Audrey Hawkins, who writes as Joanna Lambert, makes her home in south-west England near Bath. While she loves the city, her heart remains in the country where she grew up in a small village on the edge of the Salisbury plain – well known for its World Heritage Site – Stonehenge.
According to her author website, Audrey describes herself as a Saga Writer.
Her Behind Blue Eyes Trilogy began its life as one rather large manuscript with the working title “In Sunshine or in Shadow”. Now the story is told over the course of three books, the first of which is “When Tomorrow Comes”.
Book 1 is set in 1967 and introduces the reader to eighteen year old Ella Kendrick.
Loves, Lies & Promises, the second in the series, begins at Christmas 1968.
The final book in the trilogy, The Ghost of You and Me, takes place after the birth of Ella’s baby. But that’s all I’m going to say for now.
This photo doesn’t really do it justice. The trees behind the neighbour’s house were blowing like crazy from all directions at almost the same time. The rain was coming down almost horizontally, the wind was so fierce.
I have a small roof over my front door – similar to those in the photo – and I was getting wet standing in my front hall, foyer, vestibule whatever you prefer to call it!
I shot this picture with my Blackberry and had it held tight against the screen so that the camera wouldn’t focus on the mesh. Not bad but…
Still pretty freaky sky. I was only home from work about ten minutes when it all started. It was really black north of the 401 and I watched the sky darken in my rear view mirror the closer I got to my wee house.
First it was the wind. Violent. Then the rains came. Then the thunder and lightning. Mostly just rumbling thunder but every now and then, to keep a body on their toes, there was a huge boomer!
Storms don’t bother me. I’ve sat outside and watched many a good thunderstorm over the years. And after the power goes out, what else is there to do? That isn’t to say that an unexpected loud clap of thunder doesn’t make me jump – it does. But unlike some people who have a real phobia when it comes to storms, I’m not that phased by them. Luckily, our lights only flickered a couple of times and the worst was over in time for us to cook supper on the BBQ and better yet, it didn’t interrupt my viewing of Coronation St.
june 8 2011 storm video I shot a video using my Blackberry from out on the covered portion of our deck overlooking the back yard. Because our yard slopes downhill away from the house, the effect of the storm wasn’t nearly as dramatic. The biggest event that happened was my disused, rusted out metal clothesline pole came down. I was hoping that when I was shooting the video I would have captured some good lightning flashes or loud thunder claps but alas, I wasn’t so lucky. However, I did manage to capture some emergency vehicle sirens… in addition to the water pouring out the end of my gutter.
Again tonight there’s a chance of another thunderstorm. Call me weird, but I can’t wait.
World War II veteran, Harry Leslie Smith, was born in 1923 in Barnsley, Yorkshire England. After the war, he worked in a number of professions and now splits his time between Canada, the UK and Portugal.
In this first volume of his memoirs, Smith chronicles the tragic story of his early life. He presents his family’s early history-their misfortunes and their experiences of enduring betrayal, inhumane poverty, infidelity, and abandonment. )I can relate to this because my father’s family was poor and they were forced to send some of their children to The Orphan Homes of Scotland.)
1923: A Memoir presents the story of a life lyrically described, capturing a time both before and during World War II when personal survival was dependent upon luck and guile. During this time, failure insured either a trip to the workhouse or burial in a common grave. Brutally honest, Smith’s story plummets to the depths of tragedy and flies up to the summit of mirth and wonder, portraying real people in an uncompromising, unflinching voice.
I can’t wait to curl up and read it. I think I had best keep a box of tissues at hand because I think I’m going to need them.
Paperback: 312 pages
Language: English
ISBN-10: 9781450254137
ISBN-13: 978-1450254137
ASIN: 1450254136
1923: A Memoir is available in paperback or for the Kindle, Nook, or Kobo at the following
Off with my husband for a night out to celebrate our wedding anniversary. The wedding photo above was on the front of the invitations I made for our 25th anniversary that we celebrated in Scotland where we renewed our vows in the church at Quarriers Village (the orphanage where my father was raised).
I’m involved with an exciting new website that brings readers and authors together. It’s called http://loveahappyending.com
The plan is to have thirty authors and a number of “Feature Readers” and “Associate Readers” who will read and review books by the authors on the site. As an Associate Reader, you choose as many authors you wish to support and promote them via the various social networks and your own blog/website etc.
In addition to Janice Horton, who first put me on to this fantastic idea, I’m supporting two other authors who have yet to have reader support.
My first author is Harry Leslie Smith, author of 1923 A Memoir. His book is available on Amazon.com. I’m looking forward to reading it.
The official launch day of http://loveahappyending.com is June 29th. Keep watching the official site, my blog, Facebook and Twitter for further updates.
I posted on Facebook earlier in the week that I had three buds on my purple-flowered rhododendron. Mid week, after all the heat, humidity and no rain, they were looking extremely droopy. However, I’m happy to report that they are doing marvellously now.
One of the fully opened blossomsCatching the sun's reflection
Now my plant might not be as large as the ones in Quarriers Village but at the rate it’s growing every year, it won’t be long before it’s a big as a tree.
It’s still a bit too early to tell but I think my muse (aka George) has come home. I was working on a short story last night and I felt like I was being watched. The hubby was the only other person in the house at the time and he was working on genealogy on the other computer. The dog was asleep on his bed. Well, I’m assuming the dog was sleeping because he was doing a fine job of snoring. Besides, the feeling I had was more like someone was peering over my shoulder more or less reading what I was writing.
I firmly believe my house is haunted. It’s well over one hundred years old so surely at least one person died there. I’ve had a few encounters in the middle of the night with apparitions, spirits if you will – and not the kind that come in a bottle – those kind are a totally different story.
So, back to the feeling of someone peering over my left shoulder. Where I felt it from, the only thing behind me there is my laser printer and a case of paper. So I think it was George just checking to make sure I was actually writing something and not just goofing off.
I have forewarned my hubby that if he hears me talking to myself and the name George is mentioned, it’s only me arguing with my muse and he’s not to worry unless we get extremely loud and start throwing things! I doubt it will come to that but you never know.
My muse is missing in action. I thought at first it was off sulking because I wanted to go in one direction with my writing and it wanted to go the opposite way. We’ve hit impasses before but they’ve never lasted this long. Previously, one of us (mostly me) has come slinking back all apologetic.
However, this time it’s different. I’ve offended my poor muse – big time! I hoped my recent weekend away would give us some time apart and it would be waiting impatiently for my return, ready to smack me into writing submission. It wasn’t.
I’ve looked in the closets, under the beds, in the garage, the garden shed and it’s not in any of those places.
I’ll bring flowers, a nice bottle of wine and maybe even some chocolate to our reconciliation meeting if it means us getting back into a working relationship.
So if you should happen to see my muse wandering about aimlessly, looking lost, dejected and rejected and will you please send it home?
You can tell it, too, that if it comes home, I will love it and hug it and squeeze it and call it George.
Our last day. We lingered over our coffee and although we had a couple of things we wanted to do on the way home, we weren’t moving too fast – and it had nothing to do with the amount of booze we’ve consumed these last couple of days. Unlike yesterday morning, there was no fog and the sun shone brightly – an omen for a wonderful, scenic drive home. Still it was a bittersweet morning. We wanted to go home to our husbands and big-Jesus dogs but there was something magical about the weekend that we didn’t want to end.
Once we got checked out and called for petrol, we made our way to the floral clock. I remember visiting it back when I was a young girl the year my mum and I went and spent a week at my cousin’s house. I’d forgotten how far out of town it was. On our way there, we made a couple of stops along the Niagara Parkway to take photos. Even though it’s not the falls, the whirlpools and magntitude of the cliffs make it a breathtaking sight.
Boat tour heading up river
At one of our stops along the parkway, a Zodiak filled with tourists in plastic raincapes and life jackets worked its way towards the falls. Even it struggled against the strength of the current.
Eventually, we arrived at the Floral Clock. It’s almost all the way to Hwy 405 and the bridge to the USA. The clockworks were under repair but the flowers were still gorgeous. Too bad the background is scarred with hydro pylons and wires because of the power dam.
The Floral Clock
This trip to Lock 3 on the Welland Canal was much more pleasant than when we took my friend, Anne, from Wales there back in 2005. Unlike back then, this was a much better route and was far more direct.
The bonus of this trip was a ship was going through the lock just above the one we were going to as we crossed the lift bridge. Couldn’t have timed things better.
I’ve seen ships pass through the locks at Iroquois but that’s nothing spectacular because of the lack of lowering the ships to exit at the other end.
Today was fantastic! Watching the lift bridge rise and the massive freighter approach the lock was breathtaking.
Coming under the lift bridgeApproaching the lockEntering the lockLower gate openingExiting the lock
After watching the ship clear the lock and the gates close once again, we had a picnic lunch at the visitor centre and got back on the road.
We had a great time in the ‘falls’, made new friends, and it was the experience of a lifetime. I’m really glad we went ahead with our trip rather than cancel it.
My Scottish roots and writing by Melanie Robertson-King
