All the Colours in Between

all the colours in between

Book cover of All the Colours in Between

All the Colours in Between 

Written by Eva Jordan

Lizzie Lemalf is an author, a mum, a step mum and daughter of ageing parents.

Her parents, children, husband, ex-husband and those she cares for jostle for her time as she pursues her writing career. A career embarked on later in life. Her success and growing recognition as an author are balanced by the trials, pressures and joys of family life.

The reader becomes immersed in lives of the finely drawn characters inhabiting this novel’s pages. All the Colours In Between gives us the opportunity to share the pleasures, triumphs and emotions of Lizzie and her family; making their way not only in the world but through life.

The story deals with the contemporary difficult issues that affect many of us, our families, friends and those we care for. Eva’s observations are keen, incisive and informative.

It is a long time, a very long time indeed that I have experienced the empathy or shared the feelings  I felt for Lizzie and her family. Eva has highlighted the permanent nature of parenthood. She explores the complex emotional nature of relationships, doing so with great insight, skill and eloquence.

All the Colours in Between is an exceptionally well-written book. I could pile superlative, after superlative on top of that sentence but those few words sum it up: It is for me at least, truly exceptional.

This is one of the very best books I have read.

I Daniel Blake

Poster for the film I Daniel Blake

Advertising poster for the film I Daniel Blake

I watched the Ken Loach directed film “I Daniel Blake” Saturday evening.

Its first airing on BBC television. Probably one of the best British films ever made. Although the characters are fictional, their stories aren’t, the evidence haunts our streets. Our fellow citizens sitting on pavements, begging, hungry children at school and shopping trolleys in supermarkets collecting donations for food banks.

When I was an apprentice, my foreman, a Geordie told me of his family’s struggle to survive during the thirties, he was an apprentice himself then, having left school at fourteen. He told me about the visit by the “Means Test Man”, who forced the family to sell what few possessions they still had.

During my apprenticeship I attended Technical College one day a week, our English teacher gave another insight into the thirties. This man an old Etonian, an Oxford graduate and an economist, also taught economics to an evening class I attended. He was responsible for my wife and I being able to buy our own house. At the start of the college year in 1971, he walked into our English class, the first one of the new college year. Asking if any of us were thinking of getting married and buying a house? I replied I was thinking of it.

“Buy a house now”,  he said, “by this time next year they will have doubled in price”.

I asked if he was sure, he said he was absolutely certain, my girlfriend and I went out that weekend found a house under construction affordable for us we thought, the foundations were in. We secured it with a £25 plot deposit then struggled to get a mortgage, the cost of the house was £4150 in 1971, when we moved into our first home a year later the price was over £8000.

This English teacher told me of his in-laws a married couple; during the thirties, they were forced to live apart by the government. Made to work in different parts of the country as domestic servants.

He was probably one of the most left-wing people I have met also one of the most caring.

About this time Monetarism was being touted as an economic policy, he explained why it wouldn’t work and why its forerunner hadn’t worked in the thirties.

We all now know for most of us, the homeless and disadvantaged in particular that it doesn’t work.

To quote Glenda Jackson (Tribute speech to Margaret Thatcher), “greed has now become a virtue.”

Having known about the thirties and how it affected those suffering from the policies of a callous government, I had no desire to see the same horrors revisited.

I Daniel Blake is a commentary of what has happened to our society fictional only in its characters. A proper caring society should not accept the treatment of our fellow human beings meted out by an uncaring government, we the people are better than this even if our government isn’t.

 

A few thoughts on retirement

Grandad with the garden cup

My granddad with his prize-winning garden around about the time I was born

When I was younger I never thought that retirement could be a full time job, I should have done, my Granddad had warned me.

Most Sundays when I was a young lad I would call round to see Granddad and my Grandmother. One Sunday, Granddad was in the lean-to green house on the back of his large shed. His shed had been his workshop before he retired. As he stooped down to pick up a watering can I asked him,

“What’s  it like being retired Granddad?”

He turned to me and said,

“Son, I don’t know how I used to find the time to go to work.”

The last few months have been pretty much full with publishing our writing group’s  first book, an interesting experience. Amongst all that I had a trip to the Royal Institution in London and a train ride pulled by the Flying Scotsman, a brilliant birthday present from my wife.

Walking my son and girlfriend’s dog twice a day occupies a good chunk of time, cycling once or twice a week makes a big inroad too.

I am trying to unblock my writers block that has lodged itself in my novel. I need a clear mind and fresh thinking, possibly, a cycle ride on my own will work its magic.

A point of view

Reflections

Reflections at the end of the day

Book Reviews.

Probably the biggest disappointment regarding a book review I had was reading a particular Booker Prize winning novel,. It was an acclaimed comedy, the trade reviews were ecstatic. I wasn’t able to buy it when first published so was over the moon after finding a copy in a charity shop a year or two back.

I should have been warned, just short of halfway into the book was a train ticket, used as a bookmark it seemed. The train travelling reader had apparently not finished the book, not even it seemed reached the halfway stage. Undeterred  I started on this worthy tome; my word was it hard work. They say that some comedy is elusive, after reading the whole book, I can honestly say that I have never encountered such elusive comedy. Wherever it is lurking it certainly isn’t within the pages of that book. I freely admit that some of the prose was good, excellent in places, though never outstanding. There are probably more copies of this book in charity shops with train tickets lodged within the pages than laughs that have been extracted from them.

I am someone who writes but not yet an author.

I take heart from the fact that I can write better comedy than a Booker Prize winning author, not only do I find my own stuff funny, other people do to.

The best comment I had was from a lady who said, “I nearly wet myself laughing when I read your story”.

Was it a case of the Emperor’s New Clothes with the Booker judging panel ? Because someone said it was funny, did they feel it was their own inadequacy that stopped them seeing the jokes and felt they had to pretend it was funny even vote for it?

Many other readers of the same book share my opinion, judging by their comments, “it isn’t funny.”

All judgement is subjective, reviews are only the opinion of the person writing it and are only that, an opinion.

On the plus side my copy only cost me 50p.

Stephen Alexander Author of Peter and the Dwarf Planets

Stephen Alexander author of Peter and the Dwarf Planets

Author Stephen Alexander with his book Peter and the Dwarf Planets

 

I had the pleasant opportunity to have a conversation with Stephen Alexander, author of Peter and The Dwarf Planets.

Stephen is married with two small children and heads the Modern Languages department at The Neil Wade School in March. He is a keen cyclist and astronomer.

Stephen had concentrated his efforts in the past writing adult fiction but a desire to write for his son provided the stimulus for Peter and the Dwarf Planets. A question from his son about the stars in the sky was the inspiration for his book. When Stephen himself was a young boy his father a keen amateur astronomer introduced him to the night skies and the celestial objects that populate it, an interest that persists to this day.

Peter and the Dwarf Planets is a beautifully illustrated by  Laura Coppolaro a locally based illustrator. It is a short book ideal for its target audience of four to six year olds, the engaging story is in verse and features a boy and his dad exploring space keenly watched by Matou the ginger cat.

My daughter teaches the book’s target age group and has taken it to share with her class. She thinks it will be ideal for her class of predominantly boys.

Peter and the Dwarf Planets is published by Olympia Publishers.

Hopefully, Peter and his dad will have further adventures to share with his fans both young and old in the future.

The launch of Whittlesey Wordsmiths first collection

Book front cover

Where the Wild Winds Blow

I have been a member of the Whittlesey U3A Creative Writing Group since just after its launch. It has now grown to eleven members and become Whittlesey Wordsmiths. Each month members write a piece mostly a set challenge, each member has a different take on the topic and the result is a diverse mix every time.

We have collected together our efforts and published them as a paperback book and also as an e book with Kindle.

If you fancy a look and maybe place an order here is the link to Whittlesy Wordsmiths site.

https://whittleseywordsmiths.com/

 

 

 

Rudi Jennings

Rudi Jennings at Whittlesey Library

Rudi Jennings with his book The Last Myon at Whittlesey Library

 

A few weeks ago in August I had the opportunity to meet the author Rudi Jennings at Whittlesey library. Rudi is a local author living nearby in Wisbech, at present, he grew up near there. Writing  is fitted around running his pest control business. Rudi draws on his experiences in the personal protection service to give colour and to inform his plots. His first book The Last Myon has  been snapped up and published by Olympia Publishers, a truly remarkable result for a new author. A new book is underway, a stand-alone novel following on from his first.

I was able to ask Rudi how he writes and where his inspiration comes from The Last Myon or to be more precise its first few chapters were the result of a dream. His writing takes the form of, in his words pasting ideas on a storyboard linking the characters piece by piece until the individual characters and their actions form a complete cohesive story. A trip to Tesco’s provided the diversion needed to enable him to resolve a problem with his plot which had dogged him. I suppose, every little helps.

He writes as ideas come to him during the day, recording his thoughts on scraps of paper or emailing them to himself. Breaks and lunchtime provide Rudi with writing opportunities during his working day. Once home from work, the scraps of paper are collected then filed or pasted onto the story board.

Rudi’s first book is an interesting read, the characters we have been introduced to will no doubt grow and develop in future work. There is the implied promise of a series with these characters featuring in the world Rudi has created for us.

Keen that children are encouraged to not only acquire the love of reading and books but also stimulated to write themselves, Rudi has visited local schools to promote this message. He is hoping that children become inspired to record their thoughts, share their experiences and  tell the stories within them.

The Siren by Alison Bruce

Book cover of The Siren by Alison Bruce

The Siren by Alison Bruce

I never thought that retirement would be so time consuming. The thought that my twilight years would stretch in front of me unfilled allowing me time to read, watch films, write and generally idle away my time seem far from the reality.

Finally I have found the time to read The Siren, the second in the Gary Goodhew series of novels. Although Cambridge Blue was excellent, a brilliant first novel,  I think The Siren is even better. As with Cambridge Blue the book is set in my part of the world many of the places and the landscape of the fens are familiar to me, though I must admit not Mill Road Cemetery. Up to the very end I was left guessing. I shall be buying the next in the series, The Calling or adding it to my Christmas list for Santa’s attention.

 

 

The start of autumn

Autumn leaves

A start to autumn a first fall of leaves

Winter is seldom welcome however autumn with its beautiful paint box colouring the leaves of trees in red, golds and browns is another matter entirely. Autumn never starts on a particular day we try to box it with dates but it comes and goes to suit itself. The corn harvest in the country seems to occur with the last of summer, whilst the blackberry and apple crops seem to coincide with the first hints of autumn, for me autumn starts with the browning of leaves. I was walking my son’s dog in our Lattersey Nature Reserve and found an early first fall of brown leaves starting to cover the ground. Autumn can stay for a while but it needn’t hurry away to let winter in, not on my account anyway.

Joyce

I wrote this piece as an entry for a flash fiction competition. A member of our writing group asked me if it was autobiographical, apart from the reference to Jimmy Mack all of it is the product of my imagination.

 

Do girls still dance around their handbags? Wondering, seeing again, remembering fondly the long-legged girls of my teens… Joyce would dance around her handbag with girlfriends in a circle, or sometimes in a line, to Jimmy Mack or Heatwave. All I could manage was a slow cuddle around the dance floor with her as When a Man Loves a Woman played. My efforts to dance more energetically or remotely in time with the music, were a lost cause.

Joyce was petite, pretty, bubbly, kind, and altogether lovely; I couldn’t believe my luck when she agreed to go out with me. We were together for a few months after leaving school – both fifteen. Joyce worked in a grocer’s shop; I was an apprentice car mechanic.

Joyce was adopted. The relationship with her adoptive parents wasn’t good; boyfriends weren’t allowed to visit her home.

One dark Friday night Joyce disappeared. There was no trace of her after that.

It left me heartbroken. The only information I had was that she had been seen at the station boarding a London train alone, with just a suitcase. A letter from her arrived a month later, apologising for the sudden departure and saying she would be in touch when things had sorted themselves out. There was no return address.

I heard nothing more, and a year later Rose entered my life. We fell in love and married – and were happy until Rose died suddenly last year.

I turned Joyce’s new letter over in my hands, wondering what to do next. Fifty years is a long wait to get in touch. Now it is my turn to pack a suitcase and catch a train to London. Perhaps in a few days we will return together, there is a lot to talk about.

 

 

Some of you may not be familiar with Jimmy Mack.

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