STAY WITH ME :  Published February 5th.       Here is a taster:

From her home, high on Whitby’s West Cliff, twenty-three year old Pauline Carnforth gazed across the River Esk ….. It was Christmas Eve 1879. The bustle on the quays was winding down but in two days the ships and quays would be swarming with people again: merchants having a word with their captains, clerks hurrying with manifests, stevedoresbeing harangued to forget their hangovers and prepare their ships to sail for distant shores. Sailors would curse their superiors under their breath and labourers would groan under the heavy crates and bales they heaved on board.

           Pauline brushed a stray strand of dark brown hair back into place, sighing and wishing, not for the first time, that she had been born a boy, able to sail to the farther reaches of the ocean, to see the magical worlds that lay beyond the horizon and do all the things a girl was not allowed to do by this strait-laced society. ……..

          As she started for the top of the stairs she heard a door open behind her, and turned to see James coming out of his room. He raised his eyebrows in admiration.

          ‘You look extremely well, Lena. A new dress? It suits you.’

         She smiled as she acknowledged the compliment. It pleased her that her brother always commented on her appearance.

         ‘Wait until you see the red one I bought at the same time.’

         ‘Saving that for Dundee?’

        ……. ‘I’m sure Alistair will approve.’

       …….’And no doubt your are out to impress Olivia.’

      …….He gave a little chuckle. ‘Father would be pleased if we both married a Nash.’

      …….Their mother and father were already in the drawing-room, enjoying a glass of Madeira. When Lena came in John rose to his feet and his eyes dwelt admiringly on his daughter. ‘You look very fine,’ he commented.

      Lena smiled and inclined her head in thanks.

      ‘And you too, James,’ he added quickly, careful always ro treat them equally and never give his step-son the impression that he was any less valued.

     Jennie had always been gratful for her husband’s attitude towards her son. Once James had reached the age to understand, she had explained his true parentage but without question he regarded John as his true father.

…………

    Reaching Waverley Station in Edinburgh, they quickly transferred to the Royal British Hotel. ….. when they were all seated in the lounge, he reached into his pocket.

    ‘These are for your onward journey to Dundee in the morning,’ he anounced as he handed …. tickets to James. ‘I’m sorry your mother and I will not be travelling with you ……… Your mother and I will catch the four-fifteen from Edinburgh and will join you later.’

…………

     ‘I don’t like that wind,’ shuddered Jennie , disturbed by the howling sound as the the wind chased along the street and around the buildings, whisking smoke from chimneys and sending paper scudding along the pavements.

……….

     As the train, shaking from the force of the gale, rattled towards the bridge over theTay, Jennie grasped her husband’s arm and looked at him in naked alarm. ‘We shouldn’t be jerking around like this. I don’t like it at all.’

    He patted her arm reassuringly. ‘Nothing’s going to happen , my love, he replied confidently. ‘It’s only the wind. Ignore it.’

    ……….

    The wind ripped the waters of the Tay, tossing them into a maelstrom of foam-topped waves, the whiteness emphasising the yawning depths below.

    ……….

   He grasped her. Pulled her close. He heard timber tear, metal screech. The carriage toppled. They were falling, falling. He held her tight. ‘I love you, Jennie, always have and always will …. wherever we are.’

  His lips met hers and they stayed locked together as they fell, fell, fell. and icy waters rushed in to claim them.

………..

   Mr Witherspoon cleared his throat. ………

  ‘Now we come to the business. …… The rest, and all other assets connected with it, go to Mr James.’

 ……….

  With the closing of the door Lena felt as if part of life had been closed to her. It seemed as if her father had ignored all the interest she had shown in the firm. Surely he had realised that she wanted to participate in it. …….. Why had he laid down such rules? After all, she was his blood child while James was not, and yet he was the one who was getting what she most desired. …… She would abide by it. There were other ways to enter the world where her heart lay.

 

I hope that makes you want to read the book to find out what happend before and during the time of the disater and to find out what happens when Lena sets out to achieve her ambition.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I read that the English cricketers in the West Indies should look out for the ‘throat ball’ Didn’t seem to be any loud protests at this sort of intimidation. There was great controversy about Body Line in 1932. Isn’t the throat part of the body? There was controversy about ‘bouncers’ and that brought in usage restrictions. Some bouncers could be throat balls. Are we playing cricket? There used to be decent contest between bowler and batsman that showed up the true skills of both.

Middlesbrough through to the next round of the FA Cup – Kevin Pietersen scores 103, bright lights in the gloom so let’s not worry too much

Further to my reply to Keith Chapman’s Comment on Sorting Out. I was going to put that paint brush to use today  but when I went for the paint, certain that there was some white left over from a job a decorator did some time last year, I found it was blue not white, the colour I wanted! That is typical of my DIY efforts. Truly, if I hammer a nail into a wall the wall will fall down, well some of it will and then it will need patching and that can lead to further disasters. Probably the only DIY thing I’m good at is painting. My wife, Joan, was an expert at papering ( I was a helper but even then I could go wrong) but she would admit she could not match me at painting; in fact she would say she could make non-drip paint drip. So I had to do the painting, but even doing that, or something akin to it, I could cause disaster. When my son was twelve, he was learning woodwork and joinery at school, and even though I say it, he was good at it, so much so that I enlisted his help. I wanted shelves putting along one wall, and it was a long wall. ‘What do we do?’ I asked him. He explained, measured up, gave me a list of items required and I duly purchased them on the understanding he would help me put them up. Not wanting to presurise a twelve year old, I waited patiently for a starting date. Eventually came, ‘Dad, we’ll do that job today.’  ‘Good,’ I replied, ‘I’ll just finish off what I’m doing then I’ll be with you. You get things organised.’  A short while later I went into the room and was impressed by his organisation – he appeared to know what he was doing. ‘Right, what can I do?’ I asked full of enthusiasm. He hesitated. I could hear his mind ticking over – what can I give Dad to do that he won’t get wrong?  He was too polite to dismiss me out of hand. ‘Dad, take the shelves outside and stain them, the stain is there.’ He pointed to the tin on the floor. Good, I thought, that’s akin to painting. I picked up the tin. unscrewed the cap, put the tin down again. Why? Don’t ask me. I picked up one of the shelves to take it outside, in doing so caught the tin with my foot, the tin tipped over, no cap on it, stain spilt across the floor.  What did I get? A very polite plea ‘ Oh Dad, leave it, I’ll see to it all.’ I can still hear his words 40 years later.  I think he got his Mum to hold the shelves while he screwed them into place !!! 

 

I spent today sorting out. Am I any better for it? Well, I suppose a little. Some places do look a little bit tidier – well I had to set some things straight. Did I throw much out? You may ask, and if you like you can say, ‘Get rid of that and that and that.’  But can I? It may come in useful sometime! On top of that I’m a sentimentalist. ‘Can’t get rid of that, it reminds me of …’ ‘Remember the day we bought that … oh no, I can’t get rid of it.’  So, all in all, what did I do today? Got rid of about four magazines (bet I’ll want one of them next week!) and a few old envelopes. Oh, yes, I did sell a book on Amazon! That was brave of me. But I did enjoy the day, making things a little straighter, letting my thoughts take me back in time (great memories and I’d have missed those if I had had a drastic sort out some time ago). Ah, well, I can look forward to the next ‘sort out day’ when once again my determinationto to get rid will be overuled by sentimentality.

On 9 April !903 Turtle Mountain, Crowsnest Pass, Alberta, Canada sent 90 million tons of limestone sliding to destroy most of the town of Frank.

40 years later in July 1943, while on leave from aircrew training, I stood at the site amazed at the evidence of the catastrophe. Little did I think then that 65 years on I would be reviewing a novel, The Outlander, by Gil Adamson, in which the Frank Slide, as it became known, features importantly.

Surprising how the past can impinge on the present in unexpected ways.