INTRO
In this scene, ten-year-old Jem Poole glimpses a world far beyond Spennymoor for the very first time. The newly built Grand Electric Hall has not yet opened to the public, but Jem and his friend Daisy slip inside, drawn by curiosity and the muffled sound of music. What Jem witnesses there – moving pictures – ushers in a moment of wonder that will quietly shape the rest of his life. This extract captures that first spark: the awe, the innocence, and the sense that something extraordinary has just entered his world.
EXTRACT
As they turn into Cheapside, an old rusty lorry rumbles to a stop outside a new brick building, where a group of workmen are fixing enormous block capitals above a clock. Daisy tilts her head to read, eyes squinting as if the letters might tell her something important. Jem watches on, but says nothing.
‘What does ARCA mean?’ she asks.
‘I don’t think it means anything.’
‘Oh.’
Below the clock, white lettering proudly displays the words “GRAND ELECTRIC HALL”.
‘What’s a grand electric hall?’
He sighs, keeping his eyes on the workmen. He’d overheard Pa talking to his colliery mates about a new theatre opening in town – something with moving photos, he’d said. Of course, Jem knows what a photo is – like the one of Ma on the mantelpiece – but how she could suddenly come to life is beyond him. He can’t picture her like that, not walking and talking like Pa or Daisy.
‘Come on,’ he says.
They slip past the workmen and into the foyer of the new building. Jem’s steps are deliberate and measured – he’s determined to take everything in. Daisy skips beside him, light on her feet.
Crates, half-unpacked, litter the space – paper and straw spilling in all directions. The warm smell of fresh wood hits first, then something sharper, chemical, that scratches the back of his throat. Wall sconces flicker with a quiet expectancy, casting lively patterns across the floor. Music drifts from somewhere beyond – muffled, unfamiliar, pulling at Jem’s chest like a thread. He follows the sound toward the back of the building and beckons for Daisy to come.
She stands looking at him, eyes wide, as if to say: This isn’t a good idea.
‘You don’t have to … if you don’t want to,’ he tells her.
She pouts but trails after him anyway.
As they draw closer, the music grows clearer – a dramatic piano tune with heavy bass and a scatter of quick, racing notes. Jem glances to his right and sees a bright shaft of light dancing across the passageway. He creeps forward, heart thumping, until his face and jacket are lit up. It feels like sunlight through the church window on a Sunday morning – only sharper, more vivid.
His shoulder brushes against a soft curtain, but his eyes stay fixed ahead, his breath deeper. For there, on a stage, is a beautiful young woman. Her face is white – like the colour of Pa’s eyeballs after a shift down the pit – only clean, and somehow otherworldly. Big curls of hair, piled high, fall to her shoulders. She’s wearing the fanciest frock he’s ever seen. A man walks beside her, and they cross the road together. Behind them, tall buildings rise, taller than any furnace chimney in all of County Durham. Jem’s heart beats faster as the music quickens. Then a passenger train rushes into view and vanishes just as quickly.
Jem doesn’t move. He hardly blinks. How can a train be on a road? How can buildings scrape the sky? How can people float across a screen like that?
Most of all – how can everything be black and white and still feel more alive than the world he knows?
‘Moving photos.’ He can’t help but say the words out loud.
Daisy tugs at his arm. ‘Jem!’ she cries.
But before he can turn, he feels a sudden blow to his temple.
‘What have we here?’ booms a voice behind him.
Jem stumbles sideways, hand to his pounding head. He’s looking down at a pair of black polished boots … dark overalls … then a round sweaty face, breathing loud, and steaming with anger.
‘Sorry, sir,’ says Jem, trying to steady himself. ‘We don’t mean no bother.’
‘No bother?’ the man sneers.
‘No, sir. We just want to see moving photos.’
The man gives a snort. ‘Moving pictures, boy. They’re called moving pictures.’ He crouches down, his small black eyes level with Jem’s. ‘And have you got thruppence between the two of you?’
Jem glances at Daisy, then back at the sweaty round face. ‘No, sir.’
‘Then you’ll have to go without, won’t you? Go awn.’ He stamps his foot. ‘Gan! Afore I call police!’
The children bolt down the passageway, back into the foyer, and past the workmen hauling a giant letter ‘D’ above their heads.
Outside, the street is already black with night.
‘The park!’ Jem shouts as they run.
They turn the corner onto Dundas Street, where lamplight is scarce, and shadows swallow the pavement. His feet slide on icy sludge as he dodges night soil boxes piled up like traps. Daisy’s steps are fainter now – she must be slowing down. He tries to stop, but it’s too late – too fast – and his footing falters. His chest jerks forward. Arms fling out for balance, too wide, too desperate, and his whole body launches through the air. In the half-second before Jem crashes down, he sees the jagged boxes, the filth inside them, and he twists every muscle to avoid them. His body slams into the ground, splinters flying and muck exploding in all directions.
Here’s the blurb
A coal-mining town. A flicker of light. A boy who dreams of more.
Spennymoor, 1913. When ten-year-old Jem Poole sees a moving picture for the first time, it ignites a spark. Raised in a northern coal-mining town marked by grief and hardship, he begins to dream of more than soot and survival. He dreams of light.
Through war, reinvention, and the golden age of British cinema, Jem rises to national success, building a legacy of silver screens and stories that define a generation. But when a figure from his past reappears, long-buried memories resurface, and he must confront the truth of the life he has built – and the memories that never let go.
Set against the backdrop of twentieth-century Britain, Poole of Light is a richly layered historical debut about ambition, identity, and the stories that shape us.
Perfect for readers who enjoy:
- Character-driven historical fiction with emotional depth
- Coming-of-age novels set in 20th-century England
- Themes of legacy, reinvention, and quiet redemption
- Authors like Jo Baker, Kristin Hannah, Amor Towles and Anthony Doerr
Book One in The Poole Legacy — a literary historical trilogy exploring ambition, identity, and legacy across generations.
Also available as an eBook: Bright Light, a companion short story set during the events of this novel.
Purchase Link
https://www.amazon.co.uk/Poole-Light-Book-One-Legacy-ebook/dp/B0FJ6BDBSH
https://www.amazon.com/Poole-Light-Book-One-Legacy-ebook/dp/B0FJ6BDBSH
Meet the author
RJ Verity grew up in Yorkshire and studied at King’s College London before spending more than twenty years in financial services across Asia. She now lives in Guernsey with her endlessly patient husband and their spirited ten-year-old Labradinger. When she’s not writing or reading, she can often be found exploring the island’s rugged coastline.
She is currently working on The Poole Legacy, her debut trilogy of historical novels. The first book in the series, Poole of Light, is out now.
Giveaway to Win a limited edition print of Poole of Light book (gold foil, high quality paper) (Open to UK Only)
*Terms and Conditions –UK entries welcome. Please enter using the Gleam box below. The winner will be selected at random via Gleam from all valid entries and will be notified by Twitter and/or email. If no response is received within 7 days then Rachel’s Random Resources reserves the right to select an alternative winner. Open to all entrants aged 18 or over. Any personal data given as part of the competition entry is used for this purpose only and will not be shared with third parties, with the exception of the winners’ information. This will passed to the giveaway organiser and used only for fulfilment of the prize, after which time Rachel’s Random Resources will delete the data. I am not responsible for despatch or delivery of the prize.
Posts
Stay up to date with the latest from the blog.
MJ Porter 
.jpg){kind=link}
.jpg){kind=link}