Meanwhile, in 1888

My collection of research books for the new series I am writing is expanding. The series is set in Victorian times (1888) and set in a city which is clearly London, but because I need to take liberties with history, I have made it an ‘imaginary London of 1888’. When I say liberties, I mean, for example, in book one of the series, ‘The Ripper’ is killing men, not women, and so I am mixing fact with fiction. In my stories (The Clearwater Mysteries), as in truth, the identity of the Ripper is never known, except in my series, we do know who he is, and we see what he went on to do after those crimes ended. We also find out why. In other places, I have stayed close to the facts but not quite, using some real locations, basing character and their names on people of the time or near the time. Example, in book four (still in editing and not yet published) I have a barrister called Sir Easterby Creswell. I took his name from a real judge in the 19^th century called Sir Creswell Creswell (whose family name was Easterby), and so on.

Over the weekend, I received two more books to add to the collection of things to be read when I take time off from writing. So far, I have collected several actual books, which I prefer, and a few Kindles. I find Kindle good for when I want some information now and don’t want to have to wait two weeks for an online order to arrive. If the book is something I will keep and use again, I’ll then order a paper or hardback copy.

Off the top of my head (I am in the study at 4.30, and the books are scattered around the house, and I don’t want to make noise by searching for them), I have gathered books about the stately homes of England, Victorian buildings, the Cleveland Street scandal of 1889, life in Victorian London, Jack the Ripper (I already have several), a collection of writings by ordinary people of the time, first-hand accounts of daily life etc., a book on the railways, the history of the Ukraine, ‘The Sins of Jack Saul’ and Saul’s allegedly penned, er, ‘novel’ about the life of a male street worker in those days, a dictionary of Victorian slang, a Bradshaw’s guide (1886, reprint), and several railways maps from the time. There are others, but I expect you’re getting bored by now. What I am looking for next is a good Atlas of the country from around that time, something as detailed as the large, green-cover Readers’ Digest atlas we used to have when younger. Claudia still has one at the Sunrise Café, and when I can, I sit and read the maps, but I can’t nick hers, so I will keep my eye out online.

Anyway, that’s the kind of thing that goes through my head in the early hours as I fight off the pre-dawn mosquito raid. On Saturday, we went to a lovely party, as Noel Coward might have said, up in the upper village next door to the first house we rented when we arrived on Symi. Great views, company and a lot of fun. The temperature is still climbing, and it’s a bit humid, but not unbearable, the harbour has been busy during the day and glittering at night, the cruise ships have been returning along with the large private and hired yachts, and everything appears to be ticking along nicely. Now, I must get back to smog and depravity, mysterious clues based on a Tennyson poem, and some research into the Central Criminal Court circa 1888 and the correct form of address between judges and barristers of the time. I promise I’ll talk more about Symi and less about myself in future posts. If you’re lucky. [Here’s the link to the first three books of the series, The Clearwater Mysteries]

Symi Saturday photos

Some from yesterday wandering up the mountain, passing the mule train coming down, watching the Blue Star leaving and a cargo boat taking its place. Very pleased to see someone has provided me with a seat when I reach the old cantina, my usual destination. Next time, I will take breakfast, sit and have a boiled egg when I reach the top. Have a good weekend.

Roundup

A breeze has helped take some of the humidity from the air, though not with the greatest of success, and the island is basking in sunshine. The gullets come and go, as do the many day trip boats and our inter-island ferries, it’s all hustle and bustle in Yialos during the day, quiet and more relaxed in the evening, but still with a good vibe, and the village is also busying up.

Over at Agia Marina, the cemetery, not the island, the road to To Vrisi is closed as you might have seen on the blog yesterday. Meanwhile, down in Pedi, a cargo ship has been taking away heaps of scrap metal including the old-old Symi bus and other things that have been lying around for several years like that home item you keep meaning to throw away but always forget about. The vine between our house and the neighbour’s is heavy with grapes in their early stages, and I must get out there and cut it back before it knocks someone off their moped. It welcomes me home each time with a thwack in the face as I open the gate, so I do have a mild incentive.

At the desk, I am plugging away at part for of a romantic mystery series for my pen name, and I’ve had a few Symi visitors commenting positively on it. It’s nothing to do with Symi, hence the pen name, but it’s a popular genre, and I’m having fun with it. These stories may not be to everyone’s taste, but if you are interested, below is a link to the Amazon.com page for the first book in the series. (It is also on Amazon.co.uk etc., in paperback, Kindle and Kindle Unlimited like all my other books.) You will get an idea of what to expect from the blurb, so you should, know if it’s the kind of thing you might enjoy. The first in the series is called Deviant Desire. I am working on the fourth now, Fallen Splendour and as a friend pointed out on Facebook the other day, there’s something Tennyson about the title. There is, indeed, because it is a Tennyson poem that holds the clues. Anyway, I just thought I’d mention that while I was trying to think of something else to write, and now, as I can’t, I’ll let you get on while I get back to my denouement.

Not much to report

Not much to report today. No plumbing excitement on Tuesday, I spent the day writing, a couple of glasses in the square afterwards, a couple of episodes of Downton Abby in the evening (research you understand) and an early night. A lie in yesterday (to 4.30) and off for a walk at six. The views always look much better in real life than they do when I look at the snaps afterwards, but hey ho!

There were more than the usual number of army guys heading up the hill to the camp yesterday morning. Private cars, mopeds and trucks. The officers live off barracks, I believe, maybe some of the local recruits too, but I don’t usually see that many. I wonder if that’s because the Prime Minister has been about. I saw he was on Tilos last weekend (I told him I wouldn’t have left by then, but he never listens), and I also read a report saying he was coming to Symi and Rhodes. Maybe he has, I’m not very observant. Perhaps that’s why there were more uniforms than usual passing me, maybe there’s always that amount. I don’t know. I’m just trying to fill space on this page. I tell you what, I’ll do it with a couple more photos.

Meanwhile, at the waterpark

Monday, and a couple of mild waterpark interruptions to the daily routine… As you know, the other day I was halfway through a shower when the plumber called, and I had to answer the door in my towel. An odd place to have a door, I grant you, but what that incident taught me is that all those scenes you see in adult films and romances where someone steps from the shower to let in the plumber simply don’t work that way in real life. The same goes for when you are halfway through a siesta, as I was on Monday afternoon when the doorbell rang. Poor chap, very apologetic and there was a reason for his call…

The reason began at about eight that morning when the doorbell ding-donged and I answered it to find our landlord on the step looking like he’d just walked off stage from a wet t-shirt competition on a SAGA Holiday Island. He wanted me to turn off the mains water, and I could hear the sound of a gushing leak from his place across the road. I pointed out that the mains water was not coming in (it was Pentecost and a bank holiday, so no-one had been around to turn on the mains taps). That confused him. What confused me was how he didn’t know that the minas only fills his sterna and not his pipes. To stop the leaking flow, all you need to do is turn off the water pump. What confused me even more was that he used to be the principal of the technical college where, I believe, such things are taught. I offered my help which with my dreadful Greek accent and his non-understanding of foreigners talking anything but Symiaka only confused him more. Satisfied that his problem was not the mains water tap in our courtyard and that all valves were shut, he squelched back across the lane to have another think or maybe win a bottle in the ‘wet landlord competition,’ I don’t know.

The rest of Monday went without a hitch. 6,000 words of a new story took up most of the day, and of those, about 3,000 had to be redone because my keyboard is wearing out. I often hit the space bar, and nothing happens, so words have to be separated after the event. With others, it’s simply a question of my seven-finger typing technique and playing the keyboard as if I was playing a keyboard. You’ll know what I mean if you’ve ever been taught piano. One, two, three, thumb under, cross hands, left hand playing the letters in the treble range, right hand hopping over to the qwerty area with third and second finger, both hands fighting for the same key/letter, typing some words as quickly as playing an inverted mordent, that kind of thing. I did try learning to touch type, spending 45 minutes a day with my fingers in the correct place and only certain digits on certain keys. But then, after 45 minutes of slow, laborious rehearsal, I’d go back to my usual fast and inaccurate performance of my bad typing habits. Life is to short for typing school, I decided.

Random thoughts and random photos, and now I’m out for a random walk.