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#HistFicThursdays - A Shape on the Air by Julia Ibbotson - Spotlight

 This week for #HistFicThursdays, I'm delighted to be teaming up with  The Coffee Pot Book Club  to welcome back  Julia Ibbotson  and her fabulous writing! Here's a spotlight on her brilliant book,  A Shape on the Air . So, let's meet the book... Can echoes of the past threaten the present? They are 1500 years apart, but can they reach out to each other across the centuries? One woman faces a traumatic truth in the present day. The other is forced to marry the man she hates as the 'dark ages' unfold. How can Dr Viv DuLac, medievalist and academic, unlock the secrets of the past?  Traumatised by betrayal, she slips into 499 AD and into the body of Lady Vivianne, who is also battling treachery. Viv must uncover the mystery of the key that she unwittingly brings back with her to the present day, as echoes of the past resonate through time. But little does Viv realise just how much both their lives across the centuries will become so intertwined. And in th...

#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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