KEEPING IT REAL

It was the summer of 1944 in war-torn England.  For almost five years weary Londoners had survived bombs raining down on their homes.  But that summer Germany introduced a new abomination - the first unmanned flying bomb.

We called the V1 missile the buzz bomb.  It made an ominous buzzing sound, until the engine suddenly cut off.  It took ten seconds after that for the bomb to land and spread death and destruction.

As I huddled with my classmates in the damp, concrete shelters of our school yard, I would listen to the sound of those monsters droning overhead.  When the buzzing stopped, I would silently start to count, praying I would make it past ten.      

I learned a lot about suspense in those days.

Fearful of this new and devastating threat, my mother shipped off my sister and me, along with our three cousins, to spend the summer on England’s east coast with our grandmother.

Granny lived in a tiny cottage, perched high on the cliffs facing the North Sea.  The cottage had no electricity, no gas, and no plumbing.

     At first, we were all taken aback by the lack of amenities, but after a while we got used to the routines.  Every morning we tramped down the garden path to the alleyway, then up to the well to draw water in large, heavy buckets and carry them back to the house.

     Granny cooked everything over a coal fire.  We used rain water from a barrel in the front yard to wash our hair.   There was no bathroom, so we used the outhouse, which was down the garden path, across the alley and into the field.  At night we had oil lamps to light our way up the narrow staircase, and we used chamber pots that had to be emptied the next day. 

     The contrast to our homes in London was absolute, and would horrify today’s teenager, but to us, the quiet and peace of the English countryside after the devastating months of Hitler’s lethal bombardments was paradise.

When I decided to write a mystery series set in Edwardian England, the biggest challenge at first was the research.  If I was going to immerse readers in that golden age and make the story real for them, I had to make sure I didn’t jolt them out of the book by mentioning something that didn’t exist at the time.

That summer I spent with Granny proved to be invaluable.  I knew what it was like to feed the stove with coal in order to cook the meals.  Or to boil sheets one at a time in a cauldron, then hang them on the line outside to dry.

I knew how it felt to greet the milkman in his horse and cart, and exchange the empty urn for a filled one.  I knew how refreshing it was to wash my face and hands every morning in cold water from the wash bowl, and how strangely comforting it was to sit by the light of an oil lamp at night and listen to Granny reading us a story. 

I relive all of those experiences as I follow the adventures of Cecily Baxter and her companions and staff at the Pennyfoot Hotel.  Yes, I said ‘follow.’   I give all my characters a set of circumstances to deal with and then I follow them, sometimes writing furiously to keep up with them.  Cecily is very good at solving murders but, like the rest of the characters, she has a mind of her own and often takes the story in unexpected directions.  She is tenacious, compassionate and treats her staff the same way she treats her prestigious guests.  

The Pennyfoot Hotel is brimming with diverse, and sometimes eccentric characters.  They all struggle with problems, celebrate the good times and live out their lives.  Every single one of them is as real to me as my family, and I hope I make them real for you, too.  If you want to meet them, I invite you to visit the hotel in A MERRY MURDER.

Happy Reading!