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  • Road Rollers by Anthony Coulls

    The classic shape of an Aveling & Porter steam roller evolved in the 1870s; here’s an advert for one from the Land Agents’ Record of March 1896. (Road Rollers, Amberley Publishing)

    It takes a certain kind of madness to preserve a road roller, either steam, diesel or petrol powered. All are heavy and awkward and the amount of time, effort and money expended upon restoration or repairs is not reflected in the value of the machine at the end of the work. Yet it’s still fun, and the roller folk are a particularly sociable type. In recent years, road making demonstrations have taken off and become popular, with all manner of supporting equipment from living vans to tar boilers, lamps and road repair signs. Working demonstrations such as these are immensely popular and as good as any working museum when done well.

    There can be no better depiction of the variety of Aveling rollers over the decades in terms of size and appearance than this picture of a quartet of rollers on the National Traction Engine Trust’s sixtieth anniversary road run from September 2014, led by Dick Blenkinsop’s Aveling-Barford of 1937. (Road Rollers, Amberley Publishing)

    Restoring a road roller is my blood. In 1966, my father and his friends Trevor Daw, Doug Kempton and Gus Palmer all clubbed together to buy a derelict Ruston & Hornsby steam roller which had worked for Herefordshire County Council. They paid £100 for the compound engine which was lying at the Bransford Bear public house in Worcestershire. It had been bought as a plaything but the idea came to nothing and so it was moved on to the four friends, who called themselves the Arden Steam Group. The Group had connections with the Hockley Heath Steam Association and the Warwickshire Steam Engine Society, so the plan was made to take it home to their county – under its own steam. Over a period of 12 months, the roller was retubed with no power tools and fettled to make it roadworthy to travel to Hockley Heath and in March 1967, the Ruston set sail under its own steam. The journey was filmed by the BBC, sadly the footage no longer exists. The Arden Steam Group continued to work on the engine and painted it grey, probably because that was the cheapest paint that Dad could come by from his employers at the time! Unfortunately as time progressed, the lives of the Group changed too, and so in 1971, three of the partners sold out their shares to Trevor Daw, who then went on to own Ruston 114059 for another 40 years, carrying out a heavy overhaul throughout the 1970s and then rallying it extensively throughout the 1980s and 1990s. The roller is now cared for by the Vickery family in Hertfordshire, joining the other Ruston steam roller in their collection. A regular on the steam rally scene, it will always have a special place in the heart of our family.

    The Advance was the successful later roller made by Wallis & Steevens with a twin cylinder engine for quick reversing. The picture shows the very first of its type at the Onslow Park Rally near Shrewsbury in August 2007. (Road Rollers, Amberley Publishing)

    It was therefore inevitable that I would get involved with rollers, despite there not having been on in the family in my lifetime. The first one came in 1996 when a 1944 Wallis & Steevens diesel roller was rescued from Victoria Park in Leamington Spa, my home town. There had also been an Aveling steam roller in the playground there, but this had been sold in 1993 whilst I was at university. I found a home for the Wallis with a school friend’s farmer father in South Warwickshire, and after a number of days work with my friend Ken Milns, we got it going again over the Easter weekend in 1998. Around ten years later, the roller was borrowed by Trevor Daw, our family friend from the 1960s and he completely rebuilt it in his workshop. The finished article now lives on loan at Beamish Museum in County Durham, but not before we took it back to the park in Leamington in 2013. We had a lot of work to get it going again and also had to apply via the DVLA to get the roller’s original registration number back, a process helped very much by the Road Roller Association. Likewise, drawings, manuals and archives were also sourced via the RRA and the Museum of English Rural Life at Reading University where the Wallis and Steevens records are kept.

    Isaac Ball of Wharles ran a fleet of steam rollers, all equipped with the full-length roof as seen here, and mostly made by Burrells. They also built their own living vans, such as the one behind the roller. The road train, including the water cart, was part of the Ball reunion event held in June 2017. (Road Rollers, Amberley Publishing)

    The diesel and experience gained from its rehabilitation led to a steam roller, and the 15 ton Aveling roller 3315 of 1894 joined the fleet in the summer of 2003. Firstly being stored in West Yorkshire and then finding its way to County Durham where we had made our home. Having stood idle since being taken out of service in the 1950s, it had lost a number of parts, but the boiler was in essence good, and friends assured us that the rest of the machine could be repaired or replaced where fittings were missing – and thus the die was set for a ten year rebuild – or recommissioning as I liked to call it. Skills were learned such as riveting, welding, gas cutting and tubing the boiler. New friends were made in the process and much research undertaken on the engine and others like it as we looked for new parts, spares or information on how it might all fit together. As with any restoration, there were set backs and side roads followed, but with steady fundraising, progress was made. In 2012, the roller lived again, taking its first moves at a party to celebrate the restoration and support given by so many. That said, in 2013, further defects were found in the roller’s transmission and gears. At the time of writing, further long and expensive repairs are being undertaken on the roller with a view to it continuing in steam on the road well past its 125th birthday in 2019. The whole family love it however and the fun and friendship it has brought to us all.

    My Road Rollers book examines the background to these wonderful machines during their working lives and then goes further into the popular appeal and how to get involved. Who knows, you may get smitten as I was?!

    Anthony Coulls's new book Road Rollers as part of our Britain's Heritage Series is available for purchase now.

  • Phillimore's Edinburgh by Jan Bondeson

    Reginald Phillimore’s house ‘Rockstowes’ at what is today No. 9 Melbourne Road, North Berwick. (Phillimore's Edinburgh, Amberley Publishing)

    Reginald Phillimore was born in 1855, one of five children of Dr William Phillimore, the superintendent of a lunatic asylum near Nottingham. He showed promise as an artist already as a schoolboy, winning a Government Art Prize for the painting of a still life group in watercolour, from nature. After a third-class Oxford B.A. in history, he worked as an assistant schoolmaster for many years. A shy, retiring man, he very much disliked the boisterous pupils and their unseemly shenanigans, and wished to be free of his humdrum day job to concentrate on his art, but he could not make a living with pen and brush. The turning point came when three capitalist aunts of his, who had taught school in North Berwick, East Lothian, all died in 1900 and 1901, leaving their house, school and money to Reginald. He decided to move into ‘Rockstowes’, the house formerly occupied by the aunts, with its splendid seaside views. The contrast from the impoverished assistant schoolmaster who hated his job, to the financially independent North Berwick property owner of great expectations, could not have been a greater one.

    Reginald Phillimore with his friend Dr Richardson. (Phillimore's Edinburgh, Amberley Publishing)

    Reginald Phillimore did not want to live in idleness, and anyway there was a need to accumulate money and provide for his old age. At an early stage after he had come to North Berwick, he began to produce picture postcards from his own drawings. All his early cards had local motives, from North Berwick and its immediate surroundings. The start of the picture postcard boom in Britain coincided with Phillimore’s move to North Berwick, and the quaint East Lothian surroundings must have inspired him to become a full-time postcard artist. From the bay window of his first-floor study at ‘Rockstowes’, he had a good view of the Bass Rock, a steep-sided volcanic rock that is home to many thousand gannets and other sea birds; it inspired several of his early cards. He employed a teenaged North Berwick schoolgirl, Mary Pearson, to do the delicate colouring; since she liked some variation, no two hand-coloured cards are the same. Most of his early picture postcards were conventional in that they depicted a standard view, like the Bass Rock or Tantallon Castle, with brief explanatory text; from the very beginning, they enjoyed good sales locally, since people appreciated that they were of superior aesthetic quality. As he grew more experienced, Reginald invented a style of his own for his picture postcards: there was still a main motive, but often several smaller vignettes as well, and brief explanatory text describing the history of the building, close or street depicted. This proved both a novel and felicitous manner to produce a postcard, and Reginald’s business flourished as a result. He sold his postcards for a halfpenny each to a network of dealers, initially mainly in the Lothians, but with time all over Britain. Between 1904 and 1914, he was one of Britain’s postcard kingpins, admired and collected by many, and easily able to make a living for himself.

    Edinburgh Castle. (Phillimore's Edinburgh, Amberley Publishing)

    Little is known about Reginald’s private life during his North Berwick Edwardian fame and fortune. He kept busy producing his cards, some from his own etchings, others from motives in the Lothians that he personally visited, yet others from old prints he procured in Edinburgh. He more than once went on tour looking for inspiration, and visited Gloucester, Malvern, Bath, Bristol, Exeter and the West Country, producing a series of felicitous cards with various local landmarks. He also visited Manchester, toured Northumberland and Yorkshire, and travelled to most parts of the Scottish lowlands. Since he did not approve of Glasgow, only one of his cards (Cathedral) is from the sprawling Scottish metropolis; nor did he like London particularly, and again just one card (St Paul’s) is from the English capital. The most felicitous of his cards were those from Edinburgh, a city he knew very well, and his many cards from East Lothian. Reginald remained a shy, introverted man during his North Berwick heyday, with a dislike for social pursuits and a fondness for a solitary life in his comfortable Rockstowes studio. The only woman he is known to have befriended was the aforementioned schoolgirl Mary Pearson, who became his housekeeper once she gained adulthood.

    Phillimore’s books about the Bass Rock and Tantallon. (Phillimore's Edinburgh, Amberley Publishing)

    The Great War came, with its depressing influence on commerce in general and the postcard industry in particular, although Reginald continued to produce postcards throughout the war years. When hostilities ended in 1918, he was 63 years old, but it was not yet time to retire. Since the market for his picture postcards had largely disappeared, he had to conduct an orderly retreat for his postcard company, which once had enjoyed such meteoric success. He sold the occasional painting and etching, but the influx of money was nothing like it had been in pre-war times. He had produced 122 cards from early 1914 until 1919; from the summer of 1919 until the end of his life, he would make only 37 more cards. The market for his postcards continued to decline: town after town on the English mainland was lost, and shop after shop stopped stocking his cards since they were no longer fashionable; yet he remained well represented in Scotland throughout the 1920, particularly in his Edinburgh and East Lothian strongholds.

     

    Reginald Phillimore in his old age. (Phillimore's Edinburgh, Amberley Publishing)

    Reginald Phillimore’s health, both mental and physical, had always been very good, but in 1936, he suffered a serious stroke, becoming paralysed in the right side of his body and experiencing an impairment of his speech. On sunny days, the loyal Mary Pearson wheeled him about in an invalid chair, and he liked to sit in the small garden to the rear of his house. He is said to have learnt to write, with difficulty, with his left hand, and even to have attempted to copy an old water-colour painting of his; still, this is scant consolation for an artist whose creative power had been broken, for good. As the Bass Rock gleamed in the bright North Berwick sunshine, the shadows grew longer in the Rockstowes geriatric gloom. The memories of a man in his old age are the dreams and hopes of a man in his prime, and as Reginald sat lopsidedly in his armchair in the downstairs parlour, he must have pondered his unhappy days as a schoolmaster, the great inheritance triumph in 1901, the heady Edwardian days as one of Britain’s postcard kingpins, and the slow but steady post-war decline. Reginald Phillimore died on Christmas Eve 1941 and was buried in the family vault at Bridgnorth.

    Jan Bondeson's new book Phillimore's Edinburgh is available for purchase now.

  • British Railway Accidents and Incidents in Maps and Pictures by Jonathan Mountfort

    The Midland train heading south towards Hitchin from Bedford. Note the chimneys on the maltings in the background, which enable us to locate this view on the map. (British Railway Accidents and Incidents in Maps and Pictures, Amberley Publishing)

    I became immediately hooked on the study of railway accidents when, at the age of ten, I borrowed J A B Hamilton’s British Railway Accidents of the 20th Century from my local public library – I think I read it five times in the next couple of weeks. But I can’t really explain why that should be – I’m not obsessed with death or killing people and I don’t read books on wars or battles, nor do I play shoot-em-up video games. I think it must come down to the power and majesty of a train rumbling along the tracks and then suddenly, for almost any trivial reason one can imagine, succumbing to a tearing crunching disaster – splintered carriages and wheels of steel littered around the scene, and bent and ripped up rails to be swiftly replaced by the permanent way gang, usually within 24 hours of the incident occurring.

    So, over the many years since then, I have read most of the books on the subject, including of course Tom Rolt’s “bible” on the subject: Red for Danger. But for me, there was always something missing. I could read about what happened, the names of the railway staff involved, what went wrong, and what the accident inspector recommended… but none of these books gave me any context, especially maps, so I could see where they happened and how the track fitted into the landscape. Well, I have a motto (which I’m sure is not just mine) which is: “write the book you would like to buy”. So when Amberley asked me if I had any suggestions for new titles, I straight away suggested British Railway Accidents and Incidents in Maps and Pictures. The reason for the “incidents” part is that I didn’t want to be restricted to just writing about serious mishaps, and indeed I wanted to be able to include events which were not mishaps at all. But I wanted it to have all the context that was available from contemporary maps and postcard images.

    Ordnance Survey 25-inch map c. 1900 showing the probable location of the train and flood shown in the picture postcard dated 30 April 1908. (British Railway Accidents and Incidents in Maps and Pictures, Amberley Publishing)

    Which brings me onto my next subject: postcards. Local photographers were usually on the scene of an accident within minutes, getting pictures for the local newspaper, or even the nationals if the event was serious. They also published their work as postcards, and the public of those days, with no TV or horror films, were eager to lap up the images and send accompanying notes to their friends and loved ones. We see Victorian and Edwardian society as much more macabre and ghoulish than we are today, but actually, this was the  only excitement they got in their mainly humdrum lives, while we now have, as I said, TV programmes and films. But what do we watch? Murder and mayhem and we lap it up – so actually human nature has not changed at all and we are just as obsessed with death and destruction now as ever we were – just look at the success of Game of Thrones!

    As I mentioned, people bought the postcards and sent them to their friends, often with the usual tedious postcard message on the back saying, “I hope mother is well… we’ll come and visit soon… isn’t the weather foul/lovely, etc”. But some of the backs of accident postcards have wonderful commentary on the event shown on the front – and in this book I have included the ones I own which give this insight into the event portrayed. Now to me, this is fascinating: here you have, in your hand, a unique (and I use the word correctly and not in its usual muddled sense) contemporary record in ink or pencil of what the person writing, usually around 100 years ago, saw and thought about what had happened, often giving invaluable information which no other research into accident and newspaper reports could ever reveal – I shall call this “research through serendipity”, because it really can be nothing else!

    The message on the back of the postcard reads: ‘This is a photo of the accident just outside Salop station it was on a viaduct higher than the house tops there is twenty killed and one have died since I went to see the wreck it was awful they had got most of the dead away they were smashed out of all recognition. I expect you will see it in print’ and at the top of the card: ‘where I put the cross is a carriage reared right on top of another one side smashed clean off’. (British Railway Accidents and Incidents in Maps and Pictures, Amberley Publishing)

    Unfortunately, this means I have exhausted my own supply of on-the-spot personal commentary, but if anyone out there has a postcard with a relevant message written on the back, then if we can gather enough together we can use them in a sequel – you never know.

    Anyway, I hope you like the book, and of course, there will be a few errors in it which I am sure you will soon let me know about, but that is just inevitable when putting together detailed work of this kind. And at this point, I shall flag up an error which I made and which I failed to spot in time before publication: I therefore apologise here for spelling Courtney Atkin’s name wrong – he is the author of the fabulous book A Significant Accident which he wrote about the Connington South derailment of 1967.

    So, I’ll just conclude by saying what this book is not:

    It is not a book about the history of British railway accidents – there are many, many of those already out there.

    It is not a book about the Railway Inspectorate and the Royal Engineers and their work to make the railways of Britain safer.

    It is not a book about the changes which were made to effect these improvements – all of these subject are covered in detail in Tom Rolt’s book and others.

    So thank you for listening.

    Jonathan Mountfort's new book British Railway Accidents and Incidents in Maps and Pictures is available for purchase now.

  • The British Seaside by Stuart Hylton

    I didn’t always like to be beside the seaside

    The beach at Cromer - undated, but the presence of bathing machines further up the beach suggests it may be early twentieth century. (The British Seaside, Amberley Publishing)

    For most of us, our stock of childhood memories include visits to the seaside. Hopefully, most of these memories will be happy ones, but the sea was not always the welcoming haunt of the holidaymaker. Going back to Old Testament times, the sea could be seen as the bringer of death and disaster (think Noah), or the home of mysterious gigantic creatures, ready to devour the unwary (as Jonah found out). People would generally only venture away from dry land if driven by the imperatives of earning a living or military conquest.

    The change began around about the eighteenth century, when near-miraculous powers of rejuvenation started to be claimed for the seaside and sea water (and for its cousin, the inland mineral water spring). Before too long, well-to-do people were flocking in considerable numbers to the seaside, to drink and bathe in its water. The cure, as it came to be known, could last for a considerable time and there was only so much sea bathing or brine drinking that even the most assiduous patient could take. Other, hopefully less objectionable, diversions had to be found to fill the time, and it was from these that the seaside resort evolved.

    Bikini girls c. 4 BC - part of a Roman mosaic from the Villa Romana del Casale, Sicily. (The British Seaside, Amberley Publishing)

    But it was with the coming of the steam ship and, more particularly, the railways, that the seaside began to change from the preserve of the leisured and rich to the holiday haunt of all but the poorest members of society. My book The British Seaside: an illustrated history tells the story of the transformation of the British coastal resort from a number of points of view.

    One sometimes heated debate that has run for centuries has been the appropriate dress (or rather undress) code for sea bathing. Every school of thought has been represented in it, from those who favoured shapeless head to foot canvas garments, to variations on the next to nothing theme (culminating in nothing whatsoever). There was even the bathing machine, a species of garden shed on wheels in which the bather could be rolled into the sea, their modesty intact.

    Given that it is a book about the British seaside, it could not ignore what happens when the weather rules out the beach. Seaside resorts have made several distinctive forms of architecture their own. Notably there was the pier, which started life as a purely functional means of getting arrivals by boat onto land with dry feet, before evolving into an all-singing and dancing palace of varieties.

    A rare photograph of a lady emerging from her bathing machine in about 1893. (Wikimedia Commons, The British Seaside, Amberley Publishing)

    Some individual seaside entertainments also had colourful histories. The “what the butler saw” machine had its origins in a scandalous Victorian society divorce case, in which the key witness was the butler, who apparently observed his employer’s dalliances through the keyhole of the dining room. The roller coaster had its origins in eighteenth century Russia and the first ones did not even have wheels – they were giant sledges, sliding down man-made ice hills to entertain visitors to Czar Catherine II at the Oranienbaum Palace, near St Petersburg.

    Dodgem cars should correctly be referred to as bumper cars (Dodgem being a brand name for one make of them, patented in America in 1920). Some of the early ones were apparently very rickety indeed, liable to fall apart at the gentlest of impacts and with steering that bore only the vaguest relationship to the direction in which you were going.

    Punch and Judy is a much earlier entertainment, appearing as it does in Samuel Pepys’ diary and with links back to Roman times and the Lord of Misrule. It gradually went from being an adult entertainment to one for children, and was softened in the process. The modern health and safety conscious Mister Punch is much less likely to murder the baby or feed it through the sausage machine, or to leave parents to explain his relationship to his mistress, Pretty Polly, to their children.

    But one of the most striking seaside rides was developed in 1904 by Sir Hiram Maxim (inventor of the machine gun). This steam-powered ride (the Captive Flying Machine) was originally intended to give customers the sensation of operating a flying machine (Maxim had recently made a spectacularly unsuccessful attempt to construct the real thing). Perhaps wisely, the health and safety authorities of the day rejected some of Maxim’s more adventurous features, leaving him, as he saw it, with a toothless “glorified merry-go-round”. A version of this may still be seen at Blackpool.

    The Palace Pier, Brighton in about 1914. It was built in 1899 to replace the 1827 Chain Pier, destroyed in a storm in 1896. Today it is known just as Brighton Pier. (The British Seaside, Amberley Publishing)

    The Second World War bought an end to the seaside holiday, as many of the nation’s beaches were barred to the public, mined and covered in tank traps. Instead local authorities were encouraged to make worthy (if not universally successful) efforts to create holidays at home, turning parks, rivers or whatever amenities a town had to offer into makeshift “seaside” resorts. Even Punch and Judy got conscripted, with Hitler replacing the character of the hangman (whom Mister Punch invariably tricked into hanging himself).

    But most of all this is an illustrated history of the seaside, and researching it has been a splendid excuse for visiting many of the country’s resorts, and collecting illustrations – ancient and modern - of their development over more than a hundred years. These pictures, and the thumbnail histories of the resorts that accompany them, form the second half of my book.

    Stuart Hylton's new book The British Seaside: An Illustrated History is available for purchase now.

  • Everyday Life in Tudor London by Stephen Porter

    Life in the City of Thomas Cromwell, William Shakespeare & Anne Boleyn

    London in the late fifteenth century looking west; a painting by John Fulleylove based upon a contemporary illustration. (Author's collection, Everyday Life in Tudor London, Amberley Publishing)

    Tudor London was a large and vibrant city holding an unrivalled position within England as the centre of government, political life and the law; the focus of power and patronage; the hub of overseas and inland trade, with a diverse and flourishing economy. Its wealth and the opportunities which it offered drew aspiring incomers from across the country and attracted a significant inflow of people from abroad, together with new ideas and practices, as London’s overseas trade expanded into new trading regions. Its contacts developed, centred on the commercial world of the City, the court’s artistic interests and patronage, and the humanist intelligentsia’s networks.

    Visitors were aware that the city was inhabited by craftsmen and was not dominated by the aristocracy. Shops lined many of the streets, including the one which crossed the bridge connecting the city with Southwark; an impressive structure which was greatly admired. Cheapside attracted attention for the wealth of its goldsmiths’ and silversmiths’ shops and Watling Street was dominated by wealthy drapers dealing in all sorts of woollen cloth. The houses of the merchants and wealthy craftsmen were impressive but not showy and the streets themselves gave an unfavourable impression, for they were narrow and lined with tall buildings, and so were rather dismal. And their surfaces were foul, because they were badly paved and often wet and muddy, and that carried into the houses. London’s environment was a smelly one, both indoors and out.

    The entrance to Staple Inn, Holborn, erected in 1586, painted by E. W. Haslehust around 1924. The inn was the largest of the Inns of Chancery. (Author's collection, Everyday Life in Tudor London, Amberley Publishing)

    Within the city were more than a hundred parish churches, the great cathedral of St Paul’s and over 30 monastic houses, all of varying sizes. The monastic orders owned many houses across the city and after they were dissolved, in the 1530s, not only were the sites of the monasteries sold, but so too were their properties, and so the mid-century saw a considerable transfer of ownership of property.

    Londoners enjoyed a good and varied diet, with mutton and beef, and plenty of fish, and they were particularly fond of young swans, rabbits, deer, and seabirds. Markets were held along the streets. The principal one was in Cheapside and the names of the adjacent streets indicate their specialities: Honey Lane, Bread Street, Milk Street and Wood Street. A fish market was held in Friday Street on Fridays, although the biggest fish market was at Billingsgate. The poultry dealers traded in the eastwards extension of Cheapside, known as Poultry; at its western end a corn market was held in a churchyard, and beyond that Newgate Street was used by butchers for their slaughter-houses and stalls.

    The Swan playhouse on Bankside, erected in 1595 and sketched by Johannes de Witt in the following year. His sketch was copied and that copy is the only surviving contemporary illustration of a theatre of Shakespeare's time. (Author's collection, Everyday Life in Tudor London, Amberley Publishing)

    To supply the Londoners’ needs, goods, fuel and produce were brought by road, along the Thames and in seagoing and coastal vessels. The carts which supplied the city and those which transported goods from the quaysides along the Thames caused traffic congestion, which worsened during the sixteenth century, as London’s population grew and as the aristocracy, gentry and wealthier merchants took to travelling by coach. Congestion of pedestrians and vehicles was a characteristic and frustrating feature of life in the city. The number of vessels on the river also increased and visitors were impressed by the sheer amount of shipping in the Thames.

    As well as the seagoing vessels and river barges, the Thames seemed to be full of small passenger boats taking two passengers and known as wherries; by the end of the century there were said to be 3,000 of them. They were convenient for theatre-goers who attended performances in the new playhouses on Bankside; others were built in Shoreditch. The late sixteenth century saw the birth of the modern theatre as plays emerged from the court and aristocratic mansions onto a genuinely public stage, where a wide-ranging and constantly expanding repertoire could be enjoyed by everyone for a small charge. But the playhouses were viewed with suspicion, as places which attracted ne’er-do-wells, and the magistrates occasionally tried to suppress them, on moral grounds, and during outbreaks of plague, to deter people from crowding together, which was thought likely to help spread the disease.

    St James's Palace was built by Henry VIII in the 1530s; the Tudor gatehouse survives and was painted by E. W. Haslehust in the early 1920s. (Author's collection, Everyday Life in Tudor London, Amberley Publishing)

    Londoners had a range of other recreations to choose from. That was the period when the Lord Mayor’s show developed into a truly impressive day-long spectacle, with hundreds taking part and thousands lining the route. Bowling alleys, gaming-houses and alehouses were all popular, although the magistrates tried to control the numbers, partly because they were thought to be the resort of idle people who should have been at work. But alehouses were lively meeting places for music and conviviality, with ballads pasted on the walls to encourage communal singing. Inns, taverns and beer gardens were scattered about the city and were used by women as well as men. Women and men mixed freely in Tudor London and travellers commented on the practice of kissing as a greeting, with callers expected to kiss the hostess and her whole household both when they arrived and when they left.

    Tudor London, with its overlapping communities, was a complex, lively and rewarding city in which to live. By the time that the dynasty came to an end in 1603 its population had reached 200,000, having increased fourfold since Henry VII’s accession in 1485. That was just one reflection of how dominant the city was within England, in terms of its economic, social, political, legal and cultural influence. And it had gained a far wider international reach, as its merchants traded with an expanding range of ports across much of the world, and the greater volume and ever-widening variety of fine goods that were imported. Many of them reached London’s myriad shops and households; the congestion in the streets and on the river reflected the city’s industrious and prospering society. Problems remained, for growth brought overcrowding and bad living conditions for the poor, and epidemic diseases could not be prevented, but the rapid recovery from the sporadic outbreaks demonstrated London’s social and economic resilience. A French visitor in 1578 was so enthused by the city that he wrote that ‘rumours of the greatness, prosperity, singularities and splendours of London fly and run to the ends of the whole world’.

    Stephen Porter's new paperback edition of Everyday Life in Tudor London: Life in the City of Thomas Cromwell, William Shakespeare & Anne Boleyn is available for purchase now.

  • Bell Rock Lighthouse by Michael A. W. Strachan

    More than Stevenson and Rennie

    Historians now debate whether Robert Stevenson (1772-1850) or John Rennie (1761-1821) deserve the credit for the engineering behind the Bell Rock. While Rennie was Chief Engineer, Stevenson’s ingenuity on the reef arguable allowed him to construct from his own plan. (National Galleries Scotland, Bell Rock Lighthouse, Amberley Publishing)

    When I was first approached by my Amberley editor regarding the possibility of writing a book about the Bell Rock Lighthouse my almost immediate answer was absolutely not. In my view there had been enough books written about the Bell Rock, most of which were nothing more than edited versions of Robert Stevenson’s 1824 Account of the Building of the Bell Rock Lighthouse. What new information was there still left to find? In the end I was persuaded to write the book by one of the Bell’s many enthusiastic fans: a person from Dundee who had tried to convince me of its superior status among lighthouses.

    The Bell Rock was built 12 miles off the coast of Arbroath between 1807-10. The light was first exhibited from 1st February 1811. (Taken from Stevenson's Account of the Building of the Bell Rock, Bell Rock Lighthouse, Amberley Publishing)

    The Bell Rock, long seen as the lighthouse that made the name of the Stevenson Engineers, was built between 1807-10 to mark the deadly Inchcape Reef. As one might expect from the wealth of material published regarding the construction of the tower, it was not only seen as a monumental feat of engineering in its own time, but one which continues to draw appreciation and admiration today. To tame the Inchcape Reef, Stevenson and his men would need to build a solid stone tower on a rock which was submerged 12-feet under water at the high water and barely exposed during low-tide. At the outset of the construction it was expected it would take seven summers to build, but thanks to Stevenson’s ingenuity on the reef it was completed in less than four summers with the light first being exhibited on the 1st February 1811.

    The Bell Rock was manned by a chain of light-keepers from 1811 until it was finally automated in 1988. (Courtesy of Signal Tower Museum, Bell Rock Lighthouse, Amberley Publishing)

    Despite this impressive record, if I was going to write a book about the Bell Rock it was not going to focus solely on the construction: Robert Stevenson wrote that book in 1824 and the Northern Lighthouse Heritage Trust has made that meticulous text available online. In more recent times authors have studied the construction while questioning whom the credit should go for masterminding the tower: although Robert Stevenson’s name is most associated with the Bell, it is not disputed that he was but an assistant to the project’s chief engineer John Rennie. While history has favoured Stevenson, in the last ten years or so Rennie’s vital improvements to Stevenson’s plans are becoming more emphasised and recognised, particularly following Professor Paxton’s 2011 publication Dynasty of Engineers: one of many works published in that year to mark the Bell’s bicentenary. But if I wanted my book to do anything, it was to show that the history of the Bell Rock lighthouse spans more than 4 years: it is more than just Stevenson and Rennie!

    This new book is different for it purposely goes beyond Stevenson and Rennie to explore the wider history of the Bell Rock, charting how things have changed in the tower through time to the present day. Yes, Stevenson and Rennie have an important part in the book, but they are contained to only two chapters. The majority of the book instead focusses on another aspect of the Bell which in my view draws just as much interest and admiration from pharologists and novices alike: what was it like to live and work on the Bell Rock? The story of how the keepers’ lived on this lonely tower for over 175 years, marooned for six-week periods 12 miles off the Angus coast, is just as fascinating as the over-documented story of construction. The book allows readers to chronologically drop in on the lighthouse during certain periods to see how, in many cases, situations had improved from the previous chapters while in other cases see how persistent challenges remained in what was considered to be Scotland’s worst light to man.

    The interest in the Bell Rock led to the old Signal Tower in Arbroath being refurbished into a museum which tells the history of the lighthouse. (Bell Rock Lighthouse, Amberley Publishing)

    It is acknowledged in the book that the job of light-keeping, particularly on the Bell, could be mundane: like at every other lighthouse there were long periods at the rock where very little changed and where the exact same vigils in the lightroom were carried out night-in and night-out. Such periods were, though, punctuated by the arrival of the engineers in their efforts to update and modernise the station. The more recent engineering challenges have been tackled by non-Stevensons and have been largely overlooked and ignored by pharologists and historians. Among those featured in the book are the four main ‘punctuations’ of the 20th Century: David A. Stevenson’s 1902 improvements; the Bell Rock adaptions for war; Hyslop’s 1963/4 modernization; and the Northern Lighthouse Board’s 1987/8 modifications for automation. While none of the above may match the gargantuan challenge and achievements of Stevenson and Rennie, they are important steps by the direct successors of those two men in the making of a modern and functional lighthouse. These engineering projects are just as fascinating a read and just as important to the history of the tower than those overseen by Robert Stevenson in the century before.

    Mr John Boath (left), last principal light-keeper of the Bell Rock Lighthouse, was interviewed by the author (right) for the book telling of his experience on the Bell. Pictured at Kinnaird Head Lighthouse (Photo: Ian Cowe, Bell Rock Lighthouse, Amberley Publishing)

    The book is illustrated with 100 images which have largely been taken from the extensive collection of the Museum of Scottish Lighthouses in Fraserburgh as well as from other institutions and private collections, with many historical internal views of the tower. Some of these images have never-before been published which should be of interest to fans of the Bell Rock, and fans of lighthouses in general. The images represent the best collation of Bell Rock images in a single publication on the subject, while the approach to chronicle the full history of the lighthouse represents a welcome break from the traditional and well-trodden focus of that lights prestigious past.

    Michael A. W. Strachan's new book Bell Rock Lighthouse: An Illustrated History is available for purchase now.

  • Cumbria in Photographs by Steve Pipe

    Cumbria through the seasons

    Each year Cumbria sees in excess of 15 million visitors and many of them come between Easter and October, which is a shame as Cumbria is a county of year round beauty. This ever changing beauty is something I tried to show in my Cumbria in Photographs book; capturing the colours and the activities is less of a challenge than capturing the atmosphere and feeling of the changing seasons; here are a few of my favourite seasonal moments which I think show the county at its finest.

    Spring

    Rhododendrons at Wastwater. (Cumbria in Photographs, Amberley Publishing)

    For me spring is a season of colour, especially if we’ve had a particularly long winter, and the rhododendrons at Wastwater really show that off. I remember taking that shot; it was a beautiful spring day, crisp and clear with a gentle warmth from the sun. Taking the perfect picture often involves a lot of hanging around so it’s nice when the weather warms up and makes things a little more comfortable. Even the small things like taking your time over lunch rather than hiding behind a tree or a rock for shelter and wolfing something down before your hands go numb, make a big difference.

    The county is awash with snowdrops, crocuses and bluebells but surely it’s our daffodils which are most famous, thanks to Mr Wordsworth. They were really late flowering this year due to the Beast from the East bringing some late snows and the daffodils photo was the very last one I took for the book, just a few days before the deadline. I kept visiting to check on their progress and wasn’t sure they’d be out in time, but thankfully they just made it.

    Summer

    Kelly Hall Tarn. (Cumbria in Photographs, Amberley Publishing)

    The challenge in summer can be escaping the crowds and finding a little peace and quiet and there are a few excellent “off the beaten track” sites in the book. Devoke Water and Kelly Hall Tarn are both usually pretty quiet, as are the fells to the south of Haweswater where you can often wander around all day and only see a few other people.

    If crowds are your thing then there are plenty of events on throughout the summer months where you can enjoy some of the more traditional aspects of life in the county. Many of the shows began as farming meets which, in the years before the phone and digital communication, played a vital role in local life. They are usually well advertised locally and are definitely worth a visit. As well as an increasing number of modern athletics events you’ll also be able to see local wrestling and hound trailing – both events are unique to the county.

    Autumn

    The Milky Way over Castlerigg Stone Circle. (Cumbria in Photographs, Amberley Publishing)

    As the nights draw in the county begins to glow with the glorious colours of autumn. The leaves on the trees turn through various shades of reds, golds and browns and the fells follow suit as the bracken dies back. Autumn is a great time to enjoy the dark skies above the county too; we have low levels of light pollution and, when the weather is clear, it’s easy to spot the arm of the Milky Way arcing high overhead.

    Autumn is also the best season to spot an inversion – when the clouds stay in the valleys leaving the fell tops clear. Although many inversions are gone by lunchtime some can last for several days so, as was the case with the Windermere inversion in the book. There’s nothing quite like hiking or driving up a hillside through thick fog then suddenly emerging into crisp clear sunshine, especially when you’ve got a full flask of hot tea and a rucksack full of sandwiches.

     

    Winter

    Flying over Ullswater. (Cumbria in Photographs, Amberley Publishing)

    The county is pretty much empty though the winter months. Many of the villages with high numbers of holiday homes become ghost towns and there’s no problem finding parking in even the most popular of spots. Although Cumbrian winters can be harsh, they can also be incredibly beautiful – though it’s best to make sure you’re well layered up with plenty of thermals. Crunching through the snow on top of a high fell is a wonderful experience, but only if you’re properly kitted out.

    One time when you’ll find plenty of people on the high fells is Remembrance Sunday when people gather at the war memorials dotted around the Lake District summits. The most well attended event is on top of Great Gable where, whatever the weather, several hundred people gather for a short service of remembrance.

    Last year I was lucky enough to enjoy a ride in a Gyrocopter which allowed me to take a couple of aerial shots for the book. It was a fantastic experience but perishing cold; I’d definitely do it again, but perhaps in the summer next time.

    Steve Pipe's new book Cumbria in Photographs is available for purchase now.

  • Bulleid Pacifics by Nigel Kendall

    My favourite Merchant Navy, No. 35008 Orient Line, rockets past the New Milton goods yard with the eastbound 'Bournemouth Belle' on 13 May 1966. I was travelling behind No. 35008 when it broke the record for fastest run between Southampton and Waterloo without exceeding the 85 mph speed limit. (Bulleid Pacifics, Amberley Publishing)

    Before my introduction to Bulleid Pacifics in 1960 my memory of an early growing interest in railways was when as a boy in New Zealand I would travel to school by train. I lived on the slopes of the Waitakere Hills, west of Auckland, and so the process of getting to my destination near the centre of the city tended to be a complicated affair.

    My daily commute started on a rickety old bike, which carried me the three miles downhill to New Lynn Station on an awful unsurfaced road, coasting practically all the way. Then, throwing the unfortunate machine onto the pile of other bikes in the station yard, I would dash onto the station platform and join my school mates as a big oil-burning ‘Ja’ 4-8-2 rolled into the station with the 8am school train.

    The homebound trip entailed a similar routine, except that my bike ride was an uphill slog that I always hated.

    So eight years later, having moved to England, the weekly journeying between southwest Hampshire and Waterloo behind Bulleid Pacifics seemed a natural progression from my daily travels behind NZ steam. But the biggest difference, of course, was that within the intervening years my interest in railways had turned into a strong passion for all steam locomotives, and it’s a passion that lives with me to this day.

    I was so lucky that my new home in New Milton, Hampshire, was just 5 minutes’ walk from the station, which served the Waterloo to Weymouth main line, mainly with its large stud of Bulleid Pacifics. Apart from being able to nip down to the station whenever I had a spare 15 minutes, it also meant I got to know the station staff very well. Bob and Len, the signalmen, were particularly useful when I started to use my camera, and gave me the freedom of the lineside within their vision provided I never ventured onto the actual track.

    Driver Alf Boston of Bournemouth waits for the guard's green flag at New Milton on 27 December 1964. Battle of Britain No. 34085 501 Squadron was a Bournemouth 'good'un' during the 1960s. It was frequently seen hauling the 'Pines Express' following re-routing in 1963. The loco was introduced in November 1948 and rebuilt in June 1960. It was withdrawn in September 1965. (Bulleid Pacifics, Amberley Publishing)

    On my frequent London trips I would often catch a local train from New Milton to Southampton and connect with the 7.30am from Bournemouth Central. It was a well-patronized service headed by the usual Merchant Navy and loaded to 12 coaches including a restaurant car. Apart from a stop at Winchester it was non-stop to Waterloo, timed to arrive at the tail end of the rush hour – not an easy task for the crew.

    With all this railway travelling to London it wasn’t long before I got quite familiar with the Merchant Navies, West Countries, and Battle of Britain’s shedded at either Eastleigh, Bournemouth or Weymouth. Names that spring to mind are ‘Orient Line’, ‘New Zealand Line’, ‘Royal Mail’, ‘Swanage’, ‘Lapford’, ‘Combe Martin’, ‘Ottery St Mary’, ‘Dorchester’, and ‘501 Squadron’ or ‘Fighter Command’ with its Giesl Ejector. I travelled behind most of these locos, and more.

    Bulleid didn’t worry too much about coal consumption – he just wanted locomotives that would do all that was asked of it, and more when necessary. This philosophy brought about arguably the finest locomotive boilers ever produced in Britain. The fact that in the final months of Southern steam theoretically run-down Pacifics were achieving some of the finest performances of their careers was ample testimony to the concepts Oliver Bulleid laid down at the start of his reign as the Southern CME during the Second World War.

    It therefore goes without saying that I arranged my 1967 summer holiday to coincide with the end of Southern Steam on 9 July. In the last fortnight l travelled on as many Bulleid Pacific-hauled trains as I could – the cost was enormous! But I would not have missed it for the world.

    Within a week of the withdrawal of Southern Steam I logged two of the best runs I have ever experienced. It has to be said that a degree of irresponsibility was displayed in the quest for a 'ton' in those final days, however, who am I to stand in the judgement on the passing of an era.

    Nigel Kendall's new book Bulleid Pacifics is available for purchase now.

  • Shadow Warriors: Daring Missions of World War II by Women of the OSS and SOE by Greg Lewis

    World War II was the war in which old gender rules changed, as intelligence agencies created specific training and roles for women. Women were trained to work as undercover combatants armed with Sten guns and grenades, cut telecommunication wires, lay mines in roadways, and organize bombing raids.

    Their work contributed greatly to the success of the D-Day invasion and the eventual Allied victory over Hitler.

    Below, Greg Lewis, co-author of Shadow Warriors: Daring Missions of World War II by Women of the OSS and SOE highlights the boldest female spies of the era.

     

    THE AGENT WITH THE FALSE LEG CALLED CUTHBERT

    Virginia Hall spied for both SOE and OSS in Occupied France, despite having only one leg. (Shadow Warriors, Amberley Publishing)

    Despite having only one leg, Baltimore-born Virginia Hall carried out missions for both the highly-secretive British Special Operations Executive (SOE) and the American Office of Strategic Services (OSS). Hall had lost part of her left leg in a pre-war hunting accident. She was fitted with a false leg which she nicknamed “Cuthbert.”

    Hall worked for SOE in Occupied France early in the war, while posing as a journalist for the New York Post. After the US joined the war, she returned to France for the OSS. Disguising herself as an old lady, she gathered intelligence to aid the D-Day landings. The Gestapo became aware of her and put her on its most wanted list. They referred to her as the “limping lady.”

    She survived the war and later served in the CIA.

     

    THE AGENT WHO GOT HER SECRETS IN BED

    Betty Pack worked for Britain’s MI6 in Poland before the war, sleeping with a Polish diplomat in order to find out what the Poles knew about the German Enigma code-making machine.

    Moving to an MI6 department working in the United States, Betty was asked to plan a mission to copy vital naval codes kept inside the Vichy French embassy in Washington.

    She seduced a man who worked there, and brought him in on the operation. They broke into a safe and passed the codes out to another man to be copied overnight.

    When they were disturbed by a guard Betty jumped naked into her male accomplice’s arms and pretended to have sex with him. The embarrassed guard left them alone for the rest of the night.

    The codes she copied proved vital in the American and British invasion of French North Africa in November 1942.

     

    “A NICE GIRL WHO DARNED SOCKS”

    Yolande Beekman hid in a freezing cold attic to send wireless messages to London requesting arms and supplies for the Resistance. (Courtesy: specialforcesroh.com, Shadow Warriors, Amberley Publishing)

    Female agents often faced sexism and even derision from their SOE instructors. Yolande Beekman was dismissed by one SOE instructor as, “A nice girl, darned the men’s socks, would make an excellent wife for an unimaginative man, but not much more than that.”

    Beekman landed in France by Lysander in September 1943 and headed to the town of Saint-Quentin, where she became wireless operator for a resistance network dedicated to blowing up canal and railway infrastructure in the area. She was so successful that the Gestapo brought in teams of radio detector vans to track her down.

    She was arrested in a canal-side café and transported to Dachau concentration camp where she was executed.

     

    THE WOMAN WHO BLUFFED HER WAY OUT OF ARREST

    Irish-born Paddy O’Sullivan had been brought up by a Belgian aunt and began the war as a nurse. Her language skills attracted her to SOE.

    She parachuted into France in March 1944 and was almost killed straight away.

    In terrible weather, the cords of her parachute became entangled. By the time she had righted them she was very low and she hit the ground very hard.

    Severely concussed, her life had been saved by the two million francs in bank notes which were stuffed into her backpack. The money was for the French resistance.

    A woman of tremendous courage and gall, she would flirt with German soldiers if she found herself in a tight spot.

    Once, while carrying her wireless in a suitcase, she was challenged at a checkpoint.

    When a soldier asked her what was in the suitcase, she laughed and said “A wireless, of course!”

    The guard thought she was joking and he sent her on her way.

    O’Sullivan risked her life to send more than 300 messages by radio to London. Like the other women, she received a number of medals after the war.

     

    THE WHITE MOUSE WHO LED AN ATTACK ON A GESTAPO HQ

    Nancy Wakes was almost thrown out of SOE but returned to lead a deadly attack on a Gestapo headquarters. (Shadow Warriors, Amberley Publishing)

    Gun-toting Nancy Wake planned and led a raid on Gestapo headquarters which left almost 30 Germans dead or dying. The New Zealand-born journalist was living in France at the outbreak of war and quickly became involved in resistance activity. Dubbed the “White Mouse” by the Gestapo, she fled over the Pyrenees into Spain, and trained with SOE in Britain. Wild and gregarious, Wake parachuted into Occupied France in April 1944, while suffering a raging hangover from a party the night before.

    In late July 1944, while senior Gestapo officers in the old town hall in Montluçon were enjoying a glass of schnapps before lunch, Wake led a group of armed men into the building and started shooting. On reaching the local chief’s office, she opened the door and threw in two hand grenades.
    As she said later: “I hate wars and violence but if they come then I don’t see why we women should just wave a proud goodbye and then knit them balaclavas.”

     

    THE WAR HERO WHO WAS MURDERED DURING PEACETIME

    Christine Granville planned and led a daring mission to rescue a fellow SOE agent. (Courtesy: SpyMuseum.com, Shadow Warriors, Amberley Publishing)

    Polish-born Christine Granville had already worked undercover for MI6 in Poland and Hungary when she was recruited by SOE.

    Described by the legendary SOE intelligence officer, Vera Atkins, as a “beautiful animal with a great appetite for love and laughter”, Granville spent months in Egypt and Palestine waiting for a mission and lost patience with SOE chiefs.

    One evening, having been introduced to a local general, she took him for a walk behind a desert sand dune. When he returned he was “knocking at the knees” and he instructed his officers to find Granville a mission immediately.

    In France, she masterminded the escape of senior SOE agent, Francis Cammaerts, by blackmailing and bribing an officer from the French Nazi police force, the Milice.

    She told the Nazi that unless he released her friend he would be handed over to the mob once the liberating forces arrived in the area.

    On delivering Cammaerts to Granville, the Nazi said: “What a wonderful woman you have.”

    Cammaerts had been due to be executed on the morning of his escape.

    Despite her wonderful war record, Granville struggled to find personal happiness after the war. She was murdered in London by a deranged man who had become obsessed with her.

    Gordon Thomas and Greg Lewis new paperback edition of Shadow Warriors: Daring Missions of World War II by Women of the OSS and SOE is available for purchase now.

  • Pirates: Truth and Tales by Helen Hollick

    “.. A highly entertaining mine of fascinating information about all things piratical.”

     “Helen Hollick has an inimitable style which informs at the same time as being amusing and easily digestible.”

     “…A rich and lively vocabulary, with snippets of interesting facts about pirates and piracy that you never knew you needed to know, but which are all recounted with the authors sparkling wit and fine attention to detail… whichever page the book falls open at, you are guaranteed to find a fascinating snippet into the life and times of these colourful, and it must be said, decidedly, dangerous characters.”

    Helen has written a series of nautical Voyages based around her fictional pirate, Captain Jesamiah Acorne and his ship, Sea Witch, but her latest UK release in paperback is a non-fiction book – Pirates: Truth and Tales published by Amberley Press, which explores our fascination with the real pirates and those who are favourites in fiction. Today, Helen drops anchor for another interesting addition to her on-line two-week Voyage around the Blogs …

    The common perception of a pirate. (c. jgroup, Pirates, Amberley Publishing)

    Mention ‘pirates’ to adults or children and a smile broadens the face and the clichéd ‘Arrr’ erupts from the lips. The romance of fiction, TV shows and big-screen movies have influenced our perception of the Caribbean pirates of the ‘Golden Age’ of the early 1700s. We have a romantic view of a life ‘On the Account’, we think of Jack Sparrow from the Disney franchise Pirates of the Caribbean, or Captain Pugwash from the beloved children’s TV cartoon series. Do we care that these romantic portrayals are very far from the truth about pirates? Reality has its place, but for entertainment we like handsome heroes and pretty heroines. We enjoy the breath-taking alarm of make-believe danger and engrossing adventurous romps. Pirate stories give us the (safe) excitement we crave. Pirates seek treasure – don’t we all? How many of us hope for that winning lottery ticket every week? Although we don’t commit torture and murder to get it.

    Pirates were on a get-rich-quick mission and had no scruples about how they did it, as long as they had silver in their pockets to spend in the taverns and brothels. In stories, their ships are usually pristine and fast, the flag fluttering menacingly from the masthead is always a pair of crossed bones or cutlasses beneath a leering skull. Pirates wore a gold hooped earring, they drank rum, had swashbuckling fights with lethal cutlasses (which the hero in stories always won), lusted after buxom wenches and escaped the hangman at the very last minute.

    But what about the real pirates?

     

    To answer that question, and also to satisfy the passion of readers of the romantic fictional side of piracy, was my goal in producing Pirates: Truth and Tales when Amberley commissioned me to write it. I think I managed it. I wanted to write a ‘drop in at any chapter’ book. Mostly light-hearted, easy to read and with an ‘Oh, I didn’t know that’ feel. There are a lot of factual pirate books on the shelves in bookstores and on Amazon. I wanted something that might not necessarily be unique, but certainly very different.

    What I came up with were factual chapters ranging from the famous pirates, such as Blackbeard, Calico Jack Rackham, Anne Bonney and Mary Read and such, with a few not-so-well-knowns all running (sailing?) alongside more general seafaring chapters of interest: what they wore, what did they plunder, where and how did they sell it? Where did they get their ships from – and what type of ships did they use? Interspersed with all that, I investigated the fiction; the favourite novels such as Treasure Island and Frenchman’s Creek, my own Sea Witch Voyages series of nautical adventures that have a touch of fantasy about them, plus a few more excerpts from pirate novels by other authors, the fiction complimenting the factual, and bringing in an alternative perspective for the reader to enjoy.

    The result is a delightful mixture of the romantic and the reality. The swashbuckling movie and novel versions of pirates, and the not-so-nice horror of what these men (and women) were really like.

    I have to admit – honest pirate – give me the made-up romance version of pirates any day!

    Helen Hollick's new paperback edition of Pirates: Truth and Tales is available for purchase now.

     

    Sign up for Helen’s Newsletter and be entered for an annual prize draw.

    One name ‘picked from the hat’ in December will win a £10/$10 Amazon gift voucher.

    Subscribe here: http://tinyletter.com/HelenHollick

     

    Author's Links:

    Website: www.helenhollick.net

    Main Blog: www.ofhistoryandkings.blogspot.com

    Facebook: www.facebook.com/HelenHollickAuthor

    Twitter: @HelenHollick

    Discovering Diamonds: https://discoveringdiamonds.blogspot.co.uk/

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