Author: aloysius5

Over the years, I have traveled extensively and kept journals, with the idea that one day all of those places would become locations in books. Notebooks filled with odd characters, people and incidents observed, and whole tracts of stories written when the on the spot inspiration has been a driving force. All of this is the basis of the first three novels, Sunday In New York, set, of course, in New York, probably my favorite city in the world, “Echoes From The Past’ equally set in New York, Brooklyn Heights and Philadelphia. The third, The Devil You Don’t, travels through Europe, starting in Geneva, moving to Rome, then Sorrento, and then to Venice. Now, my passion to write is fuelled by travel and fine dining. When I take a break from these, I get to torment my three wonderful grandchildren whom I actively encourage to read as much as they can, and more recently to also write. As for almost every other writer, I would not be able to do any of this without my wife who has put up with my moodiness, the times when I'm locked away in a room trying to push out another 2,000 words, and yet despite everything still puts up with me. I wish I could say the same for our cat. Alas, I am still trying to work out how to be his friend!

“What Sets Us Apart”, a mystery with a twist

David is a man troubled by a past he is trying to forget.

Susan is rebelling against a life of privilege and an exasperated mother who holds a secret that will determine her daughter’s destiny.

They are two people brought together by chance. Or was it?

When Susan discovers her mother’s secret, she goes in search of the truth that has been hidden from her since the day she was born.

When David realizes her absence is more than the usual cooling off after another heated argument, he finds himself being slowly drawn back into his former world of deceit and lies.

Then, back with his former employers, David quickly discovers nothing is what it seems as he embarks on a dangerous mission to find Susan before he loses her forever.

Find the kindle version on Amazon here:  http://amzn.to/2Eryfth

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365 Days of writing, 2026 – 1

Day 1 – The five c’s of writing

…

The 5 C’s of Writing: Crafting Clear, Compelling, and Captivating Content

In the world of writing—whether you’re crafting a novel, a blog post, a business email, or academic essay—quality matters. But what separates good writing from great writing? Enter the 5 C’s of Writing: a set of guiding principles that help writers produce content that is not only effective but also engaging and impactful.

These five pillars—Clarity, Conciseness, Coherence, Correctness, and Consistency—form the foundation of professional and polished writing. Let’s dive into each one and explore how they can transform your writing from “just okay” to outstanding.

1. Clarity: Say What You Mean

Clarity is the cornerstone of effective communication. No matter how brilliant your ideas are, if they’re buried under jargon, convoluted sentence structures, or vague language, your message will be lost.

Tips to improve clarity:

  • Use simple, precise language.
  • Define technical terms when necessary.
  • Avoid ambiguity—be specific in your descriptions.
  • Structure sentences so the subject, verb, and object are easy to identify.

“If you can’t explain it simply, you don’t understand it well enough.”
— Attributed to Albert Einstein

Clarity means respecting your reader’s time and intelligence. Aim for transparency, not complexity.

2. Conciseness: Brevity with Purpose

Great writing doesn’t waste words. Conciseness is about delivering your message using the fewest words possible—without sacrificing meaning.

Avoid:

  • Redundant phrases (e.g., “free gift,” “past history”)
  • Overuse of adverbs and adjectives
  • Filler words like “very,” “really,” “just,” “actually”

Instead of saying:

“Due to the fact that it was raining, we decided to cancel the outdoor event.”
Say:
“Because it was raining, we canceled the outdoor event.”

Concise writing is powerful. It keeps readers engaged and ensures your key points stand out.

3. Coherence: Logical Flow and Connectivity

Even if your writing is clear and concise, it won’t resonate if it lacks coherence. Coherent writing guides the reader smoothly from one idea to the next. Paragraphs and sentences should connect logically, building a narrative or argument that makes sense.

How to boost coherence:

  • Use transition words (e.g., “however,” “furthermore,” “as a result”)
  • Maintain a logical progression—introduce ideas in a structured way
  • Ensure each paragraph supports the central theme or thesis

Think of coherence as the “glue” that holds your content together. It ensures your reader never gets lost midway.

4. Correctness: Grammar, Spelling, and Grammar, Spelling, and Punctuation

Correctness is non-negotiable. Errors in grammar, punctuation, spelling, or usage can undermine your credibility and distract from your message—even if your content is insightful.

Common areas to check:

  • Subject-verb agreement
  • Proper use of apostrophes
  • Tense consistency
  • Punctuation (commas, semicolons, quotation marks)

Invest time in proofreading, use tools like Grammarly or Hemingway Editor wisely, and when in doubt, consult a style guide (APA, MLA, Chicago, or AP).

Remember: correctness isn’t about perfectionism—it’s about respect for your audience and your craft.

5. Consistency: Maintain Your Voice and Style

Consistency involves maintaining a uniform tone, style, formatting, and voice throughout your piece. It’s what gives your writing a professional, polished feel.

Examples of consistency in action:

  • Using the same tense (past vs. present) throughout
  • Sticking with one spelling convention (e.g., American vs. British English)
  • Keeping a uniform style for headings, lists, and citations
  • Maintaining an appropriate tone (formal, conversational, persuasive, etc.)

Whether you’re writing a personal essay or a corporate report, consistency builds trust. It shows that your writing is deliberate and well-considered.

Why the 5 C’s Matter

The 5 C’s aren’t just rules—they’re tools. When applied together, they elevate your writing to a level where it’s not only understood but appreciated. Whether you’re:

  • Persuading decision-makers,
  • Informing readers,
  • Or simply sharing ideas,

Mastering clarity, conciseness, coherence, correctness, and consistency ensures your words land with impact.

Final Thoughts

Writing is both an art and a craft. The 5 C’s help you refine the craft so the art can shine through. As you revise your next piece, ask yourself:

  • Is this clear?
  • Could it be more concise?
  • Does it flow logically?
  • Is it correct?
  • Is my tone and style consistent?

By holding your writing to these five standards, you’ll produce content that’s not only professional but also memorable.

Start small. Focus on one C at a time. And remember—the best writers aren’t born. They’re made—one clear, concise, coherent, correct, and consistent draft at a time.

What’s your biggest writing challenge? Clarity? Grammar? Let us know in the comments—and share your own tips for mastering the 5 C’s!

The story behind the story: A Case of Working With the Jones Brothers

To write a private detective serial has always been one of the items at the top of my to-do list, though trying to write novels and a serial, as well as a blog, and maintain a social media presence, well, you get the idea.

But I made it happen, from a bunch of episodes I wrote a long, long time ago, used these to start it, and then continue on, then as now, never having much of an idea where it was going to end up, or how long it would take to tell the story.

That, I think is the joy of ad hoc writing, even you, as the author, have as much idea of where it’s going as the reader does.

It’s basically been in the mill since 1990, and although I finished it last year, it looks like the beginning to end will have taken exactly 30 years.  Had you asked me 30 years ago if I’d ever get it finished, the answer would be maybe?

My private detective, Harry Walthenson

I’d like to say he’s from that great literary mold of Sam Spade, or Mickey Spillane, or Phillip Marlow, but he’s not.

But, I’ve watched Humphrey Bogart play Sam Spade with much interest, and modelled Harry and his office on it.  Similarly, I’ve watched Robert Micham play Phillip Marlow with great panache, if not detachment, and added a bit of him to the mix.

Other characters come into play, and all of them, no matter what period they’re from, always seem larger than life.  I’m not above stealing a little of Mary Astor, Peter Lorre or Sidney Greenstreet, to breathe life into beguiling women and dangerous men alike.

Then there’s the title, like

The Case of the Unintentional Mummy – this has so many meanings in so many contexts, though I imagine that back in Hollywood in the ’30s and ’40s, this would be excellent fodder for Abbott and Costello

The Case of the Three-Legged Dog – Yes, I suspect there may be a few real-life dogs with three legs, but this plot would involve something more sinister.  And if made out of plaster, yes, they’re always something else inside.

But for mine, to begin with, it was “The Case of the …”, because I had no idea what the case was going to be about, well, I did, but not specifically.

Then I liked the idea of calling it “The Case of the Brother’s Revenge” because I began to have a notion there was a brother no one knew about, but that’s stuff for other stories, not mine, so then went the way of the others.

Now it’s called ‘A Case of Working With the Jones Brothers’, finished the first three drafts, and at the editor for the last.

I have high hopes of publishing it in early 2021.  It even has a cover.

PIWalthJones1

In a word: Line

The English language has some marvelous words that can be used so as to have any number of meanings

For instance,

Draw a line in the sand

We would all like to do this with our children, our job, our relationships, but for some reason, the idea sounds really good in our heads, but it never quite works out in reality. What does it mean, whatever it is, this I’d where it ends or changes because it can’t keep going the way it is.

Inevitably it leads to,

You’ve crossed the line

Which at some point in our lives, and particularly when children, we all do a few times until, if we’re lucky we learn where that line is. It’s usually considered 8n tandem with pushing boundaries.

Of course, there is

A line you should never cross

And I like to think we all know where that is. Unfortunately, some do not and often find their seemingly idyllic life totally shattered beyond repair. An affair from either side of a marriage or relationship can do that.

You couldn’t walk a straight line if you tried

While we might debate what straight might mean in this context, for this adaptation it means staying on the right side of legality. Some people find a life of crime more appealing than doing honest days work.

This goes hand in hand with,

You’re spinning me a line

Which means you are being somewhat loose with the truth, perhaps in explaining where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing. I think sometimes liars forget they need to have good memories.

Then there are the more practical uses of the word, such as

I have a new line of products

Is that a new fishing line?

Those I think most of us get, but it’s the more ambiguous that we have trouble with. Still, ambiguity is a writer’s best friend and we can make up a lot of stuff from just using one word.

An excerpt from “The Devil You Don’t”

Available on Amazon Kindle here:  https://amzn.to/2Xyh1ow

…

By the time I returned to the Savoie, the rain had finally stopped, and there was a streak of blue sky to offer some hope the day would improve.

The ship was not crowded, the possibility of bad weather perhaps holding back potential passengers.  Of those I saw, a number of them would be aboard for the lunch by Phillippe Chevrier.  I thought about it, but the Concierge had told me about several restaurants in Yvoire and had given me a hand-drawn map of the village.  I think he came from the area because he spoke with the pride and knowledge of a resident.

I was looking down from the upper deck observing the last of the boarding passengers when I saw a woman, notable for her red coat and matching shoes, making a last-minute dash to get on board just before the gangway was removed.  In fact, her ungainly manner of boarding had also captured a few of the other passenger’s attention.  Now they would have something else to talk about, other than the possibility of further rain.

I saw her smile at the deckhand, but he did not smile back.  He was not impressed with her bravado, perhaps because of possible injury.  He looked at her ticket then nodded dismissively, and went back to his duties in getting the ship underway.  I was going to check the departure time, but I, like the other passengers, had my attention diverted to the woman in red.

From what I could see there was something about her.  It struck me when the light caught her as she turned to look down the deck, giving me a perfect profile.  I was going to say she looked foreign, but here, as in almost anywhere in Europe, that described just about everyone.  Perhaps I was just comparing her to Phillipa, so definitively British, whereas this woman was very definitely not.

She was perhaps in her 30’s, slim or perhaps the word I’d use was lissom, and had the look and manner of a model.  I say that because Phillipa had dragged me to most of the showings, whether in Milan, Rome, New York, London, or Paris.  The clothes were familiar, and in the back of my mind, I had a feeling I’d seen her before.

Or perhaps, to me, all models looked the same.

She looked up in my direction, and before I could divert my eyes, she locked on.  I could feel her gaze boring into me, and then it was gone as if she had been looking straight through me.  I remained out on deck as the ship got underway, watching her disappear inside the cabin.  My curiosity was piqued, so I decided to keep an eye out for her.

I could feel the coolness of the air as the ship picked up speed, not that it was going to be very fast.  With stops, the trip would take nearly two hours to get to my destination.  It would turn back almost immediately, but I was going to stay until the evening when it returned at about half eight.  It would give me enough time to sample the local fare, and take a tour of the medieval village.

Few other passengers ventured out on the deck, most staying inside or going to lunch.  After a short time, I came back down to the main deck and headed forward.  I wanted to clear my head by concentrating on the movement of the vessel through the water, breathing in the crisp, clean air, and let the peacefulness of the surroundings envelope me.

It didn’t work.

I knew it wouldn’t be long before I started thinking about why things hadn’t worked, and what part I played in it.  And the usual question that came to mind when something didn’t work out.  What was wrong with me?

I usually blamed it on my upbringing.

I had one of those so-called privileged lives, a nanny till I was old enough to go to boarding school, then sent to the best schools in the land.  There I learned everything I needed to be the son of a Duke, or, as my father called it in one of his lighter moments, nobility in waiting.

Had this been five or six hundred years ago, I would need to have sword and jousting skills, or if it had been a few hundred years later a keen military mind.  If nothing else I could ride a horse, and go on hunts, or did until they became not the thing to do.

I learned six languages, and everything I needed to become a diplomat in the far-flung British Empire, except the Empire had become the Commonwealth, and then, when no-one was looking, Britain’s influence in the world finally disappeared.  I was a man without a cause, without a vocation, and no place to go.

Computers were the new vogue and I had an aptitude for programming.  I guess that went hand in hand with mathematics, which although I hated the subject, I excelled in.  Both I and another noble outcast used to toss ideas around in school, but when it came to the end of our education, he chose to enter the public service, and I took a few of those ideas we had mulled over and turned them into a company.

About a year ago, I was made an offer I couldn’t refuse.  There were so many zeroes on the end of it I just said yes, put the money into a very grateful bank, and was still trying to come to terms with it.

Sadly, I still had no idea what I was going to do with the rest of my life.  My parents had asked me to come back home and help manage the estate, and I did for a few weeks.  It was as long as it took for my parents to drive me insane.

Back in the city, I spent a few months looking for a mundane job, but there were very few that suited the qualifications I had, and the rest, I think I intimidated the interviewer simply because of who I was.  In that time I’d also featured on the cover of the Economist, and through my well-meaning accountant, started involving myself with various charities, earning the title ‘philanthropist’.

And despite all of this exposure, even making one of those ubiquitous ‘eligible bachelor’ lists, I still could not find ‘the one’, the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.  Phillipa seemed to fit the bill, but in time she proved to be a troubled soul with ‘Daddy’ issues.  I knew that in building a relationship compromise was necessary, but with her, in the end, everything was a compromise and what had happened was always going to be the end result.

It was perhaps a by-product of the whole nobility thing.  There was a certain expectation I had to fulfill, to my peers, contemporaries, parents and family, and those who either liked or hated what it represented.  The problem was, I didn’t feel like I belonged.  Not like my friend from schooldays, and now obscure acquaintance, Sebastian.  He had been elevated to his Dukedom early when his father died when he was in his twenties.  He had managed to fade from the limelight and was rarely mentioned either in the papers or the gossip columns.  He was one of the lucky ones.

I had managed to keep a similarly low profile until I met Phillipa.  From that moment, my obscurity disappeared.  It was, I could see now, part of a plan put in place by Phillipa’s father, a man who hogged the limelight with his daughter, to raise the profile of the family name and through it their businesses.  He was nothing if not the consummate self-advertisement.

Perhaps I was supposed to be the last piece of the puzzle, the attachment to the establishment, that link with a class of people he would not normally get in the front door.  There was nothing refined about him or his family, and more than once I’d noticed my contemporaries cringe at the mention of his name, or any reference of my association with him.

Yet could I truthfully say I really wanted to go back to the obscurity I had before Phillipa?  For all her faults, there were times when she had been fun to be with, particularly when I first met her when she had a certain air of unpredictability.  That had slowly disappeared as she became part of her father’s plan for the future.  She just failed to see how much he was using her.

Or perhaps, over time, I had become cynical.

I thought about calling her.  It was one of those moments of weakness when I felt alone, more alone than usual.

I diverted my attention back to my surroundings and the shoreline.  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the woman in the red coat, making a move.  The red coat was like a beacon, a sort of fire engine red.  It was not the sort of coat most of the women I knew would wear, but on her, it looked terrific.  In fact, her sublime beauty was the one other attribute that was distinctly noticeable, along with the fact her hair was short, rather than long, and jet black.

I had to wrench my attention away from her.

A few minutes later several other passengers came out of the cabin for a walk around the deck, perhaps to get some exercise, perhaps checking up on me, or perhaps I was being paranoid.  I waited till they passed on their way forward, and I turned and headed aft.

I watched the wake sluicing out from under the stern for a few minutes, before retracing my steps to the front of the ship and there I stood against the railing, watching the bow carve its way through the water.  It was almost mesmerizing.  There, I emptied my mind of thoughts about Phillipa, and thoughts about the woman in the red coat.

Until a female voice behind me said, “Having a bad day?”

I started, caught by surprise, and slowly turned.  The woman in the red coat had somehow got very close me without my realizing it.  How did she do that?  I was so surprised I couldn’t answer immediately.

“I do hope you are not contemplating jumping.  I hear the water is very cold.”

Closer up, I could see what I’d missed when I saw her on the main deck.  There was a slight hint of Chinese, or Oriental, in her particularly around the eyes, and of her hair which was jet black.  An ancestor twice or more removed had left their mark, not in a dominant way, but more subtle, and easily missed except from a very short distance away, like now.

Other than that, she was quite possibly Eastern European, perhaps Russian, though that covered a lot of territory.  The incongruity of it was that she spoke with an American accent, and fluent enough for me to believe English was her first language.

Usually, I could ‘read’ people, but she was a clean slate.  Her expression was one of amusement, but with cold eyes.  My first thought, then, was to be careful.

“No.  Not yet.”  I coughed to clear my throat because I could hardly speak.  And blushed, because that was what I did when confronted by a woman, beautiful or otherwise.

The amusement gave way to a hint of a smile that brightened her demeanor as a little warmth reached her eyes.  “So that’s a maybe.  Should I change into my lifesaving gear, just in case?”

It conjured up a rather interesting image in my mind until I reluctantly dismissed it.

“Perhaps I should move away from the edge,” I said, moving sideways until I was back on the main deck, a few feet further away.  Her eyes had followed me, and when I stopped she turned to face me again.  She did not move closer.

I realized then she had removed her beret and it was in her left side coat pocket.  “Thanks for your concern …?”

“Zoe.”

“Thanks for your concern, Zoe.  By the way, my name is John.”

She smiled again, perhaps in an attempt to put me at ease.  “I saw you earlier, you looked so sad, I thought …”

“I might throw myself overboard?”

“An idiotic notion I admit, but it is better to be safe than sorry.”

Then she tilted her head to one side then the other, looking intently at me.  “You seem to be familiar.  Do I know you?”

I tried to think of where I may have seen her before, but all I could remember was what I’d thought earlier when I first saw her; she was a model and had been at one of the showings.  If she was, it would be more likely she would remember Phillipa, not me.  Phillipa always had to sit in the front row.

“Probably not.”  I also didn’t mention the fact she may have seen my picture in the society pages of several tabloid newspapers because she didn’t look the sort of woman who needed a daily dose of the comings and goings, and, more often than not, scandal associated with so-called celebrities.

She gave me a look, one that told me she had just realized who I was.  “Yes, I remember now.  You made the front cover of the Economist.  You sold your company for a small fortune.”

Of course.  She was not the first who had recognized me from that cover.  It had raised my profile considerably, but not the Sternhaven’s.  That article had not mentioned Phillipa or her family.  I suspect Grandmother had something to do with that, and it was, now I thought about it, another nail in the coffin that was my relationship with Phillipa.

“I wouldn’t say it was a fortune, small or otherwise, just fortunate.”  Each time, I found myself playing down the wealth aspect of the business deal.

“Perhaps then, as the journalist wrote, you were lucky.  It is not, I think, a good time for internet-based companies.”

The latter statement was an interesting fact, one she read in the Financial Times which had made that exact comment recently.

“But I am boring you.”  She smiled again.  “I should be minding my own business and leaving you to your thoughts.  I am sorry.”

She turned to leave and took a few steps towards the main cabin.

“You’re not boring me,” I said, thinking I was letting my paranoia get the better of me.  It had been Sebastian on learning of my good fortune, who had warned me against ‘a certain element here and abroad’ whose sole aim would be to separate me from my money.  He was not very subtle when he described their methods.

But I knew he was right.  I should have let her walk away.

She stopped and turned around.  “You seem nothing like the man I read about in the Economist.”

A sudden and awful thought popped into my head.  Those words were part of a very familiar opening gambit.  “Are you a reporter?”

I was not sure if she looked surprised, or amused.  “Do I look like one?”

I silently cursed myself for speaking before thinking, and then immediately ignored my own admonishment.  “People rarely look like what they are.”

I saw the subtle shake of the head and expected her to take her leave.  Instead she astonished me.

“I fear we have got off on the wrong foot.  To be honest, I’m not usually this forward, but you seemed like you needed cheering up when probably the opposite is true.  Aside from the fact this excursion was probably a bad idea.  And,” she added with a little shrug, “perhaps I talk too much.”

I was not sure what I thought of her after that extraordinary admission. It was not something I would do, but it was an interesting way to approach someone and have them ignoring their natural instinct.  I would let Sebastian whisper in my ear for a little longer and see where this was going.

“Oddly enough, I was thinking the same thing.  I was supposed to be traveling with my prospective bride.  I think you can imagine how that turned out.”

“She’s not here?”

“No.”

“She’s in the cabin?”  Her eyes strayed in that direction for a moment then came back to me.  She seemed surprised I might be traveling with someone.

“No.  She is back in England, and the wedding is off.  So is the relationship.  She dumped me by text.”

OK, why was I sharing this humiliating piece of information with her?  I still couldn’t be sure she was not a reporter.

She motioned to an empty seat, back from the edge.  No walking the plank today.  She moved towards it and sat down.  She showed no signs of being cold, nor interested in the breeze upsetting her hair.  Phillipa would be having a tantrum about now, being kept outside, and freaking out over what the breeze might be doing to her appearance.

I wondered, if only for a few seconds if she used this approach with anyone else.  I guess I was a little different, a seemingly rich businessman alone on a ferry on Lake Geneva, contemplating the way his life had gone so completely off track.

She watched as I sat at the other end of the bench, leaving about a yard between us.  After I leaned back and made myself as comfortable as I could, she said, “I have also experienced something similar, though not by text message.  It is difficult, the first few days.”

“I saw it coming.”

“I did not.”  She frowned, a sort of lifeless expression taking over, perhaps brought on by the memory of what had happened to her.  “But it is done, and I moved on.  Was she the love of your life?”

OK, that was unexpected.

When I didn’t answer, she said, “I am sorry.  Sometimes I ask personal questions without realizing what I’m doing.  It is none of my business.”  She shivered.  “Perhaps we should go back inside.”

She stood, and held out her hand.  Should I take it and be drawn into her web?  I thought of Sebastian.  What would he do in this situation?

I took her hand in mine and let her pull me gently to my feet.  “Wise choice,” she said, looking up at the sky.

It just started to rain.

…

© Charles Heath 2015-2023

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The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to write a war story – Episode 23

For a story that was conceived during those long boring hours flying in a steel cocoon, striving to keep away the thoughts that the plane and everyone in it could just simply disappear as planes have in the past, it has come a long way.

Whilst I have always had a fascination with what happened during the second world war, not the battles or fighting, but in the more obscure events that took place, I decided to pen my own little sidebar to what was a long and bitter war.

And, so, it continues…

Wallace wasn’t the most patient of men, and after planning what seemed, to him, as the easiest of operations, was beginning to think otherwise.

First of all, he had underestimated Atherton.  It was part of the plan to have London send him out, having, himself raised suspicions about the allegiances of the men who were in the castle.  They were, of course, British, but only he knew of their allegiance to the Reich.  That’s why he’s organized for Johannsson to be sent, and then for Jackerby to ‘stage’ a battle to consolidate London’s impression that it was being held by them, for the express purpose of repatriating defectors the allies.

Nothing, of course, could be further than the truth.  Since their arrival, only a few had been processed, just to keep London’s suspicions at bay, but the truth was, about a dozen more had been repatriated back to the Reich.

Wallace had ordered Johansson to make sure Atherton never made it to the castle, and Johansson, in turn, had given the responsibility to the resistance members, to take care of the problem, telling them Atherton was suspected of being a German spy.

Getting the local resistance on side proved to be a good idea, as it was they whom the defectors were expecting to meet when they arrive in the village.  And, as far as he was aware, Leonardo and his men had no idea who they were really working with.

Not that it would matter for much longer.  All he had to do was collect the Reich Marshall, and then he and his men were to escort him back to Germany.  He had the Fuhrers signed orders in his pocket.

There was only one wrinkle in the carefully planned operation.  The man who could recognize the defector was missing.

And, then a second wrinkle, the men he sent to find the lovesick fool were taking a long time to find a single man, though he was beginning to think there was something else going on, something that Leonardo hadn’t told him.

Johansson had said he didn’t believe all of the resistance members had signed on, even though Leonardo had told him they had.  Otherwise, how could Atherton disappear?  It was not likely that any of the villagers would harbor any soldier whatever side he said he was on.  

It was time to find out what Leonardo hadn’t told them.

He had sent Jackerby to fetch the man.  That was something else he didn’t quite understand.  Why were Leonardo and his men staying at the castle?  Didn’t they have homes in the village?  And didn’t they want to keep at arms’ length from whoever was running the castle in order to display neutrality?

Johansson had also told him he thought Leonardo was not the smart sort of person it would take to run a resistance operation, and that he believed there were some others still in the village who were once members, and who could also become a problem.  One of the reasons why Leonardo was at the castle was the fact he reported the radio provided by London had become inoperable, and the only other one was now at the castle, his main reason for being there.

He heard Leonardo long before he saw him.  A large bear-shaped man with a booming voice, a man who liked his wine in vast quantities, and had no qualms about emptying the cellar of the castle at any opportunity.  This late in the day, there would be fewer bottles.

Jackerby came into the room first, followed by Leonardo.

“You want me to stay?” Jackerby asked.

“By the door.”

Leonardo stopped by the table and then leaned on it.  “What this about?”

It was hardly a conciliatory tone, but Wallace ignored it.

“You tell me that all of the resistance members are here, but that’s not quite the truth is it?”

“Are you calling me a liar?”  

Belligerent, too, Wallace thought, but that would be the wine talking. 

“I could have you shot, so I suggest you use a more respectful tone.  You heard the question, now I want an answer.”

To emphasize the point, he took out his handgun and put it on the table where Leonardo could see it.  He could see Leonardo look at it, then back at him.

“Some of them didn’t have the stomach for it.  When you arrived here, most of us realized the fight was over.  Only I could see how we could be useful to our allies.”

“How many didn’t, as you say, have the stomach for it?”

“Three or four.  Women and a gardener, nothing that would cause anyone a problem.”

Nothing that would cause anyone a problem.  Johansson was right, the man was a fool.

“Well, it seems they are a problem, and you are going to fix it for me.  We don’t need problems, Leonardo.”

“I don’t understand.  They were on our side.”

“Seems they are not any longer.  We are expecting a high-value defector, and it seems that the Germans have recruited them to foil our operation.”

“The Germans?  There are no Germans here.”

“It seems I was mistaken about Atherton’s allegiance.  It appears he’s working with the Germans and is now actively working with those women and the gardener and causing us problems.  We’ve lost a man, and the three others we sent after him are overdue coming back.  I need you to go down to the village and find out what’s going on.”

“Isn’t that your job.  You have the soldiers and the guns.”

“We have orders to stay in the castle and wait for the defector to arrive.  That leaves you and your men.  Besides, you should be able to move more freely and unsuspected among your own people, and therefore make it easier than it would be for us to find this Atherton.  And when you find him, I want you to bring him to me alive.  Am I clear?”

It was clear to Wallace but it was not clear to Leonardo, he would do as he was told.  Or perhaps he should shoot him as an example to the next man, who no doubt would do his bidding.

“Yes.”

“Now would be a good time to get going, don’t you think?”

Leonardo was going to say something to him, Wallace could almost see the cogs turning in his head, but in the end, shrugged.

“Is there a reward for this Atherton then?”

Wallace nodded.  “Just bring him to me alive, and we’ll discuss it then, but I’m sure something can be arranged.”  He should have guessed Leonardo’s measured reluctance was all in aid of putting a price on Atherton’s head.

When they finally left the castle, he would make sure Leonardo got what he deserved.

 

© Charles Heath 2019

A long short story that can’t be tamed – I never wanted to be an eyewitness – 6

Six

Given the time we had from getting off the helicopter and the pickup of Latanzio, Amy had managed to collect his wife Angelina and her two children, and Gianna and her son, Latanzio’s mistress whom very few knew about.

It transpired Amy’s people had only discovered the mistress by accident during a surveillance mix-up.  It was, in Amy’s opinion, pure gold if it came to needing leverage, though she didn’t say what she might need leverage for.

Both were kept in separate rooms in different parts of the underground complex, each with their own guards.

And, what’s more, the wife had no idea her husband had a mistress, and even though she doubted his fidelity, it was not something a woman in her position could talk to anyone about because there was no knowing who she could trust, or whether it would get back to her husband with disastrous consequences.

Trust in anyone when being married to such a man, was non-existent.  To a degree, I felt sorry for her, though she had to know what she was getting into because he’d been a part of the family crime business from a very early age.  And, for that matter, so had she, but in her case of my was unfortunate in that she had very little chance of picking who she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.

It seemed that being a Latanzio caused a great deal of grief for anyone who knew him or got in his way.

Both rooms were set up with CCTV cameras, and we were recording everything.  Amy wasn’t expecting much from their conversation, if there was any, as it was well known that Angelina was kept out of the loop deliberately.

As I sat in front of the monitors, set up in a room well away from the holding rooms, I could see Amy over on one side talking earnestly to a man I had not seen before, but the suit told me he was some sort of law enforcement, perhaps a superior and they were planning the next move

I slipped on the headphones at just the right moment, Latanzio being escorted into the room where Angelina was being kept.

She watched him come in, the door closed, but I could see him gesture for her not to speak. 

In a few seconds, he had summed up the room, the two cots provided for the children who were asleep, a state Amy had arranged to spare them the memories of being there, and then a glance at his wife which didn’t spark much of a reaction.

There was still a degree of residual anger in his manner, still trying to come to grips with the manner of how this escape was being run.

The lack of any outside communication. Or news on what was happening might become a concern at some point so it would be interesting how Amy handled it.

I had seen the surveillance reports and it seemed that for a married couple, they spent a lot of time apart, but that was mainly due to the fact she had insisted he not bring his work home, and that gave her plausible deniability.

And, because of that position, there was no surprise it had led to the affair.  Although Angelina had not mentioned it to anyone, whether she knew about it or not, there was no doubt in my mind she did but may have not known who it was.

When she did, it was going to be a very interesting few minutes.

He knew the room was bugged, but may not necessarily suspect he was on CCTV given the time frame in getting this together.  Perhaps he had been looking for obvious cameras as he came in, and during the time the guards removed the cuffs and shackles and saw none.

I hadn’t either until she showed me.

Not even a close inspection would find any cameras, but there were several obvious points where microphones were placed so he’d find them, enough that after he had discovered them, he would believe the room was clean.

As with most parts of the underground complex, it had been made over by a team of very experienced set decorators.  I had seen the before and the after and it was difficult to believe it was the same place.

I watched him systematically search and find four devices, and after the last, the triumphant expression.

“So, why am I here?” Angelina asked after he had finished his search.

“I was told that we would be removed to a safe location “

“But you don’t think so?”

“This whole operation doesn’t feel right.  If Benny had arranged this,  we would not be languishing in a dump like this.”

“Who then?”

“Either one of the Carmichaels or the cops.”

“Why would the cops kidnap you?  They already had you in custody.”

He didn’t answer, but I could see he was weighing the possibilities, and in his position, given he hadn’t been executed, which by my understanding of the rivalry between the two families, the only option if they had been responsible for his liberation.

So that left his own people or in his mind, the police.  It seemed to me if it had been his brother, another of our guests, he would not be languishing in that small room, and Benny would be there to greet him.

I wondered briefly whether we had been too clever.

From what I understood of the operation, no one knew what we had been planning and then executed it, and outside the world we had created, all hell was breaking loose.  It had to be done this way for realism and having a legitimate reason to scoop up all of the necessary parties associated with him, operations that would have failed without the right background.

To every media outlet, he had been taken in a daring raid on the prison transfer convoy. That in itself had been a carefully staged scene, right down to the last detail including ambulances for the injured guards.  But it wouldn’t take long before questions would be asked.

But, for now, he was the subject of a city-wide manhunt, and it was also noted that both his brother and his family were also missing, and the Carmichaels were top of the police department list of suspects.

“Frankly,” he said, I have no idea what’s going on, but if this is Benny’s doing, he’s not doing a very good job of it.  We should be a long way away from here.”

“You might think so, but I’d say we’re lucky we’re still alive.  Do you have any idea what’s going on outside?  Did you ever consider that it’s your actions that have brought this on?  Benny told me you killed someone, which can’t be true because you promised me you would not be like your father.”

“I’m nothing like my father, and you don’t want to believe everything Benny tells you.”

“This isn’t the first time, is it?  I told you I didn’t want to know about your business, and I trusted you to keep your word.  Trust, I’m afraid, that was misplaced.  I listened to your lies when the police accused you of murdering some rival not wanting to believe it was true, and now, on top of that, the police say you’ve either kidnapped or killed some guy who witnessed that murder.  I’ve given you the benefit of the doubt, now it’s time to tell me the truth.”

“It a frame-up.  The cops have been accusing me of everything they can’t solve, and none of it’s true.  I swear.  But this isn’t the time or the place to be talking about such matters.”

“No, perhaps not.  But tell me this, if you’ve got Benny to break you out of custody, that doesn’t strike me as the actions of an innocent man.  An innocent man would stay and take his chances in a court of law.”

“A court of law that’s stacked against me.  All they have is circumstantial evidence.  All they’ve ever had is circumstantial evidence.”

“Because all the so-called witnesses either disappear, recant their testimony, or turn up dead.  This has to end, if only for the children’s sake.”

Angelina, then, was no fool.  She knew exactly who it was she married, and I suspect she had, until now, overlooked the lies.  And in saying what she had, she was taking a very big risk.

“Like I said, this is neither the time or the place to be discussing such matters, so you will stop talking or there will be consequences.”

Even from where I was viewing the discussion, and in particular Angelina, I could plainly see he had hit a raw nerve.

I felt a hand on the back of my chair and looked up.  Amy had returned and was looking at the monitor.   She had put on the other headphones but left one ear uncovered.

I did the same. 

“What have I missed,”

“A joyous reunion, not.  I think Angelina is about to wring a confession of sorts out of the bastard.”

We both went back to the screen.

“Is that a threat, Tony?” 

Her voice had changed, not the sound of a wife who was disappointed, or was tired of her husband’s lies.  This was different.

“What do you mean?  No.  I wouldn’t threaten you, or anyone.”  Slightly apologetic. 

There was a change in the atmosphere in that room, and he had lost some of that bravado.

“Then you’d better remember that.  When we get out of here, you will be having a discussion with my father.  He had been taking a keen interest in your recent activities, and he tells me you have been indiscreet.  He wouldn’t tell me what it’s about, but I will find out, and you better not have broken your promise.”

With that, the conversation was over.  Perhaps there was more to Angelina than I first thought.

…

©  Charles Heath  2024

The cinema of my dreams – Was it just another surveillance job? – Episode 6

I’m back home and this story has been sitting on a back burner for a few months, waiting for some more to be written.

The trouble is, there are also other stories to write, and I’m not very good at prioritising.

But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn’t take long to get back into the groove.

Did he just witness an execution?

…

I could see the cogs in his mind turning over.  Calculating what it would take to get past me.

Running would only help me.

Walking, well, he wasn’t going to get far.

A fight?  He might be more experienced, but I was angrier, now controlled anger aided by rational thinking.  There would be no blindly lashing out.

Reconnaissance, Surveillance, and Self-defence.

We were ten yards apart when he stopped, moving to one side near the wall.  I’d seen him looking for a weapon, but luckily none were on offer.  Someone kept this laneway very clean.

A car had been parked at the end, and I’d seen him try the doors.  Locked.  It would not be available for his escape.

He glared at me.  “You’re Jackson, right?”

A brief moment of shock.  How did he know my name?

“Who I am is irrelevant.”

“So you say.  But I can assure you this is all wrong.”

Rule number seventy, or something like that, the target will say anything to get you offside.

“You harmed my friends.”

“Then, you’re in big trouble if you regard them as friends.  In this business, we don’t have friends.”

He was right in one respect.  Having friends gave our enemies leverage.  But without friends, the loneliness of the job could break you.

But, right then I wasn’t interested in his opinion.

When I didn’t answer he said, “This is a setup.  I’m not the enemy; I’m one of you.  I made a mistake, and now they’ve set the dogs on me.”

I didn’t ask why we were following him, that was above my pay grade, added to the fact I didn’t want to know.  Knowing the perfidy of the target could compromise how I treated him.

“You’re the target, why I don’t care.”

“Look, I haven’t got much time.  Find a man called Alfred Nobbin.  I work for him.  I found something I shouldn’t, which is why you are here, now.  Tell him the evidence is ….”

I didn’t hear the bullet that killed him, but it came from behind me, hit him in the chest, its force sending him backwards, and he was dead before he hit the ground.”

I turned but there was no one there.

…

© Charles Heath 2019-2025

The American Revolution History Trail

Tracing the Footsteps of Liberty: The American Revolution History Trail

The American Revolution wasn’t sparked by a single event in a single place—it was a nationwide uprising that unfolded across colonial cities, towns, and battlefields from Massachusetts to South Carolina. Today, these historic locations form a living tapestry of the birth of the United States. Known collectively as the American Revolution History Trail, this network of towns, landmarks, and living memories invites modern travellers to walk where the Founding Fathers debated, where colonial militias stood their ground, and where a fledgling nation declared its independence.

Let’s take a journey through the key cities and towns that shaped the Revolution, the iconic sights they hold, and the extraordinary people whose courage still echoes in the cobblestone streets.

Boston, Massachusetts: The Cradle of Revolution

Boston served as the revolutionary conscience of the colonies. Tensions here boiled over into action time and again.

Historic Sights:

  • The Freedom Trail: A 2.5-mile red-brick path leading to 16 revolutionary sites, including:
    • Boston Common – America’s oldest public park, once used for military drills.
    • Old North Church – “One if by land, and two if by sea” – the signal Paul Revere awaited before his famed ride.
    • Paul Revere House – The home of the silversmith and patriot.
    • Bunker Hill Monument – Commemorating the first major battle of the war in 1775.
  • Faneuil Hall – Known as the “Cradle of Liberty,” where revolutionaries like Samuel Adams rallied the public.

Key Figures:

  • Samuel Adams – Political mastermind and organiser.
  • Paul Revere – Patriot and midnight rider.
  • John Hancock – President of the Continental Congress, famous signer of the Declaration.

Boston was more than a city—it was a crucible of democratic ideals.

Lexington and Concord, Massachusetts: The First Shots

These sister towns mark where the “shot heard ’round the world” was fired on April 19, 1775.

Historic Sights:

  • Lexington Green – Where colonial militia faced British troops.
  • North Bridge in Concord – Site of the “Shot Heard ’Round the World,” where patriots first fired in organized resistance.
  • Minute Man National Historical Park – Preserving the battle routes and offering living history reenactments.

Key Figures:

  • Captain John Parker – Led the Lexington militia with the famous order: “Stand your ground. Don’t fire unless fired upon.”
  • The Minutemen – Citizen-soldiers ready to fight at a minute’s notice.

These small towns represent the moment when rhetoric turned into revolution.

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania: Birthplace of a Nation

As the meeting place of the Continental Congress and the city where the Declaration of Independence and the U.S. Constitution were signed, Philadelphia is central to American liberty.

Historic Sights:

  • Independence Hall – Where the Declaration of Independence was adopted in 1776 and the U.S. Constitution drafted in 1787.
  • Liberty Bell – Symbol of freedom, cracked in its call for liberty.
  • Carpenters’ Hall – Site of the First Continental Congress.
  • Valley Forge National Historical Park – Where George Washington’s army endured a brutal winter (1777–1778), emerging stronger and more disciplined.

Key Figures:

  • George Washington – Commander-in-Chief of the Continental Army.
  • Thomas Jefferson – Primary author of the Declaration of Independence.
  • Benjamin Franklin – Diplomat, inventor, and revolutionary thinker.

Philadelphia wasn’t just a political hub—it was the heart of the Republic in its infancy.

Trenton and Princeton, New Jersey: Turning the Tide

After a series of defeats, Washington’s bold actions in New Jersey reignited the revolutionary cause.

Historic Sights:

  • Washington Crossing Historic Park – Where Washington famously crossed the icy Delaware River on Christmas night, 1776.
  • Battle of Trenton and Princeton Sites – Victories that boosted colonial morale and proved the Continental Army could win.

Key Figures:

  • General George Washington – At his most daring and strategic.
  • Hessian Mercenaries – German troops hired by the British, many captured at Trenton.

These battles were pivotal—they transformed defeat into hope.

Saratoga, New York: The Turning Point

The American victory at Saratoga in 1777 was a strategic triumph that convinced France to formally ally with the United States.

Historic Sights:

  • Saratoga National Historical Park – Preserved battlefield with walking trails and visitor center detailing the campaign.
  • Schuyler House – Home of General Philip Schuyler, key to the Northern campaign.

Key Figures:

  • Horatio Gates – Led American forces at Saratoga.
  • Benedict Arnold – Played a crucial role before his infamous betrayal.

Saratoga proved the Americans could defeat the world’s greatest military power—drawing indispensable French support.

Charleston, South Carolina: The Southern Theatre

Charleston was a major port and a strategic battleground in the Southern campaign.

Historic Sights:

  • Fort Moultrie – Where patriots with palmetto-log walls repelled the British in 1776.
  • Old Exchange & Provost Dungeon – Used to imprison patriots and hold meetings of the Sons of Liberty.
  • Charles Towne Landing – Early colony site with colonial history exhibits.

Key Figures:

  • Francis Marion – The “Swamp Fox,” known for guerrilla warfare against the British.
  • Henry Laurens & Christopher Gadsden – Revolutionary leaders and politicians.

Though Charleston eventually fell to the British in 1780, Southern resistance laid the groundwork for final victory.

Yorktown, Virginia: The Final Act

The siege of Yorktown in 1781 marked the end of major military operations—and the beginning of American independence.

Historic Sights:

  • Colonial National Historical Park – Includes the Yorktown Battlefield, where Washington and French allies trapped General Cornwallis.
  • Moore House – Where surrender terms were negotiated.
  • American Revolution Museum at Yorktown – Immersive exhibits on soldier and civilian life.

Key Figures:

  • General George Washington – Commander of the combined American and French forces.
  • Marquis de Lafayette – French ally who helped secure French support.
  • General Cornwallis – British commander whose surrender effectively ended the war.

Yorktown didn’t just win a battle—it won independence.

Walking the American Revolution History Trail

Today, these cities and towns are linked by more than geography—they’re united by a shared legacy. Whether you’re following the Freedom Trail in Boston, standing where Washington crossed the Delaware, or walking through Independence Hall, you’re not just visiting museums—you’re engaging with the living memory of a nation’s founding.

Tips for Exploring:

  • Consider purchasing the America the Beautiful Pass for access to national parks.
  • Join guided tours or living history events for deeper immersion.
  • Visit during anniversary dates (like Patriots’ Day in April or Independence Day) for special reenactments.

Conclusion: A Nation Forged in Towns and Trials

The American Revolution wasn’t just fought in grand halls or on epic battlefields—it happened in the streets of colonial towns, in backroom meetings, and in the resolve of everyday people. The American Revolution History Trail offers a powerful way to understand how courage, idealism, and sacrifice built a nation.

So lace up your walking shoes, grab a tricorn hat, and step into history. The legacy of liberty is waiting—for you to discover it, one town at a time.

Have you walked any part of the Revolution Trail? Share your favourite site or moment in the comments below!

Top 5 sights on the road less travelled – Georgetown

For those seeking experiences beyond the well-known landmarks in Georgetown, Guyana, here are five excellent things to do on a more unconventional path:

  • Visit the manatees at Guyana National Park (or Botanical Gardens)
    While the botanical gardens and national park are known, a specific, less common activity is feeding the manatees in the ponds. It is one of the few places in the world where it’s possible to interact with these endangered creatures by feeding them grass.
  • Explore the local culture at the lesser-known markets
    Beyond the central Stabroek Market, venture into local markets like Bourda Market or Kitty Market for a more authentic feel of daily Guyanese life. Here, you can experience the vibrant atmosphere, interact with locals, and find unique spices, fresh produce, and local crafts away from the main tourist flow.
  • Experience a local “seven curry” food tour
    Immerse yourself in the unique Indo-Guyanese culinary tradition with a “seven curry” tour, which typically involves collecting lotus leaves and experiencing a cooking class with local chefs in an authentic setting. This provides a deep cultural and gastronomic experience that goes beyond simply visiting a restaurant.
  • Take a blackwater creek adventure
    An excursion about an hour outside the city leads to the serene blackwater creeks, such as those along the Soesdyke/Linden Highway or with local operators like Blackwater Adventures. These unique, palm-fringed swimming spots offer a tranquil escape into nature and a chance to see diverse wildlife, including birds and monkeys, away from the city bustle.
  • Discover Amerindian culture with a village day trip
    Organise a day trip to an Amerindian village, such as the community-run Pakuri Village or lodges like Surama Eco Lodge (which is further afield in the Rupununi region), to learn about the indigenous culture and lifestyle. Engaging with local communities and guides offers a profound insight into Guyana’s heritage and biodiversity that general city tours rarely provide