Word Wenches

Celebrating The Shamrock on St Patrick's Day!

Nicola here! Today is St Patrick’s Day, the feast day of the patron saint of Ireland, and if you’ve read Wench Susan’s post earlier in the week you will already be in the mood to celebrate with a pint of Guinness and some delicious soda bread!

Whilst the harp is the official symbol of Ireland, found everywhere from Guinness glasses to official coinage, the shamrock is another symbol that is as widely recognised and popular. It is said that this little sprig of green was important to the druids and that St Patrick used it to explain the concept of the trinity in his teaching, as it has three leaves.

The original shamrock has been identified as being either the lesser or the white clover, although down the centuries there has been a lot of discussion amongst botanists as to what genus of plant it actually was. Normally it has just the three leaves; if you find one with four then that is especially lucky! References to it in medieval literature refer to beautiful fields of it in flower – there is a story that St Brigid decided to stay in County Kildare when she saw a meadow clothed in glorious shamrock/clover flowers.

Farewell Jo Bourne

Anne here with the other Word Wenches, farewelling Joanna Bourne, who has been such a beloved member of our community for more than ten years.

I first "met" Jo through her writing. It was 2008. I was in New York for a conference, and meeting with my editor. I was in her office, about to leave, when I said, "Is there anyone you think I should be reading? She pulled The Spymaster's Lady from her shelf and handed it to me. It hadn't yet been published — Jo and I shared the same editor.  I read The Spymaster's Lady on the plane on the way home and wow! It blew me away. 

I met her in person in 2009, the night she won her first RITA for the Spymaster's Lady. It was a thrilling night all around. Wench Jo Beverley presented her with it — seems Joanna was almost fated to become a Word Wench.

I interviewed her here, and the following month Joanna joined us as a word wench. This was her first post. And since then she's become a valued member of the word wench family. You can catch up with her previous posts here — there's a wealth of Jo-reading. And now, over to the other wenches . . .

From Pat:  Jo, I totally wish you well in your retirement but secretly hope the imps of creativity crawl out of their holes and start chewing on your fingers. Your brilliant, funny, creative mind needs a good outlet, and I need my Job fix of humor on a regular basis. I’ll miss you so much!

For those of you who have only read Jo’s books, dig around on the Wench blog and look for her epistles. Humor lurks under every word and insight. Behind the scenes, when the wenches are talking, she’s even funnier and pithier. And if you haven’t read Jo’s books, do so now! As you can see by her pictures, she looks like a mischievous imp, not an evil mind who grips you by the throat and won’t let go!

The "Polite Visitor."

Nicola here. I imagine that a lot of people are, like me, missing their visits to historical houses and heritage sites, and can’t wait for a time when we can all go out and enjoy them again. Country house visiting has, of course, been a hobby for tourists for hundreds of years. One of the best descriptions of it in fiction comes from Pride and Prejudice, when Lizzie Bennett, in company with her aunt and uncle, visits Pemberley on their trip to Derbyshire. They are shown round by the housekeeper, giving Lizzie the chance to reflect on the house she could have been mistress of if only she hadn’t turned down Mr Darcy. The fact that Lizzie thinks that Mr Darcy is from home only to discover he’s just arrived, adds a wonderful, romantic twist to the story.

It’s fun to think that in normal times we can gawp at grand houses in the manner of our ancestors although these days a lot of places provide more entertainment for the visitor than you might have got in the eighteenth century with shops, tea rooms, exhibitions, talks and lots of activities for children. Heritage sites compete for our business in contrast to the past when it was considered an honour to be allowed to visit the home of the Duke of Wherever.

Pancake Day

Nicola here. Yesterday was Shrove Tuesday or Pancake Day, a date that is a particular favourite of mine for two reasons, firstly because my husband and I had our first date over a pile of homemade pancakes on a Shrove Tuesday long ago and secondly because, well, I just love pancakes. Here is a picture of yesterday's feast!

In the Christian tradition the 40 days of Lent, which begin today, are a time of prayers and fasting, abstaining from a whole range of foods, including meat, eggs, fish, fats and milk. Shrove Tuesday itself was the day you were summoned to church to be “shriven” and confess your sins before Lent. The shriving bell would be rung to call people to confession.

Shrove Tuesday therefore was the very last day you can indulge in treats for 40 days. After that, all edible temptation has to be removed. So the making of pancakes was a great way to use up eggs, butter and other stocks of food that would be out of bounds for the following 40 days.

Country House Pursuits

Nicola here. Today I'm talking about some of the things people in the 18th and 19th centuries did when they stayed in the the country (the respectable activities, I mean, rather than the complicated business of creeping in and out of bedrooms in the dead of night. I'm talking here about the leisured classes, of course, the ones who didn't distinguish between a week day and the weekend. This may be a Wench re-post; because of stuff I have going on at the moment I've had to dust down and add to a piece I'd written a while ago, but even if it is I hope you enjoy it!

One of the questions I’m often asked when I am showing visitors around Ashdown House on guided tours is what did visitors to country houses do all day? Life in London or Bath was exciting, with plays, concerts, opera, shopping and many more entertainments. In contrast the country lifestyle was sometimes mocked as slow and boring, especially on a rainy day. “Morning walks, prayers three times a day and bohea tea” was how the poet Alexander Pope described it.

It was a pleasantly relaxing, of course, at least for the visitors, unlike the servants who attended to their every need. They were free to pursue whatever activity and interests they wished and, mostly, had the money to indulge those interests.

What To Wear In the Rain?

Nicola here, rambling (literally) today on what to wear for a dog walk in the rain and adding in some historical sidenotes. Each day I go out with Angus, our pet Labrador, or April, our guide dog trainee in the inclement winter weather, generally getting soaking wet in the process. This has prompted me refine my outdoor wear to suit the different elements of winter – frost, snow and wind as well as rain – and make sure that I have the right clothes for the right activity, because you know the saying: “There’s no wrong sort of weather, only the wrong sort of clothes.”

On April’s training walks it’s relatively easy as we are walking on paths and pavements and it isn’t too muddy underfoot. Sometimes we’re even under cover! A pair of warm trousers, sturdy shoes and a rainproof jacket is usually sufficient. However, on a walk like that there is the question of whether or not to carry an umbrella.  April is partial to a nice stick and she needs to learn to ignore umbrellas, parasols, and walking sticks when she is working, whether I’m carrying them or we meet someone with one.

Ask A Wench - The Influence of the Seasons

Nicola here, introducing this month’s Ask A Wench topic, which was sent in by Valerie Moore, who wins a book from me as a thank you. Valerie asks:

“How do the seasons affect your style of writing, if at all?” 

It’s an excellent question and gave us all much to ponder on. Do the seasons affect our actual writing style or is it more that the seasons affect our moods and this affects our writing? Certainly in my case, I find it extremely difficult to write about a season that is very different from the one that I’m in. At the moment I’m writing a book set in July whilst I’m in an English winter. I’m trying my best to remember the heat of the sun and the scent of roses whilst stepping out into the stinging rain and the cold wind. Winter can sometimes bring my mood down as well; that definitely affects my writing if not my style, and makes it more difficult. So here are the Wenches’ thoughts on this ever-fascinating topic, some lovely “hygge” ideas and some wonderful photography of the seasons from around the world.

Regency Twelfth Cake!

Nicola here. It’s Twelfth Night today, marking the end of the Christmas festivities (assuming that you count the twelve days from Christmas Day. Some traditions start counting on 26^th December meaning you can keep partying until the 6th!)

There are a number of different ways in which Twelfth Night has been celebrated through the centuries. In the Georgian period they were keen on baking a special cake to mark the occasion. The Historic Food website has some fascinating information on this.

The earliest printed recipe for an English Twelfth Cake appears to date from 1803 and was recorded by John Mollard in his cookery book of that date. Originally the Twelfth Cake contained a pea and a bean and whoever found these in their slice were elected as King and Queen of the Twelfth Night festivities. In the early Victorian period, this tradition developed into “Twelfth Night Cards.” All the guests at the party would be invited to choose a card from a special pack illustrating the different “characters” of Twelfth Night. Along with the King and Queen these might include Sir Bob Bergamot the fop, Fanny Farcical the actress, Priscilla Passion… Well, you can imagine her profession! You then had to act in character for whichever card you had picked until midnight. Allegedly, Queen Victoria eventually banned the Twelfth Night parties for fear they were getting out of hand!

Partying may be banned at present as well but at least we can still eat cake. So if you fancy baking up a slice of Twelfth Cake, the original 1803 recipe is below:

Take seven pounds of flour, make a cavity in the centre, set a sponge with a gill and a half of yeast and a little warm milk; then put round it one pound of fresh butter broke into small lumps, one pound and a quarter of sifted sugar, four pounds and a half of currants washed and picked, half an ounce of sifted cinnamon, a quarter of an ounce of pounded cloves, mace, and nutmeg mixed, sliced candied orange or lemon peel and citron. When the sponge is risen, mix all the ingredients together with a little warm milk; let the hoops be well papered and buttered, then fill them with the mixture and bake them, and when nearly cold ice them over with sugar prepared for that purpose as per receipt; or they may be plain.

From John Mollard, The Art of Cookery. (London 1803).

There is a more modern recipe on the National Trust website.

Alternatively, you may prefer a different sort of Twelfth Night feast? What would your choice of special sweet or savoury treat be to celebrate the last night of Christmas?

What We're Reading in December

Nicola here, welcoming you to the Word Wench "What We’re Reading" feature for December. It’s a bumper edition, including both Christmas-themed and other books, so jump right in and check out our choices, and let us know what you recommend this month!

Anne here, and as usual I've read quite a bit in the last month and have several recommendations. The first is The Authenticity Project by Clare Pooley. Elderly artist, Julian Jessop is lonely and unhappy and, claiming that authenticity is the only possible solution for changing his life, he writes down how he feels in a small exercise book, and leaves it in a local cafe. The owner of the cafe finds it, and inspired by his words of wisdom, writes down her own secret dreams and fears. And leaves the book in a nearby park. And so it goes from person to person. Of course, all their paths begin to cross, and various stories begin to unfold. Quirky and fun -- I thoroughly enjoyed it. 

In crime, I’ve just finished the latest JD Kirk — A Snowball's Chance in Hell. This is  the 9th book in JD Kirk's excellent Scottish crime series. I've mentioned his books before. Crime, good characterization, humor, tension and a compelling mystery. I put his books on pre-order the minute they appear. They develop, so start with the first book in the series.

I'm also rereading E F Benson's "Lucia" novels, which I haven't read for years. They're delightful novels — very funny and gently satirical, about the intense rivalry, pretensions and ruthless one-upmanship (one upwomanship?) that takes place in the upper middle class society of a small English village in the 1930s. The series builds — for my money the pick of the crop is the middle book, Mapp and Lucia, where two strong-minded ladies battle it out for queen (or top of the pecking order) of their little society.

As the moment you can buy all six of the books in one collection for the ridiculous price of $2 (with a slight variation according to country.) But they're all good. If you have any doubts about whether you'd enjoy the books, read the first few pages of Mapp and Lucia (by clicking on the "look inside" feature on Amazon.)

Let There Be Light!

Nicola here. At this time of year when the evenings are long and dark and the days are short there is nothing that I enjoy more than seeing a light show. If there is snow (or at least a hard frost!) and stars sparkling overhead that’s an added bonus. Perhaps its’ a throwback to the distant ancestors who lit up this time of year with a number of fire festivals: Samhain, Halloween, All Souls and Guy Fawkes Night, all with bonfires and lanterns. The precursor of Christmas lights were the candles that German families would attach to the branches of trees with wax and pins as far back as the 17^th century (fire hazard alert!) A hundred years later they had developed candle holders and glass balls for the candles and the tradition of the Christmas tree lights spread across Europe. The advent of electricity, of course, meant that we could all go wild with our lights if we wanted, both inside and outside!

It was a huge treat for me to go the Christmas Lights at Cotehele Manor gardens in Cornwall this year. Cotehele is a Tudor house with glorious gardens and a fascinating history. The Cotehele Christmas Garland is a tradition dating back to last century. Normally it adorns the Great Hall of the Manor House. The flowers for the garland are grown in the gardens from seeds sown in early spring. The plants include purple and blue statice and yellow helychrysum.

The flowers are picked in the summer, each individual stem is stripped of leaves and then they are hung up in the potting shed to dry. Construction of the garland begins in November using a sixty foot long rope which is first wrapped in evergreen foliage. Between 15 and 30 thousand flowers are then placed among the greenery and the huge garland is hung in swags across the Great Hall. It sounds an amazing creation and I wish I could have seen it but this year, of course, things are different. The house was closed and so the National Trust had had the brilliant idea to bring the decorations outside.

Holiday Treasures

With the holidays fast approaching and our December Ask-A-Wench blog upon us this week, we Wenches asked ourselves: Is there a holiday decoration that you treasure, something you bring out every year, perhaps something that represents family and fond memories or has another special meaning for you? Read on to find out what, for us, adds very special magic to this already magical season -- and scroll down to the comment section to tell us about something special that brightens your holiday!   

Pat:  We’ve been collecting ornaments for decades. We’ve passed on quite a few to the kids and left a few behind when we moved, but our very first ornaments always travel with us. We were extremely poor when we had our first Christmas tree, but we had a new baby and wanted to start our own traditions. So rather than buy fancy cartons of glittery balls we couldn’t afford, we bought ornament kits and made our own. Then we added popcorn strings and cookies that no infant could resist! The plaster ones are losing their glitter and fading with the years, but the wooden ones have really held up. I still like the idea of a homemade holiday, so a few of these go on the tree every year with all the others we’ve collected.

Andrea:  I have a very special memento from childhood Christmases that I take out every year. It’s a little lamb from the vintage family crèche that my Swiss grandmother handed down to my mother. The stable—a lovely little structure built of twigs and thatch—and most of the other figurines are now with my older brother, but my younger brother and I each got to have a piece of family history. The nicks, the wobbles, the threadbare wool of my lamb all make me smile as I think back to those holidays of the past. One in particular really stands out. We would always make a big deal of setting up the creche when grandmother would arrive for Christmas. Out came the box, with all the figurines carefully wrapped in tissue paper from the previous year and we set arranging the shepherds, the animals in the stable, Joseph and Mary . . . and to everyone’s horror we came to the end of unpacking and Baby Jesus was nowhere to be found! Now, had a cow or donkey gone missing, we probably could have overlooked it, but this was BAD! 

My mother could see that my grandmother was a bit rattled. Being artistic, she an Idea. Without telling any of us, she went downstairs to her art studio and found a block of beeswax in her bookbinding supplies. (The human figures were all molded of plaster, wax and cloth.) Taking up an X-acto knife, she set to work and carved a tiny sleeping baby, found a scrap of white silk for swaddling cloth, and returned upstairs, where she carefully laid him in the manger. My grandmother was elated! Christmas could now officially continue! Needless to say, my mother’s handcarved Baby Jesus became part of family legend. (Suspicions had fallen on my younger brother, who was usually to blame when mischief happened. But he swears to this day that he had nothing to do with the disappearance!)

Christina: I have several boxes of Christmas decorations that I bring out every year and most of the things in there are special in some way. What I treasure the most, however, are the Christmas table cloths, runners and doilies, which have all been lovingly made by various members of my family. There’s a table runner made by my grandmother, a magnificent poinsettia cross-stitch by my mother, small doilies given to me by my favourite aunts, one from my daughter, and even a table cloth I made myself. These all took hours of painstaking work and make me feel close to them during the festive season, especially those who are no longer with us.

My absolute favourite is the little doily with camels – they are just adorable! It was sewn by my great-aunt Elly, a spinster lady who basically spent most of her life doing handicrafts. She used to spend Christmas with us, and looking at this item brings back so many wonderful memories of Christmases past. We had huge gatherings with grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins, and it was such fun! I have lots of pieces of Elly’s exquisite work but this tiny little thing appeals to me like nothing else. I have used it every Christmas since I was given it and I will never part with it.
I’m currently working on a replica in different colours, but it won’t be as lovely as the original. Maybe it will remind one of my descendants of me though – who knows?

The Reading Woman

Nicola here. Today I’m talking about women and reading. At the start of this year I bought what was possibly the most pointless item of 2020, although at the time I didn't realise it. It was a 2020 desk diary in which I planned to write all the dates of the talks I was going to be giving this year, details of bookshop visits, conferences and literary festivals. This week I looked at its blank pages and although I was sorry I hadn't had the chance to use it, I still appreciated the illustrations because it was The Reading Woman Diary.

I love the idea of "the reading woman" and I love pictures of women reading. It's a celebration of something we all enjoy doing. In the introduction to the diary there are a few paragraphs about paintings of reading women and how they have always been a popular subject for artists through the ages. The reading women “turn to books for entertainment, insight and revelation.” They are educated, literate and they have the leisure to read. “Within these often-intimate portrayals lies the opportunity for enlightenment and the seductive retreat from the concerns of every day,” the diary says.

The Historical Rabbit

“The rabbit is a caressing animal and equally fond as the cat of the head being stroked.” From The Complete Rabbit Fancier,1823.

Nicola here. Today I’m blogging about rabbits and their relationships with humans. Perhaps it’s the second UK lockdown and the approach of winter that’s making me think about things that are warm and cuddly, or the fact that I was chatting on Facebook with some friends and one of them sent me a picture of her adorable house rabbits. So rabbits and their history it is.

First of all, where did the rabbit come from? Well, the European wild rabbit evolved about 4000
years ago in Spain. Two thousand years later, the Romans were the first to farm them, keeping them in wooden enclosures. The spread of the Roman Empire and the ability of the rabbit to tunnel under a wooden fence was largely responsible for spreading the wild European rabbit across the globe. Oddly, though, the rabbit appears to have died out in England after the Romans left; there is no Old English word for rabbit as far as we know, and the species was not re-introduced to the UK until the 12th century.

Meanwhile in France in the 5^th century, monks were busy inventing the rabbit cage or hutch and the habit of keeping rabbits for food and fur became widespread, reaching England once again/ There are a lot of place names in England with the word “warren” after them that take their name from the medieval practise of keeping a rabbit warren on a manorial estate. We know, for example, that there was a warren at Ashdown House in the middle ages and the bumps in the ground that indicate the system of burrows are still visible today – and still inhabited by the descendants of those original rabbits!

Medieval warrens were big business as one rabbit was worth more than a workman’s daily wage in the 13^th century. Often there would be a lodge near the warren where the warrener and his family lived. One rare surviving example is Thetford Warren in Norfolk, (pictured on the left) which these days is in the care of English Heritage. It’s an isolated spot and the lodge is a semi-fortified little building like a small castle. The warrener and his family lived on the top floor whilst the ground floor was used for all the paraphernalia of his work. His job was to protect the warren from animal predators and human poachers as well as to breed and raise the rabbits. The picture below and to the right shows a medieval warrener at work; the rabbits seem to be getting the better of him, as they are almost as big as dogs and are ignoring the nets set up to trap them!

By the 18^th century, rabbits were once again running wild in the countryside and became a food item for the poor. During the two World Wars of the 20^th century the government in the UK encouraged people to keep rabbits for food; my father-in-law completely refused to eat rabbit as an adult because he had eaten so much of it as an evacuee during the Second World War and these days it’s rarely eaten in this country for meat.

Which moves us on to nicer things – rabbits as pets.  Sources suggest that the keeping of rabbits as pets began as early as the middle ages when ladies kept rabbits in much the same way they kept lapdogs.

Breeding programmes developed early on, which resulted in the many and various different breeds that you find today. Paintings from the 15^th century show rabbits in a variety of different colours, even with white “Dutch” markings. The Flemish Giant was being bred in Ghent as early as the 16^th century and 17^th century writings refer to “silver” rabbits imported into England from India and China. The Lapin de Nicard was a forerunner of the dwarf breeds – it weighed only 3 and a half pounds like the tiny rabbit in the picture! In contrast, the giants are the size of a large dog. The English Lop rabbit, which became a famous breed, was first developed in the 18^th century. There was a positive explosion of rabbit breeds up to the 19^th century when the keeping of rabbits as pets and for show became very widespread. The rabbit fitted perfectly the ideal of a happy Victorian household - benign in temperament, fluffy and cute to look at.

According to Beeton’s Dictionary of Natural History, published in 1871, there were four different types of rabbit: “The warreners, parkers, hedgehogs and sweethearts. The first makes their burrows in open ground or warrens, the hedgehogs are found in thick hedgerows and wood covers (it’s not clear whether this was a rabbit or an actual hedgehog he was describing!) the parkers live on uplands and in gentlemen’s parks and pleasure grounds and the Sweethearts are the tame varieties.”

Rabbits pop up a lot in art and literature. The rabbit in art has a number of symbolic meanings, as a sign of both sensuality and of innocence. It appears with the Madonna in religious images but also on Playboy magazine. The white rabbit in Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland is a representation of stress and fear in a hostile world – just reading about him dashing about makes me feel anxious! Bugs Bunny is a wise-guy type of rabbit, and Peter Rabbit and Benjamin Bunny in Beatrix Potter’s stories are mischievous. There is another side to rabbits as well – I hadn’t realised until I saw the film Fisherman’s Friends recently that the rabbit is considered unlucky to fishermen!

The rabbits in Beatrix Potter and in Watership Down have magical powers - they can talk. These days they possess this sort of dual identity as both cosy and magical creatures.

I was going to post a picture of my favourite toy rabbit here but unfortunately the puppy got to it and now it needs re-stuffing. It was Peter Rabbit who was, in fact, the first soft toy to be patented!

There are other superstitions about rabbits as well – a rabbit or hare seen running down a street means that a fire is imminent; Carrying a rabbit’s foot is a cure for rheumatism; saying “White rabbits” on the first day of the month is good luck. And finally there is the wise Romanian proverb: “With money one can even buy rabbit-cheese.”

Do you have a favourite literary rabbit or a rabbit superstition? To finish, here's a picture of a boy with a Regency Rabbit, painted by Henry Raeburn in 1814.

Ask a Wench: Moments of Joy

Moments of Joy

By Mary Jo

This has been a difficult year just about everywhere.  A highly contagious virus, a lockdown, massive economic disruptions--I'm told that time travelers are being told to skip 2020 as they travel through time!

Yet people are adaptable, and even in dark times, we can find moments of happiness, some of which are actually a result of the lockdown.  Perhaps something that was once routine is now noteworthy, or we're finding that spending so much time at home is providing unexpected benefits.  The Wenches share some such moments. 

 

 

For me, one such event was something that was once relatively routine: going out to dinner with the Mayhem Consultant.  What made going out this particular time special was because we hadn't been out for dinner in months!  Maryland had been under strict lock down for months, and the governor had just loosened the requirements to allow restaurants to serve food as long as it was outside and staff and guests were masked (at least until the food and drink appeared.)

Treasured Timeslips

Nicola here. As the UK goes into a second lockdown, I’ve been inspired by Christina’s recent post about the Keeper Shelf to turn back to my bookshelves and find solace in old favourites. It was only as I was sorting out all my timeslip books that I realised what a collection I had gathered over the years and in a spirit of nostalgia I thought I would share my favourites and ask for your recommendations. At this time of year, with the spooky goings-on of Halloween, the darker nights and chilly days, it feels a perfect time to read tales of the supernatural. Perhaps it’s the old idea of the veil between the two worlds of the living and the dead being at its thinnest around All Soul’s Day (which is today). Certainly it feels like a good time to slip between time periods, to travel back – or forwards – to a different or alternative world.

WWR — What we read in October

Anne here, hosting our monthly "what we're reading" post, and have we got some great recommendations for you, from contemporary magic realism, to English women's fiction/rom com, medieval historical romance, rock romance, crime fiction of various sorts, and fantasy romance. Read on — and then add your own recommendations in the comment stream.

We begin with Pat: For fans of magical realism and Barbara Samuel—MIDNIGHT AT THE BLACK BIRD CAFÉ by Heather Webber is a lovely, heartwarming, “wrap up in a cozy blanket and dream pleasant dreams” story. There is enormous heartbreak and death, but the book is not just about learning to cope, but to overcome and become stronger through forgiveness and love.

For tragic reasons, Anna Kay has never lived in the town her mother called home, until her grandmother dies and leaves her a café. Anna has no intention of staying. She’s on her way to medical school. But the will requires that she stay and run the café for two months before she can sell it, and she desperately needs the funds. Over those months, she learns about the rare blackbirds inhabiting her backyard, the mulberries that bring magical dreams, and about the father she never knew. And while Anna is changing, the whole town is changing with her. Every character shines like a polished gem, and I wanted to root for all of them to have their happy endings. Definitely a feel good story for a dreary evening!

Christina says: Jane Lovering writes the quirkiest rom coms I’ve ever read – and I mean that in the best possible way! – so when I noticed that she had a new book out, I downloaded it immediately. In The Country Escape, heroine Katie has moved herself and her teenage daughter to a ramshackle cottage in deepest Dorset following her recent divorce because it’s all she can afford. Her ex-husband was French, rich and selfish, so the change in circumstances is particularly noticeable. With jobs harder to come by than she’d thought (she is a French teacher), their prospects for the coming winter look bleak until a couple of chance encounters. One with a pony, who turns up in her orchard one morning (together with an abandoned gypsy caravan), and the other with a man called Gabriel. Jane Lovering’s heroes are always unusual and unique, and Gabriel is no exception. Despite being very handsome, he’s not your average alpha hero, and he has been scarred by things that happened when he was young. But although Katie tries to resist, she can’t help but be drawn to him. Quietly witty and resourceful, as well as self-deprecating, Katie is the kind of heroine you can’t help but root for, and she is hiding some secrets of her own.

Battle Babies!

Nicola here, talking about names. Back in July, Christina posted about names and saints’ days, and recently a previous Wench guest, Elizabeth Hawksley, wrote a fascinating piece on her own blog here about why the name Thomas fell out of popularity in 1532. It seems to me that whether we’re talking about about choosing names for characters in books or how we feel about our own names, it’s a perennially fascinating topic.

This time around, my interest was sparked by the BBC genealogy programme Who Do You Think You Are, which returned to our screens in the UK last week with a new series. The first programme explored the family history of actress Jodie Whittaker. Among the family stories that emerged was one relating to her grandmother, who was called Greta Verdun Bedford. This was the moment I learned something completely new to me – that in the past, babies have been named after battles.

The Writer's Lucky Charm

The Unnamed Bear

Joanna here, considering the delicate question of lucky objects for writers.

I have my own lucky object, a small brown Beanie Baby bear. It was sent to me by my first fiction editor after publication of my very first fiction book back in 1983.

He is ... unnamed. I think it’s because he is unique and therefore doesn’t need a name.

My bear sits on my desk and holds my glasses and is one of a half dozen object that have kept me company from desk to desk and country to country, over the years, waiting patiently while I wrote, or surfed the web, or read books on the computer, or tried to figure out if houses in 750 BCE Europe were covered with whitewashed wattle and daub or the relative cost of sweet oranges in London in 1800.

Is he lucky for me?
I think of him mostly as company,
But maybe he’s lucky.

Meet Wench Guest - Helen Hollick!

Nicola here. Today it's my huge pleasure to welcome to the blog historical novelist Helen Hollick. Helen has a rich and varied writing (and life!) experience, summed up in her own words as: “I wrote pony stories as a teenager, moved to science-fiction and fantasy, and then discovered historical fiction. Published for over twenty years with my Arthurian Pendragon’s Banner Trilogy, and the 1066 era book Harold The King (UK title)/I Am the Chosen King (US title), I became a USA Today bestseller with Forever Queen.” Helen also writes the Sea Witch Voyages, pirate-based fantasy adventures, so if you enjoy the Pirates of the Caribbean films, they should be right up your street (or quayside)!

Today, Helen is going to talk about a fascinating subject, the question of what makes writers write. Maybe we all have different answers to this and it will be interesting to see in the comments what everyone thinks. She also speaks up very fervently and persuasively for the hero that was Harold Godwinson and transports us to Saxon England.

Over to Helen, who asks: Why Do We Do It?

What We're Reading--September 2020

Pat here, hosting our monthly wench book review event. We have way too much fun behind the scenes reading each other's recommendations and adding to our TBR piles! We have some great ones this month. And just to keep the bookstores (or libraries) busy, we welcome all reader recommendations in the comments below.

Christina:

I haven’t been reading much this month, but I couldn’t resist picking up The Sea Gate by Jane Johnson because the cover really appealed to me and I love stories set in Cornwall. This is a gripping and engrossing dual time story, alternating between the present and World War II. And although I don’t normally read much from this period, The Sea Gate gave a whole new perspective on things as the story takes place in a small fishing village on the coast. Here, the war seems far away, but it has a way of finding the protagonists all the same. For 16-year old Olivia, it changes her life in numerous ways, and has repercussions that resonate throughout her long life. In the present, we meet her again as an irascible old lady in her nineties, and I absolutely loved her character! She is refreshingly direct and downright rude, and the sheer strength of her will is remarkable. The story in the present mainly centres on a young relative, however, Rebecca, who has been through the wringer in more ways than one. Lacking in self-confidence and suffering from anxiety and depression, coming to Cornwall to help the elderly Olivia is the making of her. I so enjoyed watching her going from doormat to roaring lion – a favourite trope of mine – and was cheering her on, hoping for a happy resolution to all her problems. I highly recommend this novel to anyone who loves dual time stories and/or tales of World War II – it’s wonderful!

Ask A Wench - Memorable Trips

Nicola here, introducing our monthly Ask A Wench feature. A few weeks ago, the Wenches got chatting about past holiday/vacation experiences and all sorts of stories came out of trips that were variously good, bad, fascinating, hilarious, life-changing and emotional.  With the world the way it is at the moment, most of us are travelling vicariously, so we thought that for the AAW we would share some of those travellers’ tales and ask you for your own stories of memorable trips.

Susan writes: 

The first time I went to Britain and Europe was the first I had ever left the country, been on a plane, or traveled with friends rather than family. I was in grad school when I went to England, France, and Belgium for nearly a month, in mostly glorious June weather, with an art history professor and another student and her husband, and the professor's wife for part of the trip as well. It was an incredible adventure, one crazy, fun day after another as we traveled by train, Hovercraft, and little tin-can rental cars, hauling this way and that to visit cathedrals, castles, and museums, especially those off the beaten track. I was immersed in medieval studies and the prof and student were 19th century specialists, so we had quite the wish list between us for art and architecture, and hit every high point belonging in the art history texts - and a few low ones that maybe didn't - that we could find. 

 Our adventures included lost luggage, getting lost in the English and French countrysides -- and while happily toodling along through the Loire Valley in a little Renault, suddenly finding ourselves in the crazy midst of the Tour de France (who knew that was going on, it was before the internet, and the papers were all in French so we understandably missed that little detail). From Paris through the Loire and back again, I tried out my French, and even with six years of study and a French grandmama, it was a constant but exciting challenge, with some memorable faux pas (no, I did not know that le poisson I ordered would come served with its eyeballs staring at me, and I still don't like to order fish in a restaurant). In England, we covered a lot of territory by train and car and on foot. At one point I developed a raging case of strep throat and had to find a doctor in London - whose receptionist had no idea how to take a payment from a foreigner. "How about five pounds," the doctor finally said with a shrug, and I paid and went off to the chemists for an antibiotic before we took off for Canterbury and southern England, then France. In Paris, I fell in love with Notre Dame and Sainte-Chapelle and a million other wonderful things, and then Chartres, Versailles...and off to Amiens, where our hotel reservations had somehow not been confirmed on the French side, and my friend's husband, who spoke very bad French, came back to report that "Le sitchoowaysheeon ay tray grave," which made us all howl with laughter and became our trip's motto. 

And on through the castles and towns of the Loire, past golden and lavender fields, stone castles, a thousand bicycles, and back up again to Rouen to feed my lifelong obsession for Jeanne d'Arc... and then up to Belgium and Bruges - a medievalist's paradise - and Ghent to study more of Van Eyck, all related to my thesis work. And along the way, I learned a great deal about 19th c. art and how to order food for a finicky stomach, and more, courtesy of my friends. Just an unforgettable trip that still sticks with me today. I'm so grateful to have seen it all with good friends, including a professor who was not only a brilliant historian and a great teacher, but just a hoot, which made all the difference when we were all jammed in that petit Renault. And finally, back home to the new husband who didn't mind me leaving to go do my art history thing - and back to the studies, with much-improved French and a greater appreciation for history, art, the world, les bicyclettes on le road, and friendship as well. 

Christina:

Holidays with my family were often memorable for the wrong reasons and one of them more so
than others. When I was 17, my parents took me and my brother on what was supposed to be the trip of a lifetime. We started off with a few days in the Seychelles – so far so good – and then continued on to Kenya to go on safari. There were no decent roads so we had to fly to the safari park in a tiny propeller plane that made me feel very ill. Once there, we found that we were supposed to sleep in tents – luxurious ones with showers and proper beds, but still … with wild animals nearby? And I had to share my shower with the biggest spider I’d ever seen in my life! He wouldn’t budge and I wasn’t going to touch him. During the first night, a herd of elephants rampaged through the tent compound. Luckily no one was hurt and I’d managed to sleep through it (thus proving that nothing wakes me!), but even hearing about it afterwards was more than a little scary. Being a typical teenager, I didn’t enjoy the following days spent roaming the countryside looking for wild animals – not my thing. And just before leaving for the next safari park, my brother decided to feed the local monkeys. One of them bit him – cue a whole afternoon spent at a hospital in Nairobi while he had to have rabies shots and I thought he was going to die!

Leaving Kenya was a relief, and the next stop was Egypt, something I’d been looking forward to enormously. I knew I wouldn’t be bored there, being a history buff! The only problem was that Tutankhamun and his famous mask weren’t there – they’d gone on tour – so I didn’t get to see them (although I did go in his tomb). We hired a private guide to take us to the Pyramids, and on the way back to the hotel he stopped at a perfume shop (presumably owned by his family) where we were herded inside by a couple of rather intimidating men who wouldn’t let us leave until we’d bought some yucky perfume bottles – scary! I also developed the mother of all colds with a raging sore throat, and felt so ill I fainted in the temple of Karnak. (In my defence, it was 40 degrees Celsius I the shade). It didn’t stop me from visiting Luxor though, and at least there were no monkeys ...

I had recovered somewhat by the time we continued on to Greece, where I was looking forward to seeing the Acropolis. When we arrived, however, the airline had lost my suitcase which was upsetting. We visited the airport several times to see if they’d found it and they must have got sick of seeing us so they said we could go and look for ourselves. Turned out in the basement they had literally thousands of lost suitcases, but would you believe it – I found mine! Anyway, I did enjoy the sights but it was quite a relief to go home after all that.

Andrea:

I’ve had a number of memorable trips (including those where Everything Went Wrong) . . . backpacking with my brothers in the Wind
 River mountains of Wyoming . . . discovering Tuscany . . . a river barge trip through Scotland . . . But I think the most special experience was traveling through Switzerland with my mother—just the two of us—and seeing all the places that were part of her childhood. I was leaving my first job after college and we decided to take a month to travel before I went on to my new job.

 We started in Zurich, where she grew up right on the lake, a few miles out of the city. We then traveled by scenic train and boat through the Alps, where she had spent a year away at school learning French in French Switzerland, and then down to the Engadine, where she had skied every winter with her family. We did lots of hiking every day, and over dinner and wine had a chance to bond in a new way than just as Mother and Child. We had always been close—I don’t have sisters—but this was exploring not only a gorgeous country, and her family memories, but also the changing relationship  of child becoming an independent adult. It was a very meaningful experience that both of us treasured.

 One of her favorite places was the Silsersee, a breathtakingly beautiful lake near St. Moritz. We hiked around it, and she told of how much she loved cross country skiing on the frozen lake in winter, and beauty of walking there in Fall. I went back two years ago, and brought with me a small vial of her ashes, which I put into the lake. It was a crystal-clear day and I like to think she was smiling at joining a part of the cosmos that was dear to her heart.

Pat: We travel a great deal for research as well as pleasure, so it’s hard to sort out all the lovely memories. Our first trip down the Danube last year was certainly memorable in many ways, as was our research trip to the Orkneys with Mary Jo and spouse. But if we’re talking about emotional memories, I think it would have to be our last vacation with our kids when they were both teens and young enough to be forced into the car with us. <G>

The kids were still in school. I was writing and working, and my husband had a job that took up a lot of time, so scheduling all four
of us required effort. But we spent two weeks on the road, traveling from the Mississippi River through the Southwest to the California coast and back through the Rockies. One kid wanted Disneyland, the other wanted Haight-Asbury. All the wondrous parks and mountains and deserts in between meant nothing to them—but Chaco Canyon and the Rocky Mountains are the photos we took. We all have those memories now, and nothing can take them away from us—now that’s special.

Mary Jo

I've taken many wonderful journeys: Egypt, Australia, New Zealand, Antarctica, the Amazon.  Lots of cruises on riverboats and in the Baltic and the Caribbean and more.  So hard to single out just one!

 But perhaps the most memorable was my first trip to Europe.  My mother spent much of her childhood abroad, and we were raised with stories of her living in China, Thailand, Switzerland.  I was passionate to travel myself, and I managed my first grand journey after my sophomore year of college.  I worked part time in the university library to earn money to pay for the trip--in retrospect, I'm not sure how I managed it!

 I traveled with Merril, one of my college roommates.  I guess our parents figured we were both steady enough to be allowed loose on another continent.  We took a charter flight full of students from New York to London, and then--we were there! Jetlagged and eyes full of wonder.  The plan had been to buy bicycles in London and head north, staying at youth hostels. A lot of the other hostelers were hitchhiking, and we soon realized that bicycles were very limiting in terms of the ground we could cover, so we stashed them in a hostel in Lichfield and stuck out our thumbs.

Yes, we covered lots of ground and never had a problem with the people who picked us up. (Safety in numbers?)  North to Scotland, then back to London.  (We retrieved the bikes in Lichfield and sold them back to the London shop where we bought them.)  Then the ferry to Belgium, north to Amsterdam and Copenhagen, south to Switzerland and Italy, then to Paris and back to London. 

 In retrospect, I'm amazed at our intrepidity.  (Possibly stupidity. <G>)  We saw many great places, had café au lait with fresh croissants in Paris, and met many, many wonderful young people in the hostels. This is where I first met the amazing young women of Australia and New Zealand who were doing their version of the Grand Tour by taking a year off to travel around the world.  (Anne Gracie, our Aussie wench, has some great stories about her journeys!)

As I write this, I'm remembering all kinds of specific incidents, too many to relate here, but most of all, I'm recognizing what an amazing, life changing experience Merril and I had. Three months after we left, we returned to New York intact and still friends.  And I'd taken the first big step to a lifetime of travel.

 Anne here. Like Mary Jo, I've done a fair bit of travel in my time, and each trip has been memorable in some way. One was a backpacking trip I took when I was about nineteen, hitch-hiking around NZ during the long university holidays with a friend. We stayed in youth hostels a lot, but my brother had given me a little two-person tent for Christmas, and it certainly got plenty of use. We pitched it in all sorts of weird and wonderful places, as well as the occasional actual camping ground, and got quite used to sleeping on the ground. One time we got a lift into the middle of a forest with some forest workers, and then didn't see another vehicle for the rest of the day. But we found a gorgeous stream and camped next to it under a wide bridge where it was dry.

Another time we hiked for a day into the wilderness on beautiful Stuart Island (at the bottom of NZ) and camped there beside a little stream for nearly a week, until our food ran out, and then hiked back, intending to catch the ferry in the morning. We were salivating at the thought of the counter dinner we'd have at the only hotel in the small town of Oban, but when we got there, everything in the whole town was closed. The only camping ground was a mile the other side of town and we were tired and hungry, and it was getting dark, so we decided to find a bit of bush (wilderness) on the edge of town and camp there. We found a spot on a bit of a hill, set up the tent, dined on a couple of slices of stale salami and a little bit of semi-melted chocolate, and went to sleep. At dawn I was woken by the sound of a rooster crowing. I unzipped the tent and looked out. We had camped in someone's back yard!!! I guess they don't need fences on Stuart Island. So we furtively packed up the tent and hurried down to the town to wait for the hotel to open so we could get some breakfast. Here's a photo of me being brave and explorer-y (ie posing shamelessly) on a glacier, a few weeks later.

Nicola: Like the rest of the Wenches I’ve had more than my share of exciting trips both abroad and in the UK, and I love to travel when I can. I’ve driven across Africa, Iceland, Jordan and Costa Rica in a Land Rover (on separate occasions!) as well as sailed to the Arctic and the Sea of Cortes, but one of my favourite trips was to see the Northern Lights. It was about 20 years ago and we flew to Tromso in Northern Norway in February. We’d been prepared for the cold and packed loads of woolly jumpers, but hadn’t been prepared for driving in snow and ice. The Norwegians were taking it all in their stride, but as we hopped in our tiny hire car and drove off through a six foot high tunnel of snow, we were more than a little nervous.

We found our way safely to the island of Sommeroy where we had booked a cosy chalet on the beach for a week. We’d been assured that this was one of the best places to see the Northern Lights and confidently settled down to wait. On the first night there was thick cloud and the darkness was impenetrable. On the second night it snowed, which was very pretty but not what we were looking for.

With some disappointment we headed into the town the next day to drown our sorrows with a mug of hot chocolate at Unna Tun’s café. We had quickly discovered that this, the only café on the island, was both a very warm place to thaw out after a walk and also did the best cooked breakfasts. We got chatting to some of the locals who solemnly assured us that the Northern Lights would be out that night and not just that, they would appear at 8pm precisely. We thought they were making fun of us but nevertheless we went out and lay in the snow at five to eight, and at eight o’clock on the dot, out came the Northern Lights, rippling in billows of green, red and purple across the sky like the finest gauze curtain. It was the most magical experience.

The following night we were out again at eight but we had to wait until ten past before the Lights came out and put on a magnificent show for us again. Even now I can remember how cold it felt lying on my back in the snow, staring up at the sky where the Northern Lights seemed to drift so low you could almost reach out and touch them.

The following day was the last of our holiday and to celebrate we climbed the only mountain on the island, more of a hill really. There was a superb view out across the sea and not a soul for miles around. Then just as we were reaching the summit, there was a strange rumbling noise, some of the hillside slid away to reveal a concealed metal door and a soldier in uniform popped out. It was like a scene from a James Bond film. He apologised that we weren’t allowed to walk there as it was a NATO installation and escorted us politely back down the hillside. Just another extraordinary experience to add to our trip!

Joanna:

When I was a kid we’d all pile into the woody-sided station wagon, (five kids) and drive off to a cabin on the Chesapeake Bay. I'd get car sick. We’d go out on the Bay in a little Boston Whaler, all of us stuffed into life jackets. I'd get seasick. We’d watch the sea birds and catch a surprising number of fish. On our way back to the cabin we’d buy fresh corn at a farmers’ market and bring my mother our flounder to bread in corn meal and serve for dinner.

 Some days we’d sit and fish off one of the piers that stuck out over the water of a slow tidal river running into the estuary. Boats would come and go and we’d all go over to admire everybody’s big sports fish catch, which aren’t really much good to eat but we respected their bragging rights. We’d buy cokes at the bait and tackle shop, and  run out to ease in our lines with chicken necks tied to them and scoop up the crabs that had come to nibble.

Best of all, we’d go out to Scientists’ Cliffs on the Chesapeake and collect fossils. This was before the communities living on the cliffs above got stroppy about folks splashing along the shoreline.

 Scientists’ Cliffs and Calvert Cliffs and the other communities down there are built at the top of huge cliffs. Doomed cliffs, slowly eroding into the sea, full of fossils. My sisters and I would go splashing along the waterline in tennis shoes. I'd get sunburned. We'd bring home bucketfuls of broken seashells and Miocene shark’s teeth and, once, a shark's vertebra.

These can be BIG shark’s teeth, some of them the size of the palm of your hand.

 Good times.

What are your tales of memorable trips? We'd love to hear them - the good, the bad, the funny, the emotional - they are all special! And if you are travelling mainly through reading at the moment, which trips have you enjoyed reading about?

Ruined Castles Tour Part 1

Nicola here. On one of the last hot days of August, Wench Christina and I met up for a mini-Wench get together at Goodrich Castle, on the border of Wales and England. It was one of my first trips out after Lockdown and such a treat to be able to visit a historic site and even better to be able to chat about history and writing with a fellow Wench!

Goodrich is one of the finest and best-preserved of all English medieval castles but it isn’t very well known. We approached it the way that visitors would have done in the medieval period, on a path along a deep cutting in the rock. Here, the guidebook tells you, you could admire the red sandstone tower and the green stone of the keep – whilst being in range of the bowmen stationed on the roof (fortunately not a feature of a 21^st century castle!)

A Taste of Summer

Nicola here. It's all about fruit and nuts on the blog this week! On Wednesday Jo was blogging about coconuts and today I'm looking at the history of strawberries!

Nothing speaks of an English summer more than strawberries and cream. It’s an iconic dish that is closely associated with garden parties, stately homes and the Wimbledon Tennis Championships. It’s one of the nostalgic images of “old” England and in fact the dish is celebrating its 510^th anniversary round about now.

The strawberry has, of course, been around for a lot longer than 500 years. The writings of the Ancient Greeks and Romans refer to the wild strawberry fruit and its medicinal properties but evidence from archaeological excavations suggests that our Stone Age ancestors were already eating wild strawberries. In about the 14^th century these wild plants were taken from woodlands and introduced into gardens so that they could be grown for household fruit. Charles V, King of France in 1364, must have had a particular penchant for them as 1200 strawberry plants were grown in his royal gardens. From the early 15^th century the plant also pops up in illuminated manuscripts and western art, demonstrating that it was familiar - and beautiful - to our ancestors.

Ask A Wench--Are Titles Important?

Pat here, hosting this month's Ask-A-Wench...

How do the wenches choose their titles and are they as important as the covers? 

I had so much fun reading your comments when I answered this question last month, that I asked it of the wenches to see what they had to say. Quantum, we owe you another book!

Let the other wenches speak for themselves:

Christina:

I think titles and covers are of equal importance and as I’m slightly OCD, personally I am drawn to the ones that match – Susanna Kearsley’s Sourcebooks covers  are a case in point. (I liked them so much I had to buy even the ones I already had in another format!).

Kenilworth Castle - Lavish Love Token

Nicola here. One of the things that I have missed the most about Lockdown is not doing my tours at Ashdown House, and not being able to visit other castles and stately homes whilst everything has been closed so it was very exciting when English Heritage started to re-open a number of their historical sites and I could get my history fix again. Last week, for the first time in 5 months, I went to a castle and I thought I would share the trip here for those who would enjoy a virtual history fix.

A place I’d never been to but had always wanted to see is Kenilworth Castle in Warwickshire. Kenilworth has a very long and fascinating history from the time of its building as a great tower in the 1120s, through a period when it was one of the favourite palaces of the Lancastrian kings, and the royal visits of Queen Elizabeth I. It was this aspect of Kenilworth’s history that particularly fascinated me, and Robert Dudley’s final, failed attempt to persuade Elizabeth to marry him. So I took The Forgotten Sister along with me on the road trip as I thought Amy Robsart would enjoy seeing the place (more on that later!)

What We're Reading — July 2020

Anne here, hosting this month's WWR (What We're Reading) post for July.
We start with Pat, who's talking about NEVERWHERE, by Neil Gaiman.

The version I read was the “author’s preferred version.” The book started out as a television script and has gone through several editions since. This most recent one is Gaiman at his most charmingly insane. Richard, an up-and-coming investment analyst with am ambitious fiancée, uncharacteristically rescues an injured waif who falls at his feet. From that moment on, he’s drawn deeper into a world of fantasy beneath London’s streets, into the sewers and underground, becoming invisible—like the homeless—to the kind of people he once was. As in any fantasy, Richard has lessons to learn as he fights to return to his own home but ends up fighting for others instead. I really needed this escapism and it’s so well written that I never yawned and flipped pages. That’s true world building!  

Christina said, I have had a few disappointing reads this month, so I won’t mention those – suffice it to say that I really hate when a book or a series doesn’t end the way I want it to! The only book I’ve really enjoyed is Summer Island by Natalie Normann. Natalie is a Norwegian author who has written over 50 novels in her own language, but his is her first one in English and it’s wonderful! It’s one of those books that draws you in right from the start and then you just can’t stop reading. In fact, I finished it in one sitting and absolutely loved both the characters, story and setting. I now want to spend summer on an idyllic Norwegian island, swimming in the sea, rowing, eating the local food and relaxing. I could totally understand how the hero (who is English) got sucked into the little community on the island and never wanted to leave again – I didn’t either. The heroine is refreshingly direct and I adored her sidekick – a Norwegian buhund called Frikk! (Dog characters are always a bonus for me.) There is a sequel on the way set at Christmas and I can’t wait to read it!

The joy of animal companions!

Nicola here talking about animal companions. Something I’ve noticed quite a lot during lockdown is the number of people who have been getting a dog to keep them company. The prices of pedigree puppies have soared; lots of people have posted excitedly on social media about the pleasure of getting new pets. It’s wonderful if caring for an animal has brought people the benefit of companionship, exercise and uncritical love (maybe not in the case of cats) but this did also set off some warning bells for me.

We all know that a pet is forever not just for Lockdown.

There is no doubt, though, that the antics of various animals have lifted the spirits of a lot of us. My new favourite online stars are
Olive and Mabel, two Labradors belonging to the sports commentator Andrew Cotter. His deadpan commentaries of their various activities are very funny and the dogs are utterly adorable. Lots of people have dropped into my Facebook page to see various photos and videos of Angus as we go out and about together, and my writing friend Kate Hardy is posting a diary of her progress training her new spaniel puppy, Dexter. I spend a lot longer that I should watching cute cat videos on Twitter and I’m sure there are plenty of other pets out there doing wonderful cheering things – rabbits, ferrets, even fish making their owners happy.

What We're Reading in June

The Word Wenches have been reading the most lovely books.

Mary Jo's recommendations for this month include one of my own old favorites.

Mary Jo:

I've read some new books this last month, but the only stories that really grabbed me were two oldies.  The first was Mary Stewart's The Ivy Tree.  We've discussed Mary Stewart here before--the Wenches are major fans and she shaped the writing for several of us, me included.

The Ivy Tree was the first Mary Stewart I ever read, in a condensed version in my mother's Ladies Home Journal.  I was riveted, and the big story twist was like being clubbed. (I'm harder to surprise now, but it's still one heck of a twist. <G>) 

Stewart is marvelous in her descriptions of story settings, and she makes a Northumberland summer come alive with sensual warmth.  Good suspense and romance, too.  (A lot of smoking goes on, as in most of Stewart's books, a sign of the changing times.)  It's still a wonderful story. 

My other favorite book is Sarah-Kate Lynch's The Wedding Bees, which I learned about on an earlier WWR.  I think it was recommended by Anne Gracie and Pat Rice.  I was a little wary, not being over fond of stinging insects, but within a couple of chapters, I was hooked.  It's kind of magical realism with the heroine, Sugar Wallace, exiled from her beloved Southern home and each year moving herself and her bees to a new city chosen by her queen bee, one of a succession of Elizabeths.  (The current queen is Elizabeth the 6th.)

This time she's led to New York City in an apartment with a great views, a terrace for her bees, and a half dozen other units in the building occupied by miserable people.  Sugar is a healer with both her honey and her warmth, and by the end of the book, everyone in the building is happy, and they and her bees have healed her into happiness and love. A delightful story.

 

Susan brings us a most interesting mystery series and a rather famous book about writing itself.

 

Susan:  This round, I read something new to me and something much-read (I won't mention the stack of to-be-reads, half-reads, meant-to-finishes, and forgot-I-hads that I didn't get through!). I'm leisurely making my way through Elly Griffiths' Ruth Galloway mystery series, picking one up now and then, and Dying Fall was a very good point in the series, about halfway through so far. Archaeologist and forensic bone specialist Dr. Ruth Galloway--single mom to a toddler she shares with Nelson, a local detective chief inspector--is drawn into a major archaeological discovery by an old friend who is soon murdered.

Sister Scribes

Nicola here. Today I’m musing on sisters, real, literary and fictional. I’ve always been fascinated by the relationships between siblings. Perhaps it’s because I don’t have any full siblings that I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have a sister. Would we be very close, or different and distant? Would there be sibling rivalry between us or the sort of secrets you come across in books? What would it have been like growing up with brothers and sisters?

Today is the anniversary of the birth in 1817 of Branwell Bronte, the only boy amongst literary siblings Charlotte, Emily and Anne. Originally there were six Bronte children, five of whom were girls, so Branwell’s unique status as the only son of the family promised him more freedom and perhaps led to his being more indulged. Whilst the girls were sent away to school, in some cases most unhappily, Branwell was educated by his father at home (pictured above). The two older Bronte sisters, Maria and Elizabeth, died in childhood and their deaths made a big impression on all their siblings. Maria in particular showed all the signs of developing the same literary talents as her younger sisters. One wonders what might have happened had she survived and also whether Elizabeth, who was said to most resemble Anne, would also have grown up to be an author. Branwell, meanwhile, was a writer and an artist - one of his pictures is on the right - but he never achieved the literary success his sisters did, nor was he particularly successful with his paintings.

Ask-A-Wench: What was your first job?

Anne here, and today on "ask a wench" we're responding to the question, 'What was your first ever job?'

Pat begins:  Oh dear, I’m not entirely certain where to start. With babysitting? Boring. How about the candy store I set up in the local park?

That was fun but a lot of work. A friend and I had to take a cooler on the bus downtown (we were only fourteen—and our mothers didn’t have cars) to the candy wholesaler. We’d load up on everything we liked, then hauled it back to the neighborhood and sold it out of a little park building no one was using. We made enough that summer to outfit ourselves quite nicely when school started in the fall!

But I suppose my real live out-in-the-world job was a cashier at Value Village, a place I could walk to. I doubt anyone remembers them, a precursor to K-Mart. I was only fifteen (my birthday was a few months away) and not exactly legal, but the store had just opened. They were desperate to fill positions and didn’t ask questions. The entire neighborhood was thrilled to have this exciting new store (oh, those were the days!) and the lines curled to the back of the building for weeks after it opened. I swear I memorized every code in the store because the stock moved too quickly to be marked. Can you remember ever being excited by the opening of a cheap discount store?!

Of course, the best part of that job—besides the paycheck—was that all the guys went there to buy parts and oil for their cars. My IT Guy was one of them. <G>

Christina says:  My first proper job was a summer job working in an office. At the time, I’d been at university in Sweden for a year and I wanted to earn some extra money. Students never have enough, do they! My father worked for a Swedish company with branches all over the world and he managed to secure me a six-week stint in their London office, because he knew the manager. I was very excited to be spending so much time in the UK, staying with my aunt and uncle – that felt like a vacation in itself – although I was a bit apprehensive about the work as I had no idea what it entailed. And when I turned up on the appointed day, I think the manager had forgotten to tell his staff I was coming as everyone was a bit taken aback and no one knew what to do with me!

The Family Tree of Life

Nicola here. Today I’m wondering what happened to all the plans I had at the start of lockdown in March. Back then time spent quietly at home felt like an opportunity to catch up with a load of things I’d wanted to do for a while, whether it was clear out the wardrobe or start a new hobby. With the benefit of hindsight, I can see this was probably optimistic; we’ve all had a lot of shocking, frightening and unexpected stuff to deal with in our different ways, my concentration is non-existent and I haven’t achieved anything close to what I thought I would. On the other hand, and on a more optimistic note, the kindness and strength of friends, family and strangers through difficult times has been truly amazing.

One of my interests before the pandemic kicked in was genealogy. I only came to family tree research a few years ago. A number of relatives had been busy working on different parts of the family history for years and I felt they had it covered and I had lots of other things to research! But then, I don’t know why or how, I started to become interested in genealogy myself and once I’d started it became totally compulsive. I even had an Ancestry DNA test done - which didn’t reveal anything very exciting at all!