Strewth mate! Old Crotchet at number one down under? She’s been having a bonzer time. I tell ya, it’s been a real boil-over that’s had me grinning like a shot fox, or it would have done if she’d been romping up the charts for paid rather than free downloads. Still, it’s better than staring at a brown-eyed mullet, although the sight of her in a cozzie would be about as welcome as a bunyip in your grundies. Crikey, I’m as gobsmacked as you are that she’s doing so well against all those better looking and younger Sheilas, nabbing the top slot in occult horror. Well, I’d better stop yabbering on. You can find her here, whether you’re in Australia, or, well . . . myBook.to/Oldcrotchet
Looking grumpier and more sinister than ever, Old Crotchet is back. Emerging from a seventeenth-century dresser near you, soon. Whatever you do, don’t forget to invite her to dinner.
Dissatisfied with her former unflattering portrayal, the harridan compelled me to devise this new depiction of her squat and portly frame against an appropriate period backdrop. She does seem to have something of a glow about her, doesn’t she? That said, it doesn’t appear to be a very healthy one. Would I have been able to fool Sir Arthur Conan Doyle into believing that this was the picture of a ghost? Perhaps if I had used a few hatpins and some cardboard cutouts he would have been more likely to believe in its veracity.
Having lately been given a wonderful present in the form of a new and much better camera, and not being altogether happy with the original image for the cover art of Agnes of Grimstone Peverell, I decided to revisit this luminous stained-glass window with a view to acquiring a better picture, and what you see above is the result. Unlike on the preceding occasion, this time there were no obstructions blocking my view, which meant that I did not have to take the picture at an angle. The lighting too proved to be much more favourable. All that therefore remained was a little image manipulation to remove perspectival distortion from its uppermost portions. The result is much crisper, and richer in colour. As there is always a lag between uploading imagery and it going live on Amazon, I should imagine that the new cover will not be displaying on the site until Tuesday, or thereabouts.
For readers unfamiliar with the tale, most of the action unfolds on a single bitterly cold day in December 2009, during which a theatre critic and his wife – Lionel and Frances Smallwood – find themselves enjoying the Victorian Christmas market in the little-known Dorset town of Grimstone Peverell. Chilled to the marrow, they retire to the town’s minster where they are accosted by an enthusiastic guide, who knows a great deal about some things, yet next to nothing about that which would, to most people, seem obvious; she seems keen not to let them go, but return to London they must – Lionel has a play to review. That, at least, is his intention.
The story is heavily larded with black humour, and like others in the series, possesses a wry twist.
Agnes of Grimstone Peverell is available via Amazon worldwide, free to Kindle Unlimited subscribers, otherwise 99p or 99c. To preview and/or purchase, please click on the image above.
Free to download on Kindle from Thursday 16th to Friday 17th March (otherwise 99p/99c, or free to Kindle Unlimited subscribers), a wry supernatural comedy – Old Crotchet.
Old Crotchet – her manor, her rules. Cross her at your peril. There’s little that will rile a woman more than 300 years of age than the arrival of some flighty young upstart intent upon displacing her. It is Twelfth Night by the old reckoning, and festivities are about to commence as something sinister stirs from its protracted dormancy, awakened, it seems, by the arrival of two young guests. The old ways, they find, should not be treated lightly.
The first in a cycle of wry standalone tales, many with a supernatural or occult theme, set in the West Country. To preview or download this novelette, please click on the image above.
Whilst writing Agnes of Grimstone Peverell, a festive ghost story with ecclesiastical connections, I was searching around for an authentic late-nineteenth-century stained glass artist whom I could cite as being the creator of a particular window featured in the story. Having carried out a Google image search, I happened upon a picture of window that greatly appealed to me, and so clicked on the link to discover more about it (the image can be accessed at https://www.flickr.com/photos/47859152@N05/5187150203). Before doing so, I had already decided that providing the name of the artist in question could been ascertained, then he or she would be the one that I chose as the creator of my fictional window. The name was provided – Christopher Whall.
The window, situated in St Oswald’s Parish Church, Ashbourne, Derbyshire, was – like the one in my story – a commemorative piece, but what struck me, given that I had already fixed upon the name of my fictitious minster as ‘Grimstone Peverell,’ was the double-barrelled surname of the family which had donated the window to the church: Peveril Turnbull. A far from common surname. It commemorates the death of their two daughters who died in a fire in 1901.
I then moved on to reading a little more about Christopher Whall and his works, and discovered that only one commission was listed as having been carried out by him in the county of Dorset. This was a window that he created for the new church in the parish of Bothenhampton, a building constructed in accordance with the principles of the English Arts and Crafts Movement in 1890, although the date of the window itself was 1895. What struck me about the year was that this was the same one that I had designated for the commissioning and installation of my fictitious ‘Beke Window.’ How convenient that my chosen artist should actually have been active in Dorset in that very year!
It seemed rather appropriate that my research for a ghost story should result in such unusual coincidences. As for the identity of the windows portrayed on the cover of Agnes of Grimstone Peverell, and their artist, I shall leave that for readers to puzzle over.
Yesterday, I finished the final edit of ‘Agnes of Grimstone Peverell’ – a wry-humoured ghost story for Christmas – and submitted it to Amazon, which, for some unfathomable reason, has listed H.E. Bulstrode as the author twice over: perhaps the company has seen it fit to gift me with a doppelganger. To celebrate its publication I treated myself to a viewing of Noel Coward’s ‘Blithe Spirit,’ which in its light and witty tone treats the subject of the supernatural very much in the same vein as my own humble offering. The blurb follows below. I hope that you enjoy it.
Agnes of Grimstone Peverell
On a bitterly cold day in December 2009, the Smallwoods find themselves enjoying the Victorian Christmas market in the little-known Dorset town of Grimstone Peverell. Chilled to the marrow, they retire to the town’s minster where they are accosted by an enthusiastic guide, who knows a great deal about some things, yet next to nothing about that which would, to most people, seem obvious; she seems keen not to let them go, but return to London they must – Lionel has a play to review. That, at least, is his intention.
For a preview (or to purchase, for the very modest price of 99p, or to read free of charge if you are a Kindle Unlimited subscriber), please click on one of the following links:
For the UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01N5CVO8Z/
For the US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01N5CVO8Z/
For Canada: https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B01N5CVO8Z/
For Australia: https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B01N5CVO8Z/
The story is also available for download from other Amazon sites worldwide.
On a bitterly cold day in December 2009, the Smallwoods find themselves enjoying the Victorian Christmas market in the little-known Dorset town of Grimstone Peverell. Sapped by the cold, they retire to the town’s minster where they are accosted by an enthusiastic guide, who knows a great deal about some things, yet next to nothing about that which would, to most people, seem obvious; she seems keen not to let them go, but return to London they must – Lionel has a play to review. That, at least, is his intention.
It had originally been my intention to next release ‘The Cleft Owl’, but upon reflection, ‘Agnes of Grimstone Peverell’ seems to fit more naturally into the sequence of releases, not only because its action unfolds in the period immediately before Christmas, but also because it is stylistically more in keeping with the tales that have preceded it. It is, essentially, a comic tale with a supernatural element, whereas ‘The Cleft Owl’ marks a move into darker, more lyrical territory, with its seventeenth-century setting further distancing it from its predecessors. This shift backwards into Restoration England also ties in with next summer’s release of ‘Pendrummel: Gwen Gwinnel’s Return’, which opens in the late 1670s; the former piece unfolding in Devon, and the latter in Cornwall and beyond.
The heading of this blog post relates not to the launch time of the book, but to its title: ‘3:05 am’. As previous visitors to this blog may be aware, I had next planned to release ‘Gwydion’s Dawn’, which I have been working on for some time, but on occasion my plans are disrupted by the course of events. This time, however, it just so happened that this proved to be an entirely positive disruption, which occurred in the form of a dream (or, more accurately, nightmare), from which I awoke during the early hours of last Monday morning. So vivid was it, and such an impression did the scenario make upon me, that I immediately set to work jotting down the details of the story in my bedside notebook, and by the time that the alarm went off, ‘3:05 am’ was fully plotted.
The final form taken by the tale has been that of a wry mystery novelette, a little over 7,500 words in length, set – like ‘Old Crotchet’ and ‘Gwydion’s Dawn’ – in the West Country. The village of Horrabridge is real enough, although the address referred to is fictitious, and readers familiar with Plymouth will recognise a number of the city centre locations in which much of the action unfolds, although the events referred to are entirely of my own invention.
Its protagonist – Mark Hillier – stands upon the brink of realising two major life goals in terms of fatherhood and career progression, but then there is a third change in his circumstances that is as unanticipated as it is inexplicable: his portable television set goes and develops a nocturnal mind of its own. There are consequences, and although one person with whom he is acquainted seems to have some knowledge of what these might be, he does not.
The past week has thus been spent putting flesh upon the bones of the plot, with the initial draft going through two substantial revisions. I therefore hope that the reader should find it to his or her taste, and that some amusement, as well as some intrigue, is derived from it. ‘Gwydion’s Dawn’, to which the final amendments are being made, will be published within the coming week.
Click here to purchase ‘3:05 am’ from Amazon.
The instant that I saw her and her companion, I knew that I would have to write about her. It was not only her face, but also her mode of dress and stature, as well as her stiff deportment, which invited comment. I cannot say that I fell in love with her, for I do not generally find women with thick leathery skin and unprepossessing looks topped off by a sinister expression appealing, but she did intrigue me. She also appeared to be somewhere in the region of four hundred years old. Whether the two of them are Jacobean or late Elizabethan, or merely fashioned to appear of that age, it is hard to say, but what can be said of them with some certainty is this: their appearance is singular.
Lytes Cary Manor in Somerset, the seat of the Lyte family from the 13th to the 18th centuries, was restored to its present charming state under the ownership of Sir Walter Jenner, who purchased the estate in 1907, but since 1949 it has been under the stewardship of the National Trust. It has served as home to these two antiquated ladies for an unspecified period of time, and who brought them into the house, and for what reason, has been long lost to memory. The guides at the house refer to these two figures as ‘the good companions’, and although their purpose is uncertain, it has been suggested that they were employed on those inauspicious occasions when thirteen diners were expected for dinner, with one, or both of them, being brought to table to make up the numbers. This detail was the germ around which the story of Old Crotchet was to coalesce.
Both the mannequins and their residence invited something of a supernatural treatment, and it was with a nod or two to M.R. James, that the idea of penning a ghostly tale against a festive backdrop suggested itself. That it has been published in the height of summer – insofar as it may be termed as such, given the autumnal feel to the weather of late – is somewhat inapposite, yet unavoidable, for having completed it in April, I did not wish to wait until winter to make it available to the public. This does however remain, in many respects, ‘a ghost story for Christmas.’
It seemed apt to set it at a moment in the past when the old rural order was reaching its point of dissolution, and longstanding customs and folkways – such as wassailing, as detailed by Ronald Hutton in his ‘The Stations of the Sun: A History of the Ritual Year in Britain’ – were dying out, or almost dead. There was no period of social disjuncture greater than that occasioned by the Great War of the last century, a conflict that hastened the decline of the country house and social deference, as well as accelerating technological development. It is thus the clash of the modern with the traditional, the urban with the rural, symbolised by the arrival of George with his young wife Celia in their Talbot Tourer, which awakens Old Crotchet, like some domestic guardian spirit, from her many centuries of slumber.
Hinton St Cuthbert Manor exists in the imagination alone; it is something of a composite, an amalgam of the imaginary and the real, drawing elements and features from a number of historic houses in the south of Somerset. From Lytes Cary it takes its relatively modest dimensions and Great Hall, the latter with its beautiful vaulted ceiling, wooden panelling and stained glass windows providing the perfect setting for a Twelfth Night dinner. Other aspects of its appearance – its honeyed Hamstone exterior, barley twist chimneys and plasterwork ceilings for example – were drawn from Barrington Court and Montacute House, both of which are open to the public, and under the care of the National Trust.
Although the publication of Old Crotchet is out of season given its midwinter setting, it appears to be in step with an appetite to revive the ghost story for a contemporary television audience, as evidenced by the current screening of a new supernatural drama series by the BBC – ‘The Living and the Dead.’ This, coincidentally, also happens to be set in Somerset, albeit some three decades earlier in 1894. Like ‘Old Crotchet’, it focuses upon the theme of the intrusion of the modern and the metropolitan – in the form of Nathan and Charlotte Appleby – into the world of the traditional and the rural, and its coming leading to the awakening of a supernatural presence that has long lain dormant. That is where the similarities between the two come to an end, for the tone employed in each differs significantly, with Old Crotchet being shot through with a strong vein of wry humour, which is absent from the BBC production.
From what I have seen thus far, ‘The Living and the Dead’ is handsomely filmed, and in terms of its look manages to capture its era successfully, although some of the characterisation is perhaps better placed in the 1990s rather than the 1890s. If you do not find its initial instalments engaging, it is worth persevering with, for it truly gets into its stride by the third episode. I shall reserve judgement on its overall merit until I have watched the entire series. Clearly, a considerable amount of investment has been ploughed into its production, yet for all that, a big budget need not be necessary to create a piece of television that elicits a sense of psychological unease in the viewer. One need look no further than Christopher Lee’s masterful delivery of a number of M.R. James’s tales in his ‘Ghost Stories for Christmas’, originally screened in 2000, for an example of what can be achieved using relatively modest resources. It is a great pity that he is no longer with us, and given that I have mentioned him, it would be remiss of me not to note that some reviewers have drawn parallels between ‘The Living and the Dead’ and ‘The Wicker Man.’
Although the writers of the former appear to have drawn upon some elements of the latter, it falls far short of approaching the 1973 cult classic’s atmosphere, originality and deranged air of menace, so eloquently embodied in Christopher Lee’s Lord Summerisle. ‘The Wicker Man’,whose director Robin Hardy has just passed away, was a unique cultural artefact, very much of its time, with its texture being enriched by its idiosyncratic soundtrack. ‘The Living and the Dead’ should thus also be considered on its own terms, and seen as a reworking of certain supernatural themes with a contemporary audience in mind.
Old Crotchet is the first in a series of West Country Tales, many of which will possess a supernatural or occult element, as well as a marked streak of wry humour. To preview, or purchase Old Crotchet for 99p or 99c, please click here. This novelette is free to download for Kindle Unlimited subscribers.