Lakeland to Lindisfarne, by John Gillham, Reviewed.

Walker, moutaineer, historian, or just interested in the great outdoors? This book has something for you. It was a Christmas present from one of my wife’s sisters, some years ago, and has been sitting on the shelf until now. I picked it up as a light alternative to the rather disturbing piece of fiction I finished last week. And I’m so glad I did.

This guide is intended as just that; an introduction to and a planning tool for a coast to coast walk from the west to east shores of northern England. John Gillham makes it clear from the start that you need to procure more detailed maps than the illustrative drawings he supplies alongside the text, if you are to complete this varied ramble through some of our finest landscapes.

There are mountains, vales, rivers and moors to cross on this varied route. And Gillham brings them all to life, adding small panels of local history where applicable. The reader learns some fascinating facts along the way, and is entertained with rural humour. He gives tips about various villages, pubs, bothies and ancient monuments. He also provides alternative routes, catering for the less experienced walker as well as the proper mountaineers.

For me, this was a trip back to a pleasant past. The walk starts in the Lake District, where my wife and I spent our honeymoon, and brought back many happy memories of those days. The middle section takes the reader through an area of England not much visited and one that I do not yet know. But the last part of the walk, as it approaches the north eastern coast, involves a walk through Hexham where, before we were married, we were mistaken for hotel inspectors at the hostelry we’d chosen for our meeting. Needless to say, the service and food were excellent on that occasion! The route passes Rothbury, where we dined together at another time in our early relationship. Unfortunately, on that occasion, I contracted food poisoning that resulted in the most horrendous drive back down to the Essex town where I then lived. It passes through Clennel Street, close by Clennel Hall, where we stayed very early in our relationship and confirmed that we would spend the rest of our lives together. So, another pleasant reminder. And, in fact, as a result of reading the book, we’re now intending to do some parts of the walk.

I’m well past the days when I can contemplate tackling such an arduous walk as a complete exercise, but, because John Gillham breaks it up into smaller parts, we’ll definitely be hiking several parts of it over the coming years. And I give my thanks to him for mapping out this route through some of the most spectacular and beautiful scenery in this small island of ours.

The photographs that illustrate the walk are all excellent; some merely informative, but many reflecting the beauty of the landscape and giving a clear idea of what the walker can expect to see along the way. I look forward to visiting these places with my wife and my camera in the near future.

The final part of the book is a diary, kept by John’s new wife, Nicola. This is a charming, personal account of her trip with him as he mapped out the routes he suggests. It gives a touching insight into the loving relationship between the couple and provides a more intimate view of both the pleasures and hardships that the walker may encounter along the way. I enjoyed this short piece every bit as much as the main narrative.

So, whether you’re a seasoned walker, a sometime rambler, or one of those tourists who rarely moves more than a few paces from your car, there’s something in this book for you. I picked it up as a contrast to the gritty and disturbing fiction of urban poverty that I’d read previously. As an antidote, it was perfect, and I thoroughly recommend it.

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Read My Novel, Free: Chapter 10.

If you've come this far, you don't need me blathering on with stuff you already know. Enjoy the read.

But, if you missed the start, here's the link to it: http://stuartaken.blogspot.com/2012/01/read-free-my-novel-here.html

Chapter 1 appeared on 13 January and following chapters appear each Friday. You can find them via the archive.

Read, enjoy, invite your friends.

Chapter 10

When she first came into my life, Faith was just a rather idiosyncratic young woman with only the cheapness of her labour and her excellent office skills to commend her. She was pretty in a waifish way but not the sort of woman I sought. But, then, there were those eyes and her baffling innocence.

Over the few weeks she’d worked for me, she’d learned rapidly and well. She quickly took all the finishing tasks out of my own and Merv’s hands. She organized the office and me so efficiently that I never missed an appointment or ran out of stock and, if I couldn’t find an item of equipment, she always knew where it was.

But there was more than work to Faith. Her curiosity, once beyond her father’s boundaries, was endless. She was so eager to learn about everything, it was like having a bright, attractive and well-behaved child about the house. She read voraciously; responding enthusiastically to my invitation to use the library, which Uncle Fred and I had spent much time, energy and money in stocking with a broad-based selection of books.

She’d grown in confidence and this was reflected in the way she now held herself. No longer the round shoulders and stooping walk, no longer the shuffle of shame. She was upright and open. Her face had taken on a semi-permanent half smile, as if she was pleased with everything she saw. And this smile lightened her face and brought a sparkle to those glorious eyes that were so deep I feared I might drown in them. She’d started to put on weight now she was no longer walking miles every day. And the new flesh was distributing itself with real promise. She was on the way to becoming a very attractive woman.

Her dowdy clothes I now knew she wore not from choice but the meanness of Heacham. The trip to York gave me an excuse to do something about that by introducing her to the pleasures of buying and wearing fashionable clothes.

As we left the car park and set off down the broad path beside the river, she was alive with interest, keen to notice everything about her. I wanted to take her hand, to be in contact with this strange, captivating young woman. It just seemed right. She would reject such intimacy, regardless of how innocent it might be. The irony amused me: I’d shared much greater intimacy with so many women without fear of rejection.

‘Why the smile?’

‘I’d like to hold your hand and I was wondering why I find it so difficult to ask you, when I’ve touched every naked inch of so many women.’

‘Why?’

No reference to my inexplicable difficulty, no argument or condemnation regarding the other women. Just a simple demand to know my reason for wanting to hold her hand; the very aspect of the situation I found most difficult to understand myself.

‘I don’t know. It seems the natural thing to do with you.’

‘You’re being remarkably honest, Leigh.’

‘Perhaps you’re rubbing off on me.’

‘Careful. Honesty can be dangerous.’

‘Now you’re teasing me.’

‘I’m not sure about the hands. It sounds harmless enough and I expect I’d enjoy it. Let me see if I can tell what that sort of contact means in society.’

‘Are you always so analytical before you make contact? It’d be hard bloody work making love with you if you are.’ I’d said it without thinking, without knowing I thought it. That I spoke in terms of making love rather than having sex was disturbing.

‘If analysis will save me from your rapacious intent, Leighton Longshaw, I’ll use it for the foreseeable future.’

There was no malice, no blame in her response, but she meant it and I knew I’d blown my chance for now.

We reached Lendall Bridge and climbed the flagged slope to reach the road. I took her to a café I’d visited previously and chose a window seat so she could watch the people go by. The waitress was new, from the uni, but one of my previous conquests tipped her off and she smiled a welcome as she brought the menu. I gave her the benefit of an encouraging smile before turning my attention to Faith and the list of items on the printed card.

We ordered my cappuccino and Faith’s Yorkshire tea and, after my reminder that she had agreed to be treated, a cream cake each. The waitress was positively coquettish as she took the order, her gentian eyes finding mine and remaining locked there. I watched her glide across the floor on shapely pins encased in sheer black nylon and automatically assessed her potential as a model.

Faith was absorbed in the doings of the various people both inside and outside the café and was unaware of the exchange between the waitress and me. She was happy observing the activity and I felt slightly put out by her lack of attention to me.

We drank and ate in companionable silence, Faith’s only comment that the tea was good and the cream cake delicious. Another first for her; one of many that day.

When the waitress brought the bill, she was so intent on me, she failed to notice the slip of paper drifting from her saucer. It floated to the floor where Faith picked it up. Before I could stop her, she’d unfolded it.

‘This can’t be right! That’s far too much for two drinks and two cakes!’

The waitress was startled out of her reverie and detached herself from my eyes to glare at Faith. My hand hid the smile as I gently took the bill. I topped the cash on the saucer with one of my special business cards bearing a brief message inviting contact, if desired, as I felt the recipient had potential for modelling. She glanced at the card and nodded. As I steered Faith from the café, the other diners followed our exit with faces full of surprise or scorn.

‘My fault, Faith. I forget just how little you know about society and shopping. The price was fine. We could’ve gone somewhere cheaper but the tea and coffee would’ve been poor and the cakes wouldn’t have been half as nice.’

‘I bet the waitresses wouldn’t be so pretty or liberated either. You could see their breasts through their blouses.’

‘Could you? I never noticed…’

‘Of course you didn’t, Leigh.’

I gave her my wounded look but she saw through that so I grinned and shrugged. ‘A word of advice, though. It’s not English to complain loudly in public. We don’t do it. We call this cowardice “reserve” and the rest of the world expects it of us, which is why we are so surprising overseas, where we complain loudly about everything and nothing. So, for today, I’d prefer you not to voice your opinions on cost, and any other contentious matters, until we’ve left the shop. Okay?’

‘I’m your willing and obedient servant, Leighton Longshaw.’

‘That’ll be the day. Come on, little Miss Outspoken, let’s find that typewriter. Then I’m going to do some serious spoiling.’

‘Aren’t things that are spoilt, ruined?’

‘You need spoiling. Time you had a bit of unbridled pleasure and fun.’ I made the comment in jest, of course, but Faith considered it with real seriousness.

‘Perhaps you’re right, Leigh. Perhaps I ought to indulge a little, if only so I’ve a better idea of what I’m talking about when I criticize it in others.’

I cupped her elbow and steered her into the office supplies shop without a word. For all that I understood how she could say such a thing, I couldn’t trust myself to reply generously to a comment like that.

###

You've come this far, so it's unlikely you'll stop now. But, just in case you're impatient for the next chapter, you know where you can buy the book.

Web site: http://stuartaken.co.uk
Tweet with me: http://twitter.com/@stuartaken
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/StuartAken

Faith Introduces Herself to Readers

Stuart's asked me to give you some insight into how I think, what matters to me, why I'm the person I am. Let me introduce myself. I'm Faith Heacham and I narrated the story of Breaking Faith along with Leigh. I hope that some of my rather strange background came through that narrative but there will be elements that you will either not know or be unfamiliar with, of course.

When I first started to work for Leigh, I was still imbued with my father's rather strange brand of Christianity and I was determined to develop Leigh's conscience and convert him into a devout follower of my religion. I don't tell you a lot about that aspect in the book, because I didn't want to come across as too evangelical. As it happened, I quickly learned that Heacham was in the wrong and that Leigh, for all his unusual and, dare I say, unconventional ways, was often in the right.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me set the scene. I was brought up for the first few years as part of a small family with my mother, and two younger sisters as well as Heacham. I'm sorry, I can't refer to him as my father knowing what I do now. He was, to me, relatively normal and although he was always a very strict parent, he seemed no more odd or different than any other parent, until Mother left him and took my youngest sister, Charity, with her. It was then that I certainly noticed changes in my life. I was very young but I was expected to take over most of the duties my mother had carried out.

Heacham was a man who gave the impression of being pious. It was only later I learned how truly awful he was, not only as a father but as a man. However, I was placed in a position where I was required to look after him domestically as well as nurse my severely disabled sister, Hope. She, of course, had no hope of ever becoming anything other than a baby in a woman's body. But I didn't know that until I was a lot older. My life was difficult and restricted, as I was no longer allowed to attend the local school but was taught by Heacham. His teaching took the form of indoctrination with his peculiar form of narrow-minded Christianity taken from the Bible and some books of sermons by a rather extreme clergyman. I was allowed an atlas, and a dictionary and two volume encyclopaedia, both of which he censored for all sexual matters apart from the purely biological aspects. We had no television, no radio and he would allow no magazines or newspapers in the house. Living in an isolated cottage well out of the small Dales village, I had virtually no contact with children or with other adults. This obviously left me with a very odd view of the world. But I was a quick learner and loved to read. As a result, I picked up a wide vocabulary and a knowledge of many things that most people never come across.

For exercise, I did the housework, kept Hope free of bedsores by massaging and manipulating her limbs and body, walked the local hills and swam in the isolated tarn up the hill from our cottage. I loved the freedom of those few hours, away from home and father's constant watchfulness. I would strip to my skin and plunge into the freezing clear water and splash about until I was thoroughly tired. By the time I returned home, my clothes had mostly dried on my body. Not that it mattered, since Heacham required me to work in the house wearing the bare minimum of cover. He told me it was to save my clothes from becoming stained and dirty. I know now that it was to afford him a sexual thrill of both watching me and controlling me in a state of more or less permanent exposure.

He indoctrinated me to believe that most men and women were inherently evil and would eventually spend eternity in the fires of Hell. If I erred, even slightly, he would beat me with his hand, a cane or his belt, always on my naked skin. He told me he was saving my soul and I believed him. We prayed together every morning and each evening before bed. He attended some old barn that he and a few other men with similar views had converted into their meeting place, which he called their chapel.

When I first started to work with Leigh and discovered his free-thinking ideas and his openness toward nudity and sex, I thought he must be the most wicked man alive. His models were all beautiful and showed no shame or shyness in displaying their entire bodies for his camera. I was initially incensed and later intrigued. But, though Leigh gave all the appearance to my uneducated mind of being a wicked heathen, I quickly learned that he was a kind, warm, generous and basically good man. I suppose it was inevitable that I would fall in love with him, as the only other mature male I had any contact with. Apart, that is, from his printing assistant, Mervin. He was the embodiment of true evil in my eyes. A crude, ugly, cruel and utterly selfish monster of a man.

If you've read the book, you'll know how I came to change and what those changes involved for me and those I came into contact with. If you haven't read it yet, I can only point you in the direction of this blog, where Stuart's posting the whole book for you to read, free of charge, a chapter at a time. I hope you get as much out of reading my story as I did from telling it from my point of view and learning Leigh's view of things along the journey.

Read My Novel, Free: Chapter 3.

Breaking Faith was first published as a paperback 3 years ago and, on 24 October 2010, I published it as an ebook through Smashwords and on Amazon Kindle. I'm now posting individual chapters here on the blog, so that anyone who wishes can read the book in full and free of charge.

The Prologue, which begins the novel, was posted on 6 January. Here's a link, if you missed it: http://stuartaken.blogspot.com/2012/01/read-free-my-novel-here.html.

Chapter 1 was posted on 13 January and the link can be found in the archive. (Subsequent chapters are posted each Friday and can be accessed via the archive).

Read, enjoy, tell your friends.

Just a bit of guidance, since you'll have read the previous chapter a week ago. The book is written from the viewpoints of the two main protagonists and each chapter is narrated in either Leigh or Faith's voice, in the first person. The viewpoints alternate, but sometimes one character will tell the tale over a couple of consecutive chapters.

Chapter 3

Faith’s unexpected conversational skills and sense of humour were not the only surprises she sprung, once she recovered from her faint. She picked up my dislike of Biblical quotations and allusions straight away and stopped using them, which was just as well, considering my views.

I found a well-organized, able and clever young woman, with a contradictory set of ideas and values and the most eclectic range of knowledge I’d ever come across. I was intrigued. I had nothing to lose by giving her a trial. But it was only fair to let her meet Merv before either of us made a decision.

She accompanied me from the office, through the small waiting area, where occasional reps and clients sat in ancient, leather, easy chairs and gazed at life-sized monochromes of women on the walls. Faith avoided the flesh but admired the smaller landscapes and sighed with audible relief when I led her into the studio.

The snow had stopped and early afternoon sun was sending shafts of light through the high windows to fall in dazzling rhomboids at the base of the far wall. Specks of dust, floating in the silent beams, leant the large space a cathedral quality.

She seemed entranced; though whether by the scale of the room, the atmosphere or the assorted equipment, I could only guess. I let her stand and stare at a sight I knew well. ‘Impressive, isn’t it? I spend so much time in here, I forget how strange it must appear.’

‘It’s wonderful; amazing.’ Her enthusiasm was genuine.

‘Used to be two storeys; hay barn above, animal quarters below. They built these longhouses to provide living space for the farmer’s family and animals all in one building. It was built in the sixteen seventies. Uncle Fred and I completed most of the work a year or so before he died. The old coach house at the end is now a garage on the ground floor with the darkroom above. That’s where I’m taking you.’

‘Is this where you work, Leigh?’

‘A lot of the time. The small items I do in here but the larger stuff’s done on site. I do mostly catalogue work in here; light industrial, tools and fastenings, things like that. Some portraiture and a bit of formal work with models. But I prefer to work in situ with the girls when I can.’

‘I noticed.’

The tone of her voice spoke volumes. I’d seen embarrassment and censure cloud her features as she looked at the work on display in the office and waiting room. Strangely, the print of the Velazquez Rokeby Venus, behind my desk, didn’t appear to unsettle her as much as my photographs. Perhaps because it wasn’t frontal, or because it was a painting, she found it less threatening.

‘If I decide to take you on, Faith, you’ll be spending some of your time around models, often topless, sometimes nude. How do you feel about that?’

She fixed me with a determined stare. ‘As long as I don’t have to take off my clothes, I’ll manage.’

I looked at her ragbag collection of hand-me-downs: brown tweed skirt to the ankles, long-sleeved, heavy cotton blouse in dingy white with appliquéd lace, hand-knitted brown cardigan with darned elbows and fraying cuffs. And, judging by the lines, she was wearing a heavy bra at least two sizes too big. I wondered what her knickers would be like: straight from the school gym? I hadn’t seen a young woman so badly dressed. Hardly the glamourpuss I was seeking. Maybe exposure to me and the girls would educate her tastes and show her the possibilities. She had potential as far as face and figure were concerned. A bit of weight, makeup, hair set free from its constricting band, limbs allowed to feel the air, and she could be a different and very attractive woman.

‘You can be as covered or uncovered as you like, though I do sometimes take off my clothes when I’m working with a model.’

‘All of them?’

I nodded.

‘Why?’ Her question was condemnatory.

‘Sex, a lot of the time. But a naked girl feels vulnerable in lots of ways. Not least, there’s the temperature. It’s easy, when you’re sweating under the lights in jeans and polo neck, to forget how cool it can be in your skin. I try to develop empathy with my models and being naked helps that.’

‘Don’t they mind?’

‘I wouldn’t do it if they did. In fact, some of them demand it. I never expect or ask anyone to do anything against their will, Faith. That’s one reason I’m making the situation clear to you now, so you know what you’re getting into. I’m not about to change my way of working just to avoid embarrassing you. Nudity is pleasure and delight for me. You find it disturbing or threatening and I sort of understand that; it’s depressingly common, but it’s your problem, not mine. If you find it unacceptable, we might as well close this interview right now.’

She crossed the space between us until she was looking up into my face with a challenging expression I found disconcerting. ‘You said yourself I’m not the idiot people think, Leighton Longshaw. But you don’t know that I’m also professional. I hate the idea of public nakedness. Your unclothed body might embarrass or offend me; I don’t know: I’ve never seen a naked man. Your behaviour is sinful and it’ll send you to Hell for eternity. But, if you employ me to work with naked women, or men, I’ll carry out my duties as required. My feelings and beliefs are my own and have nothing to do with you or the job.’

‘Are you always so truthful?’

‘I try to be. Life would be so much better if everybody was honest all the time, don’t you think?’

‘It’d be intolerable. But what matters is whether you can work in the conditions I’ve described.’

‘I thought I just said I can.’

I looked down into her face and saw truth shining in her eyes; her wide-set, large and very dark, brown eyes that stared at me so directly. Looking into those eyes, I saw potential for passion. I also saw her vulnerability and unique quality and I wanted to know her better; to know her well.

I needed to lighten the mood. ‘Do your eyes bother you?’

She frowned. ‘No. Why?’

‘They bother me.’ I laughed shortly, as much at my mistake in using an inappropriate line, as at her incomprehension. ‘Come on; let’s see what you make of Merv the Perv.’

‘Mervyn Tupper?’

‘Know him?’

‘He’s a neighbour, of sorts. I’d heard he worked for you. I hoped it wasn’t true.’

‘What do you know of him?’

‘Like most in the village, he’s called me names. But, really, only what I’ve heard about him from others.’

‘Reputation, then?’

‘And we both know how false that can be. Maybe he’ll surprise me.’

‘Prepare to be shocked.’ I led the way to the end of the studio and the foot of the vertical ladder. ‘Not pleasantly.’

I shinned up, aware she might worry I was looking up her skirt, an impossible feat, if I followed her. On the metal landing, I waited for her before opening the door into the suite of small rooms that served as printing, storage and finishing area.

I studied her as she watched the glazing drum turn slowly, its mirrored chromium cylinder reflecting the fluorescent tubes and the blue-white daylight streaming through the windows.

‘It’s very warm and there’s an odd smell. Would I work up here?’

‘Eventually; I’d want you to do most of the print finishing… drying, glazing, trimming and mounting. It’s all done in here. Merv’s kingdom is the darkroom.’ I indicated the blank white door with its bulbs mounted above. ‘When the red light’s on, you can’t go in. It means Merv’s loading film into tanks for processing. Stray light would fog the film and ruin it.’ I explained the light-trap and gave quick descriptions of the other equipment in the room until the red light went out and a green bulb shone. ‘That means Merv’s put the darkroom lights on; we can go in now.’

‘Why not just one bulb?’

I was pleased she was analysing; it showed promise. ‘The bulb might’ve blown. The green light’s insurance.’

I went through the light trap, closing the door behind me before I could open the one into the darkroom. Merv was working by white light, pouring developer from a glass measuring cylinder into a tall, stainless steel, processing tank on the wet bench. ‘You’ve got a visitor.’

Faith entered, blinked with surprise at the brightness of the white room and turned quickly away from the wall facing her. Dozens of women, cut from the pages of porno magazines, displayed obscenely behind Merv. It was his realm and I chose not to impose my own standards on the way he decorated it, much as I disliked his preferences.

‘Faith Heacham; Mervyn Tupper.’

Faith, good as her promise to give him a chance, extended her hand. He leered unpleasantly, stripping her with his eyes as he briefly touched hers. I tapped his arm and caught his eye with a warning that stopped him moving too far into vulgarity.

‘Yeah.’

‘How do you do?’

‘Fu… great, given the chance. You?’

‘Fine, thank you.’

‘Talks, then? Never thought it could.’

Faith failed to recognize this as a reference to her and, unfamiliar with small talk, remained silent.

‘I’m considering offering Faith the position of Girl Friday, Merv. Do you think you could work with her?’

‘Any position it takes, I’ll go along with.’

‘And you, Faith, how do you feel about working with Merv?’

‘I don’t understand everything he says, but he seems less… coarse than I’d heard. I’m willing to try, as long as I don’t have to work under those… those pictures.’

‘Good. Good. Right, we’d best leave him to it; don’t want him ruining the films by forgetting to agitate the developer, do we?’

Merv immediately lifted the metal tank and upended it five times in quick succession before replacing it on the bench. I indicated that Faith should leave the room again. She was barely out of the door before I turned to Merv. ‘Well done, Merv. Think you can manage to remain as polite if she comes to work here?’

‘Once it gets its tight little bum under the desk I’ll ‘ave to tease it. It’s too thin. Keeps its curlies short and tidy though. You can see right through ‘em to its…’

‘Thank you for that, Merv. That order ready to go?’

‘Final rinse. ‘Ave ‘em on the dryer in a mo.’

‘Right. I’ll be up for them in half an hour.’

‘It’ll never let you, Leigh. Dunno why you’re botherin’.’

I found Faith blushing on the other side of the light trap. ‘He says some very strange things. Was he talking about me?’

‘All talk is Merv. Doesn’t mean anything by it, you know.’

‘He can’t possibly know what I look like.’

‘Guessing. Wishful thinking. Just guessing, that’s all. Shall we go back?’

I paced the office and Faith studied the local landscapes of the Dales I’d displayed on the walls in the hope that tourists might drop in to buy them.

‘Like them?’

‘They’re beautiful. I didn’t know you could do that with photography. It’s beautiful countryside. I recognise this one, but where were the others taken?’

I thought she was pulling my leg until I saw the genuine question on her face. They were all local, none more than a dozen miles from Longhouse.

Ma brought fresh coffee in before I had the opportunity to answer properly. Old Hodge poked his face around the door and saw Faith. He smiled at her and lifted his cap in greeting. She gave him a little nod of acknowledgement and smiled back. Everybody liked Old Hodge.

After Ma had placed the tray, she tested the white socks by the fire and found them dry at last. ‘You never took the lass traipsing into that cold studio with nowt on her feet, Leigh?’

I hadn’t noticed, and she’d said nothing. I found myself apologising for my thoughtlessness.

‘I had nothing to put on my feet and you wanted me to see the rest of the work place. I wanted to see it. I’m used to cold feet.’

‘See, Ma, she’s perfect. No complaints, no fuss. Just what I need.’

‘Taking her on, then?’

Faith’s eyes followed me as I moved to my desk and sat down in the leather chair, still trying to make up my mind.

The door from the hall opened and Abby stepped in, pink along one side from the hearthrug. I saw Faith close down her emerging look of surprised disapproval and turn it into polite indifference.

Abby glanced round the room. ‘Sorry. Thought you’d be done by now. Just wanted my wrap.’

It lay on the floor near my desk, where Ma had kicked it after Abby had discarded it for our earlier session. Her briefs lay at my feet, out of sight. Faith picked up the wrap, shook out the dust and creases and took it to the fire to warm for a few moments.

No one spoke.

She turned and held the gown, helping Abby into it. ‘Does the hair around your genitalia grow that short naturally or do you trim it?’ She sat down with no sign of a blush and gave me a look that spoke volumes.

Abby flicked her long tresses back over her shoulders and laughed a little uncertainly. ‘I …er wax and trim it, sweetie … But what an odd question to ask in mixed company.’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know I shouldn’t…’ And this time she blushed.

‘It’s okay, sweetie. No one’s died.’ She perched on the edge of my desk and looked at Faith speculatively before twisting to face me. ‘Prettier than I expected but a bit on the thin side for you, I’d have thought. Taking her on?’

I’d almost made up my mind before Abby had come in. Faith’s demonstration of the professional attitude she’d described in the studio was enough to clinch it, in spite of that strangely personal question. ‘If she wants the job. What do you say, Faith?’

Her whole body relaxed and relief took the frown from her face. ‘Thank you. Thank you, very much, Leigh. I can start now, if you like.’

‘Now? I thought you had a job at the Dairy? You’ll have to give notice, surely?’

‘They’ll not want me to work notice after what I did this morning. No, I can start straight away, if that’s all right for you?’

She had no idea of the significance of her throw away admission. Abby and Ma exchanged curious glances.

‘What, exactly, did you do this morning, Faith?’ My tone alerted her to the seriousness of her comment. She was suddenly confused and unable to collect her thoughts. I wondered if I’d misjudged her or even been misled. ‘Out with it. Let’s have some of this famous honesty.’

Still she was reluctant to speak and I began to grow impatient. Ma stepped in to the rescue. ‘We’re not sitting in judgement, love. Just curious.’

She glanced at each of us in turn, fear and uncertainty distorting her pretty face. When she brought her eyes back to mine, I nodded and tried to take the suspicion from my features.

‘Tell us in your own words.’

She literally took a deep breath, as if about to plunge into cold water. ‘I told you Father got me the job at the Dairy?’

‘Working for one of his cronies… friends, yes.’

‘I’d worked there a few weeks when Mr Furnswurth asked me to move out of the general office and be his personal secretary. He’s a… a horrible man. The other women talked about his wandering hands and the way his eyes undress you. He looked at me like Mervyn did.’

‘Some men routinely undress women with their eyes. I find their attitude appalling. I know Furnswurth and he’s just the type. All outward respectability but seething with sexual repression.’

She considered that for a moment. ‘His office has a wall of shelves from floor to ceiling and steps so you can reach the top. Some of the women told me he sits at his desk and looks up their skirts when they get files from the top or bottom shelves. He couldn’t do that with me, of course. My skirt’s a decent length.’

She must have guessed my intention to try to change that because she stared at me sternly. ‘And always will be, in case you’re thinking any different.’

Her insight was vaguely unnerving after such brief acquaintance.

‘How you dress is up to you, Faith. Most men these days prefer the mini or micro, but the maxi’s fine, especially in a flowing fabric. Can’t say I’m a lover of your old lady’s tweeds but… up to you. You were telling us about Furnswurth…’

She let my criticism go but she’d have something to say should I raise the subject again. ‘He asked for one of the files on the top shelf. I was looking for it when he came and stood below me, pretending to help me look. Before I knew what was happening, he put his hand up my skirt.’

‘The man needs seeing to.’

She gave me the briefest of troubled smiles, for my support, I suppose. ‘I couldn’t believe it. He goes to Father’s chapel. I was too shocked to move at first but then he slid his hand even further up and actually touched my genitalia. I came to my senses then. I kicked his arm and bent down and slapped him across his nasty face as hard as I could. I almost fell off the steps.’ She stopped, awaiting judgement.

‘Dirty old sod. I’d have kicked him in the goolies.’ Abby slipped off the desk and put a comforting arm around her shoulders.

‘Do you think they’ll not have you back ‘cause you slapped his face, love? Is that it?’

She frowned at Ma. ‘They won’t have me back because I walked out, there and then, of course, Mrs Hodges.’

‘Did you hurt Furnswurth?’

‘I don’t know. I expect so. I know it’s very wicked of me, Leigh, but I hope so. Why? Does it matter?’

‘No. Just satisfying if you blacked his eye. I understand your comment now, Faith. I think you were right to do what you did. Showed courage and presence of mind. And I’d be happy for you to start work for me in the morning.’

Her relief was almost tangible. ‘I can start right now, if you like.’

‘Go home and have a short rest. There’s only a couple of hours of the working day left anyway. But there is just one thing.’

‘What time should I be here in the morning?’

‘Up to you; eight thirty to five or nine to five thirty in the week, up to lunch time on Saturdays. I don’t mind. But I want to know something, Faith. I’m curious to know why, having reacted so violently to Furnswurth’s sexual advances, you came straight here? You must’ve believed I was the most sexually dangerous man in the area.’

‘I was out of a job. I have to work. Father is… He wouldn’t understand me leaving like that. In fact, he won’t believe me.’ She shrugged as if resigned. ‘We really need the money because he can’t work, so I couldn’t go home without another job. Yours was the only one with the skills I have. I saw your postcard in Mrs Greenhough’s window. In the rack outside, a newspaper said that unemployment’s gone past a million and is still rising. Where else would I go?’

I grinned at Abby and Ma. ‘Honest, but she’ll gain no points for diplomacy.’

‘Bit of honesty from a pretty lass’ll do you no harm. Most of ‘em are so eager to have you in their knickers they’ll say owt to please you.’ Ma gave Abby a look full of meaning and received a protruding tongue in response. ‘You’re a real surprise to me, Faith, but you’re a welcome addition to Longhouse, and I for one hope you’ll not change your ways too much by working for Leigh.’

She managed a smile for Ma, and then turned to me with apprehension. ‘I must be completely honest, Leigh. I believe it’s as bad to miss out facts, as it is to make them up when it comes to truth. At the Dairy, they either think you’re a wicked libertine or else the most eligible and delectable bachelor in the district, whatever all that means. No one talks about you as if you’re a danger to women, though; just the opposite, in fact. They say you’re licentious and lewd; more words I don’t fully understand, except I know they’re bad. So I didn’t think I’d be in any actual danger unless I let you think I was willing to take off my clothes. Which, by the way, I most certainly am not! Also, I intend to help you see the error of your ways and lead you down the path of righteousness so that we can save your soul.’

I shook my head at her candour. Faith was showing all the signs of being a serious challenge and I relished the coming contest. But she hadn’t finished.

‘I also came here because Father’ll be livid when he learns I’m working for you. But he won’t stop me; we need the money. He calls you ‘Satan’s local henchman’ and believes no woman’s safe with you. I can tell him he’s mistaken about that, and for…’

‘You seem very sure.’

‘Oh, if you’d wanted to do something to me, you had the perfect opportunity when I was lying at your feet. As far as I can tell, you didn’t even try to look up my skirt. And you went up the ladder before me because you knew I’d feel more comfortable that way. In fact, you’ve behaved in a way that even Father would find hard to criticize. I believe you’re a gentleman, even if you do fornicate and take pleasure in the flesh, and I shall tell Father what I’ve learned when I get home’

‘You’ll ruin my reputation as the local despoiler of virgins.’

‘I don’t fully understand what that means, but I’m hoping you’ll ruin mine as the village idiot, Leigh.’

The studio door let Merv into the office. ‘Tight little twat gone…? Oh. Yeah, right. ‘Ere’s that order, Leigh. I’m done now. I’ll be off…’ He knew he’d overstepped the mark.

I wanted the girls, especially Faith, to know how strongly I objected to his attitude. ‘Merv. I’ll say this now, in front of Ma, Abby and Faith. I’ll give you a choice: either you start to treat the women in this household like human beings or you can leave for good. Understood?’

Merv looked at the floor.

‘Understood?’

He glanced up at me and nodded.

‘Understood?’

Faith jumped at my volume.

‘Yeah. Right, yeah, Leigh. Right.’

‘Good. Now, apologize to Faith and then bugger off home. And find another word to use when talking about women to me or anyone else in this household. You might start by using their names. Go.’

Merv turned to Faith, his face purple with a mix of anger and embarrassment. ‘Yeah. Right. Sorry, then.’ I knew we’d get no more from him and I gestured him to leave. He went without another word but he glared at Faith as he closed the door.

‘God, but he’s foul that one.’ Ma had never liked him.

‘Foul mouth, foul mind.’ Abby felt the same way.

‘It’s not just the words; it’s the attitude that lies behind them.’

‘If he upsets you, Leigh, why do you employ him?’

Her directness continued to surprise and amuse me. ‘There’s not much choice around here when it comes to skills and talent, Faith. If you turn out to be as good a Girl Friday as Merv is a printer, I’ll count myself extremely lucky.’

She looked around the room, skimming quickly past the photographs of women’s bodies, but taking in the rest of the details. ‘You’re expecting me to do most of the print finishing in that room next to the darkroom. I didn’t see a phone in there. I won’t be able to answer calls unless you have one put in.’

‘Hasn’t even started and already she’s costing me money. Hop it, wench, before I change my mind!’

She slipped her socks and shoes on quickly and was inside her shabby winter coat before I relented.

‘You’re right, of course. You can have your extension, but only when I’m satisfied you’re right for the job.’

A huge smile of relief brightened her clouded countenance.

Ma turned to Faith and nodded. ‘You’ll do.’

I foresaw those two forming an alliance against me in all sorts of subtle ways and I relished it. ‘Right. I’m off down to Garsington. Coming, Abby?’

She looked out of the window and then stretched, revealing tempting skin. ‘I’ll wait for you near the fire. You’ll need warming up when you come back.’

My look softened her eyes and parted her lips. I turned to Faith. ‘Can I take you home?’

‘Garsington? That’s a long way, isn’t it?’

I laughed. ‘Less than fifteen miles.’

‘Garsington.’ She spoke as if it were another world. ‘No, thank you, Leigh. I believe it’s in the wrong direction.’

‘Suit yourself. See you in the morning then.’

‘Eight thirty. And thank you for giving me a chance, Leigh. I’ll prove my worth.’

I wondered if she would or whether I’d saddled myself with problems simply from a desire to try to mould this strange little wench into a real woman. Time, no doubt, would tell.

###

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Photos of East Riding

A short while ago, I took part in a contest aimed at finding photographs of the East Riding of Yorkshire that the local authority could use in publicising the area. The contest attracted a lot of interest and the 700+ pictures that are up for judging can be viewed here: http://www2.eastriding.gov.uk/leisure/events/capturing-the-east-riding/gallery/competition-entries/?album=4573
Judging takes place on Friday and I pity the judges having to select a winner from this collection; so many good shots.
It's good to know there are so many people with an eye for a picture who are living in the county.

I've included one of my own entries, just as a teaser, but if you visit the gallery, you'll see many different views of the area and its people.
Enjoy.

A Commemoration of my father at 100

Mum & Dad on their wedding day, 1953.

My real father, the man who gave me life, died less than 3 weeks before I was born and I know him only through the memories of others, as a good man. But my mother, who died a week after my 16^th birthday, married Richard Allison when I was about 5 years old. On the occasion of what would have been his 100^th birthday, this short piece commemorates the very special man who raised me as his own son.

Richard Herbert Allison, to give him his full name, would have been 100 years old today. He died, aged 92, on July 13^th 2004, following a fall.

An only child, at 18, he lost his own father to cancer. A man who could not live without a woman in his life, he married 4 times; my mother, May, being his 3^rd wife. When he married May, he took on my older sister, Denise, and me. May took on his son, Barry, who is 6 weeks my senior. Later, they both brought the youngest member of the family, Stephen, into being. We were a real family, with no delineation caused by different parentage, and, as children, we all received equal love from both parents. In fact, I had what I consider an idyllic childhood, characterised by love, adventure and humour.

Richard worked at two jobs for most of his life. He was initially a dental technician, making false teeth, and later a travelling salesman, representing a national dental supply company and visiting customers all over Yorkshire. His second job was as a wedding photographer, often for his own business but sometimes as a stringer for other wedding photography businesses. He loved his photography, or, more accurately, he loved his cameras. Not a particularly creative man, he was an excellent technician and, in spite of a lifetime with poor eyesight, always ensured his pictures were pin sharp.

Image via WikipediaIt was from Richard that I gained an interest in photography when he rewarded me with a folding camera for a good school report at the age of 11. My mother, a talented painter, gifted me with an eye for a picture, so I had both technical and creative influences for my photography.

Richard had an interesting war (1939-45); beginning as a medic with the army, stationed at Spurn Point and Bull Fort in the mouth of the Humber Estuary. He soon went on to become a fire fighter and rose to the rank of Captain, taking his regiment to France on D Dayand then travelling to Belgium and Holland, earning a 'Mention in Despatches' on the way by rescuing one of his men from a booby-trapped and burning building.

He was well-read, with a particular liking for the novels of Ryder Haggard and other adventure tales. He taught himself French and Dutch and could still speak both even at the end of his life.

It was from Richard that I learned my love of astronomy. He could point out all the major and some of the minor constellations and recognised the planets as they wandered across our heavens. A nature lover, he could name any bird he saw, either at rest or on the wing. And he knew all the butterflies and most moths we ever came across. But he had no idea about wild plants and only a basic knowledge of trees.

Richard, me, Stephen, May, Barry, Denise. Beverley Westwoods, 1959

A walker, he enjoyed roaming the countryside and often took us on walks, pointing out the various birds and insects we encountered. He'd been a cyclist for many years and, through this, developed a great fear of wasps. On one occasion, when the M1 motorway had just opened, I was travelling with him when a wasp flew into the old Morris Minor he was driving. He stopped the car where it was and got out, refusing to return until the offending insect had been ejected. That there was virtually no traffic on the road made this more a humorous than an anxious episode. It was only later that I learned he'd been cycling through a piece of local common ground, speeding downhill across the Beverley Westwoods, when a wasp had lodged itself behind his glasses and stung his eye. He'd come off the bike at speed and ripped all the muscles in his back: hence his loathing of the striped peril.

On another occasion, we were driving in the local hills and he got out of the car and walked alongside it as it slowly motored up the hill by itself, his skill in judging its ability to travel with minimal power demonstrated. He took us all to the Lake Districton one memorable day. A family of five plus a Welsh Corgi, we travelled 365 miles that day. At one point, we were climbing a very steep hill (1:3) and the car stopped. We had to get out and walk as he drove up by himself, the reduced load enabling the old car to make it to the summit. He was a good, if fast, driver who'd learned his skill in the army, driving a fire engine, which he always called an 'escape'; a vehicle with a 14 foot overhanging ladder which he drove around Birmingham during the blitz. Only once did he manage to swipe a set of traffic lights off their pole with the ladders as he swept around a corner in a hurry. And he spoke with amusement of the time he'd been given the chance to drive a tank and had managed to crush a 3 ton truck in the process. In Belgium, his adjutant had come across an abandoned US Jeep, which had apparently simply run out of fuel. He commandeered it and used it as a staff car for the rest of the war.

He possessed a phenomenal memory and could recite verse after verse from The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám, quote a nonsense piece of Victorian gobbledegook (In promulgating your esoteric cogitations and articulating your superficial sentimentalities and philosophical and physiological observations, beware of platitudinous ponderosity.  Let your extemporaneous decantings have intelligibility, sagacious facility, an elegant rapidity and ventriloquent verbosity.  Shun pestiferous profanity both obscure and apparent.

In other words, speak plainly, briefly, naturally and truthfully.  Say what you mean and mean what you say.  Do not swear or use big words.) and an alternative version of 'Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star (Scintillate, scintillate globule vivific, fain I ponder thy purpose specific – is all I can recall, but he could quote the whole thing).

In short, Richard Allison was a pretty remarkable man and I'm both proud and pleased that he chose to take me as his own son and raise me. He wasn't without fault and could be both dictatorial and severe at times. But he was a damned good father and I have every reason to thank him for taking that role seriously and for loving me, my siblings and my mother.

Stuart's Daily Word Spot: Macerate

Image via Wikipedia

Macerate: verb – make softer by soaking in a liquid; erode or separate soft parts of something, by steeping; make something grow thinner or waste away, especially through fasting; to fret, vex or worry.

'Facing the pressures of the catwalk, the fashion model used diet and exercise to macerate her already lean figure, and, although her sponsors could see it was harming her, they did nothing to prevent it.'