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#HistFicThursdays - Capturing the Essence of History

 I - along with my fellow members of Crowvus - are very excited about our new release on 16th September. We fell in love with this story for a number of different reasons, and one of the key ones for me was the role of history. Of course, when you have a story about the governing and governance of time, there is going to be some element of the past, but the way in which Elizabeth McKay so casually and seamlessly interweaves the past with the present is both clever and effective. Finding our own place in time is not always easy, and neither is finding a place in our current time for the past. Discussing an historical fiction book recently over the weekend's breakfast, we were led into the confusing cycle of how fine the line is between pioneering characters and utterly unbelievable ones. The conversation actually began because of a discussion into our family tree and a look at how the role of registry offices allowed for a step away from the power of the church. In our increasingly ...
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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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