Tag: The Coffee Pot Book Club

I’m delighted to welcome Howard Jay Smith and his book, Viva Violetta & Verdi, to the blog #HistoricalFiction #BiographicalHistoricalFiction #Verdi #ClassicalMusic #BlogTour #TheCoffeePotBook Club

I’m delighted to welcome Howard Jay Smith and his new book, Viva Violetta & Verdi, to the blog with a prologue.

Prologue

Oh, My Country, So Beautiful And Lost

Milan, February 27, 1901

On the morning of Verdi’s funeral, I awoke well before dawn. After a double shot of espresso and a cornetto, one freshly baked and served up by my daughter-in-law, Luisa, I dressed in my black mourning suit. At my age, this was an exercise I engaged in with an all too familiar regularity.

Then with the necessary assistance of my silver-handled cane, I left my bedroom suite and headed down the marble stairs to the entryway foyer of our home, Casa di Trevi, on the Via Vittorio Veneto. Tap, step, step. Tap, step, step – a rhythm and beat that had been my companion for over three decades. Tap, step, step.

There, waiting by the coat rack was Luisa, whom I had known since she was thirteen. A pugnacious and steely eyed woman, she greeted me with a warmth that never flagged, “Buongiorno papà.”

I nodded and thanked her for the coffee. “And Tre?” I asked referring to my son, whom we all called by his nickname.

“He left an hour ago,” she replied as she helped me into my black overcoat and then handed

me my top hat.

As I settled the hat onto my head, Luisa stepped back and gave me that “look,” that glare, the one which every man who has ever been married, knows only too well.

“What?” I asked as I glanced in the hallway mirror. Save for a few flecks of grey in my otherwise neatly trimmed beard, the reflected image of my hair came back to me as black as the night I was about to step out into. Despite my age, I was fortunate that my hair, save for a few grey streaks, still retained its natural color.

“Just this,” she said. From a pocket buried in the many folds of her housedress, Luisa pulled a patch to which she had already added a tri-colored ribbon of red, white and green. She pinned it to the band of my top hat and then kissed me on both cheeks. “Now you are ready, papà. Viva Verdi.”

“Viva la rivoluzione,” I replied as I looked in the mirror and nodded my approval.

“Viva la rivoluzione,” repeated Luisa as she opened the front door.

I stepped out into the chill of that February morning. The streets of Milan were still deserted at this hour. Later, though, news reports would hold that some four-hundred thousand mourners would gather along the funeral route to view the carriage carrying Verdi’s coffin along with that of his wife, who had preceded him in death by some three years. The procession would travel the two miles from the Cimitero Monumentale to the Piazza Michelangelo Buonarroti and their final resting place at the Casa di Riposo per Musicisti.

One reporter from Corriere della Sera would even remark that the crowd for Verdi’s funeral procession was the largest gathering of humans in a single place since Napoleon invaded Russia in 1812. That event some 89 years ago occurred a year before Verdi and I were born just days apart in Busseto, a small village in the Duchy of Parma some 65 miles southeast of here. And although today Verdi is considered not only the quintessential Italian composer but the quintessential Italian, our birth records in the Busseto town hall archives are written in French, for they ruled our home territory.

Yes, liberami, save me. There is no one else alive today who has known Giuseppe Verdi longer than I. Today it is time to put my friend to rest in the soil of an Italian nation that did not exist when we were born and to remember all the sacrifices our beloveds made in blood to achieve those victories.

Here’s the Blurb

A Love Affair Inspiring the World’s Most Unforgettable Operas:

Experience the intense, lifelong love affair between Giuseppe Verdi and Giuseppina Strepponi, the brilliant and seductive soprano who shaped his legacy. As his muse, lover, and wife, Strepponi was the inspiration behind Verdi’s most iconic works, including La Traviata and Aida. Her influence was pivotal, as she became the architect of his creative triumphs and the heart of his operatic genius.

Set against the backdrop of Italy’s Risorgimento, this sweeping novel intertwines their turbulent relationship with the nation’s fierce struggle for independence. Through the heartbreak of three brutal wars, Verdi and Strepponi’s passion, betrayal, and artistic ambition come alive, mirroring the era’s fiery spirit.

Rich with themes of love, power, food, wine, and unrelenting passion, Viva Violetta & Verdi is an unforgettable exploration of art, resilience, and the enduring bond that transformed both an artist and a nation.

Praise for Violetta & Verdi:

“A stunning, significant book…that is rich, lush and drenched in knowledge. It is nothing less than a gift.” – Sheila Weller

“Smith’s historic drama embraces universal themes of class and religious persecution, and weaves gorgeous language with an intimate knowledge of Italian food, music, and political hypocrisy that contemporary readers will find irresistible.” – ​Jessica Keener

“Viva Violetta & Verdi is a well-researched love letter to Verdi; fans are sure to love.” – Leslie Zemeckis

“Perfection. You are right there, inhaling and breathing in the words, the smell, and each piece of music. Bravo. It is both a love song and a love letter to the irrefutable power of Verdi’s muse, Violetta.” – Amy Ferris

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Meet the Author

Howard Jay Smith is an award-winning writer from Santa Barbara, California.

VIVA VIOLETTA & VERDI, is his third novel in his series on great composers, including BEETHOVEN IN LOVE; OPUS 139 and MEETING MOZART: FROM THE SECRET DIARIES OF LORENZO DA PONTE.

His other books include OPENING THE DOORS TO HOLLYWOOD (Random House) and JOHN GARDNER: AN INTERVIEW (New London Press). He was recently awarded a Profant Foundation for the Arts Fellowship for Excellence in Writing.

Smith is a former two-time Bread Loaf Scholar and three-time Washington, D.C. Commission for the Arts Fellow, who taught for many years in the UCLA Extension Writer’s Program and has lectured nationally. His articles have appeared in the Washington Post, American Heritage Magazine, the Beethoven Journal, Horizon Magazine, Fig Tree Press, the Journal of the Writers Guild of America, the Ojai Quarterly, and numerous trade publications. While an executive at the ABC Television, Embassy TV, and Academy Home Entertainment he worked on numerous film, television, radio and commercial projects.

He serves on the board of directors of the Santa Barbara Symphony and is a member of the American Beethoven Society.

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I’m delighted to welcome Julia Ibbotson and her book, The Rune Stone, to the blog #medieval #TimeTravel #Romance #Mystery #BlogTour #TheCoffeePotBookClub

I’m delighted to welcome Julia Ibbotson and her book, The Rune Stone, book 3 in the Dr DuLac series (but can be read as a standalone), to the blog.

Blurb

A haunting time-slip mystery of runes and romance

When Dr Viv DuLac, medievalist and academic, finds a mysterious runic inscription on a Rune Stone in the graveyard of her husband’s village church, she unwittingly sets off a chain of circumstances that disturb their quiet lives in ways she never expected.

She, once again, feels the echoes of the past resonate through time and into the present. Can she unlock the secrets of the runes in the life of the 6th century Lady Vivianne and in Viv’s own life?

Again, lives of the past and present intertwine alarmingly as Viv desperately tries to save them both, without changing the course of history.

For fans of Barbara Erskine, Pamela Hartshorne, Susanna Kearsley, Christina Courtenay.


Praise for Julia Ibbotson:

(for A Shape on the Air) “In the best Barbara Erskine tradition …I would highly recommend this novel” –Historical Novel Society

(for the series) “Julia does an incredible job of setting up the idea of time-shift so that it’s believable and makes sense” – book tour reviewer

(for The Rune Stone) “beautifully written”, “absorbing and captivating”, “fully immersive”, “wonderfully written characters”, “a skilled story teller” – Amazon reviewers

“Dr Ibbotson has created living, breathing characters that will remain in the reader’s mind long after the book is read … The characters are brought to life beautifully with perfect economy of description … fabulous!” – Melissa Morgan

“A rich and evocative time-slip novel that beautifully and satisfyingly concludes this superb trilogy. The story is woven seamlessly and skilfully between the past and the present and the reader is drawn deeply into both worlds.  Her portrayal of the 6th century and its way of life are authoritative, vivid and memorable.” – Kate Sullivan

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Meet the Author

Julia Ibbotson is fascinated by the medieval world and the concept of time. She is the author of historical mysteries with a frisson of romance. Her books are evocative of time and place, well-researched and uplifting page-turners. Her current series focuses on early medieval time-slip/dual-time mysteries. Julia read English at Keele University, England, specialising in medieval language / literature / history, and has a PhD in socio-linguistics.

After a turbulent time in Ghana, West Africa, she became a school teacher, then a university academic and researcher. Her break as an author came soon after she joined the RNA’s New Writers’ Scheme in 2015, with a three-book deal from Lume Books for a trilogy (Drumbeats) set in Ghana in the 1960s. She has published five other books, including A Shape on the Air, an Anglo-Saxon timeslip mystery, and its two sequels The Dragon Tree and The Rune Stone.

Her work in progress is a new series of Anglo-Saxon mystery romances, beginning with Daughter of Mercia, where echoes of the past resonate across the centuries. Her books will appeal to fans of Barbara Erskine, Pamela Hartshorne, Susanna Kearsley, and Christina Courtenay. Her readers say: ‘Julia’s books captured my imagination’, ‘beautiful storytelling’, ‘evocative and well-paced storylines’, ‘brilliant and fascinating’ and ‘I just couldn’t put it down’.

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Check out the details for The Dragon Tree.

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I’m delighted to welcome E.V. Sparrow and her book, Muldoon’s Misfortunes, to the blog #MuldoonsMisfortunes #ThoseResilientMuldoons #HistoricalFiction #FamilySaga #BlogTour #TheCoffeePotBookClub

I’m delighted to welcome E.V. Sparrow and her book, Muldoons’s Misfortunes, Those Resilient Muldoons Series, to the blog.

Here’s the Blurb

A cursed widower forsakes his faith to ensure his hope.

On a verdant island beset by poverty and death, Mick Muldoon dares to escape his misfortunes. Is working a farm and raising a family such an impossible thing to ask? Wasn’t God supposed to answer prayers—not turn a deaf ear?

After surviving the treacherous voyage to America, Mick discovers the rumors of ample opportunity aren’t exactly true. His defective body hampers employment and keeps him dependent upon his peculiar sister. However, an unexpected invitation to move to the heartland guarantees his dreams.

Mick’s own dreadful choices hamper his hopes when he accepts work as a widow’s farmhand. Unbeknownst to him, there’s deception afoot. Mick’s inattention to love causes catastrophe as single fatherhood cruelly shatters his family. Will God miraculously hear his prayers this time?


In Book 1 of Those Resilient Muldoons series, this misguided, wayward widower encounters God’s unexpected presence.

Fall 2024, The BookFest Awards, First Place: Historical Fiction, General

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Meet the Author

A short story writer turned novelist Sparrow published a prequel Historical Fiction eBook novella, Muldoon’s Minnesota Darling in May 2023, and Muldoon’s Misfortunes, Historical Fiction Book 1 in Those Resilient Muldoons series in July 2024. Sparrow and enjoys leading readers to Encounter God’s Unexpected Presence through her broken characters.

Before writing, Sparrow travelled extensively overseas and worked in two countries. She married, had a family, and worked for a nonprofit program for older, homeless mentally ill in California. She also volunteered in many community services, including the Divorce Care program. After a divorce, she remarried, and together they have eleven grandchildren that enrich life immensely.

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Follow the Muldoon’s Misfortunes blog tour with The Coffee Pot Book Club

I’m delighted to welcome T.F. Troy and his new book, The Absolution of Mars, to the blog #TheAbsolutionOfMars #HistoricalFiction #AmericanHistoricalFiction #BlogTour #TheCoffeePotBookClub

I’m delighted to welcome T.F. Troy and his new book, The Absolution of Mars, to the blog, with an excerpt.

Excerpt

Lafayette Baker steps behind Stanton at his desk, between him and the cipher room. Stanton looks up at Baker, his visage now blurred and out of focus over the top of his glasses.

“You keep that boy of yours off my ass this time,” Baker says, almost as if giving an order. But he knows that he has the Secretary over a barrel, especially if he wants his help. “I heard he was

already out to the 10th VRC talking with Cobb. That boy is a natural born hound dog.

“Come to think of it, I just may need him,” Baker adds. “Do I have authorization?”

“Sure, but he’ll be off on Tuesday chasing Captain Boyd from Gautier’s up to Canada,” Stanton says. “I sent the newly commissioned Lieutenant Henry with him to keep him in line. That should keep them both busy, and it might even give us more information on what’s going on up in Canada.”

“They are way too smart,” Baker says. “Besides, these two may both wind up dead. Especially, if they run into Burley.”

“He’s incarcerated,” Stanton says.

“Where?!” Lafayette asks disbelieving, as he steps from behind the desk.

Stanton looks down and picks through some papers, before he reads from the proper document, just to be sure he has the city right.

“Civilian Jail in Port Clinton, Ohio,” Stanton says, looking up and talking off his spectacles. “Ashley the master from the passenger ferry swore out a complaint, and Canada threw him back to us.”

“What?” Baker says again in disbelief, trying not to laugh out loud. “Sent him back for a petty robbery?”

“I know, I know,” the Secretary says chuckling along with him. He starts cleaning his glasses, which were perpetually dirty, even when immaculate.

“Do they even know who they have?!”

“I doubt it,” Stanton says.

“He’ll be escaping soon,” Baker says.

“And when he does, I’ll instruct Jemm and the good Lt. Henry to follow him back to Montreal, keeping their distance…”

“And what if they find out too…”

“Relax Lafayette, I’ll simply instruct them to track a fugitive.” Baker smiles. He likes the sublime nature of the plan.

“So who will you want?” Stanton askes, finally.

“I want my cousin Luther and his team to be a part of the party, with maybe Lt. Dougherty in charge of the actual military detail,” says Lafayette.

“And I want Sergeant Corbett to be a part of the detail as well,” says Stanton.

“But he espouses bizarre ideologies…his poor bedeviled mind is poisoned and lacks critical thinking skills,” says the Colonel. “He scares me because he’s unbalanced, a religious fanatic.”

“But do you doubt his devotion?”

“No…no I don’t. Who can?” Baker asks rhetorically. “But I want to be able to call Jemm back here—his work with the coloreds and the Secret Line could be very helpful if we run into a jam.”

“You know they’ll be headed for Cox, and then…

“Yeah, but they’ll need a good guide through the swamps down there, and Jemm has contacts that know them roads and paths better than anybody.”

“Call him back only if you have to then.”

Here’s the Blurb

Politics, Friendship, or Greed? Which of these was the true author of the Confederate conspiracy to decapitate the Union? 

The Absolution of Mars by T.F. Troy is a masterful blend of historical fiction, human drama and moral exploration. Set against the backdrop of a racially fraught period in American history, the story does not back away from the harsh realities or racial biases of the day. 

The narrative introduces Jemm Pender, a former slave with a superior intellect, who rises to become a key agent in the National Detective Police Force. Jemm is tasked to trace the movements of J. W. Boyd, a Confederate spy working out of Canada.

From its intriguing opening scene, where playful dialogue among children hints at deeper mysteries, the story captivates with a blend of vivid detail and emotional depth. Jemm’s quest intertwines with his wife Marnie and Aunt Cordelia, both blessed with remarkable capabilities that are being lost to the scientific thought of the day.

Troy tackles difficult topics with honesty and precision, creating moments that are as painful as they are profound. The prose is rich and evocative, with dialogue that breathes life into the characters and their struggles. The Absolution of Mars is a poignant, thought-provoking exploration of history, identity, and humanity, recommended for readers seeking depth and nuance.

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Meet the Author

A student of the American Civil War, T.F. Troy has an award-winning journalism career spanning more than 40 years. He currently serves as Executive Editor of Cleveland Magazine’s Community Leader as well as the Editor of Ohio Business Magazine. He also writes features for Northern Kentucky Magazine and Dayton Magazine, among other regional publications. His work with those publications has won him numerous awards, taking first, second and third place in Ohio for Magazine Feature Writing. Troy’s work has appeared in major metropolitan daily newspapers including the Cleveland Plain Dealer and Pittsburgh Post-Gazette.

In addition to the previously mentioned publications, Troy also held positions as a Senior Editor for both ABC/Capital Cities and ICD Publications in New York. His work has appeared in numerous national consumer and trade periodicals throughout his career. In his first book Cleveland Classics: Great Tales from the North Coast, Troy interviewed local and national Cleveland celebrities such as: Jim Brown, Bob Feller, Patricia Heaton and Arsenio Hall among others. The Absolution of Mars, set just after the Civil War, is his first novel, but third book.

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I’m delighted to welcome Jon Byrne and his book, Sword Brethren, to the blog #HistoricalFiction #HistoricalAdventure #medieval #BlogTour #TheCoffeePotBookClub

I’m delighted to welcome Jon Byrne and his book, Sword Brethren, The Northern Crusader Chronicles, to the blog with an excerpt.

Excerpt

Yuriev Monastery, Novgorod Republic, April-May 1242

We were already in disarray when the arrow slammed into my shoulder, punching through my mail coat and nearly felling me from my horse. Our charge across the ice had been peppered with missiles fired with deadly accuracy, and the freezing air was raucous with the screams of dying men and thrashing animals. I could still see the eyes of the mounted archer who had loosed the arrow widen in triumph. His face I would never forget. Was he a Mongol? For some reason it mattered to me. I had never fought these fierce people from the steppe, but their reputation and ferocity were well known. I was not even aware they had been part of the Novgorodian army. Whether this had affected the outcome of the battle, only God in all his wisdom knew. We had been so confident. Overconfident. Our defeat had been absolute.

I woke in a room with whitewashed walls. An old, bearded man, his craggy face not unkind, loomed over me, his fingers gentle as he probed my wound and changed my dressing. Nevertheless, despite his care, searing flames coursed through me with every touch of his parchment-dry fingers. When the burning finally subsided, I blinked my eyes open. Through tears, I saw a small picture on the opposite wall of a man with a halo around his head spearing a serpent. It must have been Saint George killing the dragon. The halo made him look more like an angel. The bearded man mumbled to himself in a soft voice as he worked, however the language was unfamiliar. It sounded Slavic, probably Russian. That could only mean I was a prisoner.

With any movement, shafts of fire shot through my body, an agony so great I thought I would pass out again. By Christ Almighty and all His Holy Saints, I just wanted it to stop. But, of course, it didn’t. It was unrelenting. Perhaps when I was younger, I would have borne it better. Who knows? At my venerable age, death should come as a welcome relief, and I almost felt ready to succumb to it – to give up my fight and drift into the hallowed afterlife. Almost, but not quite. I was not yet ready to die. There was still too much to be done. There was still my vengeance to be had. A vengeance that stretched back to my youth.

The room was cool, but at times I felt like a sizzling pig roasting on a spit. The old man put strips of damp cloth on my face, but it hardly helped. Only blessed unconsciousness relieved me of it. My body fought a desperate battle to survive.

It is strange that, despite everything, the gift of life is most precious when it is about to be taken away.

*

But survive I did. In the weeks following the battle, the fever gradually released its grip, and I could feel my strength slowly returning. I was still as feeble as a child, but my bearded nurse nodded his head and smiled encouragement as he spooned a watery cabbage soup through my cracked lips. Perhaps I would live after all.

Now, at least, I could sit up in bed, but any other movement still sent stabbing bolts of pain through my chest. I was too weak to get up, and one time the effort broke the healing scabs on my wound, causing me to sink back into the pit of sweat my cot had become. It was clear to me now that the bearded man was a monk, a monk of the heretical Greek Church, and I was in the infirmary of a monastery. Nevertheless, my skin crawled and itched with lice, my hair was filthy and unkempt, and there was nothing I could do about it. Outside, the bells of a church clang the times for prayer. Never in my life had I felt so helpless, unable to piss or shit without help from the bearded monk and one of his helpers, a pale-faced youth of no more than seventeen or eighteen winters.

I still did not know how long I had lain there, but one morning I received a visitor. Or, more accurately, two visitors. I had been dozing when the door banged open without warning and the bearded monk led in two men. The first was tall, at least my height, and I am taller than most, but younger – young enough to be my son. He had the athletic build of a warrior, and his angled face was framed by a shortly trimmed beard and sandy-brown, shoulder-length hair, plastered across his head with sweat as if he had just taken off a hat or helmet. He wore a red cloak edged with fur worn over his left shoulder, fastened with a gold clasp fashioned in the shape of the three-barred Greek cross on the right shoulder, and a blue brocade surcoat over a long-sleeved white shirt. On his feet were high, leather riding boots of obvious quality, although they were spattered with mud.

When he looked me in the eyes, I felt the power behind his gaze despite his youth. There was a harshness there, a cynical coldness strange in someone so young. He said something to the other man, who was older, of slight build, with long auburn hair tied back from the nape of his neck. This man was no warrior. He looked more like a scholar, and his chestnut-coloured, homespun tunic, although of good quality cotton, clearly denoted his lower rank. It was this man who spoke to me in Latin.

‘Prince Alexander Yaroslavich Nevsky of Novgorod the Great, welcomes you to Yuriev Monastery and hopes you are recovering from your wounds.’

His words slapped me in the face. Alexander Yaroslavich had commanded the Russian army in the battle on the ice where we had been defeated, as well as being victorious against the Swedish army two years earlier on the Neva River. My surprise must have been obvious because the young prince, Alexander, smiled at my reaction, speaking again quickly before waiting for his words to be translated.

‘You are one of six German knights captured in the battle,’ the interpreter continued, ‘but you were the most badly wounded. Prince Alexander says that under Brother Dimitri’s care and with God’s grace, you have made a vast improvement. But it is doubtful that at your age you shall ever be able to take up arms against his people again.’

‘How long have I lain here?’ I said in Latin. As a warrior monk of the Livonian Order, my Latin was respectable, though not as good as my Low German, or Norman French – the language of my birth.

‘The battle by Lake Chudskoe was over a month ago. You were carried here in a wain.’

A month already. I struggled to rise but the bearded monk who had tended me all this time, whom Prince Alexander had named as Brother Dimitri, came forward to restrain me. I collapsed back in a wave of dizziness. While I lay there panting, my weakness open to all, the three men spoke quickly to each other.

Here’s the Blurb

1242. After being wounded in the Battle on the Ice, Richard Fitz Simon becomes a prisoner of Prince Alexander Nevsky of Novgorod. Alexander, intrigued by his captive’s story, instructs his scholar to assist Richard in writing about his life.

Richard’s chronicle begins in 1203, when his training to be a knight is disrupted by treachery. He is forced to flee England for Lübeck, where he begins work for a greedy salt merchant. After an illicit love affair, his new life is thrown into turmoil, and he joins the Livonian Brothers of the Sword as they embark on imposing the will of God on the pagans of the eastern Baltic. Here, he must reconcile with his new life of prayer, danger and duty – despite his own religious doubts, with as many enemies within the fortified commandery as the wilderness outside. However, when their small outpost in Riga is threatened by a large pagan army, Richard is compelled to make a crucial decision and fight like never before.

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Meet the Author

Jon Byrne, originally from London, now lives with his German family by a lake in Bavaria with stunning views of the Alps. As well as writing, he works as a translator for a local IT company and occasionally as a lumberjack.

He has always been fascinated by history and has studied the Medieval world for over twenty years, building up a comprehensive library of books. In his research, he has travelled to all of the locations mentioned in the book (East Anglia, Bremen, Lübeck, Latvia, etc).

Sword Brethren (formerly Brothers of the Sword) made it to the shortlist of the Yeovil Literary Prize 2022 and the longlist of the prestigious Grindstone International Novel Prize 2022. It is the first book in The Northern Crusader Chronicles.

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I’m delighted to welcome Helen Hollick with Kathy Hollick and their new book, Ghost Encounters, to the blog #GhostEncounters #Ghosts #NorthDevon #FriendlyGhosts #BlogTour #TheCoffeePotBookClub

I’m delighted to welcome Helen Hollick with Kathy Hollick and their new book, Ghost Encounters: The Lingering Spirits of North Devon, to the blog.

Image shows the cover image for Ghost Encounters by Helen and Kathy Hollick with a bottle of champagne and two flute glasses to the side of it.

Here’s the Blurb

Everyone assumes that ghosts are hostile. Actually, most of them are not.

You either believe in ghosts or you don’t. It depends on whether you’ve encountered something supernatural or not. But when you share a home with several companionable spirits, or discover benign ghosts in public places who appear as real as any living person, scepticism is abandoned and the myth that ghosts are to be feared is realised as nonsense.

It is a matter for individual consideration whether you believe in ghosts or not, but for those who have the gift to see, hear or be aware of people from the past, meeting with them in today’s environment can generate a connection to years gone by. Kathy and Helen Hollick have come across several such departed souls in and around North Devon and at their 18th-century home, which they share with several ‘past residents’.

In GHOST ENCOUNTERS: The Lingering Spirits Of North Devon, mother and daughter share their personal experiences, dispelling the belief that spirits are to be feared.

Ghost Encounters will fascinate all who enjoy this beautiful region of rural South-West England, as well as interest those who wish to discover more about its history… and a few of its ghosts.

(Includes a bonus of two short stories and photographs connected to North Devon)

cover design: Avalon Graphics
cover artwork: Chris Collingwood

Image shows the cover image for Ghost Encounters by Helen and Kathy Hollick, showing a Cavalier era collection of horsemen and riders, with a woman offering them ale from a jug. In the background is a thatched roofed house.

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Meet the Authors

ABOUT HELEN HOLLICK

Known for her captivating storytelling and rich attention to historical detail, Helen might not see ghosts herself, but her nautical adventure series, and some of her short stories, skilfully blend the past with the supernatural, inviting readers to step into worlds where the boundaries between the living and the dead blur.

In addition to her historical fiction, Helen has written several short stories, further exploring themes of historical adventure or the supernatural with her signature style. Whether dealing with the echoes of the past or the weight of lost souls, her stories are as compelling as they are convincing. Through her work, she invites readers into a world where the past never truly lets us go.

Helen started writing as a teenager, but after discovering a passion for history, was published in the UK with her Arthurian Pendragon’s Banner Trilogy and two Anglo-Saxon novels about the events that led to the 1066 Battle of Hastings, one of which, The Forever Queen (USA title – A Hollow Crown in the UK) became a USA Today best-seller. Her Sea Witch Voyages are nautical-based adventures inspired by the Golden Age of Piracy. She also writes the Jan Christopher cosy mystery series set during the 1970s, and based around her, sometimes hilarious, years of working as a North London library assistant.

Helen, husband Ron and daughter Kathy moved from London to Devon in January 2013 after a Lottery win on the opening night of the London Olympics, 2012. She spends her time glowering at the overgrown garden and orchard, fending off the geese, helping with the horses and, when she gets a moment, writing the next book…

ABOUT KATHY HOLLICK

Diagnosed as severely dyslexic when she was ten, Helen pulled Kathy out of school at fifteen to concentrate on everything equine.

When not encountering friendly ghosts, Kathy’s passion is horses and mental well-being. She started riding at the age of three, had her own Welsh pony at thirteen, and discovered showjumping soon after. Kathy now runs her own Taw River Equine Events, and coaches riders of any age or experience, specialising in positive mindset and overcoming confidence issues via her Centre10 accreditation and Emotional Freedom Technique training. EFT, or ‘tapping’, uses the body’s pressure points to aid calm relaxation and to promote gentle healing around emotional, mental or physical issues.

Kathy lives with her farmer partner, Andrew, in their flat adjoining the main farmhouse. She regularly competes at affiliated British Showjumping, and rides side-saddle (‘aside’) when she has the opportunity. She produces her own horses, several from home-bred foals.

She also has a fun diploma in Dragons and Dragon Energy, which was something amusing to study during the Covid lockdown.

Author image for Helen and Kathy Hollick

Connect with Helen

Connect with Kathy

Image shows the blog banner for Ghost Encounters by Helen and Kathy Hollick and the blog hosts taking part. The blog tour is organised by The Coffee Pot Book Club
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I’m delighted to welcome R.N. Morris and his book, Death of a Princess, to the blog #HistoricalFiction #CrimeFiction #Russia #Mystery #BlogTour #TheCoffeePotBookClub #BookReview

I’m delighted to welcome R.N. Morris and his book, Death of a Princess, Empire of Shadows Book 3, to the blog.

Image shows the cover for Death of a Princess on a pale background with a vase of flowers to the side of it.

Here’s the blurb

Summer 1880.

Lipetsk, a spa town in Russia.

The elderly and cantankerous Princess Belskaya suffers a violent reaction while taking a mud bath at the famous Lipetsk Sanatorium. Soon after, she dies.

Dr Roldugin, the medical director of the sanatorium, is at a loss to explain the sudden and shocking death.

He points the finger at Anna Zhdanova, a medical assistant who was supervising the princess’s treatment.

Suspicion also falls on the princess’s nephew Belsky, who appears far from grief-stricken at his aunt’s death.

Meanwhile, investigating magistrate Pavel Pavlovich Virginsky arrives in Lipetsk from St Petersburg, seeking treatment after a nervous breakdown.

Against his better judgement, Virginsky is drawn in to the investigation. But is he getting closer to the truth or walking straight into a deadly trap?

The cover image for Death of a Princess by R N Morris. The cover image shows a period building from the 1800s with people in the foreground, including a horse and carriage

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My Review

Death of a Princess is an intriguing and quite complex mystery set in the 1880s in Russia. It is the third book in the series, and I’ve not read the earlier two, but it didn’t diminish my enjoyment, and readers will easily be able to start with this title.

It has a wide cast of characters and follows them as they interact with one another and resolve other issues before fully resolving how the princess’s death came about.

It feels very ‘Russian.’ All the characters have delightful Russian names and attitudes, and the story well depicts the social structure of society. It’s an engaging read, pulling the reader along with some very tense moments until reaching the grand finale.

I very much enjoyed the mystery and look forward to reading more in the series.

Meet the Author

Roger (R.N) Morris is the author of 18 books, including a quartet of historical crime novels set in St Petersburg featuring Porfiry Petrovich, the investigating magistrate from Dostoevsky’s great novel Crime and Punishment. These were followed by the Silas Quinn series set in London in 1914. He has been shortlisted for the CWA Duncan Lawrie Gold Dagger and the CWA Historical Dagger.

A former advertising copywriter, Roger has written the libretto for an opera, modern retellings of Frankenstein and Macbeth for French school children. He’s also a scriptwriter for an award winning audio producer, working on true crime and history podcasts including The Curious History of your Home.

His work has been published in 16 countries.

Married with two grown-up children, Roger lives in Chichester where he keeps an eye out for seagulls.

Author image for R N Morris.

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I’m delighted to welcome Barney Campbell and his new book, The Fires of Gallipoli, to the blog #TheFiresOfGallipoli #HistoricalFiction #WWI #BlogTour #TheCoffeePotBookClub

I’m delighted to welcome Barney Campbell and his new book, The Fires of Gallipoli, to the blog with an excerpt.

Excerpt

Edward’s thick jumper proved its mettle and he slept soundly, stirring only around midnight as a snuffling deer broke nearby branches around the edge of the tree. He was awake for a few minutes while memories of nights on the front came to him, staring out into a dark night or peeping fearfully over the parapet when a baleful alabaster shone over the Peninsula in a sniper’s moon. He remembered nights on the line as he and Thorne tried desperately to suppress their chuckles into yelps of breathing. He was sure that he let out a giggle into the night before nothingness then fell over him, dreamless and warm.

He woke with his thighs damp from dew and drew away the groundsheet to see the million droplets on the cow parsley sparkle gold and rainbow colours from the low sun breaching the underside of the tree. A ghostly network of spiders’ webs hung above his head, made fuller by the dew, more ossified. He felt an awful pang, as Thorne stirred beside him, that he wasn’t able to see any of it.

They wormed out from under the tree and creaked limbs back to life, shaking away the residue of sleep and rubbing their sandpaper chins, teeth chattering at the morning’s chill. They got ready to go, the imprint of their bodies in the cow parsley already disappearing as the crushed stalks started to lean up again, and they rejoined the path and carried on.

The route took them over miles of gentle fields and woods, folds in the ground offering one of the most beautiful mornings Edward could remember; folds that, on a battlefield, would become must-take ridges and valleys raked by machine gun fire. Here though was a perfect land, unpoisoned by such snaky heads. The rising sun, still yet to gain its heat, uncovered spring’s half-built hedgerows as nearby woodpeckers saluted their arrival. So infrequent was any sign of habitation, with only a couple of soft yellow stone farmhouses nestling nearly invisibly into their surroundings, that it seemed for a time that they were walking through a zero-humaned world.

They moved so softly, boots tracing their way noiselessly over the grass and the soft earth, that at every wood or new field animals failed to notice them and carried on their activities unalarmed. In one small clump of trees were a cock and hen pheasant, he strutting and boastful with his neck thrust out in grandiose stupidity and she following along behind him picking up the food and grubs that he, in his magnificent self-regard, missed on his morning passeggiata.

Edward stopped for a while to watch them, and then started to describe the scene to Thorne, but not going on as long as he thought he might, seeing writ across his face a sheer exultation in the day and being where they were. Not the sights, of course, but the scents and the touch of the air on his skin seemed to be elevating him to the same sense of contented rapture as Edward felt. The gap between them may not be quite as unbridgeable as he had feared, then. Perhaps.

Here’s the Blurb

The Fires of Gallipoli is a heartbreaking portrayal of friendship forged in the trenches of the First World War.

‘In this vivid and engaging novel of war and friendship, Barney Campbell shows us once again that he is a natural writer. This is a novel of men at arms of the highest quality.’ 
~ Alexander McCall Smith

Edward Salter is a shy, reserved lawyer whose life is transformed by the outbreak of war in 1914. On his way to fight in the Gallipoli campaign, he befriends the charming and quietly courageous Theodore Thorne. Together they face the carnage and slaughter, stripped bare to their souls by the hellscape and only sustained by each other and the moments of quiet they catch together.

Thorne becomes the crutch whom Edward relies on throughout the war. When their precious leave from the frontline coincides, Theo invites Edward to his late parents’ idyllic estate in Northamptonshire. Here Edward meets Thorne’s sister Miranda and becomes entranced by her.

Edward escapes the broiling, fetid charnel-house of Gallipoli to work on the staff of Lord Kitchener, then on to the Western Front and post-war espionage in Constantinople. An odd coolness has descended between Edward and Theo. Can their connection and friendship survive the overwhelming sense of loss at the end of the war when everything around them is corrupted and destroyed?

The Fires of Gallipoli is a heartbreaking, sweeping portrayal of friendship and its fragility at the very limits of humanity.

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Meet the Author

Barney Campbell, author of The Fires of Gallipoli, was brought up in the Scottish Borders and studied Classics at university. He then joined the British Army where he commanded soldiers on a tour of Helmand Province, Afghanistan at the height of the war there.

That experience inspired him to write his first novel Rain, a novel about the war, which was published by Michael Joseph in 2015. The Times called it ‘the greatest book about the experience of soldiering since Robert Graves’s First World War classic Goodbye To All That’.

Barney has walked the length of the Iron Curtain, from Szczecin in Poland to Trieste in Italy. He currently works and lives in London.

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I’m delighted to welcome Lois Cahall and her new book, The Many Lives & Loves of Hazel Lavery to the blog #HistoricalFiction #BiographicalFiction #WomenInHistory #BlogTour #TheCoffeePotBookClub

I’m delighted to welcome Lois Cahall and her new book, The Many Lives & Loves of Hazel Lavery to the blog with an excerpt.

Excerpt

Alice was out on Regent Street for drinks at the Café Royal, a thriving Victorian restaurant known to cater to the upper crust and apparently British spies. And then she was off to the Savoy for dinner with her international crowd. Like mother like daughter, I suppose. Christmas eve she’d be traveling to Ireland, spending more and more time in Kilkenny. She even had dreams of living there. I suspect my Irish bug bit her, too. And she even expressed it to me in a letter:

Dearest Mommy,

The Irish are such delightfully kind and amusing people. It is nothing like English hunting, either field or country, everyone helps everyone else, and no one swears at anyone and you’re always welcome in the country if you’re a stranger…. I think Ireland is the freshest, simplest, nicest country and people I have ever met, and I love every inch of it, so you can say ‘I told you so’ and crow over me to your heart’s content now. You were right! And I love you!

My stepdaughter, Eileen, wrapped gifts in the parlor. Nearby were her daughters, Ann Moira and June Mary, which now made John and I official grandparents.

Winston and John were in the library deep into cigars, gin and political talk with our son-in-law, William, while Clementine and I sat sipping sherry in the drawing room, the doors closed. My newest friend, Jessie Louisa “Louie” Rickard, an Irish writer, whose romantic novels we all devoured, joined us, listening on as Clementine cackled about some latest fashion.

My eyes watered up for the tenth time that day. I didn’t intend for her to notice but she instantly figured it out as I turned the other way to avoid eye contact.

“Hazel,” said Clementine, leaning in, her voice full of pity, “Hazel, look at me.” I turned as she gained my full attention. “You must gather yourself, darling girl.”

“Oh Clemmie, I don’t know how to…”

“Of course, you don’t. You’re American,” she said, patting my hand. “But try you must.”

“He was the love of…”

“…your life, yes, I know. But he’s gone. It’s been years,” said Clementine. “Those chapters of life are best left unpublished.”

Then she eyed my wardrobe, black from head to toe, compared to her layers of lapis and pitch blue – a bias-cut dress with belted waist and large yoke collar. “And Hazel, dearest, you’re not in mourning, you’re married…”

“Well, I suppose marriage is a form of mourning.” The three of us women shared a look.

“Fer sure,” said Louie with her Irish brogue. She was sporty. Wearing high waisted sailor pants and striped blouse.

As I admired their zest for life in the present, I longed to tell them right then and there that I mourned not only for Michael, but for our unborn child, and the recent loss of yet another one of Michael’s friends.

“It’s been so difficult, ladies. You’re the only ones I can confide in except for Michael’s sister, Hannie. We’ve stayed close. My love for him is always with me. He once said we were like swans who mate for life.”

“Pain comes from always wanting…” said Louie, trailing off and turning the other way, like a true romantic writer, gazing out the window. Whenever she spoke, rain practically fell on cue.

Clementine began pinching the puffed sleeves on her dress and then gazed up at me, clearing her throat to speak. “I have five tips for any woman where the living men are concerned, not the dead ones.”

“Oh?” I sat up, eager.

“Firstly,” said Clementine, “it is important that a man hires you a skilled staff and has an admirable career. Second, that he makes you laugh. Third, it is important to find a man you can count on who doesn’t lie to you. And that this man loves you and spoils you. And, finally,” she added, “it is most important that these four men don’t know each other!” A pause, and then Clementine burst out laughing.

“Oh Clemmie, you’re wretched! Is this your way of saying I should have an affair?”

“It’s time dear. It’s time.”

“I concur!” said Louie.

“But I’m a Catholic now,” I declared, “I don’t believe in divorce.”

“Nobody is saying to divorce, just have a good ole roll in the hay with a man more your age,”

said Louie, tipping her head to suggest John was very old.

I regretted the way that I segued into the next words that fell from my mouth since rumors had already begun circulating about me. “And Kevin O’Higgins is dead, too. Michael’s friend.”

“Another one?” asked Clementine. “Dead?”

“Yes, back in July, didn’t I tell you then… though it feels like yesterday. The assassins poured lead into his body just like they did to Michael except they murdered him on his way to Mass.”

“Disgraceful!” said Clementine.

“Sometimes, I just feel frozen in misery,” I added.

“So, you were close, yeah?” asked Louie.

Trying to avoid the question instead reframing with a different answer. “I was watching polo at Ranelagh when I was told the news. The first thing I thought was the same thing I always think

when I hear of the death of a man close to me. It’s always the men close to my life who die.”

Leaning forward I poured more sherry, and topped Clementine’s off, too. “O’Higgins so much wanted to see Michael’s achievements and endeavors for the country. They’re saying he was perhaps the greatest diplomat of them all. You know, he wrote me the most charming note. Ended it by saying he wished I could be there as his Parliament meets again. And then he went on about how much the Irish appreciate my help and sympathy.”

Clementine studied her sherry glass, took a sip, and then spoke, “Hazel, I suspect that your views of Ireland are unsuited to the harsh reality of sectarian strife.”

“But I love Ireland so. It was purely by accident of birth that America claimed me. Although,” I said, easing back into the chair and pouting, “Perhaps John was right. He once said that ‘Hazel’s Ireland is as unreal as a mirage in the desert.’”

Here’s the Blurb

In the heart of tumultuous times, amidst the grandeur of Victorian opulence, there existed an American socialite whose influence altered the course of the Anglo-Irish treaty: Lady Hazel Lavery

Boston-born Hazel ascended from her Irish roots to become the quintessential Society Queen of Chicago, and later London, where she lived a delicate dance between two worlds: one with her esteemed husband, Sir John Lavery, a portrait artist to royalty, and the other with Michael Collins, the daring Irish rebel whose fiery spirit ignited her heart. Together, they formed a love triangle that echoed through the corridors of power at 10 Downing Street, London.

Hazel’s wit and charm touched on the lives of the who’s-who of England, including Winston Churchill, George Bernard Shaw and Evelyn Waugh. The image of her memorable face graced the Irish note for close to half-a-century.

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Meet the Author

Lois Cahall began her writing career as a columnist for Cape Cod newspapers and local periodicals, including Cape Cod Life. She spent a decade writing for national magazines (Conde Nast/Hearst). Her articles have been published in Cosmo Girl, Seventeen, SELF, Marie Claire, Redbook, Ladies Home Journal, Reader’s Digest, Men’s Journal, and Bon Appetit. In the UK she wrote for RED, GQ, Psychologies, and for The Times. In addition, Lois wrote profiles for The Palm Beach Post.

Lois’s first novel, Plan C: Just in Case, was a #1 bestseller in the UK, where it remained in the top three fiction for the year before selling into foreign translation markets. In July of 2014, her novel hit #1 on the Nook “Daily Deal” in America. Her second novel, Court of the Myrtles, was hailed as “Tuesdays with Morrie on estrogen” by the Ladies Home Journal. Her newest book, The Many Lives of Hazel Lavery, is a work of historical fiction and will be published in 2025.

Lois is the former Creative Director of Development for James Patterson Entertainment. She credits her friend, Jim Patterson, the world’s most successful bestselling author, with teaching her about the importance of children’s reading and literacy. As a result, she founded the Palm Beach Book Festival in 2015, an annual event bringing in NYT bestselling and celebrity authors. The event is for book lovers, nurturing the written word for the children and adults of southern Florida.

In 2024 Lois also founded The Cape Cod Book Festival, an annual autumn event that promises to be a new cultural footprint in Massachusetts. It will be for locals and ‘washashores’ alike – a magical place where charitably minded readers can rub elbows with great writers and thinkers.  

Lois divides her life between New York and Cape Cod, although her spiritual home is London. But most importantly, Lois can do the Hula Hoop for an hour non-stop and clear a Thanksgiving table in just under ten minutes.

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I’m delighted to welcome Nitin Nanji and his book, Lalji’s Nairobi, to the blog #HistoricalFiction #AfricanHistoricalFiction #BlogTour #TheCoffeePotBookClub

I’m delighted to welcome Nitin Nanji and his book, Lalji’s Nairobi, to the blog with an excerpt.

Excerpt 1

The next morning brought an early visitor to their door in the shape of the village Sarpanch, Thakorbhai. The Sarpanch was the elected head of the village and led the Panchayat. His role was to officiate over disputes, collect fines and enforce the law with the help of the police.

Thakorbhai was a large man with short legs and a bull neck. He sported a moustache that was long and curled upwards at the ends, like two cobras poised to strike. When he sat on a chair, he folded his legs under him and they disappeared under his enormous belly. The children of the village were thrown into fits of giggles at this sight as he looked like an overgrown hen sprawled over her eggs. For that reason, he was also known unkindly as ‘Murgiben’ (mother hen).

He invited himself into the yard and sat down on Parshottam’s charpoy. He had come about the story going around that Parshottam’s son was to head out to Africa. He knew Parshottam had been making inquiries about the next meeting of the Panchayat and thought the two matters may well be connected.

“You are right, I was hoping to have the matter considered at the Panchayat,” said Parshottam before calling out for Lalji to join them. Rambai appeared with a tumbler of salted buttermilk for the Sarpanch and joined in the chorus calling for Lalji.

“What does the boy say?” inquired Thakorbhai.

“He hasn’t made up his mind. See, I was thinking with the lack of prospects here after the famines and with the tax situation….”

“You leave the tax situation to me, Parshottam,” bellowed Thakorbhai. “We need to know if the boy is willing to go and take his chances!”

At that instance, both Lalji and Naran appeared. They paid their respects to the Sarpanch by bowing to him and gesturing to touch his feet hidden under his belly.

“So, what’s your decision young man?” he inquired of Lalji. “Are you ready to cross the big ocean and arrive at the opposite shore to start a new life, away from your family?”

Lalji seated himself down in a squatting position and looked straight at the Sarpanch. Without hesitation announced, “Yes, I willl be taking the vaan and see what destiny has in store for me. It is my role as the eldest son.”

“Shabhash (well said), my boy! That’s the right answer.” The cobras parted to reveal pink gums.

“The son of Dhiraj will be accompanying him, so as he is not alone,” interjected Parshottam.

Thakorbhai waved the idea away as being of no consequence. He told Parshottam his son was in a different league from many and he was supportive of the idea. He mentioned others had considered it before but no son of the village had made the journey.

“The reasons are many but the fact is no one has had the strength of character to take the step. If I was twenty years younger, I would have given the same answer as Lalji here,” he said.

Turning to Lalji he asked, “Would you lead a group of three others from here to go with you?”

Lalji was taken aback by the question, having never considered himself as taking on such responsibility. He didn’t feel unable to lead, but he wanted to know whom the Sarpanch had in his mind.

“It would be you as their leader with Nizar the hardware merchant’s son, and Ramji the eldest son of Karsan the builder. Then there’s that idle son of Dhiraj your father has been talking about.”

“But I hardly know them. Will they follow my wishes?” inquired Lalji.

“Leave that to me. I have spoken to Karsan and Noormohammed about that and they have both pledged their sons will do as you say. They have been waiting for such an opportunity for a long time to get their sons to Africa. They are good boys and want to succeed for their families. They need sound advice and guidance from someone who is mature and responsible. None of them are capable of it on their own. They all need to be led by someone sensible and smart.”

“But I am eighteen and I think they are older,” responded Lalji. The words seem to stop the Sarpanch in his tracks momentarily. He retorted dismissively, “Arre! When I was your age, I ran both the shop and farmed the land. And I did the accounts for my elder brothers. Ability trumps age!”

Having gulped the buttermilk in one long action with his head tossed back. Then he got up briskly to leave, adding, “I hear you have an Arab sea master in mind, Parshottam. For my part, I will speak to my contacts in Porbander to find out who they should contact in Africa. I suggest you start putting together enough food and grains for the journey for him.” The two cobras were drowned in buttermilk.

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Here’s the blurb

British Gujarat, 1905.

Despairing of the social injustices and crippling taxes under the British Raj, Lalji, 19, flees to British East Africa hoping to build a better life using his natural business skills and acumen. But he soon finds unexpected dangers in his new home- turbulent politics and war with German East Africa- as well as some surprising opportunities. A combination of luck, coincidence, and his flair for commerce lead to early success.

Then, just as he is at his most vulnerable, a new threat emerges from where he least expects: from within his own family.

Can Lalji beat overwhelming odds to fulfill his hopes and ambitions?

A story about survival, faith, ability, humanity, and a deep desire to succeed.

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Meet the Author

Historical novelist of Indian parentage, born and raised in Kenya, educated in England, writing about India and East Africa under the British Empire.

Nitin has come to writing his debut novel after retiring as a doctor. Born in Kenya before its independence he came to England at the age of fifteen. His parentage is Indian, his grandfather having moved during the British Raj from Gujarat in India to Colonial East Africa as an economic migrant.

‘Lalji’s Nairobi’ is set in the early part of the last century, inspired by the stories of Indian migrants who settled in East Africa. A ‘rags to riches’ story of the experiences of Lalji as a determined young businessman who grapples with the challenges of living in the new colony.

Within the backdrop of a racist administration, Nitin immerses the reader into the times and norms of colonial society and shows how Lalji achieves rapid success despite difficult odds, leading a team of four compatriots from his village.

The novel is well-researched and retains the undertones of the era. Nitin’s intimate knowledge of the three cultures of the colony (British, Indian, and African) succeeds in making this an enjoyable and authentic read.

‘Lalji’s Nairobi’ is now an award-winning novel that recently won acclaim from the prestigious New Generation Indie Book Awards as a ‘Finalist’. It also earned Five Stars and the ‘Highly Recommended’ award of excellence from The Historical Fiction Company, which has recently also awarded the book with a silver medal in the Blixen Africa Category.

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