“Echoes From The Past”, the past doesn’t necessarily stay there


What happens when your past finally catches up with you?

Christmas is just around the corner, a time to be with family. For Will Mason, an orphan since he was fourteen, it is a time for reflection on what his life could have been, and what it could be.

Until a chance encounter brings back to life the reasons for his twenty years of self-imposed exile from a life only normal people could have. From that moment Will’s life slowly starts to unravel and it’s obvious to him it’s time to move on.

This time, however, there is more at stake.

Will has broken his number one rule, don’t get involved.

With his nemesis, Eddie Jamieson, suddenly within reach, and a blossoming relationship with an office colleague, Maria, about to change everything, Will has to make a choice. Quietly leave, or finally, make a stand.

But as Will soon discovers, when other people are involved there is going to be terrible consequences no matter what choice he makes.

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Top 5 sights on the road less travelled – Edinburgh

Beyond the Castle: Unearthing Edinburgh’s Hidden Gems (The Road Less Travelled)

Edinburgh. The name alone conjures images of its majestic castle, the Royal Mile’s bustling crowds, and Arthur’s Seat’s iconic silhouette. And while these are undoubtedly must-sees for any visitor, what if you’re craving a taste of the city that goes deeper, a little off the well-trodden tourist path? If you’ve already ticked off the big hitters or simply fancy an Edinburgh experience that feels more personal and unique, then buckle up. We’re venturing down the road less travelled to uncover five fantastic, alternative experiences in this captivating Scottish capital.

1. Dive into the Artistic Depths of the Dean Village

Forget the galleries packed shoulder-to-shoulder. For a truly enchanting artistic escape, head to Dean Village. This picturesque oasis, nestled on the Water of Leith, feels like stepping back in time. Once a thriving milling community, it’s now a bohemian enclave dotted with stunning Victorian architecture, charming bridges, and lush greenery.

Why it’s off the beaten path: While it’s a beautiful spot for a stroll, many visitors overlook it in favour of more central attractions.

What to do: Wander along the river, admire the intricate buildings of Well Court and the former mills, and soak in the tranquil atmosphere. Keep an eye out for resident artists working in their studios (some even have open days!). It’s a photographer’s paradise and a balm for the soul.

2. Uncover Literary Secrets at the Writer’s Museum

Edinburgh is a UNESCO City of Literature, and while the National Library is impressive, the Writers’ Museum offers a more intimate and characterful glimpse into the lives of Scotland’s literary giants. Housed in a beautiful 17th-century tenement building off the Royal Mile, this museum is dedicated to the lives and works of Robert Burns, Sir Walter Scott, and Robert Louis Stevenson.

Why it’s off the beaten path: It’s tucked away on a side street, and its smaller scale means it’s often bypassed by those seeking grander institutions.

What to do: Explore the rooms filled with personal belongings, manuscripts, portraits, and furniture belonging to these iconic writers. You can almost feel their creative energy lingering in the air. It’s a deeply personal and inspiring experience for any book lover.

3. Explore the Fascinating Underbelly of the Real Mary King’s Close (Beyond the Main Entrance)

Okay, so “Real Mary King’s Close” is a popular attraction, but hear us out. Instead of booking a standard tour, seek out some of the specialist tours or historical reenactments that occasionally run. These often delve deeper into specific aspects of the Close’s history, focusing on social history, specific residents, or even ghost stories with more dramatic flair.

Why it’s off the beaten path: While the main tours are well-marketed, these niche offerings cater to a more dedicated historical interest and have limited availability.

What to do: Look for advertised events or inquire at local historical societies. These tours can offer a more immersive and less crowded experience, allowing you to truly connect with the stories of those who lived and died beneath the city.

4. Take a Tranquil Escape to the Hermitage of Braid Nature Reserve

Need a break from the urban buzz? The Hermitage of Braid Nature Reserve offers a surprisingly wild and peaceful escape within the city limits. This beautiful wooded glen, also along the Water of Leith, is a haven for wildlife and a perfect spot for a contemplative walk.

Why it’s off the beaten path: It’s further south from the city centre and less advertised than the more accessible parks.

What to do: Follow the winding paths through ancient woodlands, discover charming waterfalls, and enjoy the abundant birdlife. There’s a small, historic Hermitage building and a lovely walled garden to explore. It’s the ideal place to recharge your batteries and reconnect with nature.

5. Indulge Your Sweet Tooth (or Savoury Cravings) at the Stockbridge Market

While Edinburgh has plenty of great restaurants, for a truly local and vibrant food experience, head to the Stockbridge Market. Held every Sunday in the charming Stockbridge neighbourhood, this bustling market is a food lover’s paradise, showcasing a diverse array of local producers, artisanal bakers, and talented street food vendors.

Why it’s off the beaten path: It’s a local’s favourite and attracts a more discerning crowd than the typical tourist markets.

What to do: Sample delicious Scottish produce, from artisan cheeses and freshly baked bread to gourmet baked goods and international street food. Grab a coffee, enjoy the lively atmosphere, and perhaps pick up some unique souvenirs. It’s a fantastic way to experience the city’s culinary heart and support local businesses.

So, the next time you find yourself in Edinburgh, dare to stray from the familiar. These five hidden gems offer a different perspective, a chance to discover the soul of the city beyond the postcards. Happy exploring!

What are your favourite “off the beaten path” spots in Edinburgh? Share them in the comments below!

An excerpt from “What Sets Us Apart”, a mystery with a twist

See the excerpt from the story below, just a taste of what’s in store…

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McCallister was old school, a man who would most likely fit in perfectly campaigning on the battlefields of Europe during the Second World War. He’d been like a fish out of water in the army, post-Falklands, and while he retired a hero, he still felt he’d more to give.

He’d applied and was accepted as head of a SWAT team, and, watching him now as he and his men disembarked from the truck in almost military precision, a look passed between Annette, the police liaison officer, and I that said she’d seen it all before. I know I had.

There was a one in four chance his team would be selected for this operation, and she had been hoping it would be one of the other three. While waiting for them to arrive she filled me in on the various teams. His was the least co-operative, and the more likely to make ad-hoc decisions rather than adhere to the plan, or any orders that may come from the officer in charge.

This, she said quite bluntly, was going to end badly.

I still had no idea why Prendergast instructed me to attend the scene of what looked to be a normal domestic operation, but as the nominated expert in the field in these types of situations, it was fairly clear he wasn’t taking any chances. It was always a matter of opinion between us, and generally I lost.

In this case, it was an anonymous report identifying what the authorities believed were explosives in one of the dockside sheds where explosives were not supposed to be.

The only reason why the report was given any credence was the man, while not identifying himself by name, said he’d been an explosive expert once and recognized the boxes. That could mean anything, but the Chief Constable was a cautious man.

With his men settled and preparing their weapons, McCallister came over to the command post, not much more than the SUV my liaison and I arrived in, with weapons, bulletproof vests, and rolls of tape to cordon off the area afterward. We both had coffee, steaming in the cold early morning air. Dawn was slowly approaching and although rain had been forecast it had yet to arrive.

A man by the name of Benson was in charge. He too had groaned when he saw McCallister.

“A fine morning for it.” McCallister was the only enthusiastic one here.

He didn’t say what ‘it’ was, but I thought it might eventually be mayhem.

“Let’s hope the rain stays away. It’s going to be difficult enough without it,” Benson said, rubbing his hands together. We had been waiting for the SWAT team to arrive, and another team to take up their position under the wharf, and who was in the final stages of securing their position.

While we were waiting we drew up the plan. I’d go in first to check on what we were dealing with, and what type of explosives. The SWAT team, in the meantime, were to ensure all the exits to the shed were covered. When I gave the signal, they were to enter and secure the building. We were not expecting anyone inside or out, and no movement had been detected in the last hour since our arrival and deployment.

“What’s the current situation?”

“I’ve got eyes on the building, and a team coming in from the waterside, underneath. Its slow progress, but they’re nearly there. Once they’re in place, we’re sending McKenzie in.”

He looked in my direction.

“With due respect sir, shouldn’t it be one of us?” McCallister glared at me with the contempt that only a decorated military officer could.

“No. I have orders from above, much higher than I care to argue with, so, McCallister, no gung-ho heroics for the moment. Just be ready to move on my command, and make sure you have three teams at the exit points, ready to secure the building.”

McCallister opened his mouth, no doubt to question those orders, but instead closed it again. “Yes sir,” he muttered and turned away heading back to his men.

“You’re not going to have much time before he storms the battlements,” Benson quietly said to me, a hint of exasperation in his tone. “I’m dreading the paperwork.”

It was exactly what my liaison officer said when she saw McCallister arriving.

The water team sent their ‘in position’ signal, and we were ready to go.

In the hour or so we’d been on site nothing had stirred, no arrivals, no departures, and no sign anyone was inside, but that didn’t mean we were alone. Nor did it mean I was going to walk in and see immediately what was going on. If it was a cache of explosives then it was possible the building was booby-trapped in any number of ways, there could be sentries or guards, and they had eyes on us, or it might be a false alarm.

I was hoping for the latter.

I put on the bulletproof vest, thinking it was a poor substitute for full battle armor against an exploding bomb, but we were still treating this as a ‘suspected’ case. I noticed my liaison officer was pulling on her bulletproof vest too.

“You don’t have to go. This is my party, not yours,” I said.

“The Chief Constable told me to stick to you like glue, sir.”

I looked at Benson. “Talk some sense into her please, this is not a kindergarten outing.”

He shrugged. Seeing McCallister had taken all the fight out of him. “Orders are orders. If that’s what the Chief Constable requested …”

Madness. I glared at her, and she gave me a wan smile. “Stay behind me then, and don’t do anything stupid.”

“Believe me, I won’t be.” She pulled out and checked her weapon, chambering the first round. It made a reassuring sound.

Suited up, weapons readied, a last sip of the coffee in a stomach that was already churning from nerves and tension, I looked at the target, one hundred yards distant and thought it was going to be the longest hundred yards I’d ever traversed. At least for this week.

A swirling mist rolled in and caused a slight change in plans.

Because the front of the buildings was constantly illuminated by large overhead arc lamps, my intention had been to approach the building from the rear where there was less light and more cover. Despite the lack of movement, if there were explosives in that building, there’d be ‘enemy’ surveillance somewhere, and, after making that assumption, I believed it was going to be easier and less noticeable to use the darkness as a cover.

It was a result of the consultation, and studying the plans of the warehouse, plans that showed three entrances, the main front hangar type doors, a side entrance for truck entry and exit and a small door in the rear, at the end of an internal passage leading to several offices. I also assumed it was the exit used when smokers needed a break. Our entry would be by the rear door or failing that, the side entrance where a door was built into the larger sliding doors. In both cases, the locks would not present a problem.

The change in the weather made the approach shorter, and given the density of the mist now turning into a fog, we were able to approach by the front, hugging the walls, and moving quickly while there was cover. I could feel the dampness of the mist and shivered more than once.

It was nerves more than the cold.

I could also feel rather than see the presence of Annette behind me, and once felt her breath on my neck when we stopped for a quick reconnaissance.

It was the same for McCallister’s men. I could feel them following us, quickly and quietly, and expected, if I turned around, to see him breathing down my neck too.

It added to the tension.

My plan was still to enter by the back door.

We slipped up the alley between the two sheds to the rear corner and stopped. I heard a noise coming from the rear of the building, and the light tap on the shoulder told me Annette had heard it too. I put my hand up to signal her to wait, and as a swirl of mist rolled in, I slipped around the corner heading towards where I’d last seen the glow of a cigarette.

The mist cleared, and we saw each other at the same time. He was a bearded man in battle fatigues, not the average dockside security guard.

He was quick, but my slight element of surprise was his undoing, and he was down and unconscious in less than a few seconds with barely a sound beyond the body hitting the ground. Zip ties secured his hands and legs, and tape his mouth. Annette joined me a minute after securing him.

A glance at the body then me, “I can see why they, whoever they are, sent you.”

She’d asked who I worked for, and I didn’t answer. It was best she didn’t know.

“Stay behind me,” I said, more urgency in my tone. If there was one, there’d be another.

Luck was with us so far. A man outside smoking meant no booby traps on the back door, and quite possibly there’d be none inside. But it indicated there were more men inside, and if so, it appeared they were very well trained. If that were the case, they would be formidable opponents.

The fear factor increased exponentially.

I slowly opened the door and looked in. A pale light shone from within the warehouse itself, one that was not bright enough to be detected from outside. None of the offices had lights on, so it was possible they were vacant. I realized then they had blacked out the windows. Why hadn’t someone checked this?

Once inside, the door closed behind us, progress was slow and careful. She remained directly behind me, gun ready to shoot anything that moved. I had a momentary thought for McCallister and his men, securing the perimeter.

At the end of the corridor, the extent of the warehouse stretched before us. The pale lighting made it seem like a vast empty cavern, except for a long trestle table along one side, and, behind it, stacks of wooden crates, some opened. It looked like a production line.

To get to the table from where we were was a ten-yard walk in the open. There was no cover. If we stuck to the walls, there was equally no cover and a longer walk.

We needed a distraction.

As if on cue, the two main entrances disintegrated into flying shrapnel accompanied by a deafening explosion that momentarily disoriented both Annette and I. Through the smoke and dust kicked up I saw three men appear from behind the wooden crates, each with what looked like machine guns, spraying bullets in the direction of the incoming SWAT members.

They never had a chance, cut down before they made ten steps into the building.

By the time I’d recovered, my head heavy, eyes watering and ears still ringing, I took several steps towards them, managing to take down two of the gunmen but not the third.

I heard a voice, Annette’s I think, yell out, “Oh, God, he’s got a trigger,” just before another explosion, though all I remember in that split second was a bright flash, the intense heat, something very heavy smashing into my chest knocking the wind out of me, and then the sensation of flying, just before I hit the wall.

I spent four weeks in an induced coma, three months being stitched back together and another six learning to do all those basic actions everyone took for granted. It was twelve months almost to the day when I was released from the hospital, physically, except for a few alterations required after being hit by shrapnel, looking the same as I always had.

But mentally? The document I’d signed on release said it all, ‘not fit for active duty; discharged’.

It was in the name of David Cheney. For all intents and purposes, Alistair McKenzie was killed in that warehouse, and for the first time ever, an agent left the Department, the first to retire alive.

I was not sure I liked the idea of making history.

© Charles Heath 2016-2020

Writing a book in 365 days – 321

Day 321

What will happen to the hero?

The Novelist’s Secret: We’re Just As Curious As You Are

We all know the feeling. It’s midnight, the house is dark, and you are gripping the latest thriller, utterly unable to put it down. Your heart pounds, palms sweat, and the only certainty in the universe is the desperate need to know: Will the hero survive?

This is the glorious, undeniable suspense of the reader. We assume this thrill is exclusive to us—the consumers of the story.

But what if I told you that, sitting across the desk, hunched over a lukewarm cup of coffee and a blinking cursor, the person crafting the plot is often experiencing the very same, stomach-dropping curiosity?

The prevailing image of the novelist is that of an omniscient deity, a master architect meticulously placing every brick, knowing how the structure must inevitably fall. While some writers certainly embody this role—the celebrated “plotters”—the deepest, most resonant stories often emerge when the creator surrenders control and becomes, quite simply, the hero’s most dedicated and most anxious first reader.

The suspense of a novel is not only in the reader but also in the novelist, who is equally curious about what will happen to the hero. This is the great secret of discovery writing: The story is not written; it is uncovered.

The Myth of the Master Plan

For those who write by “discovery” (often affectionately termed “pantsers,” because they write by the seat of their pants), the process is less like following a blueprint and more like exploring a vast, uncharted cave. You have a flashlight (your protagonist’s core motivation) and a general direction, but you have no idea if the path ahead leads to a treasure chamber or a sudden, terrifying drop.

When a writer starts a story this way, the suspense is inherent in every word. Every time the protagonist is confronted with a choice, the author holds their breath, asking:

Will he take the risk, or play it safe?
Will she finally tell the truth, even though it ruins everything?
Is this conflict a dead end, or a pivot point?
This is not simple intellectual curiosity; it is a genuine, existential stake in the outcome. The novelist is betting their time, their craft, and the integrity of the entire manuscript on the hero making an organic, believable next move—a move the novelist themselves must wait to witness.

When Characters Take the Wheel

The moment a character truly comes alive is the moment they cease being a puppet for the writer’s agenda and become an autonomous force.

This is the thrilling, terrifying point of no return for the author. The character stops doing what the outline demands and starts doing what they would logically do, given their history, flaws, and desires.

Many authors describe this sensation. Characters rebel. They refuse to fall in love with the intended partner. They walked out of the room when they were supposed to deliver a crucial monologue. They exhibit an inconvenient, but utterly truthful, streak of self-sabotage that the author never planned.

When this happens, the novelist’s job shifts from creator to witness. We are no longer designing the journey; we are scrambling to keep up, racing down the page just to see how our heroes will resolve the mess they’ve just made.

This is the purest form of writerly suspense. We are tied to the narrative not just by obligation, but by a sudden, intense fear for our creation. Will this impulsive decision ruin the story? Or will it, astonishingly, unlock the one perfect plot twist we never saw coming?

The Unique Burden of the Author’s Suspense

The reader’s suspense is passive; it is the anticipation of consumption. The author’s suspense, however, is active; it is the anxiety of creation and execution.

An author’s curiosity isn’t just about what happens, but about how they are going to manage to write it convincingly.

If the hero is trapped in a burning building, the reader wonders: How will he get out?

The novelist wonders: How will he get out, and can I write that scene with enough detail, tension, and structural integrity that the whole book doesn’t collapse at this crucial moment?

The novelist’s curiosity is perpetually interwoven with the demands of craft. We are curious about the outcome, but we are also desperately curious about our own ability to deliver that outcome flawlessly. We are thrilled by the uncertainty, but burdened by the knowledge that we are responsible for making that uncertainty pay off.

The Beautiful Surrender

To create genuine suspense for the reader, the writer must first allow themselves to feel it. The greatest narratives are not those where the author is in total control, but those where the author has surrendered enough control to be genuinely surprised.

If the author already knows every character beat, every twist, and every final line, the writing process can become mechanical and stale—and that flatness will invariably translate to the finished page.

The writer who is slightly nervous, slightly unsure, and deeply invested in the fate of their protagonist is the writer who is pouring genuine, fresh energy into the text.

So the next time you are lost in a book, turning pages in a fever pitch of excitement, remember the person who wrote it. They may have been turning those internal pages just as quickly, hoping, fearing, and discovering the story right alongside you.

This shared curiosity—this simultaneous suspense binding creator and consumer—is perhaps the purest magic of the human-authored novel. It is the moment we realise that writing is not the act of manufacturing an inevitability, but the wondrous challenge of documenting a life that insists on being lived.

PI Walthenson’s second case – A case of finding the ‘Flying Dutchman’.

Known only to a few, there is a legend that a ship named the ‘Flying Dutchman’ left Nazi Germany in the last weeks of the war and set sail for America, escorted by U-boats, under a different name. Aboard was a trove of treasure and gold worth a ‘king’s ransom’.

It was said that it had been sent to a group of American Nazis to create the Fourth Reich at an appropriate time. Over the years since many expeditions off the coast had searched, but found no trace of the vessel or the treasure.

In other words, it was just a legend created to boost tourism.

Fast forward to 2024. Our intrepid private detective, Harry Walthenson, overhears a conversation at Grand Central Station. It was the oddness of the message that caught his attention. An investigation turned up nothing out of the ordinary, and he thinks no more about it.

Then Harry is kidnapped, interrogated, and asked questions over and over about a date and a place, why he went there, and when he could not give satisfactory answers, he was beaten half to death and left for dead on a rubbish heap. He was lucky that it was a living space for homeless men; otherwise, he would have died.

In the aftermath, he once again gives it no more thought.

After resolving his first case successfully, there’s no rest. Harry’s angry mother comes to his office and demands that he find out where his father has gone. She believes he has run off with a mistress, not for the first time.

Perhaps it was not the wisest decision she has made, because Harry promises to investigate, and adds that she might not like what he finds.

He soon discovered he does not like what he finds, that his father’s friends, a cabal formed at University, have two who are his mother’s current lovers, and another, a criminal blackmailing his father.

Felicity, now his partner, working on a different case, and trying to get answers, uncovers a crime family involved in guarding a disused warehouse on the docks, where she believes Harry had been taken for interrogation, and subsequently dumped nearby to die.

Why are they up to? What is so important that the empty warehouse needs guarding? Who is employing them?

Harry, following up on the death of the blackmailer, traces his death back to an enforcer employed by his grandfather. His mother’s grandfather was a pre-war industrialist who made his fortune in war munitions and shipbuilding.

He was also a member of the American Nazi party.

When Harry also discovers a logbook belonging to a so-called wartime Liberty ship the “Paul Revere” in brackets ‘Freiheitskämpfer’, hidden by his father, and written in a code that is not readily identifiable.

It is no longer a matter of a father who has run off with his mistress; it is a very frightened man in fear of his life, running from a group who will stop at nothing to get the logbook back. And when Harry discovers a family connection to the group, it becomes a race against time to decode the log and find his father before his grandfather does.

Coming soon: Harry Walthenson’s new adventure – A case of finding the ‘Flying Dutchman’

In a word: Lot

I’ve got a lot of time on my hands…

Or not.  It’s just an expression, where a lot means plenty.  Only the rich and idle seem to have a lot of time on their hands, and a lot of money, sometimes more than they know what to do with.

It spawns another saying, the devil finds work for idle hands.

This is distinct from the other form of a lot; a piece of land that can be used to build a house, an office building or warehouse, or just land to graze cattle or sheet.

For those with a lot of money, they can buy two lots or four lots.

Lot can also mean everything, i.e. he bought the lot.

Now it’s getting confusing, as only the English language can.

How about, there’s a lot of love in the room.   Well, it’s certainly not at a political debate that’s for sure!

Then, still having more money than sense I went to an auction and bid for two lots.  Unfortunately, there was someone else who had more money than I did.

My mother had a lot of quaint expressions; once we were sitting opposite a man of dubious character and she said, he’s a bad lot.

Back in the old days, and sometimes these, the word lot was used instead of lottery when names were put in a hat and one drawn as the winner.  Today its a little more sophisticated, balls are put in a cage.

And I was never happy with my lot in life.  Not till I got older, anyway.

Inspiration, Maybe – Volume 2

50 photographs, 50 stories, of which there is one of the 50 below.

They all start with –

A picture paints … well, as many words as you like.  For instance:

And, the story:

Have you ever watched your hopes and dreams simply just fly away?

Everything I thought I wanted and needed had just left in an aeroplane, and although I said I was not going to, i came to the airport to see the plane leave.  Not the person on it, that would have been far too difficult and emotional, but perhaps it was symbolic, the end of one life and the start of another.

But no matter what I thought or felt, we had both come to the right decision.  She needed the opportunity to spread her wings.  It was probably not the best idea for her to apply for the job without telling me, but I understood her reasons.

She was in a rut.  Though her job was a very good one, it was not as demanding as she had expected, particularly after the last promotion, but with it came resentment from others on her level, that she, the youngest of the group would get the position.

It was something that had been weighing down of her for the last three months, and if noticed it, the late nights, the moodiness, sometimes a flash of temper.  I knew she had one, no one could have such red hair and not, but she had always kept it in check.

And, then there was us, together, and after seven years, it felt like we were going nowhere.  Perhaps that was down to my lack of ambition, and though she never said it, lack of sophistication.  It hadn’t been an issue, well, not until her last promotion, and the fact she had to entertain more, and frankly I felt like an embarrassment to her.

So, there it was, three days ago, the beginning of the weekend, and we had planned to go away for a few days and take stock.  We both acknowledged we needed to talk, but it never seemed the right time.

It was then she said she had quit her job and found a new one.  Starting the following Monday.

Ok, that took me by surprise, not so much that it something I sort of guessed might happen, but that she would just blurt it out.

I think that right then, at that moment, I could feel her frustration with everything around her.

What surprised her was my reaction.  None.

I simply asked where who, and when.

A world-class newspaper, in New York, and she had to be there in a week.

A week.

It was all the time I had left with her.

I remember I just shrugged and asked if the planned weekend away was off.

She stood on the other side of the kitchen counter, hands around a cup of coffee she had just poured, and that one thing I remembered was the lone tear that ran down her cheek.

Is that all you want to know?

I did, yes, but we had lost that intimacy we used to have when she would have told me what was happening, and we would have brainstormed solutions. I might be a cabinet maker but I still had a brain, was what I overheard her tell a friend once.

There’s not much to ask, I said.  You’ve been desperately unhappy and haven’t been able to hide it all that well, you have been under a lot of pressure trying to deal with a group of troglodytes, and you’ve been leaning on Bentley’s shoulder instead of mine, and I get it, he’s got more experience in that place,  and the politics that go with it, and is still an ally.

Her immediate superior and instrumental in her getting the position, but unlike some men in his position he had not taken advantage of a situation like some men would.  And even if she had made a move, which I doubted, that was not the sort of woman she was, he would have politely declined.

One of the very few happily married men in that organisation, so I heard.

So, she said, you’re not just a pretty face.

Par for the course for a cabinet maker whose university degree is in psychology.  It doesn’t take rocket science to see what was happening to you.  I just didn’t think it was my place to jump in unless you asked me, and when you didn’t, well, that told me everything I needed to know.

Yes, our relationship had a use by date, and it was in the next few days.

I was thinking, she said, that you might come with me,  you can make cabinets anywhere.

I could, but I think the real problem wasn’t just the job.  It was everything around her and going with her, that would just be a constant reminder of what had been holding her back. I didn’t want that for her and said so.

Then the only question left was, what do we do now?

Go shopping for suitcases.  Bags to pack, and places to go.

Getting on the roller coaster is easy.  On the beginning, it’s a slow easy ride, followed by the slow climb to the top.  It’s much like some relationships, they start out easy, they require a little work to get to the next level, follows by the adrenaline rush when it all comes together.

What most people forget is that what comes down must go back up, and life is pretty much a roller coaster with highs and lows.

Our roller coaster had just come or of the final turn and we were braking so that it stops at the station.

There was no question of going with her to New York.  Yes, I promised I’d come over and visit her, but that was a promise with crossed fingers behind my back.  After a few months in t the new job the last thing shed want was a reminder of what she left behind.  New friends new life.

We packed her bags, three out everything she didn’t want, a free trips to the op shop with stiff she knew others would like to have, and basically, by the time she was ready to go, there was nothing left of her in the apartment, or anywhere.

Her friends would be seeing her off at the airport, and that’s when I told her I was not coming, that moment the taxi arrived to take her away forever.  I remember standing there, watching the taxi go.  It was going to be, and was, as hard as it was to watch the plane leave.

So, there I was, finally staring at the blank sky, around me a dozen other plane spotters, a rather motley crew of plane enthusiasts.

Already that morning there’s been 6 different types of plane depart, and I could hear another winding up its engines for take-off.

People coming, people going.

Maybe I would go to New York in a couple of months, not to see her, but just see what the attraction was.  Or maybe I would drop in, just to see how she was.

As one of my friends told me when I gave him the news, the future is never written in stone, and it’s about time you broadened your horizons.

Perhaps it was.


© Charles Heath 2020-2021

Coming soon.  Find the above story and 49 others like it in:

Third son of a Duke – The research behind the story – 3

All stories require some form of research, quite often to place a character in a place at a particular time, especially if it is in a historical context. This series will take you through what it was like in 1914 through 1916.

The Unravelling Threads: Class, Gender, and the Dawn of a New Social Order in Edwardian England (Pre-1913 to Women’s Suffrage)

Abstract

This paper examines the profound social transformations occurring in England leading up to 1913 and culminating in women’s suffrage. It argues that the rigid, tripartite class structure (First, Second, Third) was in an advanced state of disintegration, driven by increased education, improved economic prospects for many, and a challenge to traditional hierarchies. Concurrently, women, empowered by growing educational and employment opportunities and frustrated by their subordinate legal and political status, increasingly rejected the confines of the domestic sphere. This paper charts the interconnected shifts: the erosion of aristocratic power, the rise of the educated and organised working man, and the burgeoning feminist consciousness that relentlessly pushed for political inclusion, ultimately securing the vote as a symbol of a fundamentally altered social landscape.

Introduction

By the autumn of 1913, England, seemingly secure in its imperial grandeur, was in fact undergoing a profound and irreversible social metamorphosis. The Victorian certainties of a hierarchical, class-driven society were fraying under the weight of economic change, educational advancement, and an increasingly vocal demand for social and political justice. The notion of a strictly defined “first, second, and third class” was disintegrating, giving way to a more fluid, complex, and contested social order. Concomitantly, the traditional role of women, once confined almost exclusively to the domestic realm, was being vigorously challenged. Education, employment, and a growing consciousness of their disenfranchisement spurred women to demand more than just children, hearth, and husband. This paper will explore these parallel and often intersecting trajectories, charting the general shift from a static, class-driven society before 1913 to the pivotal moment when women finally secured the parliamentary vote, demonstrating how these societal changes irrevocably altered the fabric of British life.

The Erosion of the First Class: Nobility in Decline

Throughout the 19th century, the British social hierarchy was ostensibly topped by the aristocracy and landed gentry – the “First Class.” Their power derived from inherited land, wealth, and a virtual monopoly on political office in both Houses of Parliament. However, by the late Victorian and Edwardian periods, their pre-eminence was under severe strain. The agricultural depression of the late 19th century drastically reduced rental incomes, diminishing the economic foundation of their power. Concurrently, the rise of industrial and commercial wealth created a new plutocracy that could rival, if not surpass, the traditional landed elites. New money, often earned through manufacturing, finance, or colonial ventures, began to infiltrate the upper echelons, sometimes through strategic marriages with impoverished gentry, further blurring the lines of inherited status.

Moreover, death duties, introduced and increased by Liberal governments (notably the “People’s Budget” of 1909), systematically eroded inherited wealth, forcing the sale of ancestral lands and estates. The burgeoning meritocracy, fuelled by expanding educational opportunities, also challenged the notion of inherited privilege as the sole determinant of leadership. While titles and social prestige still held currency, the aristocracy’s direct political power was diminished, especially in the House of Commons, and their social authority increasingly rested on an image of continuity rather than actual economic or political dominance. The shift was palpable: old wealth was struggling to maintain its footing against the surging tide of new wealth and new ideas.

The Diminished Ruling Classes and the Ascent of the Middle and Working Man

The “ruling classes” – traditionally comprising the aristocracy and the upper echelons of the gentry and clergy – found their influence diluted not only by the decline of old money but also by the rise of an expanded and increasingly professionalised middle class. This “Second Class,” encompassing industrialists, merchants, bankers, doctors, lawyers, and civil servants, derived its power from expertise, capital, and administrative competence rather than land. With the expansion of the empire and the burgeoning complexities of modern governance and economy, their practical and intellectual contributions became indispensable. They filled the ranks of local councils, managed vast commercial enterprises, and staffed the burgeoning bureaucracy, effectively taking over many of the administrative and professional functions once loosely held by the gentry.

Crucially, below them, the “working man” – historically considered the “Third Class” – was indeed forging ahead. The Elementary Education Act of 1870, followed by subsequent legislation, made education compulsory for all children, significantly raising literacy rates and opening doors to better-paid, skilled employment. This created a more knowledgeable and politically conscious populace. Improved wages, particularly for skilled workers in growing industries, meant a higher standard of living for many. The rise of powerful trade unions, such as the Amalgamated Society of Engineers and the Miners’ Federation of Great Britain, provided collective bargaining power that challenged the absolute authority of employers. Landmark legal victories, like the Trades Disputes Act of 1906, solidified their right to strike and organise.

Politically, the extension of the franchise through the Reform Acts of 1867 and 1884 enfranchised a significant proportion of working-class men, fundamentally altering the electoral landscape. This paved the way for the emergence of the Labour Party in 1900, which provided a distinct political voice for the working class, advocating for social welfare, workers’ rights, and a more equitable distribution of wealth. By 1913, the working man was no longer a silent, passive force; he was increasingly educated, organised, and politically assertive, demanding a greater share in the nation’s prosperity and governance. This shift from deference to demand was a cornerstone of the unravelling class system.

The Awakening of Women: Education, Aspiration, and Discontent

Parallel to these shifts in class structure, an equally profound transformation was occurring in the social expectations and aspirations of women. For centuries, the ideal of the “Angel in the House” confined middle and upper-class women to the domestic sphere, while working-class women often toiled in arduous, low-paid labour simply to survive. However, by 1913, this paradigm was collapsing under the weight of new opportunities and growing discontent.

The expansion of girls’ education was a primary catalyst. Institutions like the Girls’ Public Day School Trust, established in 1872, offered rigorous academic curricula, moving beyond mere accomplishments to genuine intellectual training. Crucially, the establishment of women’s colleges at Oxford (Lady Margaret Hall, Somerville) and Cambridge (Girton, Newnham) in the late 19th century, along with the admission of women to London University degrees, provided pathways to higher education previously unimaginable. Girls, increasingly, wanted better education prospects and the opportunity to go to university, not merely to become more accomplished wives, but to pursue professions and intellectual lives.

This educational revolution coincided with new employment opportunities. The late 19th and early 20th centuries saw the growth of “feminised” professions like teaching and nursing, as well as the burgeoning fields of clerical work (typists, secretaries) and retail. While these jobs were often lower-paid and carried less prestige than male-dominated professions, they offered financial independence and a public role beyond the home. Women were no longer content to have children, stay at home, and tend to their husbands; they wanted careers, intellectual stimulation, and a life of purpose that transcended domesticity.

Legal reforms also facilitated this shift. The Married Women’s Property Acts of 1870 and 1882 were revolutionary, granting married women the right to own and control their own earnings and property, rather than having them automatically revert to their husbands. This significantly improved their economic autonomy and legal standing, laying the groundwork for greater independence.

The Fight for Political Agency: From Social Reform to Suffrage

The growing educational and economic empowerment of women inevitably led to demands for political inclusion. Women, increasingly involved in social reform movements (temperance, poverty relief, public health), recognised the intrinsic link between their lack of political power and their inability to effect meaningful change. They observed that while male factory workers, coal miners, and agricultural labourers had been granted the vote, educated, tax-paying women remained disenfranchised.

The suffrage movement, which had roots in the mid-19th century, gained significant momentum in the period leading up to 1913. It is divided broadly into two wings:

  1. The National Union of Women’s Suffrage Societies (NUWSS): Led by Millicent Garrett Fawcett, the “Suffragists” employed constitutional and peaceful methods – petitions, lobbying MPs, public meetings, and propaganda. Their arguments centred on equality, justice, and the idea that women’s unique moral insights were necessary for good governance.
  2. The Women’s Social and Political Union (WSPU): Founded by Emmeline Pankhurst and her daughters Christabel and Sylvia, the “Suffragettes” adopted more militant tactics from 1905 onwards. Frustrated by the slow pace of constitutional change, they engaged in civil disobedience, property damage (window smashing, arson), hunger strikes, and public disruption, famously employing the slogan “Deeds, not Words.” While controversial, their actions brought unprecedented publicity to the cause, forcing it onto the national political agenda.

By 1913, the suffrage movement was a powerful, albeit divided, force, having successfully articulated the fundamental injustice of female political exclusion. The arguments against women’s suffrage — that women were too emotional, intellectually inferior, or that their participation would corrupt politics and abandon the home — were increasingly seen as outdated and indefensible in the face of women’s demonstrated capabilities and contributions to society.

The Catalyst of War and the Culmination of Change (1914-1918)

The outbreak of the First World War in August 1914 temporarily halted the militant suffrage campaign, as the WSPU, in particular, threw its weight behind the war effort. This proved to be a pivotal moment. With millions of men going to the front, women stepped into roles previously deemed exclusively male: working in munitions factories (the “munitionettes”), driving ambulances, working on farms, conducting clerical work, and taking on jobs in public transport. Their indispensable contribution to the war effort shattered any remaining arguments about their physical and mental incapacity. The war demonstrated, unequivocally, that women were capable, patriotic citizens, essential to the nation’s survival.

The war also highlighted the practical absurdity of the existing franchise laws. Many soldiers at the front, having been away from home for extended periods, no longer met the property qualifications to vote. There was a political consensus that a new franchise act was necessary to enfranchise these returning servicemen. The opportunity arose to include women within this reform. The selfless service of women during the war, coupled with the strategic abandonment of militancy by the suffragettes, created an undeniable moral and political imperative for reform.

Finally, in 1918, the Representation of the People Act was passed. This landmark legislation granted the vote to women over 30 who met minimum property qualifications (either as householders or wives of householders, or as university graduates), and simultaneously enfranchised all men over 21. While not full universal suffrage (which would come in 1928, granting women the vote on the same terms as men), the 1918 Act represented a monumental victory. It was a recognition not just of women’s war effort, but also of the decades of growing educational attainment, economic independence, and persistent political agitation that had preceded it. The “first class” was largely gone, the “ruling classes” diffused, the working man empowered, and now, a significant portion of women had also gained a direct voice in shaping their nation’s future.

Conclusion

The period leading up to 1913 and culminating in the 1918 Representation of the People Act witnessed a seismic shift in English society. The rigid, inherited class structure, which had defined social and political life for centuries, was indeed disintegrating. The nobility struggled under economic pressures and a rising meritocracy, while the traditional “ruling classes” found their influence diluted by an expanding professional middle class. Concurrently, the working man, empowered by education, trade unionism, and the franchise, was forging ahead, demanding greater social and economic justice.

Crucially, these changes did not occur in isolation from the burgeoning aspirations of women. As girls gained unprecedented access to education and women increasingly entered the workforce, they rejected the narrow confines of the domestic sphere. This collective awakening, coupled with legal reforms and decades of organised political activism, laid the groundwork for the suffrage movement. The First World War acted as a powerful accelerant, decisively demonstrating women’s indispensable role in national life and making their continued political disenfranchisement untenable.

The granting of the vote to women in 1918 was not merely a legislative act; it was a profound symbol of a new social contract. It marked the formal acknowledgment that the old order, based on inherited privilege, patriarchal authority, and rigid class divisions, had irrevocably passed. England, by 1918, had moved significantly towards a more inclusive, albeit still imperfect, society – one where education, economic contribution, and gender, rather than simply birthright, increasingly defined an individual’s place and political agency. The threads of the old class system had unravelled, paving the way for a more complex tapestry of social and political identities, forever changing the landscape of British democracy.

Writing about writing a book – Research – 10

Background material used in researching the Vietnam war and various other aspects of that period

The psychological cost of the war

The Wounds That Wouldn’t Bleed: Ailments Ignored in the Vietnam War

The Vietnam War was a conflict unlike any other the United States had faced. It was a war fought without front lines, defined by relentless heat, suffocating humidity, and an enemy that could appear and vanish in an instant.

While the bravery of field medics (corpsmen and ‘Docs’) in saving lives under fire is unquestionable, the systemic priorities of triage—getting the wounded off the battlefield and stabilizing life-threatening injuries—meant that a massive spectrum of chronic issues, insidious tropical diseases, and rapidly developing psychological trauma were often minimized, misdiagnosed, or tragically ignored.

Here, we examine some of the most pervasive physical and psychological problems faced by soldiers in Vietnam that suffered from a profound lack of medical knowledge or understanding at the time.


1. The Invisible Enemy: Psychological Trauma and the Battle for the Mind

Perhaps the most significant failure of the medical system during the Vietnam era was the inability to properly recognize, diagnose, and treat the psychological toll of the conflict.

Battle Fatigue vs. Post-Traumatic Stress

When veterans returned from World War I, their trauma was called “shell shock.” By World War II, it was “combat fatigue.” In Vietnam, the terms were often minimized further, reducing severe psychological breakdown to simple “Malingering” or “Adjustment Reaction of Combat” (ARC).

The reality, which wouldn’t be formally recognized as Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) until 1980, was that soldiers were enduring moral injury, existential fear, and chronic stress that profoundly altered their brains.

Why it was ignored:

  • Triage Priority: A bullet hole took precedence over a panic attack. Medics were trained to save life and limb, not treat anxiety or nightmares, which were often seen as a lack of fortitude rather than injury.
  • The Rapid Rotation: Soldiers served one-year tours. This quick deployment and extraction created a high-intensity, short-duration experience that left little time for psychological decompression. Soldiers were often back on the streets of the U.S. within 48 hours of leaving the jungle, carrying their trauma immediately into civilian life without systemic transition or monitoring.
  • Lack of Training: Psychological care was not integrated into frontline medical training. Soldiers complaining of severe depression, extreme paranoia, or panic attacks were often given mild sedatives and sent back to the line, perpetuating the cycle of trauma.

2. Jungle Rot, Immersion Foot, and Chronic Skin Ailments

The humid, perpetually wet environment of Southeast Asia was a breeding ground for infections that troops rarely, if ever, experienced in temperate climates. While many were treatable, they were often dismissed as minor annoyances until they became debilitating.

The Problem of Pervasive Fungi

Soldiers rarely wore dry clothes or dry boots. This led to a host of chronic dermatological nightmares:

  • Jungle Rot (Tropical Ulcers): Severe, deep fungal, and bacterial infections that often developed around minor scrapes or insect bites. These infections were intensely painful, slow to heal, and could leave deep, permanent scars. Because they were not immediately life-threatening, treatment was often limited to basic cleaning and topical creams, which struggled against the persistent humidity.
  • Immersion Foot (Trench Foot): Though more commonly associated with WWI, this condition was rampant. Prolonged exposure to wet conditions damaged nerves and blood vessels in the feet. If not addressed quickly, it could lead to permanent numbness, chronic pain, and in severe cases, the need for amputation.

Why it was ignored:

  • Normalization: Medics dealt with “wet foot” complaints constantly. The sheer volume of non-fatal skin issues meant that only the most severe cases were evacuated, forcing troops to fight on with chronic, festering wounds that impacted mobility and mental focus.
  • Medic Knowledge Gap: Tropical medicine was not a primary focus for most U.S. military doctors and medics, many of whom were trained for European or temperate environments. The tenacious nature of tropical pathogens was frequently underestimated.

3. The Crisis of Self-Medication and Substance Abuse

The stress, fear, and hopelessness experienced by many troops led to staggering rates of drug use, which peaked near the end of the conflict. This was not initially treated as a medical or psychological crisis, but primarily as a disciplinary problem.

The Opioid Epidemic in the Ranks

By the early 1970s, it was estimated that 10–15% of American troops in Vietnam were addicted to heroin, which was cheap, pure, and easily accessible. Marijuana and amphetamines (often called “speed” or “pep pills”) were also widely used to counteract fatigue, stress, or simply boredom.

Why it was ignored/mismanaged:

  • Punishment Over Treatment: The military initially approached substance abuse as a failure of discipline and a threat to combat readiness, leading to punitive measures (like dishonorable discharge) rather than therapeutic intervention. This discouraged soldiers from seeking help.
  • Lack of Resources: There were few dedicated military facilities or personnel focused exclusively on drug detoxification and addiction counseling within the war zone.
  • Systemic Blindness: The high command often struggled to acknowledge the extent of the problem, preferring to view it as a small behavioral issue rather than a massive systemic reaction to the trauma of a brutal and unpopular war.

4. Unrecognized Exposures: Lingering Toxins

While the full medical impact of exposure to chemical agents like Agent Orange did not become widely known until years after the war, troops were dealing with immediate, acute symptoms that were often misdiagnosed or dismissed.

Medics were not equipped to understand or treat the complex, long-term effects of dioxin exposure. Soldiers who developed severe skin rashes (chloracne), gastrointestinal distress, or chronic neurological symptoms were often treated symptomatically and sent back to duty, unaware of the devastating biological time bomb they were carrying.

The Cost of Ignorance

The failures in recognizing and treating these “invisible” ailments during the Vietnam War underscore a critical lesson for military medicine: the wound not bleeding is often the most dangerous.

The generation of veterans who returned home—many physically healed but mentally broken, struggling with chronic pain, addiction, or undiagnosed psychological scars—paid the steepest price for the medical system’s lack of knowledge, its focus on immediate trauma, and its reluctance to acknowledge the true, corrosive nature of a prolonged jungle war.

The legacy of Vietnam required the armed forces and the Veterans Administration to fundamentally alter their approach to mental health and chronic care, a painful evolution that continues today.

The 2am Rant: There are so many things I haven’t done

Does it really matter, you ask?

Perhaps not, but now seems to be an appropriate time, nearing the age of 72, to take stock.

We have achieved a lot in the last twenty or so years once the children have grown up and can look after themselves.

Unlike a lot of more modern couples who are travelling in their 20s and 30s and then having children, we chose to do it the other way around.

To me, it seemed easier to deal with teenagers when we were in our 40s rather than our 60s.  With the benefit of hindsight, I can truthfully say we were right.

We were older and wiser when we travelled and more aware of the dangers around us, sometimes overlooked or ignored by a youthful devil-may-care attitude.

But, in saying that ….

No, I don’t think I’ll be getting to see Mt Kilimanjaro, observing the wild animals in the Serengeti, climbing Mt Everest, or seeing the ancient pyramids.

But, if it is ever possible before I die, I still want to go to the Greek Islands, and, Santorini is at the top of my travel bucket list.

We’ve been to London.  We’ve been to Paris and Euro Disney.  We’ve been to Rome and seen the ancient ruins.  We’ve been to Vienna, Schönbrunn Palace, and, particularly for us, a visit to Swarovski crystal world, near Innsbruck, we’ve been to Salzburg, and been on the Sound of Music tour.

We’ve been to Florence and loved it, we’ve been to Venice and loved that too, and we’ve spent a few days in the heart of Tuscany, and want to go back for longer, much longer.

In fact, that’s the second item on the travel bucket list.

We’ve also been to Singapore and Hong Kong, at first out of necessity as an airline stopover, but then we went back to see the city and tourist, and non-tourist attractions.

I will not forget staying at the Hong Kong Conrad Hotel as a Diamond Hilton Honors member.  Oh, the memories.

We’ve also stayed on the French Riviera, in a timeshare apartment in Antibes where every morning when out back you had a view of the shimmering Mediterranean if the sun was out.

Nice, Cannes, Monte Carlo, the billionaire’s yachts in Antibes harbour, Monte Carlo, and ‘that’ casino, taking the same drive along the coast as Grace Kelly did in To Catch a Thief, and feeling like James Bond arriving for a new adventure, minus the half-million-dollar sports car.

But now, crashing back to earth with an extremely hard thump ….

Travel in the future is looking difficult for both of us, not only financially but from a health aspect.  We are both not as sprightly as we used to be.

Yet given the restraints and if it is at all possible, aside from the Greek Islands and Tuscany, the next items on the list are:

Germany, visiting both Berlin, from a Cold War aspect, the Brandenburg gate springs to mind, and Munich at the time of the Octoberfest.  As a beer drinker that is also high on my bucket list.

Scotland, more so since we’ve started watching Outlander, and besides being a beer drinker, I am also partial to a good Single Malt, the Whiskey Trail.

Ireland, because my wife’s previous name was Murphy and at some point, in the long distant past some relatives emigrated to Australia, and she would like to visit the country of her forebears.

But with the current state of the world, our health issues, and that all-important requisite money, or the lack of it, perhaps it’s time to visit other parts of our own country.

Perhaps it’s time to do a culinary trip, particularly down south.  It’s practical, achievable, and safe.

And it’s a big country.