my art, helping me deeply connect with the intentions behind words and relay them intuitively to the listener.
I gained a triple distinction in my (BTEC) National Diploma in Performing Arts from Truro College, and have been working as a professional audiobook narrator since 2018. In this time I have narrated over 100 audiobooks, voiced numerous healthcare explainer videos for the NHS, provided VO for children’s animated audiobooks and even dubbed a Russian commercial!
I have a particular passion and flair for Magical Realism, Literary Fiction and LGBTQIA+ Romance and Comedy, and as a voracious reader myself I absolutely thrive on bringing all words, across multiple genres, to life for listeners.
When I’m not in my booth you will likely find me walking my dog on the beach, paddleboarding an estuary, exploring the UK in my self-built campervan, playing boardgames and cooking up delicious plant-based feasts for my family. A vegan of over 20 years, I love crochet, painting, fires, swimming and hoola-hooping as well as meditating, practicing Reiki and EFT tapping and deep, heart-felt connection.
I know I shared that many of my audiobooks are now available on Spotify, well now it’s even better for Premium Subscribers in the UK and Australia, as you can listen to up to 15 hours of audiobooks each month, included in your subscription. That’s enough hours to listen to any of my audios in their entirety. (I have been a premium subscriber for more years than I care to remember – we have a family subscription which is great until one of us forgets their log-in and logs-in using the wrong persons details:).
I know it’s all quite new at the moment, and therefore, not all of the titles are included – I’ve also noticed that not all of my titles are showing under my profile, and I’m trying to correct this. But, you can find all of my audios from Boldwood Books on Spotify, as well as Warrior King. But you will need to search for Son of Mercia, Wolf of Mercia, Kings of War and Warrior King separately until I can get them attached to my profile.
I understand that Spotify US will be following soon.
MJ Porter 