Tag: author
Where It All Began 12
And Where it Nearly Ended
March 1977 and we had been in Mogan, Gran Canaria for four months. The police informed us someone had broken into a car and stolen some German tourist’s luggage. We couldn’t help, we’d not seen or heard anything, and so they left. I was considering a dive, when a white car screeched into the carpark. Two smartly dressed guys got out, walked over, told Peter they were Cuerpo General de Policía (CID) ordered him to sit on a log and I was taken to the drivers door by one, while the other searched the van.
He banged my head against the van door and asked, “Why you come Espania making trouble?” Now I hadn’t been an angel but my time in Mogan had been trouble free, so I had no answer.
He marched me to his car, put me in the back seat, told Peter to collect me at 6pm and off we drove. I was only 18, but figured this wasn’t an Island Tour. We stopped beside another camper van and Inspector Clouseau got out. Now this was going to be interesting! A few weeks earlier I had been on a night run and as I passed this particular van the guy ran up to me and asked me where his cushions were? I had no idea what he was talking about. He said his cushions had gone the previous night and he saw me running away! Now Clouseau was chatting to him and he nodded and pointed to me.
We continued our journey until we reached the police station. Once inside my detective friend asked me why I stole the cushions. I explained I ran every night but had no need of cushions, so he hit me. To save you any grimacing 😂 Let’s just say this went on for an hour or so. It was broken up by his amigo putting his arm around me and explaining that if I told them where the cushions were he could stop his friend beating me. I’d seen Kojak so I knew good cop, bad cop routine. I’d boxed at school and been in a few street fights so I knew how to take a punch, but not quite so many over a prolonged period, when I finally hit the floor he brought in a German Shepherd (the dog, not a sheep farmer) which barked and snarled at me. Sadly for my detective friends it must have taken pity and started licking my face 😂
There was outrage, some expletives shouted and Rin Tin Tin was removed. I was left to sit in a chair for a few hours with a towel, to wipe the blood off my face and stop the nose bleed, I guess. (I couldn’t see a shower)
Eventually I was helped into reception and given a seat. Clouseau smiled and presented me with some papers. “Sign these and you may go.” At that point Peter arrived spotted me, and shouted sign nothing! He was still shouting it as they ushered him outside and locked the door.
A debate followed that went roughly like this:
“Sign the papers.”
“No.”
This chat went back and forth for about 15 mins. Eventually Clouseau sighed stood up and walked me to the door. He looked at Peter and told him we must leave the island within a week. Told me I was free to go and held out his hand to shake 😂 (It didn’t happen!)
Peter didn’t speak. We drove until we reached the sea. He leaned into the back of the van, grabbed a towel and told me to go soak, the sea water would be good for my mashed face and sore ribs etc. He said we were due to leave at the end of March anyway so no harm done.
So that was it, our tour complete and time to head back to Jersey. Peter must have remembered my statement back in Spain when Mudguts and I had become feral. As I climbed out of the van he said. “ What did the British Consul say, by the way?” 😂😂
Happy Trails, Folks x
Where It All Began 11
Christmas
Christmas, Gran Canaria in 1976 was a little different to a Bradford council estate. In fact, nothing seemed to be planned. Our two Aussie friends had departed for Italy, which I believe Peter was pleased about, as I now had no partner in crime. We were a little short on cash, the fishing was not so good locally, and so we’d taken the inflatable three miles up the coast where it was remarkably better.
You know how life can throw little problems at you? Well, it was one of those days. We’d caught quite a few fish, but when we returned to the inflatable it was no longer inflated 😂 We fired up the outboard but it was dragging the boat under, so we paddled. A long hour passed by before a fishing boat came into view. We scrounged a lift with the aforesaid pancake hanging over the back. It was late when we got back so we dumped the darn thing on the beach, and using what they now call “Black Ops” in the world of espionage, we sold the fish to a restaurant that wasn’t owned by the local Chief of Police’s brother. Yup, we’d crossed a line of a family dynasty.
The following day the inflatable and the outboard had gone. The Police Chief saw us on the beach, came over and told us we should be more careful in all things we do, shrugged and walked away. When you are in a foreign place sometimes you have to accept what is. Anyaways… Peter had to go into Las Palmas, so I decided I could swim the three miles, get some fish and swim back. It was a pleasant swim, and took less than two hours. I knew from the previous day where to fish. You may have been in the sea for two hours? If you have you’ll know your skin becomes very soft. I rested the handle of my speargun tight into my belly and pulled the thick bands back, locking them into the trigger mechanism, at least I thought I had. As I let go the spear flew out and the wishbone of the bands ripped the skin from the inside of my hands. Have you ever been submerged in salt water with no skin on the inside of your hands?😂
Yesterday had been one of those days, it appeared today was feeling lonely and wanted to join in. I tried to load the gun again, but it wasn’t going to happen. My mind likes to toy with me in those kind of situations and so it recalled the film, Jaws where Robert Shaw said blood in the water attracts Sharks. I decided it was probably a good idea to swim back. The swim home took a little longer than the swim there and Peter was waiting on the shore when I finally returned. His comment? “At least the wounds don’t need cleaning😂” Oh well, at least it was Christmas.
Happy Trails, Folks x
Where It All Began 10
San Nicolás
On the west of Gran Canaria is San Nicolás and it’s remote. We’d been a few times, but it was always too rough to dive. We drove down out of the mountains and I could see the ocean raging against the land, but I knew it wouldn’t matter. Peter was not a patient man. There was a jetty where you could enter the water, but with a 40ft swell and waves crashing over our entry point I was a tad nervous.
We donned our wetsuits and walked down to our departure point. An old man shouted “Loco.” Once in the water I swam hard to get away from the wall. Peter had instructed me to stay with him, I lost sight of him within 5 mins.😂 After an hour or so I had a few fish, and decided on one last dive and then I was done. We liked to dive holes, rocks on top of each other formed little caves where fish would lay. I found one and slid into it. On my way out I felt something snag above me, and realised my weight (backpack) was stuck. Peter had told me the only thing that can kill you underwater is panic. So, although I was really keen to re-surface and breathe, I wriggled back inside, dropped down and tried again. I was jolly well relieved when I got out of there, I can tell you😂 Now I had to swim back!
It appeared I had drifted a fair way out. I was beyond the headland and could barely make out the jetty. But, I got my head down, kept finning, and eventually I’d made progress. I saw Peter as I neared the shore and he told me it’d be tricky getting out, and he would take my gear and fish in for me. He told me not to come in until he waved me in. The idea being that a big wave would drop me onto the jetty rather than smash me on the rocks, as he put it. 😂 It worked!
As we walked back to the van a crowd gathered, one of them was the local landlord and he offered to buy our fish. He said he’d take them to the bar and if we called there after we’d changed he’d pay us. Which we did.
He paid us immediately and offered us a beer. There were a few fishermen in the bar who were obviously impressed, not only because we had ventured into that broiling mass, but that we actually survived 😂 A few moments later the landlords wife came from the kitchen with our fish on a large platter. Her husband told us to choose one each and she disappeared again, returning a little later with two cooked fish and those wonderful garlic potatoes the Spanish do so well.
We stayed a while, drank beer, laughed with the locals and revelled in the kudos. Eventually Peter asked for the bill and the landlord waved us away, Apparently we were to pay nothing. Outside the bar the old man who had shouted “Loco” approached me and placed his hand on my shoulder. He said something in Spanish, I looked at Peter with my usual teenage blank expression, he had some knowledge of the language. A rough translation was “Today you have learned not to fear the sea. You must never fear the sea. But you must always respect her, and never underestimate her. You are young and today you maybe underestimated her. Maybe you showed her disrespect, that it is not for me to say. Whatever you did today, she forgave you. Be careful young one. She does not forgive often and never, will she forgive twice.” He squeezed my shoulder, gave me a grin and walked away.
It appeared I had learned yet another lesson. A few years ago I turned this experience into a short story and was shortlisted for the Olga Sinclair prize and published in an anthology Tales From The Tide.
Happy Trails, Folks x
Bempton Cliffs
A visit to Bempton Cliffs nature reserve
We don’t go out on Bank Holidays. There was a particularly nasty experience some 20 years ago which involved a five hour traffic jam and a few harsh words from both sides of the vehicle. This recent Bank Holiday was different though. A. We no longer live near Stonehenge and B. We are older, more tolerant. Plus the weather forecast clearly stated it was going to be overcast and chilly. Not ideal for lounging in the garden. As I am member of the RSPB we thought it would be good to go to Bempton Cliffs reserve. It’s free if you’re a member and as a Yorkshireman I like, free.
I’m not what you could call a twitcher, unless someone is being uncouth, which tends to affect the left eye. And, someone did mention over the breakfast table that they didn’t need to drive 26 miles to see a Gannet. 😂 The place is full of Gannets and Guillemots, but we all want to see a Puffin, don’t we? Sadly they were nesting which means they were tucked away. Although a nice young RSPB lady had a telescope pointing at one, who was bobbing around on the sea. You’re not going to get any birdy pics I’m afraid. The iPhone isn’t really any good on zoom as you can see below. But it was a lovely walk and the weather forecast was completely wrong.
Now here’s my favourite bit. Afterwards we decided to go on to Bridlington, and you know what that means? Yup, Fish and Chips with curry sauce (they couldn’t fit the mushy peas on 😂) I have to say, I do love a seaside town and if the English temperature rose by 4 degrees and the sun shone from June to September I’d stay at home for holidays.
The sculpture is by Emma Stothard, The Bridlington Lobster. Apparently Bridlington is the shellfish capital of Europe and lands more shellfish than any other port on the continent. Who would have known?
Happy Trails, Folks x
Ana’s New Book
Blog Tour
Esther Chilton – Myths and Magic
Today I am delighted to feature Esther Moonstomp (Chilton) on her blog tour. Myths and Magic is Esther’s second book in her children’s series Saffy’s Secret Quest. So, without further ado, I’ll hand you over to Esther.
Charlie has very kindly allowed me to take over his blog for a short while as part of the blog tour for my second children’s book, Myths and Magic. A huge thank you to Charlie for his support. I really appreciate it.
So here I am on stop two of my tour, with book two. The Secret Dragon was the first in the Saffy’s Secret Quest Series and was released last year. The second book is due out on the 28th May but the paperback is available now to pre-order. The series is for 5-7 year olds, so it’s ideal for parents to read to children or for those that have just started to read on their own. It’ll make a great gift for any young children you know!
The Blurb:
Saffy has solved the first clue in her quest to save the magical world of Mandoreum from danger. Now it’s time to find the second.
She isn’t alone. Her new friend, Lily, a dragon from Mandoreum, wants to help. Together they take a trip and uncover special stories and unexpected surprises.
But Saffy soon learns that first appearances are not always what they seem. And plotting in the background is a witch who will do everything she can to stop them…
Extract:
Saffy looked around. She had been to the museum so many times she had forgotten how exciting it was. Colourful posters hung on the walls and interactive screens flickered as they changed image. A brightly lit café was over at the far corner and there was a gift shop bursting with toys, pens, notepads and all sorts the other side.
“I wish I was playing football with my friends,” Harry said huffily. “Museums are boring.”
“It’s far too wet to play football. And you know how much you enjoyed it here last time. If you’re a good boy, perhaps you can have an ice-cream a bit later,” Mum said.
“It’s raining. I don’t want an ice-cream when it’s raining,” Harry grumbled.
“I’ll save my money, then.” Mum took a protesting Harry by the hand and walked over to the first display.
“Harry is being even more annoying than usual,” Saffy whispered to Lily. “We’ll let them go on ahead and follow.”
A few moments later, Saffy stopped by a collection of spears and ancient tools. “Look at these, Lily.” She smiled as her friend peeped out over the top of her pocket. “They’re hundreds and hundreds of years old.”
“What’s that over there?” Lily pointed to a little mud hut.
Before Saffy knew it, the dragon had clambered out of her pocket and slid down to the floor.
“Where are you going? Stop!” Saffy called after her.
She noticed a group of children walking towards them. Uh oh!
Author bio:
Esther has been a freelance writer for over twenty-five years, regularly writing articles and short stories for magazines and newspapers such as Writers’ Forum, Writing Magazine, The Guardian, Best of British, The Cat, This England, Yours and The People’s Friend.
Winner of several competitions, including those run by Writing Magazine and The Global Short Story Contest, she has also had the privilege of judging writing competitions and relished being given the role of head judge of the Writers’ Forum monthly short story competition.
Esther loves writing but equally enjoys helping others, which she achieves in her role as a tutor for The Writers Bureau. Always on the lookout for a new challenge, she is taking the distance learning college over at the end of July.
She has had two how-to books on writing published, with a third due out later this year, as well as two collections of short stories. Her second children’s book is coming out in May, where she writes under the name of Esther Moonstomp.
Blogs: https://estherchilton.co.uk
Buying links:
UK: Paperback: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Myths-Magic-Saffys-Secret-Quest/dp/1806342103
Ebook: details to be released soon.
US: details to be released soon.
Where it All Began 4
Jersey
So there I was, seventeen-years-old, sitting on a plane heading to a far away island. My first view of Jersey didn’t disappoint, but I had just left a Bradford council estate where, after my first happy ten years as a countryboy, it had been cold, raining and totally depressing, so the bar was pretty low. I had become a different person during the years in Bradford, and not a particularly nice one. All it seemed to have taught me was how to fight and drink, but I had escaped.
I wondered what kind of reception I would get. I had some ideas. Fantasy Island wasn’t released until a year later but that it was the kind of image I had imagined.
There was a distinct lack of hula hula girls with flowers in their hair. No sophisticated, enigmatic Mr Roarke or a helpfull Tattoo, just a copper looking at me as I trudged past with my battered suitcase and an old guitar on my back. I left the airport, caught a bus into town and did what any sensible person would do. I went to the Tourist Information Office and asked if they had a list of B&Bs. There was one priced at £2.50 per night (remember this was 1976). When I arrived I saw an attractive brunnette leaning on the wall outside, she turned out to be the owner. I was 17, I wasn’t going anywhere else.
Now they say you make your own luck, I guess that could be true. It turned out her husband was a self employed uphosterer and could do with some cheap labour. Even at £1 an hour I jumped at the chance. He was also a sports diver/competition spearfisherman. Now we were talking. I had been watching Jacques Cousteau for many years, so diving was right at the top of my list, even after experiencing Mr Spielberg’s Jaws.
One day a friend of my new employer turned up, Peter. He’d heard I wanted to learn how to spearfish. “Jump in the van.” he said. “Why?” I asked. “You’ll need some gear.” He drove me, one by one, to each of his friend’s houses. He told each friend which piece of equipment they no longer used or had never used, and they were to give it to me, and by lunchtime I was fully kitted out. The next few months I was in the sea at every opportunity. In a spearfishing competition you enter the sea at 10am and have until 4pm to catch as many fish as you can. I was hooked (maybe that’s a pun).
One Saturday after a gruelling six hours in the water we were relaxing in the Yatch Club when my employer told Peter. “You should take young Charlie on your trip.” Apparently he was planning to head to the Canary Islands in September living out of a camper van and fishing to survive. The trip would last seven months, returning the following March. “Wanna come?” he asked. Did I want to come? 😂
So it was arranged, six months after arriving on the island and three months after my 18th Birthday I was going to be travelling 3,000km and spearfishing in the Mediterraen and the Atlantic while living out of a camper van. The plan was to take the car ferry to St Malo, drive through France to Spain and fish our way down the Spanish coast to Cadiz. A ferry would then take us to our final destination. A small village called Mogan on the island of Gran Canaria.
Felices senderos mis amigos 😉x
Where It All Began 3
Bradford
I’d had ten years living on two farms until one day it all changed. We were moving to a place called Bradford. I presume this came from mum as I later found out she hated the countryside. As for dad, he’d spent six years fighting the Germans, mostly in the desert with Montgomery and Rommel. Although I don’t think he had much of a relationship with Rommel. He just wanted a quiet life. So, off we went to a council estate in Bradford, the accommodation wasn’t quite what I had been used to.
It was all very exciting for the first week as I started exploring the council estate, but I soon discovered it was more or less the same wherever you went. During the second week I was beaten up by some other boys. After the third time I was beaten, I took some advice and joined the school boxing club. Drummond Road Boys School was a hell hole and features in the opening of my first book, The Siege of Mr Khan’s Curry Shop.
Mum and dad were working most days and nights in a Working Men’s Club at the other side of town. I became self sufficient by my twelfth birthday and I was feral 😂 I was smoking at fourteen, left school, started work and by my fifteenth birthday I was drinking regularly in Bradford city centre. I had certainly changed.
At seventeen-years-old, I’d had enough. There were several reasons for this. Looking around me I could see my future, and it was grim, but then one day I was chatting to an old bloke at work. I was an apprentice engineer in a factory. He told me I had a job for life, and he had been coming through those gates for fifty years. My first thought was, Ronnie Biggs only got thirty years, and he’d robbed a train. What had I done wrong?! The way it was back then is where I got the original idea for my first novel. The racsim especially from the skinheads was rife, and as ‘rockers’ we were firmly against it. There were often tussles (polite description 😂)
Dad died when I was sixteen-years-old and a year later mum wanted to go and live with one of my elder sisters. I decided to travel the world, and started to save for a Landrover. Sadly I was an impatient seventeen-year-old and so, with the few pounds I’d saved, I bought a cheap Austin 1800. I met a man at the back of some garages, who said I couldn’t test drive it. “It ain’t taxed, mate, and I still own it until the papers go through. You can drive it away though, if you give me the dosh.”
I paid him and drove away only to find it jumped out of third gear, of course, he’d gone when I returned to the lockups 😂. A mechanic friend informed me it was going to cost more than the car was worth to fix it.
Plan ‘B’ it was then! I decided to purchase a one way ticket to an island called Jersey. I was seventeen, had £70 in my pocket and I wasn’t coming back!
I wonder how many of you good people set out to do one thing and then ended up doing something completely different?
Happy Trails, Folks x
From Batman to Hawkboy: A Nostalgic Childhood Tale
The countryside and nature was in my blood, but this was the 60’s and I had been introduced to the world of Superheroes. Batman was on the TV every week and for a while I was hooked. I still have the soundtrack and the annual. 😂
I’ve never been a watcher, I always want to be involved, to be doing something. So, maybe it was time I tried my hand at this superhero business, naturally my first choice was Batman.
Don’t get me wrong being Batman was okay, and I felt inspired, but I was an impostor. I began to search for a yet to be discovered superhero. Difficult without Google🤔. Saturday shopping days meant I was dropped at the library in Wetherby while mum and dad did what ever they did in town. In 1240, King Henry VIII issued a Royal Charter granting the Knights Templar the right to hold a market in Wetherby every Thursday and so Wetherby was a Market Town.
But I was more interested in the wonders of the library. I approached the elderly lady who ran the library and enquired if she knew of the existence of a Hawkboy. She retrieved a copy of A&C Black’s Who’s Who and began to search, to no avail. Eventually I had to infrom her that he was a superhero. She looked puzzled for a moment and then explained it was unlikely a superhero would be listed as they have to submit the biography themselves, which may jepordise their anonymity. I think she took pity on me and added.
“There is a chap in Kirk Deighton who keeps hawks but he doesn’t have a son. So, if someone wanted to take on the role, I think it would be such an adventure.”
That was all I needed, I was over the moon and I began to create my alter-ego. From my base (a tiny cubbyhole under the stairs) I started work. I used my Wolverhampton Wanderers football shirt (yellow), an old pair of mum’s tights, my old trunks (yeah, I know, a therapist would love that!) The batman cloak, utility belt and mask was handy. My utility belt was stuffed with things like my pen knife, laser gun and some baler twine. All I had to do now was hide somewhere and wait for trouble.
When you’re the only kid on the farm there isn’t a lot of crime, but one hot summer’s day mum asked me to go blackberry picking. Would there be blackberry rustlers? I couldn’t take the chance. I wore my costume beneath my ordinary clothes, it was imperative to keep my identity secret. Mum was surprised I was wearing my long farmwork trousers but I won the debate. I was quite an insistent ten-year-old. “You’ll be too hot,” she sighed and we set off.
The sun got higher, burnt off the few meagre clouds, and the heat intensified. I began to pray for a villain, any villain, a naughty sparrow would have sufficed, I was Hawkboy afterall! I began to feel a little sick, my skin felt clammy and I was so thirsty. When I began to feel faint, mum took a good look at me and began to wrench my outer clothes off. I tried to repel her, but eventually I had no option but to reveal my identity. After calling me a, “Silly little bugger,” but promising to keep my alter ego secret, we agreed that Hawkboy could have a day off and I removed the supersuit. There were raised eyebrows when she saw her tights, but I explained how sacrifices have to be made for the safety of the planet. She replied, “Aye, that may be, but not today. Drink some water!”
Happy Trails, Folks x
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