Graveyards

Old cemeteries fascinate me. Apart from being havens for wildlife, they are a wonderful resource. The parish church for our village was founded in 411 AD and has been a site of worship for sixteen hundred years. St Melior was supposed to have arrived on a millstone. Other saints in Ireland and Brittany are also associated with this mode of travel. Perhaps it’s the nature of being a saint that you have to do things the hard way. But would people have believed any less in their preaching had they arrived in – say - a coracle? To have safely crossed the Irish sea, Bay of Biscay or English Channel in a tiny circular one-man craft made of animal skins stretched over a wicker frame would surely have been a miracle in itself, and far more believable.
In the older parts of the churchyard large marble or granite tombs are the final resting place for several generations of the same family. The surnames on these tombs reveal who was important in the area over different centuries. Sons were often given the same first name as their father and grandfather. These range from Alfred to Zephaniah.
The ages inscribed on the headstones tell their own stories. Many children died in infancy. Women died during or shortly after childbirth. Ours is a fishing village and many men were lost at sea.
Then there is a memorial commemorating men from the village who died in two world wars. A short distance away is another.

Erected in 1872, this lists the names of 53 boys aged between 15 and 17 who were training for a naval career aboard the wooden ship HMS Ganges moored for 33 years off Mylor Naval Dockyard (now Mylor Yacht Harbour) The majority of the boys died from illnesses like measles, scarlatina and ‘flu; preventable now but too often fatal then. But 8 died from falls (from the spars or rigging) or from drowning. As a mother with two sons and three grandsons I can never pass this memorial without a lump in my throat.

But though this graveyard holds stories of great tragedy, there is also unintentional humour. Near one of the main paths is the headstone of a man who drowned while fishing off rocks. The inscription reads:

His end was all most sudden
As if the mandate came direct from Heaven.
His foot did slip, and he did fall.
Help, help, he cried. And that was all.

Bits and Pieces

I'm thrilled with this cover for the large print edition of Devil's Prize published by Magna on the 15th March.

Life has been really hectic lately. Normally I take about ten to eleven months to write a book of 100,000 words. But for the one I'm working on at the moment, I've only had five months, and the deadline is looming over me like a dark and threatening cloud! This came about because my agent asked me to prepare a pitch package for the book after this and that preparation involved a mass of research, a outline of fifteen pages, biographies for the two central characters, and the first four chapters. By the time I finished you could have packed the bags under my eyes. Then I plunged straight into the current book.

It's a great story full of drama, tension, and the developing love and trust of two people who for different reasons are outcasts. I'm loving it. Then I hit a problem.

An earlier blog talked about naming characters, and I know my characters don't come to life unless they have the right names. My heroine was called Saranne - a combination of Sara and Anne. But at a meeting with three writer friends a few weeks ago, one of them said I would have to change it because my books are sold in the US. Yes? So? I asked blankly. She explained that what we in the UK call clingfilm the US calls Saran-wrap, and no reader would be able to identify or empathise with a heroine whose name reminded them something you use to pack sandwiches. She was right. So my heroine is now Sarah. And to my surprise and delight, she has developed far more depth since her name change.

Jane Jackson.