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Showing posts with label Landscape. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Landscape. Show all posts

Sunday, 24 February 2013

Lakeland to Lindisfarne, by John Gillham, Reviewed.


Walker, moutaineer, historian, or just interested in the great outdoors? This book has something for you. It was a Christmas present from one of my wife’s sisters, some years ago, and has been sitting on the shelf until now. I picked it up as a light alternative to the rather disturbing piece of fiction I finished last week. And I’m so glad I did.

This guide is intended as just that; an introduction to and a planning tool for a coast to coast walk from the west to east shores of northern England. John Gillham makes it clear from the start that you need to procure more detailed maps than the illustrative drawings he supplies alongside the text, if you are to complete this varied ramble through some of our finest landscapes.

There are mountains, vales, rivers and moors to cross on this varied route. And Gillham brings them all to life, adding small panels of local history where applicable. The reader learns some fascinating facts along the way, and is entertained with rural humour. He gives tips about various villages, pubs, bothies and ancient monuments. He also provides alternative routes, catering for the less experienced walker as well as the proper mountaineers.

For me, this was a trip back to a pleasant past. The walk starts in the Lake District, where my wife and I spent our honeymoon, and brought back many happy memories of those days. The middle section takes the reader through an area of England not much visited and one that I do not yet know. But the last part of the walk, as it approaches the north eastern coast, involves a walk through Hexham where, before we were married, we were mistaken for hotel inspectors at the hostelry we’d chosen for our meeting. Needless to say, the service and food were excellent on that occasion! The route passes Rothbury, where we dined together at another time in our early relationship. Unfortunately, on that occasion, I contracted food poisoning that resulted in the most horrendous drive back down to the Essex town where I then lived. It passes through Clennel Street, close by Clennel Hall, where we stayed very early in our relationship and confirmed that we would spend the rest of our lives together. So, another pleasant reminder. And, in fact, as a result of reading the book, we’re now intending to do some parts of the walk.

I’m well past the days when I can contemplate tackling such an arduous walk as a complete exercise, but, because John Gillham breaks it up into smaller parts, we’ll definitely be hiking several parts of it over the coming years. And I give my thanks to him for mapping out this route through some of the most spectacular and beautiful scenery in this small island of ours.

The photographs that illustrate the walk are all excellent; some merely informative, but many reflecting the beauty of the landscape and giving a clear idea of what the walker can expect to see along the way. I look forward to visiting these places with my wife and my camera in the near future.

The final part of the book is a diary, kept by John’s new wife, Nicola. This is a charming, personal account of her trip with him as he mapped out the routes he suggests. It gives a touching insight into the loving relationship between the couple and provides a more intimate view of both the pleasures and hardships that the walker may encounter along the way. I enjoyed this short piece every bit as much as the main narrative.
So, whether you’re a seasoned walker, a sometime rambler, or one of those tourists who rarely moves more than a few paces from your car, there’s something in this book for you. I picked it up as a contrast to the gritty and disturbing fiction of urban poverty that I’d read previously. As an antidote, it was perfect, and I thoroughly recommend it.

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Thursday, 29 March 2012

Why I Set my Novel in the Yorkshire Dales.


Writers choose locations for their fiction for all manner of reasons. Sometimes it's because the place is a familiar haunt. Sometimes the setting is exactly right for the fabric of the story. Sometimes the landscape is so alien to the author that it stimulates his imagination.

I grew up in Yorkshire and it has been my home for much of my adult life, though by no means all of it. Many years ago, when I was married to my first wife, in fact, (and I've been married to my current lovely lady for coming up to 24 years) we were walking in a particularly remote and rugged part of the Yorkshire Dales. There are some sink holes in this area. For those who don't know, these are geological features that are best described as vertical caves. Often quite deep, usually narrow, they are places where water has eaten away the porous rock and left a deep pit in the surface of the Earth. The Buttertubs, as this particular set of sink holes is known, are a series of pits close to the narrow and precipitous road that leads from Hawes to Muker. Readily accessible, they are a tourist attraction for many motorists but few walkers.

It was a chill and windy day when I approached these holes in the ground, grey clouds skimmed a pale sun, and the gusty wind made waves through the long grass. At that time, the pits were unfenced and entirely open to public gaze with none of the modern obsessive concern for 'health and safety' rules. It was possible to step right up to and, indeed, over, the edges of these shafts. I am uncomfortable with heights and, since I was determined to gaze into the bottom of the largest and deepest, I sank to my knees and crawled forward until I could safely peer into the dim depths. As I did so, quite inexplicably, I was visited by a brief image of a woman's body at the bottom and the question was posed in my writer's mind, 'What would you do if you found a dead body down there?'

That thought stayed with me over the years. A divorce and remarriage took me to different parts of the country and overseas for the first time. But I was drawn again and again to the Yorkshire Dales until, almost on a whim, my wife and I with our new daughter just 2 years old, moved into the area to live. Our walks became regular events, regardless of weather. We experienced everything from dry thirsty heatwaves to icy winters cloaked in deep drifting snow and everything in between, as can only happen in good old island Britain.

It was whilst we lived in this location that the initial question slowly coalesced into a plot, peopled by the characters I had long lived with in my imagination. The story developed and the setting became part of the narrative, as much a character in the tale as Faith or Leigh, in fact. It was the natural setting for the rugged and tough tale and the fact that I was living in it made the descriptions so much easier. So, the first draft was completed at the same time as I renovated the house we'd bought and worked part time for a local holiday accommodation company.

Life came along, in the form of redundancy, just days before the new millennium was about to commence. At the age of 51, I understood my chances of re-employment in the area were slim and I moved the family back to my native East Yorkshire, where I found a job. It was some years before I found time to write again and dug out that first draft. I changed the viewpoint characters, giving both the male and female protagonists a chance to have their say in first person. I changed relationships that formed essential background to the story. I changed incidents. I changed the ages of the protagonists. What I didn't change was the setting. The Yorkshire Dales remained as valid a landscape as it had been from the beginning.

For those who don't know the area, it is a National Park. An area of outstanding natural beauty and considered by many to be the best walking country in Europe. It's populated by a native people who are as tough as the characteristic dry stone walls, as stubborn as the local sheep, as different as individuals as are the inhabitants of any region.

I changed the time frame to a period that was historically real: the severe drought of 1976, since the weather and the burgeoning philosophy of 'free love' allowed me to introduce a degree of external nudity that would otherwise be unlikely in this wild country. The nudity was an essential element in the relationship of the two protagonists and a useful tool in examining the fight between innocence and corruption that is at the heart of the story.

So, there you have it. Those are the reasons I came to set my romantic thriller, Breaking Faith, in one of the most beautiful parts of the English countryside. Many readers have commented on how apt the setting is. Whether you'll agree or not can only be determined by reading the book. And I give you the opportunity to do that for free here on this blog. Each week of this year I am posting a chapter. There are 50 in all, so it'll last for almost the whole year. And each post is accompanied by one of my photographs taken in the Dales, so you can experience the landscape for yourself. I started in January and the link to that first instalment is here. You'll find the rest of the early chapters listed in the archive and you're welcome to join the readers as we take the journey together to the end.

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Friday, 26 August 2011

Stuart's Daily Word Spot: Pastoral


Pastoral: noun - a book about the care of souls (now obsolete); Christian: a pastoral staff, letter, epistles; a pastoral poem, play or picture (now rare); in music, equivalent to ‘pastorale’; pastoral poetry as a style of literary composition.
Adjective - relating to shepherds or their occupation; relating to sheep or cattle farming; land used for pasture; in scenery, a landscape with the natural charm associated with pastureland; in literature, music, or works of art, showing rural life or the life of shepherds in a romantic way; relating to a pastor or the spiritual care of a congregation; relating to a teacher’s duty to give moral care and guidance.

We rarely use the noun form now but I suspect most are familiar with its use in music; e.g. Beethoven’s Sixth Symphony.

The adjectival use is more common however:

‘The paintings of John Constable can be described as pastoral, in that they often exclude the less attractive elements of the landscape in which he lived and worked.’

‘All the mothers were devastated to discover that the Catholic father who’d been expressly appointed to supervise the pastoral care of their children had turned out to be a paedophile.’

Pic: A pastoral landscape.