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Books and Poetry
Books&Poetry
SUFFERING FOR YOUR ART
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How far would you go for a sneak preview of your favourite author’s new book? Devotees of James Patterson’s bestselling Alex Cross series were ready to spend a night behind bars!
How better to celebrate the King of Crime’s latest work than Patterson ‘doing time’ with his fans by inviting thrillerthirsty bookworms to a unique theatrical experience in a Victorian gaol? Triple Cross, the 30th book in James Patterson’s hugely popular Alex Cross series, was launched at Shrewsbury Prison with a gripping overnight stay. Those brave enough to attend ‘met’ characters from the book including Alex and Thomas Thull, and experienced a multitude of strange goings-on. They also received an exclusive early copy of the book, and heard the fi rst chapter read by Patterson himself.
The real deal
In an e ort to make the experience as authentic as possible, invitees donned orange jumpsuits and stayed in real cells. They were escorted by acting prison o cers and treated like prisoners for the duration. Throughout the night, scenes from the book were re-enacted, with the option of ghost-hunting in the early hours. At breakfast everyone had their mugshots taken and the opportunity for a picture with Special Agent Cross.
Patterson said: “It was a terrifi c event. One fan said it was a ‘once-in-a-lifetime experience’, which is just what we wanted to create. It was exciting to see the world of Alex Cross come to life.”
Serial killer
Triple Cross follows Cross as he hunts a killer labelled ‘The Family Man’, targeting families in and around Washington, DC. Patterson is one of the biggest-selling writers of all time – his books have sold in excess of 400 million copies and he has been the most borrowed author in UK libraries for the past 13 years in a row.
The author is passionate about encouraging children to read. Inspired by his son, who was a reluctant reader, he also writes for young readers including the Middle School, Dog Diaries, Treasure Hunters and Max Einstein series.
LOCAL BOOKS
Sticky To ee Poetry by Jane Bell
Jane lives near Chester, and on her frequent travels around the region and in North Wales, she is often inspired to put pen to paper. Her latest collection aims to encourage children to try writing poetry.
She says: “Writing poetry is good for the soul. However, children are seldom encouraged to write poems outside of their classroom environment. This leads them to believe that poems are stu y and ‘boring’, and switches them o from this form of creative writing.
“I began writing to rectify this situation and to encourage children to have a go at writing poems just for the sheer enjoyment and sense of achievement it can bring.”
Jane collected poetry submissions from adults and children alike for the book, which is available on Amazon, with proceeds going to the MS Society.
Island to Island by Sally Mills
Sally was a reserve warden for the RSPB in Somerset. After 13 years in post, she and her partner Melvyn, also an experienced conservationist, hankered for a change and answered an ad for wardens on Aride, a tiny island in the Seychelles. This book traces their adventures on the granite rock in the middle of the Indian Ocean.
Just 1.6 by 0.6 square kilometres – about the size of Skokholm – Aride is home to more than a million birds, some found nowhere else in the world other than the Seychelles archipelago. Sally’s record of their 20-month stay is gripping in its immediacy and honesty.
All profi ts from the book will go to St Kentigern’s Hospice in North Wales, where Sally’s father was cared for.
An Eye for Birds by Bruce Kendrick
This is a rite-of-passage story, refl ecting on a time when birdwatching sat easily in the author’s life alongside football, girls and rock music, while he and his friends explored wildlife locations around the Wirral. As a 10-year-old, Bruce contracted tuberculosis and was sent to an isolated sanatorium in the Cheshire countryside. There he was bedridden for six months. On fi ne days, nurses would push the young patients, in their beds, out to a large veranda, and it was there that his love of birdwatching developed.
Complemented with some stunning photography, this is a refl ective look back by the author, revisiting his teenage wildlife haunts as an adult.
Calling local authors…
If you’re living in the Shire area or have written about a local person or place, we’d love to feature you on these pages. Email editorial@ shiremagazine.co.uk.
REVIEWS
Our good friends at Linghams Bookshop in Heswall have suggested some more gripping reads to get us through the long winter nights…
When I was Ten by Fiona Cummins Cummins
Twenty-one years ago, Dr Richard Carter and his wife Pamela wife Pamela were killed in what has become the most infamous double murder double murder of the modern of the modern age. Their age. Their 10-year-old 10-year-old daughter, nicknamed the Angel of Death, spent nicknamed the Angel of Death, spent eight years in a children’s secure unit and eight years in a children’s secure unit and is living quietly under an assumed name is living quietly under an assumed name with a family of her own. Now, on the with a family of her own. Now, on the anniversary of the trial, a documentary team has tracked down her older sister, compelling her to break her silence.
The explosive interview sparks national headlines, and journalist Brinley Booth, a childhood friend of the Carter sisters, is tasked with covering the story. For the first time, the three women are forced to confront what really happened that night, with devastating consequences for them all.
Saving Missy by Beth Morrey
Seventy-nine is too late for a second chance – isn’t it? Missy Carmichael is prickly, stubborn and terribly lonely. Until a chance encounter in the park with two very different women opens the door to something new. Something wonderful.
Missy was used to her small, solitary existence, listening to her footsteps echoing around the empty house, the tick-tick-tick of the watching clock. After all, she had made her life her way. Now another life is beckoning. But is she brave enough?
This could be recommended to any age group and is a perfect book club choice. The story proves that new friendships can be ignited under any circumstances, and that it’s never too late – even for a seemingly prickly widow like Missy.
Saving Missy by Beth Morrey
Seventy-nine is too late for a second chance – isn’t is prickly, encounter in the park with two very different women opens the door to something new. Something wonderful.
Missy was used to her small, solitary
Apple Poem by Anne Douglas
Little ones and big ones, Nice ones and crabby ones, Red ones and green ones, Apples, The James Grieve, The Brae burn, The Gala, And the Bramley, Our feathered friends, Swooping, landing, Windfalls, Little ones and big ones, Nice ones and crabby ones.
Beware by Norman Marshall
There will always be those who live in folly, Devising various devious wars: Like clear-felling all the palms and holly For whatever superfi cial, vacuous cause. They might be enslaved by market forces, Employ nationality, language and religion, Pervert numerous governments and causes For their own personal derision. They might defy the common logic of their time, Bastardise one’s tongue now and then, All acceptable to disguise their crime And appear the most reasonable of men. Now, dear reader, do be wise; Beware of him or her with a dream, Beware that they will not despise Your somewhat sensible but banal scheme!
Stan by Jo Young
The man walked down the street He appeared to be upbeat But as he waited to cross the road It was clear to see he wasn’t that bold. Cars, taxis and bicycles zoomed past His stay on the pavement seemed set to last Resigned, he glanced at the pedestrian crossing – seemingly so far away Should he use it, or should he try his luck and still stay? With a deep sigh, he started shu ing towards the crossing Children heading to school were busy passing Eventually he made it and pressed The crossing button, to stop the tra c and continue to test His stamina and make it to the other side. Gratefully, once safely across, he sank to the low wall And for 10 minutes, he allowed his body to stall Undaunted, however, he got back on his feet And now on the other side he walked back along the street Finally he made it to the store To be greeted by a stare from the owner who looked bored However, his eyes lit up when he saw the man “Thank Goodness” he cried. “You made it, Stan!”
Wales by Judith Dickinson
Her hair cascades, glistening, like the tumbling spring melts of
Snowdonia. Her eyes, grey, mystical, as the pools left stranded by the ebbing tide. Her skin as soft as the dew-blushed petals of a newly blooming da odil. Her hands, strong, long-fi ngered, fi ne and delicate as the strings of any harp. Her breath is like the gentle breeze beneath the gossamer wings of a butterfl y. She is as tall as the ancient oak that stands guard over wizard Merlin’s grave. Her grace and beauty hide a heart as fi erce as any dragon, Waiting to be roused from sleep to once more fi ght the foe. She looks, and is, our hope, our pride, our passion.
We want your poems!
Share your creativity – we print our favourite poems every issue. Send them to Poetry Page, Shire, PO Box 276, Oswestry, Shropshire SY10 1FR or email editorial@ shiremagazine.co.uk.
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Renewable energy? Eryl suggests taking a lesson from our rural past…
The inner workings of the internal combustion engine are a mystery to me. The finer points of a limited slip differential (whatever that is) I am quite happy to leave to that Clarkson chap. Being trapped in a lift with a petrolhead is my idea of hell. But I don’t rail against all things mechanical. As a countryman, I love our wonderful old water mills. No rev counters going off the scale, no deafening decibels and no silly gizmos for the hard of thinking. Just the mesmerising fascination of running water at work, the pleasing slap of broad belts and the confident clunk of large gearing.
What may elude the casual observer is how the water is actually managed. Water-powered mills were, self-evidently, sited near streams or rivers, but rarely did the mill wheel take its power directly from the river itself. Far more efficient to power it from above. This required a controllable, constant supply of water and, of course, rivers are subject to summer droughts and winter floods. So was born the mill race, the canal that carries the water to the top of the mill wheel.
Should the mill be located just below a natural fall in the river, the race was relatively short, and in some cases nothing more than a long wooden trough. However, “Just the pleasing slap of broad belts and the confident clunk of large gearing”
DID YOU KNOW?
Other names for a mill race are lyche, layd and leet Could the solution lie here? wooden trough. However,
Eryl Jones was brought up on a small Welsh farm and studied agriculture in Aberystwyth. He became farm manager on a large estate and later farmed You can still spot the old mill races on his own account. Eryl does voluntary environmental work with Denbighshire Council and has a passion for the rural way of life.
where the water source was a meandering stream or on the flat, it could be a mile or more in length. Hence the preponderance of windmills rather than water mills in areas such as the Fens. The race usually exited the river on a bend where the current was concentrated, and within 20 yards or so there was an overflow that returned surplus water to the river, so only the precise amount needed was extracted. Had I paid more attention at school, I may have been able to explain why so little water is needed to turn a wheel over 15 feet in diameter. Suffice to say, you don’t need torrents of the stuff. Although this method attained more power from less water, the race system did create two problems. After the water had emptied from the wheel on the ‘upstroke’ as it were, it had to be got away quickly or it would act as a brake. But often the ‘exhaust’ water had dropped 20 feet or more and could now be a couple of feet below the level of the ‘mother’ stream, so a return race was constructed parallel to the stream. Secondly, busy mill operators soon discovered that still water becomes choked with weed and silt, so races were preferably kept running, or if not, left empty.
Our countryside is littered with derelict mills and neglected mill races. Ironic, then, that water is now seen as the saviour in the panic to replace fossil fuels. Harnessing the tides may be a far stretch from diverting gurgling streams, but the principle is the same. The phrase ‘renewable energy’ could have been coined for water power. It’s free, plentiful and can be used over and over again.
Why not restore some of our countryside mills to working order, replacing the mill stones with turbines to produce local electricity? I know one thing for sure. Water is a sight more reliable than wind.
