We will remember them.

This is a true story.

One night, an American B17 bomber, having dropped its bombs on a German industrial estate, was returning to its base on the English countryside, when the probing fingers of German searchlights picked up its silhouette. Within seconds, the powerful anti-aircraft batteries had opened up sending a barrage of shells towards the homebound plane.

The first thud rocked the aircraft sending a sickening apprehension through the crew. On nights like this it wasn’t unknown for less than half the squadron to return. More thuds, the plane trembled, and then one hit the fuselage. The young men clenched their teeth, waiting for the inevitable explosion. It never came.

The bomber made it back to base. Mechanics and support staff swarmed on to the runway, and within minutes an engineer emerged from under the belly of the plane. He had found a dozen or more unexploded shells. The one lodged in the fuselage was carefully dismantled but to the amazement of the crew and engineers it contained no explosive charges. It was empty, except inside they found a piece of paper, hastily written and in Czechoslovakian. It read: ‘This is all we can do for you for now.’

Somewhere in a Munitions factory in Germany, Czech slave labourers, who knew full well the penalty for sabotage, had, in an effort to help the Allies, made non-exploding shells.

It’s all about having the courage to persevere when the going gets rough, isn’t it?

It’s all about doing your bit – even if that means staying at home and co-operating with the rules and regulations to prevent the spread of the virus.

Setting sail

I wonder if Christopher Columbus had any idea that his name would become world-famous and that yesterday, October 12^th, would become a national holiday because of his great achievements?

All he was doing was looking for a faster route to the Far East. But three months after setting sail across the Atlantic, as fate – or God – would have it, he ended up in the New World and the outcome introduced us to a new plants, animals and new cultures.

It struck me that we never really know where our ventures will lead us.

After my book, ‘The Senator’s Darkest Days’ was completed in March, Andrew Chamberlain interviewed me for one of his podcasts. Today, I received an e-mail from a discouraged writer in Kentucky, USA who was about to give us. Then she listened to Andrew’s podcast. Apparently, she was so encouraged by the questions and the transparency of answers on my writing journey that she decided to stick with it and she has asked for prayer.

Strange; but when Andrew asked me for an interview, I nearly turned him down – far too scared to set sail on a venture like that. In fact, I even felt like that when I started writing.

I wonder if Christopher Columbus felt the same when he set sail on his venture? After all, when you think about it, all you have to do is get on the boat and trust God to set the current in the right direction.

Find my podcast on: https://www.podomatic.com/podcasts/ajc-cwt-001/episodes/2020-01-09T16_00_00-08_00

Web site: https://www.joanhistonauthor.com

No distractions, please!

Inspiration for writing can come from anywhere; the fascinating life of someone you meet, a place filled with history, a wild idea, an exciting – or horrible – event; in fact, life in general. But to make a story of that idea buzzing around in your head you have to actually sit down and write it. Ah-ha! That’s the difficult part.

I’ve met countless people who tell me they’re going to write a book, but they never get round to it, and over the weeks the idea gradually fades because life gets in the way. So, you want to be a writer? Then if you’re serious, the first thing you have to do is find yourself a quiet corner, get out all those notes you’ve made – and loose yourself in your story.

This is my quiet corner. It’s tiny, usually messy but three out of my five books were worked on here. No distractions – other than a bird landing on the trees or squirrels racing up and down the branches.

The things you do for love.

I don’t think Rome would have been Colin’s first choice for a city break, but I really wanted to get a taste of the area I was writing about. So, we booked a short break in October. Nice and cool for walking around, or so I thought.

On the day we visited the Forum, Rome was in the middle of a heatwave.

And so, I found myself trailing a red-faced, sweating husband up Palatine Hill to the Caesar’s Palace. I loved it! In my imagination I could almost hear the tramping boots of the elite Praetorian Guards as they marched up and down this hill; see the colourful parades celebrating the Caesars; and the magnificent palatial villas of the rich and noble.

‘Just think,’ I panted halfway up the hill. ‘My hero, Vivius walked up this very hill to get his assignment from the Emperor Tiberius.’

He used this as an excuse to stop and frown at me. ‘I thought Vivius was a figment of your imagination?’

Ah! Yes!

It was no cooler when we trailed back down the hill to explore the market places, I swear I could feel the hustle and bustle of ancient Rome, smell the meat, the fish and vegetables and …

‘Wonder if there’s anywhere we could find a nice cool beer?’ he said wiping his brow.

I dragged him towards Mamertine Prison. It was dark, suffocating place. I explained that that was where the Roman authorities threw their political prisoners.

He examined it enviously. ‘Looks nice and cool in there.’

The Senate Building, the heart of the Roman Empire, stood tall and proud!

‘I can just imagine the crowds gathered around those huge doors waiting for the Senators’ to fling them open with important announcements,’ I enthused.

‘Yeh! Shame! All that’s left now is a derelict old building and a rubble of old stones’

He has no imagination. But then he wasn’t writing my book, was he?

‘What a strange world we live in.’ I mused later that night as we relaxed on our hotel balcony. ‘Who would have predicted that the Emperor Nero would persecute all those Christians in this city and years later it turns out to be the centre of the Christian Church – the Vatican – the Pope?’

There was no answer. He was enthusing over his ice-cold beer.

God is never beaten

Anyone remember Kingsley Terrace Methodist Church in Newcastle.

I was devastated when it closed down in 1960-1 as it had been the church of my grandparents and parents, my Sunday School and youth club etc. It really knocked my faith. I couldn’t believe God would let such a thing happen.

It wasn’t until l reached a point in my life where l didn’t just believe in God but had a deep and meaningful relationship with him that l realised God is far bigger than any institution.

For me that’s one of the good things that’s come out of Covid-19- . I’ve discovered the pleasure of praying with friends further afield via Facetime. I’ve found new – and dredged up a few old preachers via U-tube. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed singing the worship songs I like and singing them as often as I want. Zoom I’m not too keen on but I’ve found friends who aren’t comfortable with church absolutely love it so that’s a bonus. Then, when lockdown began to lift, we had our bible study in a garden with tea and scones with strawberry jam. Never enjoyed bible study as much.

God’s never beaten, is He?

The benefits of being bullied.

They called her Leonora, hardly a fitting name for the school bully but she was my walking nightmare from day one when I crossed the school playground.

‘Hey you! New eh? Where’d you come from?’

She was big for her age and dwarfed her two companions.

I stopped. ‘I went to school in Croydon,’ I said. ‘We’ve just moved up here.’

Hard blue eyes stared unblinking into mine. ‘Croydon eh! Where’s that then?’ Obviously anything south of Sunderland was foreign territory.

‘It’s in Surrey,’ I said. ‘Not far from London.’

Her upper lip curled in disgust and big buck teeth moved frightening close to my face. ‘Get lost posh pants! We don’t want no foreigners here. We’re sending you to Coventry.’

I wanted to retort, ‘I’m surprised you know where Coventry is – it being south of Sunderland,’ but my hands were shaking and the lump in my throat threatened to give way to a sob.

Leonora’s bullying tactics continued…..

The benefits of being bullied? They came many years later when the idea of writing was but a seed in the back of my mind. “Write what you know,” I was told and being bullied was something I knew about. And so began a long outpouring of the heart, the fears, the loneliness, the pain that comes with being bullied. But oddly enough, as I wrote and rewrote that same incident, I discovered not just a healing process but that humour was creeping in. In fact, by the time I’d finished it I felt confident to send this, my first piece of writing, off to a published. Two weeks later the local newspaper published it and paid me! Yeh!

Thanks Leonora!

The Writing Journey

Thinking back over too many years that I care to count, I have a vague recollection of where my writing journey started. It was in Croydon, in Surrey, and I was about six. We’d moved from Newcastle upon Tyne. The house itself was a three storey monstrosity with lodgers on the top floor called Mary and Harold, and it stood opposite a derelict piece of land where a doodle bug had fallen during the war – not that I can remember it I hasten to add. It was a few years before my time. The site was now a factory that made stands for the forthcoming coronation of the Queen. It wasn’t in a particularly nice area but it was the only house my parents could afford at the time – and the only one available.

The main problem with moving from the north to the south of the country was no-one at school seemed to understand my ‘Geordie’ accent so I was forced to endure catty remarks and teasing. I found it really hard, especially when all I wanted to do was make friends. But then two remarkable girls appeared in my life.

Beverly Anastaner and Lavinia McLauchlin. They were the same age as me – six, and you’d never believe the warmth of friendship I formed with these two dear girls and how grateful I was for the way they eased my loneliness. They never teased me, and were never catty or made snide remarks. They were perfect – because they came out of my imagination.

Of course, at six, there was no great awareness that I wanted to write. That emerged gradually as I began to achieve top grades for English, compositions and reading and wallowed in the praises of my teacher, but found myself scraping across the floor in the maths and sciences and having to endure detention. That was when I realised I’d be better off sticking to the things I was good at. Isn’t it strange how discovering your role in life can come out of painful experiences?

Pixie Potter – the scatter-brain

Many years ago, I took the plunge and joined an amateur dramatic group.

The problem began when, having had such rave reviews in the local newspaper, we decided our next production simply had to be the sequel to that play. Delighted, I picked up my previous role again.

Halfway through the performance, I was throwing myself into the part of Pixie Potter, a scatter-brained hippy with my fellow thespian, Jim, when to my horror I found myself reverting back to the lines of our previous production. With a packed house I had no other option but to keep going. Actually, I was unable to stop. I was stuck fast in the lines from the previous play and I had no idea how to get out of them and back into this one.

I saw Jim’s eyes widen in disbelief – then panic – as it dawned on him what I’d done. The expression on his face never wavered but I could see his brain scrambling back over the months and through the pages of the previous play – until he realised where I was. Calmly, and without hesitation, he replied – from the previous play – and page for page we followed the old script.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see the prompter in the wings flicking frantically through the pages trying to find our lines, and I thought, ‘She’ll have a job! We’re in the wrong play.‘ Gareth, our producer – a man we were proud of; a man of great experience having produced a London show and only retired because of a heart condition, was standing behind the prompter gradually turning grey. Fortunately, years of experience stood him in good stead. Grabbing a member of the cast he placed his hands on her shoulders ready to push her on if we didn’t recover. The poor girl looked terrified.

By now we must have covered a page and a half of the previous play. Although, oddly enough, not a soul in the audience appeared to have twigged on.

The quiet prompt from the wings came suddenly and without warning. It gave Jim the line he needed. He leapt on it, caressing each word with relief as though it was a long lost friend. Generous actor that he was, he gave me a subtle hint and I was able to follow with the right response. Of course if he hadn’t … ! Amazingly, we received a standing ovation.

Yet despite the shambles, and Gareth having to take a pill, I learned an important lesson that night. It didn’t matter whether I was the leading lady, the prompter in the wings, making tea or was just an ‘extra’, the important thing was to do my part as best I could. And if I messed up? Then I had the rest of the production team to rely on.

Teamwork made us successful – despite our faults and inadequacies.

And that’s how we’ll beat this bug and anything else that comes our way as individuals, as families, or as a country. Teamwork! Each of us doing our bit and picking each other up when we mess up or fall down.

Fear not!

It was a grey and drizzly afternoon during the Covid-19 lockdown so I decided to treat myself to a coffee, a doughnut and a sprawl on the couch watching a chick-flic – or something.

The ‘something’ turned out to be a science fiction film. Not my favourite genre but the message really impacted me.

It is a time when earth’s atmosphere is so polluted mankind has been forced to live on another planet. But it’s a planet of giant locusts. They can’t see you but when they smell your fear – they attack. (Yes, I know – silly – but stay with me!)

Will Smith, a fearless commander, sets off on a routine trip with his teenage son Jaden, and a handful of passengers, but the space ship crashes and on impact breaks up, and everyone is killed except Will and Jaden.

With two broken legs, Will is unable to reach the rescue beacon situated in the other half of the spacecraft scattered some 25 miles away, so the task is left to his son, Jaden. This is a dangerous mission, as there are only a limited number of air capsules, the climate is foul, the animals wild, and there are these giant locusts to contend with.

As the terrified Jaden sets off, his father speaks to him through his wrist TV screen.

‘Son,’ he said. ‘Fear is not real. The only place that fear can exist is in our fear of the future. Fear is a product of our imagination causing us to fear things that at present are not real and may never even come into existance. To fear them is insane. Danger, on the other hand, is very real and should not be ignored. But fear is choice. In fearing, we’re telling ourselves a story.’

Jaden reaches the scattered spacecraft. He finds the crew dead and a giant locust hovering nearby. Jaden is terrified. But then he hears his father’s voice in his head.

‘Fear is not real. It has no substance. Choose NOT to fear.’

Jaden regroups within himself. Staying perfectly still, he closes his eyes, and turns his fears into positive and hopeful thoughts. A peace fills him.

The giant locust, who is only destructive when it smells fear, is thwarted. It cannot harm him because it cannot smell his fear. Jaden wins the day.

Yes, I know, silly little story, but is it?

Let’s not ignore the danger of Covid-19, but let’s not live in fear of it by listening to stories over-sensationalised by the news media, or friends or colleagues who like to dwell on negativities. So much good can come out of this monstrous virus. Like …. Go on! List them.

Climate change … electric cars … review of NHS ….

Stay well – stay safe – stay positive – and be not afraid.

How about a sequel?

When the publishers asked for a sequel to ‘The Senator’s Assignment’ I was so excited – until I actually thought about it.

I had just finished reading one book only to discover the author kept making reference to events that had occurred in a previous book. It was most frustrating. Too many films and literature expand on previous work, so I was determined my book would stand on its own merit.

I asked myself what the readers liked best about ‘The Senator’s Assignment?’ The reviews tell me they loved the atmosphere; the noise, bustle and smells of the Jerusalem markets; the lofty imposing buildings in Rome, the historical facts and the clashes of the different cultures. Yes! I’d keep those.

And characters? My protagonist, an austere senator by the name of Vivius, was popular but everyone seemed to love a lesser character, Dorio Suranus. A decurion who, having suffered the loss of an arm in battle, had become a womaniser and drinker. I’d always had a sneaking liking for Dorio myself. They would have to stay central to the plot.

Ah! The plot! The reader would want a fresh new plot – but so did I! Then I had it! My first book had taken place a year after the crucifixion, when Tiberius was Emperor of Rome, and who should follow him but the mad and colourful Caligula. Wow! Loads of material there! I began to rake crazily through my historical research notes.

It was only as the plot began to take shape in my head that I discovered a great new character emerging. A gutsy Jewess who wasn’t afraid of these Romans who had barged into her country. I took to her immediately. But to raise her profile I had to release someone else, otherwise I would end up with an excess number of characters. This was the sad part; having to work out who had outrun their usefulness.

Now I was ready to pick up my pen – well open my laptop – and allow my austere senator to step on to my pages. And whoops! A drunken Dorio charged after him. As my fingers pounded the keys, I discovered I knew them so well, I knew exactly what they would do in every situation I opened up for them. It was wonderful falling in love with my heroes again! in ‘The Senator’s Darkest Days‘.