Retro Centre and Samuel Pepys
I always enjoy visiting St Albans. Yesterday I visited a treasure house of items from times past at a Retro Centre, which I will visit again, and I shall attend the Retro Fair next weekend.
The Retro Centre is divided into sections where different sellers arrange their wares. China, glass, curios, soft furnishings, clothes and a treasure house of books.
As I went round I yearned to own a country cottage with oak beams which I could decorate with colourful china, lace edged throws, embroidered tablecloths, traycloths, framed tapestries and embroidered or tapestry cushions. Having admired, picked up and put down various items I found the book section after I rummaged through clothes and admired costume jewellery.
This is the year when I’m supposed to be saving money but I couldn’t resist three books by one of my favourite historians, Arthur Bryant, Samuel Pepys The Man in The Making, Samuel Pepys The Years of Peril and Samuel Pepys The Saviour of The Navy.
I have collected a number of Arthur Bryant’s books and always enjoy his style. Samuel Pepys, The Man in the Making begins: - “North of Cambridge lie the Fens. The sea from which they arose laps at their northern boundaries, and north and east great rivers lazily wind across them, drawing black cattle to drink among the sedges at their brink. This land would be one of silence were it not for the innumerable company of larks, of bittern, coot and moorhen, of sedge warblers and reed sparrow, which ever provides it with a faint and not discordant music. In summer it is still, as the monk William of Huntingdon remembered it, a land of clouds and orchards and golden corn. Yet it is so only by right of battle waged ceaselessly by its invading armies of water. Whenever civilization has receded – when Roman legion fell back or monastery bell was silenced-the waters have taken back their own. Salt tides have swept in with winter gales through forsaken walls, and the rivers have flowed out, cold and remorseless, over the fields and houses of man.
“.…On this land came the Pepys’s. For centuries they had grazed and ploughed, haggled at markets over country wares and peered at the Fen skies…”
Although Samuel Pepys was first published in 1933 it has not dated and is full of fascinating information, and I the preface very interesting.
“…Samuel Pepys was the creator of three remarkable, and still surviving things. The first, in the order of their making, was his Diary. The second was the civil administration of the Admiralty-the rule –and order that still give permanence to the material form, fighting traditions and transmitted knowledge of the Royal Navy. …Lord Barham testified that there was not a department of the Admiralty that was not governed by he rules Samuel Pepys had laid down in the 17th century. It was Pepys who made the scabbard for the sword that Nelson, and the heirs of Nelson used.
“Pepys third creative achievement sprang from the second. He has bee described as the father of the Civil Service. Here, too, his orders hold. The rules he laid down and the administrative principles he elucidated have become part of the continuing life of his country…”
I am writing a light-hearted novel set in the Restoration period when Charles Second came to England after his exile which followed his father’s execution. I always try to ensure that my novels are as well-researched as possible and Arthur Bryant’s trilogy about Pepys will be invaluable.
Forthcoming release. Tangled Love 27.01.2012 Muse It Up Publisher.
www.rosemarymorris.co.uk
http://rosemarymorris.blogspot.com
Showing posts with label MuseIt Up Publisher. Show all posts
Showing posts with label MuseIt Up Publisher. Show all posts
Sunday, 19 June 2011
Sunday, 12 June 2011
Recommended Reads
Trencarrow Secret by Anita Davison
For readers who like a twist in the tale which takes them by surprise, I recommend Trencarrow Secret by Anita Davison.
I had the privilege of reading this novel by an accomplished author prior to publication and thoroughly enjoyed it
You can find out more about Anita and her novels at Anita’s beautifully designed blog:http://thedisorganisedauthor.blogspot.com
Isabel Hart is afraid of two things, the maze at Trencarrow where she got lost as a young child, and the lake where her brother David saved her from drowning in a boating accident.
With her twenty-first birthday and the announcement of her engagement imminent, Isabel decides it is time for her to face her demons and ventures into the maze. There she sees something which will alter her perceptions of herself and her family forever.
Isabel’s widowed aunt joins the house party, where her cousin confides she is in love with an enigmatic young man who surely cannot be what he pretends, for he is too dashing for homely Laura.
When Henry, Viscount Strachan and his mother arrive, ostensibly to use her ball as an arena for finding a wife, Isabel is determined not to like him.
As more secrets are revealed, Isabel begins to doubt she has chosen the right man, although her future fiancé has more vested in this marriage than Isabel realizes and has no intention of letting her go easily.
Will Isabel be able to put her preconceptions of marriage behind her and take charge of her own life, or is she destined to be controlled by others forever?
For readers who like a twist in the tale which takes them by surprise, I recommend Trencarrow Secret by Anita Davison.
I had the privilege of reading this novel by an accomplished author prior to publication and thoroughly enjoyed it
You can find out more about Anita and her novels at Anita’s beautifully designed blog:http://thedisorganisedauthor.blogspot.com
Isabel Hart is afraid of two things, the maze at Trencarrow where she got lost as a young child, and the lake where her brother David saved her from drowning in a boating accident.
With her twenty-first birthday and the announcement of her engagement imminent, Isabel decides it is time for her to face her demons and ventures into the maze. There she sees something which will alter her perceptions of herself and her family forever.
Isabel’s widowed aunt joins the house party, where her cousin confides she is in love with an enigmatic young man who surely cannot be what he pretends, for he is too dashing for homely Laura.
When Henry, Viscount Strachan and his mother arrive, ostensibly to use her ball as an arena for finding a wife, Isabel is determined not to like him.
As more secrets are revealed, Isabel begins to doubt she has chosen the right man, although her future fiancé has more vested in this marriage than Isabel realizes and has no intention of letting her go easily.
Will Isabel be able to put her preconceptions of marriage behind her and take charge of her own life, or is she destined to be controlled by others forever?
Tuesday, 26 April 2011
Memories of my mother
My publisher MuseItUp invited me to post some recollections of my mother at the May blog, the theme of which is Mother's Day, so I'm sharing the following, which is only part of my contribution.
My mother, Lucy Agnes, celebrated her 100th birthday Boxing Day and left her body on the night of the 28th December, 2010.
During the last few years of her life Mum’s hearing was impaired and she suffered from macular vision. In her own words: “It seems as if there’s a small coin placed over the centre of my eyes and I can only see round the edge of it.” For years she suffered from back pain and one of her lungs only worked at quarter of its normal capacity. However, Mum’s wits were needle sharp and remained so until the very end.
Mum had more common sense than anyone else I have ever known and I could always turn to her for advice. There’s a huge gap in my life. She’s always in my head. I see a film she would have enjoyed, go somewhere she would like and miss her dreadfully. Sometimes I pick up the phone to give her a ring and realise she’s no longer there for me – at least – not in this world.
Since mum’s death memories have flooded into my mind fast and furiously. I imagine the young Lucy leaving school at fourteen. Her father arranged for her to be apprenticed to a milliner. He said that it would provide a living for life as women would always wear hats.
Mum spent one miserable day at the milliners. On the next day she tramped the streets of London until she found a job at one of the large London stores. Nothing my wonderful grandfather said persuaded her to return to the milliners.
Over the years Mum worked at many of the large, fashionable London stores in the West End where she met potential husbands. One of them was a high-ranking civil servant who had a splendid house run by his housekeeper in the Chilterns, near Wendover. They used to go for long walks in all seasons. Afterwards they went to his house where they enjoyed afternoon tea. Cucumber sandwiches made with thinly cut bread, scones with strawberry jam and fancy cakes in the summer; crumpets, cheese on toast and fruit cakes in the winter. However, the civil servant was too old for her so she turned down his offer of marriage, but he was not the one who broke her heart.
She never told me the name of the man she fell passionately in love with, but not passionately enough to go to Brighton with him for – as she put it – “naughty weekends”. However, she and the man she loved, who I shall call John, and other friends often piled into cars and set out for Brighton, where they swam in the sea, ate fish and chips and returned to London in the small hours of the morning.
John went on business to Australia. Mum waited for John to return and dreamt of marrying him. All her hopes were destroyed. John, Lucy, her girlfriend, May and May’s fiancé, Bunny, went out for a meal at a posh restaurant. Halfway through the meal Bunny looked John straight in the eyes. “Why don’t you tell Lucy you’re married?” Bunny asked. I can only imagine the scene and grieve for my mother, who lost the love of her life.
My mother, Lucy Agnes, celebrated her 100th birthday Boxing Day and left her body on the night of the 28th December, 2010.
During the last few years of her life Mum’s hearing was impaired and she suffered from macular vision. In her own words: “It seems as if there’s a small coin placed over the centre of my eyes and I can only see round the edge of it.” For years she suffered from back pain and one of her lungs only worked at quarter of its normal capacity. However, Mum’s wits were needle sharp and remained so until the very end.
Mum had more common sense than anyone else I have ever known and I could always turn to her for advice. There’s a huge gap in my life. She’s always in my head. I see a film she would have enjoyed, go somewhere she would like and miss her dreadfully. Sometimes I pick up the phone to give her a ring and realise she’s no longer there for me – at least – not in this world.
Since mum’s death memories have flooded into my mind fast and furiously. I imagine the young Lucy leaving school at fourteen. Her father arranged for her to be apprenticed to a milliner. He said that it would provide a living for life as women would always wear hats.
Mum spent one miserable day at the milliners. On the next day she tramped the streets of London until she found a job at one of the large London stores. Nothing my wonderful grandfather said persuaded her to return to the milliners.
Over the years Mum worked at many of the large, fashionable London stores in the West End where she met potential husbands. One of them was a high-ranking civil servant who had a splendid house run by his housekeeper in the Chilterns, near Wendover. They used to go for long walks in all seasons. Afterwards they went to his house where they enjoyed afternoon tea. Cucumber sandwiches made with thinly cut bread, scones with strawberry jam and fancy cakes in the summer; crumpets, cheese on toast and fruit cakes in the winter. However, the civil servant was too old for her so she turned down his offer of marriage, but he was not the one who broke her heart.
She never told me the name of the man she fell passionately in love with, but not passionately enough to go to Brighton with him for – as she put it – “naughty weekends”. However, she and the man she loved, who I shall call John, and other friends often piled into cars and set out for Brighton, where they swam in the sea, ate fish and chips and returned to London in the small hours of the morning.
John went on business to Australia. Mum waited for John to return and dreamt of marrying him. All her hopes were destroyed. John, Lucy, her girlfriend, May and May’s fiancé, Bunny, went out for a meal at a posh restaurant. Halfway through the meal Bunny looked John straight in the eyes. “Why don’t you tell Lucy you’re married?” Bunny asked. I can only imagine the scene and grieve for my mother, who lost the love of her life.
Thursday, 31 March 2011
New Release. Tangled Love by Rosemary Morris
I am delighted to announce that my novel Tangled Hearts set in England in Queen Anne's reign 1702-1714 will be published as Tangled Love on the 27th January 2012.
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Joy of Gardens and Writing
I've hoarded some birthday money for ages. Yesterday my daughter-in-law and I went to Costco and I bought a large, bronze coloured, resin statue of a kneeling oriental figure with a small begging bowl in its hands. It looks gorgeous at the end of the garden path against a background of a conifer hedge.
I also bought a 6 foot by 10 foot greenhouse and am looking forward to having it installed. I'm going to heat it with a radiator via the central heating and even in the worst weather it will be a nice place to write in on my laptop.
I employ a part time gardener, who does all the heavy work. This leaves me free to plot and plan my novels; to answer the questions of who, what, where, when and how? I reiterate the questions at the writing group I belong to when commenting on inexperienced writers work,
All the best,
Rosemary
I also bought a 6 foot by 10 foot greenhouse and am looking forward to having it installed. I'm going to heat it with a radiator via the central heating and even in the worst weather it will be a nice place to write in on my laptop.
I employ a part time gardener, who does all the heavy work. This leaves me free to plot and plan my novels; to answer the questions of who, what, where, when and how? I reiterate the questions at the writing group I belong to when commenting on inexperienced writers work,
All the best,
Rosemary
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