Remembering Uncle Ivan - an extract from Midnight

Sadly, on August 5th 2016, my beloved Uncle Ivan passed away, aged 88.

Like all of my Great Uncles, Uncle Ivan was a real character and a talented man. He was the keenest gardener I have ever met and he worked in people's gardens well into his eighties. His knowledge of plants was nothing less than encyclopaedic and his garden stands a testimony to his and my Auntie Hazel's skills and green fingers.

When he wasn't busy with his plants, Uncle Ivan loved to paint. I remember him showing me his painting room, which was piled high with beautiful paintings he had produced over the years. My personal favourites were his tree silhouettes against sunsets.   



 
Another vivid memory is of Uncle Ivan dancing his socks off at every opportunity, be it a party or a karaoke night. He loved to dance and was always a lot of fun!

I have very fond memories from a few years ago, of searching for haunted grottos in Friday Woods with Uncle Ivan and Auntie Hazel. We got lost in the woods, caught in a rainstorm and had a really entertaining and enjoyable afternoon together, laughing and joking. That's how it was every time I visited them. 

The sixth child of 8, my Grandad's little brother, Uncle Ivan was, like his brother Cecil, a mischievous child, who got into plenty of scrapes along with his brothers and who loved his sister Joan to pieces. The novel I am working on - 'Midnight' will tell the story of the effect World War II had on their lives. The stories he and his siblings shared with me, of those times are unbelievable. When I decided to write the novel, his enthusiasm for sharing his stories of life during that time was obvious and he seemed to enjoy the extracts I was able to share with him.

My Uncle Ivan was a joyous, cheerful and delightful soul, with an enormous capacity for fun and laughter and I loved him very much. As a family, we all loved him very much. He will be sorely missed by all who knew him. 

A few years ago, when we lost Uncle Cecil, I shared an abridged version of an extract from 'Midnight'. It is the tale of one of the many adventures shared by this pair of naughty boys. It's completely based in fact - you couldn't make it up! I wanted to do the same for Uncle Ivan. I hope you enjoy it.

Extract from 'Midnight'

by Annie Bell 

Left to Right - Cecil, Michael, Ivan

The sun beamed into the kitchen, as Cecil and Ivan gulped down their porridge (Cecil 'Hollow Legs' was already on his second bowl). I spotted them nudging each other, seeming a bit too quiet.

“What are you two up to?” I asked.

“Nothing,” Cecil beamed.

“Can we go out for the day?” Ivan blurted out. “We want to go to Brightlingsea.” 

Cecil scowled at him, adding “We haven't been there for ages.”

“I've told you before,” I scolded. “The coast is off limits, cause of the war.” I felt bad. They had been pestering for ages about the beach but what could I do?

“Mum...” they whined, smiling innocently, as though butter would never soften in their mouths, let alone melt. 

“No.” I insisted. “Mention it again, you'll have your father to answer to.”

“Humph. Ok … Can we play with Dennis instead?” asked Cecil.

“Yeah. That'd be fun,” nodded Ivan. “We're not stupid enough to go to the beach after what you just said, Mum.” 

I waved them off, despite my better judgement, and carried on peeling potatoes.

I later discovered that, within an hour of leaving, the boys scampered along the train tracks to Brightlingsea. As their naughty plan drew to its climax, they raced onto a swing bridge behind a train, risking being tipped headfirst into the estuary mud. How they weren't caught sooner, I will never know.

Reaching their destination, they ran to the now heavily altered beach. Dense structures of scaffolding, barbed wire and other unfriendly objects scarred the waterline. Our disobedient heroes ignored the warnings and raced off, dodging between the defences as if they were driftwood.

“Let's go crabbing!” cried Cecil joyfully, tramping through the sand. “We can practise forts too. Then we can beat the others, when the war is over!” As Cecil sped off, Ivan hesitated, my warnings ringing in his ears. “Come on Ivan!” yelled Cecil. “I want to catch a massive crab.” At that, Ivan forgot his concerns and followed, giggling, as Cecil's voice was drowned out by the roar of a Wellington bomber. They both stared skywards, their mouths hanging open as it flew over. Unfortunately, the Merlin engines stifled the frantic warnings from a soldier, who had just spotted them from a bunker. Too late, they heard him.

“STOP!” he yelled. “Minefield! Don't move!”

Both boys froze. My words echoed in their ears louder than ever but it was too late. Horrified, Ivan glanced at Cecil. Cecil stared back, lip quivering; tears welling up in his eyes. How would they get out of this scrape?

“Grab that stick!” the soldier barked at Ivan. “Prod the ground at an angle and move slowly towards him. When you're together, come to me.” Ivan nodded and tentatively inched forward. Cecil flinched each time the stick pierced the sand.

After several painful minutes, Ivan reached Cecil. 

“Walk in his footsteps,” the soldier told Cecil, as Ivan continued prodding the ground.  Both were scarcely breathing as they crept back towards safety. 

Ten feet from the soldier, “Oh my God!” Ivan shrank backwards, knocking Cecil off balance.

“What? What?” Cecil steadied himself.

“Mine!”

“Oh my God, Ivan! What do we do?”

“Look behind you. See the footprints?” the soldier advised. “Step back carefully and go round it.” Cecil stepped exactly into the marks in the sand. Ivan followed carefully. He prodded the ground a foot to the right of the mine. The coast was clear. A few breathless minutes later, they reached the sea wall.

The soldier, now purple with rage, grabbed the boys' ears and dragged them kicking and screaming to the police station, depositing them with the constable.

“Found these two playing in the minefield,” he scowled at the two miscreants. “Lock 'em up and throw away the key!” Ivan and Cecil, terrified at the thought of rotting in jail, both burst into tears.

“I'm so sorry,” Cecil sobbed. “Please don't put us in prison. Please.”

“No, please don't,” Ivan wailed. “We didn't know. Sorry.”

“Hmm …” the constable pondered. “Get in the car, before I change my mind.” He followed them out to his police car and drove them home, to tell me what they had done; none the worse for their ordeal but eating humble pie like there was no tomorrow. 

© Annie Bell 2013

Colchester WriteNight - The Anthology

Ever wondered what Colchester might have been like, had Boudicca not attacked? Could there be a secret underground room of treasures still concealed beneath Colchester Castle? Are you intrigued by the ghosts, which haunt the streets of this ancient town? Are you hungry for a slice of everyday life in Colchester?

Whether you want to know more about the Witchfinder General and his victims or explore time travel, 'WriteNight, the Anthology - Colchester' contains something for everyone.

Regular readers will already know that Colchester WriteNight is a group of local writers, who meet twice a month to discuss writing and to write together. I am a member of this amazing group and I love being a part of it.

The brainchild of Emma Kittle, this group began with Colchester people meeting for NaNoWriMo write-ins in November 2011 and we have been meeting regularly for eighteen months now, completing writing exercises; discussing writing; encouraging each other through NaNoWriMo, during the month of November and writing in general the rest of the time. All in all, it is a really supportive and fun group of people to spend time writing with.

Last year, we embarked upon the somewhat daunting task of putting together our first anthology of short stories, on the subject of the town we meet in – Colchester.

The end result is a really interesting and diverse anthology of work by sixteen writers, showcasing the broad range of styles, ideas and imaginations, which make up WriteNight.  To read and enjoy all the stories we had so much fun writing, plese click on the link below.

To purchase a copy of the anthology, 

click here or scan the barcode.

If you love writing and would be interested in coming along to WriteNight, we meet regularly at 15 Queen Street, Colchester.  For more information, click on the links below.  We welcome writers of all abilities ... you just need to enjoy writing!

www.facebook.com/groups/writenight  

Twitter: @ColWriteNight

'Midnight' and Memories of Uncle Cecil

Sadly, on March 11th 2013, my beloved Uncle Cecil passed away.

I would like to share some of the things that made him so great. 

Aged 83, he was a real character.  A keen motorcyclist and fan of motorsport.  We enjoyed numerous Formula One races together, cheering on the 'good guys' and trying to work out ways to stop those Ferraris from winning again!  

Uncle Cecil was a true eccentric artist.  He created numerous beautiful pictures, the most famous of which is still painted on his garage door.   

The seventh child of 8, my Grandad's little brother, Uncle Cecil was a mischievous child, who got into plenty of scrapes along with his brothers and who loved his sister Joan to pieces, often referring to her as his 'Second Mum'.  The novel I am working on 'Midnight' will tell the story of the effect World War II had on their lives.  The stories he and his siblings shared with me, of those times are unbelievable.  When I decided to write the novel, his enthusiasm for sharing his stories of life during that time was obvious and he seemed to enjoy the extracts I was able to share with him.

Uncle Cecil was a wonderful, if complex man, who meant the world to me.  I feel absolutely lost without him.  In his memory, I have included (below) an abridged version of an extract from 'Midnight', which is completely based in fact - you couldn't make it up!  I hope you enjoy it.

Extract from 'Midnight'

by Annie Bell

The sun beamed into the kitchen, as Cecil and Ivan gulped down their porridge (Cecil 'Hollow Legs' was already on his second bowl). I spotted them nudging each other, seeming a bit too quiet.

“What are you two up to?” I asked.

“Nothing,” Cecil beamed.

“Can we go out for the day?” Ivan blurted out. “We want to go to Brightlingsea.” 

 

Cecil scowled at him, adding “We haven't been there for ages.”

“I've told you before,” I scolded. “The coast is off limits, cause of the war.” I felt bad. They had been pestering for ages about the beach but what could I do?

“Mum...” they whined, smiling innocently, as though butter would never soften in their mouths, let alone melt. 

 

“No.” I insisted. “Mention it again, you'll have your father to answer to.”

“Humph. Ok … Can we play with Dennis instead?” asked Cecil.

“Yeah. That'd be fun,” nodded Ivan. “We're not stupid enough to go to the beach after what you just said, Mum.” 

 

I waved them off, despite my better judgement, and carried on peeling potatoes.

I later discovered that, within an hour of leaving, the boys scampered along the train tracks to Brightlingsea. As their naughty plan drew to its climax, they raced onto a swing bridge behind a train, risking being tipped headfirst into the estuary mud. How they weren't caught sooner, I will never know.

Reaching their destination, they ran to the now heavily altered beach. Dense structures of scaffolding, barbed wire and other unfriendly objects scarred the waterline. Our disobedient heroes ignored the warnings and raced off, dodging between the defences as if they were driftwood.

“Let's go crabbing!” cried Cecil joyfully, tramping through the sand. “We can practise forts too. Then we can beat the others, when the war is over!” As Cecil sped off, Ivan hesitated, my warnings ringing in his ears. “Come on Ivan!” yelled Cecil. “I want to catch a massive crab.” At that, Ivan forgot his concerns and followed, giggling, as Cecil's voice was drowned out by the roar of a Wellington bomber. They both stared skywards, their mouths hanging open as it flew over. Unfortunately, the Merlin engines stifled the frantic warnings from a soldier, who had just spotted them from a bunker. Too late, they heard him.

“STOP!” he yelled. “Minefield! Don't move!”

Both boys froze. My words echoed in their ears louder than ever but it was too late. Horrified, Ivan glanced at Cecil. Cecil stared back, lip quivering; tears welling up in his eyes. How would they get out of this scrape?

“Grab that stick!” the soldier barked at Ivan. “Prod the ground at an angle and move slowly towards him. When you're together, come to me.” Ivan nodded and tentatively inched forward. Cecil flinched each time the stick pierced the sand.

After several painful minutes, Ivan reached Cecil. 

 

“Walk in his footsteps,” the soldier told Cecil, as Ivan continued prodding the ground. Both were scarcely breathing as they crept back towards safety. 

 

Ten feet from the soldier, “Oh my God!” Ivan shrank backwards, knocking Cecil off balance.

“What? What?” Cecil steadied himself.

“Mine!”

“Oh my God, Ivan! What do we do?”

“Look behind you. See the footprints?” the soldier advised. “Step back carefully and go round it.” Cecil stepped exactly into the marks in the sand. Ivan followed carefully. He prodded the ground a foot to the right of the mine. The coast was clear. A few breathless minutes later, they reached the sea wall.

The soldier, now purple with rage, grabbed the boys' ears and dragged them kicking and screaming to the police station, depositing them with the constable.

“Found these two playing in the minefield,” he scowled at the two miscreants. “Lock 'em up and throw away the key!” Ivan and Cecil, terrified at the thought of rotting in jail, both burst into tears.

“I'm so sorry,” Cecil sobbed. “Please don't put us in prison. Please.”

“No, please don't,” Ivan wailed. “We didn't know. Sorry.”

“Hmm …” the constable pondered. “Get in the car, before I change my mind.” He followed them out to his police car and drove them home, to tell me what they had done; none the worse for their ordeal but eating humble pie like there was no tomorrow. 

 

© Annie Bell 2013

NaNoWriMo - Extract from 'Midnight' by Annie Bell

Following on from yesterday's post about my NaNoWriMo novel, I thought I would post an extract.  It is a first draft but would love to hear any feedback on it. 

The next day, June 1^st, was an interesting one. The boys all came down for their breakfast. As Cecil and Ivan chewed through their porridge, they seemed a bit too quiet and I was troubled by it.

“What are you two up to?” I asked.

“Nothing,” said Cecil, angelically.

“We were thinking of going out for the afternoon. We want to go fishing in Brightlingsea and build forts.” Ivan blurted out, unchecked. Cecil scowled at him.

 

“It is summer,” Cecil added. “and we always go to the beach.”

 

“If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times.” I told them. “Steer clear of Brightlingsea beach. I've heard some horrendous stories about that place and besides that, all beaches are off limits because of the war.” I was really worried about my mischievous youngsters. They had been nagging me for ages to go back to the beach. We hadn't had our annual outing since Reg's departure. It didn't seem right to have our family outing without our fort building champions and it was now completely forbidden to go near any beach on the east or south coast due to the dangerous coastal defences which had been put up.

 

“Mum...” they both whined. I threw them a stern look as they both stood there in the kitchen, hands behind their backs, their faces painted with innocent smiles, looking as though butter would never soften in their mouths, let alone melt. They made me seem ridiculous, clucking around them like an old mother hen.

 

“No. I will not say it again. You can go to play with your friends as you normally do,” I put on my cross voice. “If you mention it again, you will not go out and you will have your father to answer to.”

 

“Humph. Ok … but can we go and play with Dennis and the others instead?” asked Cecil.

 

“Yes. That would be fun instead,” agreed Ivan. “We're not stupid enough to go to the beach after what you just said, Mum.”

 

I continued peeling potatoes for dinner and, despite my better judgement, I nodded, giving the boys permission to go out and see their friends.

 

I had my misgivings regarding what they might be up to, but I was in absolute shock when I found out what they actually ended up doing.

 

One hour after leaving the house, my naughty, disobedient boys scampered along the train tracks, following the slow train through the marshland to Brightlingsea. They were beyond excited as their naughty plan drew towards its climax. They even raced onto the swing bridge, risking being tipped headfirst into the horrible estuary mud as they balanced behind the train. How they weren't caught sooner, I will never know.

 

As soon as the lads arrived in Brightlingsea, they headed straight for the beach, the salty sea air reassuringly familiar to them as their adventure progressed.

 

As they approached the beach, the changes since their last visit were stark. The waterline was marked with dense structures of scaffolding, barbed wire and other sorts of spiky and unfriendly looking apparatus. Unfortunately, to these two, excited boys, these defences did not really represent a warning as perhaps they should have done.

 

“Let's go crabbing!” cried Cecil joyfully, heading onto the sand. “And we can practise building forts too. Then we can beat the others next time we come to the beach, when the war is over!” Ivan stood back for a moment, pondering the tremendous defeat he and Cecil had suffered against their brothers just last year. As his more adventurous brother sped across the smooth, golden and worryingly empty sand towards the sea, his mother's warnings rang in his ears. “Come on Ivan!” yelled Cecil with excitement. “You have the scraps and I want to catch a massive crab.” With that, Ivan forgot his concerns and ran over to his brother, giggling naughtily.

 

Suddenly, the boys' voices were drowned out by the roar of a Lancaster bomber passing overhead. They looked up, their mouths hanging open as they watched the elegant machine making its way to fight the enemy. Unfortunately, the clattering roar of the Rolls Royce engine prevented them hearing the voice of a man in forces uniform, who stood on the sea wall, having just come out of a bunker near to Bateman's Tower. Too late, they heard his cries.

 

“STOP!” he yelled urgently. “You're walking through a minefield! Don't you lads know there's a war on and the beaches are off limits?”

 

Both boys froze on the spot, fear creeping its fickle way up their spines. Their mother's words were now ringing in their ears louder than ever but it was too late.

Ivan glanced at his younger brother, regret stabbing him in the stomach. Cecil glanced back at him, his lip quivering and tears welling up in his eyes. How would they get out of this scrape?

 

“I know!” yelled Ivan, wanting to calm his brother down and reach safety. “There's a stick next to me. I'll make my way to you and we'll go back to the sea wall together. With that, Ivan began tentatively poking the stick into the sand and inched slowly forward. Cecil visibly flinched each time the stick pierced the sandy surface.

 

After several painful minutes, during which, time seemed to stop, Ivan reached Cecil. He then instructed his brother to stand directly behind him and walk in his footsteps. He continued prodding the ground, scarcely breathing as they made their painstakingly slow way back to the safety of the sea wall.

 

Around three feet from the sea wall, Ivan stopped in his tracks. Cecil nearly knocked him over, he stopped so abruptly.

 

“Oh my God!” Ivan uttered under his breath, shrinking backwards and knocking his brother slightly off balance.

 

“What? What?” whispered Cecil loudly.

 

"Mine. In front of us.”

 

“Oh my God!” whispered Cecil. “What do we do?

 

“Look behind you, Cecil.” Cecil turned his head round delicately.

 

“See the footprints?”

 

“Yes Ivan.”

 

“Step back into them but be really careful.” Cecil stepped back three paces, treading exactly into the marks on the beach. Ivan followed him carefully. He prodded the ground a foot to the right of the mine, which he had marked with a large stone. The coast was clear and, finally, after a few more minutes with no more dramas, they reached the sea wall.

The soldier, who had shouted at them looked livid. He grabbed the two boys by their ears and dragged them kicking and screaming to the local police station, where he deposited them with the local constable.

 

“I found these two playing in the minefield, Constable.” he said. “I don't know what you want to do with them. I'd personally lock them up and throw away the key.” Ivan and Cecil were terrified at this prospect. They both burst into tears, apologising profusely for their stupid behaviour and begging for forgiveness.

 

Evidently, the constable felt sorry for them. Very kindly, he placed them in his police car and drove them home, none the worse for their ordeal but eating humble pie like there was no tomorrow.

 

When the constable knocked on my door, my first thought was that something terrible had happened but as soon as I opened the door, it was obvious that there was nothing wrong at all.

 

“Mrs Bell?” the tall constable asked.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Are these two young scoundrels your children?” he asked with more than a hint of judgement.

“They are, Constable,” I answered, dreading what he might be about to tell me.

 

“Well,” the constable shook his head. “A soldier just found these two running about on a mined beach in Brightlingsea. Did you allow them to do this?”

 

“Absolutely not!” I retorted. “I specifically told them to stay away from the beaches.” I was truly angry now but also terrified. My boys? In a minefield? It didn't bear thinking about.

Having accepted that the boys would be suitable punished for their foolish behaviour, the constable decided to leave them to me rather than taking any further action but he gave them a very stern warning implying that they would be put into prison if they ever did anything so stupid again.

 

I was too angry and disappointed to talk to the boys and so I sent them to their room until their father returned home. 

 

© Annie Bell 2012

NaNoWriMo 2012

It's been over a month since I last posted on here.  I decided to take myself off the radar a little bit so I could devote my writing time to the great challenge of participating in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) 2012.  

NaNoWriMo is a challenge, in which people undertake the commitment to write 50,000 words towards the first draft of a novel, during the thirty days of November.  

For my own NaNo project, I decided to add 50,000 words to my existing novel - an historical epic about my family during World War II.  Prior to NaNo starting, I had produced 33,000 words but most of these consisted of rather random odd sections.  My big challenge for November was to work on producing the central narrative. 

I am pleased to say that I found NaNoWriMo to be a thoroughly rewarding experience.  I was successful in 'winning', completing my 50,000 words a full week before the end of the month.  Even better than that, I carried on to the end of the month, producing 67,000 words altogether, which brings my overall word count to 100,000!  I have a long, long way to go still but I am happy with what I have achieved.  

There was a feed on the NaNoWriMo website, in which members were discussing what they had learned from the experience.  Many of them had similar experiences to me.  If I had to pick three things out, they would be as follows.

1.  I definitely have the self discipline to write every day.  More than that, I absolutely loved that I had to write every day.  It was wonderful to give myself permission to make my writing a priority like that.

2.  I can definitely finish this novel.  It has been puzzling me for years now and I have finally reached a point where I know exactly what I am doing with it.

3.  It helps to have company.  The entire process of writing is massively enhanced by the company of like minded people.  This was where WriteNight came in.  As regular readers will know from previous entries, I am a member of WriteNight Colchester.  Throughout November, we met every Monday night and worked on our respective novels.  Not only that, we encouraged one another via Facebook so there was a good support network between meetings.

So, as you can see, the entire NaNoWriMo process has been fantastic for me. 

Should you wish to take part next year, the website is available here and is well worth a look. 

Journeys Through History

I love research.

I realise that might sound a bit odd.  Until about 6 months ago, I was not the biggest fan of research.  I was under the impression that it was a necessary evil which had to be overcome in order to achieve a goal.  I cannot even begin to explain how wrong I was!

First of all, as regular readers will know, in August, I spent a lot of time in the Local Studies Area of Colchester Library, researching a young lady called Charlotte White (nee Smyth), who lived in Berechurch Hall, Colchester in the early 19th Century.  The purpose of this was to write a story about her ghost, as part of the Colchester WriteNight anthology.  This research led me on a fascinating journey, which took me on interesting field trips, introduced me to some wonderful people and resolved a ghost story, which had scared me since my childhood.  I am still intrigued by this story and have many projects in mind which are linked with it.

For more information on my adventures in researching Charlotte White's story, have a look at the following links:  PART1 - PART2 - PART3 - PART4 - PART5

To purchase a copy of 'Charlotte -The Lady in White' a novel based on the Life of Charlotte White, nee Smyth, please click the link below

https://www.etsy.com/uk/listing/704533011/charlotte-the-lady-in-white-by-annie?ref=shop_home_active_1&crt=1

Over the past few weeks, I have been conducting some research into World War II and more specifically, events which had a direct effect on Colchester during that period.  I have been researching this for my novel - Midnight.  I plan to add 50,000 words to 'Midnight' for NaNoWriMo this year. (For more information, click HERE.)

For a number of years, I have been interviewing my Grandad's siblings to find out what happened to them during World War II but I needed some more detailed information about events in Colchester during that period, in order to bring my protagonist's story to life.

First of all, I took myself back into Colchester Library's Local Studies Area.  There, I found a beautiful home made book - 'Colchester at War' by a man called Bernard Polley, which was full of useful facts, dates and events which took place.

Second of all, I discovered my new research interest E.J. Rudsdale.

Rudsdale was a curator at Colchester Castle Museum, worked for the W.A.C. during World War II and also worked for the Royal Observer Corps during the times when the V1 and V2 bombs were causing mayhem across Britain.  He was also an avid historian, who appreciated the merit of diaries in documenting events for future generations.  As such, he kept a detailed diary of the entire war period.  

As regular readers will know, I recently read Rudsdale's diary and found it a brilliant read.  (Click HERE to read more)  Despite the fact that I was simply using the book for research, I was so impressed with Rudsdale's writing and interested in him as a person, that I am now very keen to look into his history and read more of his writing.  I am eager to do this as soon as I can.

I cannot say strongly enough how useful the information available in Colchester Library is.  I have also been consistently impressed by the staff there.  They are so helpful and friendly.  I thoroughly recommend them.

For more information, have a look at the website for Essex Libraries.

So, as you can see, researching history for the purposes of writing a story can be completely absorbing and utterly compelling.  The more I research, with the purpose of writing, the more I want to do.  If you have a story in mind and research is putting you off, give it a go.  You might be surprised!