Rodney Willett's Blog

2012-02-24T18:14:00.001Z

At risk of sounding rather proud (which I am, let's face it) I would like to tell you of some rather nice things that have happened recently.

Marcia's German publishers (Lubbe) have decided to reprint nearly all of her books in a new club edition under the Weltbild imprint. Below is the cover of the new Hattie's Mill.

Meanwhile, our agent in France has been approached by a second film company wishing to buy the film rights of Sisters Under the Skin (which she wrote under the name of Willa Marsh). They can't, of course, since these rights have already been sold to Tessalit Productions (France)who have already taken up the second option which means that there is an approved script in place. Watch this space for further developments. However, said agent is offering the new company the rights on other books although we have no idea yet as to whether or not they will be interested.

The following photograph has no relevance but I rather like it. It was taken just after 8.30 on the morning of February 7.

* * *

Writing obviously runs in the family: this was written by Marcia's great-nephew, Inigo, at the age of seven.

The Beach

On the beach I saw . . . the sun shining on the sea. A line of lobsters.

From the cliffs I heard . . .screeching of mice. Dogs barking.

I built a sandcastle the sand felt . . . like flour that you bake cakes with.

I raced to the cafe. Inside I could smell . . . mussels and french fries.

I bought a lolly it tasted . . . like lemony chocolate.

* * *

THE TADPOLE TIMES

Since so many of you expressed an interest in my tadpolearium last year which, if you remember, resulted in my being able to release more than eight hundred baby froglets into the top pond, I shall put up a weekly report on progress this year.

A few nights ago the frogs congregated in that pond, destroying the rural peace with raucous voices and fairly unseemly behavior. The result was that the following morning we found a huge mass of frogspawn. The trouble was that the forecast for the next night was that we would have a very hard frost with temperatures well down. Probably a bit needlessly, I decided that I would put about a gallon of this spawn into the utility room, so I cleaned out one of the plastic containers which make up said tadpolearium and popped the spawn into it.

Then the frogs seemed to disappear. Since this is very early for spawn, I am now wondering whether that is it or whether we shall have then back again. Usually they stay with us for well over a week. We shall see.

Meanwhile there is no sign of similar activity by our toads who tend to live in the lower pond despite that being where there are all the fish.

More minutiae

2012-02-17T18:58:00.001Z

As I am sure you have noticed, there is a tendency in these blogs and elsewhere for the photographs to be about the west country and especially the flora and fauna found in the area.

There is very good reason for this other than that I am a bit nutty about taking pictures of the same thing over and over again in the hope of taking one that really pleases me. The very good reasons is so that we have a record of what was out, where and when covering as many species, places and times of the year as we can. Then when Marcia discovers that a book is to be set in a given place and runs from, say, August 2008 to September 2009 we have a reasonably good chance of having a record in my photo files that will help her to describe as accurately as possible what was about there at that time.

She has said when giving talks at festivals, “If I write that such-and-such a plant was in flower in that place at that time of the year it is because I have seen it for myself.”

I have written about this a number of times and it is true. Mind you, there are not just my pictures: Marcia keeps copious notes as to the weather and what she sees when she is out and about.

In the last few books there have been a few unexpected twists and turns. In the book coming out later this year is a typical example. Who would have thought that they would be cut off by snow down by the River Tamar. Unheard of – but it happened and so, because that book was set in that time the characters just have to cope with it.

Naturally neither of us knew that Marcia would be writing before she did – if you see what I mean. So, what happens when she is writing about the years before we started keeping records. Well, to a large extent we rely our memories and meteorological records also come in handy.

Remember 1976? That was the year when we experienced an extremely hot and long dry spell. It started on the first day of Wimbledon (not that we knew that at the time). Throughout the championships, the famous lawns of Wimbledon became drier and drier – despite being watered every night. By the final the centre court looked more like a cameo of Arizona than anything else. Then the heatwave went on for six or seven weeks. You can read about the effect it had on Marcia's characters in Those Who Serve.

Then there were the winters of 1976/77, 77/78 and 78/79 when the west country was hit by serious snowstorms for three years running. One of these had a huge impact in The Way We Were.

So, I always carry a camera with me wherever I go and that was the case on Wednesday when I wandered up the lane with Jossie. Here are some of the photographs I took on that walk.

Snowdrops, as I am sure you all know. We have little clumps of then around us in the garden and, as this one is, tucked into the bottoms of the hedges. The buds on the ash to the right are just beginning to swell and turn black.

The first of the honeysuckle leaves.

We expect beech to hang onto leaves through the winter but this is an oak. I have never noticed this before. Of course the beech trees shed leaves the same as all the others: it is really only beech hedges where they stay put and this is in a hedge so that probably explains it.

A real surprise. Wild strawberries in flower in February! The world has gone mad.

Sorry this is a bit out of focus. No excuse really but my hands were freezing which may account for it. Anyway, primroses: lots of them actually - far too early but despite this cold snap it has been unusually warm

The hazel catkins are beginning to fill out and change colour.

This one needs some explanation. When we had a new telephone line installed (about ten years ago) the posts that hold these things up in the air were all tagged with red notices meaning they were dangerous and needed to be replaced. They had been like that for some time. Anyway, when the engineers installed this new line there was one particular post that was so rotten that they refused to use it - and tied (yes, with string) our line to a handy tree instead. Then last year (I think but it may be two years ago now) they replaced all of them and so we have nice new safe telephone poles. That is one of them on the right. I walk past this one most days and on Wednesday, when I took this photo, I was astonished to see that the badgers had had a very busy night digging - see the hole that I am sure was not there on Tuesday.

A fatal flaw and the flow of words

2012-02-10T17:45:00.001Z

Since this week included Charles Dicken’s two-hundredth birthday, a misquote seems allowable.

It has been the worst of weeks and the best of weeks.

On Tuesday (yes, the exact day) I booted up the computer and found myself staring at a very scary error message. A quick telephone to Graham (our local computer doctor) confirmed that I should be afraid, very afraid. He told me to touch nothing and he would be over as quickly as he could.

He found a near fatal flaw on the hard disc and discovered that the cause was almost certainly started by our modem going faulty. Don’t ask for I do not understand. All I know is that Graham rang our ISP and asked them to see if they could see a problem and it seems that the modem was clicking in and out in a way that it shouldn’t. Anyway, whatever caused what and in which order is of academic interest only. Putting things right was the priority.

I have an external hard drive and he backed everything up onto that, switched the computer off and took it away to replace the hard disc. It is horrific how difficult life becomes when something like this happens. You feel as though part of you is missing which is ridiculous – if we had been going away for a few days we would not be able to receive any emails, Tweets and all the rest of it so the obvious thing was for me to chill out and wait until yesterday when it came back home. Obvious, yes: possible, no. I spent the whole time fretting unit lunchtime yesterday when the computer was back home and working well and the time came to install the new modem. That took rather longer than I expected and we weren’t fully functional until early evening. Still, all that is in the past and the time has come to relax and catch up.

I am afraid we lost a few emails on the way through. If you sent us one or left a message on one of the web sites and have not had a reply, please accept our apologies and send your message again.

It was also the best of weeks for Marcia has been hard at work on the new book and passed the forty thousand word barrier yesterday. The best part of each day for me has been to read what she has written. Already I am totally engaged in these new characters whose lives she is unfolding and, as often happens, delighted to see some old friends.

Obviously it is far to early for me to reveal anything at all about this new story but I can say that the pictures on this blog may give you a few clues - except for the last which was sent to me by one of Marcia's readers, Naomi Bates who has these exotics in her garden in Australia.

Meanwhile I am sure you will remember that Marcia had a lovely review in Le Figaro which I tried to translate. Well, a very kind French teacher called Lesley Eyre has sent us a far, far better translation by email and it gives me great pleasure to share it with you all.

Willa Marsh is Jane Austen with the humour of Blake Edwards. She knows how to portray the English countryside which, since Austen, everybody imagines to be inhabited by spinsters looking for love, and by single landowners out to seduce. In her latest novel, Murder at the Manor, the author imagines two disgraceful old aunts who are quite happy to lace their tea with hallucinogenic plant extracts and ghostly spirits worthy of Conan Doyle. That’s the British touch. And as for the humour, it pops up regularly, black and caustic. The most wicked characters are never the ones you suspect, and the good ones always end up revealing a somewhat twisted nature. Here, Clarissa thinks she has won the lottery when Thomas, a charming widower, offers her his heart and his beautiful manor house. The young Londoner is very soon disenchanted. The countryside is very dull with no friends and no entertainment. And isn’t the beautiful manor haunted? Enter a handsome cousin. There is an accident. Then Clarissa’s best girlfriend arrives and becomes involved.

Willa Marsh has the reader wrapped round her little finger. She goes from burlesque to tragedy as coolly as an English aristocrat, with humour tempering the cynicism of the story. Welcome to the manor!

Much, much better. Many thanks, Lesley.

Hedges - specifically here in Devon

2012-02-03T15:55:00.003Z

The other day I read that Devon had some of the oldest hedges in the country, some having been around for over a thousand years. This caught my imagination and so today’s blog will be about the hedges that line our lane.

You can judge the width of 'Main Road' from the tyre tracks in the snow,

The lane is officially called by the Royal Mail ‛Main Road’. No one ever uses this title although, since it is the only road that connects the small village to our west with the tiny hamlet to our east, the name is apt. Historically what is now a very rarely used footpath was the ‛main road’ as it offered a more direct route between the village church and the hamlet. What changed that? I have been unable to find out but in the late nineteenth century there was a revival of Methodism in this area and a new chapel was built on the fringes of the hamlet and facing what is now ‛main road’.

My guess is that our lane was just one of a maze of footpaths used to move stock between fields as they ate up the grass. The lane still fulfils that purpose: sheep mainly but sometimes bullocks and store cattle. When we first moved here there was no barrier between the garden and the road save the five bar gate which is often left open to get cars in and out. It was a couple of days after we moved in that we returned to find the lawns torn up thanks to a herd of bullocks that had visited us. Now we have an inner fence to avoid that happening.

Anyway, I thought I would look into how you can tell the age of a hedge. There seems to be a generally accepted formula based on the fact that the hedges would have been planted with something that stock found difficult to break through (usually hawthorn) and that other species would invade as the years passed. So the method is simple. Count the number of shrubs or hard wood plants in a stretch thirty yards long. The age of the hedge in years is 100 for every hard wood species it contains plus 30 (I don’t know why 30). The figure you end up with will be accurate to within a couple of hundred years unless something odd has happened (such as the hedge being planted with more than one species on day one).

There are problems. What species count? We have six species that certainly do count: oak, ash, hawthorn, blackthorn, holly and hazel. Well, that gives us an age of 630 years for starters. However, there are two roses – the pink dog rose and the white field rose – as well as ivy and honeysuckle which are all woody shrubs but I am not sure that they count.

Oak, cut right back in the autumn, regenerates each spring.

Ash - with ivy - taken today.

The hawthorn berries appear in autumn.

Blackthorn comes into flower before the leaves arrive.

Holly, also taken today, with some ash in the background.

Catkins are already forming on the hazel.

The pink flowers of the dog rose as opposed to . . .

the white of the field rose, seen here climbing hazel.

If they do it makes these hedges over a thousand years old which is actually quite possible. Two of the farms near us are mentioned in the Domesday Book and, since they needed to drive animals along lanes that were stock proof, I think it is reasonable to assume that our lane was used back then, much as it is today.

There is one rogue element – a single beech tree. Actually it grows in a part of the hedge where there is no holly for thirty yards either side so it would be unfair to add it to the list.

Up on Exmoor there are miles and miles of beech hedges. They are almost all about two hundred years old. Exmoor was a Royal Forest which was sold off in 1818, John Knight bought quite bit of it and he and his family turned all the better, more sheltered land into farms. In the process they also built miles of metalled road to provide good access and used beech to hedge those roads.

Hedges, of course, provide wonderful cover for birds, insects and small mammals. Perhaps the fact that we have such old hedges surrounding us explains how we manage to attract such a huge variety of birds into the garden with very little effort on our part.

On holiday

2012-01-27T15:45:00.000Z

An extraordinary thing happened this week. Marcia and I took a whole day off on Wednesday and had a holiday. This hasn’t happened since some time last summer – not a whole day in which neither of us did anything to do with work.

I had finished the copy editing for The Sea Garden and sent it all back to Transworld. Marcia had come to ‘a good stopping point’ in the book she is now writing which has the very simple working title of The Lake. She wanted to catch up with a friend and I wanted to have a natter with one of mine. Both were available so Marcia trundled off to Tavistock where she met Anne in the Bedford Hotel (where else?).

I'm afraid most of you will have seen this photo of the Bedford Hotel.I will make a real effort and take some more one of these days..

Meanwhile, I drove on my own to the farm shop in Lifton to meet Nigel. The farm shop has it’s own web site: click here.

The farm shop otherwise known as Strawberry Fields.

THe Lifton Farm Shop is a family run business: Jo and Roger Mounce to the right with their son Adam and his wife Laura.

They grow a lot of the produce they sell on their own farm, here Adam harvests rhubarb.

That may not sound very exciting but this was the first time that I had driven on my own since the retina in my right eye detached just over two years ago. To my delight, I actually enjoyed it. The farm shop is just over seven miles away but there was very little traffic about: on the outward leg I think I met no more than one lorry, five cars and two horses. It was marginally busier coming back but with two cyclists instead of horses and I managed to pass them without knocking either over.

I was first back – but only just – and so I lit the fire in the sitting room and we spent the rest of the day reading, chatting and planning what we want in the garden this summer. That, of course, necessitated consulting the catalogue that had just arrived from Suttons (the seed and plant people in Paignton) and a subsequent telephone call to order the seeds we selected. The real worry is that after this unseasonably warm start to the year we shall have some bitter cold just when we don’t want it.

On Thursday it was back to work with a bit of a bump. I usually write this blog on Thursdays, there were about thirty emails that needed to be answered and a form from the US Inland Revenue Service which had to be completed – and it was my turn to cook the lunch. Meanwhile, Marcia was busy working herself back into the book.

Now, all of you outside the UK and, indeed, outside Devon please look away as I want to talk about the Devon Community Foundation. The Foundation provides support for all sorts of individuals and small groups carrying out voluntary community work throughout the county. They provide financial assistance which is often invaluable. The money comes from all sorts of fund raising activities which raise over a million pounds each year. Even with that, they are unable to support everything that they consider worthwhile.

The Great Hall at Dartington.

The next fund raising scheme is an event to be held Wednesday week which will take place in the Great Hall at Dartington near Totnes starting at 6.30 pm. Most details on their web site but a bit of late news is that Matt Harvey (Radio 4 Wordsmith) will be there for a bit of light entertainment.

If you would like to go you will have to reserve by Tuesday next.

And now for something completely different.

2012-01-20T12:53:00.002Z

As I explained a couple of weeks ago, both of us are heads down doing things about which it is difficult to write anything exciting (Marcia busy on her next book while I work away at the copy editing of The Sea Garden). Luckily something has happened on the other side of the channel which might be of interest.

When Marcia started writing, it was as if the flood gates had been opened and groups of characters bringing story after story with them began to inhabit our lives. In those days, Hodder Headline were publishing a new book every six months but Marcia was writing a complete novel in a little over four months. She needed to stop – for everyone’s sake.

She didn’t, of course: she wrote some short stories, ‘Just as an exercise’. Some of these were published and four in particular were destined for greater things. These became expanded into full length novels - novels that were very different from the stories Marcia was writing under her own name. Accordingly her agent decided that they should be published but by a different publisher and under a different name. Thus it was that four books by Willa Marsh appeared in the Sceptre list.

Suddenly, in 2008, and completely out of the blue, Éditions Autremant Littératures in Paris announced that they wanted to publish them. Thus it was that Meurtres entre sœurs (Sisters under the skin) was published in 2009. An option on the film rights to this book has been bought by a French film company, Tessalit Productions. Encouragingly, they have just extended those rights which suggests they are probably going ahead. We shall see.

Le journal secret d’Amy Wingate (Amy Wingate’s Diary) followed in 2010 and Meurtres au manoir (The Quick and the Dead) has just hit the bookstalls.

Under the title ‘Drôle de drame’ the following review appeared in Le Figaro on January 12th.

“Willa Marsh, c’est Jane Austen avec l’humour de Blake Edwards. Elle sait depeindre la campagne anglaise, qui comme chacun le pense depuis Austen, est peuplee de vieilles filles à la recherche de l'amour et de séduisants propriétaires célibataires. Dans son dernier roman, Meurtres au manoir, l’auteur britannique imagine aussi deux vieilles tantes indignes qui n'hesitent pas a noyer leur thé avec des psychotropes a base de plantes et de esprits fantómes que n'aurait pas renies Conan Doyle. Voila pour la touche british. L’humour, quant à lui, intervient a tout moment, noir et caustique. Les plus mechants ne sont jamais ceux que l’on croit et les gentils finissent toujours par reveler une nature: plus tordue. Ici, Clarissa pense avoir tiré le grós ot lorsque Thomas, un charmant veuf, lui offre son coeur et son superbe manoir, Tres vite, l jeune Londonienne dèchente. La campagne est bien morne sans amis ni distractions. Et ce beau manoir, n’est-il pas hantè? Surgit un beau cousin. Advient un accident. Dèbarque, intèressèe, la meilleure:copine. Willa Marsh mene les lecteurs par Ie bout du nez. Elle passe du burlesque au tragique avec le flegme d'un lord anglais, I'humour tempérant Ie cynisme du propos. Bienvenue au manoir.”

My French is far from good so the following translation may not be perfect – if anyone can improve on it please let me know.

Funny Drama

“Willa Marsh is Jane Austen with the humor of Blake Edwards. She knows how to portray the English countryside, as we all think that since Austen, is populated by old girls looking for love and attractive singles owners. In her latest novel, Murder at the Manor, the British author also imagines two old aunts who do not mind lacing their tea with hallucinogenic drugs and who see spirits and ghosts that would not worry Conan Doyle. That's the British touch. The humour, in turn, comes at any time: black and caustic. The most wicked are never those that are believed to be and the kind always end being revealed with a more twisted nature. Here, Clarissa thinks she has hit the jackpot when Thomas, a charming widower, offers her his heart and his beautiful mansion. Very quickly, the young Londoner is disenchanted. The countryside is dull without friends or distractions. And is this beautiful mansion not haunted? A handsome cousin arrives. An accident happens. Clarissa’s best girlfriend visits and becomes intrigued.

“Willa Marsh leads readers by the nose. It goes from burlesque to tragedy with the coolness of an English lord and humour with cynicism always near the surface. Welcome to the manor.”

I am not suggesting that Marcia Willett readers would enjoy Willa March books – some might but some might not. There is a story from a time when Marcia was speaking in the Great Hall at Dartington during the Ways with Words Festival. She was taking questions and one rather threw her.

‘I have just read one of the books you wrote under the name Willa Marsh,’ there was a pause: a long pause eventually followed by, ‘and I thought you were such a nice person.’

You have been warned.

Copy editing and dogs - and lambs.

2012-01-13T12:25:00.000Z

It is nice to be able to report that phase one of the copy editing of The Sea Garden is finished. That means that I have read the book and all of Yvonne’s notes and flagged any that I feel uncertain about. Now I shall work through those and either take a decision or not. Then there will be a session with Marcia to deal with whatever flags remain before sending copies of those pages which carry our comments back to Transworld.

How many times do I read the books before they are published? While Marcia is writing, I read what she has written whenever she comes to the end of a section. If she becomes nervous about pace or balance, I will read the whole book from the beginning: this may happen three times. Then, of course, I read it all before it goes off to Marcia’s agent en route to the publishers. When Marcia has carried out any work her editor suggests, I read it again – and again when the copy editing arrives and, finally, when the proofs arrive. I can honestly say that I am never bored – Marcia is one of the few novelists who write with so many layers that each time you read something new springs from the pages.

There are few certainties in life but one is that you are all in for a treat when The Sea Garden is published.

* * *

Both Marcia and I have lived with dogs for most of our lives. The other day I was looking for a photograph of Marcia (for Woman who are publishing an article about her at the end of the month or during February) and I came across one of her with Trubshawe. She was actually reading him a story the content of which I am sure was passing over his head – which is massive: certainly as big as Marcia’s.

It is a pity that we no longer have Newfoundlands but the problem is that they are extremely strong before they are really well trained which poses a bit of a problem when you get old and creaky. So, after the dreadful day when Trubshawe died – it happened very quickly and unexpectedly – we decided that there would be no more. Trubshawe is remembered as he was the model for Admiral Jellicoe and yes, he did barge into our larder and fall asleep on the cool flagstones against the door.

Many of you will know that the upshot was that we rescued a Labrador called Max who was a perfect gentleman. Max needed a home because his people had both died and their children lived in flats where keeping a dog was impossible. Max was a city dog, born and bred in Plymouth where he had spent all his life. Coming to us proved a problem for him in the beginning. We would take him out into the field and he would quietly walk beside us. Eventually he cottoned on to the fact that he was free to run and started really to enjoy himself. This was fine on a circular walk but if it was one where you walked out and back he would always walk to heel all the way back and we were never able to cure him of that. Poor old Max was very overweight when he arrived and, although he slimmed down quite a bit with us, he was suffering from diabetes and this eventually caused his death.

Next to come onto the scene was Jossie who is now seventeen. I won’t go into details but if you don’t know the story click here for the blog which explains what happened. Jossie is a control freak. She is stubborn, difficult, almost blind and totally deaf when it suits her. We are incredibly fond of her but she drives us both mad. Not surprisingly you will find her doppelgänger in The Sea Garden.

I often mention how varied is the morning view from our bedroom window. These two pictures underline that: one taken yesterday when there was a splendid dawn and the other this morning showing everything shrouded in mist.

Our local farmer, Sam, has his ewes lamb down indoors and puts them out into the field next to our house the following day, Well, the first lambs of 2012 arrived yesterday - spring is definitely on the way!

Back to the grindstone

2012-01-06T16:46:00.000Z

Before I talk about work, may I offer a really heartfelt thank you to all who have sent either Marcia or me an email wishing us a happy new year. Sadly, we shan't be able to answer them all as there were too many but they have done much to lift our spirits. Thank you.

Those of you who have been following my weekly ramblings will know that the next book to come out will be called The Sea Garden and most of the action takes place either down on the River Tamar or in the town of Tavistock. Well, the copy editing arrived yesterday and with Marcia in full flight writing away on her new book it falls to me to work through the manuscript on her behalf.

Yvonne Holland has been copy editing Marcia's books and always does a superb job. She checks everything - and I do mean everything. She makes sure there are no errors in spelling, grammar or punctuation. She acts as a continuity girl making sure that there are no inconsistencies in the storyline. Everything factual is checked and sometimes re-checked. She is fantastic and has often stopped there being some real cloddies dropped. Some of these would be very embarrassing - for example there is a cafe in Tavistock mentioned in The Sea Garden which is in Brook Street but Marcia had said Duke Street. Brook Street is an extension of Duke Street and so the mistake is easy to make but, even so, Marcia would have been mortified if this error had slipped through the net.

Even so,it is up to the author to decide whether or not to accept the copy editor's suggestions. Obviously most of them are fine and so I can do the bulk of the work. If Yvonne suggests something that I feel Marcia should check, I flag it and then she takes over. Then comes the tedious bit - I work through the manuscript as we have it on the computer and make all the corrections. This is because some of the foreign publishers like to start work on the books before they are published and we feel that they should have the finalised manuscript from which to work.

So, if you want to know what I am doing next week it is the copy editing of The Sea Garden and Marcia will be writing - which makes me a bit worried: what on earth will there be to tell you about next week?

Meanwhile it is, of course, Twelfth Night. The Christmas Angel opens on this night with the words: "The Holy Family live in an old linen shoebag". They do, too. As with nearly all the dogs you read about in Marcia’s novels, Auntie Gabriel, the Holy Family and the rest of the Christmas bits and pieces are based on reality: they all live with us As they are all packed away to await next Advent we shall share with Jakey a sense of sadness but it will be tempered by the memories of a wonderful Christmas Day shared with some really lovely friends.

For those who have not already met her, here is Auntie Gabriel flanked by her two acolytes.

The Holy Family grouped outside their old barn on my grandmother's writing table.

Farewell 2011 - hello 2012.

2011-12-30T15:19:00.000Z

The end of another year and, of course, the beginning of a new one. I hope that, like us, you are looking forward with great optimism although I suspect that 2012 is not going to be a good year for most of us and I will admit that our optimism is tinged with more than a touch of bravado.

One of the problems of Marcia’s international success is that we have friends (for her readers soon become our friends) in so many places that when disaster strikes – whether through man’s activities or natural events – the chances are we shall be worrying about some particular family or even families. That was the case when eastern Australia was hit by flooding and when Christchurch in News Zealand was devastated yet again by earthquakes. It was true when floods hit the USA back in May and Thailand during November where we have relatives as well as friends. Here in the UK and in other countries in Europe there have been similar problems. It would seem that the effect of global warming is to introduce more energy into the weather with strong winds and heavy rainfall becoming more frequent.

Having said all that, what a contrast to this time last year when it was bitterly cold and the garden covered in snow. This winter has been so mild that nature seems to have lost track of time. We have gazanias – which should have died ages ago - still in flower whilst some of the azaleas (not due to flower until the beginning of February) are already putting on a brave show. It will be interesting to see what happens if this first flush is killed off by frost. Will there be a second flowering at the proper time? A close look reveals that not all the buds are now open so that is a possibility.

Even madder: a friend reported seeing some ducklings on the river down in the valley below us. What will become of them I really don’t know.

There is an old Devonian rhyme:

Whether the weather be cold,

Or whether the weather be hot,

We must weather the weather

Whatever the weather,

And whether we like it or not.

Very true.

Christmas this year was rather special. Many of you will know that Marcia’s oldest and closest friend is Susie. She is a community nurse who works in north Cornwall about a thirty minute drive away. Although she is semi-retired she was working last Friday, Saturday and Sunday (Christmas Day – only a few visits in the morning but she was on call until 10 pm). Ages ago it was arranged that she would be staying with us from the Friday evening through to Boxing Day.

Towards the end of November, an email arrived from Sam: Susie’s son, Marcia’s godson, now living with his wife in Australia. As his mum was going to be with us, could they come and stay Christmas Day night, please? Not a word to Suzie in case it didn’t happen. Well, what can you say?

A week later we received a second email. This one was from Emma: Susie’s daughter who lives in Switzerland. As mum and Sam were going to be with us for Christmas. Could she and Toby come too? As an incentive she would make a Christmas pudding.

Susie with Sam and Emma

So it was that there were seven of us around our table that day. Of late Marcia and I have been trying to decide whether or not the time has come for us to think about moving into a smaller house. Although there are just the two of us here for most of the time and we do rattle around a bit there are times, like this, when we are glad of all the space and that we have a huge kitchen with a table that can easily accommodate eight. We shall be just as glad again later on today when our son and his family arrive to stay. Having been very busy over Advent and Christmastide, he will be glad to be away from his parish recharging his batteries and having them with us over the New Year always makes up for the fact that we don’t see them on Christmas Day itself.

May I take this opportunity to wish you all a peaceful and healthy New Year but before you go take a look at the picture below. This is a tale of two cyclamen. Both are two years old. Both did wonderfully last winter. Both spent the summer together in the potting shed. Both were re-potted at the same time and into the same potting medium. The one on the right is fantastic - the other quite miserable (although it might get there, eventually). Now, why are they so different? If you think you know, please leave a comment with your ideas.

A Message from Marcia

2011-12-23T13:03:00.000Z

Meeting old friends

2011-12-15T18:07:00.000Z

Last Saturday we went back to the village of Avonwick where we used to live to join a lot of old friends for lunch. The daughter of one of Marcia’s very close friends was married a few weeks ago and this lunch was to celebrate that event. Not only were we able to meet her new husband – a thoroughly delightful man – but also catch up with old friends.

It being some ten years since we have seen most of them, it is hardly surprising that they (and, no doubt, we) were all looking older. As one pal put it when talking about old age, ‘Funny, when we were younger we just never thought it would happen to us.’ Am I surprised that so many of us continue to work or remain as busy as always? Not really. Most us seem to me to be pretty young at heart and I suspect that is, in part at least, because we are all busy and continue to be interested in what is going on around us.

Coming back over Dartmoor we had a huge stroke of luck – and in a place I would not have expected it to happen. We were driving up towards Lee Moor and Wotter and had crossed over Quick Bridge and were approaching Tinpark Farm (now a riding establishment) when a three hinds jumped into the road from the scrubby woodland of Cholwich Town Bottom and up into the fields on our left. I grabbed a camera and, thanks to their usual moment of curiosity before bounding away, was able to record the moment (although I’m afraid one is somewhat out of focus).

The light as we crossed the High Moors was quite incredible. Unfortunately the best photos would have been with the jagged top of Pew Tor against a flaring cloud-wracked sky but it was not to be. We were in the middle of a stream of cars with more coming towards us and so to stop would have been impossible. By the time we could, the sky had completely changed and there was no point in retracing our steps. Still, the ones I did get were reasonable.

The rest of the week has been uneventful – if you ignore the weather. We have been hit by everything going (including the first snowfall of the winter) but have been counting our blessings - we have friends who live up on the banks of the River Clyde in Scotland where the winds have reached over 150 miles an hour - but, I can’t help but be glad that in a few days the evenings will start to draw out once again.

Meanwhile, I am pleased to report that the next book makes steady (if slow) progress despite all the distractions that we have at this time of the year.

I am putting this up on Thursday evening as tomorrow is outrageously busy. Apart from other appointments, I have one with the optician. The laser treatment has been satisfactorily concluded and so I can now have new glasses. Will I be able to drive again? Tune in again next Friday to find out.

Are there marshes on the River Tamar?

2011-12-09T13:18:00.001Z

Those who have read ‘Those Who Serve’ will know that Cass and Kate are lifelong friends. In ‘The Courtyard’ we learn that one of Kate’s sons, Guy, becomes attached to Gemma, Cass’s daughter. We next see them in ‘The Birdcage’ when they are staying on Exmoor because Guy wants to go sailing with a client who is keeping his boat at Porlock Weir and Gemma . . . Well, Gemma (who is, after all, her mother’s daughter) wants to play around with an old boy friend. The last time we heard anything about them was in ‘Echoes of the Dance’. Gemma is seen with her lover and Guy finds out. Actually in this instance Gemma has behaved very properly but Guy has lost trust. In the end he decides that the only way the marriage can be held together is to move to Canada where his father, Mark, now owns a boat building business and so the couple with their two small sons leave the UK for a new life on Prince Edward Isle off the east coast of Canada.

Porlock Weir at low tide.

Cass and Kate, now of course grandmothers, are sure that Guy and his father will find working together very difficult; both being reserved, austere and often short tempered. Equally worrying is the thought that Gemma, fun loving and highly sociable like her mother, will be lonely and deeply unhappy in such a remote location.

Then they receive the news that Gemma is returning to the UK with the boys. How are the grandmothers, friends for life, going to cope?

For many years Marcia has been aware that sooner or later she would be faced with exploring that situation and the resulting book was dubbed ‘The Grandmothers’ Book’. Having said that, Marcia had two reasons for not wanting to write the book. First: she was certain that there would not be enough in this story to make a book so it would have to be a part of something else into which it fell quite naturally – but what could that be? Second: since it took her right back to the very first book she wrote she had a feeling that if she wrote ‘The Grandmothers’ Book’ that would be the last one. Nevertheless, we have spent many hours talking this through over a number of years and Marcia has written pages and pages of notes on the subject.

There was a further difficulty. Historically I had driven Marcia around to find and then explore the areas in which her books are set. The game plan was to start on this early in 2010. However, four days before New Year’s Day the problems I had been having with my eyes went critical when the retina in my right eye became completely detached. Until then my right eye was the one I really used as the left was (and is) pretty poor. The retina was glued back in place on New Year’s Eve but it was going to be a long time before I would feel confident to drive.

Meanwhile, saying nothing to me about it at all, Marcia had come to the conclusion that the next book – possibly ‘The Grandmothers’ Book’ - would be set on a marsh beside a fairly big river. She had convinced herself that there was no such location and so was trying to put it to the back of her mind.

In those days we used to do the Times 2 crossword (the easy one) as we ate breakfast and the answer to one clue was clearly either ‘sedge’ or ‘marsh’. Marcia suggested sedge because she was still shying away from this setting near a marsh.

‘It can’t be SEDGE,’ I said, ‘I’m sure this is TAMAR so it must start with an M. It’s MARSH.’

‘Are there any marshes on the River Tamar?’ she asked, all innocence.

‘Oh yes, quite a few on the stretch above the bridges and up to Calstock.’

Salt marshes on the River Tamar

Even then she wouldn’t say anything but after lunch she proposed that we drove down to the Tamar ‘just for a jolly’. So we did. And we saw the marshes. And it was bitterly cold. And the sun shone brightly. And the tide was out. And there was this huge expanse of mud. And there were salt marshes. And it was wonderful.


And there was this huge expanse of mud with a few shelduck and a solitary gull enjoying an afternoon snack.

A curlew with its long bill.

Taken a few weeks later but it was still pretty chilly. This time the tide was in.

The next day we crossed over into Cornwall and explored the other side of the river. That was great too – although Jossie slipped into a very muddy channel which was quite interesting. On the way back Marcia suddenly stopped the car.

‘Look,’ she said. ‘Look at that house. It’s absolutely right but it will have to be on the other side of the river.’

Thus on the very first trip we found the setting for ‘The Sea Garden’ - and it was all because of two clues in that morning’s Times 2. Isn’t life odd?

Auntie Gabriel and Friends

2011-12-02T17:59:00.000Z

Today Marcia has been to Trematon Hall which is just inside Cornwall to the north west of Saltash where she gave a talk as part of the Saltash Book Shop’s ‛Authors Day’ event. About a hundred people were in the room and I understand that a good number of them asked questions when Marcia had finished speaking.

Anyway, what with one thing and another – including preparing for this event – we haven’t done a lot since my last blog so, this week, it is all about The Christmas Angel and the village of Peneglos (which, of course, does not exist except on our minds and, I am sure, in the minds of all who have read the book).

A few years ago, Marcia was pottering around Dulverton up on Exeter. I'm pretty sure this would have been when she was writing Memories of the Storm. Wandering around the shops she came across one called 'Angels Fly South' in which were all sorts of quirky bits and pieces including the trio in the picture above. Captivated by these enchanting creatures, she bought them and they have been added to our collection of bits and pieces that come out every Christmas. It came as a complete surprise when the one in the middle, whom we had named Auntie Gabriel, insisted on appearing in 'The Christmas Angel' and, with the rest, ended up packed in the bottom drawer by young Jackie.

Whenever Marcia decides that there has to be a dwelling here or a village there I am very unhappy unless I feel that there is a good reason why that building or that community could be where she wants it to be.

Actually it was the house in The Way We Were that caused most difficulty. Why on earth should there be a group of two or three old cottages that had been knocked into one in the middle of nowhere on Bodmin Moor? There was no sign of any serious mining or quarrying although there was ample evidence on the ground that people lived there - about six thousand years ago. Still, both of those industries resulted in people building in rather isolated spots so quarrying it was.

When Marcia wanted a village on the coast which had nothing to do with shipping or fishing I was not that happy. Why would such a village exist? Then we visited Trevone - and there was the proof that we needed. Hence Peneglos, situated above a beach, climbing up a hill with an old manor house at the top. Why was it there? To serve the manor house. What happened to the manor house? It became a convent. I was instructed to place it in a real location between Trevone and Padstow and to draw a map of the village which I did but now I seem to have lost. I will try and find it and, if I do, put it up next week.

Then I shall start talking about the next book to be published which will take us down to the banks of the River Tamar, the tradition boundary between Devon and Cornwall.

Books - books - books.

2011-11-25T11:47:00.000Z

It was very fortunate that I had written last week's blog on the previous Sunday as otherwise I could well have missed a week. It was nothing very serious but the eyes were playing up a bit and when that happens I try to keep away from computers, televisions and (very sadly) my Kindle. As most of you know, reading books as such are no longer possible for me but the beauty of the Kindle is that I can adjust the type size so that I can read it. Thus I am now an ebook reader but what are ebooks doing to the world of proper books? To answer that we need to know whether ebooks are bought instead of or in addition to paper books. If it means that more people are reading then ebooks are a good thing but if they are another nail in the coffin of the book shops then clearly that is not. From the little research I have been able to make, I am reasonably sure that ebooks are, on balance, a good thing for writers and for everyone else involved in the production of reading matter. Book shops closing is a different matter and there are, I think, two main reasons. The first is that most bookshops are in places where there are less people: out of town shopping supermarkets and so on mean less people in high streets and that creates a problem shared by many small retail shops, not just book shops. The second is that the power of large retailers (supermarkets and on-line) enables them to command discounts which can result in them being able to sell at prices less than most bookshops have to pay their wholesalers. Again this is not just a problem for those selling books. Thanks to the buying power of these huge chains, dairy farmers also suffer from narrowing profit margins and many are going out of business as a result. I am sure there are many other examples. It is always sad when things change and people get hurt but I am not sure you can point the finger of blame at anyone: change happens - sometimes for the better and sometimes for the worse.

We all need cheering up at this point and since there are no photographs that can illustrate today's blog, I have made a random choice of some of the pictures I have taken of birds over the years.

I digress from where I had meant to go which was to say that as result there really is nothing to report and that is not good news when trying to write a blog. Luckily today (Thursday) the eyes are much better so at least I can offer a few thoughts.

From the back of our garden look over the fields to the east and there, almost hidden by trees, you can see the gable end of a cottage in which live David and Debbie Hurst along with two toddlers - both boys - and a couple of dogs. David is a journalist, a very hands-on father and, thanks to getting up early in the morning - and I really do mean early - also finds time to write novels. These are pretty grisly crime stories and it would be wrong to suggest that people who like reading Marcia's books would enjoy David's: they almost certainly wouldn't. However, David's journalism includes articles about a wide variety of people including authors and he has been commissioned to write two about Marcia: one for Women' Own and one for a magazine in Dubai. For the latter he asked both of us to name our 'three favourite authors'.

This has proved to be an impossible task. For a start we both read books from many genre. My range includes political theory, detective novels, anthropology, war at sea (factual and fictional), genetics, spy thrillers (from Buchan to Robert Ryan) and so on. Marcia's is even wider as it includes poetry (which I can rarely understand) and many more novelists than I read. So, in the end, we offered him a list of the three last books we had read.

Mine: Super Cooperators by Martin Nowak and Roger Highfield; Early One Morning by Robert Ryan and The Flamingo's Smile by Stephen Jay Gould. Marcia's: At the Source by the poet Gillian Clarke; Learning to Dance by Michael Mayne and Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell.

Old friends and a farmers' market.

2011-11-18T13:05:00.000Z

So ends another season of signings – although Marcia is speaking at the Authors’ Day to be held in Trematon Hall next month. As you would expect, Marcia meets a lot of old friends at these signings and one such was Bob Mann whom she met in Totnes.

How to describe Bob? He plays the tuba but that is the least of his talents. He is a writer: it was Bob who wrote Marcia’s very first review. He is an historian: he and I, with others, have co-authored books on local history. He is a publisher: he owns Longmarsh Press of Totnes.

Bob Mann

He brought with him a copy of a book he has recently published called ‛Ielfstan’s Place’ written by Richard Girling and first published by William Heinemann in 1981: Longmarsh Press specialises in publishing works about Devon which have been allowed to fall out of print. In this book, Richard Girling presents an imaginative evocation of life in and around the Dartmoor parish of Ilsington, from the time of the area’s first human inhabitants to the early twentieth century. He writes for The Sunday Times and as always his writing is superb and a joy to read.

With the signings out of the way. Marcia and I decided we would go to Tavistock on Saturday and see what was on offer at the Farmers’ Market which is held twice a month.

The Farmers' Market where you can buy a huge range of goodies all produced locally. There is one special favourite of mine I get here: chicken and chive sausages.

I defy anyone to find tastier bread than that found on Hugo Endacott's stall.

On the way back we drove up the Lew valley from Chillington to Lewdown. The trees were looking wonderful: autumn colours glowing in the low sun.

Beech (above) and oak.

There are two rivers in west Devon bearing the name Lew. They rise a matter of a few miles apart but one is a tributary of the Torridge which discharges into the sea on the north coast of the county whilst the one I am going to talk about rises on the north west corner of Dartmoor and winds its way through the Lew valley to Marystow where it joins the River Lyd, a tributary of the River Tamar which meets the English Channel at Plymouth.

The River Lew is typical of many such which rise on Dartmoor being far smaller than you would expect when compared to the wide flood plain. This is because these rivers can produce very powerful flash floods after heavy rain on the tops.

St Peter's at Lewtrenchard where the Rev'd Baring-Gould was Rector for many years and, by the way, where Marcia's God-daughter was married. This photograph was taken back in the spring when the churchyard was awash with primroses, celandine and dandelions.

On the way the Lew passes Lewtrenchard. The Domesday book mentions Lew Manor and the ‛modern’ name derives from the Trenchards, who were the lords of the manor in the thirteenth century. Its most famous occupant was the Rev. Sabine Baring-Gould (1834-1924) who, apart from being the Rector of the parish and father of fifteen children, was a scholar and novelist with over twelve hundred published works to his name including hymns of which the best know is probably ‛Onward Christian Soldiers’.

Roses, dogs and fungi

2011-11-11T12:55:00.000Z

Marcia is on her way to Waterstones in Truro for her last signing assignment. Chris Smale represents Transworld in the west country and is driving her down. Even so I expect her to be on her knees when she returns.

The sky over Dartmoor just before we sat down to breakfast was delightful. Unfortunately, when it was time for Marcia to leave for Truro the sky was a dreary uniform grey from which a cold mean rain was falling.

Generally the signings have been a huge success. Last Saturday morning Marcia and Chris were in Plymouth and the signing there was followed by a wild dash to Exeter through very heavy traffic. Even though Chris knows all the available short cuts the journey took so long that there was no time to stop for any lunch. Her intake on this trip seems to have been two cups of coffee and one croissant: one way of keeping the weight down!

There are always high spots during these signings. Two in particular stand out. Once Marcia returned complete with a bunch of roses brought in as a ‛thank you’ by one reader whilst another brought in her dog. ‛I just knew you would want to meet him.’ He was, by all accounts, a very nice dog and Marcia was delighted to be introduced to him.

You will not be surprised to learn that there has not been time this week for us to go anywhere or do anything very much. There are, however, a few things to report from the home front.

Our pheasants have completely disappeared. Most years whichever male it is that has decided to make the garden ‛his’ during the breeding season hangs around through the winter eating great quantities of expensive corn. Not this year. The sadness is tinged with the pleasant thought that the bird feed costs are much reduced.

Last winter we had male blackbirds constantly squabbling just outside the kitchen and one very tame female not above hammering on the door when she felt it was time for a handful of raisins. They always disappear for a while late February or early March but then usually return with the young once they have flown. Not his year, but for the last couple of days there have been three very nervous males dropping in only to fly off at the slightest hint of movement. We shall have to see how that goes.

Two new arrivals are two species of fungi that we have never seen before in the garden. How have they arrived? How long have they been lurking under the ground? I have no idea. I think they are rather jolly and I have used one of these photographs on my laptop desktop so as to brighten up my day.

Fungi is not my strong point but I am reasonably certain that this is Peziza aurantia otherwise known as orange-peel fungus. If it is then it is not only edible but delicious but I have so little faith in my identification that I won't be having it for lunch.

Definitely Marasmius oreades or the fairy-ring champignon.Although not poinonous (unlike Cliticybe rivulosa which often grows alongside it) I understand to be somewhat tasteless. Let me know if you think I am wrong.

I have decided to buy some ‛plant root trainers’ and to sow some sweet peas and runner beans in them. I had heard of these only recently but it does seem to be a good idea. Essentially they are are very deep but quite small plastic tubes and the idea is that they ‛train’ the roots to grow longer than usual and avoid the risk of them compacting into a tight ball. ‟Roots! ‛Shun!″ I shall keep you posted.

2011-11-04T12:30:00.000Z

What weather this week! I know that it is very British to go on about the weather but when you live where everything changes so dramatically it is difficult not to. Mind you, those living on the east coast of America where they have had such early heavy snowstorms probably feel the same way.

First day in November: the sun is shining and it is so warm that Marcia and I drink our morning coffee outside sitting on the bench on the terrace looking down into the pond garden.


Looking down towards Cornwall. The tree to the right is a black mulberry that was given to Marcia by her previous publishers, Hodder Headline, about ten years ago.

It is all very odd this year. There is an azalea which has just come into flower. Stupid plant, does it not know that it should be waiting until late February? The azalea isn’t the only early bird – the mahonia too is in full flower. Meanwhile some of the nasturtiums are still blooming as are some gazanias: both plants should have given up a couple of weeks ago.

I suppose the most surprising thing was that Marcia picked some sweet peas and put them in a vase on the kitchen table. Sweet peas in November: unheard of.

Looking out from the kitchen as I write this (it’s now Wednesday) there is a watery sun but the ‛courtyard’ is still looking pretty good. We are surrounded by wonderful autumn colours. Nothing like the great swathes of maples in Canada, of course, but just as beautiful in a subdued and subtle way.

Over the last few weeks we have often woken up to magnificent dawns. Not this morning. The valley was filled with mist and you can barely see the fields opposite the house let alone Dartmoor. It's nice to see the sheep back in this field which has been empty for weeks.

Poor Marcia is juggling with lots of things just at the moment. This is making writing more difficult than usual and, on top of everything else, there was a leak in the bathroom which resulted in her study ceiling being badly stained. Dennis Hunt, who has looked after the decoration of the house ever since we bought it, is busy in there painting it. He was working there yesterday as well: stopping the cracks that had developed and I must say he has done a fine job. I had a feeling we might have had to re-plaster parts of it. Because the outside of the house is rendered and painted, Dennis refuses to allow us to grow anything up the walls and absolutely nothing like virginia creeper or ivy. Dictator!

Let the signings commence!

2011-10-28T17:51:00.000+01:00

Yesterday The Christmas Angel, Marcia’s twenty-first novel written under her own name, was published by Transworld.

This should, of course, be a great day: the culmination of twelve months work but it isn’t. Marcia was really finished with this book about eighteen months ago when it was accepted by her editor and, since then, has written another book which is on production (The Sea Garden) and is working on number twenty-three. The really great day is the one on which her editor accepts the manuscript. Then we do celebrate!

Transworld, however, never fail to send her a bunch of flowers and so I took this picture as she was unwrapping them yesterday.

As it happened we received copies of the Danish version of The Christmas Angel at the same time. Here is their cover – a very different ‘take’ on this book!

I am told that the title is ‘Time for Change’.

The sun was rising over the Okement Valley on Dartmoor when we hauled ourselves out of bed. This was taken from our bedroom window.

Today Marcia has driven over to Kingsbridge to sign books at The Harbour Bookshop. We felt that it would be unfair for us all to go as it would have meant Jossie spending far too long in the car. It was not the best of days to be making that journey. The obvious route goes through Cornwood but the centre of the village was closed to traffic. This meant a long diversion onto roads that were extremely busy – it is half term and the west country is full of people down for a few days which is lovely but does cause some problems. Coming back was slow, too. In order to avoid Cornwood, Marcia drove up to Buckfast and over the moor from there. As she put it, ‘The Moor was heaving but it was a lovely sunny trip.’ And, indeed it has been a wonderful day. Tomorrow it will be Book Stop in Tavistock: we shall be going together but the forecast is for some pretty dreadful weather.

Marcia and a great friend of ours, Caroline Winterton, enjoying a joke.

Marcia and Pat Abrehart, who owns The Harbour Bookshop, with Jayne: one of Marcia's faithful readers.

Marcia joshing with her brother-in-law, Roger, and Louise, one of Pat's assistants, while she signs the stock

Angel Hunting in North Cornwall

2011-10-21T13:11:00.002+01:00

It must have been about three years ago now when Marcia was feeling pretty desperate because we just couldn’t find the location for The Christmas Angel (or, as she titled the book ‛Unpacking the Angel’). The one ‛known’ was that it would be in Cornwall because there was to be a connection with surfing – although a very tenuous one. We had tried the south coast all the way down to the Lizard Peninsula but with no success and the various parts of the north coast had seemed no better until we visited St Endellion for a completely different reason.

Actually it is quite odd how often this happens: when you find what you want it is because you are looking for something completely different. I was talking to a friend of mine who is a retired scientist and he was saying something similar. ‟When we find a cure for cancer, if we ever do, it won’t be the people in cancer research who find it. No, it will be someone else: someone looking for something like, oh, I don’t know, something like finding a new strain of wheat which offers greater yields. Something like that which is in a different field altogether.″

Well, it was something like that. We were in St Endellion because a great friend of ours is buried there. His widow now lives in Bath and she and Marcia communicate by telephone at least once week. So, having visited the grave and put some fresh wild flowers on it, we had lunch in the farm shop just up the road.

Suddenly Marcia realised that this was where two of her characters had met for coffee. It was not quite the centre of things but at least we had a rough idea of where everything would take place.

A few days later we – well I – drove down and, for no really good reason, carried on down the A39 (which more or less follows the coast from Bridgewater in Somerset all the way down to the west of Cornwall) through Wadebridge not knowing where I was going to end up. I was getting a little tired of the main road as we approached to turning off to Padstow so I turned right there and carried on until I was nearly in the village. For some reason that thought didn’t appeal so when the road swung round to the right I veered left onto a lane and then right onto an even narrower one.

‛Where are we going?’ asked Marcia. There was only one honest reply.

‛No idea but we can’t get lost down here. Sooner or later we shall see somewhere we know.’

It was, in fact, much later for we found ourselves driving down a steep and narrow lane into Trevone having passed a place at the top where we could have stopped.

This was the first glimpse we had of the area that was to dominate our lives for the next few months. The rooks are foraging in a field recently sown with barley.

We were to watch the barley grow and to see it harvested.

‛We must go back,’ Marcia had that look so I turned round and back we went. She jumped out of our old camper van and set off down a path towards the cliffs leaving me to prepare coffee. She returned with a big grin on her face and I knew we had struck gold.

What both of us found fascinating about this part of the coastline was all the tiny things that we found – tiny things that we could not remember seeing in other places. I will let the pictures explain what I mean.

Hundreds - and I mean hundreds - of snails lurking in crevases in walls.

More snails clinging to the stalks of various plants.

The air in this part of the country is so purse that lichens and mosses are commonpalce.

Not quite so welcome was the swarm of these little fellows that we encountered one day towards the end of April although I spent an interesting half hour trying to get a picture.

Meanwhile Marcia was on the cliffs brooding...

... and listening to the gulls nesting on the cliff below and they do make a surprising amount of noise

This 'doorway' through one of the walls on the coastal footpath was to play a part in the book.

This is the Roundhole. Technically this is a collapsed sea cave. You can see where the sea flows in and out with the tides. The collapsed debris is gradually swept out to sea leaving a round hole that drops from the field above Harlyn Bay down to sea level, a drop of a couple of hundred feet. This, too, plays its part in this novel.

A real surprise was to find these mallows scattered about.

They were in flower for only a week or two and so would have been very easy to miss.

There are many wild flowers on these cliffs as this posy that Marcia pickled demonstrates.

It seems such a long time ago but, as I am sure you all realise, from the time when Marcia starts brooding about a book to the time it finds itself on a bookshelf waiting to be bought is usually over two years. Anyway, publication day will have come and gone before I post my next Friday blog. I think you are all in for a real treat.

The Christmas Angel and clouds with silver linings

2011-10-14T10:20:00.001+01:00

Pete (our regular postman) dropped off a parcel from Transworld the other day containing the advance copy of the hardback edition of The Christmas Angel. This moment always takes both of us back to the time we spent researching the landscape in which the book was set. Here are some of the photographs that I then took, many of which I turned into montages which Marcia had beside her while she was actually writing.

The book is set on the north coast of Cornwall a few miles from the village of Trevone which sits above a beach which is typical for this area.

Like so many of the beaches in this area, this is a favourite for all: from those who wish to lie around quietly snoozing to the more energetic who wish build sand fortifications or have come here for the surfing.

Take the coastal footpath north from Trevone and you will be walking above spectacular cliffs, home to hundreds of sea birds, If you are lucky you may see seals on the rocks below.


Once on the tops, it is as if sky and sea stretch to infinity. The imaginary village of Peneglos which tumbles down to the sea in a narrow valley is set in the cove you can see in the centre of the photograph.


Although Peneglos is an imaginary village it is, of course, typical of the area. These pictures of Port Isaac may give you some idea.

One of the hard facts of life these days is the speed at which small - and some not so small - bookshops are being closed down. This came home rather forcibly because two of the shops on the preliminary list for Marcia to visit in order to meet her readers and sign some books have or are about to be closed. The Harbour Bookshop in Dartmouth closed last month. Putting aside this is my home town, it was for a time owned by Christopher Robin Milne who was our near neighbour for a while and one of the nicest men you could meet. However, the real shock was when Waterstone's announced that they would be closing their Tiverton branch in the near future.

Quite a few of the shops in which Marcia has signed books are no longer with us including The Mitre in Newton Abbot, Ivybridge Book Shop and the one in Bovey Tracey.

On a somewhat jollier note, the weather over the last few weeks has been extraordinary. One morning about ten days ago it was so lovely that the sun streaming into the bedroom forced us to rise a little earlier than usual. While Marcia was making the tea, I took this picture from just outside the kitchen.

The sky is not always so benign - here is one taken as a front was crossing over Dartmoor from almost exactly the same spot.

I must admit that I have a thing about clouds and taken well over a thousand photographs taken in all sorts of locations around the south west. Here, by way of contrast, is an evening sky - this one taken from our terrace.

That's it for this week. I hope to see you again next Friday.

If you want to leave a comment and do not have one of the accounts that are listed, you can always comment as 'Anonymous' but it is nice if you then sign the comment with your name.

2011-10-07T15:22:00.000+01:00

THE GOOD, THE BAD AND THE UGLY

Having decided to head this blog withthe title of my favourite western it will be interesting to seewhether dividing it up like this actually works. Well, nothingventured – nothing gained. So …

THE GOOD

The sun has been shining and for acouple of days we were able to have our breakfast outside on theterrace. That seems almost inconceivable in October but then it hasbeen a very strange year weather-wise. Some are suggesting that weare in for another hard winter but we shall just have to see.Certainly the holly trees in the garden are full of fruit – andivy. They say that a heavy crop of holly berries precedes a hardwinter but how can the holly trees think ahead like that? I supposeit is that a certain weather pattern during the spring and summer bothcreates the heavy berry crop and a cold winter but in that case youwould have thought that the weather men would know about theconnection but they appear not to.

Although the ivy is doing our hollytrees no good at all it does provide a fantastic habitat for allsorts of reasons. It provides shelter for innumerable insects, invertebrates and spiders as well as birds and bats – which alsoroost in our roof. At this time of the year the ivy flowers are animportant source of pollen and nectar for wasps, butterflies, beesand flies. Later, during the spring, it is the berries that matter.They are slightly poisonous so cannot be eaten in large quantitiesbut they have a high fat content which gives our birds invaluableenergy when they need it most. Woodpigeons, starlings, blackbirds,thrushes and blackcaps (newly arrived having spent the winter on the continent) all feed on them. Other birds such as the tits (greater,blue, brown, coal and long-tailed), firecrests and other insecteaters also use the ivy as a handy larder.

Some people ask why there are two sortsof leaves on the ivy. The well known lobed ‘ivy shaped’ leaves(lower photo) are adapted to living in low light conditions. These are the one onthe ivy found creeping along the ground or climbing up walls andtrees. As the plant matures it throws out branches which includeflowering shoots. Here the leaves are ovate. This only happens wherethere is sufficient light.

These holly trees grow on the bankbetween our garden and the field to our north east and shelter usfrom the worst of the bitterly cold winds that blow from thatdirection. I have a rather horrid feeling that the remaining two withtheir swathes of ivy are about to fall down as one did last winter.Fortunately some young hollies, some hazel bushes and a blackthorngrowing on the old hedge line and we are doing all we can toencourage these.

THE BAD

Following our trip across to Holne,Marcia was beginning to think that we had found the location for hernext book but when we paid a visit to Ashburton which would then beher people’s nearest sensible town, they didn’t seem to want toshop there. So, it seems unlikely that they are over on that side ofthe moor and that we are back to square one. This has happened manytimes before – and I shall keep you posted.

The River Ashburn, from which the town takes it's name, can change from a gentle stream to a raging torrent following heavy rain up on the moors.

There is still a rather lovely old fashioned feel about Ashburton.

Hard to imagine that it was not that long ago that this was the main road from Exeter down to Plymouth.

One thing that is quite surprising, andI think comes under ‘bad’, is that many of Marcia’s books referto shops, cafés, restaurants and even pubs that no longer exist.This is not surprising, of course. The loss of retail outlets as aresult of out-of-town and internet shopping is a universal problem. Isuppose that the fact that these places have a record in her novelsis a good thing but readers who have visited the west country oftenemail to say how disappointed they were to find that they could notfind such-and-such.

THE UGLY

An email arrived the other day. It wasin the form of a comment left on the web site. This is what it said:

I am incredibly disappointed! I wason a website recently, trying to fill in book titles of yours so thatI would have all that you had written. The website offered Amazon orThe Book Depository. Turns out that I ordered 6 titles from theDepository, that Amazon did not have, and now I realize that Ialready have some of them, just with DIFFERENT titles. What amiserable trick and a horrendous expense. I have a library of over2500 titles and love reading but you just lost a reader who wastotally devoted to your work. Nasty, nasty. My family is from Englandand Wales and I have sent word across the pond not to purchase MarciaWillett books. How sad that such a dirty thing has been done!

I emailed straight back:

Whilst understanding your problem,it should be understood that the author has no control over the titlethat is used by publishers. This is explicit in all contracts.Unfortunately St Martins Press in the USA decided to use a differenttitle from the one used by Marcia Willett's UK publisher. This ismade as clear as possible on the web site.

Do not blame the author as that isunfair. Blame the publishers.

Thank you.

PS This message has NOT been passedto Marcia Willett as it would cause her great distress and there isno point in that, is there?

This message bounced back as theaddress the person had put on the comment form was wrong. This meansthere is no way of putting her right which I find rather distressing.We make quite a thing of this problem on the web site to try and stoppeople being disappointed but to underline it once again here are thebooks in question.

'Those Who Serve': published in the USA under the title 'First Friends' and issued in two editions with different covers.

'Thea's Parrot': published in the USA as 'A Friend of the Family'

'Forgotten Laughter': published in the USA as 'A Summer in the Country'

2011-09-30T17:56:00.000+01:00

Once again we are driving around thecountryside looking for the location for the next book. So far it hasbeen whittled down to either north Cornwall or possibly Dartmoor.Which will depend on where Marcia finds the creative juices areflowing plus, in this case, the furtherance or otherwise of an ideawhich she has been playing with but is far from settled.

Anyway, we drove over Dartmoor theother day. To be more accurate Marcia drove as I am now waiting forthe eyes to settle down after the operation so that I can be have newglasses. The, hopefully, I shall be behind the wheel again.

Our route took us over Holne Moor whichis one of my favourite places and then on to Holne itself.

Combestone Tor continues to look downover ‘Foxhole’ - the fictional house in ‘Forgotten Laughter’.

Holne Moor: one of the most evocativeopen stretches of moor on Dartmoor.

When we arrived we found, to our greatdelight, that the village shop and tearoom is again open. It closedabout a year ago as it was just not making money but the communityhas organised itself and found enough volunteers to staff it andenough cash to buy the initial stock needed for such a venture. Manycongratulations and all the best wishes for the future.

The village of Holne

This took me back to 1984. Then (asnow) there was concern about declining rural services. Dorset RuralCommunity Council had organised a Village Ventures competition toencourage voluntary groups who were finding ways of retaining orgaining services that would otherwise have been lost. In 1980 anorganisation called Rural Voice was started to provide a nationalrural alliance and they took the idea forward to include most of thecounties in England. Shell International offered generous financialsupport and this was matched by various government bodies. It was agreat success and Rural Voice wanted a small book written tocommemorate this success and, for a reason which now escapes me, Iwas commissioned to write that book.

Thus it was that in 1984 Marcia and Itogether with our two dogs set out to visit every county. Being us wedid this in an old Bedford camper van and, as you would expect, wehad a lot of fun. One memory that was not so amusing was drivingthrough Nottinghamshire. This was at the time of the miners’ strike - a strike that seemed to be a personal battle between MargaretThatcher and Arthur Scargill. Seeing groups of angry miners andpolice in riot gear confronting each other made a lasting impressionon me and has shaped my political beliefs. On both sides there wereperfectly honest and decent people enjoined in a bitter conflict andthere are mining communities suffering from the fall out to this day.We were both quite upset and very happy to put that particular scenebehind us.

A moment of rest: we sit by the oldBedford camper van. This was a terrible photo (obviously using atimer) but is the only one I can find taken on those trips.

The book cover.

* * * * *

It really is odd – this business ofwriting. Take Stripey Bunny as an example.

Marcia had just started writing TheChristmas Angel having spent a few months brooding and visiting thelocations for the book. I suppose this would have been some time inSeptember 2009. The book opens with Jakey, a four year old boy, andhis stalwart companion, Stripey Bunny. I’m not entirely sure whatimage Marcia had of this person at that time but a few weeks laterthe Christmas catalogues began to arrive.

One was a gift catalogue from a firmneither of us had heard of and there, as Marcia was leafing throughit while we enjoyed our morning coffee break, was Stripey Bunny.Within a couple of days he had arrived and was sitting on Marcia’sdesk to become the talisman for this book.

Marcia usually has a ‛book CD’: inthis case it was Joni Mitchell’s ‛Both Sids Now’. It is to behoped that Stripey Bunny enjoyed it – he had to listen to it rathera lot. The following photograph shows SB in a dégagémood. I always felt he was closely related to Dillon in the MagicRoundabout but I expect most of you reading this will be far tooyoung to remember him.

Time for bed, Zebedee.

* * * * *

Marcia was hanging up the washing,glancing to the west from where we had been promised some goodweather, when she heard a ‘wooshing’ sound. It was very odd andpuzzling until we saw a hot air balloon quite low in the sky and notthat far away. We had seen this particular balloon before but even soI decided I wanted to take a couple of photographs. As it happened itwas coming in to land three or four fields away – here are thepictures.

Safe landing!

2011-09-23T13:22:00.000+01:00

It is just over a week now since I had the last eye operation. Things have now settled down and I feel able to start blogging again. This new Blogspot will will take over from the blogs that I used to put up on the DevonWriters web site. It will, however, continue to deal with what Marcia and I are getting up to and to keep you posted as to what is happening on the book front.

There are two reasons for the change. When I started blogging it was a fairly new idea and technology has moved on since then and this is a much more modern way of doing things. Secondly, and I feel this is very important, it is far easier for people - and especially for Marcia's readers - to leave comments and to share their thoughts with us.

So, what has happened since my last blog?

We were delighted when Clare Foss with her husband, Ed, and their two delightful children dropped in to spend an afternoon with us. They had been on holiday down on the Roseland Peninsula in south Cornwall and were on their way home. Clare was Marcia's editor when she was published by Headline and, despite moving to Transworld some ten years ago, they remain very firm friends.

Marcia's birthday is in August and it is very difficult to find something that she would really like as a present. By the time you reach our ages, you have all the 'stuff' that you need and she is totally disinterested in make-up or scent. This year I struck gold. There is an art shop in Tavistock called South West Crafts which is rather hidden away on a footpath that runs past the church.

It is one of my favourite shops and there I found a couple 'jugs' by the potter Janie Ramsey. Our sweet peas were in full flower so I got up early, picked some and put them in the jugs for her to find when she came down for breakfast.

Transworld decided that the right time to publish Marcia's latest book,The Christmas Angel, would be in October - the 27th to be precise - which is hardly surprising in light of the title.

This is Stripey Bunny, one of the less vocal characters in the book and the inseparable companion to young Jakie. He sat on Marcia's desk when she was writing this book but I am not really quite sure what that says.

Two dates for your diary if you are in the south west at the end of October. On Friday 28th Marcia will be signing in Kingsbridge at the Harbour Bookshop from 11.30 am and on the next day in Tavistock at Book Stop from 10.30 am. For those who live overseas, I would remind you that The Book Depository offers free worldwide p & p and the hardback may now be preordered from them.

On the home front, this year we have had more sparrows (both hedge and house) born here than before despite the fact that they are in decline through most of the UK. This is partly due to the fact that we offer a very good environment for them and that we provide them with some food.

The other morning, but with some difficulty as my eyes are still not working very well, I managed to take this picture of a spider's web covered in dew as the early morning sun rose above the hedge.

Hope you like this new format.