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#HistFicThursdays - Medical History (specifically thyroids!)

 This week has been a mad one. Close to the start of the Christmas period, we found out that Mum would be having a thyroidectomy on Candlemas (the final day of the Christmas season). Of course, this was not enough to spoil Christmas. As readers of this blog are no doubt aware, Christmas happens in a big way in this house. But when the day finally arrived it was nonetheless met with, if not fear, definite nervousness. I'm pleased to say that the procedure seems to have been a great success! And wouldn't it have been? Thyroid treatment has been developing for over four thousand years. You know me - somewhat obsessed with putting doctors, nurses, physicians and surgeons in my historical fiction - I made a (very brief) wander into the realms of researching the topic. I was surprised by the results. The earliest I could find a reference to treatments for thyroid issues (in this instance a goitre) came in 2697BC, when the legendary Yellow Emperor recorded the use of seaweed in treati...
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#HistFicThursdays - The Fishwife's Lullaby - Free Poem

 During November, the Scottish reading and writing community come together for Book Week Scotland. This week-long, themed event is designed to break barriers and promote a love of books and reading for all. This year's theme is Hope, and I encourage all of you - whether you are in Scotland or not - to keep up with and enjoy the events which are happening (quite a few are online). This year, Book Week Scotland is 18th-24th November.

So, in the spirit of community and hope, here is a little poem I wrote about a mother rocking her child to sleep. It embodies the fears and hopes of the historical communities of Orkney, where I grew up, and Caithness, where I live now. In a time before mobile phones or satellite weather forecasting, hope was the only connection those on land had with their loved ones on the sea.

The Fishwife’s Lullaby

Hush…
Father’s boat will soon be mooring.
You shall see him in the morning
When tide returns him home.

Sleep…
Time for thoughts and dreams of glory.
Time to drift to realms of story
Where gallant deeds are done.

Rest…
Do not heed the wind’s load roaring
Nor the shrieks of gulls that, soaring
On night’s wings, fill the air.

Peace…
Have no fear, though breaking waves crash,
And the snarling, heaving, sprays lash
Against the harbour walls.

Calm…
Noises poison minds at midnight,
Things we see without our eyesight
Lay traps and catch us there.

Hush…
Father’s boat will soon be mooring.
We shall see him in the morning.
Pray tide returns him home.

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