Du Maurier and Corstopitum

Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca is a classic novel, written in 1938. I read it years ago after hearing people quote the opening line : 'Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.' 

I enjoyed it on this re-read, but found the amount of description surprising - of gardens, plants, scents, and the sea .  I didn't even notice them the first time, let alone find it odd.. Today, no doubt thanks to television, cinema and 24 hour news, I wanted less description; I wanted things to move faster. But it isn't a story that moves far or fast, and that is part of the charm. Very little actually happens; it is the threat of something bad about to happen, the sense of being inadequate, knowing that others find you lacking that makes up the story.  Is the threat real, or in the heroine's imagination. Is she even a heroine, for she is nameless and far from heroic. Rebecca is the star of the show and she's been dead a year and a half. A clever concept, and well handled. But would it have been picked for publication today?

Enjoyed a lovely walk on  Sunday afternoon along the Corbridge river bank and then up past the Roman site at Corstopitum  http://www.english-heritage.org.uk/daysout/properties/corbridge-roman-town-hadrians-wall/history-and-research 

Brilliant weather for January, and lots of people out walking kids and dogs.

Red eyes and sneezing

I know I've been waxing lyrical about the abundance of wild flowers this year, but now I'm beginning to think it's all too much.  Took a delightful walk in good company yesterday by the river bank in Corbridge and began sneezing on the way back. Sneezed all the way home in the car, and got a fright when I looked in the mirror and saw the whites of my eyes had swelled up around the iris and turned a sort of bloodshot yellow.

Last night was not comfortable at all, even with the introduction of a glass of red wine. This morning most of the swelling has gone but my right eye is still red and itchy. I took Tim for his early morning gallop on the field behind the house clutching a big white hanky to my nose, much to the amusement of kids going by to get to school.

So, today will be an indoor day, with much work on the re-editing. DH has gone up the street to buy me some face masks from the hardware store! I suggested that a trip to the chemist to ask if there is a preparation I can take that won't interfere with the pills I take everyday. The biggest pity is that the weather looks wonderful - cloudy blue sky and a brisk breeze waving the trees in the sunshine. At least I'll be able to watch Wimbledon though I have faint hopes for Murray.

I’ve finally managed to publish a book through the Amazon Kindle programme. FAIR BORDER BRIDE was published briefly in 2009 as Till the Day Go Down, but the publisher went into liquidation very soon afterwards, and returned my rights to me. It seemed a good idea to give Harry and Alina some sort of life rather than abandon them to oblivion, so here is their story – 5,000 words lighter, re-edited and with everything I’ve learned about writing fiction in the intervening three years adding into the final polish.

The setting is Northumberland in 1543. Alina and Harry meet in Corbridge market place and because he is working for his father, the Deputy Lord Warden of the West March, he tells her his name is Harry Scott. Alina’s father is at feud with the entire family Scott, flings Harry into the dungeon at Aydon Castle and threatens him with the Leap next day. Alina creeps out of her bed to visit Harry at midnight when the castle is quiet.

“Tell me,” he said, before he forgot all practical things in the delight of her presence. “Your father threatens me with something called the Leap. What is it?”

“She dipped her head, and he heard her sharp intake of breath. “It’s the ravine, Harry.” She pointed towards the dark bulk of the hall. “On the other side is a ravine. It is deep, with the Ay burn at the bottom. Father…he makes prisoners jump from the precipice outside the hall.”

“Ah.” He raised her knuckles to his mouth, and kissed them to dispel the shadowy presence of Death looming in the darkness behind him. He remembered looking into the ravine the night he rode up here. His tongue probed the cleft between her fingers. She gasped. Harry’s blood sang through his body, and he kissed her knuckles again. “How deep, do you think?”

“Twenty times the height of a man, they say.” She shivered and frowned as she watched him nuzzle her fingers. “There are rocks and trees…”

“And no one survives?”

Her face crumpled. “Oh, Harry, sometimes they do, but they are broken, twisted creatures—”

A deep voice sounded from above, and Alina flung up her head. “Matho, please!”

Matho must have agreed, for she turned back to Harry. Her hand had warmed in his and when he kissed it once more, her other hand snaked through the bars and stroked his face, crept to the back of his neck.

“Ah, Alina,” he murmured. “Would that we had no iron bars between us.”

His flesh hardened. If this was his last night on earth, he wanted some pleasure to beguile his thoughts. He reached both hands through the grill and drew her close against the iron bars and in truth she was not reluctant, even when his hand roamed beneath her cloak, caught a ribbon and her nightgown gaped from neck to waist. His palm found the firm weight and curve of her breast and nestled around it.”

You can find FAIR BORDER BRIDE on either of the links:  http://tiny.cc/g7ddy and http://tiny.cc/930k5

Fame at last!

Lovely experience on Thursday! I went to Hexham for my exercise class but early enough to visit Waterstone's and Cogito before 10am.

Promoting my own work does not come easily, and in Waterstones I was all fingers and thumbs as I tried to get Till the Day Go Down out of its plastic see-through folder and not spill press cuttings all over the desk.
The lady seemed interested and promised to give the manager all details when she arrived, though she could promise nothing. That's fair enough - I understand that the big chains have their own supply routes, and I think Quaestor2000 are accepted on the Gardiners listings.

Then I went to Cogito and the lovely owner rocked me back on my heels by saying he had a copy on his shelves. He'd ordered two, and sold one already. He was happy to talk, and thought the Tudor period a good time in which to set a story. There was a lot of death, he said thoughtfully. Did I know that there had been an execution in Hexham market place - although he didn't think it was in Tudor times. The Duke of Somerset, about 20 years before Henry Tudor took over. There's a plaque in the market place and I must look out for it.

I certainly must. There's a lot in Hexham I ought to look out for, so in the summer I shall be out scouting about with my camera. I browsed his shelves, bought the latest Elizabeth Chadwick re-issue The Running Vixen (I thought it was new-new, but never mind) and practically floated down to the Wentworth Centre for my exercise class.

Meanwhile, before I get to Hexham, the pics today are of Corbridge. This is the west side of the church and the plaque - you can just see it in the wider view, settled between the two windows - explains all.

Buildings of interest

Corbridge has this curious building

next door to the ancient church, known variously as the Vicar's Peel

Tower or the Pele Tower.
It was a three-storey pele structure, with one room to each storey, built in the churchyard in 1318, and used as the vicarage for the adjacent church. It is built largely from sandstone taken from the Roman fortress at Corstopitum nearby. It was in use as a vicarage until the early 17th century.

Being used to Border raids from the Scots, it has its own built in defences, as you can see from the detailed shot of the roof corners. No doubt the vicar and his family ran to the roof and hurled stones and worse down on any marauders who dared to come close. Pass the hot oil, Charlie.

You can find out lots more history of the area by clicking on the following

link Happy browsing!

Floods

After 48 hours of torrential rain, not only our back garden is flooded. This is the bridge at Corbridge

and this is the right hand extension of the bridge with

the debris marking the highest point of the flood which I imagine was after midnight last night.

Morpeth, on the River Wansbeck, was the worst hit with 1000 people flooded out between two and four am.

It must have been a worrying night for the house in the middle of the picture!

Standing on the same spot and swinging the camera to the left, and you can see the pools of standing water left behind when the river retreated to its proper banks. Normally in summer we would walk by the river's edge and look down five or six feet to the water. Not all the bridge arches would have water flowing through them and the poor trees now in the middle of the river would be standing proud on a long island. We found several drowned rabbits that cannot have moved fast enough last night - or they moved the wrong way.

The Black Bull has a face lift

This old pub in Corbridge has been given a going over recently. A couple of weeks ago workmen were causing traffic jams and chaos by knocking hell out of the building. The street is only one car width - in fact I was stood with my back pressed against the opposite wall to take the picture - and the scaffolding and the big transit van they had parked outside blocked both the pavement and the road. The local bus goes down that lane every half hour and what a dreadful squeeze that was!

But this week all was calm. Beautiful hanging baskets adorn the newly painted front and all is well. But what caught my curiosity was this - take a close look at the lintel over the door - click on the pic if you wish -

- has some American visitor carved initials in the wet plaster? And did they do it as long ago as 1755?

Anyone with a guilty conscience own up now!