Friday, 18 August 2017

Guest post - Marsali Taylor

I thought we'd have change from talking about the Napoleonic Wars this week. UK readers may have noticed that my books are currently unavailable outside North America, although Endeavour Press will be republishing them soon. So this seems a good time to give some space to Marsali Taylor to take us further back in history and write about the Viking background to her contemporary stories set in the Shetlands.

Over to you, Marsali.

Vikings and Shetlanders

I’ve written only one published historical novella, Footsteps in the Dew, but history
keeps cropping up in my contemporary Cass detective novels. The Vikings ruled Shetland for over
five hundred years, from their arrival in the north around 735 to the hand-over to the Scots in 1468, and their influence is everywhere you go in modern Shetland.

All our places were named by the Norse settlers, though the meanings aren’t as exotic as
the names, for they’re simple descriptions: Swartaskerry, the black rock.  Scarvataing, the
point of the cormorants, or scarfs. Aith, or Eid, my own village, is old
Norse for 'isthmus' - it occupies the land between two bays.  Roe (from the same Viking word as the Scots Gaelic 'ruaidh'), means 'red' - the island of Muckle Roe is the big, red island.  Brae, where Death on a Longship (the first of the Cass novels) is set, means 'broad' - it's a wide inlet.  When my heroine, Cass, guides her replica longship into the Hams of Roe, she reflects that, 'This would be my big test as skipper, to bring the ship in to shore without an engine, just as the Vikings had done, and in this place too.  Hams came from the old Norse ‘hamar’, a landing place.   I liked that idea.'

The Vikings also left their language, and in spite of the 500 years of Scottish overlords that came after them, the Shetland dialect is still scattered with the words they spoke.  In that last paragraph, I had to think for words like 'bay' and 'inlet' instead of the word that came naturally: voe, a long sea inlet.  There are words for strength of wind: a grain o wind, a flan, a stour, a flying gale.  There are two words for you; if you were speaking formally, you'd use the English 'you', but with a friend, you'd say 'thee' and 'thou', except that 'th' is pronounced 'd' in Shetland, so it’s 'dee' or 'du':  'Noo dan, boy, foo's du?  Is dee midder aboot?'  ('Now then, boy, how are you?  Is your mother about?') - and notice the grammer, foo is du? how is you? instead of the English how are you?  Older Shetlanders insist that if they talk broad dialect in Norway, they have no difficulty making themselves understood.

The architecture is Norse too. The traditional crofthouse is long and low, with the house, barn (for hay) and byre (for animals) all in a straight line, just like the Viking house excavated at Jarlshof.  They used to say, too, that there were no remains of Viking houses in Shetland - well, not where archeologists could get at them, for canny Shetlanders weren't going to waste a good trodden floor and stones to hand.  When the old crofthouse was past living in, they re-built on the same site.  The Viking foundations are there, all right, but they're still being used. 

The Vikings were sailors, first and foremost.  When Cass launches her restored longship, she marvels at their boatbuilding skills: 'Ah, they were seamen, those long-dead Vikings.  She breasted the waves as if she was rejoicing in the sea.  We raised the yard, and the ochre and red striped cotton sail billowed out, caught the wind, and Stormfugl rose with it, the helm suddenly lightening.  I looked forward at the milky horizon, at the great curve of sail above me, and sent up a thanksgiving for the day.'  Go to Shetland's museum, in Lerwick, or better still, to any country regatta, and you'll see Viking boats: double-ended yoals, rowed by six crew, or the light-weight flyers called Shetland Models, crewed by three, and some still with the single sqaure sail hanging from a horizontal yard, just as on a Viking ship.  Even the everyday rowing skiffs are double-ended.  

Like their ancestors, the Shetlanders used the sea as transport.  It wasn't a barrier, it was a road.  A map of the North Atlantic puts Shetland in its proper place.  Before land transport took over, we were the centre of the northern trading universe.  Those Vikings who built their house at Jarlshof were fish traders, selling provisions to the ships going on to Faroe, Iceland, Greenland, America - we know this because of the size and quantity of fish 'lug bones' found.  Later, in medieval times, Shetland was the centre of the Hanseatic League, trading between north Germany, Norway, Denmark.  The Dutch fishing vessels filled the muddy bay of Lerwick so thickly that you would walk across them to the island of Bressay, a mile away, and little boys had fun creating chaos by swapping round their wooden clogs, neatly lined up outside the Muckle Kirk while the fishermen worshipped inside.  

Later still came the whaling vessels, on their way to Jan Mayen island for seals, then to Baffin Bay.  While the women worked the laand, Shetland men went to sea from March to September, to earn cash to pay their rent.  In the two world wars, more Shetland men were lost, proportionately, than from any other county in Britain, mostly as merchant seamen.  Don't under-estimate the little old man in his cap and boiler suit; in his days with 'the Merchant service' he's probably seen more foreign lands than you've ever dreamed of.

And the people themselves, have they kept that Viking look?  Well, yes, many have.  I was in Yell recently, north of Mainland, where the Scots word 'tatties' (potatoes) comes out as the Norwegian-sounding 'tauties', and the man taking the money on the ferry could have come straight from a Viking ship: not very tall, but broad-shouldered, with red-gold hair, worn long, and a magnificent red beard.  Tall, fair girls are rarer, but you still see them, particularly on the east coast.  If you asked a Shetlander which he felt closer to, the Norwegians or the Scots, there'd be no hesitation about the answer: 'The Scots were interlopers.  The Norskies, they're our cousins.'

Marsali Taylor

Marsali's web site is at and her Facebook page is

Marsali has written a non-fiction study of women's suffrage in Scotland, as well as contemporary detective stories. Her heroine, Cass, keeps colliding with history. In The Trowie Mound Murders, she gets shut inside a Neolithic tomb; she falls foul of a modern coven in Scalloway, the last place in Scotland to burn witches, in A Handful of Ash. The Body in the Bracken gives her an encounter with the Norse folklore malevolent water spirit, njuggle, and she patrols an archaelogical site in Ghosts of the Vikings - but, as they say in the Shetlands, those are tales for another time.

Friday, 11 August 2017


Last week's post on Napoleon proved popular with readers, so this week I'm writing about the other great protagonist of the Napoleonic Wars: Wellington.

The Duke of Wellington was born Arthur Wesley in 1769, the same year as Napoleon. He was born in Ireland to a Protestant family which traced its ancestry back to 12th century Somerset. He was sent to a preparatory school in Chelsea to ensure that he did not grow up with an Irish accent.

The Duke of Wellington, by Sir Thomas Lawrence. Painted c. 1815–16, after Waterloo

He went to Eton, but it is unlikely that he really said that the battle of Waterloo was won on the playing fields there, if only because he was noted for his lack of interest in sports.

As the third son of a family without much money, Wellington was doomed to join the Army, though, a talented violinist, he might have preferred a career in music like his father, the Professor of Music at Trinity College, Dublin. His mother (not a notably sympathetic figure) was clear. He was “food for powder and nothing more”.

At sixteen he was sent to the Royal Academy of Equitation in Anjou in preparation for military life. Despite its name, the Academy offered training in swordplay, fencing, mathematics and the humanities as well as riding. Arthur appears to have flourished there and returned to London in time to join the 73rd Highland Regiment in 1787.

For several years Arthur's military career stagnated. He moved from one regiment to another, his family buying him commissions until he reached the rank of lieutenant colonel, but his role was limited to ordering up wine and entertaining the ladies as aide de camp in Dublin Castle. It was not until 1794 that he first saw action with the 33rd Foot in the disastrous Dutch campaign commemorated in the nursery rhyme about the Duke of York who marched 10,000 men to the top of the hill and back again. In fact, all too many of the 10,000 did not make it back again and Arthur was one of the few commanders whose men had any success in combat, beating the French at Boxtel on 15 September 1794.

The failure of the Dutch expedition left Arthur back in Dublin. Another purchase made him a full colonel, but with no immediate prospect of action. It wasn't until 1796 that he was to set off for India.
India was to be the making of him. It was the era when Britain was still consolidating its power with the annexation of the princely states and, though Arthur was repeatedly denied command of any really large campaigns, he fought a number of small ones to great effect. India gave a young colonel the opportunity to command huge armies. In the invasion of Mysore, Arthur commanded not only the 33rd but ten battalions of sepoys, ten thousand miscellaneous horsemen, and twenty-six guns. 

Arthur was by now calling himself Wellesley, an older version of the family name, favoured by his brother, who aspired to a peerage and thought that reverting to this spelling of the name might help his plans for upward social mobility. Arthur, who was apt to go along with this sort of thing, started signing his name as ‘Wellesley’ from May 1798.

Wellesley achieved a number of notable military victories in India. His triumph at Assaye was lauded by the Governor-General of India as a "most brilliant and important victory" but, as the Governor-General was his brother, he may not have been totally impartial. Still, there is no doubt that the battle was an important success and Wellesley always considered it his greatest victory, though (as, much later, at Waterloo) he was distressed by the scale of British casualties.

Wellington at Assaye - National Army Museum

India also gave Wellesley the opportunity to demonstrate his administrative skills. In his post as adviser to the Rajah of Mysore, he was effectively the British government's representative to a court which was obliged to accept the reality of British rule, albeit exercised through the Rajah. Wellesley proved efficient at imposing a firm and just rule, reducing corruption, amongst both the native officials and the British military.

Arthur Wellesley returned to England in 1805 with an established reputation as both an extraordinarily successful fighting general and an effective administrator, but found himself with no immediate role. He spent some time as Chief Secretary to Ireland, with an interlude to invade Denmark in 1807. Ireland bored him. Desperate for a more active role in the fight against Napoleon, he wrote to the Canning (Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs), : "I… am ready to set out for any part of the world at a moment’s notice.”

In 1808, it looked as if he might be packed off to South America to liberate the Spanish colonies there. (This features in Burke in the Land of Silver.) Napoleon's invasion of Spain, though, put an end to these plans. The British decided to provide military help to the Spanish resistance and the force that had been conceived as the Army of the Americas was diverted to meet this new requirement. In July 1808 Wellesley was on his way to Spain and the start of the Peninsular War.

What was the Peninsular War and why did it matter?

In 1808 Napoleon invaded Spain. In May, the people rose up in rebellion in Madrid – a rising that was put down with extreme brutality. (There's an account of this in Burke in the Land of Silver.) As is so often the case, the brutal response to the unrest led to a growth of resistance. Soon Spanish troops loyal to their old King and supported by irregulars who gave us the word guerrilla were in open warfare against the French.

Goya's famous depiction of French reprisals after the Madrid Uprising
The Shootings of May Third 1808

The Spanish forces were no match for Napoleon's troops, but the British saw the opportunity to take the fight to the French and sent substantial forces to the Iberian Peninsula, landing in Portugal and marching into Spain. This was the start of a long and bloody conflict. Against the drama of Napoleon's sweep eastward through Europe and the disaster of the Retreat from Moscow, it is easy to see the Peninsular War as a sideshow. The fighting in Spain, though, may well have been decisive to the conclusion of the Napoleonic wars, because for significant periods of time the British presence in the peninsula was the only threat to Napoleon in Western Europe. The fighting there was effectively a second front and, if European history has taught us one thing, it is that a country fighting a two front war starts at an enormous disadvantage.

For years the war in Spain was inconclusive. The British would advance, at one stage taking Madrid, and then be driven back toward Portugal. Some of the reverses saw them suffering terrible losses, but over time the French were gradually driven back toward the Pyrenees and by 1813 Wellesley was able to cross into France, reaching Toulouse by April 1814. He had high hopes of driving north to Paris and bringing down Napoleon, but by then Napoleon was already under attack by the Russians, Austrians and Prussians (Britain’s allies in the Sixth Coalition). Paris fell at the end of March and, as the news of Napoleon's abdication reached Toulouse, the Peninsular campaign was finally over.

Wellington and James Burke

Wellington features in two of the Burke books. We meet him first in Burke in the Land of Silver when Burke is assigned to his staff to plan the invasion of Argentina - the one that was aborted when Britain decided to invade Spain instead. Wellington meets him again in Brussels on the eve of Waterloo (Burke at Waterloo), when Burke foils an attempt on his life. Both these books are currently unavailable in the UK, but can be bought in the US through Simon & Schuster's website.

All my books are shortly to be republished in the UK by Endeavour Press, who will also be publishing a new book about Burke's adventures fighting under Wellington in the Peninsular War.

Friday, 4 August 2017


My books about James Burke are largely set in the Napoleonic Wars - the only wars I can think of named after a person. Despite Napoleon's obvious importance, even more than 200 years after the end of his rule, there seem to be gaps in the "things that everybody knows" about him. Many people know that Napoleon wrote the palindrome 'Able was I ere I saw Elba' (actually, he didn't). But what was Napoleon doing on Elba in the first place? Who exactly was he and why did he become so important?

I'm nervous of adding to all the blogs about Napoleon, but I've finally decided to give it a go. This could grow into something bigger, so I'd be interested to know what you think. I know that the odd Napoleon buff reads this, so I'd like to hear what I've got wrong too. Please respond in the comments or, if you can't post there (apparently Blogger can be tricksy sometimes), email me at

A (very) short introduction to Napoleon

Anyone visiting the site of the Battle of Waterloo might be forgiven for thinking that Napoleon won it. Waterloo is famous as the battle that finally defeated the French emperor. Napoleon may well have been the loser, but it's fair to say that, even now, he occupies a far more splendid place in history than the Duke of Wellington, who commanded the forces that beat him. But who was Napoleon and why does he matter?

The popular image of Napoleon as the little corporal from Corsica who went on to conquer Europe is, at best, misleading. It underestimates his height, ridicules his rank and, by concentrating on his military achievements dismisses far more significant aspects of his impact on European history.

It is said that for every day since the Battle of Waterloo there has been one book published with "Napoleon" in the title. There's no need to add another to the list, but to understand Waterloo and its importance, it helps to have some notion of who Napoleon was.

Napoleon's achievements are systematically underrated in Britain for a very good reason: British wartime propaganda during the years of our conflict with France was remarkably effective and, after his defeat, there were few in Britain who wanted to speak up on his behalf. Over 200 years later, though, it's perhaps worth getting some of the details right.

The Corsican Corporal

Napoleon was, indeed, from Corsica. Corsica had been part of the Republic of Genoa until 1768 and at the time of Napoleon's birth, in 1769, people from mainland France looked down on Corsicans as not really French. This was particularly true for poor young Napoleon, who spoke French very badly and with a strong Corsican accent.

Napoleon's family were a minor branch of Italian nobility and, as his father (a prominent lawyer) supported the new French government of Corsica. This encouraged the French to recognise the Bonapartes (Buonapartes, as they then spelled their name) as aristocrats, despite their misfortune in being born Corsican.

When Napoleon was a young man there was a move by the government to encourage young men from the minor nobility to join the army. Ironically (by today’s standards) this was seen as an attempt to professionalise the army, which had become dominated by rich people often, in the view of the aristocracy, from unsuitable backgrounds. Whatever the merits of the idea (and the results suggested that it wasn’t entirely stupid), Bonaparte, as the son of a minor noble family in Corsica, qualified for a place at the prestigious École Militaire in Paris, which he joined in 1784. Although he is supposed to have been nicknamed ‘The Corsican Corporal’ by other officer-cadets at the school, he was never actually an NCO. Indeed, he graduated as an officer in one year instead of two, as the death of his father while he was in Paris left him running out of money. He was the first Corsican to graduate from the school.

It’s worth mentioning that Napoleon was of average height for the time. Cartoons published in Britain typically showed him as short and running to fat as part of a propaganda effort to (literally) belittle him. It was so successful that the image has stuck for two centuries. In fact, early portraits of Napoleon show a handsome young man.

Napoleon by Andrea Appiani c1801

A professional soldier

The idea of the École Militaire was to produce professional soldiers and Bonaparte was soon making his reputation in the army. He had a natural aptitude for mathematics and joined the artillery, where his skill rapidly brought into the notice of senior officers. Throughout his life, Napoleon was to be notable for his effective use of artillery.

Napoleon’s early military career featured Corsica quite heavily. As a Corsican he was posted there at a time when the locals were threatening to revolt against French rule. Napoleon’s sympathies were torn – he had strong personal ties with one of the rebel leaders – but eventually he committed himself to Paris. When the inevitable revolt finally broke out, the man who was to become one of history’s greatest generals had to retreat to France, driven out by a few rebels.

In fairness, Napoleon had been in an impossible situation, without the force he would have needed to suppress a population who had risen en masse against French occupation. Back in his adopted country, he returned to the artillery corps, rising through the ranks as he acquired seniority. By 1793 he was a captain. His general used to refer to him as “Captain Cannon”.

Napoleon first distinguished himself when the British, taking advantage of the unrest in France that followed the execution of Louis XVI, seized Toulon. In the fighting to recapture the town, Napoleon took the place of an artilleryman who had been killed at his post and burned himself handling a ramrod when it was too hot to be used safely. Foolish as this may have been, his action was seen as that of a brave front-line soldier as well as the excellent artillery tactician that he had already shown himself to be. His reward was to be promoted to general of brigade.

He came to national attention when, in 1796, he was given command of the Army of Italy. France had declared war on Austria and the French government’s plan was for Napoleon to invade northern Italy in what was designed as a diversionary attack to draw Austrian troops away from the Rhine front where the main French offensive was to take place. Instead, though, while the offensive on the Rhine failed, Napoleon led an outnumbered French force to a series of victories that ended with him entering Milan in triumph after only two months.

By 1797 Napoleon was carrying the fight to the enemy, with French troops moving into Austria. By April, he was threatening Vienna and the Austrians began negotiating for peace. 

Napoleon returned to Paris a hero. The republican government (called the Directory) was concerned that he might build on his popularity to become a political actor in France. In order to prevent this, he was sent to lead an invasion of Egypt. The invasion was one of Bonaparte’s few outright military failures. He eventually abandoned his force in Egypt and returned to France. (The French general he left in charge was unimpressed, telling his fellow officers: "That bugger has deserted us with his breeches full of shit."  The French eventually surrendered to the British two years later.)

Despite the failure of the Egyptian campaign, Napoleon had had some success in battles against Turkey and, on his return home he was greeted as a conquering hero. France was in chaos and Napoleon saw the chance to move from a military to a straightforwardly political role. As he said, "I will arrive in Paris. I will chase out that bunch of lawyers who are making a mockery of us and who are incapable of governing the Republic. I will install myself at the head of the government and I will rally all parties in my support.” As was often the case with Napoleon, what sounded like simply a grandiose boast was a straightforward summary of the action he intended to take. 

In October 1799, Napoleon arrived in Paris. The Directory, which had been the ruling junta since 1795, was by then seen as corrupt and incapable. It was brought down in a coup early in November. Government by the committee of the Directory was replaced by government by three consuls. Napoleon, widely seen as both popular and strong, became First Consul.

More than just a soldier

For the British, even today, it is quite natural that we should see Napoleon mainly in terms of his military skill. British contact with Napoleon was mainly limited to contact on the battlefield. Elsewhere in Europe, Napoleon's genius as a ruler and administrator is more properly appreciated.

Napoleon saw himself as an embodiment of the Age of Reason. When he was eventually crowned emperor, in December 1804, he placed the crown on his own head. His position as emperor came about not because of a Divine Right, but by his own efforts.

He wanted to see Europe unified under French rule with a rational system of law. He introduced the Code Napoleon which is, even today, the basis of Western European legal systems. One of the difficulties that Britain has faced in harmonising with the other countries of the European Union has been that, because Britain was never part of the Napoleonic Empire, we have retained an older and completely separate legal system.

Napoleon replaced traditional systems of weights and measures throughout continental Europe. He introduced the metric system, which was based on careful Rationalist principles in which weights and measures were derived from precisely determined scientific principles. (If it turned out later that the distance between the North Pole and the Equator is not, in fact, exactly 10 million metres, this is a detail that we have found it easy to overlook.)

Napoleon was not simply a "big picture" manager. He had an almost obsessive interest in details. From ordering the cleaning up of rubbish in city streets to arranging for junior officers to marry their sweethearts, he was involved at every level of running his Empire.

What did Napoleon think was his greatest achievement? The 30 km of vaulted sewer that started the Paris sewer network that is still there today.

One thing Napoleon wasn't responsible for is the poplar trees planted along French roads. Although they are often said to have been ordered by him so as to shade his troops, they are clearly shown on the initial plans for the roads which date from the time of the monarchy.

Not tonight Josephine

Even the briefest of accounts of Napoleon's life would be incomplete without some mention of his wife, the Empress Josephine.

Marie Josèphe Rose Tascher de La Pagerie was born in the West Indies in 1763. She married a French general, Alexandre de Beauharnais. Her husband was guillotined during the Reign of Terror. When Napoleon was in Paris after his successes in Italy, Josephine’s son, Eugene, approached Napoleon’s staff to ask if his father’s sword, confiscated at the time of his execution, could be returned to the family. Napoleon arranged for this and is supposed to have been present when the young man, seeing his father's sword again, burst into tears. Napoleon was touched by his sensibility and was so kind toward him that Josephine waited on him the next day to thank him for his attention.

Josephine had been working her way through a string of lovers and had soon added Napoleon to the list. They married in March 1796.

Josephine and Napoleon had a tempestuous relationship. Both had other lovers, but they do seem to have kept strong feelings for each other – why else would their quarrels have been so violent? 

However, like so many rulers, Napoleon was desperate for an heir to carry on his dynasty and he and Josephine had no children. In the end he had to divorce her, which he did early in 1810, leaving Napoleon free to marry Marie-Louise of Austria.

Further reading

For a discussion of the origins of the palindrome 'Able was I ere I saw Elba', have a look at Quote Investigator's excellent blog post at

For a discussion of admission criteria for the École militaire, see Harold Guizar 'Entering the École militaire: Proofs of nobility and the example of the girls’ school at Saint-Cyr' Historia 7:37-60 June 2015

An excellent account of Napoleon's Egyptian campaign (which I drew on for Burke and the Bedouin) is Paul Strathern's Napoleon in Egypt (Vintage Books, 2008)

Buying my books

Apart from a passing reference to Burke and the Bedouin, there are no book plugs in this post. This reflects the fact that my books are no longer available from Accent Press in the UK. They will soon be available from Endeavour Press. (Feel free to write and tell them how much you are looking forward to that.) However, I do know that many of my readers are in the USA and you lucky people can still buy all my books through Simon & Schuster. You can even gift e-books through them, as one kind person has explained, having done just that.

Last month my blog had twice as many US readers as readers in the UK, yet my books hardly sell in America. If you enjoy reading the blog, it would be much appreciated if you would buy some of the books.

Friday, 28 July 2017

Castles and ceremony: an English weekend

I know that a lot of US readers enjoy this blog, so I thought I would write about a ridiculously English weekend so you could all feel jealous. Some UK readers might enjoy it too.

This year marks the 75th anniversary of the building of the Army’s main ammunition depot at Kineton, near Warwick. The regiment there has been awarded the Freedom of the City of Warwick and, to mark their anniversary, this Saturday they held a parade through the town. As parades go, it was quite a small affair because it takes surprisingly few military personnel to run an ammunition depot, but it was a big event for those concerned and we were invited to see them form up for the parade.

Warwick Castle

They formed up in Warwick Castle. There has been a castle on this site since 1068, though it has gone through many changes since then. The defences were significantly enhanced in 1330-60, with additional towers added in the 15th century and, although the defences were allowed to decay, it did see action in the Civil War when it was held for Parliament against the Royalists. It provided a suitably martial backdrop for the 21st century military ceremony we had come to watch.

Seeing a regiment (even a very small regiment) form up is a piece of pure theatre. To the music of the Corps band, men (and a few women) marched, stamped their feet, moved rifles about, and then stood "at ease" while the Colonel of the Regiment and the Lord Lieutenant of the County (representing the Queen) inspected them. One of the officers in the inspection party explained to me that he had three jokes and told them to each man in rotation in a reasonably successful effort to make them laugh on the parade.

The Lord Lieutenant of the county (representing the Queen) inspects the troops

After the compulsory small talk, the troops marched out, led by the officers with their swords drawn.
It was an impressive display by people whose primary role is that they are ammunition technicians.

After the public theatre of forming up, the troops vanished out of sight where, after a pause while spectators were shuffled about and police cleared the roads, they formed up for the actual parade – a private process which was probably accompanied by rather less shouting and stamping of feet. Still, as they marched through the streets of Warwick they made an impressive sight. The bandsmen led the way in their number-one uniforms. Then came the officers with their swords still drawn and men with fixed bayonets (apparently ceremonially significant in the whole Freemen of the City business) with an array of military and civic dignitaries in a variety of splendid uniforms bringing up the rear.

Afterwards there was tea and cake with the Lord Mayor and even a proclamation by the town crier who really did start with “Oyez, oyez, oyez!” It was terribly British and everyone, spectators and soldiers alike, seems to thoroughly enjoy it. The hours spent in parade drill and the tedium of polishing buttons and belts was forgotten. Everyone loves a parade and military ceremonial has always been an important part of our national life. It is easy to forget, perhaps, that the staff at Kineton are responsible for horrific amounts of munitions. It’s not a ceremonial role at all.

The Town Crier doing his stuff

We left Warwick after our tea and cakes and drove south to another castle.

Herstmonceaux was the first brick-built castle in England. It was put up in the 15th century, when brick built castles were the latest thing in France and hence viewed as very fashionable in England. It was designed as a symbol of the power and prestige of the Herstmonceux family rather than a serious defensive castle, being built in an exposed spot of no real strategic value. It was, though, always a place of considerable beauty. It was used as a family home until the 18th-century, when the decision was made to demolish the interior, leaving only the walls to fall into ruin. Even in its partially ruined state, the castle remained very beautiful and the construction of a railway line to Brighton made it an attractive spot for visitors.

In the 20th century the building was restored as a private residence and was then briefly the home of the Greenwich Observatory before becoming an international study centre attached to Queen’s University of Ontario, Canada.


We were at the castle for a weekend of dancing, which had no historic or ceremonial significance whatsoever, but which did benefit from the sheer beauty of the building and its surrounding gardens.

What, no book plug?

You may have noticed the absence of any book plug in my blog post. That's because I'm between publishers. I've left Accent Press, who therefore don't sell my books any more, and I've signed with Endeavour, who will have my books back on line in the autumn. Feel free to write and let them know how much you are looking forward to reading them.

My books are available in the US through Simon & Schuster. I know this blog gets a lot of readers in the States. It would be really nice if some of you bought the books. Thanks.

Friday, 21 July 2017


Last weekend saw us on one of our occasional visits to Docklands. Every time we strike out East, I am amazed by how much there is to see and promise myself that we will go more often, but given that Docklands is in London and we live in London, it's a surprisingly long way to travel and we keep putting off. The result of all our procrastination is that it was not until now that we visited the Docklands Museum, housed in one of the few of the original warehouses to have survived since the docks opened in 1802.

No 1 Warehouse, West India Quay  (Photo: PLA website)
It’s a fascinating glimpse into a vanished world. I thought I knew about the London docks and their importance in the 19th century, but I really had no idea just how huge the network of docks was. The map below (published in 1882) gives some idea of the size of the port.

River Thames with the Docks from Woolwich to the Tower
For almost a century and a half the docks in London made it a major commercial centre. For much of that time, this was the busiest port in the world. I do recommend a visit to the museum. It's free and open every day, and it gives a fascinating insight into the docks and their effect on London.

Until the docks were built, ships in the Thames moored in the river and their cargoes were carried ashore on barges known as "lighters". The men who rode these barges were called lightermen. Once the docks were built it looked as if there might be no business for the lightermen. The docks were built with their own warehouses which had a monopoly on cargo on the dock estate. However the lightermen negotiated a law giving them free access to the docks which meant that cargo owners could have their cargo shifted to warehouses outside of the docks. Lighters continue to be used through the 19th-century. We were very lucky in seeing some in action on the Thames at the weekend as part of the Thames Barge Driving Race. It gave us some idea of the amazing physical demands of this way of life.

The reason for making our trip this weekend was because it was a rare opportunity to visit the River Police Museum in Wapping. The River Police (originally the Marine Police) were set up in 1798 and proudly claim to be the first police force established in Britain, ahead of the City of Glasgow police in 1800 and well before the Metropolitan Police Act of 1829. Their museum is a random collection of things that interest police who work on the river. I’m pretty sure some of it will interest most people.

I find that in museums like this, it can be the little oddity that sticks in the mind. Expect my next book to feature a nib wiper.

Public spending cuts mean that the River Police have now been reduced to a single station, but they continue to operate as they have for over 200 years.

The docks in my books

The London of my books was a huge port city. When we first meet John Williamson, he's a sailor and in Back Home he returns to the docks when he wants to find men to help him in some nefarious undertakings. He can't get into the new walled docks, designed specifically to keep people out, but he meets sailors in the warren of streets around them. The docks were the centre of a maritime community and there is an excellent exhibition about 'Sailor Town' in the Docklands Museum.

Back Home, like all my books, is not easy to get hold of at the moment. I've just moved from Accent to Endeavour. Endeavour should have my books back online in about three months. Feel free to bombard them with emails telling them how much you are looking forward to buying the books as soon as they come out again.

Tuesday, 18 July 2017

Two books this Tuesday

Two very short reviews this week.

Legends of Persia by Jennifer Macaire

This is by way of a coda to my review of The Road to Alexander a couple of weeks ago. I finished that review by saying that later books in the series were likely to be a lot better than the first. Jennifer Macaire then very kindly sent me the second book to see if I thought I was right. I'm pleased to say that I was.

Legends of Persia has all the strengths of the first book and none of the weaknesses. Ashley is now a well established character. The change from the Ashley of the first book is clear from the very beginning where she is playing at snowball fights with Alexander's best friend. The Ashley of The Road to Alexander would never have indulged in anything as frivolous as a snowball fight. This Ashley is a warm, generous person who it is easy to sympathise with. Yes, she can still be  cold and harsh, but usually when there's a good reason, as when Alexander finds himself tricked into marriage with Roxanne. Generally she comes over as rather a nice girl and, unsurprisingly, in this book she wins the affection of Alexander's officers and soldiers in a way which she does not in the first.

Alexander, too, has become a much more three-dimensional character. He is beginning to feel his age and struggles to recover from battlefield injury. He is more emotionally mature, as well. He seems much more concerned to find Ashley's missing son than in the first story and the idea that the search for their child is a driving force for both of them gives the book a much stronger sense of direction. It is less a series of exciting but unrelated incidents than volume one. Not that the book is short of exciting incidents and it enthusiastically continues to describe the heroine's sex life in titillating detail. The sex, though, also seems better integrated in the story, at one point becoming central to the narrative. I'm not going to drop a spoiler here, but if you enjoy accounts that  capture both the erotic power of sex and it's essential ridiculousness, you are in for a treat. (If you don't like stories that feature the erotic power of sex you really ought to give this book a miss.)

It goes without saying that Macaire's prose continued to carry me along with its deceptively straightforward style. All in all, I can thoroughly recommend this story. It's part of a much longer saga, so the ending is not entirely satisfactory, but it is at least an ending and not one of these awful cliffhangers that some writers of series feel will encourage people to buy the next book. I certainly don't need that sort of encouragement. If Macaire doesn't send me a review copy of the next volume, I'm going to have to fork out and buy my own copy.

Betwixt by Evie Gaughan

Another short review, this time because it's a very short book – just a short story really. 

It's possible, I suppose, that you have never read a story in which a young woman arrives at an isolated cottage to find a mysterious figure who seems somehow out of time. If so, you'd better stop reading because this will contain spoilers.

For those of us who have read ghost stories like this before, this one brings no surprises. Given that most of us must have realised very early on that the mysterious figure is a ghost seeking his long lost love, the question is just how well or badly does Evie Gaughan tell this very traditional story. And the answer is that she tells it very well indeed.

You could argue that revisiting such well trodden territory is a waste of everybody's time, but it's a short story and it wastes very little time and storytellers have been revisiting old territory since time immemorial. You could argue that this what the best storytellers all do.

Ms Gaughan manages to pack a lot of detail and characterisation into not a lot of words. It's a beautifully written little tale and I'm glad to have read it. Recommended.

My own books

The contract with Endeavour is signed and they will soon be republishing the three books in the series about the real-life James Burke and the three featuring (the fictional) John Williamson. There will be more books about James Burke, too. Unfortunately, this is probably going to take about three months, during which my books are no longer available on Kindle. You can buy some of them in paperback, although this may be an expensive option. 

I keep blogging, because at the moment I'm getting around two thousand hits a month and it seems wrong to just abandon you all because I don't currently have any books to sell. I will let you know when they are coming back online and I hope that some of you will buy them then

Friday, 14 July 2017

Nana Sahib and the Cawnpore massacre

Tomorrow is the 160th anniversary of the massacre of the women and children who had survived the siege of General Wheeler's forces in Cawnpore. It was, from the British point of view, the worst incident of the Indian Mutiny, a war (for Indians are right to call it a war rather than a mutiny) notable for violent horror.

The massacre was blamed by the British on a local ruler called Nana Sahib.

I think that the idea that Nana Sahib was evil incarnate is wrong. (So is the modern Indian notion that he was a noble warrior for independence.) As with so much colonial history, the nuances of right and wrong were much more subtle than either old-school jingoists or modern revisionists seem to be able to accept. That's more or less the theme of my book, Cawnpore. So I welcomed the opportunity when Heather Campbell of The Maiden's Court invited me to contribute a piece justifying Nana Sahib's actions. It was also a great chance to write a first person justification of a war crime.

This first appeared in the Maiden's Court just over a year ago. It was an interesting exercise for me. I hope it's interesting for you as well.

Two Sides to Every Story: The Butcher of Cawnpore: Hero or Villain?

In 1857, British rule in India was challenged by an uprising across the north west of the country. Even today, opinions as to exactly what happened and how we should view it are polarised. To most British people who have any interest in it at all, it was the Indian Mutiny. To many Indians, it was the 1st War of Independence.

British India in 1856
The conflict was extremely brutal, with outrages committed by both sides. However, the most appalling single incident occurred at the end of the siege of Cawnpore.

Cawnpore was not a major military centre and in 1857 there were not that many troops based there. Many of those who were in the lines at Cawnpore were sick men recuperating away from their regiments. When the Indians rose against them, General Wheeler, commanding the British forces, took those troops he considered would be loyal (mainly European, as opposed to locally recruited Indians) together with the civilians in the station into what became known as the Entrenchment. This was a few buildings surrounded by a low earth wall, which offered only minimal protection to those inside.

At the start of the siege on 6 June 1857 the Entrenchment offered some sort of shelter to around 60 European artillerymen, 84 infantrymen, and about 200 unattached officers and civilians and 40 Indian military musicians. In addition there were 70 invalids who were convalescing in the barrack hospital and around 375 women and children. They were surrounded by thousands of Indians, who included cavalrymen and who were supported with significant amounts of artillery.

The British held out until 25 June when they were offered safe passage in return for their surrender. Wheeler considered that surrender was an honourable option, given the almost certain death of the women and children in the Entrenchment were the siege to continue.

The Indians agreed that the British should evacuate Cawnpore by water. The British therefore marched out of the camp to the nearby river, where a small fleet of boats was waiting for them. However, as the British started to board the boats, the Indians opened fire. Only four of the soldiers from the garrison escaped alive. Most of the women and children survived but were held captive until 15 July, when the decision was taken to kill them all. The killing was crudely and ineffectively carried out, with many apparently reliable accounts of women and children being still alive when they were thrown into the well which was used for the bodies.

When British troops arrived to lift the siege, they found the site of the massacre covered in blood. Their revenge was horrific. Indian prisoners were made to lick the blood from the floor before being executed. "Remember Cawnpore" became the battle cry of British troops engaged in putting down the uprising and in exacting retribution afterwards. Nobody is sure how many Indians were killed. In many villages that the British army marched through, any man who could not prove that he had not joined the uprising was hanged. I will not dwell on the details of what became known as 'TheDevil's Wind', not because I want to gloss over the horror of the behaviour of British troops, but because the details are so appalling. (In fairness, I have rather glossed over the details of the massacres as well.)

Cartoon by Tenniel showing Britannia avenging the deaths at Cawnpore

The leader of the Indians at Cawnpore was a man called Nana Sahib. The British hunted him for years, but never caught him. It is widely believed that he died peacefully in Nepal. He was, if you like, the Osama bin Laden of the 19th century, yet today he is widely hailed as a hero of the Indian independence movement and his face has appeared on Indian stamps. This is his side of the story.

Nana Sahib’s story

My father was the Peshwa of the Maratha Empire. He was a mighty lord who rose against the British who had come into his country and despoiled it. He fought valiantly against the invaders, but he was defeated and exiled from his own country to the miserable little village of Bithur, not far from Cawnpore. The British allowed him to retain his title and a small pension and he made his peace with them and lived alongside his enemy until he died in 1851.

I was an adopted son – a common practice in my country when a great lord has no sons of his own – but the British refused to recognise me as Peshwa and no longer paid the pension that they had paid to my father.

Despite the loss of my lands, my title and my pension, I tried to be a good friend to the British. They had ruled in India now for a hundred years and many Indians had accommodated to them. But their rule was becoming more harsh. Where once they had made honourable peace with men like my father, now they seized their lands, ignored their titles, and denied them the respect they were due in their own country. They began to send Christian missionaries who tried to tempt my people from their faith. They told us we must abandon our old customs.

Those Indians who served in their armies (for there is no disgrace in serving the army of any lord once he has proved himself a power in the land) were not accorded the respect they had been. Their officers, who had once loved this country, were replaced by arrogant fools who did not understand our ways. There were rumours that they might be sent overseas, where they would lose their caste. Then there was the terrible business of the new cartridges. The cartridges were greased with the fat of cattle and with the fat of pigs. This was an insult to all the Hindus in the Army and to their brothers who were Moslems.

Finally, the people of India rose up against these injustices. I was not sure what to do. I had been friends with the British and I hoped that things could be settled without violence, but it was soon apparent that there must be a war and that the British would finally be driven from our country. My people looked to me, for they still called me “Peshwa” and acknowledged me as their leader. Now that it had come to war, it was my duty to lead my people against the British in Cawnpore.

The British fought bravely: I will give them that. Hundreds of my troops died as we attacked their fort again and again. In the end, I agreed to lift the siege if they would go. They said they would and asked for boats to sail down the Ganges to rejoin their people. But this had to be a trick. The British were being defeated everywhere. Where could they hope to go? No, once they were on the boats they could set up a fort somewhere else and attack us from there. My generals told me I would be stupid to let this happen.

What was I to do? They had surrendered, but there was nowhere they could go. We had an army in our midst that could turn on us at any time. The British, we Indians had learned over the past hundred years, were liars. They had promised my father he could keep his title and then took it from me because I was adopted: a cheap trick. They had stolen the Kingdom of Oudh on the same pretence – that the new King was adopted, and therefore could not inherit. We could not trust them.

My general, Tatya Tope, told me what to do. He arranged to have artillery hidden across the river from the boats and for his men to conceal themselves along the banks. When the British came to the boats, we opened fire. They still had their muskets. It was war: these things happen. We tried not to kill the women and children, but we took them captive and kept them safe. 

Then news came that a British force was on its way to relieve the siege. Everybody was terrified. The British were killing people who they thought might have ever harmed any of their troops and they would kill us all if they heard what had happened by the river. It was essential that any of the British who might speak against my sad, but necessary, actions should be silenced. I had no choice: the women and children would speak against me. They had to die. So many Indians had died under British rule and the British always said that sometimes these things were necessary or that sometimes these things just happened. But would they have happened if the British had not stolen our country? Had we asked these women and children to come and live amongst us, ordering their Indian servants to do this and to do that as if they were slaves? Bringing their foreign ways, their terrible food, their arrogance and their ignorance? They looked down on us as savages and sneered at our ways. Well, they’re not sneering now.

The British beat us in 1857. I was driven into exile and watched as the white men tightened their grip on my country. But I know that our time will come. It is not right that the Indians should live under the rule of the British and one day we will rise up and we will defeat them and I will not be hated by the rulers of India, but loved by them as one of those who showed the way to regaining our own country.


The story of Cawnpore and the clash of cultures that led to the massacre is the subject of my book, Cawnpore. The narrator is English, but in love with an Indian. Caught between the two camps, he sees the tragedy developing around him, but is powerless to stop it. Can he survive the massacre and, if he does, can he save anyone else from the horror?

Cawnpore is shortly to be re-published by Endeavour and will be available on Kindle and in paperback. I'll be letting everyone know about the re-launch here on my blog, on my Facebook author page and on Twitter. Cawnpore has had fabulous reviews and I hope you'll all be rushing to buy it once it's available again!