AGGIE'S ADVENTURES - dog as sleuth

AGGIE'S ADVENTURES

dog as sleuth

In my series of crime novels set in the 1950s, my detective DI Sonny Russell, has a faithful companion. Agatha Christie, Aggie for short, is a rough coated Jack Russell, closely based on my own little terrier. I have written her into the books as I think she gives Russell humanity and warmth and adds an extra dimension to the tales.

Like all 'jacks' she is curious and regularly helps her master in finding clues and leads. Here is an extract from Blood on the Tide where she finds a hidden room in an abandoned brickworks.

“Aggie!” Russell called, “come back here!” The dog didn’t show. He called again, more forcefully this time. “Aggie!!” She still didn’t appear so he walked round to the side of the kiln. At first he thought the bushes and weeds had grown naturally, creating an impenetrable barrier behind the building. Then he realised that cut brushwood and branches had been forced into a gap. The dog must have wriggled through somehow. He dragged some of it aside and pushed his way through the rest of the undergrowth between the kilns and saw the dog jumping up excitedly at the door to a small building. Reaching forward he turned the handle and the door creaked open. He just managed to grab the terrier’s collar before she shot in. “Stay!” he said sternly, holding up his finger. The dog sat obediently.

 He peered into the room and, as his eyes became accustomed to the weak light coming through a grimy window, he could just make out a pair of mattresses on the floor. Looking round he could also see a makeshift table with a primus stove, kettle, mugs, tins and packets on it.

 “Well, well,” he said quietly to himself. Then more loudly: “Weeks, come round here, and bring a torch.”

In Blood on the Shrine an injured man has been found in a Martello Tower by a couple of boy scouts but Aggie makes a further discovery. 

As the ambulance drove off Salt spoke. ‘Do you think he was beaten up at the same time as Stump, Sonny?’

‘Possibly. Although that begs the question, how did he get here? Anyway, time to get back to the station and give the Superintendent the latest news.’ Russell was just about to get in the Wolselely when he stopped. ‘Hang on. Has anyone seen Aggie?’ While they had been engrossed in getting the injured man and talking to the boys she had gone off round the side of the tower.

‘Aggie!’ Russell called. He waited but there was no sign of the terrier. ‘AGGIE!’ he shouted. There was excited barking from the bushes. The boys ran towards the sound.

‘Uncle Sonny! Quick. Look what we’ve found!’

When Russell reached them they were energetically pulling branches aside to reveal Drake’s hidden Bedford van. ‘Well I never. What have we here?’

WPC Nettie Sharpe plays an important role in my third book. In the final stages of Blood on the Strand she arrives with Aggie using her belt as a lead.

Walking nearby Nettie Sharpe had heard raised voices and hurried to see what was going on. As she rounded the corner, the terrier saw her master, jerked the improvised lead out of Nettie’s hand and ran towards the group of figures.

Salle just saw a flash of white as Aggie dashed towards her master, tail wagging furiously. He was momentarily distracted. Russell leaped forward and made a grab for the gun. In the confusion there was a shot – then a scream and Isobel fell to the ground. Wickstead ran forward, flooring Salle and knocking the weapon out of his hand. It skittered across the rough ground and disappeared over the edge of the quay. Russell knelt down by Isobel. He could see a bloody stain flowering on her shoulder. He pulled out his handkerchief and pressed it tightly against the wound. With his other hand he loosened the blindfold. Isobel’s eyes were closed and her breathing shallow. The terrier licked her face. Nettie ran across and joined him. Wickstead had forced Salle’s arms behind his back and clamped handcuffs on his wrists. 

In the soon to be published Blood on the Cards the body of a fortune teller has vanished. Aggie is instrumental in locating it. 

‘So, back to square one for Parker.’ While the men were talking, the terrier had been excitedly sniffing around the undergrowth - on the hunt for rabbits or rodents. Suddenly, she stopped, head erect, nose twitching then shot off. She rocketed across the stony track, up over the raised bank and disappeared towards the river. ‘Aggie!’ Russell cried out. ‘Come here!’

Lewis laughed. ‘She might not be a bloodhound but she’s got the scent of something. Let’s go and see.’ Following the path the dog had taken the two men climbed over the bank and down on to the flat grass along the riverside. They could just see the terrier, tail wagging madly, nosing around the undergrowth at the side of the river. Lewis, the more nimble of the two, reached her first.

‘What have you found, little dog?’ He crouched and parted the reeds. ‘Well I’ll be…’ he exclaimed. ‘Aggie! Leave it!’ The terrier backed away and danced about. ‘Sonny, take a look at this.’

If you've enjoyed these extracts all books are available in paperback or Kindle - details on the right of the blog.

THE FINAL EDIT - well almost

THE FINAL EDIT

- well almost 

A few weeks ago I wrote about finishing the fourth in my series of  DI Sonny Russell novels, Blood on the Cards. https://chrisodonoghue.blogspot.com/2019/10/journeys-end-well-not-quite.html Well, despite my silence on the project, I haven't been idle since then.

First, I reread the manuscript on the laptop on which I wrote it - carefully, or so I thought. Then, I printed the whole thing out for my better half and expert editor to go through with a fine-tooth comb. She much prefers to work on paper, having been brought up in the old school of thorough journalism, where gaffes are easier to spot on the printed page. (It's amazing how many sheets of A4 paper are needed to produce a 77 thousand word book when double-spaced.) Anyway, she diligently worked through it, chapter by chapter, annotating the pages with handwritten notes and suggestions. Day after day she supplied me with a surprising number of corrections to work through. Then it was my job to go back over the whole thing. In the main, it was a question of inserting missing speech marks and other omitted punctuation, but other suggestions needed a little more thought. Some of her ideas, though perfectly correct, were to do with a matter of style. This was more or less subjective, and as the author, I have the final say and in some cases I decided to leave what I had written, as it was.

Now you would think that was it, but I didn't like the idea that, between us, we still might have missed something. (I read crime novels, back to back, not just for leisure, but also for education and as a critic. I'm always on the lookout for mistakes and I've often found errors in the books of some of the best known authors.) So back to the laptop for a very slow, thorough read. I'm glad I did as I found a few - a very few, I'm glad to say - minor mistakes we'd missed.  

The End? Well not quite. Greer has suggested that the final denouement needs working on to make it more dramatic, so we'll have to sit down and do that. Also, this book is a little different. I have included inserts in different type faces and, on talking to Eddie, who will do the layout and make sure the book looks right, I know I will have to make decisions on where these inserts are placed. And then there's the small matter (!) of the cover design. However I am ever hopeful that I will be ready to publish early in the near year, so watch this space...

AUTHOR INSPIRATION

AUTHOR INSPIRATION

One of the questions authors are regularly asked is where they get their inspiration from. In my case, I'm lucky to live in a beautiful and fascinating corner of the south-east on the Kent-Sussex border. The views from my studio/writing room are stupendous. In one direction, looking towards Hastings,  are fields and and rolling hills, reminiscent of Devon. Sheep and cattle graze on the lush grass. Looking the other way, in the direction of Rye, there are glimpses of the sea. As the light changes so the colours alter hourly. Sometimes the sea is a dark band against a pale sky, then it is brilliant aquamarine contrasting with grey, lowering clouds. I feel quite blessed.

But... like all writers, down the years, I draw inspiration from... other writers. Not to the point of plagiarism  - that would be just wrong. It's not so much about the subject or theme, more about the style of writing. My favourite author is Ian Rankin.

His writing is tense and terse, without a superfluous word or phrase. His books are a masterclass in creating crime fiction. Over the course of almost two dozen books his main character, Inspector John Rebus, has grown from a relatively minor character to a towering presence. This has been helped, to a large extent, by his portrayal on the small screen by the magnificent Ken Stott. 

Taking a lesson from this, I am attempting to 'fill out' the character of my own, DI Sonny Russell. When I started my first book he was just a shadowy idea in my mind, but as I have progressed through the stories I have got to know him better and tried to write more about him, as a person. I'm also a big fan of Val McDermid.

 

Her writing is quite different. It's still tight and concise but somehow has a different slant on life. Also, in a number of her books, she has two main characters - detective Carol Jordan and a profiler, Tony Hill - which brings a quite different dynamic to the stories. My only caveat with her stories is that they tend to include rather too many gory and forensic details for my liking. Although her latest book is much gentler. And talking of gentler, brings me to George Gently.

Alan Hunter wrote 46 books featuring the eponymous detective and were set in East Anglia, where he lived. The earlier books, written in the 1950s, are very much period pieces which have been very helpful as my stories too are set at that time too. It seems strange, that when the stories were adapted for TV, the locations were moved from the gentle flatlands to the the more rugged north-east. Martin Shaw's character, although nothing like the one created by Hunter, feels authentic, it's just a shame that they couldn't have kept the stories in Norfolk.

I have a gardener friend, who works in the area. One of his customers, an elderly lady, knew Alan Hunter when they belonged to the same sailing club. Apparently she was very cross when the TV series came out. I think I would have felt the same. 

SUCCESS 95% perspiration 5% inspiration

SUCCESS

95% perspiration 5% inspiration

Sorry for garbling the quote in the title, which should be "Success = 90% perspiration, 10% inspiration", but as a struggling author I see the odds as being somewhat lower. Most of my time as a writer is spent with my head down, conjuring up pithy combinations of words and amusing phrases and turning them into prose. Then creating stories that, hopefully, my readers will find worthwhile spending time with.

You might think that it is a  solitary life, and in some ways it is. But it's never lonely. The English language is so rich, it's like being in the company of a highly amusing and intelligent group of friends. If just writing was the measure of my success it would be close to 100%. Not for the quality and richness - I have no illusions about my abilities - I know I'm good (head swells) but not that good, compared to the greats. But, looking over what I've put down on the page gives me great satisfaction. If that was all it was about, I'd be a very happy man. But... getting the words down, then corrected and edited is only a small part of the writers burden. 

I'm pretty good at self-publicity. I don't mind standing in front of an audience, selling myself. I don't mind driving distances, to promote my books to a small audience and I don't mind constantly posting on social media making sure I have a high enough profile. There's a saying that "half the money spent on advertising is wasted, but you don't know which half". Not being well off, I can't afford to spend much  on advertising so that doesn't really work for me. So, I do what I can - public appearances and book-signings, personal delivery of books, shameless advertising when people find out I'm a writer. Also, I give talks to WI, U3A and other groups, mainly on gardening subjects, but I still promote my novels whenever I can.

So, if the process of writing is quite straightforward and painless, the 95% perspiration, or hard graft is when I come to actually sell the damn things. So please, if you like what I've done, please lend a hand by spreading the word. Thank you. 

SPRING SUMMER AUTUMN WINTER

SPRING SUMMER AUTUMN WINTER

As a writer it's important to get the seasons right. If you don't, or get them out of sequence, the reader will notice and it will spoil the story. Daffodils and lambs in spring, warm sun and trees in full leaf in summer, ripened corn and morning mists in autumn, snow, frost and leafless trees in winter. Those are the archetypal indicators. But it's much more satisfying if you can give an indication of the time of year more subtly.

In Blood on the Shrine, the narrative starts with snow falling heavily. I had a strong sense of that wonderful stillness that descends when snow covers everything. I pictured a bird, landing on a branch and a fine curtain of snow falling off the limb. Then, after a few days the temperature rises and a thaw sets in which makes driving treacherous.  

In Blood on the Strand there is a terrific summer storm and heavy rain that lasts for days on end. I felt the frustration of my detective, Sonny Russell, being cooped up and running out of things to occupy his time.

I've just started on book five, working title, Blood in the Garden, and hadn't decided on a time frame. Then I corresponded with a good friend, who has an allotment and, because of the plants I talk about, the scene is now firmly set in late summer/autumn.

JOURNEY'S END - well not quite

JOURNEY'S END

well not quite

A few days ago I finished writing the fourth book in the DI Sonny Russell series of crime novels, BLOOD ON THE CARDS. It came as something of a surprise.

I started writing it back in December 2018 with only the germ of an idea  - that the body of a fortune teller would be found in a WW2 pillbox near Appledore in Kent. Besides that, I hadn't a clue where the story was going to take me. 

I remember listening to Anne Cleeves, the author of the Shetland and Vera novels that have been so successfully transferred to the small screen. She was choosing her eight records on Radio 4's Desert Island Discs and said there were two types of writers - plotters and pantsters. 

Plotters know exactly where they are going, even to the extent of creating a graph or wall chart, showing the characters, the locations and the plots and just how they are going to react with each other. Pantsters, on the other hand, literally fly by the seat of the pants, following every twist and turn of the story they are creating. Writing like a reader, they are never sure where the narrative is going to take them. I'm one of those. 

I do enjoy the writing, above everything else - editing and promotion for instance - and feel quite bereft when I come to the end of a story that I have been wrapped up in for nearly a year. I would quite like to get on with the next instalment, but first the hard work really starts.

I will have to go through this first draft, carefully checking for inaccuracies, to make sure the chronology is correct and that the narrative floes. I will then hand my baby over to my better half, Greer, who after a lifetime in journalism is more than qualified to check for errors I've missed. I then like to pass it on to a beta reader* to get his opinion of the story. (Very sadly, a good friend who fulfilled that function on the last manuscript, passed away recently so I will have to find another trusted friend to take his place. Not an easy task.)

Then, when all are satisfied, it's off to the printer. So, although the writing is done, there's still a long way to go. However, if you haven't already met DI Sonny Russell, Aggie, his faithful Jack Russell terrier and DC Johnny Weeks, the first three books are available in paperback or kindle.

*A beta reader is usually an unpaid test reader of an unreleased work of literature, who gives feedback from the point of view of an average reader to the author.

A DIFFERENT SORT OF EXHIBITION

A DIFFERENT SORT OF EXHIBITION

Fresh fish stall at Compass Point.

As well as writing books and designing gardens, I also find time to model narrow gauge railway layouts. In a former life I was a professional model maker, making, amongst other things, houses, teapots, cars and robots in a variety of materials. Most of the time I was up against a deadline and tied to a maximum price, which could often lead to a feeling of stress. I'm glad to have left that behind and can now make models, purely for my own pleasure - without the stress. Well, up to a point. For my sins, I take my model railways to exhibitions. As the current layout, Compass Point, is the inspiration for my crime novels, I take some books along too.

DI Sonny Russell's railway carriage home

The shows are usually great fun, I meet lots of nice people and receive compliments for my work. Usually. Generally, the exhibitions are reasonably close to home and just for one day, plus my friend Terry comes with me and is happy to transport the layout in his transit van. However, I've agreed to take part in a two day exhibition in Fareham, which is a two-and-a-half-hour drive away, so I will need an overnight stay. In addition, Terry isn't coming so I've had to pack everything into our Fiat 500!

Everything packed in a Fiat 500

Luckily Terry came round and he helped carry everything down from the studio. Set up, the layout is a total of 2.8 metres long or over nine feet. In addition there are trestles to support it plus a proscenium arch and lighting board - also, rolling stock, transformers, cables, tools etc, etc. Not to mention an overnight bag and a box of books for sale. Phew! It was a struggle to get everything in and I made sure to take photographs so I know how to repack it on Sunday after the show. Hopefully I'll sell a few books, which will help to make it worthwhile. Not sure I'll accept the invitation for another two day, long-distance exhibition again. Unless I hire a van, of course.

If you're anywhere near Fareham this weekend, do come and say hello. http://fareham-mrc.org.uk/railex-2019/

If not, remember, you can obtain my books and kindles on Amazon 

MEET THE AUTHOR - making another exhibition of myself

MEET THE AUTHOR

making another exhibition of myself

As an author with my own publishing company I have to wear several hats. As I writer, my life is, by nature, solitary. I work either on my laptop in bed (!), in the sun room or sitting on the sofa when there's something on the TV that doesn't grab my attention. Bed is nice, as I have distant views of the sea and the sun room looks over the garden. However, the best place is in my purpose-built studio.

Built around the backdrop for my medal-winning 2007 Chelsea Flower show garden it looks, and feels, like a railway carriage. I have even better views of the channel, which can be distracting when an interesting ship sails down-channel. 

However, the hat I love and dread wearing in equal measures is the one when I'm promoting my books. It means meeting the public - something I really enjoy as I love talking to people. But it brings the stress of having to perform along with periods of inactivity, waiting for the public to turn up. On top of that, I tend to stand up for long stretches and that plays havoc with my lower back. But, it has to be done. 

So, if you see me at one of my book-signing or meet the author and his dog days, please say hello but also feel a little sorry for me.

A BIRD IN THE HAND or a bird in a book

A BIRD IN THE HAND

or

a bird in a book

Oystercatcher

When I'm writing my DI Sony Russell crime stories I try hard to establish place by describing the surroundings. Because much of what happens occurs in the countryside, birds are a very good way of fixing the setting. In this extract from BLOOD ON THE TIDE, the distinctive cry of curlews and oystercatchers help to establish the maritime setting.

Boats of differing sizes and colours stood about the yard, some resting upturned on blocks of wood or trestles, others sitting on the stony ground shrouded in green canvas. Lengths of timber leant against the boatshed, coils of rope and piles of chain cluttered the ground, creating hazards for the unwary. A thin haze hung over the estuary, obscuring the horizon. Unseen oystercatchers called as they searched for food and the mournful cry of a curlew came from some distance away.

In BLOOD ON THE SHRINE, I wanted to capture the quiet that a thick coating of snow brings to the landscape. 

THE LANDSCAPE looked picture perfect. The fields were covered with a pristine coating of white, sparkling in the winter sun. It was so deep that the fences and hedges that formed the boundaries were reduced to amorphous mounds. Trees, skeletal in form, were festooned with shimmering coatings of snow, an occasional bird landing on a branch sending a cascade of flakes spiralling to the ground. In the distance a plume of smoke rose lazily from a chimney but there was no sign of anything moving. Sheep and cows were either under cover or huddled in field margins, waiting for the farmer to bring fodder.

                                 Robin                                                                Great Tit

Wren

Away from the coast there is a completely different selection of birds. In BLOOD ON THE SHRINE I tried to portray a quiet woodland, the one I remember from my days camping as a Boy Scout.

Although cool, it was a calm evening. The rain had held off. The only sound was the wind, soughing in the trees and the song of birds. Russell could identify some: robin, great tit, wren and a couple of others he wasn’t sure about. Then there was the distant sound of a whistle and within a few minutes, a locomotive came into sight, pulling a pair of work worn carriages which rattled and clattered slowly over the crossing as the train climbed the slight gradient and disappeared out of view, round the bend.

Black-headed gull

Back at the coast black headed-gulls join the other birds in an extract from BLOOD ON THE STRAND.

The sun had come out from behind the clouds. It was going to be a warm day. Seabirds could be heard along the river: the rising, bubbling note of a curlew; the insistent piping of oystercatchers overlaid with the raucous bickering of black-headed gulls. In the distance a halliard clattered rhythmically against a mast. 

All three books are available in paperback or Kindle. Details on the right of the blog.

TAKE COURAGE - or a better beer!

TAKE COURAGE

or a better beer!

As my crime stories are set in the 1950s, much of the action takes place in pubs. In those day, drink-driving was hardly frowned upon and even policemen were known to imbibe on or off-duty.

Some beers were just about acceptable - Courage bitter for instance, but others, despite being widely drunk, were frowned upon by beer connoisseurs. Watney's Red Barrel, introduced in 1931, was an export keg beer that could travel long distances as it was filtered and pasteurised, probably represented the nadir of bitter drinking. 

Style and Winch was one of the older breweries. It was registered in March 1899 as merger between A F Style & Co with Edward Winch & Sons Ltd and had a total of 356 public houses. Another thing which helps to establish the period is to describe the vessels that were used for drinking the beer and these were often pewter tankards.

Here is an extract from BLOOD ON THE TIDE, describing the Shipwrights Arms the pub at Compass Point (Rye Harbour).

The Shipwrights Arms was a modest building, with stone walls, tiny recessed windows and a pantiled roof. It sat right at the end of the quay, next to the station, hunkered down against the weather. It had withstood any number of gales and powerful storms and had survived, battered but unbowed. Inside was a small, low-ceilinged room, the once white paintwork now the colour of nicotine, stained dark from years of coal fires and the smoke of a lifetime of tobacco pipes. The woodwork was an even deeper colour, with a tar-like quality. Indeed, tar may well have been used as a ready substitute for paint. The room served as the solitary bar and a door marked PRIVATE led to Alf’s compact accommodation. The landlord was far from being the archetypal mine host. Rangy and thin, he barely spoke more than a sentence at a time, always wore a suit and tie and had bookshelves crammed with classics in his living room. He stood, impassive, in front of a brace of barrels of ale sitting on a rack behind the wooden counter. There was a foxed mirror on the wall above a shelf, reflecting a line of brown bottles. Below the barrels, shelves held clean, upturned glasses; pints and halves. The floor was bare floorboards, with a dusting of sawdust and sand and apart from a couple of stools, the only other seating was comprised of three chairs that had seen better days, arranged around a battered tin-topped table, next to the unlit fire.

The morning sun slanted through the small windows, dust motes dancing in the rays. An old clock ticked on the wall, and apart from the occasional squeak as Alf polished glasses, all was tranquil.

KILROY WAS HERE - wot no sugar

KILROY WAS HERE - wot no sugar

While writing my current book, BLOOD ON THE CARDS, I researched wartime graffiti. I wanted to describe the interior of a WW2 pillbox where the body of a fortune teller is found. I decided to use this one. Not sure if it actually existed but it amused me to think it might have.

Also, 

YANKS GO HOME

This would have been quite common at the time. 

But one that was seen all over during that period was KILROY. The figure was initially known in the United Kingdom as MR CHAD and would appear with the slogan "Wot, no sugar" or a similar phrase bemoaning shortages and rationing.He often appeared with a single curling hair that resembled a question mark and with crosses in his eyes.The phrase "Wot, no —?" pre-dates "Chad" and was widely used separately from the doodle. Chad was used by the RAF and civilians; he was known in the Army as Private Snoops, and in the Navy he was called The Watcher.

Even older was FOO who predates Kilroy by about 25 years.

ALEISTER CROWLEY & the esoteric Tarot

ALEISTER CROWLEY

&

The esoteric Tarot

Aleister Crowley was an English occultist, ceremonial magician, poet, painter, novelist, and mountaineer. A prolific writer, he founded the religion of Thelema and published widely over the course of his life.

So begins Chapter 6 of BLOOD ON THE CARDS, the fourth book in the DI Sonny Russell crime series I am currently writing. The story revolves around the death of a fortune teller at a funfair on the Salts at Nottery Quay (a thinly veiled Rye, in East Sussex.)

As Tarot cards play a large part I needed research into their origin and meanings. Back when I as a callow youth I became very intrigued by this branch of divination and even started telling peoples fortunes, using them. I probably wasn't very good but found it fascinating.

As a result of my recent research, I discovered that Aleister Crowley had designed, with paintings by Lady Frieda Harris, a beautiful deck called the Thoth Tarot. I also discovered that he spent his last years in a nursing home/lodging house on The Ridge in Hastings. 

https://www.hastingsindependentpress.co.uk/features/the-beast-of-hastings-aleister-crowley-1/

This was in the 1970s and what was left of the building subsequently became the Robert de Mortain pub. Sadly this is no more. Although I understand that it was never a great pub, the building of The Conquerors March, just up the road, sounded its death knell. (It really annoys me that this corporate chain place, not dissimilar to a Beefeater, lacks an apostrophe!)

The pub was demolished and houses have now been rapidly thrashed up on the site and it amuses me to think that the ghost of Aleister Crowley, once called the most evil man in Britain, may haunt these charmless boxes!