New release from Jan Selbourne!! Full Circle

An historical novel of mystery, intrigue, revenge, and love

Some women are just stubborn, as Lloyd Harrington discovers when he drags Carey Stafford back to London. Maybe the feel of a noose around her pretty neck will dispel the sweetness of her revenge.


As you can tell from these two comments, Jan Selbourne’s new book, Full Circle , is not all sweetness and light. But it is a fantastic model of intrigue, characters who masquerade as one thing and then another, murder and mystery, spanning two continents. And I musn’t forget revenge–lots of revenge! I loved it! I think you will, too.

Full Circle is available for 99 cents until February 1, when the price will increase (although not too much!) Really, with Jan’s attention to detail, her faithfulness to historical accuracy, and her amazing storytelling, her books are bargains at any price. If you’re a fan of Jan’s, you know what I’m talking about. If you’re new to her, do you ever have a treat in store!

Please enjoy this remarkable book!

Blurb:

According to Dr. Arthur Sanders, a terrible miscarriage of justice has taken place. His entire fortune and that of his partner, Mr. Frank Owens, has disappeared along with Owen’s secretary/accountant and the secretary’s assistant. Owens himself is visiting the Australian colony. Is he, like Sanders, a victim or the perpetrator? That is what Sanders wants Lloyd Harrington to find out and as swiftly as possible.

Harrington is recovering from an injury received while on the job in the Metropolitan Police as well as guilt from a personal loss. He’s bored from forced inactivity and the chance to use his skills to track down Owens interests him. Sanders agrees to pay all expenses, and so Harrington sets off for Australia. Before he leaves, a body is discovered—the secretary. And the assistant holds a ticket on a ship bound for Australia. It seems the action is all set to take place Down Under.

Miss Carey Stafford arrives at the home of Owens’ host just as Harrington does and announces to the stunned Owens that he is bankrupt, along with his partner, Dr. Sanders. How does she know this, Harrington wonders. His tingly detective senses warn him that something very wrong is going on here, and he arrests the lovely Carey for theft and possible participant in the murder of Owen’s secretary. He has no way of knowing then that she holds secrets upon secrets upon secrets. They will either provide the answers to everything or will drag Lloyd into a morass of trouble with his former comrades at the Met.

Full Circle is a complex tale of mystery, intrigue, and revenge. How the tale and its principals actually come full circle will keep you on the edge of your seat!

Buy link:

Amazon Kindle

Excerpt:

Lloyd and Frank Owens followed William into the hall and were about to enter the room opposite when the dogs outside set up a chorus of barking. Hooves and coach wheels grew louder and halted outside.

            “Who the devil is this?” William fumed as a housemaid hurried to the entrance. A murmur of voices and as the maid stood aside, Lloyd stared in disbelief at the woman walking in. The same woman from the coach in the mud and the White Hart Inn but now her red hair was hanging in ringlets on both sides of her heavily made-up face, and she was wearing spectacles. He really was at the local playhouse or very soon he’d wake up.

            “How dare you walk in here uninvited,” William said angrily and pointed at Lloyd. “Do you know this woman?”

            “I don’t.”

            William swung back to her. “This man has just walked in without a by your leave and now you! What next, half the town?”

            The woman’s eyes widened with surprise seeing Lloyd, then ignoring William Parker, walked up to Frank Owens, standing in the doorway of the study.

            “I have news for you,” she said softly.

            “You know this woman?” William demanded.

Her eyes never wavered from Owens. “Mr Owens, you and Doctor Sanders are now penniless.”

Owens’ mouth dropped open. “What did you say?”

            “The financial portfolio you shared with Arthur Sanders is no more. The lease on your London home was terminated on 31st March. Your home in Berkshire was sold. Your bank account is empty. Arthur Sanders has lost everything but his clothes.”

            A pin dropping would be louder than a pistol shot.

            It took several seconds before Owens found his voice. “Who are you?”

            When the woman didn’t reply he began spluttering, “What on earth are you talking about?” His face was now a sickly white. “You know nothing of my business affairs.”

            The woman shrugged eloquently. “You have no business affairs, you are ruined. Destroy and you will be destroyed.”

            Frank glanced at Lloyd and back to the woman. “This is ridiculous. I don’t know what you are talking about.”

            Soft footsteps and the attractive middle-aged woman walked across the hall. Her cold eyes glared at the woman. “I am Amelia Parker and I demand you explain this outrageous intrusion.”

 “I don’t have to explain anything to you,” was the icy reply. Her attention returned to Frank. “I almost forgot. Your letter of credit. It’s obvious you haven’t presented it to a bank otherwise you’d know it is not worth the paper it’s printed on.”

            Lloyd snapped out of his trance. “Don’t take another step. How did you know about this and what is your connection with Mr Owens and Dr Sanders?”

            Ignoring him, she brushed past Williams and his wife and walked to the front entrance. Lloyd followed and put his hand on her shoulder. “I said, not another step.”

            Her dark eyes flashed angrily. “Take your hand off me.”

            Lloyd’s grip tightened on her shoulder. “Who are you and where or from whom did you learn of this crime?”

            “None of your business.”

            “It is very much my business. I am investigating a crime committed in London and the police are investigating a death connected with that crime.”

            Her eyebrows rose. “Your business has nothing to do with me, so I suggest you solve your crime in London, not here.” Pulling herself away from his hand she walked out onto the porch.

            Stunned he’d let her pull away, Lloyd followed and grasped her arm. “I haven’t finished. While on leave from the Metropolitan Police I was retained by Arthur Sanders to find Frank Owens. Now, answer my questions.”

            “A London policeman here in the middle of New South Wales? Surely you can do better than that. A duke from a small European principality would impress those country upstarts in there a lot more.”

            Despite himself, Lloyd felt admiration for her standing up to him. His grasp on her arm tightened and he pulled her back into the drawing room. “Slorrach, I’d be obliged if you’d bring me a length of rope.”

            Slorrach glanced at William who nodded. Lloyd waited until he left the room, then pushed the woman into a chair and spoke to the three dumbfounded people staring at him.

            “Last March, Arthur Sanders asked me to find the person or persons responsible for embezzling money from his business partnership with Frank Owens.” He told them what had transpired and about Henry Todd’s death. “The police believe it was a vicious robbery. However, I am sure they have discovered more since I left England. That’s not all. Mark Davis’s reference was forged, and a snooping servant found his ship’s passage to this colony.”

            Frank’s eyes bulged. “Henry is dead and Mark Davis here?”

            Lloyd glanced at the young woman whose face was as white as Frank’s.

            William Parker’s face was red with anger. “What the devil is going on Frank?”

Author Jan Selbourne:

Jan Selbourne

Jan Selbourne was born and educated in Melbourne, Australia and her love of literature and history began as soon as she learned to read and hold a pen. After graduating from a Melbourne Business College her career began in the dusty world of ledgers and accounting, working in Victoria, Queensland and the United Kingdom. On the point of retiring, she changed course to work as secretary of a large NSW historical society. Now retired Jan is enjoying her love of travelling and literature. She has two children, a stray live in cat and lives near Maitland, New South Wales.

Author links:

Website: https://nomadauthors.com/JanSelbourne/index.html
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jan.selbourne
Twitter:  https://twitter.com/JanSelbourne
LinkedIn:  https://www.linkedin.com/in/jan-selbourne-2817b6140/
Newsletter: https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/h8t2y6

GOLD! A gritty Australian saga, new from Thomas Greenbank!

GOLD! by Thomas GreenbankGOLD!—The Kincaid Saga, Book 1.

Blurb:
GOLD! is a tale of greed, betrayal, family conflict, rape, and murder. It is also, however, a story of love and loyalty — and of how one man’s pride and prejudice can lead to terrible retribution.

Malcolm Kincaid is a self-made man. He is also a ruthless businessman and opportunist. He knows what it takes to build and maintain a business empire, but how far will he be prepared to go to achieve his goals — and what will he sacrifice along the way?

Over three decades, Malcolm Kincaid uses, abuses, and dominates associates and family alike, crushing all opposition in his pursuit of wealth and power.

When he allows the pollution of an Aboriginal settlement’s water supply, however, he faces justice of a kind he could never imagine.

Buy links:
Amazon (eBook): http://viewbook.at/GOLD
Universal link: https://books2read.com/u/3yewpv

Excerpt: (The action takes place near the Two Brothers gold mine, north of Kalgoorlie, Western Australia, in 1980.)

Malcolm had already opened another can of beer by the time Jamie started the Land Cruiser and headed down the access road toward the Goldfields Highway. He stood on the verandah, watching as the receding taillights glimmered in the deepening twilight.

As Jamie neared the mine turnoff, he popped a cassette into the Cruiser’s player. John Lennon launched into ‘Beautiful Boy’, Jamie’s current favourite song, and he cranked up the volume as he swung onto the bitumen. Thirty minutes and he’d be home. Home to Rachel; and his own Beautiful Boy, 17-month-old Lachlan.

***

Warren Burroughs—Rabbit, to friends and coworkers—couldn’t remember a longer, more frustrating day. What started out as a routine run from his depot in Coolgardie, to Kambalda—a mining town 60 kilometres to the south—and then up to Menzies with a ‘hot shot’ delivery before returning home, had turned into an epic comedy of errors.

Delays and unexpected problems were a fact of life in the transport industry, but today had been one to take the cake.

A round trip of a little less than 400 kilometres, the whole thing should have been done and dusted by mid-afternoon. When dealing with mining company hierarchy, however, things rarely went to plan. Although he had been on the road by six am, and arrived at his Kambalda destination before seven, it would be well past midday before he was on his way north again. The mine site office had not been aware he was even coming, let alone prepared his load.

Communication glitches like these were common. He settled himself in the corner of the office to wait while the staff located the replacement pump he was to deliver. Then, of course, they had to complete all the necessary paperwork and finally arrange someone to load it onto the back of his ageing Kenworth for the next leg.

Next came the news that the low-loader organised to bring the pump out to him had broken down. He was welcome to drive on-site to collect his load, but first, he’d have to do a short induction course. Once he completed this, it was time for lunch, so there was another hour’s wait before he got the OK to proceed onto the mine site and collect his cargo.

After leaving Kambalda at a little after 1:30 he eventually reached his drop-off point around 4 pm.

Fortunately, things went more smoothly this time. Probably because they had been champing at the bit waiting for the pump; the breakdown having halted production for the past 24 hours.

Then, at 5:30 pm, he was at last on his way home. All he had to worry about now, he thought, was dodging kangaroos.

He was just passing Lake Goongarrie, a sprawling salt lake on the east side of the road, when a voice called over the two-way radio.

“G’day there, Rabbit, you old bugger!” It was a voice he knew well.

“How you doin’, Ralph?” Rabbit replied, “Havin’ a good run? How’s the new rig going, by the way?”

The north-bound road train, its three trailers loaded with supplies bound for Menzies and beyond, thundered noisily past. Rabbit’s unladen rig swayed as it did so.

“Oh, you know,” Ralph said, “same old shit, different shovel. I’m having a better day than you, apparently. I hear they held you up a bit down at the Kambalda site.”

The bitumen grapevine was working to its usual standard, Rabbit thought. “Yeah, you could say that,” he replied. “Sometimes I swear that if I had a duck, it’d bloody well drown.”

Ralph laughed, though Rabbit didn’t hear it and continued with a sigh, “Yeah, you know the drill. This is WA after all; ‘wait awhile’.”

“You got that right,” Ralph replied. “Oh well, you keep it safe and stay upright Rabbit. I’ll catch you on the flip side.”

“Roger that. You too, Ralph.”

The radio was already starting to crackle, so there was no time for any real conversation. Still, it was good to hear a familiar voice now and then. Rabbit wondered how the old-timers had coped in the days before CB radios came into being. For that matter, spare a thought for the old bullockies and camel drivers who’d often go for weeks or even months without seeing another soul.

Rabbit reached down and upped the volume on his cassette player. A familiar Slim Dusty tune filled the air, and he began to sing along, grateful there was no one else there to suffer his discordant rendition. He noticed a light-coloured four-wheel-drive approaching the highway on his left, about a kilometre away. Someone had been working late, it seemed. The land around here was dotted with many small and medium-sized mines. As desolate and uninviting as it looked, this was a genuine gold mine of opportunity, this barren land.

As he approached the mine access road, Rabbit eased back on the accelerator. Was that clown going to stop? Surely he’d seen the truck coming. His rig was hardly invisible!

Before he knew it, the Land Cruiser veered straight onto the road not fifty metres in front of him.

Rabbit jumped on the brake and clutch simultaneously, and as the tyres squealed in noisy protest, he braced himself for impact.

***

Jamie knew he should have stopped before driving onto the highway. He knew because he had driven out from this access road so many times before. He also knew that had he not consumed so much beer in the last few hours, he would have stopped.

But now it was too late for recriminations; too late for anything but to hold on and hope for the best.

The Kenworth’s bull bar caught the four-wheel-drive on the right front side, spinning it around like a toy. The rear of the Toyota then collided with the leading edge of the big rig’s trailer, which sent it careening off the roadway and straight into the large quartz rock with ‘Two Brothers Mine’ painted on it in bold, red letters.

Although the Land Cruiser was barely doing more than thirty, the force from the impact was enough to drive the engine block through the firewall and into the driver and passenger area. The steering column struck Jamie square in the middle of his chest, breaking several ribs and squeezing his lungs to around half their volume.

Immediately after the collision, the scene was eerily quiet. Rabbit’s eighteen-wheeler remained upright, but the driver himself was unconscious and would be for several minutes. Few truckies in those days, and in truth even in these days, bothered with seat belts. A trickle of blood snaked its way down his forehead and dripped onto the dashboard.

In the wrecked Land Cruiser, Jamie struggled to stay awake. A vain struggle, however. His heart, fuelled by adrenaline, was pumping hard; pumping his lifeblood out of his body, from severe crush injuries to his legs, and onto the floor.

Strangely, the cassette player was still working. As Jamie drifted into unconsciousness, John Lennon was singing; “Life is what happens to you as you’re busy making other plans.”GOLD! by Thomas GreenbankMeet Thomas Greenback:
Welcome, Thomas! We’re so happy to have you here.

NA: How did you come up with the idea for your book?
TG: The original idea came from a writing exercise while I was completing a correspondence course in writing several years ago. All I had then was the ending and a vague idea of a story line.

I started work on GOLD! while I was employed as a wide-load pilot driver escorting oversize loads—mostly mining equipment—around regional Western Australia. I did that for six years during which time I met many of the people who would influence the way I built the characters and situations in the story.

NA: What sort of research did you do to write this book?
TG: Aside from what I learned while sub-contracting as a pilot driver I researched the lives of various well-known entrepreneurs and wheeler-dealers. I also joined a gold fossickers forum where I picked up lots of information on gold-mining techniques.

The locations were easy, as I’d visited and worked in each of the regions in the book.

NA: A fun fact about writing your book.
TG: A pivotal part of the story concerns the creation of a fake gold nugget. This actually happened. Not exactly the way it does in the book, but if you research the Mickelberg Brothers and the Yellow Rose of Texas nugget, you’ll see where I gleaned some inspiration.

NA: What started you on the path to writing?
TG: I’ve dabbled in writing for most of my life, though I’d never really taken it seriously. In my younger days I was too busy trying to be a rock star. That didn’t work out exactly as planned. I saw a newspaper ad one day for ‘The Writing School’ (now known as Sackville Academy) and enrolled in a correspondence course.

NA: What do your friends and family think about your being a writer?
TG: I’m sure most just think of it as my hobby. They know about GOLD! being published and some have read it. They invariably express surprise when they do. I don’t push anyone to buy the book though. I’ve gifted copies to those who seemed interested.

NA: The biggest surprise you had after becoming a writer.
TG: The biggest surprise is how much I enjoy it and how I feel as if this is what I was meant to do all along. If I’d put as much effort into writing as I did to music I’d possibly be a superstar now. (Just kidding) I’d certainly be way ahead of where I am right now, that’s for sure. To all aspiring authors out there—it’s never too late (or early) to make a start.

NA: Do you outline books ahead of time or are you more of a by-the-seat-of-your-pants writer?
TG: A bit of both. I always start each chapter with an idea of what is supposed to happen. I make notes and add them to the side panel of my writing program. I even add snippets of dialogue and phrases that seem pertinent.

The end result, though, rarely follows the outline exactly. Sometimes the characters take me off track and I just follow along to see where it goes. I often don’t know where a scene is going to eventually take me. I swear, sometimes the characters just seem to come to life!

If it doesn’t sound right in the end, there’s always the delete key.

NA: What has been one of your most rewarding experiences as an author?
TG: Getting to know other writers. The author community is incredible. I’ve met a few in the flesh, but I communicate with several other authors and everyone seems so helpful and willing to give advice. The general attitude is that we aren’t competing for sales so there’s no reason to be jealous with information. There’s a very apt saying: A rising tide lifts all boats. I think that’s how it goes, anyway.

NA: Which kind of scenes are the hardest for you to write? Action, dialogue, sex?
TG: Probably sex scenes. I’m always thinking that if my characters get too kinky the reader might think I’m like that too.

I love writing dialogue. I think many books don’t have enough. Dialogue draws the reader in and exposes a character’s personality so much better than exposition. All writing coaches agree we should show, not tell. Dialogue is the best way to do this.

NA: What famous person would you like to have dinner with?
TG: I once won a bottle of Johnny Walker Double Black by answering this question. My answer? Nelson Mandela. (This was many years ago, when he was still with us) No, I wasn’t trying to be funny. I honestly think he would have been extremely interesting to talk with.

“Everyone can rise above their circumstances and achieve success if they are dedicated to, and passionate about, what they do.”

NA: What’s the strangest place you’ve brushed your teeth?
TG: I once spent a night in a roadside parking bay somewhere in the north-west of Western Australia. I was on my way back from delivering a load to a remote mine.

I’d run out of drinking water and brushed my teeth using beer. Trust me—peppermint and beer is not a great flavour combination!

NA: What’s your first thought when the alarm goes off in the in the morning?
TG: Actually, I haven’t set an alarm in the last five years. I wake at around the same time every day, usually between 6:30 and 7:00. After I quit my last job, it took me ages to get out of the habit of waking before sunrise.

NA: What are you working on now?
TG: I’m working on the first draft of what will become book 2 in the Kincaid Saga. It’s a prequel that follows the life of Malcolm’s father, Angus, and shows how he influenced Malcolm’s character. Hint: Angus is not a nice man, either.

NA: What is any question we didn’t ask that you would like to answer?
TG: What advice would I give to an aspiring author?

I’d say write, write, and write some more. Then ask another writer for advice. Don’t ask your friends. There are three reasons for this.

  1. They don’t want to hurt your feelings so they’ll say it’s great when it isn’t.
  2. They may be resentful or jealous and they’ll tell you it’s bad when it isn’t. or
  3. They wouldn’t know good writing if it bit them on the bum. (Unless they happen to be a writer themselves, in which case refer to answers 1 and 2 above)

Thomas Greenbank:
Thomas Greenbank writes gritty Australian fiction. His writing draws deeply on his diverse background and professional experience.

From years as a professional musician, factory worker, business owner, driver, ceramic artist, even crossword compiler, and more—to 25 years as a full-time career, there’s not much he hasn’t experienced. This diversity shows in his writing, as does his penchant for accuracy in research.

Now semi-retired, Thomas lives south of Adelaide, South Australia, with his wife — #1 fan and biggest critic — Linda. When he’s not writing you’ll probably find them fishing or walking on a nearby beach.

Website: https://thomasgreenbank.com

Amazon Profile: https://www.amazon.com/~/e/B08NTYX32B

GoodReads profile: https://www.goodreads.com/author/dashboard?ref=nav_profile_authordash

Taking advantage of the sunshine #MFRWauthor

Flowering gum treesIt’s a sunshiny day! What do you do?

After a cold and windy August, spring has arrived in Australia. Instead of waking up to gloomy dark mornings, the sun is now poking its head over the horizon before 6am. While our southern states are still waiting for some warmth, here in the Hunter Valley New South Wales, the early spring days have been lovely.

After the first cup of tea to kick start the day, my dog and I go for a walk to enjoy this new season and after such wonderful rain this year our gardens are in full bloom. I’ve been weeding, trimming and today I planted my first bougainvillea. Fingers crossed it will like where I put it and grow.

I’m not on my own enjoying these early sunshiny days, the native birds are taking full advantage as well. There have been flocks of white cockatoos screeching their heads off in the eucalyptus trees nearby and rosellas are busy gorging on the nectar in the bottlebrush trees. Its widely believed kookaburras laughing in the middle of the day means more rain on the way, but who knows, they could very well be laughing at us. However, farmers swear a large flock of black cockatoos means serious rain is on the way.
While the kookaburras and cockatoos forecasting skills have nothing to do with my plans for a sunshiny day, I thought I’d mention them because they make these days so much nicer.

The spring sunshiny days are my favourite for all too soon the intense heat of summer will be with us and when those sunny days hit 40+ degrees C the air conditioner is my best friend.

What do you think?

Read the next blog in the blog hop by going here.

Jan Selbourne

Perilous Love
The Proposition
The Woman Behind the Mirror
Lies of Gold—Silver Historical for 2019: Coffee Pot Book Club

Nostalgia, in a time when we need it! Jan Selbourne

Reading Dee’s blog post, Making Changes, made me smile. It  took me back a LONG time, to when I was a young kid.

Jan Selbourne's dad
My dad, digging stump holes. Our Collie dog Sandy would drop his ball into the hole, wait for dad to throw it, and off he’d go to fetch and bring it back – again and again.

My parents had scraped up just enough money to buy a block of land in a country town east of Melbourne, Victoria. There was one main road through the town and our road was unsealed. Dust in the summer, mud in the winter. Our block sloped steeply back from the road with plenty of ti-trees and eucalyptus trees at the bottom. The plan was to live in a small fibro bungalow while my parents and older brother Don built the house. A small loan from a building society and that’s what they did, starting with a thick carpentry how to do it book, basic tools and now I look back, a lot of courage.

Electricity wasn’t connected until the house was built, so we lit ‘Tilly” lamps at night, we had a wood burning stove for cooking and heating water for a bath, which incidentally was a galvanised iron tub in the kitchen. We had an ice chest to keep food cold, the ice truck delivered blocks of ice weekly in winter, twice weekly in summer. The ice-man wore thick leather gloves and a thick leather shoulder pad. He hooked his pick into a block of ice, up onto his shoulder and with a curt g’day to mum, carried it into the house to deposit it into the chest. No time to talk, especially in summer.

At the back of the bungalow was the outhouse – the “dunny”. The ‘nightmen’ in their truck collected the full pan twice a week, replacing it with a clean pan reeking of the eye-watering strong disinfectant Phenyl. To this day, the smell of Phenyl reminds me of the dunny and country railway toilets.

It was a very bushy area, plenty of blue tongue lizards, a lot of native birds, especially bell birds, and thankfully we didn’t see any snakes. I clearly remember a swagman camped at the bottom of our block because there was a small creek and plenty of open land beyond. Mum made sure he was okay and didn’t need anything. He’d light his fire, cook his food and boil his billy, and a few days later he moved on.

The floor plan for our new house was laid out on the ground with wood stakes and string. Armed with shovels, my dad and my brother Don dug every stump hole by hand. In went the redgum wooden stumps. Then the flooring joists. My job was to help paint the weatherboards with pink primer, which I did until my hands ached. Up went the house, bit by bit, because dad and Don worked weekdays. Then the inspection by the municipal building inspector. Was the house built to satisfactory standards? Yes, it received a big tick. Time for the tradies – the plumber, the roof tiler and the electrician. And – at last – we were able to move in. My brother had his own bedroom. I had my own bedroom. Mum had an electric stove. And we had a real bathroom with an inside toilet! But we kept the ice chest, what money was left didn’t stretch to a refrigerator. We now see ice chests in museums but believe me, they are as almost as efficient as a fridge – minus the freezer.

Looking back, it was a perfect life for kids. Sure we walked the mile or more to school and back every day, in the rain or the summer heat, so did all the other kids. There were no luxuries but we had a lot of fun and the best games playing in the bush at the back of the block. I admit I had it easy compared to my brother who was nine years older than me, but that four inch paint brush and endless weatherboards was hard work!

I can still see that carpentry book, and the spirit level, dad used it while digging the stump holes and the floor joists. Heck, a book and a spirit level, dogged determination and hard work built a house…

Jan SelbourneJan Selbourne was born and educated in Melbourne, Australia and her love of literature and history began as soon as she learned to read and hold a pen. After graduating from a Melbourne Business College her career began in the dusty world of ledgers and accounting, working in Victoria, Queensland and the United Kingdom. On the point of retiring, she changed course to work as secretary of a large NSW historical society. Now retired Jan is enjoying her love of travelling and literature. She has two children, a stray live in cat and lives near Maitland, New South Wales.

Contact Jan:
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In memoriam, in commemoration: Anzac Day 2020

Anzac Day 2020 and Jan Selbourne

Who would have thought, when we welcomed in 2020, that March would see the world as we know it, in the grip of a pandemic? It has affected all of us and a lot of things we have taken for granted are now cancelled, closed or declared out of bounds.

For Australia and New Zealand, our most important day of the year is one of those. Anzac Day is a national day of remembrance in Australia and New Zealand that commemorates all Australians and New Zealanders who served and died in all wars, conflicts and peacekeeping operations.

Anzac Day 2020 and Jan SelbourneOn the 25th April 1915, the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps formed part of the allied expedition that set out to capture the Gallipoli peninsula—Turkey. These became known as Anzacs and the pride they took in that name continues to this day.

When war was declared in August 1914, Australia had a population of 4.9 million. New Zealand 1.1 million. We were a bit isolated down here in the Antipodes but that didn’t stop approximately 531,500 men and women (nurses) from putting up their hands to travel 10,000 miles to a war on the other side of the world. My grandfather was one of them, going first to Egypt for training and then on to the Western Front. The young man from the Aussie bush, who had never killed anything bigger than a snake or rabbit would never be the same again. However, he and his mates are not forgotten.

The first Anzac Day service was commemorated on 25th April,1916 in Anzac Day 2020 and Jan Selbourneboth Australia and England, where 2,000 Anzac troops marched through the streets of London. A memorial service was held at Westminster Abbey, attended by King George V and Queen Mary. Since then, on every 25th April except 1919 when the Spanish flu was rampant, services are held in every city and town in Australia and New Zealand, the Casey research station Antarctica, the very moving dawn service at Gallipoli in harmony with the Turkish people, Belgium and France and the UK. While checking my facts before writing this tribute I was surprised how many other countries acknowledge this day.

This year, Anzac Day services are cancelled due to the Corona virus. Instead, Australians and New Zealanders are asked to light candles and stand in our driveways or front doors at 6am for a dawn service with a difference.

And we did, in every town and city on both sides of the Tasman Sea.

Anzac Day 2020 and Jan Selbourne

Finally – the Ode of Remembrance
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

Holidays—oh, joy! (And I really mean that!) #MFRWauthor

Lower the stress at the holidaysI know many people bemoan the work that goes into hosting or visiting family at the holidays, but I am not one of them, except in one respect. First, about my family holidays.

I have a relatively small family. Jack and I have no kids, and neither does his brother. My mom and her twin sister have no other siblings, and my aunt had just two children while Mom had only me. My two cousins live in Texas and Ethiopia. Even when they both lived here in the States, we rarely saw each other, as my dad was in the Navy and my uncle was in the Air Force, neither stationed near the other throughout their careers. Jack’s parents are gone now, so our immediate family consists of my mom and aunt, and Jack’s brother and wife—six of us. Unfortunately, none of us lives close to the others.

Years ago, Jack’s brother and sister-in-law lived in Richmond, Virginia, and we lived fifty miles away, three doors down from his parents. In those days, we rotated holidays, Thanksgiving at one house, Christmas at another, each bringing dishes to relieve the pressure. At that time, my mom and aunt lived in Dallas, Texas. Every other year, Jack and I used our Christmas break from the school where we worked and Jack’s parents’ camper to make the trek to Dallas in order to spend the holidays with The Twins and my aunt’s children. I say all this to better explain my pros and cons of family holidays.

  • PRO: Being with family—when you act like family—is Holiday stresswonderful! I understand how that might not be so if there is too much selfishness and too little care evident. That is if folks don’t get together to share the joys of the season and instead make it obvious that the day is about them and not everyone else. Believe me, I have been at family events where there is too much drinking or arguments spring up or one person is expected to do all the work. No fun. Not like family. If this is your situation, you might have to work harder at enjoying the holiday, but it can still be done.
  • PRO: You know that being with family is wonderful the most, when you can no longer be with family. Our Aussie friend, Jan, almost never gets to share holidays with her newly-minted American daughter because Jeanette lives here in the States and Jan is in New South Wales, Australia. My mom and aunt, and brother- and sister-in-law are all too far away for us to see each other often, much less at the holidays. And Jack’s parents, two of the most wonderful people ever, have been dead for many years. I would give a lot for all of us to share a holiday together again!
  • PRO: Being with loved ones, especially at holiday time, gives us a chance to catch up with the news, with how Photoslarge the kids have grown, with how each of us is getting more frail in our own ways or stronger. It gives us a chance to laugh with one another and maybe to cry, while sharing the load of what makes us cry. It provides a chance for photos with sparkly backgrounds, that we can examine later and smile over.
  • CON: Travel is so often a mess. Nothing puts the strain on a holiday like canceled flights, bad weather, and Holiday weather and travelsnarled traffic. This is the number one reason why no one in our family gets together on holidays—it’s too darn much trouble.

I miss our family holidays horribly, and more so the older I get. I remember the rolls that were forgotten on the counter, the dishes for dinner that didn’t turn out as we’d hoped and the ones that were great successes. I remember opening gifts after a sweet roll and coffee, and sharing with everyone what we received. I remember sitting and chatting with Mom after the dishes were done, and the sounds of football coming from the other room. And I remember most the laughter and love we shared.

As we go into the holiday season, my your holidays be filled with love and laughter, too!

Read the next blog in the blog hop by going here.

Dee
Mystic Desire: A collection of supernatural tales sure to keep you up at night, peering into the shadows! Or just wide awake, reading.
Only a Good Man Will Do
Naval Maneuvers

Aussie Becomes Yank!

Jan and I host a newsletter we call Aussie to Yank, but in this case of welcoming a new American citizen, we adapted the title a bit. You’ll see why below.

Aussie flagA few years ago, my daughter Jeanette hit a couple of brick walls in her life and decided to take a break and travel to the USA. She wasn’t to know that meeting and falling in love with an American named Joe would be the beginning of a complete sea change for her. With that sea change came obstacles – a huge ocean separated Australia and America and her three months tourist visa demanded she return home. After a lot of soul searching, she decided to pick up sticks and stay in the U.S. with Joe.American flag

Leaving Australia for a new life in another country was a big, daunting step. Oftentimes she was very homesick. It wasn’t as though she could fly home for the weekend! Jeanette didn’t know anyone except Joe, but her fears (and most of her homesickness) were quickly dispelled when his family and friends welcomed her with open arms.

There was a lot of adjusting to do–

Coming from a country that has as many sheep as people she missed the mouth-watering roast leg of lamb with thick pan gravy. No hot meat pies with tomato sauce (ketchup), a must on cold days. No fish and chip shops with battered fish and chips cooked in hot oil, lashings of salt and wrapped in paper. Jeanette’s initial reaction to biscuits and gravy was ‘ugh’ until she learned American biscuits are similar to our scones. Eating out was confusing and remembering to tip even harder.

Learning to drive on the right-hand side of the road took time, remembering to open the left-hand door instead of the right took longer, however her driving test was surprisingly easy. In Jeanette’s words, “The guy had me drive around while he asked questions on koalas and kangaroos.”

Americans were very interested in our wildlife, especially the poisonous snakes and spiders. Breezily declaring she’d killed dozens of spiders with her thongs was met with an uncomfortable silence. (Oops! She didn’t know she meant flip flops.)

In Jeanette’s words again, “Everyone I’ve met has said they’ve always wanted to go to Australia, and they all think our spiders are BIG. I suppose they are but our shoes and thongs, I mean flip flops, are bigger.”

Because she lived in Queensland, (1.7 million sq. kilometres in size) it was assumed she knew Steve Irwin, ‘the crocodile hunter.’ After the fourth or fifth query, she maintained a very straight face while replying that yes, she’d gone to school with him. [LOL!!]

Jeanette was teased mercilessly over her accent and our habit of abbreviating words such as arvo for afternoon, Salvos – Salvation Army, brekky – breakfast, barbie – barbecue, snag – sausage, coldie – stubby of beer, garbo – garbage collector, and ambos for ambulance crews. Her love of Vegemite was met with looks of disgust and ‘how can you eat that stuff?’ Surprisingly, Joe loves it.

Settling into American life was made easier by the wonderful friendship and support from Joe’s family and friends, but Jeanette needed to get Jeanette's citizenshipserious about living there permanently. To obtain a conditional green card, she had to be married to Joe for one year, have a co-sponsor and not break the law. After that she could apply to have the conditions removed to become a permanent legal resident. And then, she faced another three years before she was eligible to apply for citizenship. Last year the process began, and in April 2019 she travelled to Detroit for the test on American history and government. She passed all the hurdles and finally, the citizenship ceremony was held on 20 June.

I’ve been asked a few times how I feel. I miss her horribly and though I’ve travelled to the U.S. for visits, the trip is not to be taken lightly. As far as I’mThe Aussie is in residence! concerned, Jeanette is Aussie born and bred and now America is her home. Becoming a citizen was absolutely the right thing to do. Each time I visit, her American family and friends make me very welcome. And, the nicest compliment of all, my son-in-law Joe hoists the Aussie flag up on the flagpole. I feel very much at home there.

Congratulations, Jeanette!! What a huge undertaking. I have a feeling you’re more knowledgeable about the U.S. than a lot of us born here. Welcome to being a U.S. citizen!

A Family Tree–convicts and all! Jan Selbourne

Anyone who has delved into their family history will know how fascinating and addictive it can be. Finding old letters, diaries, birth, marriage and death certificates can expose well-hidden secrets. Intrigued, we dig deeper to find more surprises waiting for us. Was our prim and proper great grandmother really a beer hall dancer on the goldfields? Why is great uncle Bert’s death certificate at odds with his marriage certificate – how many wives did the old boy have? My family research began with my daughter’s family tree school project.

My first surprise came when I applied for my dad’s birth certificate. I was informed there wasn’t one in that name. Convinced the register office had made a mistake, I was about to contact them when an old, vague reference to his father’s dying early came to mind. I probed a bit more and discovered dad had been registered under his mother’s maiden name (Ferguson) because he was illegitimate. In those days unmarried mothers were shamed and bullied into giving up their babies which was so cruel, considering the unmarried fathers were never shamed or rejected. Dad’s birth certificate is sheer fabrication because my grandmother, Elizabeth Ferguson, stated she was married. I don’t know how she got away with the falsehood, but she did. I am so proud of her courage and determination to keep her baby.

My curiosity aroused, I began researching my family history and I’d like to share a story of my Irish convict ancestor.

In the mid 1800’s, Eleanor Stanford, widow of Galway Ireland, was convicted of “receiving” ten sovereigns from a small child. (The closest I can find to receiving is “…property taken by theft or robbery…” Wikipedia.org Tasmania and AustraliaCreative Commons) For this act, the equivalent today of taking 10£, she was sentenced to fourteen years imprisonment in Van Diemen’s Land (now Tasmania Australia, the sort of triangular-shaped island off the southern coast of Australia). The 13,000 miles journey on the convict ship Hope took approximately three months.

Port Arthur Tasmania Historic Convict Site Tasmania, now seen as a beautiful island and a vacation destination, was not viewed with much hope when it was one of the harshest penal colonies in a land of penal colonies. There are stories of convicts choosing almost certain death by escaping into the bush because death was better than lifeTiger snake in the colony. If they weren’t recaptured, they died due to lack of skills and the deadly snakes or other wild animals in the bush. Still, taking a chance against the huge tiger snakes was seen as better than the horrible floggings they suffered otherwise. Eleanor fared better than some.

Once in Van Diemen’s Land, Eleanor was put to work in the home of a government official. According to one of my descendants living in Tasmania, after five years Eleanor was given her ticket of leave, a type of good behaviour bond. She immediately begged her master to apply for her children to join her. As the colony was actively seeking new settlers, her request was granted. A year later, three of her four children arrived in Van Diemen’s Land on the ship Jardine. (There is no record of what happened to her fourth child.) Embarking on that long voyage to the other side of the world must have been overwhelming and frightening.

Her children now with her, Eleanor didn’t let the grass grow under her feet. She married a ticket of leave convict, stating her age as 30 when in fact she was 39, and settled into colonial life. Here my searching hit a brick wall until I discovered her daughter Bridget’s marriage certificate. I don’t Bullock drivers, lifeblood of the Bushknow when Bridget left Van Diemen’s Land for the mainland or why she moved on to western New South Wales but there, aged 25, she married Richard, a bullock driver.

In those days, bullock teams were the lifeline of the bush. They carried the precious cargos of wool, wheat and sugar cane, and timber to shipping ports, and returned with essential supplies to the isolated country areas. Travelling at 6 to 8 miles a day, these bullock teams would be away for weeks on end, leaving the women to manage everything. Bridget’s five children, who called her Biddy or Blue Bonnet, were born at the mining town, Lake Cargelligo.

Life in the Australian bush wasn’t easy. No running water and push button mod cons. It was a two or maybe three-room slab hut with a dirt floor and water from the pump or creek, and watch out for the snakes. Wash day was lighting the fire under the copper tub, filling it with water and shreddingSlab house as seen on the Bush slivers of hand-made soap on top. After the clothes boiled for a few minutes they were pulled out with a copper stick and heaved into the rinse trough. Many a naughty child’s backside felt the whack of the copper stick.

Bridget was also a bush midwife, one of the wonderful women of the outback who helped deliver babies day and night, in good and bad weather. Like many colonial bush midwives Bridget had little training and a lot of practical hands on experience.

The Bush of today is not like when Bridget lived there, but it’s still very rural, with neighbours living miles apart. Today people in our vast interior still rely on the Royal Flying Doctor Service for medical services and the School of the Air for children’s education. For example, Anna Creek, the largest cattle station in the word, has an area of 23,677 square kilometres (9,142 sq. miles). Wilgena Sheep Station currently occupies an area of 4,742 square kilometres (1,831 sq. miles).

Bridget passed away at Narrandera on the Murrumbidgee River, aged 70 years. From a little girl joining her mother in a penal colony, to a young woman moving to mainland Australia, marrying a bullock driver and rearing five children in the Outback, to steam trains and motor cars and a new century, Bridget earned her place beside Richard on the New South Wales Pioneer Register.

Up to the middle of the last century one didn’t admit to having convicts in the family. We looked to our British roots for status. Our beginning as a penal colony was embarrassing and good fodder for snide comments and jokes. The English and our Kiwi cousins rubbed it in with relish. Then we got out of the cringe shadow and began to take pride in our heritage. Now, having a First Fleeter – a convict on the first fleet which landed in Sydney cove January 26th, 1788, – is a status symbol. An ancestor on the Second Fleet is a slightly less status symbol, but still, nothing to be ashamed of. My convict was just one of the thousands that followed.

I’m happy and proud to be the descendant of such strong women, and I’m teaching my own granddaughter about them! To Eleanor, Bridget and Elizabeth, three strong women, I salute you.

The Author:
Jan Selbourne

Jan Selbourne was born and educated in Melbourne, Australia and her love of literature and history began as soon as she learned to read and hold a pen. After graduating from a Melbourne Business College her career began in the dusty world of ledgers and accounting, working in Victoria, Queensland and the United Kingdom. On the point of retiring, she changed course to work as secretary of a large NSW historical society. Now retired Jan is enjoying her love of travelling and literature. She has two children, a stray live-in cat and lives near Maitland, New South Wales.

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For more information on:
Van Diemen’s Land, try this Wikipedia article.
Penal transportation
Australian history
Island of the Dead

A Duty to History

History was my favourite school subject and I guess its never left me. It’s fascinating to learn how each era played a part in shaping our world today. Historical novelsThanks to those scholars and writers with their quills and artists with brushes, we have priceless records of empires and monarchs, exploration of unknown continents, heroes and traitors and medical breakthroughs. The Magna Carta is an excellent example of history with us today.

That puts a big responsibility on authors writing in the historical genre. If we are writing a biography, we must research the facts or be shot out of the water by a history buff. If we write historical fiction, we must research that era to provide an accurate as possible background. We can’t put our characters into the Tudor era, for instance, without portraying that period warts and all. It was colourful, turbulent and brutal.

The Regency period is popular with authors and readers because it was a renaissance of fashion, architecture, literature and music. Beneath the glossRegency couple was poverty, a rigid class system, bigotry and ruthless punishments for petty crimes. An Irish ancestor of mine was transported in chains to Van Diemen’s Land penal colony (now Tasmania, Australia). The thirteen-thousand-mile journey, with appalling food and conditions, took over three months. Her crime was stealing fifteen shillings. Granted, it was a lot of money then and the penalty of fifteen years transportation was better than a public hanging.

Perilous LoveWhile writing Perilous Love, I visited the war memorials in Belgium and France. The devastation and brutality inflicted on those countries during World War One is faithfully preserved, and visiting the area helped me portray that terrible time in my book. I walked among the thousands of immaculately kept war graves, with so many bearing the sad inscription, “Known Only to God.” One was particularly poignant. An unknown Australian lay in an unmarked grave for 75 years before he was Australian soldier's slouch hatbrought home to rest in the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier at the Australian War Memorial.

That made me wonder if it was possible for a soldier to take the identity discs of a fallen comrade who was virtually unrecognisable. In those days, war service records were hand written with basic details of name, marital status, religion, height, colour, weight. I was sure such a thing (exchanging identities) did happen, but I had to do my research. I contacted London’s Imperial War Museum and the World War One memorial plaqueAustralian War Memorial with that query. Both very kindly replied that yes it was possible, although the chances of being caught were high and the penalty very harsh. Neither would admit it did happen but it was good enough for me to begin writing my third book, The Proposition where one man enlists to avoid prison and another enlists to avoid the money lenders.

Thus, on the bloodied battlefields of France, Harry Connelly collapses beside the corpse of Andrew Conroy. It was a risk. A hanging offence, The Propositionactually. But it was also Harry’s only hope for a future. Harry swaps identity discs—and falls into more than he ever bargained for! Shortly after his return to London, a letter arrives with a proposition which plunges him into a nightmare of murder, jealousy and greed. To survive he must live this lie without a mistake.

Could I have written both Perilous Love and The Proposition without benefit of visiting the battlefields and museums of World War One, or without writing official organizations? Sure. But the realism which I add to my books would be missing. An historical author owes her readers accuracy and realism, and I do my best to provide both!

Thanks for reading!
Jan

Jan Selbourne was born and educated in Melbourne, Australia and her love of literature and history began as soon as she learned to read and hold a pen. After graduating from a Melbourne Business College her career began in the dusty world of ledgers and accounting, working in Victoria, Queensland and the United Kingdom. On the point of retiring, she changed course to work as secretary of a large NSW historical society. Now retired Jan is enjoying her love of travelling and literature. She has two children, a stray live in cat and lives near Maitland, New South Wales

Contact Jan:
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Julie Watson: Born for Life and Realizing your Dream

Born for Life
As a child, I dreamt a lot about what I would do with my life. I had a vivid imagination, so my dreams were pretty out there. I really wanted to join the circus, but that dream ended when I crashed through my bedroom wall while practicing somersaults, creating a big hole. My father was not impressed.

My dream to become a nurse – and subsequently a midwife – started when my grandmother gave me a little Ladybird book about the life of Florence Nightingale.

When my adult life started, it seemed unlikely that my dream would be realized. After I got married as a teenager, I had to navigate through the death of my second baby at birth and unrelenting depression. But I knew I had to triumph.

Life is so unknown when we set out as adults. We make many decisions that can steer our life in so many different directions. Shaking off negativity and embracing the positive is hard, as so many challenges confront us. And being a loving, kind and caring person who can forgive others takes a lot of strength. It can be easier to be bitter, angry and resentful. To live a life where we are truly happy takes patience, courage and tenacity.

It took faith and sheer determination, but in the end my dream has come to pass – and it is so much more than I could have hoped for. With the support of my husband and family, I trained as a nurse and then as a midwife, completing my studies at the age of 41. I have been privileged to work as a midwife in New Zealand and other countries around the world. My work has allowed us to travel extensively, which was also a childhood dream.

I want to encourage others to never give up on their dreams and goals. It might take years to become reality, but every decision, every thought and every action can take you closer to what you want to achieve.

I wrote my memoir, Born for Life: A Midwife’s Story, because I needed to tell my story. Firstly, for cathartic reasons – but also to encourage others to never give up on their dreams.

I continue to work as a midwife, mainly in rural Australia, and I continue to write. I never dreamt that I would become an author, but telling my story has opened up a whole new world to me. I have been lucky to meet many fellow authors through RRBC, who have been really supportive. So many, like me, have encouraging stories to tell.

And writing a book has taught me something really important: it’s never too late to discover a new dream!

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Author Bio
Julie WatsonJulie grew up in a small, rural town in New Zealand. After leaving school, she worked at the local maternity annexe as a nurse aide, which gave her a love for caring for mothers and babies. Life could not have been happier, until the death of her second baby at birth led to depression, loneliness and despair.

Julie’s first book Born for Life: A Midwife’s Story follows her journey to overcome the challenges she faced to become the midwife that she was born to be.
She always had a dream to travel and work in a developing country. She had the opportunity to work as a midwife in many countries – including Zambia, Africa where she worked at Kalene Mission Hospital.

Julie’s second book Born for Life: Midwife in Africa describes her experiences living and working in Africa. She shares her incredible journey to make a difference in the lives of African women and their babies.

Julie lives in Palmerston North, New Zealand with her husband, Barry. She has recently retired and enjoys writing, travelling, volunteer work and spending time with her friends and family.
Follow Julie online!
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Born for Life: A Midwife’s Story
From a young age Julie pondered what she would do with her life. A job as a nurse aide in the local Maternity Annexe at the age of sixteen gave her a love for being with women during labour and birth and caring for mothers and their babies.

Life could not have been happier, married to the man she loved and the birth of a son. The tragic and unexpected death of her second baby in her first hour of life led to depression, loneliness and despair.

Born for Life: A Midwife’s Story tells of Julie’s struggle to overcome tragedy and who triumphs to become the midwife that she was born to be.

The many birth stories are told from an era in the 1970s through the eyes of a young nurse aide to modern day midwifery in New Zealand as an independent midwife with her own caseload.

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