Empty Beds - collection of short stories

 

Recently I put out a call for help in my reader’s group: I was having trouble putting together my WIP into a cohesive story. The saga is different from the Cullen/Bartlett one in that so many of the children and grandchildren in the families have such interesting tales. It is impossible to connect them all so that their stories make sense alongside each other.

I thought I was being clever, and used my grandmother as the conduit, with her having conversations with the writer about her memories and how the different characters related to each other. However, I wasn’t happy with the way it was going, hence the call out to the group. I asked for opinions on the grandmother as conduit, or the possibility of a collection of short stories.

The short stories won. I am now working my way through the WIP – Empty Beds – and watching it morph into a collection of short stories about the Allan, Darby and Murray families. This has given me so much more scope and opportunity to explore family contributions more thoroughly. I was going to leave out the Murray family because they moved to Rockhampton in the 1860s, but the contributions they made to the community there have made their way into history books about the area. They must be included. Now I can do just that 😊

Thanks go to the members of the group who gave me feedback. 😊

 

I love genealogy

 

I attended an awesome event at the Melton Library and Learning Hub this morning, an event which showed once again what a wonderful team, works at this Library.

With the help of the Melton Family History Group, a local resident Bev, found her “I didn’t know until recently that he existed” half-brother, Kev.

As part of the celebration of “Libraries Change Lives” a little video of Bev’s discovery with the help of Deb Slattery from Melton Family History Group, was debuted.

Bev’s half-brother, and Bev’s sisters attended the event, and the joy of finding each other looked as if it was permanently etched on their faces. To say we all felt warm and fuzzy is an understatement.

To cap off a celebration of the past bringing people to life, Cal Wilson (comedian and ambassador for Libraries Change Lives) entertained everyone with her ode to libraries and congratulations to Bev and Kev. (Cal is credited with the title of this blog.)

If you have been sitting on the fence, wondering about starting your own family history journey – DO IT 😊

The Desertion of Sarah Blay

 

London, July 1808

Sarah Blay was halfway from where she lived in Crispin Street, Spitalfields, to the poorhouse on Kingsland Road. On a good day, the walk took about thirty minutes. This was not a good day. The rain started before she’d balanced her crying ten-month-old son William on her hip, closed the door of the first floor rented apartment, and took four-year-old James’s hand.

Sarah couldn’t see the tears streaming down the baby’s face through the downpour she’d stepped into, but she could see the snot running out of his nose and into his mouth.

James had his head down struggling to keep the water out of his eyes, but it ran down his hair and into the front of his jacket. His little feet, protected by a pair of boots his father had made but now too small, shuffled along the path.

By the time Sarah, trying to balance William’s weight on her hip as she walked, led James in to Brushfield Street ten minutes from home, their clothes were sodden.

The dirt around the hem of Sarah’s skirt morphed into mud as she trudged up Bishops Square. Her few belongings in the valise a neighbour lent her, hanging over her right shoulder, did not include another dress.

‘Mama, I’m cold.’ James looked up at his mother, eyes squinting against the rain.

‘We are nearly there,’ Sarah lied.

As Sarah and her children walked left on to Worship Street, she felt James’s hand shivering in hers. Looking around for shelter, she led the child into the portico of a two-storey house. She sat William down on the cobbled entrance where his crying turned into suffocating sobs and knelt to look at her eldest. ‘We will be warm and dry soon.’

‘My coat is all wet,’ her son said, wiping his frozen hand under his nose.

‘I know. James. It’s not long now.’

‘Can we wait here out of the rain, Mama?’

Sarah shook her head, picked up the baby, again balanced him on her hip, pulled his cap down further over his ears, reached for James, and stepped out into the London weather. ‘Thank God he didn’t leave me in winter.’