On this day in 1775 …

… author Jane Austen was born in Steventon Hampshire.  As this is the 250th anniversary of her birth and my final post of the year, I had to celebrate the gift of her work to the world.  Read on …

I usually begin my last post of the year with a reference to my method of writing and the paraphernalia required.  This year, I’m turning back the clock to consider what Jane herself might have written at this point.  She certainly wouldn’t be mentioning computers, screens, or keyboards!  But, having re-read her collected letters, I feel sure that she would have written about her plans for the season and the expected enjoyment of catching up with family and friends that she hadn’t seen for some time.

When I consider her novels-and there were more than the six that everyone quotes or regularly talks about-Christmas is mentioned as a greatly anticipated and enjoyable event.  But Christmas for her would have been quite different from the celebrations we take part in.  And yet there are some things that are constant.

A Regency Christmas began on Christmas Eve and lasted through until Twelfth Night.  For Jane, it was a time when ‘everybody unites’¹.  In Persuasion, we see Christmas through the eyes of one of her characters, as Jane describes a large table occupied at one side by a group of chattering girls, and on the other side, 'dishes, pies and trays of food where a group of boys are ‘holding high revel’.  The picture is ‘completed by a roaring Christmas fire, which seemed determined to be heard, in spite of all the noise.’  If Jane were here right now, I’d tell her that I remember similar occasions as a child myself.  No matter what the century, some things hardly change.

In her letters to family, friends, and her publisher, we get a more personal view.  In December 1798, she tells her sister Cassandra how she ‘enjoyed the hard black frosts of last week,’ and comments on the walks she took in the clear air.  A few days later, she bemoans the fact that ‘the snow came to nothing.’  In December 1808, she compliments Cassandra on a ‘composition’ she had jointly written with a Mr Deedes, stating that ‘he has great merit as a writer.’  It would appear that even in the nineteenth century, writers needed other writers’ opinions and support.  No change there, then!  A little later in the same letter, she tells Cassandra, ‘Yes, I mean to go to as many balls as possible.’  Whilst going to balls wouldn’t be my personal choice, I always enjoy meeting up with friends at this time of year for lunch, coffee, or cake, or even all three.  The conversation is the critical part of those events, too.

Christmas is a time to reflect and to be generous.  Jane’s letters echo this, irrespective of to whom she was writing.  Lastly, this time of year is very much about children and the fun and happiness that surrounds them.  In 1817, then at the age of forty-two, Jane wrote to her ‘raeD yssaC’ a complete note backwards!  I guess Jane never really grew up.  It’s only when Christmas comes around that I realise I have never really grown up either!

Lastly, on this very auspicious day, and in the words of Jane Austen, I would like to thank all readers of this blog, readers and reviewers of my books from the bottom of ‘a heart not so tired as the’ left hand ‘belonging to it.’²

Merry Christmas

If you celebrate Christmas, as I always do, may yours be a happy one.  For those that don't celebrate, please accept my best wishes for the final weeks of this year and the future that the next year will bring.  The blog will return on January 13th.

¹ Emma

² Letter to Cassandra 1808 

Ten years ago today ...

... and even now, I can't believe I'm writing this, the first book in the Jacques Forêt mystery series was released into an unsuspecting world of readers.  You can read my original post Here.   A lot has changed since then ...

... not least the content and design of my blog, the variety of articles, and many more things besides.  Casting my mind back to that day in December 2015 and looking back at the infancy of this communications vehicle, I'm amazed and surprised that the blog is still here!  Initially, I intended to use it only to launch the first book.  Naively, back then, I thought that launching the book was the end of the road!  I now know how wrong I was.  But let me start at the very beginning.

I've always been a reader—one of my earliest memories is of visiting Foyles Bookshop on Charing Cross Road in London and being given some money by my parents to buy a book.  I was about four years old at the time.  Books have been my companions ever since, and no, I can't recall the title of that very first purchase!  But I do remember its final demise in my mother's washing machine!  By then, I had other books, and my fever for collecting them has never waned.

What I didn't know until I was about fourteen was that my need for books and stories would become so obsessive that I would decide to become a writer.  My parents were not impressed with this idea!  So, the writing became secretive.  Eventually, exams, study, work, and life as an adult got in the way.  And life remained in the way for decades.

But then I had this great idea about ditching my very pressured and demanding job, and in 2005, freed from the daily grind, I started writing what I really wanted to write.  I also increased my time spent in France, and it was whilst I was travelling back from Provence in September 2007 that I stopped off in my favourite village in the Cévennes.

On arrival, the weather was bright, the sky blue, but a bitterly cold wind was blowing across the col.  Overnight, the beautiful autumnal colours of the trees disappeared beneath a clean white blanket as winter had slipped down through the trees.  As I watched the snow, the first few lines of Messandrierre popped into my head.

I didn't do anything with those few words for quite some time.  Back then, I thought I was writing romance.  Fast forward a few years and some writing courses later, I realised in late 2014 that I finally had a story I thought might go somewhere.  Having got the story to where I thought it needed to be, I then spent some time searching for a publisher, and Crooked Cat came to my rescue.  I will always be grateful to Steph and Laurence from Crooked Cat for taking a chance on me and my stories.

Messandirerre was born on December 8th, 2015.  It was followed by five other stories in the series before Crooked Cat/Darkstroke finally left publishing in September 2024.  A long search to find another publisher, and on January 7th, I signed a new contract and finished book 7.  The preponderance of sevens during this last year seemed to be have been some sort omen.  What I hadn't reckoned on was my new publisher withdrawing from my contract because of an internal re-shuffle within the company.  But, as one door closes, another opens, or so the old adage goes.  In the New Year, I will be able to give you some excellent news.  So, keep watching this space!

In the meantime, Happy Birthday to Messandrierre...

Come stroll with me through …

Photo courtesy of  W.Mobilo, Alamy

… the city of Troyes and a little piece of history.  Read on …

I’m always pleased to finally reach December 1st as each year goes by.  To me, it means Christmas, home, family, and, of course, it’s the Champagne time of year.  For this, my last post about France for 2025, I’m here in Troyes.

With a population of 62,000 inhabitants, the city sits on the River Seine, about 140 km south-east of Paris, at the heart of the Champagne region of France.  The city developed in the early Roman times and quickly became prosperous because of its location at a central hub for early transport and trade.  Troyes' long and varied history can be witnessed in the architecture of the city, from the medieval timbered houses in the heart of the old town, to the Gothic Basilica of Saint Urbain, the C17th stained-glass windows of Saint Martine-ès-Vignes, to the modernity of the much later surrounding urban town of today.  But, as interesting as all of that is, it’s not why I’m here today.

Back in 1910 and 1911, these medieval streets in the heart of Troyes and many other towns and cities across the Marne and Aube, and the Champagne region of France, as it was then defined, were running with champagne.  Rivers of the sparkling wine were deliberately spilt onto the streets, vineyards ripped up, and cellars emptied of their casks in protest.  Such destruction has echoes of the Luddites and might seem senseless to a 21st-century thinker. But a succession of bad harvests, a blight of phylloxera, and an apparent attempt by the large Champagne houses to squeeze out the many small growers was enough to set those vintners out onto the streets until they were heard.  According to the local growers, the fundamental principles of centuries of French existence, liberté, égalité and fraternité had been replaced by tyrannie.

In the years leading up to the riots, a nasty little bug, phylloxera vastatrix, had been imported from America and was gradually creeping through the roots of vines across the country.  All of this was happening at a time when Champagne was gradually being recognised as the go-to drink for any form of celebration.  Add into the mix, the need to completely replace the root stock of infected French grapes in order to continue to produce wine, the irony that the new root stock had to come from the other side of the Atlantic at a cost and because it was bug resistant, and you have a powder keg about to explode – or is that a very large champagne cork about to be popped!!!

Whatever the case, eastern France was in revolt.  In the midst of all this, the harvests of 1909 and 1910 were afflicted by mould and mildew, then by hailstones and flooding, and the Champagne areas were re-designated, thereby completely cutting out many of the small growers who wanted to take advantage of the steadily growing interest in their sparkling wine. It was no wonder the usually quiet and studious tenders of vines took to the streets so violently.  According to newspapers at the time, millions of bottles of champagne were emptied into the river or the streets.

Today, as I stroll through these streets, there’s no hint of the unrest.  The shops specialising in wine are trading happily alongside each other.  The cafes are full of locals and tourists taking in the view of the historic centre, and life moves at the relentless pace of the clock.  But as I look at the pavement below my feet, I can’t help but imagine the river of champagne that once traversed its surface…

If you enjoyed this post, you might also like to read about my travels through Meyrueis

or the city of Vernon