Stepping Back Into The Past With J.G. Harlond

About the Book/s

Several best-selling authors got together to produce an anthology of short stories based n the theme of Exile... here's an excerpt from one of the stories:

Victory in Exile

J.G. Harlond

In an English country town at 7:40 p.m. on the 7th May, 1945.

‘In accordance with arrangements between three great powers, tomorrow, Tuesday, will be treated as Victory in Europe Day . . .’

A tea towel in one hand, a saucepan in the other, Eva paused and stared at the kitchen wireless set. She smiled, then laughed out loud and danced a polka around the big table with the saucepan. 

Then she stopped and took a deep breath. This would change things on her own domestic front. Dropping the pan and cloth on the draining board, she walked down the long garden path to tell her husband, and enjoy her moment of relief, and triumph.

Bernard was down by the rear fence beyond the orchard, as far from the house as he could get, pushing papers into a bonfire. Spring-cleaning his study, he’d said. Purging it, more likely, Eva thought. 

As she crossed the long, damp grass, Bernard swung around, thrusting a fireside poker like a sword in her direction. “Stay back! You are not needed here.”

“It’s definitely over!” Eva cried across the space between them. “Victory in Europe, they name it.” Bernard glared at her and muttered something. “What?” she called.

“I said, I know! I’m a senior civil servant, you cretin.”

“Sorry. I thought you would like to be pleased. That it is over. For us. In Europe.”

Bernard made no reply. Taking a manila folder from a box-file at his feet he tipped its contents into the oil drum he was using as an incinerator. Flames leapt high into the air. A typed sheet of correspondence tried to escape. He grabbed it with a gloved hand, crushed it, and shoved it back in.

“Tomorrow is a national holiday,” Eva said, taking a few steps closer to see what was in the box-file. 

“That’s nice,” Bernard sneered. “Have fun.”

“Oh, I will,” Eva replied. “I will celebrate.”

Trying to contain her anger, Eva returned to the house. As she stepped onto the kitchen doormat, she noticed a slip of flimsy blue paper caught under the back door jamb. It was an un-sent airmail letter in Bernard’s forward-sloping hand-writing, but signed in her name. Her real name: Hanna Beck. 

Eva smoothed out the thin paper. She hadn’t signed anything in that name since coming to England ten years ago. It wasn’t even on her marriage certificate.

She took the letter to the kitchen table, sat down. Written in English, it was dated 1st of May, 1945. The day after Hitler committed suicide. 

Dear Carla – Eva didn’t think she knew about a Carla . . . regrettably I shan’t be able to visit as planned but I’ll keep you in my thoughts and remember all you told me. We will of course stay in touch. This is not the end of our friendship or endeavours . . . .

‘This is not the end . . .’ “Please, no. Let it end here,” she whispered to herself, staring at the signature on the paper. Had Bernard realised she what she had been doing? Was this his revenge – to implicate her?

Or had he been sending coded messages in apparently innocent letters in her name for longer, and she’d simply not seen them? 

Unsure what to do, how to react, Eva went to Bernard’s study to place it very visibly on his desk. The door was closed but not locked, which wasn’t usual. She had a key hiding in plain sight on her keyring on the hall table but never used it when Bernard was in the house.

The study was very untidy; the waste basket full of torn envelopes. On impulse she stuffed the letter into her apron pocket, then ran a hand over the leather desk blotter for recent indentations. A small memo-style note was tucked under a corner. It was a single paragraph in a language she did not recognise, and after travelling across Europe, living a few years here and there, Eva could make sense of various languages. There was no punctuation, no capital letters. It was a new cipher. Eva’s skin went cold, her heart began to thump loudly. Bernard had twigged; she was being set up as the guilty party. A foreign woman with a fake identity living in wartime England . . . Bernard could so easily make her guilty of aiding the enemy. And she thought she’d been so clever helping the American.

Universal buy Link for Amazon (paperback or e-book)

https://mybook.to/StoriesOfExile

About  J.G. Harlond

Secret agents, skulduggery, and crime that crosses continents

A British author of historical crime fiction, Jane writes award-winning, page-turning novels set in the mid-17th century and WWII. Each story weaves fictional characters into real events. She describes her WWII Bob Robbins Home Front Mysteries as ‘cosy crime with a sinister twist’. 

Apart from fiction, Jane also wrote school text books for many years using her married name. She holds BA (Hons) in Cultural Studies and an MA in Social and Political Thought. Prior to becoming a full-time author, Jane taught English, world literature in international colleges.

Jane is married to a retired Spanish naval officer and they have a large, grown-up family living in various parts of Europe, Scandinavia and the USA. After travelling widely (she has lived in or visited most of the places that feature in her novels) they are now settled near Málaga in Spain.

Cozy crime with a sinister twist: 

Bob Robbins Home Front Mysteries

Web page: http://author.to/JGHarlond

Blog : https://wp-harlond.jgharlond.com 

Amazon author: 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/stores/J.-G.-Harlond/author/B007PDA1Z4 

STEP INTO THE PAST WITH 

3^rd October J G (Jane) Harlond

4^th October Susan Grossey

5^th October Carol Westron

6^th October Samantha Wilcoxson

7^th October  Annie Whitehead

8^th October  Debra Swift

9^th October  Joan Fallon Cook

10^th October Judith Arnopp

11^th October Anna Belfrage

12^th October Elizabeth St.John

13^th October Nancy Jardine

14^th October Helen Hollick

15^th October Derek Birks

16^th October Cathie Dunn

17^th October Amy Maroney

18^th October Tony Riches

19^th October Cryssa Bazos

20^th October C.C (Chris) Humphreys

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Historical Stories of Exile by 13 popular authors 

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Cryssa Bazos, Anna Belfrage, Elizabeth Chadwick, Cathie Dunn, 

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Thoughts from a Devonshire farmhouse October 2024

Hello, and welcome to all the lovely people who have recently joined us.

If you’ve stumbled upon this informal newsletter-type post by accident and would like to be reminded about them each month, simply send a ‘please subscribe me to the list’ via the link below. Thank you.

OCTOBER ... AUTUMN COLOURS

With apologies to the Southern Hemisphere where winter is turning to spring, here in the UK what little we’ve had of summer this year is rapidly sliding into autumn. There’s a distinct tinge of brown in the trees, the blackberries are picked (and are in my freezer ready for future apple and blackberry crumbles) and the mornings have that misty autumnal feel about them – not that I notice because I stay snuggled beneath the duvet for as long as I can.

autumn
© Charles Moberly

I like autumn, but I’m not too keen on the nights drawing in or the thought that, to quote Game of Thrones – 'Winter’s Coming'. We’ve not had much of a summer, and I reckon the trees are as fed up with the rain as much as we are. But autumn is magnificent where colour is concerned, all those yellows, reds and oranges as the trees turn and the autumn flowers fill the garden, dahlias, chrysanthemums and ‘Black Eyed Susan’ (as I call them, I think they have another name now.) Mushrooms are in the fields (which reminds me, we need to pick and freeze some.) Berries along the hedgerow, although the holly hedge hasn’t had so many red berries this year. Last year it was smothered. The ponies like blackberries, so we have to get in quick or all we’re left with is empty brambles.

What sort of world would it be without colour? If everything were just black, white and grey? A very dismal place, I think. I realised about natural colours soon after I’d had my cataracts seen to – not being aware beforehand just how dull colour had become. It was only when realising that a summer sky was the bluest blue, that red was really red and yellow was a dazzle of bright delight that I discovered I’d been missing out. Sunsets with that beautiful shout of colour, red, pinks, purples fading to golds then dark blues... I notice sunsets more now that I live here in Devon, it’s fascinating to watch the seasons pass and note where the sun goes down of an evening moving along the skyline as the months change.

I'll be honest - this is dawn, not sunset.
Still a glory of colour though!

I wonder if Queen Victoria’s obvious depression after losing Albert was increased because of the Victorian insistence of wearing black? Although does the trend of wearing bright colours at a funeral in order to celebrate a life now passed, sit well with all of us? Bright colours somehow seem disrespectful, although different cultures have different colours. In many countries, white is the colour of mourning.

Despite black being ideal for the ‘little black dress’ that many of us ladies rely on for various posh occasions, colours are so much more cheerful. I feel sorry for you men, tied to boring black or grey suits for formal wear, at least, perhaps coloured shirts  can play their part.

Hens of many colours

Where did colours for political parties and leaning come from? The Red or Blue? Green, I guess, is obvious for the environment I suppose.

Colour is controversial when applied to us humans, although racism seems to have shifted away from Black or Brown skin to moaning about European migrants ‘not speaking English’. I suppose, without the obvious skin colour, those who are racist can only pick up on the difference in language? Yet I bet these same people who complain refuse to speak even the basic 'hello', 'please' and 'thank you' in the local language when they go to France or Spain on holiday.

People should be judged by who they are, not what colour their skin is or what country they come from. Being kind, caring, helpful and polite is, surely, far more important than what colour they are? I remember a girl joining our class at Secondary School, I was twelve or thirteen. She came, I think, from Sri Lanka, had long black hair that was like spun silk and gorgeous eyes. I can’t remember her name but I do remember thinking that I wished I looked like her because she was exquisitely beautiful. Yet she was teased, heckled, and yes, bullied because her skin was a light brown. I also remember having a go at one of those bully girls. She’d recently come back from a holiday in the sun and was boasting about her golden tan – for the life of me I couldn’t understand what was fine about her fake brown skin, yet she was horrid about the other girl's beautiful and natural colour.

Lexie's winning colours

I find it interesting that we have different colours for different feelings – red for anger, blue for sorrow, yellow for joy, green for envy. Who first invented these equivalents I wonder? I think I’m right that the ancient Greeks didn’t have the word ‘blue’, I assume they used more descriptive words like azure, turquoise, sapphire etc? What about the colours of the rainbow? We see many here in Devon, beautiful arcs across our valley... Richard Of York Gave Battle In Vain.

I read somewhere that we all see colours differently, and animals see different shades to what we see – horses, for instance, can’t see orange. Colours can alter our moods, blue light can help to dispel Seasonal Affective Disorder, although I find regularly taking Vitamin D is much more effective.

Red has been a colour to denote danger or evil since 4,000 B.C, used in ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs to denote a warning. Does this come from nature? Red stinging insects, poisonous berries and lethal snakes for instance? I noticed at the recent Historical Novel Society conference I attended that on the bookstall, the thrillers or crime had a lot of red on the covers. Romance? Yellows and pinks... adventure, blues and greens. The editor’s or teacher’s pen is red of course.

I think that we take colour for granted. Maybe we should smile more often at someone wearing a colourful dress or shirt, and take more active interest in the colours of trees. Have you ever noticed how many shades of green they can be?

And it doesn’t matter what flowers you put together in a vase or grow together in a garden, their colours never clash.

Isn’t nature wonderful?

lege feliciter

(read happily)

       

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< Previous Guest Post

Starting 3rd October here on my blog

STEP INTO THE PAST WITH 

3^rd October J G (Jane) Harlond

4^th October Susan Grossey

5^th October Carol Westron

6^th October Samantha Wilcoxson

7^th October  Annie Whitehead

8^th October  Debra Swift

9^th October  Joan Fallon Cook

10^th October Judith Arnopp

11^th October Anna Belfrage

12^th October Elizabeth St.John

13^th October Nancy Jardine

14^th October Helen Hollick

15^th October Derek Birks

16^th October Cathie Dunn

17^th October Amy Maroney

18^th October Tony Riches

19^th October Cryssa Bazos

20^th October C.C (Chris) Humphreys

DO JOIN US!

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