Persisten bronchitis permitting, I fly out from London to Johannesburg on Tuesday to conduct on-the-spot research for Fonthill number nine, now firmly titled "FIRE ACROSS THE VELDT." This is, of course, set against the background of the second and best known Anglo-Boer War, the last of Queen Victoria's "Little Wars," although this one was certainly not so little.
The novel will be published by my new publishers Allison & Busby in January 20(hard back) with the paperback to follow in September of that year and the audio and large print versions due out somewhere in between.
As a previous blog refers, I have already begun writing the story but there comes a time when one has to visit the sites that one is describing to get the feel, the smell and the physical contours of the place to recreate it - even though it may have changed in 110 years. And that time has come for this book.
I have always tried to observe the factual chronology of my stories and I had a problem with this one. This lay in the fact that the first half of the Boer War, when the Brits took such a hiding from those "amateur soldiers," the Boer farmers, at Magersfontein, Colenso and Spion Kop, coincided with the Boxer Rebellion in China and I couldn't have Fonthill in both places.
But what seemed a problem turned into an advantage,for the second half of the conflict in South Africa, which coincided with the relief of Peking, turned out to be much more fascinating to me. As reinforcements poured into Cape Town from Britain and various parts of the Empire the tide of the conventional war turned and the Boers were defeated in set piece battles, losing their State capitals. The war seemed over and Field Marshal Roberts sailed for home, leaving General Kitchener to "tidy up."
K, however, sensed it wouldn't be that easy. The hard core of the Afrikan army took to the veldt, forming fast-moving units which lived rough and conducted guerrilla warfare against the extended British lines and outposts. Reading of Fonthill's exploits in China and knowing of his reputation as an irregular soldier, the General summons him to the Cape to help him "fight the Boers at their own game."
Fonthill can't resist the challenge. The trouble for me, however, was that the places where Fonthill and 352 Jenkins clash with the great Boer commando leaders - De Wet, Botha, Smuts et al - were mainly in remote regions of the Transvaal, the Orange Free State and the northern mountains of the Cape Colony, sites not always well described in the books of the period. So I must go and see for myself.
And if the clear air of the High Veldt doesn't defeat this lingering bronchitis, then I shall turn to drink.
Friday, 20 January 2012
Friday, 16 December 2011
Bloody bronchitis
I have bronchitis. Now I know that this news is not up there on a par with the recent doings of the leaders of the European Union, nor even of the latest twist in Katie Price's love life. But, damnit, it has taken over my existence at the moment.
Any fool can have bronchitis, of course, but mine is PARTICULARLY INTERESTING and I feel I must share its fascinating details with you.
This is noisy bronchitis. Noisy, that is in two ways. There is the conventional rasping wheezing, coughing and expectoration (ordinary people spit; authors expectorate), which is so painful and debilitating. But my bronchitis has a very distinctive voice of its own, which emerges when I put my head on the pillow at night and desperately try to sleep.
You see, across my lungs and inside my chest there is coiled a serpent. It has two voices: an initial and constant bubbling kind of rasping murmur just to show you that it is there and and hates you. It is sufficient to keep you awake. Then, just when you think you might be drifting away, the second emerges.
This is when the serpent lifts its head from its coils and decides to strike. This is a manevolent hiss that precedes the slash upwards into the throat which brings on, suddenly and viciously, the bout of frenzied coughing.
Fanciful? Not at two a.m. it isn't, when you are all alone in the blackness
of the night and the terrors press in. Mind you, perhaps this is a form of bronchitis that only writers get. Creativity gone mad, do you think? Nah. Can't be. It's too real.
Any fool can have bronchitis, of course, but mine is PARTICULARLY INTERESTING and I feel I must share its fascinating details with you.
This is noisy bronchitis. Noisy, that is in two ways. There is the conventional rasping wheezing, coughing and expectoration (ordinary people spit; authors expectorate), which is so painful and debilitating. But my bronchitis has a very distinctive voice of its own, which emerges when I put my head on the pillow at night and desperately try to sleep.
You see, across my lungs and inside my chest there is coiled a serpent. It has two voices: an initial and constant bubbling kind of rasping murmur just to show you that it is there and and hates you. It is sufficient to keep you awake. Then, just when you think you might be drifting away, the second emerges.
This is when the serpent lifts its head from its coils and decides to strike. This is a manevolent hiss that precedes the slash upwards into the throat which brings on, suddenly and viciously, the bout of frenzied coughing.
Fanciful? Not at two a.m. it isn't, when you are all alone in the blackness
of the night and the terrors press in. Mind you, perhaps this is a form of bronchitis that only writers get. Creativity gone mad, do you think? Nah. Can't be. It's too real.
Saturday, 3 December 2011
Swindon hears about Fonthill
Those of you out there who follow the doings of Simon Fonthill, Jenkins, Alice and Co and who live within a spit or so of Swindon in North Wiltshire might care to know that I will be talking about them all at Highworth Library on Monday evening (5th Dec) at 7.30.
The talk is entitled "The Pitfalls and Pleasures of Writing Historical Fiction" but I will dig a bit into how these characters were created and developed. Everyone is welcome (no charge)and the address is Highworth Library, Brewery Street, Highworth, Swindon (just off the A419).
Do come and shout "Rubbish" from the back of the hall.
The talk is entitled "The Pitfalls and Pleasures of Writing Historical Fiction" but I will dig a bit into how these characters were created and developed. Everyone is welcome (no charge)and the address is Highworth Library, Brewery Street, Highworth, Swindon (just off the A419).
Do come and shout "Rubbish" from the back of the hall.
Monday, 28 November 2011
IMPERIAL ECHOES IN THE PLIGHT OF THOMAS COOK
I am feeling distinctly sad about the Thomas Cook saga. You will know that the famous old company - Britain's second biggest tour operator - is virtually broke. It has net debts of £1billion, is said to be spending £30million a month and its share price has collapsed. It has gained a day or two of breathing space by negotiating a £200 million loan from its banks, so the word is that it will get through the crucial January holiday booking period. But its mid and long term future looks shaky.
I am sorry not because I depend upon the company for getting me about the planet, but because it played a not insignificant part in Britain's imperial history about which, some of you may have noticed, I rather like to write.
When, in 1896 Kitchener was planning his invasion of the Sudan to attack the Dervishes in Khartoum, way up river in the south, it was to Thomas Cook that he turned to take his supplies down the Nile to feed his advancing army. Without Cook's famous river steamers he would not have been able to fight the Mahdi's army at Omdurman two years later.
Sad that such a once important company is struggling in these hard times. Lord Kitchener of Khartoum must be turning in his watery grave.
I am sorry not because I depend upon the company for getting me about the planet, but because it played a not insignificant part in Britain's imperial history about which, some of you may have noticed, I rather like to write.
When, in 1896 Kitchener was planning his invasion of the Sudan to attack the Dervishes in Khartoum, way up river in the south, it was to Thomas Cook that he turned to take his supplies down the Nile to feed his advancing army. Without Cook's famous river steamers he would not have been able to fight the Mahdi's army at Omdurman two years later.
Sad that such a once important company is struggling in these hard times. Lord Kitchener of Khartoum must be turning in his watery grave.
Friday, 18 November 2011
FONTHILL RIDES AGAIN!
These are the keyprints of a happy chap. Happy because my old mate Simon Fonthill is riding again. I have just left him at the end of Chapter One of the ninth Fonthill adventure, he having escaped the clutches of the famous Boer commando leader Christian de Wet, with Alice, Jenkins and their black tracker, Mzingeli, and boarded a British armoured train in the Orange Free State in late September 1900.
Yes. It's the Boer war - the second, because loyal readers will remember that Fonthill & Co fought in the first Anglo-Boer War, then called the Transvaal War, which ended in 'Last Stand on Majuba Hill.'
In fact, it should be admitted that the trio have been back for some time, having gone through the perils of the Boxer Rebellion in China in the eight novel, 'The War of the Dragon Lady,' which will hit the bookstalls in hard back in January and then in paperback the following September.
But for me I only know that the intrepid army scout - poor horseman, indifferent shot but inventive opponent of all enemies of Queen Victoria in so many of her 'little wars' of the last quarter of the nineteenth century - is alive again when I write about him. And it is good to have his company once more.
This novel (working title, which won't survive, is 'Commando!') is due out early in 2013. I am already saddle sore.
Yes. It's the Boer war - the second, because loyal readers will remember that Fonthill & Co fought in the first Anglo-Boer War, then called the Transvaal War, which ended in 'Last Stand on Majuba Hill.'
In fact, it should be admitted that the trio have been back for some time, having gone through the perils of the Boxer Rebellion in China in the eight novel, 'The War of the Dragon Lady,' which will hit the bookstalls in hard back in January and then in paperback the following September.
But for me I only know that the intrepid army scout - poor horseman, indifferent shot but inventive opponent of all enemies of Queen Victoria in so many of her 'little wars' of the last quarter of the nineteenth century - is alive again when I write about him. And it is good to have his company once more.
This novel (working title, which won't survive, is 'Commando!') is due out early in 2013. I am already saddle sore.
Tuesday, 4 October 2011
AH, THE POWER...!
This blog doesn't usually wash its feet in the dirty water of politics - particularly those of another country. But it did recently bewail the rise of Rick Perry as favourite in the Republican race for nomination as US president, pointing out how unwise it was to tread in the footsteps of his Texam predecessor, the Great George W.
How satisfying, then, to read that Perry has now so quickly fallen away in the nomination stakes, following disclosures that as Texas Governor he lured subprime mortgage lenders to his state only to have to bail them out with $35 of taxpayers money.
Ah, the power of a blog! I really must see what I can do to bring down other despots: Mugabe, Putin, George Osborne, perhaps?
How satisfying, then, to read that Perry has now so quickly fallen away in the nomination stakes, following disclosures that as Texas Governor he lured subprime mortgage lenders to his state only to have to bail them out with $35 of taxpayers money.
Ah, the power of a blog! I really must see what I can do to bring down other despots: Mugabe, Putin, George Osborne, perhaps?
Tuesday, 6 September 2011
GEORGE W.BUSH - WHAT A HERO!
Gloom and misery everywhere. The economies of Britain, the USA and the Eurozone are in deep trouble; the war in Afghanistan shows no sign of ending; Britain's MI5 is accused of complicity with America in the systematic torturing of terrorist suspects; thousands are awaiting sentencing following our recent riots; and President Obama's chances of re-election next year seem to be falling as fast as the stock markets.
Viewed from this side of the pond, the Republican party in the States seems to be in the ascendant. Desite the fact that no clear leader has emerged to take on the President next year, the right wing is chortling at the way it humbled Obama over the threat of a default on the nation's debts. Each of the putative Republican candidates seem to be jostling to appear more xenophobic than the rest. Tea cups are rattling all over the mid-West.
Now, would you believe it, the latest front-runner, Rick Perry, is Governor of Texas, he looks and sounds like his great forebear in the job, George W. Bush and he even wears cowboy boots!! To this lover of the USA, it seems as if the world has gone mad. May I, then, in the spirit of comradeship, beg the voters of the great US to consider recent history.
When George W. moved into the White House in 2001, the USA had a two trillion dollar budget surplus. It even looked as if the national debt of 5.7 trillion dollars could be eliminated by the end of the decade. It's worth reflecting what this other, older, cowboy-booted Texan then did.
He cut taxes, reducing annual revenues by 1.8 trillion dollars. He declared a war on terror and set up two military invasions far from American shores, financing them entirely by borrowing. The wars and consequent increases in defence spending added 1.5 trillion dollars to the national debt. At the same time, he looked on serenely as Wall Street and the American Banks over-lent, so precipitating the Western financial crisis.
By the time he left office, Bush had squandered Clinton's surplus and nearly doubled the size of the debt, adding more to it than any president in American history.
It would surely be an exaggeration to blame the man for all of the ills listed in my first paragraph. One person can't be responsible for all that, can he? Or can he? I acquit George W of causing the onset of winter and the arthritis in my right knee. But for most of the rest, there's a smell of Texan denim clinging to it all.
The American electorate should think on it.
Viewed from this side of the pond, the Republican party in the States seems to be in the ascendant. Desite the fact that no clear leader has emerged to take on the President next year, the right wing is chortling at the way it humbled Obama over the threat of a default on the nation's debts. Each of the putative Republican candidates seem to be jostling to appear more xenophobic than the rest. Tea cups are rattling all over the mid-West.
Now, would you believe it, the latest front-runner, Rick Perry, is Governor of Texas, he looks and sounds like his great forebear in the job, George W. Bush and he even wears cowboy boots!! To this lover of the USA, it seems as if the world has gone mad. May I, then, in the spirit of comradeship, beg the voters of the great US to consider recent history.
When George W. moved into the White House in 2001, the USA had a two trillion dollar budget surplus. It even looked as if the national debt of 5.7 trillion dollars could be eliminated by the end of the decade. It's worth reflecting what this other, older, cowboy-booted Texan then did.
He cut taxes, reducing annual revenues by 1.8 trillion dollars. He declared a war on terror and set up two military invasions far from American shores, financing them entirely by borrowing. The wars and consequent increases in defence spending added 1.5 trillion dollars to the national debt. At the same time, he looked on serenely as Wall Street and the American Banks over-lent, so precipitating the Western financial crisis.
By the time he left office, Bush had squandered Clinton's surplus and nearly doubled the size of the debt, adding more to it than any president in American history.
It would surely be an exaggeration to blame the man for all of the ills listed in my first paragraph. One person can't be responsible for all that, can he? Or can he? I acquit George W of causing the onset of winter and the arthritis in my right knee. But for most of the rest, there's a smell of Texan denim clinging to it all.
The American electorate should think on it.
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