Geoffrey Trease by Paul May

Unlike thousands of children in the then Soviet Union, I didn't read Geoffrey Trease's books as a child. Trease's first novel for children, Bows Against the Barons, was published in 1934 by a small left-wing press. It was a Marxist-Leninist take on the Robin Hood legend and it didn't make much headway at first, possibly because of the frontispiece illustration of a mutilated corpse hanging 'from a Sherwood oak' which many parents told Trease they had to tear out before giving the book to their children. George Orwell liked the book when he eventually discovered it in 1940, and also admired Trease's 1940 adult novel Only Natural. Unfortunately a warehouse containing every copy of Only Natural was destroyed by a German bomb. The children's novel, Cue for Treason, met with a similar fate, though this book went on to be very successful. But Bows Against the Barons was not going to find its way into British classrooms either. As Trease says in his autobiography, 'Teachers felt safe only with authors who had been a long time dead.'

Not so in the Soviet Union. Bows Against the Barons was published there in English in what we might call today a pirated edition, as Russia had never subscribed to the international copyright convention. Royalties were earned, but they were in roubles and they were frozen in Russia. The only way to spend the roubles was to go to the Soviet Union and so Trease and his wife, Marion spent five months there, travelling extensively and giving talks and lectures. While he was there his book was translated into Russian and 100,000 copies were printed by the state publisher. 

Trease wrote three volumes of autobiography and in the first of them, A Whiff of Burnt Boats, he sets out with remarkable clarity his own view of childhood and of writing for children. He says: 'My becoming a children's writer was an accident, for it was in politics, not children, that I was then mainly interested. I wrote because there was something I wanted to say, a respectable motive when writing for adults, but at that period suspect in a children's author . . .' 

He goes on to say that he has 'never shared the common English view that the young of any species is inherently more interesting and important than the mature. I was never concerned with children as a separate (and in many eyes enviable) race absorbed in a special and limited world of their own.'

The result of this is that Trease feels a good deal of freedom to indulge his own points of view and perhaps even hobby-horses in his children's fiction. This became very clear to me when I found a copy of Under Black Banner in a second-hand bookshop. I was pleased to find it because the books in the Black Banner series are hard to find and expensive. I was on a bit of a roll with finding Geoffrey Trease books as I'd found a lovely copy of The Red Towers of Granada a few weeks before. Not only was this book almost like new, but it was signed by the author with an inscription to Evelyn Shrifte.

The red towers of Granada with the Sierra Nevada behind.

Evelyn Shrifte was the president of the New York publishing house Vanguard Press for 36 years from 1952 until 1988. She was one of the first women to head a publishing company and published the first books of Saul Bellow, Joyce Carol Oates and Dr Seuss. She was also the US publisher of many of Geoffrey Trease's books, including The Red Towers of Granada. 

I'd love to know how a completely pristine copy of the book, complete with inscription, ended up in the Oxfam bookshop in Marlborough. And if you want a bit more about The Red Towers of Granada I wrote about it on this blog a few years back.

The Black Banner series came about as a result of a meeting with some girls after a school visit:

"Two schoolgirls buttonholed me afterwards. 'Do you ever write school stories?’ 'No' I said. 'Haven’t you got enough already? All those midnight feasts in the dorm, those secret passages and hooded figures -’ They cut me off with grave courtesy, 'They didn’t mean that stuff. Why didn’t I write true-to-life stories, about real boys and girls, going to day-schools as nearly everybody did? No one seemed to write that sort.' Out of that five-minute conversation came, a year or two later, No Boats on Bannermere and eventually its four sequels, three hundred thousand words, the writing spread intermittently over nine years, I was glad I had been to Millom." (from Laughter at the Door, 1974)

The funny thing about these books is that, unlike with Trease's historical fiction, the voices of the children sound dated. I suspect this is because, when Trease came to write a modern school story, he relied too heavily on his own experience at Nottingham High School in the 1920s. For example:

'I liked Nelson. He was rough—lots of our chaps are, and never take a very high polish—but he always struck me as dead straight.'

Or this: 'I groaned. Had the girl no sense? How can a chap in the same school ask another chap for his autograph?'

I thought this seemed odd, so I looked at one of my favourite books from the period set in a boarding school—William Mayne's A Swarm in May—and there the boys talk without any kind of affectation, just the occasional school catch-phrase and a good deal of punning. So, that was the first thing that struck me about these Black Banner books— that while setting out to be modern they somehow managed to be very old-fashioned. 

The second thing I noticed, and you can hardly fail to notice this, was the degree to which the author is pushing various agendas. One of these is a matter that was clearly of great importance to rural communities at the time that Under Black Banner was published: the return to farmers of land seized by the military for training during the war years. At the same time, Trease is very keen to put over a mountain safety message, and at one point here I felt a strange sensation of deja-vu.

Some years ago I wrote a series of novels for the Scout Association. They were published under the name Jonathan Rock (not my idea) and presented their writer with the same problems that Trease faces in his book. The Scouts have to get into difficulties without being too stupid or reckless and then get themselves out of trouble. Messages have to be got across without damaging the excitement of the story. I can only think that in these books Geoffrey Trease was still learning his trade, because, by the time he wrote The Red Towers of Granada in 1966 he had completely succeeded in blending message with thrills. As you can see from the following quote, he was far from achieving that in 1951 with Under Black Banner.

'It was Tim who taught us not to sit on a hill-top and chuck stones over the edge: there might be someone climbing up, out of sight, and quite a small stone would kill them if it had fallen far enough. [ . . .] He had stopped us, too, from yelling our heads off for the mere fun of hearing echoes: people a mile off might mistake our yells for shouts of distress. [ . . .] We used to think Tim was rather an old fuss-pot, but we don't now . . . Thoughtless people can be an awful nuisance, up on the fells.'

Excellent messages, but definitely not thrilling. More like a public service announcement.

Under Black Banner is illustrated by Richard Kennedy and I strongly recommend his memoir A Boy at the Hogarth Press. There's a Slightly Foxed edition of this book. Kennedy went to work for Leonard and Virginia Woolf in Bloomsbury in 1926. Just a few years later Geoffrey Trease was in Bloomsbury too, trying to scrape a living as a writer.

If you're interested in Geoffrey Trease there's an excellent website called The Trease Project, and there is plenty more about this influential and very prolific author to be found online.

Paul May's blog/web pages

Picking up the Threads - Joan Lennon

For the last five or so years, my writing life has been mostly long stretches of non-fiction for 8-12 year-olds, with only the occasional snatched bits of time for fiction.

This is one of those snatches.

Don't get me wrong - I enjoy writing non-fiction and I enjoy the whole being illustrated thing. Okay, so the restraints of word count (and the additional constraints of having to make sure there's also enough space on the page for co-editions in languages that take more room to say something than even English - I'm naming no names) are intensely irritating. And discouraging. And joy-sapping. But otherwise, yes to non-fiction story telling.

But coming back to a novel that's had to bide its time - coming back to picking up threads and feeling as if there is room to let a story breathe - it's a huge relief and an exciting challenge rolled into one. Some muscles are unclenching and others are coming into play. It's exhilarating. 

I haven't got forever. It's only a snatch, after all, before I'll be back to the non-fiction mainstay. But while it lasts, I'm as happy as a daffodil against a blue sky. 

Joan Lennon website

Joan Lennon Instagram

THE COMPANY OF FRIENDS by Penny Dolan

I like being alone, but there’s always some kind of company at my house. There’s always somebody around who can match my mood, or come up with an interesting fact or idea, or offer a different way of thinking about things. There are friends whose voices I enjoy, even though they just to ramble on about whatever they want. Most of the time, they hang about together, peaceful enough, but they can be also be surprisingly chatty and conversational. 

                    

Often, when I see them waiting, simply stepping away and ignoring them is not as easy as it should be. I ought to be paying attention elsewhere but how, in that moment, can I stop listening? How can I ignore that voice? I rarely think, let alone say, ‘I’m done with you,’ although I might think ‘Sorry. Not right now,” and scuttle on.

Friends, I have heard what your voices told me and I remember, or did once; the memory fades. Some of them stay huddled together, muttering and whispering, as if there is more they could tell me. A few speak freshly and brightly, like new neighbours who have moved into an established street, eager to share their experiences and views. There are, I admit, a few with old or complicated voices, those who ask for a little too much time and patience whenever we have a moment together.

To be honest, I like seeing them waiting around, all gathered together, here and there, as I pass by. They do make it easy to know who is with who, which ones are likely to be kindred spirits, which ones share the same vibe. I watch out for the colours each one is wearing: their style and design. What hints do they give off? What mood? What feeling? Does this one carry a whiff of worthiness, or is that one, loudly and clearly, occupying more room than really necessary? I know there are other ways of enjoying such friendships: ways maybe more admirable than this, and I have tried. However, at heart, I am not someone happy with that kind of virtual relationships.

So, there it is. Company! Friends, eh? Hey ho! So many days, weeks - and even years - spent with some. Those happy, contented moments of joy. Or those times of waiting, when their initial greeting was minimal or worse: plainly discouraging. So easy to be lured on by the need to know, to listen to what this or that friend says, to be in awe of their personalities, and then slowly steadily feel the need to seek out more friendly guests.

However, for now, sssh! Enough! Enough! A hard thing has been decided.

This space is too crowded for all of them, and I’m fairly that sure that some haven’t spoken my name for ages. The time has come for many of the present company to leave the room, to shift somewhat closer to the door and, yes, to exit and depart. An area waits, ready in the hall: an ideal spot for a last gathering, a final chance to pause, eye to eye with old friends, and say goodbye. 

I am not joyful about seeing so many friends leave, but there are places they can go, and bags and boxes to aid their journey. All is ready. The time has come. This - ta da! - is a moment for action. And so I shift a couple gently towards the exit, following up with a group I had honestly forgotten about.  

So sorry, goodbye, farewell, adieu, my friends. We’ve had some good times together, and you were very useful way back when, I know, I know. 

Time for the big sigh and the shake of the head. Tears? No, I don’t think so.

Yet now is when I make my mistake. I pause, lose focus. I should be escorting an old friend briskly to where they need to wait but instead, I take that one book, one particular title, down from the shelf. And worse. I open the book's cover, and then cannot help but turn a couple of pages. I start to read, and read on, and read on - and the  whole chance passes. 

A little later, I slip the book fondly back on to the shelf again. That friend isn’t going anywhere, and in addition, by all things Mari-Kondo, I glance at the clock and see that my book de-cluttering moment is now over, done and gone. Things happen.

Saying farewell to good company is never easy.                      

                 

Penny Dolan

Awfully Big Adventures in Self-Publishing by Sheena Wilkinson

 It feels very odd to be posting on the 29th day of the month. Ever since I first blogged for ABBA – March 2014 if anyone’s interested, it’s been the 13th. Easy to remember (and as far as I know I’ve only forgotten twice in eleven years). Sometimes I got to blog on Friday 13th, and once a year it fell on St Lucy’s Day, which was always an invitation to write about light at a dark time of year. 

But here I am on the 29th! Out of my comfort zone. Because of the reshuffle of ABBA dates, I haven’t blogged for ages, there having been no 29th February this year. (Oooh, this means that three out of four years I’ll get a month off, and every fourth year I’ll get to blog about Leap Day. Yay!) And it doesn’t matter when I blog: the fact is, Awfully Big Blog Adventure gives me a real sense of community in an often fractured world. There are writers I’ve never met, who feel like friends because we read each other’s posts, writers whose books I will seek out because they are Scattered Authors. 

I am very much a creature of routine and habit, and though I love change and adventure to some extent, I do fear the unknown. I am especially pusillanimous about techy things: that’s probably why it took me until 2023 to get a website.

Another thing I’ve been scared of is self-publishing. No matter how many talks I have been to from really successful and savvy indie authors; no matter how many times other writers have waxed lyrical about having complete control over every aspect of the process; no matter how many self-published books I see with much better sales than I have had for ten traditionally published books, it’s always felt scary, and I’ve always thought I wouldn’t do it. Even when one of my good writing friends, Rachel Ward, self- published the excellent, beautifully produced Write Your Cozy Mystery: a practical, how-to guide, I still couldn’t imagine myself managing to actually make a book happen – writing, after all, is the easy bit!

one traditionally published, one self-published

But later this year I am going to self-publish a novel – a much scarier leap for me than changing my blogging day. And it’s mainly thanks to ABBA – or at least to the Scattered Authors. 

Here’s how.

As we all know, Scattered Authors get about a bit. One place where many of have scattered to over the years has been Charney, the annual, much-missed retreat in Oxfordshire. It was at Charney where I met Linda Newbery, Celia Rees and Adele Geras, who run the excellent, eclectic review blog Writers Review, which I’ve occasionally reviewed for, and was interviewed by in 2023: http://reviewsbywriters.blogspot.com/2023/04/special-feature-q-with-guest-sheena.html

A month or so ago I read in The Bookseller that Writers Review was branching out into publishing, bringing out three books this April: The One True Thing, a new adult novel from award-winning Linda Newbery, and reissues of two highly-acclaimed novels – The Poet’s Wife by Judith Allnatt, and David: The Unauthorised Autobiography by Mary Hoffmann. https://www.thebookseller.com/author-interviews/author-interviews/testing-the-waters-linda-newbery-makes-her-first-foray-into-self-publishing

All three authors are widely published, hugely experienced and highly respected. Reading about their decision to self-publish these novels as a Writers Review initiative made me think about a book of mine, finished this time last year but languishing on my hard drive ever since. If they could do it, maybe I could too? 

My first adult novel, Mrs Hart’s Marriage Bureau, a 1930s feminist feelgood story, was published in 2023 by HarperCollins Ireland and in UK paperback in 2024 – a year and a day ago, in fact. Readers loved it; reviewers called it ‘a gem’ (Irish Independent) and ‘briskly witty, reminiscent of the best inter-war fiction’ (Irish Times) and the majority of the two hundred Amazon reviews (mostly five star) hoped for a sequel. In fact, the acquiring editor, at our one and only meeting, waxed very enthusiastically about a sequel or even a series. 

But it was a one-book deal and that passionate editor moved on, as is the way in publishing, and though Mrs Hart had clearly struck a chord with readers, there simply weren't enough of them to justify HarperCollins offering for the sequel. So they didn’t. 

And yes, it might have been more sensible to wait for a contract before I wrote it, but the fact is, like readers, I wanted to know what happened next! And as I wrote Miss McVey Takes Charge, set in 1936, I was feeling optimistic and determined. This book would see the light of day. To anyone who enquired, I said blithely that if HarperCollins didn’t take it I would jolly well publish it myself. (I said it very fast, because to be honest I was terrified of the prospect.)

There seemed no point in sending the book elsewhere: publishers are unlikely to want the sequel to a book published by another company. I did look at reworking it to make it less like a sequel, but that was like trying to turn my dog into a cat. 

I hoped that, if I did nothing for a year, something amazing might happen to make HarperCollins change their minds – Mrs Hart might be optioned for TV or go viral for some reason. This didn’t happen, but when I read about the Writers’ Review initiative, it spurred me on to start thinking seriously about taking that kind of action myself. 

And then something lovely happened! Having engaged in a little chat on social media about the trend for respected, successful writers to self-publish, I admitted that I too was considering self-publishing and explained about Miss McVey takes Charge. The next day I had a message from Linda Newbery, inviting me to bring the book to Writers Review! I will still be self-publishing, but with the support and cooperation of writers I really like and trust. And I know that the Writers Review endorsement will give the book a stamp of approval and respectability, and that they will support my book, as I will support theirs. 

three splendid, and beautifully-produced novels from Writers' Review 

Miss McVey Takes Charge will publish late in 2025. I need to leave some breathing space around my forthcoming school story sequel, which publishes in September, and it gives me time to build up (I hope!) some interest in the book. I’ve invested in engaging a really first-class editor and cover illustrator, both of whom have worked on my traditionally published books. I don’t expect to sell thousands of copies or to make any money; it’s not about that. It’s about giving the readers who bought, loved and reviewed the first book the sequel they – and I – want. It’s about taking control in a world where writers’ words are blatantly stolen to train robots, as Claire Fayers blogged about on here only yesterday. https://awfullybigblogadventure.blogspot.com/

And – because without the invitation from Writers’ Review I might still be dithering about this – it’s about community and solidarity, and writers helping each other out. Because that’s what matters. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Why Bother? by Claire Fayers

 I'm sure by now that everyone's heard the news that Meta has stolen millions of books and research papers and used them to train their AI programmes. They did it in full knowledge that this was theft. Staff at Meta discussed obtaining material legally and decided to steal it because it would be quicker and cheaper.

Just about every author I know has been affected. It makes me wonder why we still bother to write when our work is consistently undervalued, taken and used without our consent.

And then I thought back over last week, which was my last set of 'World Book Month' school events. Three days of encouraging children to use my Welsh folktales books as springboards for their own stories.

And I remembered that a few weeks ago, a teacher, Julian Rees, contacted me. He'd come across my Welsh Giants, Ghosts and Goblins, and being a musician and composer as well as a teacher, he'd written a march to go with my stories of the giant Idris's travels around Wales. Here it is, if you're curious.

And, because once I started thinking about this, I found so many examples, I remembered my artist friend, Bonnie Hawkins, painstakingly creating characters inspired by Dylan Thomas's Under Milk Wood, and how I ran a workshop in the art gallery, creating a new 'play for voices' inspired by her artwork.

There is a Welsh word, 'cynefin', which means community, connection, belonging. A coming together of the multiple strands of our environment, our experiences, the people we live alongside. To me, this is how creativity is supposed to work. A story sparking off a piece of music, a play giving rise to a gallery of art, which gives rise to new writing. Creativity connects people together in a way that AI can never do.

This is why I'll continue to write. 

And here, in case you need them, are links to the Society of Authors and the Writers' Guild, with advice on what to do if Meta has stolen your work.

https://societyofauthors.org/2025/03/21/the-libgen-data-set-what-authors-can-do/

https://writersguild.org.uk/libgen-database-advice-for-authors/

Thoughts about a classic

I’ve always thought a good writer ought to be able to write about almost anything. It’s a question of insight and observation. Research, too; although not so much the story drowns in too much detail.
And then I read this book and I think it could only have been written by a woman. 

(This is a comment in no way intended as any kind of a put-down. Not for so much as a millisecond. I really enjoyed the book, and my only regret is that it’s taken me so many decades to getting around to reading it.)

It’s just that the level of detail in the thoughts of the 17-year-old narrator – her reactions to the men who appear in her life; the meaning of a kiss; what clothes to wear and how to look; what to say and to whom… I’m not sure any man could have described all this with such surgical precision and insight. 

One other aspect that interests me: It’s currently being released as part of a Vintage Classics series that also contains The Wind in the Willows; The Secret Garden; Emil and the Detectives; The Wolves of Willoughby Chase and The Silver Sword. 

I’d classify all of the above as children’s classics. No question. But does I Capture the Castle belong with them? Is it really a children’s book, a book for young readers? I’d have said you’d have to be at least the age of the narrator to get anything out of it, and that anyone younger would just be bored by all the talk of looks and glances, stolen kisses and the right dresses and who should really be marrying who.

No argument about it being a classic, though.

None at all.

Reading the magic: The Children of Green Knowe - Sue Purkiss

 Have recently been doing a lot of sorting out/chucking out of all kinds of things. (There's something very liberating about it, isn't there? It certainly brings out the ruthless streak in me.)

Part of this was making room on bookshelves. (We buy far too many books, and have historically been far too averse to recycling ones that, in our heart of hearts, we know we'll never read again.) As I was sorting through a shelf full of children's books, I came across this one by Lucy M. Boston, The Children of Green Knowe.

Now I know that many of the people reading this are very knowledgeable about children's books, and will be very familiar with this book. But I wasn't. I first heard of it some years ago on one of the Charney retreats that the Scattered Authors used to run, and I guess that's when I bought the book. If I read it then, I had forgotten it - which would be a very strange thing, because I've just sat down and read it and found it literally enchanting.

I'm quite puzzled by my feelings about fantasy in children's books. Some of my favourite books ever are fantasy: Lord of the Rings, Alan Garner's early works, C S Lewis, His Dark Materials, Harry Potter. But I haven't felt the same about recent fantasies I've read, and I'm really not sure why. I've enjoyed them, but I haven't been totally drawn into and mesmerised by that world, in the same way as I was by those I've mentioned. (Harry Potter not quite so much, perhaps.)

But this book - yes. Lucy Boston's Green Knowe is based on the house she lived in herself - not as a child, interestingly: she didn't come across this ancient, magical building till she was middle-aged. The premise of this first book in the series is that Tolly, a seven year old boy in the thirties, has been virtually abandoned by his father: his mother has died, and his father has remarried to an evidently unsympatheic stepmother and gone to live abroad, leaving Tolly at a boarding school, till he is rescued by his great grandmother, Mrs Oldknow, who invites him to stay with her in the holidays. Tolly instantly bonds with her - and quickly senses that the old house is full of magic - and also of the ghosts of children from the past, who become his playmates.

The actual story is pretty much that - there is no quest, no journey, no powerful narrative arc - though there are lots of extraordinary encounters. And yet it is completely gripping. The house and its inhabitants became as real to us as they do to Tolly: it is, literally, enchanting. This is partly to do with the detailed and luscious descriptions of the house - it's clear that Lucy Boston is describing a very real place that she loves, not somewhere that she's made up. Here she describes part of the stables: Here and there a ray of white light came slanting through a broken roof tile, against which you could see the golden motes of dust in the air. It looked mysterious and enticing. And in such a place, would you not expect magical things to happen?

I was so enchanted that I sent off for three more of the books in the series, and also a memoir by Lucy Boston of her early life. What I am very interested to see is whether the books will appeal to my eight year-old grandson, who is a keen and very good reader. Their world is a very long way from his - but it's also a very long way from mine. We'll see.