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A telegram used to bring congratulations or bad news

29/3/2017

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A short extract from THE ONLY BLUE DOOR, the story of three young children sent as child migrants to Australia during WWII.
Picture
It is only two days later that the news arrives.  Billy sees him first.  He shouts upstairs to tell her.  She looks out of the window and watches as the boy leans his bicycle against the post box and wanders along the street looking at the numbers on the doors.  When he gets to their own blue door he stops, checks the envelope again and knocks.  She feels a tightness in her chest and is unable to move.  Irene knows from the moment the boy’s knuckles rap on her door that this marks the end of one life and the start of another.  They will all remember that sound for a long time to come.  She does not run to see is it good news or bad; her legs will not move.  She lets Billy open the door and take the yellow envelope.  She hears the voice of a young man, high and reedy.
    ‘Mrs Smith?’
    ‘Yes, that’s my Mum.’
    ‘Mrs Ronald Smith?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘OK son, give this to yer mum.’
    She hears the door close and the sound of Billy’s feet running down the passage.
    ‘Mum, it’s a telegram,’ he cries, waving it in the air.
    ‘Maybe it’s to say Dad’s coming home,’ suggests Maggie.
    She has Grace on her lap and is brushing her hair.
    ‘Thank you darling,’ Irene says.
    She takes the envelope from him and slips it into the pocket of her apron.
    ‘Come on Mum.  Aren’t you going to open it?’
    ‘Yes, open it, Mum.’
    She looks at the fresh, hopeful faces of her children and the tears begin to form in her eyes.  She pulls out the standard yellow envelope and holds it against her cheek.  The only other telegram she has ever received was on the day of their wedding; Ronnie’s aunt May had sent it.  ‘To wish you a long and happy married life,’ it said.
    ‘Mum.’
    Maggie is hopping from foot to foot in anticipation.
    Carefully Irene takes out a knife from the kitchen drawer and slides it under the fold of the telegram.  She can sense the children’s eyes on her.  She pulls out the folded paper and opens it.
    ‘WE REGRET TO INFORM YOU ...’  
The words stab at her heart as she tries to focus.  The uniform printed letters dance in front of her eyes; she can hardly make out what they say.
      ‘WE REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT PRIVATE RONALD BRUCE SMITH HAS BEEN KILLED IN ACTION ...’
      She struggles for breath.  Her heart is banging so loudly she cannot hear what her children are saying.  She thinks she will collapse.
    ‘What’s it say Mum?’
    ‘Is he coming home?  Is Dad coming home?’
    ‘Mummy.  What’s it say?’
    ‘What’s the matter Mum?  Mum?  Is it about Dad?’
    Irene lets out a long, agonised moan.  Her legs give way under her and she grabs at the edge of the table to steady herself.
    ‘What’s the matter Mum?’
    ‘Mummy, why are you crying?’
    No, not her Ronnie, it can’t be her Ronnie.  Please God, let it be a mistake.  But deep inside she knows it is no mistake.  She looks at the anxious faces of her children; she has to be strong for them.  She has to give them an answer.  
    ‘No darlings, Daddy’s not coming home.’
    The words are barely a whisper.  She cannot hold back the tears.
    ‘Don’t cry Mummy,’ says Grace, clinging to her mother’s leg.  ‘Don’t cry.’
     The children crowd round her, each trying to comfort her in their own way.  Maggie pulls out a chair so she can sit down.  Billy anxiously pats her hand and Grace climbs up onto her knee and puts her podgy arms around her mother’s neck.
    ‘Does he have to go to another war now?’ asks Billy.
    There is a lump in her throat that threatens to choke her; she swallows hard and says:
    ‘No, darling, he’s not going to go to any more wars, ever again.’
    ‘So he can come home then,’ says Billy, with a little skip of pleasure.
    Maggie picks up the telegram from the table.
    ‘No, silly, he’s not ever coming home again.  He’s been killed.  Killed in action.’
    She flings down the telegram and runs from the room.
    ‘Maggie ...’
    Irene does not have the strength to go after her daughter.  She hugs her other children to her, rocking them back and forth like she used to do when they were babies.  Billy is quiet now.  Grace is crying.  She tries to comfort them but she does not know what to say.  What can she say?  It just is not fair.  Ronnie was a good man, a kind man; he was her husband.  He was too young to die.  And they are all too young to live without him.  This bloody war.  It is so unfair.

​

Available from Amazon.co.uk and Amazon.com


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Education can have more than one use

28/3/2017

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This is a short extract from Book 2 in the al-Andalus series of historical novels,
​ THE EYE OF THE FALCON


Subh padded across the cool marble floor, the bells on her anklets tinkling as she walked. It was barely an hour since her lover had left yet already she missed him. As usual he had left her with a churning cauldron of emotions, from the satisfaction of a night spent in his arms to the despair of being parted from him, from the confidence that he was doing everything he could to ensure her son retained his rightful hold on the throne to a growing doubt about his motives. His antagonism towards al-Jundi worried her. On the face of it his anger was understandable but to dismiss the Khalifa’s most loyal and trusted servant would leave Hisham vulnerable. Subh did not want anything to happen to her son because, without him, she would return to obscurity, just another slave girl who had risen to the highest position she could only for it all to come to nothing.
‘Your bath is ready, Sayyida,’ Afra said, sprinkling some lavender oil in the hot water. ‘Would you like me to massage your shoulders first? You look rather tense.’
‘Yes, that would be lovely.’
She took off her robe and lay face down on the table. Afra was a good masseuse; her hands were strong but she was also gentle. She sighed as the slave began to rub her back and shoulders with oil smelling of sandalwood. ‘That’s a pleasant smell,’ she murmured. Already she was feeling sleepy.
‘It’s a mixture of frankincense, sandalwood and geranium. It’s to help release any tension,’ her slave said.
‘Well, it’s working,’ she said, a little sleepily as she let her thoughts drift back to before, to her early days in the harem.
**
After that first night, al-Hakim sent for her again, and the night after that, and the next one too. The women in the harem were astonished and badgered her with questions about what had happened.
‘What is he like?’
‘Is he handsome?’
‘Did you dance for him?’
‘Did you make love?’
‘You are so lucky, nobody has ever been invited to see the prince a second time.’
Some of the comments, such as, ‘What does he see in a bean pole like you?’ were hardly flattering, but she didn’t mind; her plan was working.
‘You have bewitched him,’ Zahr said. ‘It’s wonderful. At last someone has managed to get his attention. Now you just have to get him into your bed.’ 
She looked at her out of the corner of her eye and whispered, ‘Or have you managed that already?’
Subh laughed. ‘No, not yet. You have to move carefully in these matters,’ she said, as though she had been seducing princes all her life.
The general atmosphere in the harem was jubilant. Although some of the women were jealous of her success, they were also happy for her. It reflected well on all of them that the prince was taking an interest in one of the concubines and, more importantly, it had put Yamut and the Royal Wife in good spirits.
‘I have never seen Yamut smile so much,’ said Zahr. ‘He is as proud of you as if you were his own daughter.’
‘There is still a long way to go,’ Subh said. ‘But it is astonishing how kindly the prince treats me. Look, he had this book of poems sent to me this morning. It is from Damascus.’
She showed Zahr a beautifully illustrated book, covered in Arabic script.
‘Can you read that?’ Zahr asked in surprise.
‘Yes, of course. I told you that my mistress taught me to read.’
‘I know, but I didn’t realise that you were clever enough to read real books.’
It was only now that Subh truly understood what her mistress had been trying to do for her; she had given her a gift, the gift of an education that in her circumstances she would never have had, and by doing so, she had opened many doors for her. Subh doubted that her mistress had intended that she would end up in a royal harem, trying to seduce a homosexual prince, but she would have been well aware that an education could serve her maid in many ways.


Available on Amazon.co.uk

Amazon.com



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One woman's rise from slavery to queen

26/3/2017

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Subh umm Walad

In the year 950 AD or thereabouts, a young girl was captured by slavers. She was born in the north of Spain, probably in the Kingdom of Navarra. She was blonde, blue-eyed and beautiful and I'm sure the slavers thought they would get a very good price for her from the Moorish inhabitants of al-Andalus (what is now Andalusia in southern Spain). 

Slavery was common in Moorish Spain in the 10th century. Muslims were allowed to own slaves as long as they were not Muslim, nor People of the Book (that’s to say, Jews or Christians). Many slaves came from northern Spain or were bought from the Viking traders. Naturally, blonde women were very popular in a part of the country where most of the population was made up of Arabs, Berbers and Muwallads. 

The girl was bought by an educated family in Córdoba and named Subh. While she worked for them, she learnt to read and write in Arabic and to appreciate poetry. It’s not certain why she didn’t continue to live with the family, but it was common at the time for people to educate their slaves and thereby increase their value.  The slaves could then be sold as book keepers or letter writers, for example. Owning a slave was a sign of prestige and especially if that slave was educated or had a white skin. Whatever the reason the next  time we read of the girl, she is living in the caliph’s harem.

The Omayyad caliph, al-Hakim II, was a homosexual and had no interest in the women in his harem. Homosexuality was common amongst the upper classes in al-Andalus society, and although it was forbidden by the Koran, it was widely tolerated. But the ruler of the country had to produce an heir. His mother, the Queen Mother, the most powerful woman in the country, decided to do something about this. To keep her own position secure she needed her son to produce an heir. She instructed the chief eunuch, who ran the harem, to chose a special kind of concubine for her son, someone interested in poetry and music, in literature and all the things that occupied al-Hakim’s mind. She wanted someone with whom he could converse on an equal footing. 
The chief eunuch chose Subh, who was tall and slim, very intelligent and by now, well educated, and he groomed her to seduce the reluctant caliph. The Queen Mother instructed Subh to cut off her hair and dress in men’s clothing when she went to see the caliph. Even though she was obviously not a man, the caliph eventually took her to his bed and a son was born. She was known from then on as Subh umm Walad (Subh, mother of a son). The caliph and Subh were said to become good friends and although he had already done his duty, another son was born a couple of years later.

The older son died when he was only 8 years-old and the younger one, al-Hisham, became the heir to the throne. In 976 AD, al-Hakim II died of apoplexy - what we would probably refer to today as a stroke - when he was only 50 years old. His young heir was just 11 years-old. And Subh umm Walad was now the new Queen Mother, the most important woman in the country.

How was such a young child going to rule a wealthy, complex country like al-Andalus, especially as it was surrounded by enemies? The new Queen Mother decided that a Regency should be formed to rule until her son was old enough to take control. She called together the Grand Vizier, General Ghalib and her lover, Abu Amir. They were all men she could trust - or so she thought - to protect her son. However this gap in the continuity of the rule of the caliphs meant things began to change.  She didn't realise it but the eventual disintegration of the powerful Omayyad dynasty had begun.

Picture

You can read the fascinating story of Subh and what happened to the young caliph in Book 2 of the al-Andalus series, The Eye of the Falcon.

Available from Amazon.co.uk
Amazon.com

​and other bookstores

Watch out for book 3 in this exciting series, due to be published in the summer.
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    Joan Fallon is a writer and novelist living in Spain.

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