On our recent walk around Garreg Ddu Dam in the lower Elan Valley we noticed that, since we were last here, even more carvings had been created along the trail.
This area of land was originally a Victorian Douglas Fir plantation, clear-felled to reintroduce native species and increase biodiversity. The project to carve the trees lining the road was commissioned Dŵr Cymru Welsh Water and created by chainsaw sculptors Simon O’Rourke, Paul Edwards, and Matthew Crabb, who worked from ideas presented by schoolchildren from the community.
It was getting late in the afternoon, the day had been gloriously sunny and warm, but now dusk was settling in and the gathering clouds in the sky were showing signs of the rain forecast for the following day.
Foel Tower: a point of interest at the start and end of our walk around Garreg-ddu:Just upstream from the submerged dam at Garreg-ddu is the Foel Tower, the starting point for the 70 mile journey of the water supply to Birmingham.
The lower section of Foel Tower has a number of openings inside at different levels where a system of valves and cylinders can be raised and lowered to draw off water from the reservoir at the right depth for the current water level.
The above photograph was taken in 1947 showing the Foel Tower during very low water levels in the Garreg-ddu. Most of the openings in this image are normally underwater.
Foel Tower takes in water from the Claerwen Valley through a pipeline which takes water underground from the dam system. Water is also collected by Pen-y-garreg and Craig Gochhe, the two dams higher up in the Elan Valley.
My latest book, published in November 2024 is The Stranger
Review for The Stranger: 5.0 out of 5 stars Storytelling in a class of its own… stunning.
“One of the author’s many strengths is in capturing the clear and authentic voice of a confused child – Mandy’s voice, in The Stranger, still haunts me, torn between her own grief, her sense of right and wrong, and her love for her family. And once more, in her latest book she wonderfully portrays the suffering of eight-year-old twins Chloe and Charlie – already grieving the loss of their mother, their lives torn apart by their father’s marriage to her former nurse, an evil manipulator of the highest order…“
It’s eight years this month since the prequel, A Hundred Tiny Threads, to the Haworth Trilogy was published – so a little celebratory post – with an extra personal memory at the end – for one of my oldest books.
It’s 1911 and Winifred Duffy is a determined young woman eager for new experiences, for a life beyond the grocer’s shop counter ruled over by her domineering mother.
The scars of Bill Howarth’s troubled childhood linger. The only light in his life comes from a chance encounter with Winifred, the girl he determines to make his wife.
Meeting her friend Honora’s silver-tongued brother turns Winifred’s heart upside down. But Honora and Conal disappear, after a suffrage rally turns into a riot, and abandoned Winifred has nowhere to turn but home.
The Great War intervenes, sending Bill abroad to be hardened in a furnace of carnage and loss. When he returns his dream is still of Winifred and the life they might have had… Back in Lancashire, worn down by work and the barbed comments of narrow-minded townsfolk, Winifred faces difficult choices in love and life
A couple of reviews:
“When I emerged at the end of this book – during the reading, my immersion was total – it was with a sense of having experienced it all first hand, and of having deeply felt every moment. This was story-telling at its very best… and a book that will long linger in my memory.”
“I loved it… A page-turner that keeps you hooked. The story line has lots of twists and turns and you feel yourself moved on so many different levels. As the book unfolds it gives you moments of tenderness and love, hatred and spite all blended together with conflict, prejudice, guilt, grief and a desperate longing for change. Judith describes the period so well, with some very graphic, cruel and harrowing episodes, enabling you to empathise with each character in turn. I particularly like the fact that the story held together to the last page.”
Three year earlier, on the exact date – the 17th August – the book was published, I’d written the following…
My Grandad
My grandfather died seventy years ago this week. Obviously i never knew him and have only one small black and white photograph of him on my study wall. He’s standing in the backyard of the terraced house they lived in in Oldham. Lancashire. This is a poem I wrote about him a long time ago. My mother said he was gassed in WW1 and never recovered.
You’ll definitely need a constitution for the official book fair bank account and if you’ll be looking for grants, sponsorship etc.
Get started early; you’ll need plenty of planning time. Work out the best time of year for your area by looking around, seeing what else is on at certain times. Is there any event happening on the date you’d like that might help or hinder footfall to your book fair? Is there a festival you could link up with? Or a similar event to yours which would take away your potential public? If the latter, don’t be inflexible, change your date.
Book your venue. You want somewhere that people will pass and enter easily. (Check for disability access and facilities). And check that there is somewhere outside of the building that you can hang a banner advertising the book fair on the day – or, at the least, somewhere that you can stand A boards outside without causing any obstruction
Thorne Moore and I on the morning of our last book fair and hoping this banner will attract enough attention for our last book fair at the. It did – well, alongside the rest of the publicity we’d put out there over the previous few months, it did.
If you intend to ask your authors to give talks, hold creative writing workshops, hold panels on various aspects of writing or genres, or invite publishers to put on an appearance for talks or editor sessions (always a good move and the authors will thank you!), make sure there are enough rooms. Most importantly, make sure the actual room/hall you’ll be holding the book fair in is large enough. You’ll need a fairly spacious area because you’ll be inviting lots of authors to participate… won’t you!?
Also check for the number of tables and chairs the venue has. And make sure you can get your hands on more tables if necessary. You don’t want to have more authors than tables
Find out if the venue has public liability insurance. If not you have two choices, stump up for it yourself (in which case you could be paying out a fortune) or ask the individual authors to take out their own – much the better option and a lot of writers have their own insurance anyway.
Lists, lists and more lists! Try to include as much detail as possible and when things need to be started or completed by. You won’t always hit the targets but you’ll know when they go whizzing by (a bit like that deadline you’ve set for yourself with your WIP). Know which of you is responsible for each task. But don’t forget to ask for or offer help from one another… you are a team working to one goal.
And that’s it! This is what worked for us. And, for anyone brave enough to organise a book fair – good luck.
Oh, and don’t forget – you’re entitled to a little of the publicity for yourself.
Many years ago I was asked by a local online television company, Showboat TV to interview for a programme called BookSmart. In slight trepidation I agreed; I had no experience in interviewing anyone. But as an author and a creative writing tutor they obviously thought I would be able to talk to other writers about their books and the way they wrote.
I remember I had just the first two books of the Haworth trilogy published then …
But ShowBoat TV had faith in me, and it’s been interesting – and fun. I’ve met many people, authors who live in Wales and authors from all over the world. At first it was filmed and shown through the internet; these days, when I interview, we work through Zoom. Which is what I did when interviewing Debbie Campbell last year, and lately Suzi Quatro. Need I say these were the highlights of my volunteering – and Showboat TV are promising more of this ilk for their viewers.
Viewers, whose numbers, may I say, have risen steadily over the years,because the company provides such a variety of programs. Besides BookSmart, there are interviews with musicians and performances of dramas produced by small companies. All accessible from the homepage, which contains all of the seven free series, with one episode following one each day.
But not only does the company cover all this, but they also travel around filming events, and, in the past, they filmed and were sponsors for the September annual book fairs that I helped to organise, initially with friends and fellow authors, Thorne Moore and Alex Martin – then in later years, when Alex moved away, just with Thorne.
It was hard work – and it began in the January of each year.
When embarking on this, the first thing you do is start with the obvious; find someone like-minded to help you with the organising of the whole affair. More importantly, someone who you know well enough to recognise you’ll be able to work together without egos getting in the way. (And, yes, I’m speaking from experience; enough said!) And someone with a sense of humour. Believe me, if you’re determined to hold a book fair, you’ll need one.
So, to the practicalities – but maybe that’s better left for next time…
Winner of ‘Best Short Story Collection’ in the 2014 eFestival of Words, “Nine Lives” comprises nine short dramas in the vein of Terry Tyler’s well-loved novels, some funny, some sad, with her usual unpredictable twists. The first chapter of full-length novel and tale of sibling rivalry, WHAT IT TAKES, is to be found at the end.
The stories:
Angel – The perfect wife of the perfect husband is tempted by the fruit of another. Shut Up And Dance – Paul says he will love Laura whatever size she is. But will he? Mia – The threat of ‘the other woman’… Kiss Your Past Goodbye – Zoe finds out what happened to her first love, who broke her heart. We All Fall Down – Two old friends meet for a drink – just a swift one, of course! Bright Light Fright – A tale of vengeance, a burglary, and a nasty shock. Mama Kin – Emma and Melanie have very different approaches to childcare – oh dear! Don’t Get Mad – Get Even – Kevin and Marcus have been best friends
My Review:
At the moment I’m finding it difficult to concentrate on reading ( well on anything actually). But, having been a fan of Terry Tyler’s writing for a long time I was pleased to come across this collection of short stories. Not a clue why I haven’t found it before!
The one thing (well, not only the one thing – I could expound on this for ages) that I love about this author’s work is her ability to get inside each character’s head, whoever they are, whether a protagonist or the antagonist … or even a minor character. She brings them alive instantly – and draws the reader into the story.
Each of these stories are short, but they pack a punch and made me think. There is always something beyond the words, the characters, the plot. I think it’s life – and the general affliction of humanity; whether it’s pride, or greed, or revenge- or whatever else that lies beneath the facade of what is called ‘real life’.
They may be short, they may be easy reads on the surface – but they dig dip and I loved them.
And the book was the winner of ‘Best Short Story Collection’ in the 2014 Festival of Words, which says everything.
A family firm. A long-held promise. What will it take to protect all she loves?
Alice Fraser has everything she needs. A comfortable home. A few good friends. A satisfying career. But when the promise made doesn’t materialise and everything changes at work she finds herself losing control of all she once held dear.
She could have left. She should have left. Instead she decides to dig in, and make life uncomfortable for her tormentor.
Petty revenge, she calls it. And that’s how it starts. But one day she is pushed too far, and once she takes the next step there is no going back.
A Stolen Future is a gripping domestic suspense novel. If you like character-driven action, suspenseful storytelling and unexpected twists then you’ll love this psychological thriller.
My Review:
From the word go I’ve loved this series from Georgia Rose. In fact I’ve loved all her books, whatever genre. But A Stolen Future is the fourth story that is special, because it’s set in the same village, Melton, and besides being centred on the protagonists and her antagonist, it also touches on and includes characters, now minor ones, whose lives we have seen in depth before.
To that end, I woud encourage any reader to begin – as they say – at the beginning: so it’s
I always try not to give spoilers in my reviews, and feel that I’m in danger of doing just that, so I’ll stop there. But what I do need to say is that all these characters are multi layered and immediately identifiable through their dialogue, both spoken and internal. And, together with a cast of wonderful minor characters,, they are embedded in a community that is indicative of so many villages and small towns. And as with all of Georgia Roses’ books the descriptions of the settings give a good sense of place, so I almost felt like on onlooker to life in Melton.
I thoroughly agree with the books description: A Stolen Future is a gripping domestic suspense novel. If you like character-driven action, suspenseful storytelling and unexpected twists then you’ll love this psychological thriller.It’s a book I thoroughly recommend.
About the Author:
Georgia Rose is a writer and the author of the romantic and suspenseful Grayson Trilogy books: A Single Step, Before the Dawn and Thicker than Water. Following completion of the trilogy she was asked for more and so wrote a short story, The Joker, which is based on a favourite character from the series and the eBook is available to download for free at the retailer of your choice.
Her fourth novel, Parallel Lies, encompasses crime along with Georgia’s usual blending of genre and its sequel, Loving Vengeance, has now completed The Ross Duology.
Georgia’s background in countryside living, riding, instructing and working with horses has provided the knowledge needed for some of her storylines; the others are a product of her passion for people watching and her overactive imagination.
She has also recently started running workshops and providing one-to-one support for those wishing to learn how to independently publish and you can find her, under her real name, at http://www.threeshirespublishing.com.
Following a long stint working in the law Georgia set up her own business providing administration services for other companies which she does to this day managing to entwine that work along with her writing.
Her busy life is set in a tranquil part of rural Cambridgeshire in the UK where she lives with her much neglected husband.
Today – Remembrance Day – has been a day when we paid homage to so many who gave their lives in past wars. A day that must have brought back memories for many. It has for me.
It’s eight years since my mother died. My sister arranged the funeral for eleven o’clock today. Eleven o’clock, on the eleven day of the year – perhaps no one else wanted that time or day – I was never told.
This is a post I wrote shortly afterwards. The relationship between Mum and me, and the one between her and my sister, proved so very different. There’s nothing wrong in that, but at no time was it more obvious than on that day…
I wrote…
Last week I was at my mother’s funeral. I say at because I felt it was a funeral I was a spectator to, not part of.
During the service I realised something strange. Being the eldest, and living nearer to Mum than me, my sister had insisted on organising the whole thing. It was a Humanist service which was fine; my mother had no beliefs.
But what was odd, was that what my sister had written about my mother was totally unlike the mum I knew.And I wonder if that is something all siblings share; a different view of the characters of their parents.
The mother my sister saw was a woman who liked poetry. So there were three poems in the service. I’ve never once seen my mother read poetry although she did like to misquote two lines from ‘ What is this life if, full of care…’
The mum I knew read and enjoyed what she herself called ‘trashy books.’ They weren’t, but she did love a romance and the odd ‘Northern-themed’ novels. (I’m always glad she was able to enjoy the first book of my trilogy – dementia had claimed her by the time the next two were published) She still managed a smiling grumble, though, telling me it had taken me ‘long enough to get a book out there’) And she loved reading anything about the history of Yorkshire and Lancashire. Oh, and recipe books… she had dozens of recipe books and could pour over them for hours. I often challenged her to make something from them. She never did… it was a shared joke.
Mum had a beautiful singing voice in her younger days. She and my father would sing duets together. Anybody remember Pearl Carr and Teddy Johnson? My parents knew all their songs. And so did my sister and I… I thought. The songs and singers chosen were not ones I remembered. And Mum loved brass bands! She’d have loved to have gone out to a rousing piece from a brass band, preferably the local band. She loved everything about the area and the house she’d live in for almost sixty years
Which brings me to the main gist of the service. No mention of Mum’s love of nature, of gardening, of walking. Nothing about Mum’s sense of humour; often rude, always hilarious. When telling a tale she had no compunction about swearing if it fitted the story. And her ability to mimic, together with her timing, was impeccable. She was smart, walking as upright in her later years as she had when in the ATS as a young woman, during the Second World War. She worked hard all her life; as a winder in a cotton mill, later as a carer, sometimes as a cleaner. Throughout the service there was no inkling of the proud Northern woman willing to turn her hand to any job as long as it paid. No mention of her as a loyal wife to a difficult man.
Thinking about it on the way home I realised that my sister had seen none of what I’d known and I knew nothing of what she’d seen in Mum. And then I thought, perhaps as we were such dissimilar daughters to her, Mum became a different mother to each of us? Hence the completely opposite funeral to the one I would have arranged for her.
Is that the answer? A funeral is a public service. Are they all edited, eased into the acceptable, the correct way to be presented for public consumption? Because it reflects on those left behind? I don’t know.
Perhaps, unless we’ve had the foresight to set out the plan for our own funerals, this will always be the case.
So I’d like it on record that, at my funeral, I’d like Unforgettable by Nat King Cole (modest as always!), a reading of Jenny Joseph’s When I Am Old (yes, I do know it’s been performed to death but won’t that be appropriate?). I’d like anybody who wants to say anything…yes anything…about me to be able to…as long as it’s true, of course! And then I’d like the curtains closed on me to Swan Lake’s Dance of the Little Swans. (Because this was the first record bought for me by my favourite aunt when I was ten. And because, although as a child I dreamt of being a ballet dancer, the actual size and shape of me has since prevented it.)
Thank you for reading this. I do hope I haven’t offended (or, even worse, bored) anyone. I was tempted to put this under the category ‘Fantasy’ but thought better of it!
And, today, I’ve also had thoughts of my grandad. Like do many young men he served in WW1
This is a post from quite a while ago, as well. Today was the day my grandad died. I never really knew him. He was always in bed in the front room of my grandmother’s house and had no patience for a small child. But I do remember that day: my mother crying, the fear of not knowing why, what had happened. Of not knowing what to do.
And I have only one small black and white photograph of him on my study wall. He’s standing in the backyard of the terraced house they lived in in Oldham. Lancashire. This is a poem I wrote about him a long time ago. My mother once told me that he was gassed in WW1 and never recovered.
My Grandad
I look at the photograph.
He smiles,and silently
he tells me
his story…
In my backyard I stand,
Hands wrapped around a mug of tea.
Shirt sleeves, rolled back,
Reveal tattoos – slack muscles.
I grin.
All teeth.
Who cares that they’re more black
Than white.
Underneath
That’s my life.
That’s the grin I learned
When burned
By poison
Spreading
Like wild garlic.
That’s the grin I wear
When I look
But don’t see
The dark oil glistening,
Blistering, inside me.
When I hear, but don’t listen
To my lungs closing.
I posture,
Braces fastened for the photo,
Chest puffed out.
Nothing touches me –
Now.
Later I cough my guts up –
Chuck up.
I trod on corpses: dead horses,
Blown up in a field
Where grass had yielded
To strong yellow nashers.
And in the pastures
I shat myself.
But smelled no worse
Than my mate, Henry, next to me
Whose head grinned down from the parapet –
Ten yards away.
He has perfect, white teeth.
Much good they’ve done him,
Except for that last night at home
When the girl smiled back.
It feels right that I post the images below – if it wasn’t for my mother and grandad, I probably wouldn’t have had the inspiration to write these books.
Judith Barrow 